log: dylan & max (soon to be daniel & lin too)
[Dylan did some brief research on the morning of the hotel meet-up, he synced up a vintage replay of the 2001 MTV VMAs. He took notes in between bites of sugary breakfast cereal and swigs of Corona Light. Light meant that is was appropriate for before noon. He even took a vitamin, who knows what kinds of antique strains of the common cold were going to be playing tag in a hospital.
He kept his clothing simple, despite threatening Max with a matching denim-on-denim ensemble. Dark gray jeans and a zip-up hoodie that obscured his Invader Zim tee. Some good running shoes, and a backpack of minor necessities(like a change of clothes and some electronics that could actually function in the year they were going to), and he was ready.
The nearest access to the hotel for Dylan was actually a service door that was supposed to lead to the roof of his building, but clearly didn't for him. He made his way down the hall, spotting her where she smoked and leaned with more feminine lines than a cowboy would. Plus, she didn't have the cowboy hat tipped down over her dark eyes or the twitchy gunslinger fingers.]
Hey. [He said with approach, although he knew her too well to think she hadn't already noticed or heard him coming. He was showered and sober, dark hair still a little wet, enough that it stayed pushed back but would inevitable dry hideously once they hit the other city.
Once in the door, he was determined to find some Surge or Pepsi Blue, although he had doubts that either would be easily accessible in a hospital. Hospitals, from his memories, were one of the places where freedom of choice was a trampled illusion. Their vending machines were always shit. Cheez-its and Doublemint were not the democracy he fought for.
Lets go, if you're ready. [He thought she might want to finish her cigarette first. Hospitals were weird about smokers, and Dylan was pretty sure that pertained even back in 2001.]