Who: James + OPEN to multiple. What: Moving in; boxes and furniture stacked precarious and in need of helping hands. Where: Lobby, 5th floor, whereever. When: Afternoon thru the evening Warnings: None foreseen. Notes: I'll be out all night, but will hit replies when I get back. If your character happens to go through the lobby and wants to lend a hand with a box, just comment. James says CHOP CHOP. Also, for any characters with an inherent, constant ability that you think might be altered/amplified/controlled differently in James' presence, you can drop me an email or IM if you like.
Two dozen cardboard boxes occupied one side of the lobby. Each was labeled with black felt tip marker in a decidedly loopy scrawl that designated them as belonging to 501. Very few of the boxes were even taped closed, their cardboard lids seemed to flay open like mouths of baby birds. Offering glimpses of wire hangers, nylon stockings, elaborate bustiers, exotic candles, and newspaper wrapped secrets of fragility. A chrome finished dining room table was stacked with bar stools donning leopard print cushions. And against the wall, there sat a vibrant courtesan sofa of red brocade. Settled amongst the cushions in a tired sprawl of denim and leather, rested James.