Generation NeXt

Harley had just been trying to go to school - really - when she walked through a door and ended up ... inside a hotel lobby, okaaay. She sort of pauses, tiny in jeans and a too-big GCPD t-shirt that belongs to her mother, and wiggles her toes inside frayed sneakers.

She knows, in essence, where she is, and she really wishes that she had a PINpoint with her or something because oh god, what if she can't figure out how to get home before dinner? Her mom always handles everything and Harley is a smart girl but come on.

She ends up plopping down in a plush chair, groaning. "Oh man, mom's going to kill me."

Anne is bored. And as such, is looking for company, of some sort. Pretty company is good, but frankly, even conversation would do at this juncture. Anyone who isn't her brother would probably qualify as more interesting than being alone.

So meanwhile, she's randomly opening doors to see where they go. This may or may not end well.

J is actually talking to his mother on his communicator when the connection drops and he frowns - this is damn alien technology, it's not supposed to drop your calls unless you smash it with a sledgehammer. He fiddles with it for a moment, not bothering to look up as he walks, since he knows the way to where he's going by heart - but pauses (literally) when he bumps into ... a tree, and once his attention is lifted from the communicator he can hear— is that a river?

He groans, wondering if he hit something on his pinpoint wrong by bumping it but when he checks it doesn't show that he's gone anywhere and it makes him a little nervous - it gets worse when said pinpoint won't take him anywhere else, just giving him error messages he's never seen before. He's heard stories, from his mother, about places that you can't leave and he doesn't like that prospect in the least.

He starts wandering the grounds, and once he reaches the actual hotel he is thoroughly annoyed and well-acquainted with plant life. He sits, stubbornly, on a half-wall that's part of the architecture and just rubs his temples for a moment, muttering. "Shit, I'm going to get my ass kicked if I got myself stuck somewhere," a pause, "I wonder whose universe this even is." Ah, the important questions.

"Yes, grandpa, you know I'm going to be careful, god, you'd think I'd never done a stakeout before," Jacelyn (better known to friends as J.C.) says as she walks towards a bus stop, rolling her eyes for her own benefit, "Okay. I know. I won't mess up. Bye."

She hangs up, readjusts her massive backpack stuffed with her homework and her carefully packed costume underneath it, and turns the corner of the block to find a sprawling garden. J.C. blinks and turns right around, not quite processing this right away, and finds yet more grass where the street.

The word she says next is omitted in the name of good taste, but it expresses deep distaste and a good measure of frustration. 21st century girl in the house, everyone.

In human culture in that galaxy far far away, there's very little that constitutes tradition. Humans have no home planet, no overarching patterns, nothing to hold them together. Little space-gangs and planetary niches rise up; pirates and armies and dynasties and cults to make people feel at home.

For the Skywalkers, their traditions are that of the Rebellion. Loyalty, peace, truth - and fierce, brutal action if needed. It's why everyone split up when it became apparent Nova hadn't just skipped off to the nexus for a lark and gotten held up by looking at something shiny. Ben wasn't alone, actually. He was with three elven body-guards under his command (they didn't want to be, but his quiet authority made them shape up and simmer down) going through the gardens of the multiverse.

He hopped over a ledge.

And then he fell.

He lands with a crashthudbang on the roof of ... something.

"...Ugh."

For anyone around: Ben is in ur roofs Jedi-ing ur rpg. He sits up, boot heels digging against the shingles. He squints; it looks... like pictures he's seen of Earth. He gets out his PINpoint and starts to try and locate his coordinates, but it doesn't seem to be working. He grimaces, thinking he must have busted it when he landed. Great.

Richard is beginning to make a more thorough survey of this place, grounds included. He is attempting, it seems, to draw a map, but is finding that things have a propensity to move on him. This is causing a bit of increased frustration on the doctor's part, and he could stand distracting.

Miss Catherine Morstan is not best pleased. She was not consulted before being transported into this place, however luxurious, and she is not accustomed to being overruled this thoroughly. Besides, Mamma will be beside herself when she gets home, and that's never any fun.

She stands on the terrace, still in her hat and coat, with her arms folded and her pretty chin set at an obstinate angle.

And then, one day, things wake up.

The guest register has vanished. Behind the massive reception desk sits a small, elegant woman with her dark hair pinned neatly back. Pinned to her blouse is a discreet tag reading Clarissa Medina. Calls to the front desk are now answered promptly, in a warm and serene alto.

Inside the restaurant the bar is lit up and the kitchen active. Those who seat themselves are promptly attended by a young and sweet-faced blonde with a sunny smile. Her nametag reads Keri Elliott. Occasionally she pauses on her way by to exchange words with the bartender, a slim, dark-eyed, ageless man by the name of Jesse Hancock.

Returning to one's room, one may find a woman just leaving: Jenna Russo, her dark hair tied back in a scarf, her smile a little mischievous. Beside each phone is a small card reading Room Service is now operating; this is invariably carried out by a slightly tousled young man whose nametag reads, somewhat portentously, Kenton Graves.

[Open post! It was decided that NPC staff would keep things interesting, so here is your chance to get to know them.]

"Well." Anne does a full turn, looking about at the lobby. "This is new. Hello?"

George, who bears her enough resemblance that one can guess they're siblings, says "Hush! Do you want someone to come down and yell at us for making a din?"

She sighs. "George, no one's here. And if they are, it's they're own fault for being so far away we have to resort to shouting."

He shakes his head. "Look, I'm going to go see if I can find someone. You stay here and continue shouting, if you like."

Though she's far too old, she sticks out her tongue at his back as he turns away.

Anne and George Seagrim, about 19 and 17 respectively, are the offspring of Molly Seagrim and... someone or other. Practically, they were mainly raised by Molly, Sir Sagramore, and Courfeyrac over in AU DF land. You can respond to both, or pick one after they split up.

Louisa Strange is absolutely, positively thrilled. Though she had been trying to sneak into her father's old study (where, of course, she has been forbidden to go), this is far better. She came across the sign-in book first of all, and after choosing what seemed to be a suitably thrilling room number-- 313-- she has set to exploring. Though she saw other names, she has yet to see any other people. Perhaps the place is abandoned-- or better yet, haunted! The idea is positively splendid. She takes off down the corridor at once, making as much noise as possible so that any and all spirits and ghosts will be aware of her presence.

Louisa, daughter of Jonathan and Arabella from Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.

A man in late Victorian clothes turns a corner and abruptly stops. For one thing, the sudden relative absence of stench means he can no longer be in London. His eyes catch up with his nose an instant later, and he frowns. Out of curiosity, he takes two steps back around the corner, but still finds himself in a strange, clean and sunny building looking like no place he's been before.

He sighs. "Oh, hang it all, I did not need this today."


T: Richard Carstone Jr. is the son of Richard Carstone and Ada Clare from Charles Dickens' Bleak House. He never knew his father, who died before he was born, but was half raised by his mother's friends Alan and Esther.

Laura’s pretty sure someone’d have mentioned a big fancy hotel going up in Mister Otis’ wheatfield. She studies it carefully, her hand resting on Sakae’s broad, gray back. Sakae isn’t worried, at least, and she’s a country dog, used to being expected to know what’s dangerous and what’s harmless. Her ease is a good sign.

Laura tilts her head, then looks back the way she came, frowning. Tom’s Creek isn’t there anymore, the hard beaten dirt track she’s always followed up to Mister Otis’ house simply gone. She stiffens, her pulse loud in her ears, and forces herself to take a good long breath. And then another.

“Sakae,” she says, leaning down the short distance to the huge wolfhound’s pointed ears, “Where’s Riza, Sakae? Find Riza.”

Laura Hadley is the adopted daughter of Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye, from Fullmetal Alchemist. (Sakae is one of Riza's dogs.)

Magdalen looks at the new, unfamiliar building unblinkingly. With her parents, she's gotten used to things not being right or consistent, but this is still, somewhere down in her stomach, unsettling.

Finally, she calls, "Well? What is it?" with haughty confidence almost wholly assumed. "What do you want?"

Magdalen is the daughter of Linden Kohlrabi and Queen Morgause of Orkney.

The front door swings open and Hannah, broom in hand, storms inside mumbling angrily to herself. As she begins to sweep the foyer in broad, furious strokes, it is some moments before she slows and raises her eyes to actually look at her surroundings. Lifting the broom off the ground, she clutches it protectively in both hands as she advances cautiously down the hall. All she's sure of is that her house isn't half so big as this.

John stares up at the multistory building in front of him. This is new. This is very new.

He advances up the front steps, opens the door, and goes inside. In the huge ante-room, he finds a marble desk, the kind that always seem like they're going to be bigger than you are. Across it is spread a book full of numbers with little keys taped next to them.

His writing isn't great, but he can at least sign his name, and on a whim he does, right next to some number that looks big and round. Then he snatches up the key and runs off into the hall, in case he wasn't supposed to do that, and when he's run enough that he's pretty sure nobody saw him, he starts to explore.

This place is big.

John Roland Thatcher is the son of Jocelyn and William Thatcher from A Knight's Tale