Selina Kyle (meeow) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2016-01-08 12:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: jump 3, character: daryl dixon, character: selina kyle |
Who: Selina Kyle and OPEN TO ANY
What: Avoiding weird shit at Hotel Strange (also, midnight snacks?)
Where: The Kitchen
When: Late evening, eleven-ish, second day of the latest jump
Warnings: None as of yet, but will update
Status: Open and ongoing
So much for vacation indeed. Days ago, Selina had been on her way to some sunny destination, intent on nothing more complicated than working on her tan, drinking overpriced rainbow colored drinks, and maybe sample the local flavor once or twice. Sheik or Cabana Boy, both had their unique benefits and level of fun. The purpose of her happy exile ultimately to avoid certain people and wait for the bloody dust cloud to settle.
Instead, she was here, in kitchy paranormal Hell. Sure, she was off the radar, but how far? Shooting off the damn plane of existence was a little further than she'd intended to go.
So far, she'd kept her head low and watched the goings-on more than anything. For someone who adored a certain kind of attention, Selina could stay well out of sight when she wanted to. That weird shit outside the hotel doors a few days ago was enough to keep her holed up in private spaces, including away from that ball of energy in a wedding dress that was her 'roommate', but after being chased by a goddamn statue of Zeus down the hallway the day before, she'd endured Tonks' company happily, long as the bedroom door stayed closed.
But a girl had to eat...
Zeus was gone- probably found some other nymph to tackle (Selina shuddered at the thought). While she hadn't bothered with the cat suit this time, she did have her whip coiled across her torso (just in case). Also the 9mm she hated to use tucked discreetly in the back of her jeans (just in case), with designs of getting to the kitchen and back as fast as fucking possible. The oily orange lighted hallways were quiet, more eerie than normal. She was almost thankful for the white florescent in the kitchen, with their annoying buzz for company. On soundless bare feet, the cat-burglar scaled the counter for the shelves irritatingly out of any short person's reach. Messy top-knot and oversized sweater catching on the old wood, she dove shoulder-deep toward the back, where she'd stashed some of the expensive tea cookies a few days earlier. Hopefully they were still there.