jesus_saves (jesus_saves) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-05-17 09:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: victorian london, character: eliot waugh, character: jesus |
Who: Jesus and Eliot Waugh
What: Jesus's arrival
When: Monday, late afternoon
Where: Starting in the lobby, ending in Jesus's room
Warnings: Mild language, mentions of drug use
Status: Closed/Complete
Jesus spent at least a solid minute standing in the doorway of the hotel, staring back out at the snowy streets of Sherlock Holmes’ London. He was trying to decide if he was hallucinating. Maybe he’d gotten lost, really lost, and now he was dehydrated and sick somewhere. Maybe he’d been bitten, and this was what happened when the fever dreams took over.
Maybe he was dreaming had occurred to him, too, but he pinched himself. Then he pinched himself again. Then he asked a passerby what day it was, because that line seemed appropriate, and they told him to ‘bugger off.’ It didn’t help.
With a resigned sigh, he finally noticed the PDA in his hand. The message on the screen didn’t help much, either, and the PDA didn’t fit in at all with his surroundings. He shoved it into his pocket, then gave himself a quick pat-down, and confirmed that at least he had everything he’d wandered into the fog with.
Rather than wait around for answers, Jesus went looking for them.
Well- he tried looking for them. He turned to walk back out of the hotel, and collided with someone tall, unsteady, and stumbling, and he grabbed onto them to keep from sending them both falling over. It wasn’t his most graceful moment. He was too distracted by the change in his surroundings to be paying attention to what was right in front of his face.
“Oh, crap- I’m sorry, man, I wasn’t paying any attention,” he apologized, helping keep the taller man on his feet. “Are you okay?”
Eliot was dazed. Not from the collision. He felt hands on his arms, keeping him steady and looked down to see a very modern looking homeless man who did not have a British accent. Eliot himself looked liked he belonged to London with his tailored suit, dark jacket, white gloves and fashionable top hat, at least until he spoke.
“You’re new. I would have remembered you,” Eliot said with a titter. He looked around, trying to put it all together. “Why are you dressed like a homeless man? Didn’t you see your clothes?” Eliot’s gloved fingers traced the collar of Jesus’s jacket. “Mm, we should go inside. It would be terribly scandalous if I were seen talking to you like this. I’ve seen like every BBC version of Pride and Prejudice and the 1969 musical of Oliver! so I’m pretty sure I know what I’m talking about.”
Eliot grinned. His eyes were glazed but not terribly so. “They basically put cocaine in everything here. It’s wonderful. I’m stocking up in case of emergencies. I haven’t tried opium yet, but I’m going to wait until I’m in the hotel in case I accidentally overdose.” Eliot nodded a few times, as though expecting Jesus to know what the hell he was talking about.
If it weren’t for his accent, Jesus would have thought Eliot belonged in London. There was something surreal about the fact that he started talking about movies, and then drugs, and then overdosing, and he was pretty sure he looked just as dazed as Eliot did. He opened his mouth as if to say something, his brow furrowed slightly, and then shut it again, blinking up at him a few times.
“...good to know,” he said finally, slowly, and glanced back into the hotel, then at Eliot again. Maybe he’d been drugged by something, but it was hard to imagine what drugs were strong enough to get him to hallucinate this vividly. “What do you mean I’m ‘new?’ New to where? Victorian London?”
There was a level of disbelief in his voice, and written all over his face. He didn’t know what to make of any of it yet.
“New to the hotel,” Eliot said. He couldn’t get a gauge on how old the smaller man was-- maybe they were around the same age or maybe he was a little older? “London is where we are this week, next week we’ll be somewhere else. Probably not nearly as fun, so I suggest you enjoy this week while it lasts, although last week we were in Disney World. Disney World on mushrooms it a lot of fun. Come along!”
Eliot staggered a little and led the newcomer back into the hotel.
“So, you… ended up here and signed the guestbook, right?” Once they were indoors, Eliot had his arm around Jesus’s shoulders because if he didn’t he was probably going to fall over. “Do you still have your PDA? You’re fucked without it.”
Jesus barely had enough time to go from one thought to the next before Eliot was, and it was all he could do to just go along with him back into the hotel with an arm wrapped around his middle to help him stay on his feet. He still couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten from point A to this, but at least he could get answers. From someone high on cocaine.
“This thing?” He pulled the PDA out of his jacket pocket, spinning it right-way up in his gloved hand and turning it on. “So this is normal to you? You live here?” It was more of a confirmation than an actual question. “How the hell did I get here?”
Well, drunk. Eliot was very drunk but the drinks did use cocaine in them which made them amazing. “Does the world where you come from, to the best of your knowledge, have magic?” Eliot asked him.
“Uh, no,” Jesus snorted, and shook his head. Then he looked up at Eliot, and frowned. “You’re not about to tell me this is all magic, are you?”
“Aw, baby,” Eliot said. “You poor, sweet muggle. This will be hard for you. It’s all pretty much magic. Probably. Unless it’s science fiction bullshit. Honestly, I’m not sure it really matters. Let’s go with magic.” He paused and then waved his hand slowly in the air. “It’s all magic...”
Jesus took a slow look around their surroundings, still frowning just slightly. He didn’t know what to make of it. The fact that it was magic was hard enough to fathom on its own.
“So, if it’s all magic…” He held his PDA up, and raised an eyebrow. “Why’d we get sent back to the 90s with these?”
Eliot smiled and pulled out his own PDA. “These unlock the door to your room. And also you can post messages on them and read what everyone else has posted. Like shitty Facebook. Did your world have Facebook? Stop me if what I’m saying makes absolutely no sense. I won’t even laugh at you. Well, maybe a little. But that’s only because of your face. It’s hiding under… I’m not sure what sort of woodland creature this is. Hm…”
“Latest research says it’s some cross between a chipmunk and a squirrel,” Jesus said, sounding almost bored at the comment as he scrolled through the PDA instead. His world had Facebook, not that he’d ever used it, and not that he even really remembered what it looked like. But he got the gist.
“People usually introduce themselves before they start insulting my facial hair,” he added, defaulting to humor because it made the confusion of the situation slightly more bearable.
“I’m Eliot,” the magician demurred. “You are remarkably strong. I’ve been hanging onto you for… ever. It’s settled. You can be my new friend. You and the woodland animal hybrid, which I will name Arthur.”
“Arthur…” Jesus sighed, and shook his head, adjusting his grip around Eliot’s middle. “Well, Eliot, since we’re friends now… my friends call me Jesus.” Even the ones who named his facial hair, apparently.
“It's Jesus,” Eliot staged whispered. “But not actual Jesus because even I have my limits on how much weird I can handle.” Eliot grinned when his brain decided it was probably not actual Jesus. “Okay, Not-Actual-Jesus, we should go to your room and get you your clothes. Also normally the hotel has electricity and running water but sometimes it goes method depending on where it lands. This is a method week.”
“I haven’t had running water or electricity in four years,” Jesus said, shrugging and looking at his PDA in search of his room number. “I can handle it. Also- I’m already wearing my clothes.”
He headed for the stairs, anyway. Even if he wasn’t getting changed, he wanted to see if there was anything else useful in his room.
“So, wait. Does the hotel move?”
“Yes,” Eliot said. His legs were light and his feet felt like lead weights. “Every week. Be in the hotel before the clock strikes midnight on Sunday or you’ll be left behind.”
“Right…”
Getting Eliot up the stairs was more difficult than just helping him walk around, but he still held him up with a firm arm around his middle, shifting every time Eliot leaned into him so they didn’t both just go tumbling down the stairs.
“How long have you been here?”
Eliot thought about it and counted with his fingers as he listed different places: “Mardi Gras, vampires, zombie land, fog, Disney World….London. I don't think I'm missing anything so, five weeks going on six.”
“Great.”
Jesus pulled his PDA out of his pocket to double-check where they were going: six floors. Sighing, he shoved his PDA back into his pocket again and continued half-carrying Eliot up the stairs.
“Did you say vampires?” he asked. “And what’s Zombie Land?”
“Mhm,” Eliot said. He looked at Jesus and frowned. He tried to make a drunken calculation in his mind-- how much bad news to present and how much would be believed.
“The hotel likes to fuck with us. Sometimes people wake up different for a week. Like the week it turned some of the residents into hungry vampires,” Eliot said. “Trust me, that isn't the alcohol or the drugs talking, they're just a fantastic coping mechanism. Sometimes instead of a nice Victorian vacation it lands in some dangerous fucked up place, like with the zombies.”
Eliot paused. “Zombie apocalypse? Walking corpses that eat people?”
Jesus was going to comment on the vampire thing, but the zombie thing was more pressing once Eliot explained what zombies were. He frowned. Again.
“That sounds like where I’m from,” he said. “Except we don’t call them zombies. We usually call them roamers.”
That didn’t help convince him he wasn’t just hallucinating.
“Is there any way to know where it’s going next?”
“No,” Eliot said. “Maybe if you were psychic? Are you psychic? That would be handy. Or annoying.”
“I’m not psychic,” Jesus confirmed with a shake of his head. “I just play one on TV.”
Finally, they reached the sixth floor, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was athletic, but carrying mostly dead weight up the stairs was exhausting. His door unlocked when he got close to it with his PDA, and he looked around, letting go of Eliot near a chair so he’d have something to grab onto (or sit in) while he went to investigate his new wardrobe.
“So where are you from?”
“Fillory,” Eliot said. It almost sounded like sarcasm.
“And that is…” Jesus glanced over his shoulder at him with an eyebrow raised. “A city? A country? A far-off kingdom?”
Eliot groaned but it was to hide any hint of sadness in his eyes from talking about it. His body slumped into the chair and it took him a moment to realize he wasn't in a strange mirror version of his room but the room next door.
“Subject change. Let's talk about you. How long have you been with Arthur and where did the two of you first meet? You make a very cute couple.”
Jesus let him switch the subject without drawing attention to it.
“It was… I don’t know, a few years ago, at least,” he said, like he was recalling an actual memory. “I was hiking in the woods and singing to the woodland creatures when one just…” He made a popping noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Nobody ever told me that was how beards work. It was very confusing.”
He frowned as he pulled pieces of a suit out of his wardrobe, along with a top hat.
“No, thank you,” he said, shaking his head as he hung them back up again.
Eliot had a beautiful, bell chiming sort of laugh when he was genuinely amused. It was easier when he was drunk with his mouth forming a perfect open ‘D’ shape. Sober Eliot would have been charmed. Intoxicated Eliot was completely defenseless. The laugh was cut short when he saw the suit and Eliot found his legs and stood up quickly.
“Oh, you have to. For one, you cannot go outside dressed like that. For two, you are not nearly depressed enough to spend the entire week hiding in your room. Seriously, take advantage because who the fuck knows where or what will happen next week. For three, this blue was made for your eyes.”
Eliot pulled the suit back up and his fingers traced the material. “Jesus, did you ever consider asking Arthur’s feelings? He needs to roam free.”
Jesus scoffed at him.
“We’ve known each other ten minutes, and you’re already trying to convince me to shave my beard,” he said, and shook his head, but he was smiling, just a little.
Being stuck in a hotel in Victorian era London with absolutely no explanation was less than comforting. Being stuck there with someone like Eliot to flirt with made it slightly less nerve-wracking. Slightly.
“I think I’ll spend some time looking around the hotel, first,” he decided. “This is where we’re actually stuck, right? I want to know what I’m dealing with in here before I go back out there.”
“Fair enough,” Eliot pouted. “Oh, Jesus, since my room is right next door, when you come back up, will you bring some food with you? I don’t feel like walking up and down six flights of stairs and I hear eating is one of those important things people do. Also…”
Eliot gently placed his hands on the shorter man’s shoulders and gave them a tiny squeeze to reassure him of the importance of what he was about to say, “...don’t take the elevator. It like tries to eat people or something. And…”
Eliot dropped his hands.
“...If you’re going to die, die inside the hotel. This place resets every week. You’ll reset with it as long as it happens inside the hotel. I haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing that yet, thankfully, but others have. Die outside the hotel and it’s perma death.”
His eyes looked up, “There’s probably more I should tell you. I think those are the important parts? Questions? Concerns? Empty flattery about how great I look in this suit?”
Jesus waited for a few seconds after Eliot stopped talking, partly because he half expected him to keep going. He had a lot of questions, but ones he wasn’t sure having the answers to would help anything, anyway.
“I’m usually pretty good at not dying,” he assured him, at least, because that was sort of the daily goal for him, anyway. With a smirk, he added, “And you do look great in that suit.”
That helped distract him from the comments about dying and resetting. Whatever that meant.
Eliot’s smile spread slowly across his face, “I do, don’t I? It’s like if my Fillory clothes and my Earth clothes got together and had babies…” Eliot hadn’t realized how fucked up he’d gotten until the words left his lips. Oh well, it was more fun that way. “Try to play nice with the other people you meet, they’re from all sorts of different places. A couple of others came from a zombie world, too. Whether it was the same world you’re from or not, I couldn’t say. I’ll introduce you. Judith isn’t much fun, but her father has enough personality for both of them. They’ve also both been here longer than I have.”
Jesus had even more questions after just those few sentences, too, but he had a feeling he’d get just as many answers roaming around the hotel as he would talking to Eliot. Besides, Eliot was his neighbor, and he was supposed to be bringing him food later, anyway. He could ask him more later.
“I appreciate it,” he said, and despite the situation, offered Eliot a grateful smile. “You think you can make it back to your room without getting lost?” His smile just barely curled into a smirk at the corner.
Eliot smiled but didn’t say anything at first, as though challenging Jesus to make an offer. “I’ll see you soon,” he said. Jesus was supposed to be bringing him food, right? Maybe he’d be up for more than flirting by then. “I can now say, for the first time in my life I have a very close, personal relationship with Jesus.” Eliot put a hand over his heart to demonstrate.
Jesus chuckled, and shook his head.
“You know, you’re the first person who’s ever made that joke,” he said, with thinly-veiled sarcasm that he followed with another smirk. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Oh, I plan on revisiting all your old favorites. You clearly can’t get enough of them or you would shave your fucking beard,” Eliot grinned. “Just don’t expect me to sing sunday school songs. I have an amazing voice, but they make my skin crawl.”
“Then you’ll have to sing something else for me instead,” he said, and winked, before he headed to the door. “I’m gonna go before you keep making disparaging comments about Arthur. You’re hurting his feelings.”
Eliot almost, almost, almost said ‘make me’ to Jesus. It was his level of intoxication that kept him from opening his mouth, wanting to be just a tiny bit more sober before the next round of banter. Gaston last week had been a hot lay, but there hadn’t been much else to offer-- not that there needed to be at the time.
He left and walked the short distance to his room next door. Eliot smiled without saying anything more and disappearing into his room. Even if it didn’t go further than back and forth flirtation, he had missed it terribly.
Now he had to decide on something to wear before Jesus came back. Shit.