Archer Avery (arcarius) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-11-08 17:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | archer, complete, cycle001, o'brien |
The Accommodations
WHO: Archer & O’Brien
WHEN: around 5:30PM
WHERE: suite 305
WHAT: cops in possible downtime
WARNING: scene in progress, language... O’Brien
Nearly twelve hours of the Eclipse was more than enough for Archer, who still couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness he associated with the place. It was more than the sum of its parts: last spring’s missing girl and the hotel’s ghostly claims, the 911 calls, the screams, stolen goods, temperature changes, the dead body, odd persons of interest, inclement weather that kept him and O’Brien stranded here. There was something more that he wasn’t seeing. Not having all of the facts in any given situation was apt to make Archer on edge; this scenario grated on his nerves. He needed time to write it all out again, form a proper timeline, get things straight in his head. Considering he’d authorized an autopsy that was far from by-the-book, Archer desperately needed a return to his usual law and order neural pathways. It didn’t matter that such a thing gave him more information to work with. It just wasn't how he normally operated.
Earlier, a final trip out to the car to gather the last of whatever they had stashed in the sedan had basically cemented for Archer that they weren’t leaving the hotel grounds any time soon. Not that he would’ve felt right leaving anyway. Not considering the circumstances. He would have stuck it out, stayed on the scene. The stoic cop would’ve been lying to himself, however, if he didn’t admit that there was a part of him that felt just a little guilty in regards to O’Brien. Sure, his partner and friend would’ve been more hurt at being excluded, if Archer hadn’t brought him along. Just the same, it had been a long, strange day and Archer recalled all too well that O’Brien had been looking forward to quiet evening plans that involved a steak dinner and science fiction. So, yeah. He felt bad. Just a little.
Archer hadn’t had a chance to think about all of this before. He’d mired himself in the cases laid out before them. Anything from the car that wasn’t useful in solving crime had been tossed at the front desk with the command to hold the bags until he was ready for them. Checking into a room hadn’t really been the plan: originally, Archer just wanted somewhere he could use as an office. It didn’t matter that he was starting to lose count of how many hours he’d been awake. There was more work to do.
Factoring O’Brien into the equation was always helpful in reminding Archer that even if he didn’t always eat and sleep on a normal schedule, his partner did. Archer still felt waterlogged around the edges; his dress shirt under his trench and suit jacket was damp and a hot shower would be fucking ideal. Some back and forth with the concierge left a slightly bemused Archer with the bags from the car and two keys. Metal keys. Fucking old school. They clanged together as he shoved them into his trouser pocket. Slinging the bags over his right shoulder -- whatever was left in the spare clothes bag from under the seat, a folded garment bag from the trunk that held all of the pieces to his dress uniform -- Archer went off in search of O’Brien to tell him he’d secured them a room for the night. Well, sort of.
Archer was largely silent for the elevator ride up to the third floor, beelined for the suites. He pulled the key for 501A out of his pocket (A for Archer, B for Brannon: at least this way, he’d keep the keys straight) and fitted it into the lock. The key turned and he pushed open the door, reached for a light switch. Large bedroom. King-sized bed. Archer stood in the doorway for a second before he shrugged and motioned O’Brien to follow him, depositing his bags at the foot of the bed. He pushed open another door -- he could see a keyhole, must be for privacy -- into a common area. The door to the bathroom was open so Archer strode across the living room toward it, turning on lights as he went. This was a hell of a lot more than he thought they were getting... and he’d already been thinking it was excessive when the concierge used the word ‘suite.’ The living room had a small fridge Archer guessed was the mini-bar, a large couch, two armchairs, a coffee table that was covered with all manner of brochures, a television. The bathroom came equipped with a huge Jacuzzi.
Wandering back into the center of the common area, Archer shoved his hands into his pockets. “So. These are our digs for the night.” He pulled out the key to 501B and held it out to O’Brien, jerked his thumb toward the door on the opposite wall from the bedroom door they’d come through to get into this part of the suite. “There’s your room. Has hallway access like mine.” After a beat of silence, Archer added, “Hell of a place, huh?” This was said with a flash of a rueful smile surfacing from behind his emotional armor, his voice having just a shade more life to it than it had held since they’d been in the car making their way here. Before officially being on the job. Before the dead body. This thaw was a part of Archer’s personality, a subtle shift away from superior officer and more toward simply being O’Brien’s friend. He watched O’Brien's reaction to their quarters.