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10:02 AM
[Private Video » Lydia Martin]
Do you feel it? It's loud and cold.
[Afternoon Spam » Stiles Stilinski]
Dahlia has been Debating, with a capital D, whether or not she should talk to Stiles or not. The whole thing is Very Messy and she's not sure he, or any of the rest of the pack, needs it added to their already full plates. He needs to know. But Lydia won't like it. She'll be mad. And Dahlia's sure he'll tell her. But it's bugging her. A lot. Gnawing at her, threatening to eat her alive from the inside out if she doesn't do something about it.
She wrestles with herself over it as she eats breakfast this morning. As she walks around the hotel grounds outside--being sure to heed Scott's warning and steer clear of the maze; she feels weird vibes from it anyway. She finally decides she can't just...keep avoiding everything in her life--her new life, her second life--just because it might be hard.
So she marches upstairs to the seventh floor--the stairs take longer and she gets to avoid just a little while longer--and down the hallway to #712. The knock that comes to his door is light, but firm. Somehow conveys she means business and the seriousness of the conversation to come. Or maybe that's just in her head.
[Late night spam » OTA]
Dahlia is somewhere between the spaces of awake and asleep when she hears a low, deep moan followed by a higher-pitched ting! ting! ting! like someone banging a stick against a steel pipe. But it's not outside, it's not in the world that she's hearing these things, but in her head. Loud, like drums banging and wind howling inside her head. Except it's not drums or wind, it's...
She throws the sheets back and doesn't bother changing from her nightgown--compliments of the staff upon arrival, part of the few sets of clothes they offered since they didn't exactly have their own wardrobes here--or putting on shoes as she walks out of the room. The door to #730 is left wide open, with no signs of struggle or Dahlia inside the room at all.
If someone comes across her, they'll find her wandering mindlessly with a very blank look on her face--recognizable by pack as a fugue state. She can be found in the stairwell on any floor from the 7th down, in the lobby, the library and headed toward a door that leads down to the basement. Whether she actually makes it into the basement depends on when someone finds her and pulls her out of that state.
If she makes it in, she'll slowly make her way down the stairs. She doesn't notice the stairs are damp under her bare feet, but once she's downstairs, she goes to the far wall and just stand, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. If someone finds her down here and cares to notice, there are old, faded initials carved into the wall near where she's looking.
Do you feel it? It's loud and cold.
[Afternoon Spam » Stiles Stilinski]
Dahlia has been Debating, with a capital D, whether or not she should talk to Stiles or not. The whole thing is Very Messy and she's not sure he, or any of the rest of the pack, needs it added to their already full plates. He needs to know. But Lydia won't like it. She'll be mad. And Dahlia's sure he'll tell her. But it's bugging her. A lot. Gnawing at her, threatening to eat her alive from the inside out if she doesn't do something about it.
She wrestles with herself over it as she eats breakfast this morning. As she walks around the hotel grounds outside--being sure to heed Scott's warning and steer clear of the maze; she feels weird vibes from it anyway. She finally decides she can't just...keep avoiding everything in her life--her new life, her second life--just because it might be hard.
So she marches upstairs to the seventh floor--the stairs take longer and she gets to avoid just a little while longer--and down the hallway to #712. The knock that comes to his door is light, but firm. Somehow conveys she means business and the seriousness of the conversation to come. Or maybe that's just in her head.
[Late night spam » OTA]
Dahlia is somewhere between the spaces of awake and asleep when she hears a low, deep moan followed by a higher-pitched ting! ting! ting! like someone banging a stick against a steel pipe. But it's not outside, it's not in the world that she's hearing these things, but in her head. Loud, like drums banging and wind howling inside her head. Except it's not drums or wind, it's...
She throws the sheets back and doesn't bother changing from her nightgown--compliments of the staff upon arrival, part of the few sets of clothes they offered since they didn't exactly have their own wardrobes here--or putting on shoes as she walks out of the room. The door to #730 is left wide open, with no signs of struggle or Dahlia inside the room at all.
If someone comes across her, they'll find her wandering mindlessly with a very blank look on her face--recognizable by pack as a fugue state. She can be found in the stairwell on any floor from the 7th down, in the lobby, the library and headed toward a door that leads down to the basement. Whether she actually makes it into the basement depends on when someone finds her and pulls her out of that state.
If she makes it in, she'll slowly make her way down the stairs. She doesn't notice the stairs are damp under her bare feet, but once she's downstairs, she goes to the far wall and just stand, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. If someone finds her down here and cares to notice, there are old, faded initials carved into the wall near where she's looking.
