Motel California

She hasn't felt like this in a while. This out of control, this pulled by her abilities. Not since before her sister started showing up for her back in Massachusetts. When she was trying so hard to avoid her powers completely and try to be normal. It just caused them to spiral completely out of control.

But as similar to that as this feels, it's still different. It's guided. It's directed. She knows what happens at the end of her fugue state. She's aware enough to know that even as she pads her way down the stairs, the chill down her spine grows stronger. The whispers grow louder. And the scream is already building up in her throat.

It's been a while since her last dead body. A very long time, even. Since she carried Stiles out of the tunnels and found Scott crying over her best friend's lifeless body.

All the other times, she managed to just call the police with an anonymous tip before actually stumbling upon a possible body, or, with Dahlia's help, she managed to actually help a couple of people before it was too late.

Like tonight. It's too late and she knows it. And in this place, there's no police for her to call. All she can do it scream. All she can do is warn the others that there has been a death, to mourn the life that has been taken. While selfishly hoping that it's not a familiar face that she finds staring back at her this time.

Lydia makes her way to the bottom of the stairs. Her footsteps are silent since she's wearing socks along with her pajamas and a robe. Her face is pale as she makes her way through the darkened lobby. Her hair is down, covering some of her face, which is barely visible since the only source of light is the moonlight shining in through the windows and front door.

Still, she sees it. The white, knee-high socks, the black dress, the apron. And the blood. It's glistering in the moonlight and the voices are screaming at Lydia now. So loud. This is it. It's the source. It's what she had to find. There's a knife sticking out of her chest and her lifeless, pale face is turned away from her. Her eyes are wide open and with the way she's laying down, it almost looks like she's watching the moonlight by the fireplace. Even though the fire is no longer burning.

Lydia's hands are shaking and she kneels next to her. She recognizes her, of course. She never spoke to her before, but she's seen the woman coming in and out of rooms. The maid. She never knew her name.

And now she has to scream for her. Even though she doesn't want to. Her eyes are tearing up and her heart is beating fast. She wants to reach out, to feel her pulse, to shake the other woman awake. But it's pointless. And with every passing second, the voices get louder. And it hurts. Her head feels like it's about to explode. There's a pressure building up inside, bubbling it's way up her throat. She knows she won't be able to hold back.

With a deep breath, she clutches at her ears, closing her eyes tightly before she lets it go and screams. A banshee scream. Powerful. Strong. Firm. A wail. Mourning, but also a warning for those who are still breathing. There's danger. And she can feel it. Death isn't just around the body in front of her, it's all around this room. This was a murder and the murderer is still out there.

Everyone has had the chance to notice the strange man sitting in the booth near the back of the restaurant by now. He's never loud or disruptive, only ever has his coffee, a meal if you catch him at the right time, and his newspaper. He keeps to himself, but despite the way he seems to go out of his way not to be noticed, there's something just so very noticeable about him. He draws people's attention, even if they only cast him a glance or two during their meal. Those that can feel things beyond the normal realm might be more easily drawn to him because they can feel he's not...exactly human, although exactly what he is, isn't clear, no matter how strong their abilities to sense these things may be. He's something, but he's ever a mystery.

Today is no different. He's in his booth, same as always. He's always there, even if you're sure you'll be the first there because you purposely waited outside the doors to catch him walking in. He's just...there. If you come early, you might catch him eating breakfast, mostly he'll just be there reading his newspaper like always. If one is so inclined to approach him, he won't mind.

Since her break down with Scott, Lydia has been managing to pull herself together a little more. She's around a lot less these days still, choosing to pick up books from the library and lock herself in her room with them so she isn't around people. So she's not risking running into him. But she's doing slightly better.

It doesn't mean she's doing well, however. Every now and then, her chest gets so completely tight, she feels like her heart is being squeezed and she needs to allow herself to just feel for a while. Other times, she's mostly numb. Not completely shut down, but just enough that she manages not to feel anything.

Still, there are three people that she makes an effort to check in with: Scott is the one she talks to the most often. Followed by her sister and... Allison. Who she hasn't heard from in a few days.

Lydia checks her messages on the communicator, sighing softly as she sends a simple Allison? as a follow up then makes her way into the restaurant. She eyes the man in the corner booth for a moment, ignoring the pull to go talk to him that she feels. It seems to be getting stronger every day. And makes her way to the buffet so she can pick up something to it.

She plans on taking the food up to her room, but she does take a second to look around the restaurant as she walks, both to make sure there are no familiar faces around. And to check if she finds her elusive best friend.

Its been a few weeks since he had talked to Lydia and they'd both had their own respective meltdowns at each other. Hers was worse. Hers hurt so much more, made him so much angrier at Stiles. He avoided him as much as possible and had refrained from talking to him at all when he'd see him.

But eventually, it all started eating at him, from the inside out. Stiles was deciding what they wanted, what was best for them without even talking to them. He was trading Allison's life for his own, in a terrible attempt to fix what he felt was his fault. That's enough to hurt. But what made him so angry about it was how Lydia was taking it. He's seen her like this once before, and he refuses to let it happen again. Not if he can fix it.

He waits in the lobby for him, knowing he'll come downstairs to something eventually. And when he, does, he's going to catch him and tell him exactly how he feels about it all.


[Spam » Allison]
He hasn't done much better about Allison. Between their last encounter and everything Lydia had told him, he was a mess. He literally took to ducking around corners if he saw her. Because he keeps thinking this is her, his Allison, the one from his world, the one he lost, and he has no idea what to do with that. It was hard enough knowing in some other world, they got her back...but to think it was at the price of someone he spent most of his life calling family losing his? He's not sure he can handle that.

So, after confronting Stiles, he heads outside and he's debating a run when he sees her heading right for the door, looking an awful lot like she might have just been on a run herself. There's nothing out front to hide behind and--as he thinks it, he realizes how stupid it is anyway. He shouldn't be hiding from her anyway.

He lifts a hand in a wave, silently hoping he eventually figures out what to say once she's closed the space between them.

[After talking to Dahlia...and continuing to avoid Scott...Allison sits on what she knows for a few days.

When she feels like she's let her dose of revenge get nice and cold, she makes her way to Stiles' room, silently thanking Dahlia yet again for giving her the number--and, possibly, for talking Allison out of killing him.

She's not sure where it came from...but for a little bit there, the idea was seriously on the table.

She knocks at his door lightly, politely, and waits without saying a word.

When the door does open, she greets Stiles with a bright, friendly smile.

And seizes the moment to reach out quickly, with every intention of grabbing the front of his shirt so she can haul him in, nail him with a left cross, and if she's very lucky, break his nose with the surprise blow.]

[By now, Stiles has explored every inch of the motel that he has access to -- multiple times. He hasn't spent a lot of time sleeping, and the fatigue from it makes him miss his Adderall. It's something he hasn't taken in almost a year and a half. In addition to keeping himself busy trying to figure out a way out of this place, the last two nights have been filled with knocking sounds, strange odors, and at a little after 4 this morning, the lights had flickered on and off in his room for about twenty minutes.

Fucking poltergeists. Little pains in his ass. Or his head, as the case may be.

His gun is tucked into his pants like it usually is when he's up and around and not in his room, and today his intent is to end the nefarious little spirit causing problems around the motel. He hops on the elevator on the seventh floor because he's not in the mood to take the stairs right now, and it descends to level four, where it pauses and he moves aside to let the next person on, too. He just isn't anticipating Lydia being the one stepping onto the elevator when the doors open.

And when he sees the dazed, distant look on her face, he pauses because he realizes what's going on. She's in a fugue-like state.]

Lydia?

[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.

[Dutch appears on the screen. In the background is her very nice, very comfortable hotel room that she absolutely loathes. She's chewing on her thumbnail in silence for a few seconds before she decides to speak.]

Right, so... We're all trapped here. Anyone got any ideas on how to get out?

Oh...

[She sighs as something dawns on her.]

I'm Dutch, by the way. Might as well introduce myself as long as I'm stuck.

Good evening, Esteemed Guests!

[E. Poe shows up on the screen of everyone's black and white communicator screens.]

We're welcoming new arrivals today. Please do come by the lobby after dinner to meet them. Some of you might find familiar faces.

[With a wider smile, he disconnects the video.

Anyone who does come by the lobby today will find the keys and the names of the guests laid out on the counter as follows:


Jordan Parrish - room 241
Stiles Stilinski - room 712]