[of our own device]

Who: Miguel and Michael
When: 6:30 AM
Where: Lobby

Michael had let the girl working the front desk shift that night leave early. Any guests coming to the front desk were aggravated and demanding, and Michael figured she had better be around to deal with that herself. She'd told the girl to go and get some sleep, and had then headed in the back room to change batteries of her flashlight. In the few minutes that had taken she had heard the bell ring, and when she went back to the front desk there was a man sleeping on one of the couches. This would be Miguel. She didn't have to wonder. She had been expecting an arrival, and she never forgot a face.

Michael had decided to let him sleep a while. Why not? He looked exhausted, and he'd have trouble finding his room in the dark anyway. She wrote a few notes behind the desk, got out his keycard (thankful those still worked, though it certainly would have been interesting if they hadn't), and kept quietly busy. A while after the sun had begun to rise, she walked around the desk and approached the sleeping man. She didn't touch him, but she did lean down from a few feet away. "Sir? Do you need a room?"

WHO: Lucien and Regan
WHERE: Outside the Grand Ballroom
WHEN: Mid-morning

Few things in life were truly as refreshing as the summer rain, or quite as punishing; Lucien knew this for a fact. That was precisely why he'd spent the last fifteen minutes idly wandering the pathways between the main hotel building and the ballroom, drenched to the bone yet seemingly unaffected by the sharp sting of raindrops against his exposed skin.

The previous night's elevator fiasco had left him with little desire for company or close quarters, and once the heat of the rising sun had left his hotel room too stifling to bear, he'd abandoned the building entirely in favor of some fresh air. A distant boom of thunder shook him from his reverie, and he scuttled over to the covered patio that wrapped around one end of the building.

Another man had already claimed a spot several feet away, and Lucien lingered by the edge of the patio as he struggled out of the clinging, lightweight overshirt he normally wore to conceal his firearms; fortunately, he'd locked them in the safe in his room for the time being. Clad in soaked jeans and an equally soaked wifebeater, he began to twist and wring the water from the garment, graciously ignoring his companion as they stood watching the downpour.