[of our own device]

Who: Lina and Charlie
Where: Ignite Bar
When: late evening, around 9pm

( No, I think it looked a little better on me )

Who: Cameron.
Where: Cameron’s room.
When: Early morning.
Warnings: Triggers for self-harm.

It was still light by the time he made it back to his room, his thoughts scattered and his hands shaking so badly that he almost couldn’t twist the doorknob to get inside. He had the same trouble twisting the lock once he was inside to seal himself in, seal everyone else out, shut the world out and keep it away. His fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated and his stomach was a tight knot, almost painful. Awkwardly he crossed to the window looking out and drew the curtains, pulling them a little harder than was necessary but not even hearing the rings rattle in protest on the rail overhead. Cameron was physically present but mentally he was elsewhere. Emotionally was anyone’s guess. Mentally he was still down in the lobby trying to figure out why he couldn’t leave, why he couldn’t get back on his way. When he’d left his wretched little apartment it had been with the intention of trying to turn his life around -- or at least try -- and now to find out that he couldn’t do that, that some force he couldn’t possibly understand was keeping him from doing so, ( it was more than he could take. )

Who: Tamara.
Where: Hedge Maze.
When: Early morning.

( The further she walked the more lost she felt. She couldn't get out. She was trapped with no way out. )

Who: Regan and Justice.
Where: Serenity Garden.
When: Early evening.

People might come out to walk through this garden at any moment, take advantage of the peace and quiet the name implied but they wouldn’t find it and the -- for the time being, at least -- sole occupant very little for the disruption his presence caused. Serenity Garden, what a stupid name. The first time he’d heard it he’d been caught between absolute disbelief and plain old amusement, he’d laughed, he remembered that much, but couldn’t for the life of him recall if he’d continued to laugh or remarked on the idiocy of it. Regan couldn’t imagine himself not making some kind of comment on the absurdity of the name in conjunction with this place and the way it worked, how it basically held people prisoner until they got over whatever issues it was holding them here in the first place. And if you couldn’t get over your issues? Didn’t want to? Didn’t believe you had issues to begin with? Well, then you were here to stay, like it or not.

Regan had grown complacent over the years, it certainly could have been worse, he’d had no home to go back to and no connections he was eager to keep alive and so he had no real motivation to better himself. He scoffed at that after lighting a cigarette and taking the first drag off it, pocketing his lighter again before reaching out to take hold of the golf club he’d propped up against a raised flower bed a few moments before. Better himself, that sounded like something from a light night infomercial or some crap a televangelist might spout in the middle of an over exuberant sermon. Bullshit. That was all it was, plain and simple. All of it. From the needlessly cheery welcome you received in the lobby when you first walked through the doors to the reminder day in and day out that you could never leave, not if you didn’t change. Regan didn’t want to change, didn’t think he needed to.

When he swung the club and sent the small white ball flying through the air he hoped there was some ignorant bastard on the receiving end of it when it finally came careening down after its short but swift flight. Already he was retrieving another ball from the container he’d brought out with him, dropping it down on the ground, freeing up his hand to take another drag from his cigarette. If he hadn’t hit anyone with that first ball, it was only a matter of time.

Who: Charlie
Where: the gym
When: early morning, before his shift

( We don't know when to quit, no, no )

WHO. Cora and Thomas
WHERE. Room Service.
WHEN. Morning

Another morning. Another day. Another guest. Cora was tired. It wasn't the cleaning. It was the repentance. A part of her had taken the position at the hotel to make up for her behavior and she bore it in stride, but this morning, she was just exhausted. She had the towels that had been requested beneath her arm, walking up to the room and rapping on the door three sharp times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It was like code. It had turned into code, those three slow knocks. She was the only housekeeper who did it just that way. Slow. Even. Spaced. Just enough to alert the guest that it was her.

"Housekeeping. I have the extra towels you ordered." She called out, shifting on her heels before she knocked again. She didn't have the patience for this. It was too early and she was already exhausted. She had a rip in her left stocking that was irritating her from an earlier engagement and she was knocking on the door of a guest she knew might want a little bit more than a few extra towels.

"Mr. Barnes."

WHO. Daniel, Ashling & Aiden
WHERE. Lobby
WHEN. Early Morning

Daniel didn't park the car well, but then, when dizzy from blood-loss and heat and panic, parking wasn't the strongest concern. The hotel had appeared as a God send and Daniel was muttering beneath his breath, every prayer he could think of to Jesucristo and all of the Saints. He managed to push the car door open and he stumbled out of it, leaving his bag in the car. He hit the lock on his keys right before hitting his knees, dust and sand pluming up into the air. Blood dripped down his hand and he groaned, pushing himself up as he staggered towards the glass doors at the hotel entrance.

He didn't want them to call the police. If they called the police, he was going to go to jail. He had drugs in his car. Money in his car. If he went to jail, he'd be killed there. The cartel would find him and kill him. He wasn't important enough to bail out. Not even if Rodrigo had managed to make it out.

Rodrigo. His brother.

He fell down in front of the doors and turned over onto his back. His shoulder was throbbing, leaking blood onto the sand. He felt the sun beat down, the heat unbearable.

Was this Hell? He deserved it.

"Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de gracia..."

July 3^rd, 2013.
Wednesday.

Weather Report: The temperature drops a whole whopping degree. Big deal, it’s still hotter than hell out there.

Staff Briefings: The managers are informed that they can expect at least one check-in today, Daniel Castillo. He’s also expected to come in somewhat less than perfect physical health. Oh boy…

Daily Events: In a place where time has no great meaning, is hump day still hump day? Just in case it is, Ignite invites you to party your way through it. They’re throwing an 80s theme party at 8 PM.