who? pond & grimes what? random meeting while gathering supplies and generally being sensible where? lobby, administration area when? 15 april, afternoon status / rating in-progress » p for pond! g for grimes! shenanigans! i don't know!
There was something to be said about Amelia Pond and the way she handled times of great stress. As was custom for the girl from Scotland who refused to be rid of her accent no matter how long she lived in Leadworth, she adamantly and completely refused to be tricked. Come hell or high water, Amelia Pond was not going to be broken down by a creepy old hotel with creepy people and a bunch of strangers who talked nonsense.
So there she was, first pacing up and down the hallways, counting the room numbers and occasionally trying to peek in through keyholes and peepholes, if only to catch a glimpse of anything she might recognise. Thus far, thanks to the internet, sheโd determined that neither her husband, her daughter, or even her best friend were anywhere to be found. It was confusing, yes, but more so, it was worrying. She had given up everything-- all the stars, all the planets, and all of time itself-- to be with Rory. And yet, he was nowhere to be found, and that which she had given up was also gone.
It took a lot not to simply break down and cry, but sheโd been in this position before, alone and afraid. The last time, she was broken down. But now? She wouldnโt be made to feel that again. Mostly, she busied herself-- when she was done peeking into rooms and carefully prying open cupboards to dig through them in search for any clue or hint into the nature of the hotel, she made her way down to the lobby.
Assured that no one seemed to be around, Amy helped herself to the front desk, rummaging through the drawers and occasionally pulling out pieces of paper to read over. From what she gathered so far, it was 2014 (which was at once a pleasant and shocking surprise, considering sheโd just been living in 1938) and there was definitely something fishy concerning the state of the place.
The sound of movement stole her focus away from the papers sheโd been rifling through, and made her head jerk up so she could see whoever was approaching. Instinct demanded that she grab the nearest and preferably sharpest object-- in this case, a pen-- and grip it tight, prepared to cause some serious damage should it be necessary.
โWhoโs there?โ she said. โI warn you, Iโve got something sharp and Iโm very cross.โ
Ghost clowns be damned, she wasnโt going down without a fight.