Rooms

Who: Thomas & Max
What: Visiting Amanda
Where: Max's place
When: Um. Earlier. But after the party.
Warnings/Rating: Thomas is pretty PG13, at most. Max might swears.
Note: Yes, both a log introduction AND a quicklog. Hahaha. There are no rules. It is anarchy. Anarchy I say.

[It's late. Or early, depending on your perspective.

Thomas doesn't use doors. He also doesn't appear to believe in shoes with soles, or clothes that are not gray and black. The trenchcoat doesn't look like urban camouflage up close, but it is; if he pulled up the gray hood of the sweatshirt under it, he'd practically disappear into the sidewalk. He decides not to wake Amanda up, and sits down instead on the stairs that lead up to her room, wearing a day's worth of stubble and a version of his flat expression that is closest to distraction. Needless to say, the cane is not in evidence. He does not expect anyone to be awake.]

Who: Tony and any peoples who are around.
What: Stuff.
Where: Stark Tower, First Floor Lobby
When: After Tony gets in from California. Start of the business day.
Warnings/Rating: Tony cusses habitually.
Note: IDK, just quicklog it. A lot of people want to talk to him and this way they can. Um just reply and start a new thread, say it happened at a different time, if there's more than one of you? I'm sorry I'm slow. I'm trying really hard. - C.

[Tony shows up in the Stark Tower lobby at the crack of dawn this morning, completely unscheduled, and in a t-shirt, no less. He's still in the lobby, with enough color and general competence in his manner to attract people who want him for things he's been ignoring for months. He isn't exactly mobbed, but a crowd of people start milling around in various corners waiting for his attention. Nobody in the company has any idea when/if he'll be available again, so they take advantage of the opportunity. He sends most of them off with quick yes/no decisions.

Someone tries to bribe him with coffee. It doesn't work, but he keeps the cup.

After several minutes it becomes obvious that he's not on his way anywhere. He stays in the lobby.]

[Group lock: Billy K and TJ W]

Do you two have plans for Thanksgiving?

[Locked to Erik L]

Any plans for later this week?

[Locked to Lady Avengers]

Thanksgiving?

[Martha J]

Staying out of trouble?

[Locked to Avengers and friends (broad filter)]

Hey everyone! Thanksgiving is coming up on Thursday, and we usually have a big dinner at the mansion. We plan on doing it this year too, so everyone is invited. Bring guests if you want. If you can give up a head's up on whether you want to come so we make sure to have enough, that would be great. And any dietary considerations. If you don't know until day of, just stop by, I'm sure we'll scrounge up enough. It's okay if you already have plans, of course.

[Shane A]

I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse.

Louis's building smelled like new paint and clean carpet as Russ barreled through the corridor and took the stairs instead of the elevator, boots over concrete. It hadn't been his idea, shove them all into a room and strike a fucking match but the place had gone up ablaze with unspoken arguments and resentment held tight like a fucking teddy-bear. He didn't know how long Sam had been holding onto that shit, long enough that it rang true and it rang wrong, long enough to be frustrating, half-truths to bail out on. The door slammed, thunked against the wall and juddered back into place and he was reaching for the cigarette packet the second he bounced from the kind of place cops lived out into the street which smelled a little less like clean living.

Don't follow me, she'd ordered like she could reorder the fucking world, tell them both what they thought and how they fucking felt, take her resentment home and snuggle up tight to it. Russ wasn't planning on it, hadn't thrust himself out the building for anything other than to feel like he could breathe right without disappointment backing him up against the wall - but the bright gold of Sam's hair up ahead and he shoved the cigarette packet back in his coat pocket and caught up with four or five long strides.

"Hey," he said and he didn't reach out to touch the back of her shoulder but he put all the pissed energy he had into falling into step. Where the fuck she was going, he didn't know, New York was a morass of dark cloud overhead and the sharp ozone of rain coming soon and scuffed sidewalk underfoot, a hustle of people on each corner.

[Public as Adam P.]
I try to keep an open mind about things, but I'm fairly certain there aren't usually doors into empty hotels in the basement of churches.

Well, well, well. What a delightful turn of events.

Of all the times to see the error of my ways.