Rooms

Who: Louis, Neil, Sam
What: I have no effing clue
Where: Lake Mead, Ocean's Eleven
When: Fuzzily nowish
Warnings/Rating: Language, at least. Louis might pull out his catty. IDK.

She felt like shit, yeah? She'd known she would. Even with the new meds running through her veins, she knew she would crash hard. The emotions of the dreams, the fight with Lou, the shit with Mere, getting drunk with Cris, the sex, the shitty end to the evening, all of it. She'd known it would slam into her like a ton of bricks, and she hadn't been wrong.

Sam left Marvel wanting nothing but meds and her bed, and the door opened to let her into the bedroom of the tiny hut she called home. Crowded and small, and Rodin slammed his paw against the floor as soon as he saw her. "Yeah, I know, baby." She crouched, and she scratched his ears. She knew, yeah? She was dangerously close to seizing out right there, all the crowded stuff in the tiny space trails of light, and shit in the corners that wasn't really there. She knew, but she wanted to check on Lou first, yeah? That was more important, because she'd messed up hard. She knew he couldn't deal with stress. She'd hidden being sick, and she'd hidden the park incident with Meredith, and she'd done it because she knew Lou needed quiet. Neil needed quiet too, and now that was all a mess.

She showered quick, and she changed into loose boxers and a white tank-top. Hair wet and bare feet, she left the hut and made the tiny walk toward the closed-in room that she called a boathouse. No makeup, and the circles beneath her eyes were stunning mauve against alabaster skin. She looked fragile, like something small taken down off a shelf too many times and threatening to fall apart. The little corgi at her heels, she stopped in the small gap between house and boathouse, and she looked out at the lake. It was serenity, yeah? Sunny and gorgeous, the water still and bright, and she was going to make this better, she was.

She was going to smile through this, dammit, even if it killed her.

[The dreaming didn't bother him none, he'd had worse nightmares and even being a man who'd drowned wasn't so bad. Graham felt like not much could be, because he'd seen worse, he'd lived it, and now not much fazed him. Joy was left with Penny, cheerfully waving her chubby fists, and he set off to the hotel to find this Vegas door and wherever Shane was staying. He was dressed casual, but he'd misjudged (or just not considered, plain and simple) the Vegas weather; it was hot. But he caught a cab and walked the rest of the way, only getting a little turned around a couple times, out to the lake house Shane's sister owned.

It was nice. Pretty. Sweat trickled down his spine and made his shirt stick, but he could still appreciate the beauty of a place by the lake. He had a shovel and a bottle of vodka, like Shane'd asked, one tucked into a pack slung over his shoulder and the other he just carried. Graham made his way around the house to the back, looking for signs of his friend and the racetrack he was supposedly building.] Shane?

Who: Meredith Janssen
What: A narrative.
Where: The Venetian
When: After the dream
Warnings/Rating: None

( It ended the same place where it began, back at the Venetian )

[Locked to each separately. After this.]

It's over. It's done with, finally.

Who: Neil Donovan & Lin Alesi
What: Elvis watching
Where: Elvis Chapel
When: nowish
Warnings/Rating: language?

( #bless. )

Who: Cris, Meredith, Neil, Sam
What: The worst idea ever A double-date
Where: The park, Ocean's Eleven
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Language, at the very least, but who knows what else

Sam still wasn't sure about this, yeah? Ok, so it had been her idea or whatever, but Cris' initial reaction gave her pause. Yeah, he'd come around in the end, but she was still apprehensive about this whole thing. It could all go sideways, and she didn't do good with shit going sideways. But it was a done deal, and there wasn't any going back now, so she tried to think good thoughts or whatever. She didn't believe in that thing, sending good energy into the universe or something, but she was willing to grasp at straws, ok? She was nervous. She knew this was going to be hard, and maybe she should have just left shit alone, but that wasn't her.

The park had been Cris' idea, and since she didn't have anything better, she'd messaged Neil with the location and hoped for the best. Ok, so she'd thought about bowling, but flying bowling balls could really do some damage if someone got pissed. Yeah, no, park was definitely better, even if she didn't think sweating was Meredith thing. She hadn't ever met Meredith, but there were pictures in the penthouse suite at the Venetian, and Meredith reminded Sam of Chloe, yeah? Prim, proper, scrubbed fucking clean. All the things Sam wasn't, even after a year of not hitting the needle.

Jeans and flowers, a tank underneath in case it got too hot, and she was decent enough, if you ignored the hip and belly bared by the ultra-low jeans. She'd left the dog home, though Rodin loved this particular park, but the last thing she needed was her fucking service dog raising eyebrows. So, yeah, the dog stayed home, along with her medical bracelet. There was a syringe of Fosphenytoin loaded and tucked in the bottom of a picnic basket that included all the makings for burgers - turkey, beef and tofu - and she found a good spot with some shade, a grill nearby and she texted Cris to bring charcoal and starter fluid. Blanket stretched out, she kicked off her boots and unbuttoned the plaid to reveal the braless wifebeater beneath. And then she paced as she waited, clove burning sweet between her fingers.

Who: Sam and Neil
What: Coffee & catching up
Where: Sambalatte, Ocean's Eleven
When: Recentish
Warnings/Rating: Sam's language

Sam left work a half hour before noon, even though the free monorail between Bellagio and Monte Carlo meant she could get over to the coffee place in five minutes. But she didn't want to stress herself out with needing to rush, and that was her mantra lately, yeah? Don't stress out. It didn't always work, but she was ok that morning. Work was busy, because Vegas was always busy in Spring, but it wasn't like nuts or anything; the number of people who wanted to come into the gallery and actually learn shit wasn't substantial. Mostly, people wanted to get away from the sun, yeah? Assignations. Assignations were big too, especially for husbands, because no tourist wife in flip flops would go looking for her missing spouse in the presence of Klimt and Chagall, because none of these men even knew who the fuck Klimt and Chagall were. Yeah, no, so shit wasn't too busy. She'd spent most of the morning watching a guy try to hit on a girl half his age, and he'd been so fucking bad at it.

Dressed for work, she took her time getting to the monorail, and then she took her time walking from the monorail to Sambalatte, a clove between her fingers which she stubbed out beneath a tall heel before pulling open the shop's heavy door.

Inside, the coffee shop was busy, and she took a seat at one of the small bistro tables. They roasted their own coffee onsite, and the shop was cool and rich smelling, voices white noise in the background, blending like paints on a palette. She ordered a flat white, and she pulled a small notebook and pencil from her purse. Head down, blonde against her cheeks, she filled the minutes with lead scratching on paper and the image of the man from the morning, old and a lecher's grin, leaning against the wall and smiling at a girl with cotton candy lipgloss.

Who: Sam
What: Getting settled and passing time
Where: Ocean's Eleven
When: Recently (and the past year, kind of)
Warnings/Rating: Language & themes

( 2000. (2014 for Marvel, for Gotham, yeah?) )

[Public]

So, has anyone read any good books lately?

[Locked to Louis D]

How have you been, Louis?

[Eddie was in a simple black suit, thin green tie with that ankh pinned to it and shiny, shiny shoes. His hair was slicked back with little success, that familiar swooping curl always threatening to pop forward completely. If ever there were a Gotham without the rogues, the color, the insanity, well he'd look something like this. Flair in places it counted, sharply dressed and standing in front of a famous tourist attraction like it wasn't the most cliche place in the world to meet a woman.

The truth was, he wasn't feeling very roguish. Sure, he flirted with the idea when he spoke to his old Arkham buddies, but he couldn't help feel like he had moved out of a small town into someplace bigger and better. He wanted to wear his question marks, he wanted to live in his light grey, but he didn't want to hurt people anymore. He didn't want to contribute and it was impossible to not as a rogue. Eddie wondered if he was supposed to mourn it. Bury the neon green with reverence. He wouldn't bother. No, in fact, he'd likely put that blinking question mark skeleton back on just to fool people into thinking that was still the man he was. Fool them until it started to feel real again.

After all. If he wasn't a rogue, who was he? That was a good riddle.

He faced that beautiful waste of water and leaned on the stone railing. Fellow tourists took pictures and selfies oh-so modernly and he smiled at their simple happiness. He envied it beyond every color of green he had ever worn. Eddie reached into his pocket, pulled out a penny and put it on his thumbnail like he was mimicking old Harvey. The little green man made a wish, took a deep breath and then flipped it into the water below.]

[Locked to Sam A]

You've plans tomorrow, love?

[Phone call to Neil D]

(Thursday evening, from the hotel)

Ring!

Who: Eddie and Muerte
Where: Ocean's Eleven door
When: during Valentine's plot
What: they go dancing, but it ends up being talking and smooching
Warnings: a little smoochin

( All the guys want to be with the human version of a personification of a widely disliked abstract concept. )

Who: Sam Alexander & Cris Martin-Argüelles
What: hugs?
Where: Ocean's 11; Neil's penthouse at the Venetian
When: after this
Warnings/Rating: TBD, likely talk of murder, mentions of suicide, assault, etc. + Sam's language

( He tried the knob. It was locked. The acid agitation roiled up stomach walls, into spout of throat. )

[Note left for Neil D]
( And subsequently abandoned when she gets too agitated and the nurse gives her something to calm down. The note is crumpled up and tossed in the kitchen trash, blood-dotted from where she's been itching at her arms. )

[Locked to Iris M]
[Later, and tucked back into bed. Slow and messy, and because this is easier than telling Shane.] I?

Who: Sam
What: Joey
Where: Neil & Mere's Venetian Penthouse
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: M for misery

( The first time, wakefulness came slowly.  )

[Seven Hills was, effectively, on lockdown.

All the patients were in their rooms, and most of them were heavily sedated. The Valentine's box had, unfortunately, been delivered during mandatory social time, and an entire sun-room filled with women had seen the bloody horror. Others had heard about it, whispers spreading like wildfire along the soothing green walls and leaving screams in its wake, and now everything was eerily quiet. Too quiet, and the remaining staff was nervously wringing their hands.

All unnecessary personnel had been sent home, and security watched the doors, ready to open them for Neil Donovan and his checkbook. The director had the box on his desk, his office adjacent to the lobby and the main doors, and the man muttered to himself; he was the type of agitated that only a very nice payout could soothe.

Sam was in the same office, sedated to the point of just staring at the macabre white box from a seat across the space. Eyes fixed, and she tried not to blink. She was white on white, straps to keep her from flailing, and she didn't fight the cross-cross of straightjacket sleeves. One of the guards had a black eye from a well-landed fist, and the orderly at Sam's shoulder had a bandage covering a bite-mark on his forearm. But the girl was calm now, quiet and considering the red ribbon from across the space with pinpoint pupils fixed.]

[The evening lights from the city were bright through the windows, and it was beside them that Meredith sat, a wine glass in one hand, half-filled with sparkling grape juice. The rest of the lights of the penthouse were out, just the city light to illuminate the living room. She had been sitting there for some time, wondering, waiting, her phone laying beside her slippered feet, silent and still. Dinner was on the table, lasagna and homemade bread, but it had gone cold long ago, wax spilling down the tapers that had been lit before she had given up and snuffed even those out.

It was the first time since they had arrived here that Meredith found herself truly longing for home, for the familiar routine they had settled into, for the life they had shared together. But it felt like years ago that had happened, and lately it had been a lot of time spent on her own, pretending that it was okay.

She was not, by her very nature, a woman who relied on others. She wasn't clingy or dependent, she didn't lose the ability to function when left alone, but there was a limit to even her patience. Promises that things would get better were still there, and she did believe his words, but it didn't help the here and the now. There were things going on that she didn't know about, that she didn't understand, that she wasn't even allowed to help with despite her repeated offers. So she simply stopped offering. He had his things here, and she would just have to have her own.

The glass of juice was finished off and she pushed herself up to her feet, padding into the kitchen to deposit the glass in the sink. Slippers were exchanged for flats and she grabbed her coat, keys, and phone and slid the latter two in her purse. There were no lights to kill, nothing to turn off when she left, but she locked the door behind her.

She could be busy too. She could find her own life in these doors. She didn't have to wait for him to come home, and it didn't mean that she loved him any less. But time was wasting, precious little that there was of it, and Meredith was determined to do something with it.

So she would.

And she did.]

Who: Sam
What: Wishes
Where: Seven Hills
When: Leading up to V-Day and to nowish
Warnings/Rating: All Sam warnings apply

( The only thing she reached for was Mr. Shrink's pants. Because, yeah, no trauma? No trauma made for a wild, wild girl. )

Who: Sam
What: A day
Where: Seven Hills, Ocean's Eleven
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Regular Sam warnings apply, and some adult stuff in comments

( On the chessboard, she made the queen dance around the king, callouses catching on her highness' crown. )