Rooms

Who: Sam
What: Admission
Where: Hotel → Ocean's Eleven
When: Just after this
Warnings/Rating: Language & themes - depression, drugs, suicide, etc. This is miserable. \o/

( 72-hour mandatory. )

Who: Lin and Louis, with Zatanna and Neil on the way
What: To catch a Louis
Where: Neil's place at the Venetian
When: Tonight
Warnings/Rating: None

( He couldn't fear what he didn't remember, and he couldn't remember anything. )

[Narrative]
[After this.]
( She woke in a panic. )

[Text to Neil D]
Your guards are asleep. Lou is gone.

[Call to Cris M]
[Once she talks to Neil. Ring.]

Who: Russ C and Daniel W
What: Visiting people who don't bite. Part II.
When: Way back-dated.
Warnings: Language, from start.

( Part II )

Who: Russ C and Daniel W
What: Visiting sick people. Who don't bite.
When: Way backdated.
Warnings: Language from the start.

( Part I )

Who: Neil & Mere
What: Catching up at home.
Where: Penthouse, the Venetian.
When: Fuzzy timelines say recently. After Micah stuff.
Warnings/Rating: Probs none.

( Read more... )

Who: Russ Campbell & Sam Alexander
When: Fuzziest of fuzzy timelines but the other side of Micah.
Where: Ocean's Eleven
Warnings: Language from the start

( The wintery sun was watery as shit but it was desert daylight and after months and months of Gotham's thin sunshine filtering through smog, Russ didn't have a goddamn problem with watery )

Who: Loren & Meredith
What: A little get-together
Where: The penthouse at the Venetian | Ocean's Eleven
When: Recent
Warnings/Rating: TBD, likely none.

She had invited Loren over on a whim, without really thinking about what she was doing. Neil had been away, dealing with issues regarding his ex and his family. She really wasn't sure of the details, but she didn't fault him for needing to be there. Meredith had always considered herself a rather independent sort of person, the type that didn't need to know the whereabouts of people 24/7, and this was no exception. If something was wrong, she trusted him to say something. Until then, she'd not worry.

But that didn't help the growing loneliness that came from being in a place that wasn't really home. Sure, the penthouse was comfortable and definitely their's, but this Las Vegas wasn't quite the one she had left. The friends she had made weren't here, and it left her a little lost as to what to do, whom to call, when she had free-time. She considered calling Louis to check in with him, but instead had contacted Loren, asking him over for lunch. Dinner. Something. Anything to break up the loneliness in that penthouse.

The penthouse was, in a word, gorgeous. Luxurious and full of warmth, she felt at home within its walls, comfortable in a way that felt so natural. She wasn't really sure what her and Loren might do when he got there, whether she would cook or if they would order in, but she supposed she would leave that decision to when he actually got there. So she pittered around and straightened this and that, and waited for the doorman to announce Loren's arrival.

Who: Sam Alexander & Cris Martin-Argüelles
What: talking, &tc.
Where: Ocean's Eleven, Sam's hospital room
When: just after this
Warnings/Rating: TBD

( Fue una gran despedida para una maldita basura. )

Who: Loren & Sam
What: Hospital visits
Where: Oceans 11 Door
When: Nowish?
Warnings: TBD

[This door was familiar in the way that too many years in Vegas had been familiar. Winters still got cold, even in the desert, and Loren bundled up in clean suit for the occassion, blue on blue. Slate and navy. Vegas wasn't the kind of place that he wanted to visit ever again, there were too many twisted memories there, too many buried bodies, burnt bodies, too many casualties in the name of vendetta. But this door wasn't his Vegas, and he'd long ago stopped worrying about people recognizing him or looking for him. When the world thought that you were dead, that gave a man a lot of leeway.

The hospital was easy to find, the hotel gave Loren a door that was only a few blocks down from the hospital, and that made things easier than fishing for a cab in streets he didn't trust. Inside the hospital, he approached the front desk and asked after Sam, gave her social security number, her middle name. Loren had the kind of face that was almost always still, but there was a permanent sadness to his blue eyes that didn't have to be feigned. It apparently made nurses feel bad for him, and the lady frowned as she typed in the details on her keyboard

The nurse apologized then, saying that at this point in Sam's assessment, family was only allowed to visit. Loren smiled, warm but not too warm, a warmth that was sad like worry could be cured if he tried hard enough. It was for the sake of the desk nurse, Loren wasn't worried about Sam. He'd spoken to her, she was alive, that seemed like good news. She wasn't in surgery or trauma, and that meant that if he was close enough, he could visit her.] She's my fiance. [He explained the believable. The nurse, predictably sighed and apologized and motioned him for the correct hall.

They even gave him a little sticky badge that said visitor. He hadn't been expecting the guards at Sam's door, and Loren gave pause before them, having already sized them up on his walk across bleached tile.] Name? [One of the men asked while holding out his hand like he expected a wallet to confirm such things were all legal and documented.]

Loren. [It was calmly stated, no smile for them. These guards were no small time security, and Loren wondered where they had come from because they sure as hell didn't seem like cops. One had a thick neck, and Loren contemplated the kind of pressure it would take to snap it, just in the strange way that a mind can wander to contemplate space and time, sometimes Loren wondered about different methods of unjustified murder. He had issues, he'd accepted them. Then the man handed Loren's wallet back and gestured him into the hospital room where Sam was. She'd apparently requested him and gone through all of the chennels with Goon 1 and Goon 2. There was a glace between the two guards that Loren caught on his way inside. Maybe it was Loren's posture or his smooth stride or just the fact that he looked like the kind of guy who was ready to stare down a gun barrel with a slow blink. If the men were imagiative enough, maybe they thought he was some kind of investigator. But Sam had requested him, and here he was, no problem.]

Hey. [His voice broke the silence, unsure if she'd fallen asleep since their phonecall.]

Who: Daniel & Sam
What: Visiting the patient
Where: Ocean's Eleven
When: Before this, fuzzy timelines
Warnings/Rating: Language, talk of addiction

( Daniel was sitting on his bed, and he was slumped, but not because he was tired or injured; in fact, Daniel had been up and around the room for a couple days now, trying to work his anger out on something that wasn't Lin while his skin crawled with rancid fire and raw neglect. )

[Visiting a hospital in 2001 Las Vegas wasn't on Max's bucket list, but she figured it was better than Victorian London. No offense to 1900-something, but she just wasn't good with dresses, and she was pretty sure the jeans and grey Army sweatshirt she was currently wearing wouldn't go down very well in a door that involved cats and rabbits. Not that she was a stranger to the door; she remembered that dormouse with annoyance, at best. But it wasn't so bad, all things considered. Smokes tucked into her pocket and her Ruger tucked into the back of her jeans, she got to the door early, after a morning run and quick shower.

She did a quick canvas of the area around the door, then she found the hospital and propped a bathroom door out into the hotel hall. Not particularly pleasant, but it served the purpose would save them the time of finding the hospital when the hotel door opened onto some other public place the next time.

She didn't check her hair in the bathroom mirror, and she didn't add lipstick or powder. She was still going for 'I don't care' casual. She thought she was doing a good job of pulling it off.]

In the hotel hallway, she lit a smoke and leaned against the wall to wait for McKendrick. Shoulders against the mouldering wallpaper, hips forward and her dark hair in artless waves around age-sharp cheekbones.

[After his series of conversations and updates, all under the moniker of an idiot, alcoholic author, Lin snapped the spine of the journal closed, his legs cramping in the bland, white-person-skin-"peach" chair he'd stuffed himself in some hours earlier. He dumped the little, gold-edged book atop the small stand next to him, where it had a touch too much inertia driving it and pinged against the ceramic of a potted plant—fake, blanched white, bc God forbid the room had a palette other than Pale Goth Southwest. (Lin identified the plant as Phalaenopsis, Moth Orchid. And wow, did his brain not appreciate his insistence on sifting through the archives to come to that conclusion. But, he'd had like, eight hours, alone, with no phone or computer or anything, so, you know. w/e.)

It was 2001, a year Lin actually remembered, and that was enough to tide him over for a good long while. Eventually, despite asking Max to fetch one for him, he went out and bought the cheapest CD player he could find with a fresh splay of Real American Money. Foam headphones and a thrifted CD (JLo), and he was happy.

Secondhand, too-loose jeans and a faded t-shirt boasting the Rainforest Cafe, he listened to "Love Don't Cost a Thing," idling in Daniel's hospital room. The nurses had suggested he move to the waiting room, but he'd suggested they fuck off and leave him alone, bc fuck that. He was happy where he was. Daniel was still out cold beneath his thin blankets, strung up as he was to machines that beeped and hissed, but the boy had promised to stay. So he did.

He hummed along to the song as he forgot the journal and painted his nails a Tyrian purple atop a Kleenex.]

Who: Valerie King and Saint Reilly
What: 'So you're pretty. Really pretty. And this might sound creepy. But it isn't. But can I ...photograph you?'
When: Recently
Where: Ocean's Eleven door.
Status: Unfinished.

( He just aimed toward a place where the name was written in neon and the windows were dark, and the people in it looked like they were too busy having a good time to notice him sitting there, trying to balance how good it felt knowing the place with how odd it felt knowing it wasn't the same place at all )

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