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πππππππ π: ππππ
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This month's patron is Odin the Allfather. Outside the back entrance of the hotel, down a little path to the side, you'll find a narrow, hedge-lined path that leads to a small clearing among some of the forest trees. There are a few benches on either side, an invitation to sit and think, or even to sit and talk, because while you're here, it feels as if you're not alone — though there isn't anyone to see past the other hotel guests who might be wandering about. At the center of the clearing is a moderately sized altar carved out of stone. The table of the altar stands about waist high and is large enough to place a downed deer... or lay a person on. The stone itself looks old, the edges worn smooth and that light gray now darker from being exposed to the elements over the years. The spots on top of the table, well, it wasn't uncommon to leave sacrificial offerings to the gods in the past, but it's probably best not to ask what the darker stains are if you don't want to know. There's a large slab rising up from the back of the table to stand over it, which comes to a point at the top. On the slab are carvings of ravens, wolves, something that looks to be similar to that frustrating black tree that appears if you've been hiking; though on this carving there appears to be a man hanging by one leg from one of the branches with runes falling around him. There's also a large α¨ in the center of the slab and even if you don't know Norse mythology and any of its gods, you get the impression that it represents Odin. Why don't you try leaving an offering? β |
Εs byþ ordfruma Η£lcre sprΗ£ce, wΔ«sdΕmes wraþu and wΔ«tena frΕfur, and eorla gehwΔm Δadnys and tΕ hiht
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I. SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES (ARRIVALS)
double, double, toil and trouble β«βͺ
The hotel bus shows up just after dinner on Saturday, May 1st, impeded from its usual noontime arrival by of a flat tire and a delayed flight from the United States. A load of new guests disembark — along with a group of high school (NPC) students, but so many you'd wonder how they'd fit into their ride. They're loud and rowdy, clad in robes common to British boarding schools, and they fill up the place quickly, never seeming to run out of energy or just stop chattering.
They also interrupt what's supposed to be a chill barbecue bonfire that evening. The hotel staff do the best they can to get the new arrivals settled, and also apologize profusely to their valued guests, who'd checked in weeks or even months before.
For those staying on the eighth floor, what's incredibly strange is that the students seem to have the same rooms as some of the other guests. And yet there's been no discussion of being double booked where the students are concerned. Those that have rooms on the sixth floor will note that the students do seem to gravitate toward that floor like they are staying on it. They even have keys for the different rooms, getting off the elevators chatting rapidly to their friends like this is completely normal. But after unlocking and opening the door to the room, they simply vanish in the steps that take them over the threshold. Or did you walk past a room only to have the door seemingly open on its own but then suddenly a student is just magically walking out of it into you?
The sounds of chatter and students running up and down the hallway at all hours of the night will also be heard even when there doesn't seem to be a student in sight. Or, is that thump and sounds of someone walking around actually coming from the bathroom in your room? Does the bed seem to dip like someone's just gotten into bed with you despite no one being there? The students are here for the duration, so you might want to find a way to cohabitate with your invisible guest. Or find someone who's willing to share their room with you, because any calls to the front desk for a room change will be answered with apologies, but the hotel is full booked so there is no room to move you to.
The week's itinerary follows that of the TDM:Throughout the week, people just randomly show up in the different scenic areas outside the hotel, but when they arrive at the front desk they have a room waiting for them despite the place supposedly being full. Though some end up being double booked... and won't realize it until their roommate comes banging the door in the middle of the night, or steps out of the shower. (Lalala.) Please see the Arrivals tab of our directory for the complete list and details!
- May 2, Sunday - FREE DAY
- May 3, Monday - Massage and Yoga
- May 4, Tuesday - Hiking
- May 5, Wednesday - Pool Party
- May 6, Thursday - Spelunking
- May 7, Friday - Chocolate Demonstration
II. HOO-HOO! BIG SUMMER BLOWOUT! (BONFIRE)
hygge means sitting by the fire with your cheeks all rosy β«βͺ
The following Saturday, May 8th, the hotel bus is late again. Or so the guests assume, since everyone in the hotel is busy and occupied with the summer blót, a feast for the Norse god of war, Odin.
There's a bonfire and face painting and singing and dancing, teenage boys and girls in Viking-inspired costumes (yes, they're still there!), and of course, free-flowing booze and lots of good food. The mead is particularly popular, for it's not only really delicious, it's also extremely potent, able to get even the broodiest of brooders loosening up and those normally unaffected by alcohol inebriated.
That's perhaps why nobody remembers new people arriving that evening?
III. TAG, TAG, TAG, TAG (WAR GAMES)
baby, tag, you're it β«βͺ
The hotel bus still hasn't arrived. Or has it? Everyone's nursing a hangover on Sunday, May 9th — or at least, something that feels like a hangover. Even the students are affected, mostly keeping to their rooms and requesting room service instead of going down to the restaurant for meals.
The quiet doesn't last though, because there is a disturbance in the Force on the sixth floor, and porgs start appearing by the dozen well before the day is over. They're cute... until they start screaming. That's not going to help with everyone's hangover at all, no. And they especially seem to like calling out to one another in the wee hours of the night.
The week's itinerary reads:Those who go hiking during and after the night of the new moon will report sightings of an old, blackened tree — but once you turn and walk away from it, it disappears. The tree also never seems to be quite in the same place.
- May 10, Monday - Pilates and Zumba
- May 11, Tuesday - Stargazing (because it's the new moon)
- May 12, Wednesday - Norwegian Cakefest
- May 13, Thursday - Hiking
- May 14, Friday - Lakeside Barbeque
During the lakeside barbecue, the guests will be handed out flyers for a game of outdoor laser tag on Saturday, May 15th, to be held out in the forest. The hotel staff has even already formed the groups and appointed team captains to save everyone the trouble. So it's time to gather around and strategize!
... Aw c'mon, don't be a spoilsport. What could go wrong with a game of laser tag?
A lot, actually. If you refuse, your audience of NPC students (management says they're too young to play) will grow hostile and start a smear campaign against you. Because they're petty like that. Did you want caricature mugshots of you posted on the bulletin board? Called names and pranked? That's the fate that awaits you.
And if you play, well, there's a chance that you're walking away injured — and you're not finding that out until well into the game. When did laser tag hurt? Apparently it does now. What are they using for these laser guns, anyway?
The outcome of the match will be OOCly influenced by several factors:
1. who the team captain is (teams can stick with their staff-appointed leader, or choose a different person, or have someone declare themselves leader, or even not select a captain at all)
2. how many in your team are playing
3. who are playing
4. what runes were selected for those who are playing
5. your team's overall strategy
6. good ol' RNG
Check out the Laser Tag tab of directory for the team assignments, and the OOC post for more details as well as plotting and the check in. The game will also result to some characters getting injured and requiring medical attention (if they play), though it's to the players' discretion where and how they get injured. The game will likewise be a memory regain opportunity for the Afterlife arrivals (and Julia).
The members of the winning team will each receive a Viking drinking horn with their names carved on it.
IV. WITHOUT YOU IS HOW I DISAPPEAR (MYSTERIES)
drain all the blood and give the kids a show β«βͺ
The laser tag mishap isn't the only thing that causes a ruckus in the following week. On Sunday, May 16th, the bus that's supposed to take the students and some of the guests back to Oslo is nowhere to be found, and the hotel staff will insist that they're not supposed to check out yet. If you get angry and insist on speaking with a manager, you'll find that their records will match with what the staff's saying. You're not due to leave until... a very faraway date.
The hotel is also suddenly littered with missing posters. At first it starts in the business center, for someone named Chewie, but as the days pass you will find more posters and handwritten notes on the bulletin board at the front desk. They're people you don't know... or do you? Why do you have a vague recollection of who they are?
(Remember all those people who tagged around the TDM but didn't make it? Yup, they're the missing ones.)
The hotel management assures that the authorities have been alerted and efforts are being undertaken to find and bring back the missing individuals, but a week passes with no visible progress. Investigations initiated by the guests will not yield any results, and excursions into the forest and the surrounding areas will only result in the frustrating black tree experience on the TDM. Those who pay particular attention to the tree will even start dreaming of it — though it seems to be worse for one John Constantine of the tree carving fame. Others might just get a cute shadow bonsai dancing like Groot, or maybe the tree playfully shaking its booty, but John's is more of the creepy variety.
The daily activities will continue as scheduled, but they'll be exactly the same as the first week, and by Friday, May 21st, all activities will be restricted indoors. Not as fun, because even with the movie room and the karaoke room tensions are already higher than usual in the premises. The students' smear campaigns are getting worse, targeting those who didn't participate in laser tag, those who stole from the bar or the gift shop, those who have been snooping around, those who have pets or have brought in hordes of animals, heck even the winning laser tag team isn't safe from being blamed for the series of unfortunate events.
Thankfully, things haven't gotten violent... yet. But wait, what are these whispers of a ritual sacrifice?
TO BE CONTINUED...
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John takes a bit of comfort in the knowledge that he's not alone in this. It's safer alone, sure. But when it's this big of an issue and so much is at stake? Every set of eyes and every set of ears make for easier information gathering, and every skill and talent gives the lot of them a better chance at survival. And for a moment John looks genuinely appreciative. But the moment is over quickly.
"You and me both. Not everyone here is as capable of protecting themselves. And I don't mean to sit on my arse and let them get caught up in whatever bullshit machinations this hovel has to offer them. Ragnarok or bloody not."
But then Marston brings up John's counterpart, and he makes a sort of dismissive hand gesture. And nearly drops his mead in the process. A quick save, another drink, and he's ready to tackle that specific problem. "Oh. He's been through some shit. Really rough stuff. Hopefully he pulls it together before the last act comes." John shakes his head quickly after speaking. He doesn't have a lot of confidence in any Constantine to make good life choices, but they're the kings of last ditch efforts and bullshitting their way through to the best possible outcomes. There's no doubt in John's mind that his counterpart will rise to the occasion when it counts. "Scratch that, he'll get his shit together. He'll be good for it."
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"I could tell he was havin' a time of it. Good to know he won't be dead weight and dead meat when it comes down to it. You wouldn't happen to have um. Been in the places folks shouldn't be in there, have you? Gone behind the velvet ropes, or anythin'?" That was his next plan, once he was done enjoying the fire.
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"We've got a tendency to have an ace up our sleeve when it counts. I do anyway, can't imagine him not being the same way." John turns a little towards Marston, as he lights his own cigarette, fire flickering around a finger to provide the necessary flame. He doesn't think he brought a match or lighter this time. Or more, he doesn't think he can get to them without an act of coordination impossible at the moment. "So that's what I'm really interested in. I've been poking about here and there, but I think I need to make a grander expedition happen."
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"Could make it a point to nose around a bit," John murmured around his cigarette, taking a long drag, looking over at his new companion with a wary expression. A little too wary, by the feel of things, and usually he was good at keeping that from climbing up into his expression, which it frequently tried to do.
"Got much goin', other than a good buzz on? Might as well have ourselves a look. Seems folk around here are good'n distracted."
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"We could. And we should." John is a bit more focused now, the alcohol not keeping him from it like it did before. This is the sort of stuff that he lives for, an adventure in the realms of the supernatural and the unknown. Or at least in the realms of the staff only areas within a supernatural hotel. That wary expression also gets noted, but he shakes it off a bit. He's more interested in figuring out where they can get themselves to in the time before the party ends than thinking about why the other John might be showing that expression. And time is of the essence.
"And while I like the buzz, I know how to sober myself up quick if it's needed. So why not? Let's move. Besides, they're passing out rounds again and there's fresh food. We'll lose the chance if we linger." John stands up on wobbly legs, doing a fantastic impression of a new foal. It's not his finest moment, but he'll get himself together as they explore.
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He was the latter, himself. It seemed so was this man, too. As he slowly, and carefully got to his feet, it was only with minimal sway. Whatever luck he had, it was in keeping his balance while drunk, and that was thankfully something he never lost, even for as long as it had been. He stepped up to put his hand firmly on one of Constantine's shoulders, bracing him, making sure he stood in such a way as to keep his center of balance from dropping him back on his ass.
"You'd better not make me have to prop you up all night." His tone was joking as he spoke around his cigarette, but his expression, as per usual, was stony and serious.
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It looks like they'll be a disastrous pair indeed.
John snorts when Marston puts his hand on a shoulder, somehow it's absolutely hilarious in the moment. But he shakes his head at the idea of having to be propped up. "No mate, I'll be just fine on my own. I don't want to have to levitate you, so make sure you've found your sea legs." A pause. "Land legs?" Another pause. "Drunk legs, whatever. We're wasting time. Let's go." John pats the hand that's on his shoulder, rather fondly, and then scoots away a bit and starts heading back to the hotel. And his ability to sway and wobble without actually falling over is a sight to behold. Every motion looks like it'll end with him on his ass and yet he manages beautifully.
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As he got older, the crazy stuck, and the rushing headlong into things without much forethought into it, but he learned along the way that some things were better off actually being prepared. It was why, even in something as mundane as a bonfire, he had his guns on him.
He laughed as well, patting Constantine on the shoulder while walking - careful and steady, but by no means slow - as he followed. "Might as well be sea legs. Ain't my fault the ground's decided to play at havin' a tide."
Once they got into the hotel, he was compelled to hush Constantine, chuckling still over the man's weave and totter. "Shh, shh. This way... I think." He stumbled and shuffled towards the main stairs, glaring over at the elevator, pointing at it and admonishing it, "No."
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It would be particularly easy to foil their plans simply with the mead they've imbibed.
"It's the hotel's bloody fault, making us wobble. I'm only a little pissed, s'not like we drank that much." His shakiness says otherwise, but it's easier to blame the hotel for anything and everything right now than to think of his own lack of self-control. He doesn't mind the patting, doesn't mind being shushed even, Marston is his best friend and greatest ally at the moment, and can do no wrong for now. That mead is still putting him in a warm mood, even if he's bitter towards Hotelfen and trying for stealth. So it ends up feeling very much like when he and Chas would sneak out and get up to no good as children. Just on a much larger scale with much bigger stakes if they get caught.
He let's Marston direct him for now, but then the elevator is noticed. John doesn't say no to it though. He flips it off, he hates the damn thing and he's certain that the elevator has a real and true vendetta against him. "Sod off!" It sounds less than imposing half-whispered, unfortunately. He glares back at the elevator once more for good measure, but then turns his eyes towards the stairs. "You think we can really make it?"
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He could, if he felt like trying and cheating, do something similar to teleportation from landing to landing, but John didn't feel terribly... adventurous when it came to his powers and trying to use them drunk. He could maybe traverse a floor's worth of stairs, since they were headed to the second floor.
It was the second floor wasn't it? No. No it was definitely the second floor. "Right." He started onto the stairs. Hey, the first two were perfectly taken, and he took a look over his right shoulder to keep an eye on Constantine. "So we get up there, I'll pick the lock - or I'll just mist under the door, that usually works - n'we'll be in."
Lockpicking took effort and steady sight in addition to steady hands, one of which he didn't exactly have at the moment.
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He has to pull himself back to the task at hand. He nearly got lost in that juvenile fantasy. "Alright. Alright! I've got it. So I think the stairs are best. And if we can't walk up the sodding things I'll figure something out to get us up there. But I think we can make it. Of course we can make it! We're men. On a mission."
John isn't struggling too much at first, the steps seem to be manageable. One. Then another. "See? Easy peasy lemon squeezy." Then another more. Two more. And then he's on his ass suddenly, as a member of the staff makes their way downstairs. They've dealt with him before, and from the way she eyes him, she's not in the mood to do it today.
"Is everything alright, sir?". The please be alright so I can help a less obnoxious guest is so strong in her voice that John can nearly feel it. "Bugger off. We're fine."
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"I've got an eye on him," John said of Constantine, "Don't worry." His expression spoke stern disapproval that they were interrupted for damn near no reason, and more or less like he was sober. He couldn't lie worth a damn, but he could put on a sober face probably faster than anyone had any reason to.
He had to keep his mind focused on the mission at hand. Get up the stairs, get up to the staff only door on the second floor, and... there they were. They'd figure things out after the door was dealt with.
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He's just done with the hotel in general, plopped down on the stairs like a petulant child, glaring at the woman before them. She doesn't look convinced, but her gaze flicks between John and John, and finally she smiles and nods. "Of course sir. Thank you. Please make sure he gets to his room safely. And if you need help, please call for someone. We've assisted Mr. Constantine before."
And with a audible sign of relief, she starts making her way back down the stairs and then turns a corner and goes out of sight. "A bloody menace, that one." He then turns, and grins brightly at Marston. It's such a stupid alcohol gifted expression. "And that's why you're the one to go to when the shit hits the fan. Talk about a poker face, mate. I was ready to boot her." He stumbles to his feet, going down once more in the process, but then he's ready to move. "And now let's continue with..." Another pause comes, he's fumbling for the words he needs. "Our grand expedition."
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"Thanks. Took thirty years to get any sort of poker face. Jesus, what did you do to make 'em so cagey?" He led the way, still less sure-footed than he liked to be, but by no means stumbling. He decided to change the side of the stairs he was on, though, so nobody else could sneak up on them like that, and he could keep a better eye on John.
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It takes him a moment to get himself together. And he looks away from Marston, afraid that he'll crack up again if he looks at him directly. "They just don't like that I do blood rituals in the room. Prejudiced, that's what they are." They don't like that he's an alcoholic who's often bratty and difficult when inebriated, if not flat out assaultive. But John has his angle, they have theirs.
They make their way up further, Constantine watching for potential threats to their very serious mission. "If the door's locked? Well, trust me to take care of it. I've got a plan." If the plan didn't work back in LA, it's very unlikely to work here. But he still thinks magic words are the way to go.
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"All right, okay. You try it, and if it don't work, I can do my thing."
His thing included showing his hand, though, although he wasn't sure his companion wasn't already aware of what he was. Had he told this one? He was pretty blithe with the other one, telling him right off the bat.
Well, if this one hadn't caught on, he would soon. He had said something about how long it took for him to learn how to bullshit a sober face.
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It really does feel like an adventure.
"You've got my back, I know it. We'll get in one way or another." It's not that John didn't notice the time period that Marston used, it's just that he's so used to people that aren't 'normal'. Everyone's got their secrets, and he's more concerned now with what they might or might not find behind the scenes. "I'm decent with locks normally. But mate, I feel like I'm made of jelly. Not sure my hands would be steady enough to be useful." He's certainly wobbling like it, although he's making it upstairs pretty well.
There's really no one else around. The party has called most of the guests out. "Now... which way?"
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"Maybe... Maybe brace yourself against the far wall of it? Doubt that'll steady your hands, but if you're stable with your body, you can aim better? At least that's how it works with guns." He'd had a few questionable choices when it came to getting into firefights while blind drunk.
But soon enough, they were at the door, and John had himself against said opposite wall, looking at the door like it was an ancient puzzle he wished to solve. "Let's see what's in this gift wrapped pile of bullshit, John Constantine."
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John is seriously drunk, and now also just serious about the mission at hand. The silly smile that he held earlier is gone, and he eyes the door like it's about to bite him. "Alright. First things first. Is it even locked?" John, still bracing himself against the wall at first, shimmies his way over to the door and reaches for it. And reaches. And nearly falls. After testing the handle a few times, he concludes that door is indeed locked. "There. Now it's time for me to work my magic."
Constantine turns his focus towards the door, and presses his hands together. The focus is so strong that it nearly hurts his mead-muddled brain. "Abra-ca-fucking-dabra." The last time he tried this idiocy drunk it was an absolute failure without result. This time, it works so intensely and beautifully that it startles him. Golden glowing magic moves around his hands, forming a shimmering key mid-air that pushes itself into the keyhole. "Well, look at that. I speak it, I create it. And I created us a way right inside. Want to do the honors?"
He's so excited that he's a little shaky. Just the idea of touching the handle now makes his heart race. He can't wait to see what secrets lay inside this forbidden chamber.
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"That worked? That fucking worked. You say abracadabra and it fucking works." He snorted and pushed himself upright from the wall, taking the key, if only to see if it was real and not some silly magician's trick. Nope, it existed. He patted John's shoulder and had a go at it, putting the key in the door, and unlocked it, not yet opening the door. He looked over his shoulder at Constantine, a smirk coming to his face, then turned the handle and pushed the door open.
It was dark in the room, the hall lights barely illuminating a hardwood floor and little else. John patted the wall against the door jamb, clumsily finding the light switch, flicking it on.
"Christ." He bowed his head and groaned as he stepped in, rubbing his face. "All that. You just did all that, we just went up all those goddamn stairs."
For an employee lounge.
He chuckled, a whispering rasp of a thing, but John was incredulous. How goddamn mundane. Not that he should've expected anything more, and if he was expecting more, he didn't know exactly what he was supposed to expect. But an employee lounge wasn't it.
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He gives Marston a genuinely warm smile at the shoulder pat, and then waits as he pushes the door open. He's a bit shocked at how similar it feels in there to the rest of the hotel, nothing like the magic spike he expected from a sealed chamber full of secrets...
And then he sees why. "Bollocks, it's a goddamn break room." He stares in miserable shock for a moment, like he's expecting everything to change if he just eyes it enough. And then he closes the door behind them, locks it with a seal, and starts to examine everything. It's more comical than it would be sober, he's still wobbling a good deal and part of the way through he gets the great idea to pull out his flask and take a nip of what's in it. But despite his best efforts, it's all a normal mundane breakroom.
"All that bloody work for shit." He goes over to one of the vending machines, and seriously considers punching it. But the bulk of the booze in him is still leaning towards a good mood, despite how gutted he feels. So he saves his hand and keeps the noise down in the process, by just groaning and leaning his head against the glass.
Which gives him an idea. "You hungry?"
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Then he was asked if he was hungry. Not really. He didn't have to feed for another few-- oh. Food hungry. "No, no I don't go in for junk food. Wouldn't turn down a Pepsi, though, if they got one." He stood, teetered, and shuffled towards the other John with a lopsided smile.
"You gonna rob the vendin' machine, magic man?"
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John is already working seals over the glass, picking and choosing. He's going to snag his favorites and stock up without shame. "Damn right I am. I'm taking what I've earned. This is a reward for our troubles." Once the seals are shining against the glass, moving, all it takes is a few chanted words for it to start spitting out the snacks that he wants most. "And you said Pepsi, then? That's it? It's soft drink heaven here, and the hotel can't get the syrup ratio right. Why not stock up?" He puts the same seal onto the soda machine, and sure enough it starts shooting out sodas. Maybe a bit too vigorously.
Better get to catching them, Marston.
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He watched with moderately impressed awe. Someone with such proficiency in magic was rare to meet, and even rarer to see using it with reckless abandon. He liked the guy's style.
Then the cans started spitting out. John had to sidestep the first one, which clattered across the floor and hit the corner of a table leg and exploded open, spinning itself across the floor. John didn't bother watching that, he just crouched and started catching them quickly enough, setting them on the floor just as fast as he caught them one handed at a time. "All right, all right," he told Constantine, "Y'can stop, I wanted a can of it, not a case."
He dropped back onto his ass and continued to catch the cans as they started spitting out, suddenly weirdly dizzy. Right. Drunk. Forgot.
"Y'know, I just thought'a somethin'," he said, "if we do enough of this, y'think the place'll let us free, or just try'n kill us?"
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John usually has at least a little restraint sober. But right now sober he is not, and he's full of shitty ideas. He finishes off the rest of the flask while watching Marston catch the cans like it's a spectator sport. And he pulls a cigarette from his pack before finally agreeing to cease the spell. "Fine fine. Give me a minute..." John tries to stop the spell. But at first it only makes the machine shoot out more sodas and at a higher speed. "Fuck! It won't stop!" He works on the seal for a moment, trying to get enough focus to cancel it out. This is why free forming magic on the fly is usually a bad idea inebriated. But it works on this attempt, and the machine shuts down with a sad sounding groan. "There. Enough to load the pockets up with." He starts picking up a few to take back, but has forgotten entirely about the snack machine still pushing out goodies. There's a pile now beneath it.
"You know, it's worth a shot. If they try to kill us, we can expose them easily for what they are. Sodding stupid little blighters."
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