strangetrip | Check-In Day: Around the Inn

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Check-In Day: Around the Inn

Finished with self-imposed paperwork and emergency planning for the week, Regina permitted herself a leisurely ride on this absolutely gorgeous spring day. After a good gallop, Grace was content to walk, cropping at dried scrub and new shoots when Regina gave her rein. Regina steered the mare gently toward the west; she could teleport, of course, but she appreciated the quiet of riding toward the beach. She found, in the wake of Henry's Christmas visit, she more often craved the scent of the salt air and ocean breezes. Of course, the Pacific never quite smelled like the Atlantic, always warmer and less bracing somehow, but it soothed the wildness in her just the same.

Back at the Inn, Kitty busied herself with stocking the pool bar and generally setting up for the warmer seasons. The pool had been skimmed of winter detritus and chlorinated by the staff-spectre she rarely if ever saw, and there were fresh towels set out like a proper resort. Since the choice of music was hers, the air around the bar filled with dance beats, Afro-Caribbean today, and Kitty moved right into it. She didn't usually dance at work, but she felt bright today and maybe Lara would come down and work with her and they could goof around Cocktail style.

Sam passed through the Copper Cafe in search of a cup of coffee and a salad, or one of the two gorgeous women he'd somehow wound up involved with. His brow scrunched like a caterpillar hurrying away from a predator while he semi-consciously outpaced thoughts about babies and brothers, and possibly babies and girlfriends. His mild scowl wasn't helped by the pack of spirits trailing him and chatting at him about the lives of his family members. He'd asked them not to gossip about people he wasn't close with, but as a consequence, they talked rapidly and often about River's most recent oddness or his mother and Hathaway acting like...well, like him and Molly and Bo, and no thanks. Ditto on Dean and Jane. For all that he looked a little bothered, there wasn't anything menacing or aggressive about it. If anything, the slight tilt of his head as he strolled through the Inn looked thoughtful, as though he listened to something somewhat distant.

Lillith had come to a bit of a routine for arrival days, and around noon, she sat for tea with River Song. They spoke little, and it was difficult to tell whether the women even liked each other. But for all that, Lillith was content with the ritual. If Curnen sang, she would go out to the lawn next and listen. In fact, on such a sunny day, she would undoubtedly flop on the lawn with a sketchbook and a practice notebook, letting her mind float between image and spellcraft as it would. Out here, she would quickly veil herself at the approach of anyone new, but she often was distracted enough that they might catch her in her true form with her all unaware.

Around them, the Inn hummed and buzzed with the happy energy of winter giving way to spring. The most patient and subtle would undoubtedly note the undercurrents of tension, fear, frustration, and boredom that built up over time. But for day, at least so far as this four were aware, the worst of it had been suspended, in favor of enjoying warm sun and the company of friends.

[OOC: GP. It's a gorgeous day. Come and play! All four of mine can be available. Ping me if you're inspired to tag. <3 Welcome, Carol, Toby, and Number Five!]

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He was so certain of himself for someone so young. But if that were still the case, she doubted that they would be having this conversation.

"Hnh," she intoned, removing her tea strainer and disposing of the contents appropriately. "Have fun with that."

“Yeah, thanks for that.” He probably wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like necessity was supposed to be fun. “Two questions. One, is there a place I can get blank books and a pencil around here? Or markers.” Walls worked as well as paper. “Two, what’s your name?” If she’d been Commission he might recognize the name, so it was a good test and easily dismissed as him being polite or something.

"Illyana Nikolaevna Rasputin. And yes. Such sundries are available for the residents here." She eyed him over her cup. "Who are you?"

Nope. No recognition of the name. Too bad, that might’ve made things easier. “Number Five.” He didn’t bother with a smile, fake or otherwise, but if he’d been wearing his old overcoat he’d have pointed at the number embroidered on the breast. Just to shortcut any incipient that can’t possibly be your name garbage.

"Your name is a number. Of course it is," she dryly suggested to the contrary. It was hardly a stretch in the scheme of pocket dimensions, teleportation, and magik. "Don't tell me there are four or more of you teleporting around the grounds."

“Don’t be ridiculous. The other six have different powers.” It wasn’t really giving anything away. In their home timeline, at least, the Academy had been on lunchboxes. If there was a revelation, it was that there were seven total rather than the six Dad had always claimed.

"Naturally." Her tone was flat. Why this boy thought she should know about him and his associates was beyond her. Wouldn't it be ironic if they were a teenaged superhero team?

She gave him an expectant look before moving across the space towards the circulation desk. "Pencil or pen, Number Five?"

Five stuck his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry. They’re not exactly subtle, so I don’t think they’re around. And pencil for now, thanks.” He’d need to do a lot of erasing, at least at first.

Illyana moved behind the desk, to a shelf piled with various blank papers, journals, writing implements, office supplies, and so on. "The library supplies," she placed the composition notebook and pencil before her on the desk, her hand still outstretched over them as their custodian. "Are acquired at some effort, and donated freely by industrious residents when our access to such wares allows."

True, the gift shop did have a knack for restocking journals just when they were about to run out. But for most of the library materials, it was true. And there was a broader lesson that he ought to learn immediately: "Our resources are limited here," she noted as she slid him the items.

“I’m used to no resources.” Five accepted the composition book and pencil with a nod. The note was well-taken - ‘limited’ was still likely to be better than ‘the apocalypse’, but it was something to keep in mind. “I’ll manage.”

"You don't have much choice in the matter," Illyana pointed out. But she had to admit that the sentiment was admirable. None of the usual whining or whimpering that she might have expected from a teenager. "Why is pencil and paper so important to you?"

“I’m betting you’d rather I didn’t write on the walls.” Also, he wanted to be able to keep his work to himself, which he couldn’t when he took advantage of the bigger spaces that walls represented. “No known exit isn’t no exit, for one thing, and I’ve got a few other things to work on, too.”

"You could very well lose that bet," she countered. "One of the peculiarities of this place is that it resets what it perceives to be damaging to the property back to its original state."

“Really.” That was fascinating, and also not a feature of any Commission facility he’d ever been in. “In that case I may start looking for permanent markers and a big enough wall.” Five looked down and his mouth screwed up briefly as he remembered that he was shorter than he used to be. “And a stepladder, I guess.”

If the ‘big enough wall’ was a corner it might also neatly solve the ‘child checking in without an adult’ issue by bypassing it. That was something.

"If you wish to publicize your 'work.' Whatever that entails." Illyana looked down at the journal. "There are advantages to the more conventional approach."

Five doubted anyone would understand his work enough to worry about whether it was seen, usually. The Commission had known enough that he’d wanted to keep things to himself, but... either this place wan’t Commission and it didn’t matter, or it was and ‘Number Five hasn’t given up’ would get some attention. “Walls tend to be big enough to let me look at everything at once. But it’s a fair point. Maybe I’ll hold off on the vandalism until I’ve got something to look at.

"It's best to be conservative in your destructive tendencies when we are all forced to share the space," Illyana confirmed. "You can always go larger in scope if it's warranted." She recollected her mug for another sip of tea. "You'll want to check in eventually. The front desk will provide you with the number for a room that has been assigned to you."

“Yeah? I didn’t make a reservation and I’m pretty sure my bosses aren’t doing it anymore either.” Convenient, and Five was too pragmatic to turn down a room in favor of a corner somewhere, but that was another clue for the pile.

"The reservation has presumably been made on your behalf by the same undetermined forces that are responsible for the other operations of this place." Illyana had a great many vague clues that led to no satisfying answers for him where these had come from.

“Interesting. Good to know, thanks.” Five considered, then offered because she’d been genuinely helpful, “I think there’s at least some chance this is a Commission facility. Maybe for timeline disrupters whose deaths would be disruptive in themselves.” A place like this, as it had been described, would be a handy way to remove troublemakers without killing them.

Of course, that didn’t explain Five’s own presence. “I’ll add it to the list, anyway.”

Timeline disruptors? "For that to mean anything to me, I would need to understand what your 'Commission' is," she prompted bluntly.

"The Commission maintains the timeline, ensuring the correct progression of history via strategic eliminations of disruptive activity. Or via assassination, whichever phrasing you prefer." He preferred assassination. Why be coy about it? Five stuck his hands in his pockets. "A place like this isn't in line with the Commission I know, but it's not entirely unbelievable that certain people might need to stay alive in some absolute sense while also being too dangerous to be allowed to roam free."

It was a better premise than some: A governing body outside of conventional time and space storing a set of problematic individuals that would cause some larger inconvenience if they were dead and gone altogether. But without a means to act on or test that theory - short of killing one of the residents and seeing what happened, she supposed - it did them little practical good here and now.

"If your doodles yield actionable results, tell me. You aren't the first arrival to willfully manipulate time and space, but your methods appear to be different than mine."

So she could do it, too? And she’d implied there were others besides her. five supposed that in an infinity of parallel universes, there had to be more than one who didn’t need a briefcase to jump around in time and space.

She was a font of information, this Ms. Rasputin, though Five expected her bluntness put people off. He liked it, though - no wasted time. “It’ll take a while, but sure. What’s your method?”

The blonde examined the contents of her mug as she determined her reply. A glowing ring of light cut itself from the air around her where nothing had hung before, filling with vivid golden energy that consumed her figure in an instant. Then it was simply gone, leaving no earthly trace.

"Magikal," she informed him from the cafe area behind him.

Re: Number Five - Assigned and OTA

st_illfive - 2019-03-28 21:51 (UTC) - Expand

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