strangetrip | Check-in May 15

It was the 15th of the month and given the possibility of arrivals, Caroline decided that something should be done to make new people a little more comfortable.

So she was sitting in the lobby, wearing a bright yellow sundress and surrounded by a riot of materials. Her feet were bare, as her sandals were lying off to the side, and her toenails were blue. She was creating Inn survival kits. There was a little pamphlet of explanations: people call the guy at the desk Daryl; yes,everything is free; no, you can't leave; just be firm about towels. A basket of sundries - snacks from the gift shop, sunscreen, guidebook, toothbrush etc. There was a towel, because obviously.

She considered adding a bottle of alcohol, but not everyone drank - she'd noticed at least a few of the current residents who didn't - and if they did drink TOO much, she didn't want to encourage it.

Maybe chocolate?

Caroline jotted down that as a note and resumed chewing on the end of her pen. The lobby door opened shortly thereafter and she looked up with a smile.

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She had found her room, which was… strange, to say the least, although Laynia had to admit the stained glass was beautiful. And being built into the rock like it was reminded her of Muir. Which was probably the closest she was going to get to Muir for the foreseeable future, she thought glumly, sipping at the drink she’d asked for at the cafe and wishing it was Angus’s cider. Surely they would be looking for her. Maybe Frank could manage… something.

And maybe she was being unduly optimistic, or at least, trying too hard to avoid focusing on her current situation. Which wasn’t really as bad as it could have been, Laynia admitted to herself. The people seemed genuinely friendly, there were no obvious threats in the immediate vicinity (she had done some prowling about, after identifying her room), and things could have been a lot worse. She was used to dislocation, she reminded himself, used to having to make home of a new place. There was no point in being miserable while she was here. Too often that involved making other people miserable, and she wasn’t about to do that.

She'd been lost in her own thoughts and hadn't heard the man approach; she managed not to quite jump out of her skin. "Hi," Laynia said abruptly. "Um... pastry? I... I suppose so. Yes. Thank you?" She was hungry, oddly enough.

"I apologize," He smiled awkwardly. "I did not mean to startle."

Holding out the plate filled with some sort of berry treat that he couldn't name, he did his best not to look too imposing. "You are new here, da?"

Laynia heard the accent, tilting her head a little. "Da," she agreed, and went on in Russian. "And I will happily take a pastry. They look delicious."

A broad smile broke across Piotr's usually stoic face. "Are you from Russia?"

After everything he'd been through, he hadn't realized how good it would be to hear someone speaking his native tongue. "I am Piotr."

"Originally," Laynia said, unable not to smile back at his obvious happiness at being spoken to in Russian. "My father and I emigrated when I was small. But he made sure we kept speaking Russian at home. My accent is probably terrible."

"Do not worry. Your accent is better than mine when I use English." Piotr laughed before taking a small bite of pastry. "I did not emigrate until I was older, around 17, and learning the language was very difficult."

"Those of us who had to learn young had it a lot easier," Laynia agreed quietly. "My father worked as a translator, so he drilled me."

"I will have to take your word for it," Piotr chuckled. "Growing up on a Soviet commune meant we did not learn much that did not relate to farming."

"So how did two good Russian youngsters wind up in a place like this?" Laynia asked half-wistfully, half-frustrated. "Don't get me wrong, as limbo-slash-prisons go this one seems passable, but..."

"That is very good questions, though it is a very welcome surprise." He gave her a wry smile. "Between you and me, I had gotten to the point where I was just happy if someone I met had even heard of Russia."

The mention of prison reflexively made Piotr's jaw clench slightly, though he did not thing it would be too obvious. Shaking it off he added, "I have definitely experienced worse."

"Me too, I suppose," Laynia said almost pensively. "But that's not a great commendation of here, is it? 'Oh well, we've had worse.'"

"You have experience with limbo-slash-prisons before?" It was only a heartbeat later that he realized that some might find it rude to ask such personal questions. "You do not have to answer if you do not want, I was simply curious."

Looking around to change the subject, his eyes fell on his sketchbook. "If you can overcome the fact that we are trapped, there are many good things about this place." He flipped through the book, turning it to show off the snippets of daily life at the Inn that he'd captured. Some were faceless scenes of residents lounging by the pool, sparing or meditating others were portraits - Kitty at the bar, River smiling and dancing about, Regina in the garden. "Is there something, a skill maybe, that you have always wanted more time to develop? This place can be good for that kind of thing."

Check-in May 15

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