Happy New Year, folks! The Hotel is settling into the New Year with little fanfare. Mr Bennet remains at his post behind the hotel desk and helps check guests in and out daily. The Hotel continues to hustle and bustle and nothing seems to be going too awry beyond the usual shenanigans. In fact, one might even call this the slow season for the Hotel.
THE FLOOR IS LAVA
That is until the second week of the month where the intercoms start with Mr Bennet's pleasant voice coming through.
"Hello, hello! This is just a small warning that one of our floors, the current 79th floor to be exact, has had a small... malfunction, I suppose, and will be affecting the other floors of the Hotel. No word yet from maintenance when this will be over, so stay on your toes, my dear guests!"
And that's it. No indication of what the problem is, or anything like that. It's up to you to figure out what's going on! And what is going on? Well, it'll become obvious very quickly when wherever characters happen to be in the Hotel, they'll soon start feeling a very obvious warmth on the floor below them. It'll increase the longer they stay standing in one spot until it's almost burning their feet.
The only salve for this will be hopping onto a nearby piece of furniture and getting their feet off the floor. It'll soon become obvious that the entire Hotel has been wrapped in a game of The Floor is Lava, including the floor turning into actual lava on some of the floors.
SAFETY SLEEPOVER
Of course, the Hotel is not cruel enough to make the entire Hotel unsafe and soon enough Mr Bennet's voice will come through on the intercom again.
"For those looking for respite from our current Hotel wide game," because clearly it's a game now. "We'll be serving tea and cake in the lounge on the ground floor. Maintenance has been able to fix the lounge for now so feel free to come by when you can if you'd like to rest. We have sleeping bags!"
As folks enter the lounge, they'll find that Mr Bennet is true to his word. The lounge has been converted into a giant sleepover, with sleeping bags lining the floor and a long table off to the side where people can eat their tea and cakes. Mr Bennet is near the food table, handing out pajamas, toothbrushes, and sleep masks to those who request them. There's some new doors off to the side leading to some restrooms, at least, so guests can change in private.
Though, one thing to point out is when Mr Bennet says there's tea and cakes, the cakes happen to be lava cakes. He thinks he's funny.
THE FLOOR IS ICE
It'll take about two days for hotel maintenance to fix the Hotel and return it to normal. So that's two days of living out of the lounge or hopping around the Hotel to get places. What a headache. Mr Bennet will make another lively announcement on the intercom.
"We are back in business, folks! I've just been given word that everything should have return to normal now. Though, there is a warning to make sure not to walk around barefoot for at least another day or so while the Hotel settles. Thank you for your patience!"
What that means becomes obvious soon as anyone walking around now will feel that the floor is especially cold. That's a bit better than the heat, at least, but still kind of a pain in the ass. Anyone who tries to walk around barefoot will find that their feet quickly start to freeze but any permanent damage is easily avoidable by putting on some socks or getting off the floor entirely.
Though that said, the ice does lead to some furniture sliding around and even with shoes on, characters might find themselves sliding too.
What a lovely end to the holidays.
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hotelcaelum2024-01-12 09:44 am
holds my paws out greedily for both of them...
She can't decide if it would've been better if a stranger had seen her. If it had been someone she didn't know that well, the shame she would feel at burdening them would be palpable, but also, they would probably not laugh at her or tease her, both of which are things she hasn't experienced in literal centuries. Maybe since before she ever became the maid? Even her fellow guests don't attempt it, aside from the occasional, most glancing tease from Odette, which means the embarrassment she feels bubbling up from his sly laughter is foreign, and almost unnamable to her. ]
Astarion...
[ New, too, is the shocked expression on her face — truly and honestly taken off guard from both the ridiculousness of the situation and his amused reaction. It feels, well... friendlier, than just plain coming to help her would. She sits up quickly, trying to save whatever face she can. ]
I was... careless, yes. [ A maid shouldn't ever argue, even if she feels cringe for admitting to such a dumb mistake. Her hand instinctually pats the back of her head without thinking, as if there'd ever be a wound there. ] How mischievous this hotel is...
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It isn't a bad thing.
Even if it embarrassing for her. And yes, he'll tease a little, too.]
From searing heat to biting cold. Do you prefer the lava, then?
[Anyway, he holds out his hand, finally, offering to help her up.]
Not hurt, are you?
[Not that she... injures easily, or at all, but perhaps bonking one's head on the ice is still unpleasant.]
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[ Yes, humanity, that's what all these conflicting feelings are fragments of, she realizes belatedly. The feeling of being teased, the embarrassment of doing something clumsy by accident, and most prominently, not immediately feeling completely in debt to him, like a servant would. All are sentiments she hasn't had the opportunity to feel in a long, long time, which makes it more difficult for her to completely filter out of her reactions.
As she reaches for his hand, her lips purse a little, falling somewhere between flustered and pouting, the expression strangely more befitting of her youthful appearance than her true age. It's a fine fit with the way her free arm awkwardly wobbles this way and that to try to keep balance as she latches on to his hand to pull up, unable to rise to her feet gracefully with the Difficult Terrain™ beneath. ]
In my experience alone, the heat did not cause so much trouble as this. [ So like, yes, she did prefer that. But unironically. ] Though I imagine you prefer the cold, with what grace you stride with...
[ maybe it's a vampire thing??? ]
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Given that these boots- [He sticks a leg out slightly, waggling his foot. The dark leather looks like nothing special, but cleary it must be.] -fare much better on ice than lava, then yes. I would say that I do prefer the cold. Amazing how much utility an enchanted item can have.
[He drops his foot, standing properly straight again.]
You don't need to be embarrassed, you know.
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...Yes, I suppose you are right. [ They're... "friends." Right? ] It is just... I simply feel you frequently see me at my least professional.
[ And it's weird. That's the only way she thinks she can explain it. Having not been allowed for centuries to be clumsy or fearful or angry or tired or any of the other states he's seen her in, that one person could see multiple of these sides of her is jarring. Like it abruptly separates her from the "her" that's existed for so long. ]
While you are not my master, nor a guest in my care, the thought remains that to burden you like this is shameful. [ a beat. The corner of her lip curls in a vague smile. There's a very thin line between teasing and genuinely asking, and she walks right on top of it. ] Though I recall you saying that you would simply leave me be, were I a burden. Perhaps you still feel that way...?
[ Once she's finally standing again, she lets her hands linger on him for a moment to gather her bearings, before giving him a pat in silent thanks. ]
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But even then, it takes more than a few friendly chats to root someone into that realm. But he and Giselle, they've spoken about too much, shared too many things, for this not to have been an inevitability. She's bloody kind to him, too, which make it all the harder to ignore.]
Hm. You're right. If you were a burden, I couldn't be bothered. I'm selfish like that, you know.
[Yet he says it with such flippancy, it's hard to know if that's at all serious. Especially after he steps forward just enough to twirl around on his heel and offer her a hand. They still need to make their way somewhere not-so-icy, and who's to say she won't stumble again?]
Though you seem to think the equivalent of "needing assistance" counts as being a burden, too. I wonder why that is?
[Because clearly, that's not the case for him. Do you know how many times he's had to help up Gale who's fallen prone on grease or some such? Please.]
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A maid must always act with elegance and grace. A maid must always maintain her composure, even if the house is falling down around her. And whatever happens, a maid should deal with it quickly and quietly.
[ She parrots the tenet, taking his hand gratefully — and less lightly than normal, her cold hand firm in his. Maybe its because she really does need to hold on from the terrain... and maybe it's also because their bond feels a little surer than it did before. It's comforting, taking the hand of a friend, the last vestiges of her clumsiness lingering nonetheless. ]
One of my first masters taught me that, when he showed me how to be a proper servant. [ There's fondness there, both in her slight, barely there smile, and in her words. ] I suppose... being assisted has not been necessary in a long, long time, either. Before this hotel.
[ Now it feels people are helping her left and right. ]
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After all, he still struggles with trying to understand who he is, now, after he's gained his freedom. A struggle that might escalate itself further should they survive their little adventure back in Faerun, but that's neither here nor there.
He hums, then replies-]
No, it sounds like you were never given the privilege of being assisted. I know that feeling all too well, too, of course.
[Though Astarion was not a maid, but rather, a monster lurking in the night, seeking to survive and not to anger a master that held tight to his figurative leash.
Speaking of masters...]
You said your "first" master? How many have you had?
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...Four. [ She settles on, then adds: ] Five, counting my dearly beloved. I called them 'Master,' too...
[ ...Though the inclusion of her beloved seems more uncertain than the count that had preceded it. And in addition, there's a fond melancholy as she recalls it, her brow tensing with the effort to try to recall anything else, anything that might help her feel more self assured about that statement — but she comes up short. It's been too long. Her memory of her lover is vague at best, and practically nonexistent at worst. She remembers only that she had called them that, and that she would have done anything for them — though how their relationship as master and servant began, she remains ignorant.
Her gaze drops to the ice in front of them, watching their reflections as the walk, rather than looking at him directly. She shouldn't despair in front of him. ]
While a maid should not speak poorly of her masters, there were some I favored over the others. Some... that I did not care for. [ Coming from prim and polite Giselle, that's about the equivalent of saying I hated them, despite the serenity of her expression. ] Yet your master remained constant throughout the years. His life eternal.
[ She glances to him for confirmation, treading carefully. ]
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He slows as they approach a corner, making the turn slowly for her sake.]
Some you didn’t care for? That’s a harsh assessment, coming from you.
[She hardly seems the type to speak ill of anyone, even if they deserve it. Just how bad were these masters of hers? As bad as Cazador?
Her question prompts a twitch in the muscles of his jaw, and he doesn’t glance at her, but he also doesn’t hesitate to reply.]
That’s right. Very much eternal, much more powerful than myself, so there was little I could do but remain crushed under his boot heel when he so deigned it necessary. Not much dignity to being a spawn, I’m sorry to say. It sounds like you got to keep yours.
[Dignity, he means.]
Not that it's a competition, of course.
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Perhaps it's a good thing that she's out of sorts with the balancing act — otherwise, his words might bring her mood down to something more contemplative and melancholic. Typically, others' suffering barely scratches the surface of the shell around her soul, protecting her from needing to feel empathy, or worse, to get attached, but his tales pierce through, and resonate with her more often than not. ]
With some, yes. With others, ah— [ She's interrupted by her own lack of balance, the sound of surprise sharp and clumsy and foreign on her tongue, distracting her from her own bitterness over the subject at hand. Her words grow a bit tighter, nonetheless. ] Well, there are marks left upon it that, perhaps, shall never fade...
[ On her dignity, she means. She doesn't say it to correct him, but rather to commiserate — as he says, it's not a competition. Perhaps seemingly out of left field, even if it's very relevant to the topic at hand in her own mind: ]
I admire you, you know, Astarion.
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Of course, that humor fades whens he mentions the manner of marks left on a person, via a master that's less-than-pleasant. Yes, he quite knows all about that, too, and he almost feels curious enough to ask after the details, until she says...
That.]
You admire me?
[He stops short in his tracks, just for a moment. No one's ever said that to him before. He's never given anyone a reason to.]
Good gods, why?
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To live under a master like yours for hundreds of years... to be crushed under a heel like that, always... I do not think I would be able to bear it. I would have surely lost my grip entirely. [ Murmured with morbid certainty. Being isolated in the realm of the dead was its own special kind of hell; the witch taunted her mercilessly, but when she thinks of her worst masters, and being stuck with them for centuries... her stomach churns. ] Yet you are still able to laugh, get annoyed, feel remorse, help others — just as you aid me now...
[ Her smile widens, stiff as it usually is; the smile she practiced so much in the mirror in her centuries alone, no longer remembering how to do it naturally on command. ]
You did well to hold onto those pieces of yourself so tightly. It is not at all so simple. I admire that, hehe.
[ It's praise, plain and simple, the kind she had always wanted to hear for enduring like she had, and the kind she's happy to have the chance to bestow onto him. She made it too — they're both standing here, right? — but some part of her wishes she had had the strength to hold onto those feelings, to be able to shout and smile and cry, instead of hollowing herself out as she had. In any case, she says this with the same calm elegance with which she says most everything, apparently not embarrassed nor ashamed of admitting something so personal. ]
Is that so shocking? You look as though you've seen a ghost.
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I… Perhaps it’s true, what you say. [That he’s kept pieces of himself held together, fragmented as they are, even if it’s cut his hands to do so.] But I hold steadfast to the less-than-flattering bits, as befitting of a man cursed to live as an undead.
[Why is it admirable to hold onto the things that are shadowed and ugly?]
My helping you… In fact, my helping anyone has only been a recent habit as of late. And I still will complain about it, from time to time.
[Astarion and heroics still never get along with each other, you know.]
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She lifts their hands a bit in emphasis at the rest of his words, before tugging them forward a step again. ]
You may think of me as a helpful maid, but until this hotel, I averted my eyes from everything but myself... in order to hold myself together.
[ Which she's even able to admit with the slightest hint of shame, now, where months ago, she might've just said it coldly and without feeling. Helping others, truly helping them in things that are not making their bed or washing their dishes, is similarly not familiar to her. Many times has she thrown people to the wolves (figuratively) (literally? 🧍♂️), but she thinks he'll understand that. ]
Now, watching you, it feels more like I may yet reclaim some humanity.
[ It gives her hope, the tiniest, little fragile shred. ]
It may be a fledgling feeling to you, but it did return one day, hmm? [ a beat, and then a little teasingly: ] Despite your begrudging nature.
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Astarion frowns, still, but continues to his gait along the ice-laden hall, still hand-in-hand with her.]
I still say that I'm a terrible man to put on a pedestal, but if it means that you feel as though you might... regain something you lost, then it would be cruel of me to complain.
[And whie he is cruel, cuttingly so sometimes, this is not something he'd criticize. Not something he'd discourage.]
And perhaps it did return, if only because of the people I surrounded myself with. I would thank you not to say as much to that silly wizard, though. [Gale.] Tell me, do you feel as though you're well on your way to regaining a spark of humanity, Giselle?
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Perhaps I am having the same experience that you have had. Because I am surrounded by the guests, I am beginning to feel a bit more like my old self, yes...
[ It's just, she's more open to admitting it outright to him, rather than needing to keep it a secret, as he does from Gale. She's grateful, and she'd like to express it — she was always the type that didn't hesitate to put her feelings into words, before she was bound to the mansion, so in a funny way, even admitting this is a sign that the cold grip of her shell is receding, however slightly. ]
Since coming here, I've received gifts, I've been complimented. I've been scolded, I've been teased... but none of it has been an unpleasant experience. It feels like human interaction, again.
[ It's not as though she can suddenly return to the person she assumes she was long ago, bright and resilient and happy, but at the very least, she can acknowledge that all these small experiences add up into letting her feel like a person again, and not just the faithful, cursed servant of the house. ]
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But they can still change. Still be malleable up to a certain point. Maybe that's all that matters.]
Complimented, scolded, and teased. It's simply because here, no one sees you as part of the staff -- instead, just another guest.
[And perhaps, in the long run, that's not such a bad thing at all.
Up ahead, there seems to be a spot in the corridor free from ice, and so Astarion makes that their aim as they walk.]
How do you feel about that, then? Regaining even the smallest spark of what feels like... humanity?
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I feel... happy.
[ It's said cautiously — tense with the expectation and fear that she will not be able to hold onto it for long. ]
But I am filled with unease, too. I do not think... [ She hesitates, just barely frowning in thought, wondering if it would burden him too much to say this. It always feels easier to be frank about these things in front of him, though. ] I do not think I could bear to lose it again.
[ Perhaps it's the first time she's been able to put a name to this dread she feels — a fear that any moment, she will get called back to the house, back to her service, and she will never see any of them again. She'll never feel like this again. She wonders if this is what he'd felt like, when he'd first escaped from his master and gotten the parasite — glad to experience the outside world, but terrified of things to returning as they were when it was all over at the same time. ]
And yet, I will be called back all the same, in time.
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Just as she cautiously says it, Astarion, too, slowly brings them over to ice-free zone, which upon closer inspection appears to be a lounge area. At least there will be places to sit.]
I wouldn't want you to. Lose it, I mean.
[The things he finds for himself here, the connection with people he's already surprising himself with as those threads continue to develop, he's not certain what he'd do if faced with the possibility of never seeing them again. He merely chooses not to think about it for now, leaving those baleful thoughts for later. So, he can understand her anxiety.
It makes one hesitant to embrace the good things because the pain of losing them would almost be unbearable.]
You'll have no choice but to return if you're called back?
[He says, the frown on his features and tone very clear.]
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As a faithful servant to the house, I am bound to it. I know all that takes place there, whether I would like to or not. As soon as a single ant crossed the threshold, I would know... perhaps it is that I have become a part of the house itself.
[ Her eyes open again, leading them over to one of the sofas. Briefly, her eyes flick to the side, catching his disapproving frown — and she refrains from showing concern or sadness, not taking pleasure in explaining her imprisonment to him. She doesn't want him to worry more, so it'd be better if she remained passive, she thinks. ]
Do you remember what I told you before? That the house was once in a dark, endless realm for many centuries. At this very moment, it is waiting there for its next master. It was after it had returned to that abyss that I received the invitation to come here in the first place...
[ Meaning that she had returned to complete solitude, before the invitation to this hotel came. It isn't simply that the mansion had disappeared once for hundreds of years, but that it moves in and out of the realm of the living as need be. Her general detachment and coldness are, perhaps, signs that she has spent an overwhelmingly longer time in that darkness than in the light. ]
But when it returns to the mortal realm, I imagine I will be pulled along with it.
[ That is to say, she has no intention of leaving the hotel of her own free will — she simply assumes when the house moves to greet its next master, she will be dragged back within its walls as per her contract with it. ]