suitedreams | WEEK ZERO: MINGLE

W̴͍̎E̴̝̊E̸͚͝K̸͕̿ ZERO: MINGLE

(35 ḡ̴̻u̷͌͜ê̴̯s̶̢͑t̵̻͝s̴̡̐ ̴c̴h̴e̶c̴k̷e̶d̸ ̶i̴n̴)

Needless to say, marble isn't exactly the most comfortable surface to sleep on. Do you even remember falling asleep? Maybe not, but the moment your eyes flutter open and the lingering stardust fades, you come into consciousness with the distinct feeling that your dreams were very important.

You vaguely remember a shadowed hand, the pen and the scroll in its grip as the terms and conditions glow softly before you. You can't quite remember the details, the words blurring and fading fasting the longer you try, but you come to a conclusion rather quickly:

-Someone you care about is in trouble and their life is now your responsibility.
-You have signed a contract to provide entertainment to the Host in exchange for their safe return.

Your other memories begin to settle now that you're more awake. You remember that this isn't the first time you've been swept away for a game by someone else's design. You remember what those games entailed, too, but as the pieces click together you get the sense that murdering everyone around you isn't a solution. It won't get your hostage back sooner. It will only end tragically for everyone involved.

So instead, perhaps it's time to take in your surroundings. Where the hell even are you now? The marble floor of the lobby is still cool to the touch, and the front desk is before you with several keys on hooks against the wall. Each of them includes a keychain with two small, clear star-shaped crystals embedded at the bottom. Too bad you can't seem to remove the keys just yet! Guest accommodations aren't quite ready.

Ah, right. About that. You aren't alone! After all, what's the fun in playing a game by yourself? Should one try to actually count the keys hanging on the wall, you'll find there are 35 in total. You can also learn more about them should you look at the leather-bound book bolted to the front desk. Though some of them may look a bit different, seeing how everyone gathered in the lobby is dressed to the nines. What happened to your other clothing? Worry not. You do want to be presentable at the front desk, don't you?

Speaking of the front desk, while you aren't able to retrieve your keys or even leave the ground floor right now, you will find small gift boxes scattered around the desk as a complementary gift for each guest. Inside these boxes, you will find:

-A flask. Those of legal drinking age will find it filled with a sweet wine, and those underage will find juice of some kind.
-A shaving kit
- A single aspirin
-A keychain
-A condolence card
-A sheet of temporary tattoos
-A small bag of jerky
-A compact mirror with a cute pattern on the outer casing

No other items are on your person even if you were holding onto them prior to your arrival. Perhaps the bellhop has already taken your luggage for you?

But despite the front desk hosting a small cluster of bells, ringing them doesn't seem to draw the attention of anyone. The bells cannot be removed from the desk, but the hotel staff appears to be occupied with other tasks.

It looks as though you're on your own for now until maintenance is finished. But it's just like the first time, isn't it? Get to know the other guests, start asking questions, and settle in for your stay.

You can check-out any time you like, but you can never leave...

N̸A̵V̴I̶G̶A̶T̴I̴O̸N̷.̷

█ LOCATIONS █ STATUSES █ PROFILES █ AUDIENCES
█ REPORTING █ PRIVATE CONVOS █ MURDER

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Okay, okay. You win. [SHEESH.] Fantasy The Rock. I see. Is this one in plate mail?

[There's a lot to fucking unpack here, Lup?!]

You guys had a hot tub? Lucky.

What? No, that's ridiculous. [yeah get ready for a constant stream of that]

Did you not have one?

[Wtf. Let Fantasy The Rock be in PLATE MAIL. HE'S A WARRIOR TYPE. Barbarian. Whatever.]

Not unless you count the giant, frigid ocean around the island.

[no it's more ic if he's exactly the same he just has an axe sometimes]

Yikesaroonie. Island, huh? And I assume there was murder.

[stop]

Nah, we all had picnics in the jungle. [Dry.] Yeah. There was murder. Surprise.

Surprise! [jazz hands] Please tell me you got to sleep in not the jungle.

Sorry to disappoint; had to sleep in the sweet jungle every night. Who would pass up on cuddling with all that foliage?

Dunno. Wasn't half as bad as being hunted so everyone else could find your body the next morning.

[the :nyeh: face she's making]

Hunted. Okay, well, this is an upgrade then, apparently?

Is it?

[He sort of bounces the sticky hand at her.]

I mean, you can cover the room with yellow wallpaper, Charlotte Gilman, but it's still full of depression and psychosis. We had a mansion. Doesn't mean we weren't still being hunted in the jungle every night.

[she looks delighted for about 2 seconds as he makes these references, because she's never met anybody who throws this shit back at her, hello]

Okay, yeah, but what are the odds of us being hunted in the jungle in the middle of a hotel, though, really. I'm calling it an upgrade. The depression and psychosis are a two-for-one deal.

Now we're just being hunted through a hotel. I've always wanted to re-enact The Shining. What a leg up.

[HE IS SO DRY.]

I've had enough depression and psychosis, thanks. I don't need another two-fer of that.

Don't open the elevator.

[she's trying not to grin.] Same, uh, same though! Look, I'll cut you a deal - you don't murder me and I won't murder you, does that work?

[Two brow raises. And then he barks a laugh.]

What, you spitting and shaking on it, Satan? What're you going to do when you get a little note that says, "Hey, so, you shank this guy, and we'll give you an easy out"?

Oh, please, I have a stronger moral backbone than a tiny note bossing me around, Mr. Torrance, let's not get too carried away.

Anyway, if you spit anywhere near me, I'll set you on fire.

[Noooooooooooo, he's amused. Hate that for him. He just cackles a little to himself again.]

Come on. We can't seal the deal unless we spit in our hand and shake on it. You think I've got cooties, don't you? I'm hurt.

[He's got cooties.]

Are you gonna lie to my face and tell me you don't have cooties? [she puts her hands on her hips.] I can practically smell them!

[Oh, the hip hands. This is serious now.]

Yeah, okay, Miss Smell-o-Meter 9000. I'll have you know, even if I did have cooties, they would smell great. How do you think I'd give them out so easily?

Oooh, no, bad. Bad nickname, try again. I gave you an on-point pop culture reference and you hit me with the Smell-o-Meter? No.

[anyway] I'm not sure I want to think too hard about your great smelling cooties, my dude.

Yeah. You make me an old, psychotic dad, and then insult my cooties, but want me to be nice about nicknames? Psh.

[Don't bully him.]

Hey. Didn't see any sign in the guestbook, but you wouldn't happen to have seen a little dude running around here who looks like he walked off the set of Lord of the Rings? Can't miss him. He probably hissed at you. The look he gives can wither a cactus. Calls himself Duster.

[you really are coming into my house to tell me about my own character]

Y -- what? [she's absolutely thrown off by this.] Wait, are you talking about Royce?

[yea

Both brows raise slightly. It was a shot in the dark, and he was being kind of mean. I don't think he even knew Royce was an elf maybe, but--look. Lord of the Ring aesthetic? Elves. It's fine.]

You've seen him, or you know him?

[jason that's racist]

Uh, both! I mean, well, I haven't seen him here. But I know him. He was in my uh, my thing.

[it is, but listen]

Your game. [He frowns considerably.] Well, that's not what I like to hear.

Are you guys like, friends, or...

You think Royce has friends? Haha. I don't think he even knows how to spell that word.

No, he... was in my game, too.

(no subject)

evocationary - 2022-06-05 00:33 (UTC) - Expand