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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 21, 2010 7:36:44 GMT -8
Penn takes a deep drag and starts heading across the street toward the Statue of Liberty hoping to find a bathroom (if it's supposed to be New York, there has to be at least one ladies room in the whole of the city, right? Maybe there's a WC up Lady Liberty's skirt...). She sees the Japanese tourists staring everywhere but where they're going as they cross in front of an annoyed Indian (or Pakistani, or Sikh, she never can keep up with the difference in turban wrapping styles) driving a taxi cab. Out of the corner of her eye as she turns away, abandoning the hope to wave to her foreign friends who are now in full sightseeing mode, she notices the door of the cab opening.
...a few seconds earlier
"My stop's here."
The driver blinks exasperatedly before issuing a stream of unintelligible words Ben and Arch can only assume are profanity. Without pausing a beat, he takes the cash and slams a button on top of the digital meter to reset it. He pauses in his barrage of Punjabi insults to pop the trunk and turn two bulging eyes to Ben as if to ask you, too?
Arch is already out the door and around the back, slowly gathering his luggage as he sees the woman from the picture stepping onto the sidewalk across the street in front of the large, replica New York.
Up with the Keep Ben +1XP
Penn +1XP
Arch +2XP
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 21, 2010 9:39:47 GMT -8
"Uh."
Ben blinks, bewildered by the sudden turn of events. Faced with the cabbie's flesh-piercing gaze he bails out onto the strip, collecting his meager travel bag from the seat next to him. He grunts as he looks up at the faux new york skyline. Funny that it puts him right back where he started. But not that funny.
"Hey man, how much do I owe you?" He sidles up to Arch, digging for his wallet.
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Post by brendur on Sept 21, 2010 19:07:50 GMT -8
Arch flips the cabbie the bird as soon as his luggage is clear, glowering at the Indian in his rear mirror.
"Go tug Ganesh's trunk a few times and dry up! Paid your damn arse didn't I?"
He gets clear of the street looking from the hotel to the girl from the picture. Damn it, he was tired, cranky, and in no mood to cross a street full of American built, cared for, and repaired cars. Whatever state he managed to reach her in, it wouldn't look pretty. Then suddenly the answer to his inquiry pipes up to his side.
"Hey man, how much do I owe you?"
Sure, why the hell not. He was younger, certainly more friendly looking than he was, and had a lighter bag from what he gathered. Arch popped out his note pad and jot a quick note down on it.
Work from the old town. No fuss, and no Barney. MGM Grand Hotel. Ask for Dover at the check in.
He folds it smart like and holds it out to Ben.
"Tell yew what my young squire. Yew see that bird cross the road? Looks like Demi Moore fore she went all muscles and rumble tits on the world. See she gets this, and we'll call ourselves square."
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Post by e on Sept 21, 2010 19:29:36 GMT -8
Penn is now uncomfortable enough to wish she were alone so she could fidget and dance her way to the toilet. As she is anything but alone, however, she practices her willpower and maintains an even gait, clicking her heels into the pavement deliberately, each step godwilling taking her a wee bit closer to the powder room.
She hopes she won't run into Elvis again this time. The blokes they hire to wear the white suits are always huge, smell of sausage and beer and they always always have to stop her in her tracks to try and sweet talk her with the same lines every single damn time. Hey baby, don't you step on my blue suede shoes now. Oh, babydoll, my heart has left the building.
Penn rolls her eyes, wincing at the memory. She's never understood it, but the Elvises are always waiting for her, staking her out the second she enters their space, ready to annoy and smother her to the brink of death with their smarmy come-ons. And it's always the bloody blue suede shoes. The least they could do would be to have the decency to learn some new lyrics to go with the stinking swaggering and gyrating. Really!
Surely the New York New York, as she can now make out in indecently bright lights above wouldn't harbor such clowns, would it? Anyhow, if Mister Hunka Burning Luv's waiting this time she'll just tell the bugger to get stuffed. When she gets back to her flat, maybe she'll take the time to google what one might do to ward off that particular evil.
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 21, 2010 21:41:43 GMT -8
Ben raises an eyebrow, taking the folded note. "Arrite..." The urge to ask questions weighs on his tongue, but instead he merely flashes a half-smile and nods. "Pleasure doing business with you, then." His hands are full and he has nothing to shake with, so he merely nods and starts making his way towards the person that was pointed out to him.
On the way he begins writing an after-action report on his brief relationship. His usual way of sealing off an encounter, since he never expects to see this man again. Condensing everything he knows about him into a capsule in case he even reeds it again, however unlikely that may be. This too is habit, but again a good one to have.
Part of this is remembering the persona he used. Easy enough, he'd slipped into one of his stock characters like a familiar suit. Had he given a name? No. Which was pleasant because he didn't like to have to lie when he didn't have to. Thinking back, Mr. Dover hadn't ever given his name either. Funny. But not overly remarkable.
He moves quickly through the human and automotive traffic, careful not to lose sight of his quarry. He hadn't given much though as to how exactly he should go about flagging this particular vixen down. Vegas was one of those crowded, tense and not-entirely safe places, not one where most people would be happy with a stranger flagging them down. He slows once he gets within twenty paces, planning his approach.
"Excuse me, miss." He settles on an accent, something to set him apart from the local hicks. British, upper class, but very light. "Excuse me." He comes along side, staying a respectful four feet away. "Sorry to bother you, but it seems I've just been drafted as a courier. A friend of mine asked me to deliver this to you, just now." He extends the note at arm's length, held between two fingers. "Here. It's nothing sordid or dreadful, I promise." He displays a friendly, carefully constructed smile to cover up the half-truth. He has no earthly idea what it says, but he doesn't -think- it's anything bad...
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 22, 2010 15:47:07 GMT -8
Penn is just inside the aggressive A/C, immediately scanning the walls and ceilings for the customary female-shaped stick figure indicating the women's restroom. There's the customary wail and metallic clings of various gaming machines, both analog and digital, but turning a different direction temporarily gives her a wash of disorientation -- she's suddenly looking at a promenade that is built to look like a New York City street, and it appears to be in this direction, if any, that the nearest restroom is located. As she stares in a daze, she hears a quiet "Excuse me, miss..." She turns around, giving Ben a peculiar look (( check yr messages )) as he continues... "Excuse me." He comes along side, staying a respectful four feet away. "Sorry to bother you, but it seems I've just been drafted as a courier. A friend of mine asked me to deliver this to you, just now." He extends the note at arm's length, held between two fingers. "Here. It's nothing sordid or dreadful, I promise." This close, Ben can see why she might turn heads. Not shockingly beautiful, but certainly set in a class above the average in terms of looks and poise. She looks anachronistic in a saucy black dress compared to the attire of the other casino-goers. Ben can see that she's been walking more than a little this evening from the way her feet shift subtly in her shoes and she appears to be in some kind of physical discomfort. 06 - New York GirlUpkeepBen +2XP Penn +2XP Arch +1XP (( since we were gone most of today, I'll continue to run this tomorrow, so keep going... )) (( if anyone's actually been to this hotel/casino/resort/theme park/thing, i apologize for butchering the layout ))
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Post by e on Sept 22, 2010 19:43:02 GMT -8
Penn turns, confused by the lights and the distinct lack of Elvis. Her eyes flit about, finally landing on the man speaking to her. She stares at the man for a moment, surprised, then regains composure and smiles tentatively, deciding that if this is the alternative to Elvis, she'll call it tickety-boo. There really isn't much that's creepier than Elvis at this hour. She's so preoccupied with needing to pee that she really can't rustle up a load of curiosity about this odd moment, like she would normally.
"Hello then. I'd inquire about where you hail from, but I'm in a bit of a desperate pursuit of the ladies room at the moment."
She reaches for the paper extended in the man's hand and slips it inside her purse without a glance. "Thanks. I'd say you make a rather good courier." She's examining the man as she speaks and makes a split-second decision to tip her hand. After all, he's not all chin and chops and sunglasses, so she likes him already.
She smiles, taking a step toward the man to murmur, "Though between you and I the accent could use a wee bit of a polish."
She steps away again. "Good evening... or morning, rather." Penn turns and stalks in the direction she thought she glimpsed the sign with the skirt. Almost there, almost there, almost, she repeats inwardly, trying to resist the urge to tear off her heels and run barefoot toward the loo.
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 22, 2010 20:02:46 GMT -8
He smiles and it's a warm thing, the kind of smile a friend might give when caught playing a prank. "Guess I got no chance against a native." Seeing that she -really- does not want to stop for chit-chat, he excuses himself with the tip of an imaginary hat then turns on his heel and walks idly in the opposite direction.
Well that was that. He feels all the poorer for, again, no longer really having a purpose. The feeling brings on another bout of self-denigrating metacognition. Was he -really- that lost when he didn't have a role to play? Was his life really that aimless? Did he dislike who he was that much? ...He didn't think so. It was just more fun, -easier perhaps- to be someone else. What was the harm, anyway?
He shook his head. Okay, no time for that. He was in a strange city without a bed, and most probably rapidly approaching the stroke of the clock where all energy would simply drain from him. He'd been up too long, that was a simple fact. He takes in his surroundings. God it's noisy. But honestly as good a place as any. From New York to New York, New York. Why not? Most important was getting a place to put his head down.
That decided, he sets out in search of wherever the check-in desk ought to be in this monstrosity of a building.
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Post by brendur on Sept 22, 2010 20:35:12 GMT -8
Arch simply nods as he sees his courier take off, pleased at the manner in which things worked out. The boy got a free ride, he got into the hotel that quicker, and the world was relieved of Archibald Dover at 4 am. One of those win-win situations for all parties involved.
He made his way down the street and to the MGM's entrance, his lack of sleep resulting in a sort of tunnel vision at the middle of which was either a bed or someone dead for lack of one. Arriving at the check in he slaps the bell on the counter and waits for the arrival of aid. When it comes he's quick and to the point about what he needs.
"Single bed modest price, non-smoking, and fer fecks sake there better be a mini-bar. Send me a wake-up roundabouts the 4th hour after noon, and if anyone so much as sneezes on that door before then, they will pray to the sweet virgin Mary for merciful death afore I gets done with em."
He nods, signifying that is all, then suddenly memory strikes.
"Oh...and my daughter-in-law will be showin up here tomorrow. Pretty little thing, raven hair, she asks for Mr. Dover you send her on up."
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 23, 2010 10:07:20 GMT -8
Through a series of turns and a stroll down a circa 1930s representation of New York under a sky of tiny lights emulating the night sky (which slowly rotates to day every 30 minutes), Ben eventually finds himself at a normal-looking registration desk, bleary-eyed and lightheaded from lack of sleep. The sky outside might be just lightening with the early dawn or it could just be another series of rooms designed to look like they're outside, Ben's not quite sure which.
A girl half his age with dark eyeliner and bleach-blond hair sporting a nametag that says "Candee" underneath is written "San Diego, California" looks up at him with bored, bluegreen eyes and, in between chomps of gum, says "Thanks for visiting New York New York Hotel Las Vegas, can I help you?"
...nearby...minutes earlier...
Penn emerges from the ladies room feeling much better, and considers her present wherabouts while looking again at the note that man (who distinctly wasn't Elvis) handed her. Come to think of it, this hotel seems to have a particular lack of Elvises (although she's heard exactly 3 Sinatra songs and 2 Tony Bennett songs just since entering the building) which puts it several steps above her present temporary address (she knows she saw at least one Elvis entering one of the other rooms a few doors down). The MGM Grand Hotel is across the street, the Stardust Motel...much further...and her purse is somewhat less famished after having gotten a few quid for the gig this evening.
...and elsewhere...
An almost identical registration desk (this one faux gold plated with an MGM logo in the center) greets Arch, behind which an anonymous brunette attendant greets him that could be the twin of the girl at New York New York. Her nametag indicates her name is "Kandice" and she hails from "Reno, Nevada." She sighs in that what planet are you from, jackass pretentious way American girls seem to direct at Arch when he opens his mouth and taps a few keys.
"How many nights will you be staying with us, Mr. Dover?" she says with a sneer, as if the thought of opening her mouth to speak to him fills her with bile.
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 23, 2010 11:12:25 GMT -8
"Please tell me you have a room available." Ben says bleakly in the general direction of the receptionist. "Anything will do, just not one of the crazily expensive top-floor things, please."
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Post by e on Sept 23, 2010 21:06:40 GMT -8
Upon coming out of the ladies, Penn glances around a bit, then opens the note, scanning it quickly and shoving it back into the void of her purse.
Work from the old town. No fuss, and no Barney. MGM Grand Hotel. Ask for Dover at the check in.
Erm. This trip is coming up sixes and sevens after all. Possible gig and curious intrigue involving phony Brits and now possibly the real thing, according to this scrap of paper. She wonders where this Dover heard of her. Maybe at the club tonight? Probably not. She'd have noticed anyone who looked vaguely like a Dover from the old town. Quite curious, quite. And while curiosity killed the cat, it's never let Penn down.
She glances herself in a mirror across the hall and is surprised by how tired she looks, especially in the awful fluorescent wash inside the hotel. She considers taking a cab back to that miserable heap of a room and shakes her head no. Definitely not. Tonight, I deserve a bathtub. And a huge tv. And I don't want to have to inspect the sheets. And if she's going to drop by the MGM to see about this Dover bloke and his job, well, why go all the way across town to come all the way back?
She begins walking toward the large Welcome sign, looking for the front desk.
When she gets close to the desk she pulls out her phone as she walks up to the attendant. She sees the attendant is a young girl and begins speaking agitatedly into her phone.
"Darling, I am so sorry, I promise I will fix it. No..... No. Absolutely not. No. Roger, please don't ring Sylvia. I said I will take care of it and oh, here I am now, hold on a mo'."
She walks up to the desk and lightly taps on the dark wood, covering the phone with her hand so as to prevent the other end from hearing the coming conversation.
"Excuse me miss. Excuse me. I'm sorry, but this is emergency here. You see, sod all, Roger is on his way here and I am expected to have given the suite a good once over for him and made sure that it's just at 68 degrees and that his Old Raj bottles and the ice are ready for his arrival, but my luggage got lost in a shambles at the airport and so I am really ever so late and I really must insist that we hurry along and get the suite set up or he will be shirty with me, err, and you I suppose as well."
She takes a deep breath, looking upset and worried.
"Wouldn't you be a darling and find the number and the key and show me the lift? I'll make sure Roger makes it worth your while. If you could just look up the suite assignment, I think it's under Roger, but it might be Richard. That's what he goes by when he wants to go incognito, you know. It'll be paid for already... likely one of your finest suites..."
She smiles brightly at the girl and waits a moment, but not enough for a response.
"Oh, I jolly well have it, if I could just have a peek at your reservations there, on your computer I can find it right away and we can both avoid a rockstar tantrum from Roger when he gets here."
She steps up and peers over the counter and directs the girl to scroll, looking for a Roger or Richard (or anything else if neither are there).
As she's reading she says, "He's Hugh Grants best mate you know. Does public speaking and non-profit fundraisers now, but rather a pain in the arse, if you know what I mean. Big spender though, that's why I'm still with him. Fix everything up just right for him, I do. It's my speciality."
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 23, 2010 21:31:03 GMT -8
Candee blinks three times slowly taking in the babbling new British lady. She instinctively feels the need to rush, quick as the woman is talking, and she glares at Ben briefly as her fingers flick across the keyboard to suite reservations, her eyes scanning for "Roger" before she thinks to ask for identification. "Roger...Roger Federer? The tennis player? Ohmygodheis SO sexy! Let me take care of that for you..." She makes deft movements across the keyboard, pauses a moment, then reaches under the counter to retrieve a letter-sized brochure envelope. A hefty-looking, vaguely pencil-sharpener-shaped machine reader spits out two plastic cards with magnetic strips and a pastel impression of the New York skyline on the back which she stuffs into a pocket of the envelope. "Here are your keys. Your room is already paid, when Roger comes in, I will just need to see the credit card and a photo ID. You are in suite fourteen thirty-two -- take the elevators over there up to the fourteenth floor and head straight back, the room is on your left. And if there is anything at all that you need, you can call me, Candee, and I will take care of it for you, personally. You can dial 0 from your phone, and if you hit star two three, you'll get my extension. Is there anything else I can do for you, miss...?" She inclines her head, waiting for a response. 07 - There's a Party Goin' On
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Post by brendur on Sept 24, 2010 6:16:10 GMT -8
American girls with attitude, Arch had seen enough of them touring the island to last himself a lifetime. Born with a silver spoon in their mouth, even if the parents couldn't afford silver, given every opportunity, and had every door opened for them when they fluttered those eyelashes. The only consolation to the crock of it all was that most of them ended up like "Kandice" here, too much eyeshadow and a future that only involved staring at a screen for the rest of their miserable lives.
Arch allows a few seconds of very uncomfortable silence the conversation, enough to generate all of this hate in a stare that's been used on gentlemen much taller and more musclebound than this slip of a girl to tell them it was time to stop fucking around and get back to work.
After the moment he resumes telling her what he needs.
"A week, perhaps longer if things go well, but a week for now. Also need any literature you have back there on any parades and city planned events."
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Post by e on Sept 27, 2010 8:50:52 GMT -8
As the girl behind the counter bends down to reach something underneath and her face is turned away, Penn turns ever so slightly toward Ben and gives him a tiny wink, then turns back to the desk.
"No, nothing else at the mo'. You are a treasure. Thank you... Candee. I adore your hair, by the way. Now I had better get a hustle on up there."
Penn takes the card keys and whirls, heading for the lift the girl had indicated.
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 27, 2010 9:28:53 GMT -8
As he tends to do when he's surprised, Ben freezes, trying to become one with the scenery. It only takes him a scant second to realize what's going on with the woman at the counter was suspicious, given that he'd been talking to her just a few minutes ago and none of this had seemed to be a concern, and that her current tack reminded him one hell of a lot of some little tricks he'd heard of and seen other people pull. And so it occurred to him that the two of them were possibly -more like probably- in the same business.
At this (possible) revelation a few other questions snap into existence. The guy back in the Cab, Mr. Dover, who had sent the message. Was he involved with this one? and if so what did _he_ do for a living? How accidental was or wasn't their meeting? What the hell had the note said? Had he just, in fact, been played long and hard, and was at this moment about to fall into the hands of the people he was trying to get away from? He tensed, but another second's thought revealed this wasn't likely. He'd left no clue of his destination (given that until he stepped to the ticket counter even -he- didn't know where he was going) and AG didn't have arms that reached further than the city. As far as he knew. But mostly this was too.. Overt. If they wanted to nab him they could have -should have- done it before now. This didn't make much sense as a warning either.
Serendipity, then? The kind of bizzare, anomalous coincidence that lets you flip heads eight times in a row? Maybe.
He listened closely enough to catch the room number. 1432. 1432. One plus four equals three plus two. Or just four-three-two. He ran nmemonics till the number was locked up tight. Whether or not it would prove useful would be another matter entirely.
In the meantime. Still needed his own room. He drummed his fingers on the counter, waiting quietly to re-register in Candee's consciousness,
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 27, 2010 11:13:46 GMT -8
Candee continues to smile in the direction Penn left, obviously lost in some daydream that may or may not include a relatively famous Sweedish tennis player. Penn realizes there's a distinct time limit on this particular con as said Sweedish tennis player and his entourage is likely to show up later in the day to actually check in, but she should have enough time for a hot shower that doesn't go cold after five minutes, and a few winks in a luxurious bed without having to try to tune out the loud arguing or the bangs from either side of her room like at the Stardust. Candee turns again towards Ben with a "why are you still here?" look before she remembers where she is and what she was doing previously. In a brusque and impersonal manner she takes his information and sends him off to his room, 1928. The rooms at the New York New York Hotel are posh, and styled after the kind of elite, 1960s-era Manhattan of film noir and gangster movies. The low-wattage lights and Venetian blinds as well as the warm browns and yellows of the wallpaper and decor add to the effect. The beds are plush, the showers are expansive and hot, and both rooms are complete with a fully-stocked mini-fridge with assorted, single-serving spirits. Across the street, Kandice hands Arch his room key, and gives him his room number (672). The room is similarly exotic to the rooms at the New York New York, though decked out in MGM Grand's sophisticated black and gold motif. A small, glossy black mini-fridge is similarly stocked in Arch's room. 08 - Dood ItUpkeep (( includes upkeep from last week, too... )) Ben +2XP Penn +3 XP +1 Buzz (Fasttalk) Arch +2XP
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Post by brendur on Sept 28, 2010 7:16:57 GMT -8
Arch makes a point of purchasing a can of ginger ale from one of the hallway vending machines on the way to his room, draining the soda before he reaches the door with a satisfied belch. He examines the room thoroughly, checking drawers, air conditioning vents, all those little hard to reach places that the denizens of his world liked to hide surprises in. It's more habit out of anything, what it took to sleep anywhere outside his flat and shop in Manchester, and he really needed sleep.
When the ritual is done, he drops a nut and washer from his bag into the empty soda can, balancing the can on the doorknob. A crude, if effective away from home security system, it always paid to be aware of someone trying to get into your room. That done, the old Brit pours himself a bit of scotch from the minibar, has a shower, and promptly does his best imitation of Rip Van Winkle to date.
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 28, 2010 9:12:24 GMT -8
Ben trudges to the elevator, falls asleep in it as it's elevating, and stumbles off on the right floor. After fumbling with the ridiculous card key he cracks open the door and steps into his room, not even bothering with the lights and finding his way to the bed by sonar and the faint glimmer of what he hopes isn't the morning sun through the curtained windows. Four seconds after he flops face first onto the comforter he is out like a light.
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Post by e on Sept 28, 2010 19:37:39 GMT -8
Penn finds the room easily given Candee's enthusiastic instruction, enters and looks around, very much pleased by the change of scenery. She makes sure any and all locks are engaged before indulging in a long bath, sampling the buffet of products available.
As she soaks and splashes a bit more than is strictly necessary, she goes over the events of the day - rather - night and smiles, chuffed with how things turned about for the better. She wonders about the Dover fellow again and about the "courier" downstairs. She hopes he didn't take her little spot of fun too badly.
She briefly considers calling room service to order up tea and paprika pringles, oh, bugger, it's bbq or cheddar in the states and both are all manner of horrid.
Upon post-bath reflection she opts for bed, feeling knackered. Huge, fluffy, soft bed that smells of some mysterious flowers. She does her nightly relaxation stretch routine, then falls to sleep happy.
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 28, 2010 20:04:30 GMT -8
The remainder of the early morning passes quickly into afternoon. All three grifters fall into deep and dreamless sleep. Around 3pm, Penelope wakes to a polite knock on her door. At first, she's so spun with disorientation that she doesn't understand the words being said, but as they are repeated, she can make out "Miss? There seems to be a problem with the room...can you come out and show your identification so we can verify we have you in the correct room?" (( Ben and Arch can wake up whenever, though let me know if you're doing something before 3 and we can maybe do it in PM. Arch gets a call at 4pm sharp if he isn't up before then. )) Upkeep Ben +1XP Penn +2XP Arch +1XP (( Some of you folks are getting close to buying a couple points in Skills (and all of you can buy at least 1). New Skills (i.e. Skills you don't already have at least 1 point in) cost 15XP for the first point, everything else thereafter is 5XP. Also keep in mind that you're always earning Buzz, and get +1 Buzz in a skill whenever you (well, I anyway) roll a 10 on a success). 10 Buzz points = +1 point in that Skill. )) 09 - It Rains Rain
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 29, 2010 18:40:43 GMT -8
Ben remains face down on the mattress for several hours, waking up at some point to groggily creep out of his clothes and under the covers before returning to blissful unconsciousness.
((Well, as much as I'd like to help out, having Ben wake up and find some way of helping Penn would be unlikely and sort of metagamey, so chances are he'll probably just sleep till something wakes him up or until the sun comes out.))
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Post by e on Sept 30, 2010 13:21:17 GMT -8
Penn wakes with a start, silently jumping out of the bed and standing on tiptoes, hands in her hair as she tries to make out the words from beyond the door. When she finally does hear something that makes sense, her mind branches out along several different paths, she stands frozen as she tries to decide on her next move.
Is it fire escape time already? She thinks she recalls there being two doors to the room... maybe she could breeze out the second while whoever it is waits for her at the first? Does this have anything to do with her ex Rory and his delight in badgering her? Perhaps she could hole up in the assumedly extremely huge closet and wait it out until she gets a chance to scamper? No, no, not at all worthwhile. She'll just have to use her tongue to untwist this knot, like so many others.
She smooths the bed with one hand and finds her phone with her other. She moves to the bathroom and puts her phone to her ear.
She begins talking into the phone.
"Yes. Absolutely, I understand. Yes, Roger. I am so sorry they are.... yes I know. I will."
She steps out of the loo and slams the door loud enough to be easily heard outside, but not loud enough to sound overly agitated. She keeps talking as she heads toward the door, standing in front of it for a moment before opening it.
"I'll be there as quick as I can, alright? I'm not sure, love. Maybe twenty minutes if the taxi bloke's brilliant. Just don't bite your arm off until I get there, and try not to be beastly to them. They are just doing their jobs, I'm sure." She pauses. "Roger, not remotely, no, I'm not fannying around, I'm just being reasonable." She pauses again. "Yes, I'm certain. Yes. It'll be a doddle once I'm there. This is exactly the sort of thing I do, love. So stop blabbering and I'll get there faster! Honestly Roger, just let me do my job, alright?"
She opens the door and smiles at whoever is there, holding up a hand to signal them to wait for a moment.
"Just a moment, there's someone at the door. No, you certainly cannot talk to them if you're going to use that kind of language. No, I will handle it. Hold on..."
She lowers the phone from her ear a bit, and pushes a button on the face before looking at her visitor politely.
"Yes? What is it, please? You might have heard, but I'm in a bit of a bind just at the moment so...."
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 30, 2010 16:30:51 GMT -8
Penn opens the door to see Candee at the door. She smiles sheepishly.
"Sorry to bother you again...my boss is making me come up here to get photo ID and the credit card on file. I told him you'd be by and that you're sort of the advance team, but he's making me get it before I can clock out, so if you could come down to the desk, you know, when you get a chance, I'm technically not supposed to check you in without that stuff...so if you could come down to the desk, that would be so cool, and then I can go home..." She smiles again. She waits a few seconds, then says, "So, um...I guess I'll meet you down there, then? Only, try to be quick...my boss..." she exhales and rolls her eyes, then walks back toward the elevators, nervously glancing over her shoulder several times at Penn.
Earlier... Arch, despite all attempts otherwise, wakes up to a pesky slit in the blackout curtains that conveniently paints a line directly down the center of his face. The sunlight is piercingly bright against the darkness of the room. He looks at the bedside clock: 2:30. Unless he was in Alaska -- which he made fairly certain he wasn't -- that was in the PM. An hour and a half before his wakeup call. Further attempts to go back to sleep are thwarted by the annoying slit of light and all attempts to alleviate it only compound the problem. Eventually he gives up, and starts his normal daily routine.
(( Ben, figure out what you're doing after you get up and I'll work you in. ))
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 30, 2010 20:41:34 GMT -8
Ben wakes to the sun on his ceiling. He rolls over experimentally and finds to his pleasant surprise that he isn't particularly groggy. In fact he feels rather nice, aside from being famished. He walks to the bathroom and relieves himself, then stares at his still fully packed bags, sitting on the floor by the bed. The question is; what to do now. His phone sits on top of his pile of discarded clothes. He grabs it and fishes for his charger then plugs it in, waiting for it to complete it's little loading song-and-dance. Bing. Sixteen messages. Jesus christ. He rubs at his eyebrow. His contacts are all listed by the first two letters of their first and last name. MaMa has left him eight messages. Martin Maybrie. He can imagine what they're about, MaMa worries a lot about his Ben. Without listening to any of them, without really thinking, he flicks the callback button. The tone pulses once and then Martin's voice fills his ear. "Ben, where the fuck are you? What's going on?" "Martin, look-" "No you look, man... I went by your place, it's fucking wrecked. I checked your other spots too, they were turned over also.. What the fuck's going on Ben?" Martin's smoker's growl is rendered in perfect fidelity by the phone's high-tech speaker. The machine's impersonation is so perfect that Ben can tell Martin has a cigarette in his mouth right now. In his mind's eye Ben can see Martin's mouth, smell the sour tint of leftover smoke. Ben lets Martin's question hang for more than a second and so Martin takes that as his cue to continue. "God damn it, at least say you're safe. Weller called asking if I knew where you were." Ben's heart drops into a bucket of icewater. "Fuck me, you talked to Weller?" "Yeah, ...What's the deal, man?" "Jesus christ. Did you tell him anything?" "How the fuck can I say what I don't know, man? No, I didn't say shit." A pause as the wheels turn over in Martin's head. The cigarette changes sides in his mouth, clamped now between his teeth. Ben can't hear this, but he knows it is happening, all the same. He knows Martin very well. "You aren't in town, are you man?" "I shouldn't tell you, Mart." "You wanna at least tell me what's going on?" "That's... That's a bad idea." "What, for my sake, right?" There is sarcasm in his voice, but something infinitely worse than that as well. Hurt. Ben closes his eyes and bows his head against the mattress, on his knees and tethered by the charger cable. "Yeah." He whispers, against his tightening throat. "Right." For long seconds the phone's crystal-clear connection transcribes only breathing. "You know when you're coming back?" "No." His breath stalls but he makes himself say it. "Maybe never." The cigarette is crushed between Martin's teeth. "Fuck you, man." Ben's chest hitches, but he is unsure whether its a laugh or a sob, or just a hiccup. It feels like all his insides are being squeezed together. "Yeah. Fuck me." His thumb reaches for the disconnect but can not press it. Instead he squashes his ear to the high-fidelity speaker, listening to Martin's breathing for another four seconds before Martin does the job he couldn't. Their connection breaks with the tiniest of clicks, without even a tone at the end. Some time later Ben takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. The rest of his messages are from the usual suspects, aquaintences and casual business partners. He deletes them one by one, without listening. Now-irrelevant messages from people he can't afford to have as friends anymore. The last one, however: AlGa Alan Garrity Recieved 5:13 AM (Helpfully Auto-adjusted to Nevada time) In spite of every warning bell, he presses the button. There is a click. Eight seconds of silence. And a voice. Terrifying in it's reasonable calmness. "Benjamin." "Benjamin." "Benjamin." "What are we going to do with you?" Four seconds of silence. And then it cuts off. Ben deletes the message. He's three thousand miles away from the man who sent is. AlGa doesn't know where he is. He's safe. He stands, showers, and dresses, all while trying to convince himself of this fact. Time would tell if it really were true. But for now, first things first. And first he was starving. There must be a million restaurants within a square mile, something would appeal to him. And second; he'd need work. Something to fill his pockets, but more importantly something that would leave no room for certain thoughts to creep through. His mind drifted back to the woman he'd met last night. If she was in the business she might have something for him. Or could point him to someone that did. He'd keep an eye out for her. ((Garrr.. Didn't check my formatting.. fixxxed now.. And I know this sort of melodrama isn't really in the tone of this game, buuut, Yeah, I just couldn't halp myself.. it won't happen often, promise. ))
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Post by brendur on Oct 1, 2010 7:56:50 GMT -8
Arch wishes it didn't hurt to glare daggers at the sun, would two more hours really have hurt the universe? No use for it now, he was up, hardest damn thing to get back to sleep once that happened. He rises up every bone in his body cracking and popping as he does so, each a reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be.
"Buggerfeckshitwankersmegass-HOLE!"
The prayer of early risers everywhere. He's up though, and there's a forward momentum to that which he doesn't bother fighting. It's enough to carry him to the shower and then boil some of that shit coffee in the fancy foil packaging that's meant to make it look like it went up with the moon-rover, but really doesn't taste like it went anywhere near the moon. Imagine that.
He'll get some food in him before long, but the first order of the day is to get work well on the way. He'd learned long ago never to just walk into an employers place of business, especially in organized crime, they tended to shoot out a knee-cap then ask for identification. Always go over the phone, they couldn't shoot you over the phone. Also, you never talked the Business over their main line, let them be able to call you back.
He looks up the Harrah's numbers with the phone book, settling for their corporate office. As he punches in the number he ruminates on the approach, he didn't often stray too far from his own personality, familiar was easy and more believable. He left accents and psychoanalyzing to the new generation. He was ever the disgruntled lower-class worker, that suited him and his job just fine, because to anyone in a suit, they were interchangeable and easily forgettable.
When they pick up the phone to answer, it's a tired and frustrated old man on the other end.
"Hello? Main Office? Yeah, listen I know yew work for busy people and the like so's I won't take up much of your time. M'names Arch and all I want to do in the next week is retire and get the feck out of Vegas. Only problem with that is yesterday my supervisor takes me aside and says 'Arch, we'd love help you out the door, but there's a black mark on your registry, cause this fellow at Harrah's put in three repair requests on the same slot machine in one week, and yew was on all three of the receipts as the man on the job. The firm just can't pay yew benefits with that kind of record.' can you believe that?"
Arch took a sip of coffee and then kept right on with the story.
"Now listen love, I've been 40 years in this business and this is the only slip I've had in that time. Course the firm has given me an out. If I manage to talk to the fellow what signed them receipts and get him to sign an affidavit on my behalf, they'll forgive the black mark and I get full benefits. Now now, I ain't lookin for yew to convince the man, that's my job, I just need to get him my number. Here's the thing though, the office can't make out his last name as he scratched it out, the only name I've got is Anthony at Harrah's. Any chance yew could help a fellow out and give him my number?"
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Post by e on Oct 1, 2010 13:36:34 GMT -8
Penn shares a knowing gawd, my boss is such a wanker smile with the girl at the door. "Oh, I'm so sorry to have cause a hubbub, Candee. I will be down there in a wink... I'm on my way to deal with... well, Roger's run into a bit of a fix, I'm afraid, so I'm about on my way out the door anyhow, so I'll see you down there in a mo', sweetheart, alright?"
She gives Candee a little wave before putting the phone back up to her ear and beginning to talk into it again.
"No, no. Everything is just fine. Yes, I'm about to leg it out of here, and no, your language is not helping. I'll be there before you know it. Alright, see you in a... no Rog... save that thank you till I'm there. Byebye now."
She stands there in the doorway for a few seconds before absently closing the door while still talking. She moves toward the bed, sitting down for a moment and then puts the phone down next to her purse. She smiles.
Penn moves into the bathroom, purse in tow, washing her face quickly, using the toilet and downing a few glassfuls of cold tapwater. She pulls a travel toothbrush out of her purse followed by a tiny tube of toothpaste and brushes up.
She pauses, leaning over the sink and gazing at her own reflection in the mirror for a few seconds. She applies a wee bit of color to her lips, smudges it neatly with a tissue and blows herself an experimental mirror kiss.
Then she calmly walks out the bathroom, places the card keys in her purse and steps out of the door. She turns in the opposite direction of the way she had come last night and the way she watched Candee leaving and looks for the stairs on the opposite end. She will attempt to leave the building in a way that doesn't involve going past the check in counter where Candee works.
After that she plans to drop by a clothing store and pick up something more comfortable and less conspicuous in preparation for calling on mister Dover.
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Post by jazzs3quence on Oct 1, 2010 18:23:21 GMT -8
(( @grave: just so's you know anything you introduce can and will be used against you later in the game )) Arch...The voice on the phone sounds unsure, but answers the request. " Hmm..that's odd you got that name because normally Ton--Anthony doesn't do that sort of thing. But...I guess I can tell him you called, and give him your number..." No more than ten minutes pass before Arch's phone rings. Before he has time to breathe a hello, a hostile Italian-American-accented voice comes on the line. "Who the fuck do you think you are and just what the fuck are you tryin' ta pull in my town, huh? Mister Arch...or should I say Archibald Dover. What, they don't have fucking caller ID back in your country, fuckface? Your dipshit prank might've fooled the fuckin' entry-level douchebag at the desk, but you try to pull that shit with me, motherfucker, and I guarantee you will wish you were so lucky to be in those old stories about the cement-fuckin'-shoes, capiche? Now, talk: you've got five minutes before I hang up and track down what fuckin' hotel you're in with a couple weightlifter buddies of mine..." Meanwhile...Penelope manages to avoid the front desk entirely, finding her way to a covered walkway that takes her to an adjacent building. Before she knows it she's looking down at some kind of capitalist wonderland, complete with shops galore, an indoor roller coaster, fountains, cocktails on demand served by scantily clad ladies to men lying with their fat hanging over the sides of beach chairs around a kidney shaped pool. It takes a minute to soak in. Luckily, there are more than enough shops to suit any of her numerous tastes, and she actually doesn't look that out of place in her current attire, slightly wrinkled as it is. ...somewhat later...Ben reaches the ground floor and nods to Candee who's still at the desk, with a burly man in a suit and shaved head looking sourly over her shoulder. All pretense of being perky and upbeat has left Candee's face who now looks quite like she might be on the verge of tears. Ben files that away and searches for food, and finds the universal travel food destination, Dennys, not far off. UpkeepBen +2XP Penn +3XP +1 Buzz (Fasttalk) Arch +2XP
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Post by jazzs3quence on Oct 1, 2010 20:11:19 GMT -8
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Post by brendur on Oct 4, 2010 6:05:05 GMT -8
"Who the fuck do you think you are and just what the fuck are you tryin' ta pull in my town, huh? Mister Arch...or should I say Archibald Dover. What, they don't have fucking caller ID back in your country, fuckface? Your dipshit prank might've fooled the fuckin' entry-level douchebag at the desk, but you try to pull that shit with me, motherfucker, and I guarantee you will wish you were so lucky to be in those old stories about the cement-fuckin'-shoes, capiche? Now, talk: you've got five minutes before I hang up and track down what fuckin' hotel you're in with a couple weightlifter buddies of mine..."
Arch holds the phone away from his ear while Tony vents, not interrupting the man on his tirade, then taking a sip of coffee to wet his lips before he answers.
"Yew don't know me son, so's I won't take any oh those threats personal-like, but let's go on and clear the air before someone say's something they'll regret. First, I don't fly across the Atlantic to pick fights with the local Italians, especially when I have older and meaner articles thereof sitting in my backyard. Second, just because you're speaking to a fossil, don't mean we're in the stone age, yew have my name and number because I gave them to yew, consider them a peace offering. Old Arch is here for a slice of the pie, but he don't stick his fingers in none before consulting the baker first, yeah? Now word is, you're the man to talk to s'far as that's concerned in this burg. That the way it is? If not, just hang up the phone, n'I'll cease to exist in your little fiefdom here."
He takes another sip of coffee, never having raised his voice once during the entire little speech.
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