capeandcowllogs | C&C HOLIDAY JAMJAR ICE HOTEL HELL: AFTER-AFTER-AFTER-AFTER-PARTY

C&C HOLIDAY JAMJAR ICE HOTEL HELL: AFTER-AFTER-AFTER-AFTER-PARTY

WHO: That 'tag yourselves in' thing? Yeah. Let's do that again.
WHERE: ~~The Gorsewick Hotel~~ YOUR BRAND-NEW PRISON. :D
WHEN: Late evening of December 19th through 6PM December 22nd
WARNINGS: Time will tell, so for now, let's just cover our basics until more specific ones can be made: cursing, violence, drama, couples, etc.
SUMMARY: Everyone who attended the holiday dinner thrown by Remus and Miles is now trapped together in an icy hell for three and a half days. As the days progress, conditions worsen, growing incredibly severe. What, exactly, will several dozen people of all shapes, sizes, powers, and alignments do when forced to face their combined and potentially horrific impending doom...?
FORMAT: IF IT FEELS GOOD, DO IT! Long prose, action brackets, rapidfire dialogue, present tense, past tense--whatever floats your narrative boat!

OOC PLOT INTRODUCTION

As characters progress through the days ICly, any number of things can and will be going wrong. This is an experiment in balancing free-form play with guideline challenges, so it's set up a little differently. In order to allow players as much time as possible to play, we have decided to provide a way for all four days to be accessible at once rather than attempting/spamming with a new log every day. Play and tag around however you like--if you want to take each day as it comes, that is perfectly welcome; if you would like to move back and forth between them, that is also 100% valid as an option. Don't worry too much about perfect continuity timing, either--this is for fun, not science, so do as much as you want to!

Please also remember that you are not restricted to only tagging into something on the IC day; players may start, finish, or generally carry on as far beyond the 22nd as they want! If we still have people actively threading and playing around doing new things on January 13th, this log is not over and you are not late. Let's see if we can make LJ's comment limit weep for mercy!

Visual aides are provided for each floor on each day, with important reminders on the side, so that a quick memory jog is just around the corner if you need to check back on a detail; please comment to these floor-markers when making new threads so that people can find the action by day and floor. The hotel is laid out exactly as shown, including room arrangements, floor designs, frozen-through bathrooms, how far the snow explosions initially extend inward, and all that, so you won't have to worry about whether your made-up detail meshes with someone else's.

When starting a new thread, do so under the appropriate day/floor subsections, and please try to mark your initial subject title informatively to some degree so that people will know what they're looking for--whether it's open or closed, or what general time of day it is, or who's in it, or what it's about, or any combination of the sort. It'll really be helpful to everyone OOCly, since characters will more than likely be doing an awful lot during their stay... after all, where else are they going to go~?

Remember, this was primarily created an exercise in CR rut-breaking, characters learning how to work as a community (or, depending on how dangerous they are, how to better work against it), and lasting personal developments... so have fun and let's shake out those tired old RPing limbs! :D

SPECIAL DETAILS

The order of NPC cold-virus carriers is as follows, skipping places if necessary due to deaths before the appropriate turn.
The three tourists, the two housekeepers, the grandson, his grandmother, the bellhop, the husband and wife, the front desk clerk, and Edgeworth himself.
If someone kills the tourists along the way, it is to be assumed that the two housekeepers become the next reason people are falling sick (and it's possible that their killer gets it him/herself). In that scenario, if someone did not interact with the tourists, but did shake hands with the housekeeper, it means they suddenly become at risk of getting sick even if they weren't before. Should it happen to get down to Edgeworth-as-main-disease-spreader, please take note of the following: because of the effects his powers have on him, he has not been/will not be presenting symptoms, and it's very likely that a great many people will have been around him at least once...
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Nobody will/can actually be bitten by Lupin on the night of the 21st, as Ty has not cleared the making of new werewolves, although close calls, other injuries, panics, mob reaction/mob defense, and whatnot are welcome!
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AS OF 5AM ON THE 22ND, THERE WILL BE NO ELECTRICITY. NO LIGHT. NO HEAT. NO TV. NOTHING. JUST PITCH-BLACKNESS, UNLESS OTHER LIGHT SOURCES CAN BE FOUND/MADE OR YOUR CHARACTER CAN SEE IN THE DARK. MAKE FRIENDS WITH USEFUL PEOPLE PDQ OR RISK BANGED SHINS AND FALLS DOWN A STAIRCASE.
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There really will be no running water as of 4PM December 20th. That's probably going to translate to an awful lot of horrible-smelling people by the end of the plot. Combined with the need to keep close to conserve heat... well, I can only suggest that your characters pick up a clothespin or some cotton balls from the ground floor's housekeeping supply room before it gets too cold to go down there.
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Miles and Remus are obviously not getting their security deposit back when this is over, and the owner will be cashing in his insurance policy with a sigh before deciding to just open a small coffee shop named Beenz next time.

FAQ

I have ____ power! I can totally do _____ to the blizzard/force field! Hooray!
Nope--sorry! For the duration of the plot, when it comes to trying to break free, you can consider your powers pretty hardcore nerfed by the multi-layered and ultra-complicated nature of Remus' wild magic and the sheer force feeding into it from the storm. Attempting to meddle with either the trap or the blizzard will fail... and more than likely, backfire in fascinating (but not always safe) ways. Feel free to make up your own effects and/or explanation for why they don't function. And, yes... this includes all-powerful god-types, too. The only way anyone gets out is through death or, more likely, the end of the plot. :)

Also, while areas of the hotel can be made warmer or colder as PC actions are taken, the slide toward most of the space within suffering below-freezing temperatures and cold damage is pretty much inexorable. The same magical containment field keeping the huge walls and ceiling of snow and ice in place is also expanding to mingle with Edgeworth's power as they essentially begins leaking into the hotel itself, meaning that once something is frozen/snowed over, that's it--once the shower is turned into a block of ice, it's blocked in until 6PM on the 22nd. Power backfires apply to these situations the same way they would the barrier outside the hotel.

Obviously, if your power is superstrength and you'd like to throw a king-sized bed at someone or teleport up a floor or Ruffle the towel rack, that's cool, as that's not escaping the hotel.

It's not so bad. My character will just chill out and talk on the comms until they can get out.
Theoretically a good idea, but other than the 'chill out' bit--and there will be plenty of that, believe you me--it's not gonna work. HP magic causes problems with Muggle tech, and with something as powerful as that? Well. From the moment the field and blizzard strike, comm functions will be mangled. Their ability to send or receive messages will be very twitchy on the first two days, with the feeds coming in and going out pretty damn garbled or static-y. On the 21st, the few messages that come in/get out will probably become nigh-unreadable. On the 22nd, they will stop working completely until such time as the characters escape.

You... don't have enough beds. At all. Are you aware of that?
Yes. The floor plans were intentionally designed to make it so that even from the very start there are less than half as many bed spaces as will be needed. This number will shrink as time goes on and beds become ruined by PC/NPC actions or main plot events. I hope some of you like tubs, hallways, and couches.

Can I add plots in ways that aren't in the pre-existing design?
Sure! If a Weasley twin wants to turn a half-dozen people into giant canaries and set them loose on the remaining inhabitants of the hotel, go right on ahead! That's what you're all here to do, actually. Same for anyone who'd like to start a fight, hold a competition, roast an NPC, attempt to poison a person they don't like, etc. Not everyone will react to being trapped in an ice block with 60+ strangers for four days in the exact same way...

Oh holy hell someone just did something that's going to kill us all quick quick what do we do AAAAGH WHO LIT THE ENTIRE SECOND FLOOR ON FIRE WE'RE ALL GONNA BURN IN HERE!!!!
If something gets way, way too far out of hand, and can't be resolved by any other PCs, either Ty or Grimm can be contacted and asked to BS a plot-device end to it somehow. I don't foresee this actually being a possible problem in any way, but if it somehow is at some point or another, don't worry about it. We're all here to have fun. No panicking necessary. <3

Okay, but seriously. My character just got _____ injury/is sick/is dying.
Then you'd better hope there's somebody who can help them out in the hotel with them! Nobody and nothing comes in or goes out until 6PM on the 22nd. Mind you, we totally encourage all manner of dramatics, these included, but be prepared for any possible consequences to your actions :3

So it IS okay if I want to die, right?
Of course. Your character may die along the way in some fashion or other if you want them to; mind you, you'll have to clear it with the mods first. The NPCs can also all be offed along the way if you feel the need, with that being first-come first-served and with the acknowledgement that retcons or 'THE REAL TRUTH' scenarios may become necessary as a result. (You may want to hit up the OOC comm announcement HERE if you would like to kill one/some of them in order to give other players as much of a heads-up as possible.)

Someone's starting to sing Kumbaya. Or Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Or both. Badly.
Get ear plugs, punch their teeth in, or sing along with them. Your choice. I can't be held responsible for poor tastes in music.

You're a sick, sick person.
I know. :)

DAY/FLOOR LINKS TO PREVENT SLOW LOADING/BROWSER FREEZES AND CRASHES
Day One
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Day Two
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Day Three
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Day Four
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Escape!
Here (4th Floor)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He snorts quietly at the accusation of slowness, letting the dark marks under his eyes do his explaining for him, straightening up from his slouch and slipping into the room without any sort of fuss.

Trowa waits until the door is shut again before he speaks, glancing around the room. Better than some. Hell, better than most.

"Nmm... not bad."

Another stretch, spending a moment looking at the two-person bed and thinking, and the brunet finally turned round to sit on the edge. Yeah, definitely not the shabbiest. No clouds of dust, either!

He flops backward--stealing the side closest to the door, just as he had done before--staring at the ceiling and reveling in just how much softer this mattress was than the one he had back in his own apartment. Before they left (or got kicked out, whichever happened first) he would really have to check the manufacturer out and contemplate getting a smaller one for himself.

Ahhh.

Edited 2010-12-20 09:25 (UTC)

"kekeke. Better than Mexico, isn't it?" Hiruma turns back around and locks and bolts the door, looking out into the hall through the peephole. No one was around, no one had followed Trowa up... that was good.

Hiruma flopped next to Trowa on the other side of the bed, letting out a contented sigh. Despite everything, the food had been delicious and the bed wasn't too shabby. And the water was still running. But that storm outside... it didn't seem to be letting up any time soon. Snow was piling up.

"Ne, Trowa. I managed to get the TV to work and I checked the weather. There's no storm," he furrows his brows, "What do you think is goin the fuck on out there?"

Hiruma's cautiousness might have amused him a little, not that he would laugh or say so out loud; between them, they should have had enough talent to scare off anyone trying to invade the room overnight. And if it had to do with where they'd been on their quote-unquote vacation, well. Unless they'd already got to and hidden themselves inside the hotel somehow, Trowa was pretty sure they weren't going to be getting in any time soon. In fact, 103 was probably one of the safest places for them both to be at that moment, all things considered.

Loath to move, but unwilling to be quite so rude as to talk to the ceiling, Trowa rolls onto his side.

"ImPort influence," he states, all matter-of-fact and everything. Sure, nothing much of what he has to say is going to be of any surprise, but sometimes just lining things out made them seem more sensible. "It's pretty big. But if it's localized, that makes it controlled. You can't do that without a power."

They couldn't even do that on the space colonies in his world. Not to this extent, anyway.

"I watched a few people--in the lobby. There's no point in wasting energy trying to escape yet."

Best to save it for when a real possibility opened up... or, more likely, a fight broke out.

Hiruma's caution seemed unwarranted, but he had a feeling. Intuition, precognition, foresight... whatever you wanted to call it. Hiruma had learned early to never ignore these feelings. And his feelings were telling him he needed to protect this room, because they were going to need it.

"That's what I was thinkin', too. Someone's power outta control or something," he frowns, then shows his teeth, "Or someone's idea of a joke."

Hiruma lets his grimace fade a little to a look of thoughtfulness. He was thinking of all the possibilities. How long could something like these really be kept up? A day? He hoped it was no more than that. But... "Hn. Do you think I should draw water in the bathtub? In case this whatever it is keeps up?"

"If it was a joke," he countered, "They wouldn't trap themselves with us. So it'd be someone outside. Too easy for us to know who they are, though--with so many here, I mean."

Whoever's doing it, none of them are getting out any time soon, morning or later. So he considers the suggestion for a bit before trying for some clarification.

"To drink...?"

"That's true. Maybe it is someone outside then. Still... weird that no one's bragged about it yet."

Maybe it was the Porter's doing. She did weird stuff on a regular basis. But did she have that kind of power? Hiruma nods at Trowa's question.

"Drinking, mostly, yeah. If this keeps up, we might have issues with the pipes. These sorts of places aren't zoned for this kind of weather."

"There's someone made of rock in here. They might not want to get hit."

Hell, he didn't want to get hit. He'd made his apologies to Rikku, in a way, but Santo hadn't had a whole lot of time to cool down yet. You bet your ass Trowa was going to do everything he could to stay out of the guy's line of sight while they were trapped in the building together.

Bathwater: still not the worst thing he'd ever had to resort to.

He nods his approval of the idea before turning his attention to the window.

"I'll look for nails later. It won't be as cold in here, if that's blocked."

He wouldn't need a hammer. The were-creature could throw a horse like a four-legged pillow; it could certainly push a few nails into the wall.

"Kekekeke! That's true! Santo does have a temper on him."

Hiruma knew about all that, and something told him that Santo would probably never really forgive Trowa. Ever.

He nods and then heads into the bathroom to draw water into the tub, but continues speaking to Trowa by yelling through the door.

"What are you gonna cover it with?"

He would be all right not being forgiven, as long as it didn't also come with a side order of getting his face mashed in every time they crossed paths for the next however-long the Porter kept them in the City.

Trowa takes advantage of Hiruma's absence to steal one of the pillows and see if it was just as comfortable as the bed had proved to be.

Ahhhhh. Still not enough to convince him to ever need more than one, but a very soft lone pillow it was anyway.

"The tablecloths from the dinner," he says at last. "Nobody is using them now. It'll leave the blankets free."

That would be bad. Santo's fists were quite uh... painful. Even just to LOOK at. A punch with those babies would be skull-crushing.

Hiruma is oblivious to Trowa's pillow-examination while he draws water into the tub, and the sink, just to be on the safe side. It would mean no baths or showers as long as they were here, but... he'd rather have drinking water than hygiene in a situation like this.

"Yeah, those should work. I'll go grab one after I get done here. What are we gonna use fer fuckin' nails, though? Everything in here looks like it's glued together."

He was fond of his skull. He'd had it his whole life, after all. Having it damaged was not high on his list of things to do. Heero could have that honor, thank you very much.

"Grab some forks. I'll break the tines off."

Skulls were useful for many things. Most importantly, keeping one's brain in one piece.

"Forks, got it." Hiruma didn't bother to ask how he was planning to hammer them in, but he was sure Trowa had a plan.

The tub and sink were now full, and Hiruma exited the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

"Alright, time fer me to go steal some fucking tableware! Kekekekekee! Hold down the fort for me."

"Understood."

Anyone attempting to break into the room while he was still in it was in for a nasty surprise. Or, at least, they would be if he figured they were capable of going without a room. If someone weak had appeared, he might think twice about barring them from staying, but he also doubted that anyone with such a poor constitution would manage to enter in the first place.

The other two words are quieter; it would be possible for most people not to have realized that they'd spoken at all, in his situation.

Most people.

Hiruma nods and opens the door to head out, catching the words so quiet that they're nearly unspoken. He doesn't answer verbally, but instead smiles. A warm thing, and hardly his usual grin. Comforting. Someone cares about him? ... He likes that.

Hiruma is gone about 15 minutes, and he seems to have no problems. He has a key, so the door provides no resistance. In his arms, he has a folded up tablecloth. He spreads it out on the bed and inside are the forks that he managed to grab, six of them. He looks up at Trowa, questioningly, "Is this enough?"

Trowa assigns concern and trust as he will, once he's been shown enough of it himself. It isn't the blind faith a few people have been granted over the years, but the idea of something serious happening to Hiruma has at least become enough to upset him a great deal beyond his general distaste for seeing people suffer.

Considering how hard it is for him to let himself actually give a damn about anything or anyone, it's a fine start.

At any rate, nothing did happen, so he simply slips behind Hiruma as he walks in to shut the door and re-lock it, since the other's arms are full of thick fabric. Watching as it's spread out, he gives the tablecloth a quick visual once-over for any obvious tears or threadbare spots--there are none--and silently notes the number of potential nails against where he would put them in place around the window.

Hiruma gets a grunt of affirmation shortly before Trowa boils up into the middle shape, careful not to smack the top of his head against the ceiling in the process. The brunet shakes himself out a bit, having gone without using that particular one for some time and feeling vaguely out-of-place in it, then picks up one of the forks (which suddenly looks a lot smaller in his hand) and pinches the tines between thumb and forefinger.

He snaps them off as though they were twigs, and drops both them and the mangled remnant of the utensil onto the bed before reaching for the next. Four down, twenty to go.

Luckily, Hiruma is pretty competent, and he doesn't encounter any issues. There'd only been a few people in the dining room, and the few that had been just gave him strange looks as he collected up the required objects.

Hiruma just watches him change shapes. It's so easy for him, he's almost jealous of how painless it seems, when his transformation hurts so much. He lays on his stomach on the bed, supporting his chin in his hands and watching carefully.

He's a little sad that he can't help, but his bat forms don't have enough strength.

He doesn't think of Hiruma's own shapeshifting skills as he works, his mind one-tracked to the concept of making the room as comfortable as possible, given that they'd be in it for a while. It's not something he's ever thought about too much; Hiruma seems so used to the painful-looking (and sounding) transformations he goes through that Trowa has long since figured they simply don't hurt anymore. Or, if they do, that Hiruma has accepted it as part of his job, the same way he'd always taken his war injuries in stride.

But then, he doesn't tell anyone about the prices he pays for having such an easy experience himself, or the way the bodies he borrows have affected his behavior and thinking patterns. Even the little bits that Bakura has heard of are only just that--little bits. If Hiruma has figured any of them out, it isn't because Trowa's been Mr. Freely McInfo-Share himself.

Perhaps one day one of them will think to ask the other.

Once he's finally snapped off the last of the tines, he scoops them all up into one giant hand and motions to the tablecloth with the other one.

He'd prefer to have Hiruma holding the cloth steady while he jams the tine/nails in place. It's easier for him, and it'll keep the thing from unfolding all over before he can get it sealed all the way around.

"Please."

Hiruma had figured it out, a little, mostly through Trowa's reluctance to use what the blond would consider the most useful form of them all. Perhaps that was the price he paid for an easier shift. Hiruma had found himself with a few changes in habits due to this alternate forms, but for the most part, the instincts and drives kept themselves well locked away. In return, he had to feel every snapping bone and every twisting muscle, though his brain had certainly started catching on and stifling some of the pain.

He nods and grabs the sheet, pushing a chair nearby closer to the window so he can reach the very top without having to stand on his tip-toes. He holds up one corner and nods to Trowa. "There. It's too big for me to hold it across all the way, so we'll do it one little bit at a time."

Gorging at Thanksgiving had probably been a minor hint as well... though just about everyone would need to count themselves fortunate that he hadn't yet discovered the real problem with the prehistoric form.

Incidentally, around the same time that he figures out it still hurts for Hiruma to change, his respect for the bat-shifter will jump by several degrees. Facing something as potentially horrific as that... well. It had taken him the better part of a year and a half to come to terms with having to do so. Someone managing with worse and in less time? You bet your ass.

His attention is presently focused on the window, though, and he rumbles his agreement with Hiruma's assessment of how to go about attaching the tablecloth before coming to the conclusion that pushing the nails in place will be easier on him if he has a tool to do it with; leaning back, he grabs one of the useless fork-bodies and uses that.

If he happens to be sniffing the air near Hiruma's hand too while leaning in, so what?

And what problem would that be? If it was a taste for human flesh, Hiruma could sympathize a little; apparently giant were-bats have the nutritional needs and desires of all species of bats, including the most infamous vampires.

Oh it hurt. It hurt like hell. It only took a second, though, sometimes less. But excruciating as it was, he far preferred the split second of terrible pain to a month spent in a cast for a broken arm. But it was good the shift was so short. Any longer and it would force his body into shock every time. But as painful as it was, he'd never give it up. He'd never give up the freedom of flying. If it were taken away from him now, it'd be as if someone had chopped off his legs. He would live, but he would be miserable.

The leans against the wall and window, holding up the sheet and laying his head against the cool (rather cold, actually) wall above it. He feels the hot breath on his hand and chuckles, "Kekekekeke. Like that smell? Must be food left over from dinner."

No, not that. It could still be called a blood-lust, but not with the intent of eating the person; if he gets into a serious fight while wearing it, it's possible that he won't be able stop himself until there's nothing left but piles of meaty gobbets*. Not unless someone distracts or calms him, anyway. Thankfully, he almost never uses it, so he might never know.

The closest Trowa had (or could) ever come to flying is tearing down an empty road on his bike, but it isn't the same--and even though he'd been in more planes and shuttles and flying mobile suits than any person had a right to, they were just more enclosed spaces. If he were to be honest with himself (and that is not something he's very good at) he would have to admit that Hiruma's abilities to go where nearly no-one could follow and actually feel himself slicing through the air sometimes inspired a bit of jealousy.

Not that thinking such things necessarily translate into actually saying them as well.

The quiet hffs turn into a single irritable snort, his ears tilting back and down at being called out on his actions; he picks up another tine between two claws and holds it in place a little to the left of the second, pressing it in with the help of the flat metal bar in the other. It's almost like watching someone jam a toothpick into butter. And speaking of:

"Not hungry."

Mind you don't step down without looking, Hiruma. The end of his tail--as well as the silver blade attached to it--is twitching back and forth by the chair's legs. Might've hit a nerve somewhere.

Mmm, meaty gobbets. Such a wonderful phrase!

No, it really isn't. There is no feeling that even compares to cutting through the skies on your own wings, from the sweat of your own brow. None at all. It's just as good as it is in dreams, but real.

Hiruma chuckles, amused at Trowa's reaction, but knows not to push it too much. If he's strong enough to push flatware into a wall with no problem, he's more than strong enough to swat Hiruma down and break him into a million pieces. "Sure, sure. What do my hands smell like then~?"

And oh, he's watching that tail. Making sure he doesn't have any limbs near it. He likes them all in place and not sliced to ribbons.

Nearly enough to make one hungry.

Well, who knows. Maybe one day the Porter will play a trick on everyone and he'll get to try it himself. There's always hope.

Motioning for Hiruma to move both himself and the chair a little to the side to get another part in place, and stepping away so that he won't cause any unintentional severance of leggish pieces in the process, Trowa growls to himself. Sure, ask the thing with limited speech capabilities to be descriptive, when he isn't even the best at that when he can talk properly.

He looks at the fork handle in his hand and thinks.

"...Sharp-meat is prey. Soap. Bat, not you. Dog," he grinds out. The words come very slowly and in a deep rumble. It occurs to him at this point that he can needle at Hiruma a bit to pay him back, and so he does. "Fear."

... Well, no arguments there. It's a good thing both their stomachs are full. For now.

It happened once, could happen again. Hiruma got a ridiculous power that he didn't even discover, since he spent the entire period in his room, pouting and working out until he passed out.

Hiruma hops down and scoots the chair a foot or so to the right and climbs back up, holding the sheet above the middle section. Hiruma chuckles again. He knows good and well how hard it is to form words in these sorts of forms; he can barely do it himself and bat vocal chords are much more versatile.

But that last one gets a growl from him, "OI! Fear! Whaddya mean, fear?! I ain't fucking scared!"

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If it's any consolation, he gets a taste of it on Day 4 when he's too weak to change quickly

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Iiieeeee thought I answered this tag this morning :|a

No biggie /patpat I dreamt I'd answered a tag in my sleep the other night. It happens!

rofl did you really? that's awesome XD and it would also be great if LJ quit eating my comments

Y. It was a long, glorious thing. Woke up, realized it wasn't IRL, and went >:| Also, bad LJ!

HOW SAD :(

All is well, now

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