The Midnight Hotel January catch-all

[gistful]

Characters: Anyone, everyone.
Date: Month of January, 2016
Location: The Midnight Hotel
Situation: Catch-all post! Feel free to use this post for anything that happens within the Midnight Hotel over the month of January, using the subject header to label specific rooms or for specific people. Please also see the OOC note at the bottom.
Warnings/Rating: None thus far.

The Midnight Hotel was among the few buildings which showed no sign of having been damaged by the invasion six months ago. That followed, of course; the Hotel hadn't even been present. But either way it stood out, and many of the kedan knew by now that the building, so different from the architecture of the rest of the city, was a safe-haven. Too many mistook it as a Foreigner safe-haven alone, but not all; even now there was usually one or two kedan present.

Some of them were gang-members, ones with whom Anton had forged closer relationships before the Foreigners' year-long disappearance or simply those who chose to visit in defiance of the general public's opinion.

Anton had taken great pains to give the Foreigners structure and normalcy. While the means of payment were, in some cases, not much more than an illusion, he gave as much in the way of purpose as he could. As a result there were now many Foreigners on staff at the Hotel, though of course the rules were still in strict effect. Anton himself was readily available at most given moments if needed for assistance, questions or otherwise.

There was also an oddity in the lobby: a construction in one of the corners where a long bank of three public consoles was being built. The Metalworkers responsible for its construction were generally taciturn and more concerned with their work than with interactions, but they didn't seem worried about being observed or by the close proximity of the Foreigners.


[ooc: The Midnight Hotel's status page is available here, with the rules at the top and ongoing status at the bottom. PLEASE POST TO THE STATUS PAGE IF YOUR CHARACTER WOULD LIKE A ROOM. Anton will manufacture means of payment until Foreigners are able to properly offer recompense or choose to move out, so you can assume they're 'paying' in some method.

If you have a specific job for your character to do around the Hotel (eg working the kitchen, security, house chores) please also note that so I can keep track of Anton's casual staff.]

Comments

closed to Anton;

[denyamenti]

His sleeping habits had never been regular, but having slept for quite some time (coma notwithstanding), Bakura was awake in the wee hours now. Letting himself out of the shared room quietly, he padded on sock feet down the hallway toward the kitchen. He'd woken up with the socks already on, which was bizarre and more than a little invasion of personal space, but they were warm and obviously meant for him, plus he didn't like his feet being cold.

On one hand, it was probably a good thing that some measure of his appetite had returned... on another, it seemed like just another thing to dredge up motivation for. The kitchen was empty when he got there, and it was far more spacious than any he'd used before. It's also surprisingly modern, but then it did match the rest of the Hotel's aesthetic in that regard. If he hadn't known where to look for sigils, it would have held its place in any modern locale.

It was a relief to have a little bit of space from people; Solomon's constant, hovering presence rubbed aches that were still raw, both magically and emotionally despite the necromancer's good intentions. There's a bowl of fruit on the island and stools to sit, so he does, although the fruit is merely rolled back and forth between his hands absently.

[gistful]

At four o'clock on this particular morning Anton rose an hour earlier to get a start on the day. He made it a point to have some easy-to-reheat pre-cooked meals in the fridge for his patrons' use, a habit from a very long time ago when he decided against hiring staff. He'd tried it once, and it hadn't ended well.

So now Anton made it a habit that at least one day a week he cooked, just cooked, all morning. He simply didn't expect to find anyone else in the kitchen when he arrived there, in his usual funeral-director-like suit, though Bakura's presence certainly wasn't a deterrent.

"Good morning," he said, putting his jacket on the back of an empty stool and rolling up his sleeves, and then moving to the cupboards to bring out the pots and pans. All of the pots and pans. No one else would be able to use the kitchen this morning, though if they came in hungry there would be plenty of food already available.

Hearty soups and stews were generally the mainstay, and Anton put them on first to simmer throughout the day. Casseroles, pies, curries and pasta dishes were also common in his freezer and fridges, however. Mentally he ran through a list of those recipes he had chosen the day before, sorting the utensils where he needed them.

[denyamenti]

Bakura only nodded in reply to the greeting, and seeing as how his chosen seat was out of Anton's bustling way, he didn't move either. Watching the man sort through the impressive amount of dishes, and apparently intending to use all of them, he was surprised by the efficiency and comfort Anton stepped through the various preparation steps. He was obviously used to doing this regularly.

It wasn't until the rattle and clink of dishes and utensils became a steady stream of sound that he stirred, the ache behind his temples easing. "Just part of the services you offer, djadjut?"

[gistful]

"As the only member of the staff, it has proved prudent to pre-cook meals my patrons can serve themselves," Anton answered without feeling the need to turn. He brought out ingredients, some of them leftovers he could use in the stews; poured stocks and oil into those pots that needed them; turned on stoves and ovens to pre-heat; laid out the chopping boards for preparation.

It was an easy, smooth flow of motion with which he moved, so well-formed that it seemed almost an instinct where Anton went next.

"I have a touch more help now, but there is no need to change the habit." Besides which, he found it soothing. Anton looked up. "If you are hungry, I can spare room to make you breakfast, unless you were satisfied with the fruit."

[denyamenti]

It was honestly kind of relaxing to watch Anton work, a constant source of movement and sound that played counterpoint to Bakura's silence and inertia at the moment. Besides which, the thief appreciated any skill shown in its full form, no matter what arena it played out in, and Anton's was in evidence right now.

He shook his head at the offer, only remembering he held the fruit when Anton mentioned it. "Go ahead," he replied, and only out of reminded obligation did he begin to peel it. "I haven't much appetite."

[gistful]

"A difficult stage of recovery," Anton said, more as an absent statement than anything else, because it was. It was difficult to force oneself to eat when the body didn't feel like it, though it was important to do so regardless. So while Anton wasn't obvious about it, he did keep an eye on Bakura to make sure he did, in fact, eat the fruit.

In the meantime he got his three pots of stews and one of light soup situated and a cluster of ingredients and leftovers around them to put in at any given interval, and moved on to the the curries. They, too, could simmer for some time, which left more time for the more immediate preparation required for the casseroles and pasta. After that, the bread, while everything else needed watching.

[denyamenti]

The fruit is sectioned off like segments of an orange, so at least he's able to eat them slowly while watching Anton's work. The rind is peeled and set into a neat pile on the tabletop, where he could gather it once he was finished and throw it away.

"I suppose," he said eventually. "That I owe you a thank you, for the socks. Couldn't figure out the phrasing at first, you used newer prepositions."

The actual content of the phrase is left unremarked upon; he wasn't in a mental place to start philosophizing on the kingdom of the gods right now.

When Anton starts making the curries, Bakura's fingers slow on the fruit and he takes a deeper breath. "Those smell good," he said.

[gistful]

Most of the presents, Anton had managed to leave without any evidence of his presence; but Bakura's had been difficult. Anton hadn't quite realised that Wreath and Bakura were such close friends, and so in the end he had simply knocked on their door and handed Wreath two presents, and walked away again.

It was gratifying to know that Wreath had given one of the gifts to its intended, at least, though apparently he hadn't felt the need to hide its source.

"You're welcome," Anton said simply, but with a furrowed brow. His knowledge of Egyptian was a century old at best; yet Bakura referred to them as newer constructions. And yet, again, Bakura was familiar with modern amenities. How strange.

"Curries," he said, "mostly from India, today. This one--" He nodded at one pot. "--will be quite spicy, one of the others intermediately so, and the rest mild."

[denyamenti]

Having little else to do other than watch Anton's movements, the confusion did not go unnoticed. "What?" he prompted.

Bakura nodded to the Hotel manager's description of the curries. Although not native to Egypt, and having not been imported via trade routes until much later, it was a flavouring that was in a similar family to the native cumin and coriander that had dominated much of the spice palate that Bakura was used to. Not to mention, curry was a popular taste in Japanese cooking, and the thief had adopted more of Ryou's taste preferences than he often cared to admit.

"Perhaps I'll have some later," he said. Even if he wasn't terribly hungry, perhaps the familiarity of it would kick his appetite into gear.

[gistful]

"It will be available to all by afternoon." Well, since Bakura had asked Anton certainly wasn't predisposed to keep the oddity to himself. "My knowledge of Egyptian glyphs is a century old," he said, "yet you refer to them as newer. How old are you, Bakura?"

Thanks to Bakura's familiarity with modern utilities it hadn't occurred to Anton that he might be significantly older than he looked; yet at the same time, it explained a few mannerisms Anton had dismissed as simply a matter of a difficult childhood. Certainly they still could be, but perhaps not wholly so.

[denyamenti]

That was fine, he could wait that long, and having a few snacks spread through the morning would probably help build some hunger up. He rolled a fruit segment between his fingers as he determined the best way to answer that.

"I was born in what's now called the Second Intermediate Period, falling between the Middle and New Kingdoms," he replied finally. "However, I missed everything between then and about a decade ago."

Another pause before he offered, "Hieroglyphs were always an evolving language, each period just kept adding to it. The glyphs that gave me pause were ones that hadn't been invented yet, but I figured it out. The New Kingdom stuff's the most readily accessible: more people were literate, records were better kept, preservation was more efficient. So it's not unusual that's the variant you know. They weren't incorrect, just not familiar."

[gistful]

Anton continued to work silently as Bakura spoke, and mentally tallied that timeline while he did. That would make Bakura roughly three-thousand years old ... however had he survived that? Possibly something similar to the earth-power; Bakura's emotional mindset was altogether too young for someone who had actually lived each year, and the word 'missed' indicated some manner of stasis.

"I did not realise," Anton said at last, "though that would have been difficult to predict, to be sure." Not even sorcerers lived that long. "What magic bound you to stasis?"

And had it been by choice? Anton didn't think so. Bakura was bitter. It practically infused his being.

[denyamenti]

"The kind I don't care to talk about," Bakura returned, and having spoken with Anton enough times, understood that the man would not take that as an insult but a simple statement of fact. Bakura hadn't shared the details with many people before, and he certainly held that pain too fresh to him at the moment to broach the topic.

But then he took the opportunity to redirect the conversation to something that he found curious. "Still, you recognized me as Egyptian from the moment I spoke a word of it, in your first public address. That, and knowing hieroglyphics? What is Egypt to you?"

[gistful]

As Bakura assumed, Anton didn't press on that issue. He had suspected it was sensitive and painful and Bakura's answer confirmed that it was; it also confirmed that there had indeed been some kind of stasis involved. That was enough, for now, and it explained a few things about Bakura himself.

The return question was an interesting one, and at first Anton remained quiet in order to consider his answer. At last he said, "A place of learning. I didn't learn to read or write until I was into my third century. I didn't understand the power it could have until then--to conceptualise ideas, to ... create. Egypt is an ancient land which used words as power, and you have seen the similarities between hieroglyphs and sigils. When I realised what they could do, I realised perhaps they could help me establish a place of safety for others, regardless of creed or merit. It was not the only place I sought knowledge. In those days, during the war, I could only snatch time wherever we happened to be, if there was opportunity. But whenever we were in Egypt--I learned."

[denyamenti]

Despite everything, hearing his homeland spoken of in such a way still managed to bring Bakura a sense of satisfaction and, though he may not have realized it for what it was, a measure of peace. His issues with the monarchy aside, Egypt itself had always been precious to him. It was something that he would have desired to live, uncomplicated by shadow magic and hostile invaders. If Set actually had ascended to Pharaoh from High Priest, Bakura hoped the man at least hadn't screwed things up too badly. Then again, it was a lost period in Egypt's history, so he supposed they hadn't done everything right.

It was, in fact, one of the things he'd initially bonded with Solomon over -- that the Egypt of his, and Anton's world, still maintained a connection of that ancient time, even if it was bound up in the necromancer's Temple. (The irony did not escape him.)

"I would have liked to see an Egypt still teaching," was all he said.

[gistful]

Ah. A patriot. Anton considered that trait alongside what he knew of Bakura and found it fit quite well. One could love one's country and not the people who led it. Indeed, that added quite a bit of context to the nature of Bakura's bitterness. Egypt had, at one stage, been among the most highly magical of nations--not in its sheer power, as the Cradles were, but in its acceptance in daily life. India had been another.

In the modern era, it made both of them among the richest of magical history.

"It may not be impossible," Anton said thoughtfully, underscored by the quick, measured thud of his knife on the chopping-block. "The Hotel came here well enough, and its wards are in some measure still capable of movement. I had not intended it to be a transdimensional building, but it seems to me the notion is not so far-fetched as I had thought."

In which case, it was entirely possible it could be used to visit other dimensions.

[denyamenti]

"Don't you want the Hotel to go back to where it's supposed to be?" Bakura asked, and that led him into another question. "Speaking of that, why didn't you? I thought you were providing the bastion of neutrality in your world. Or did the magician not give you the same offer she gave to the rest of us?"

[gistful]

"She did," said Anton, scraping vegetables into one of the pots. "But it is my understanding that time there does not move while I am here. My dimension loses nothing for my extended presence here and could well be enriched by the knowledge I bring back, if I can break the memory erasure."

[denyamenti]

"I went back to the time I'd been pulled from," Bakura confirmed. "As for remembering... I didn't, but I knew something wasn't the same. I just didn't know what it was."

Which, had he not gone back to the middle of the Memory RPG, might have given him more than a moment's pause. But there had been so much to do right then, that he hadn't allowed himself the time to dwell on what was amiss.

Since he'd gotten back, it had been hard not to wonder if that might have made a difference in the outcome.

[gistful]

It was an opening to ask after Bakura's past, about his experience returned home. Anton let it pass. He'd never been known for being the sort to probe, anyway. "That is what I don't wish to experience," he said. "A great deal of a person's being is defined by what he remembers. There are things I've learned here I would give a great deal not to forget, and not only for my sake. Therefore I will remain here until I can return home without losing those memories."

[denyamenti]

"Akh," the thief agreed idly, to Anton's assertion that memory was a defining trait. "Experiences, memories, choices made." Then he exhaled grumpily, sweeping the fruit rind into the trash. "Everything in this place really does come back to that theme, doesn't it."

[gistful]

"It seems so," Anton acknowledged without looking up. He had long since mastered the art of work and conversation at once, provided his conversation partner didn't mind the lack of direct eye-contact, which Bakura didn't appear to. "It is a place where the physical means less than the spiritual and the mental. Fitting, perhaps, if daunting with regard to the return home. And insular, in its own way, which of course can be problematic in its own way."