tushanshu_logs | The Midnight Hotel January catch-all

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The Midnight Hotel January catch-all

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.]

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Right. Well, considering how much this sort of thing'd normally cost- it seems a fair enough trade for a room. And if he can work the microbots in, then it'll cut down on time considerably, once he has the materials. But it's getting those that seems to be the problem; so used to a variety of materials at his disposal, Callaghan realizes that he has been, perhaps, spoiled in comparison to these people - even with everything considered.

To be fair, he's also worked for everything he's ever had. In some way or another...

Magical electricity makes him wonder if there is, in fact, so much magic to it in the first place. Perhaps it's something they call magic, but is merely an unexplained science by their standards. The lack of immediate electricity doesn't bother him, considering that there should be no supply running to the equipment while it's being so examined; if there was, he would have treated it all very differently.

"Well then. I have a few things of my own that should prove useful in the repairs; I'll bring them in when I get settled," he noted, pushing himself up to his feet. "I'll take a closer look at the compressor then as well."

Given the amenities the Midnight Hotel provided with every room, people were generally surprised the rates weren't higher--though it wasn't precisely cheap to begin with. Still, Anton's insistence on manufacturing a trade was more a matter of mentality than need for business; few were the times he outright allowed others to stay without even that.

"Very well," Anton said. "I do have another utility for which I would appreciate the second opinion, however. I use an incinerator to dispose of the Hotel's refuse and I am versed enough to maintain it, but I am no engineer and I was obliged by the war's end to dispose of some magically poisoned weapons. Some insight into its condition would be valuable."

So saying he went to a 'staff-only' door against the far wall and on the far end, with the boiler beside it and a heavy steel door akin to that used for freezers on the boiler's other side. With a touch of his hand to the wall beside it Anton brought the sigils controlling the incinerator's functions to view, and with a long swipe of chalk down them interrupted the flow of magic to turn it off. He had to use a key to unlock the door, and opened it, and pinned it against the wall.

"This was not bought domestically," he explained, turning toward Callaghan, "but specially designed to contribute to the Hotel's economic capabilities. Its functions rely more upon magic than do the fridges, but there are still moving parts to be considered." The freezer repelled heat; the incinerator collected it. The magical energy produced as a byproduct caused by breaking the slag down into nothing was absorbed by the wards and used to facilitate power around the Hotel.

Professor Grouse had designed it nearly a century ago, at Anton's request, but it had been a decade since he had been past to upgrade its mechanisms. Still, it would be obvious to Callaghan that the incinerator was far more advanced than the fridges, and designed by a genius; Kenspeckle Grouse was the foremost expert on magical-science.

Working on the incinerator as well wouldn't be a problem. Even...magic as it was, and-

-that was his first real display of magic.

Callaghan's eyes widened, mouth parting just a bit as he watched the- chalk. That was chalk? Those were what looked like runes and-

-right, he had a professional facade to maintain. Shutting his mouth, he recomposed himself admirably, following with only a moment's more hesitation. At least the incinerator looks simple enough, even with the difference in designs; still, he has to ask...

"I don't suppose there's some sort of...spell...that can draw the heat directly from...?"

He makes a vague gesture back towards the freezer. Just- hypothetically speaking.

Ah. Most certainly unused to magic, then, and not merely ignorant of it. Anton waited patiently for Callaghan to recover himself, and then inclined his head. "Yes, in fact. The freezer's premise is based upon the rejection of heat, while the incinerator draws it. Magically speaking, they rely upon one another."

The incinerator was cold now, because Anton hadn't used it in a few days for precisely this reason. Any energy required by other parts of the Hotel in the meantime were drawn from the boiler, which both collected water drawn from the air and stored the power produced by the incinerator while in use.

"The system was designed by a man known as Professor Kenspeckle Grouse," Anton explained, "an expert in the marriage of magic and science. He is not, unfortunately, present in Keeliai."

The sigils were primarily Anton's work, however. Though the colloquially known Viking runes had their similarities, on occasion, there were far more similarities with the ancient Irish Ogham; though in sigil-work the symbols were primarily circular in nature, multidirectional and far more versatile than either of the other alphabets.

At least there's some sort of logic to it all. Maybe it was just an unexplained science, but- Callaghan briefly reached for his hair, brushing some of it back in to place as he mulled that over. A professor, then, like him, and not some sort of mage or wizard...

Right. He could take all of this. Just...approach it as a science.

"Too bad," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I could use a fellow professor's approach to this, but without him, I'll have to take this a bit slower."

Which was to say he wasn't quite about to throw himself in to embracing the whole concept, but he wasn't about to run out of here, either. But with a final moment to think...

"I shouldn't have a problem with the mechanics, as I said. If the...magic...is supported by that, then it should at least give it a foundation. Do you want to give me some time with it now, or...?"

He's not sure what sort of access he'll have to all of this, later- if he'll have to find Anton or someone else.

"Certainly, if you have the time to spare," Anton said. "Allow me to disable the spellwork inside, and then I can bring you Professor Grouse's blueprints--they ought to be current, and useful in lieu of the professor's direct presence."

He stepped in to deactivate the incinerator's workings from the inside, as a safeguard against accident or attempted murder. With those disabled no one would be able to activate the incinerator from the outside. Then Anton stepped out again to give Callaghan room to enter himself, and made to leave in order to retrieve Grouse's blueprints from his office.

The incinerator itself had a small space to stand, for maintenance or other such necessities; but the main part of the machine was on a raised section with a separate glass door. When the incinerator was activated the standing strip was subject to lethal amounts of heat, but outside the incinerator's closed door there was little to no evidence that it was active, save the glow in the window.

"I think I can fit it in my schedule," he admits with a quirk of his lips. His rather empty schedule, mind, but that's the point of the joke. "Would you mind grabbing some pen and paper, unless there's some with the tools?"

He'd need to make his own notes on this, and has he began to take a closer look at the workings...the unsettling feeling that had formed when he'd seen the 'magic' eased. This, at least, made a sort of sense- and he was confident he could at least get it back in to working order.

By the time Anton returned, he was kneeling again, taking a closer look at some of the lower pieces. Gloved fingers carefully probing at the machine's innards, he seemed rather relaxed and self-assured, but why not? He had been given a problem that was well within his means to handle, and might just be a bit of pleasant work.

"Of course." Anton came back with rolls of blueprints and a large notebook, with pencils and eraser--there were more of them in the Hotel than there were pens. Too much of what Anton did was liable to be amended, updated or outright erased to be lacking in lead.

Callaghan relaxed significantly in that short space of time, Anton noted. A man who not merely enjoyed hard work, but delighted in it. Anton appreciated that. He let his footsteps sound as alert to his presence and came to Callaghan's side, putting the notebook and pencils on the floor beside Callaghan and then finding one specific blueprint.

"This is the schematics for the mechanics," he said, shaking it out and placing it down. "The stapled pages are the changes Professor Grouse made as technology became more refined--the most recent is on top. These notes--" He pointed at several bracketted number sequences written in a different coloured ink. "--indicate corresponding blueprints for the magical elements of the machine."

The footsteps helped; if Callaghan was the sort to alarm easily, there was ample warning. As it was, he raised his head, then began to go back to the matter at hand before his attention was caught by the blueprints.

"Hn." All right, most of those made enough sense, but...his gaze did rest upon the sequences. If the same professor wrote those as wrote these...

"Is there a reason it's called 'magic' as opposed to a 'science'?" he asked, gaze falling upon Anton. The man had been nothing but professional and level-headed, and aside from his acceptance of magic, didn't seem prone to fancy; in fact, his acceptance of that was what made Robert wonder just how unexplained it was. There had to be something logical to it, some sort of explanation...

...but what?

Tony had asked much the same question, and hadn't accepted Anton's answer. Anton didn't know whether that was a result of Anton's inability to explain the context for which he had no directly knowledge, or simply a matter of scientists being driven to understand.

"I've been given to understand it's a matter of a measurable quality," Anton said. "A scientific source can be defined and ... recreated, perhaps. A magical source is usually an abstract, a concept." He paused to consider for a moment. "For instance--in my world names are power. Everyone has three names. A person's given name can be used to control their actions, and a taken name casts a seal of protection to prevent that. But a person's true name is the key to their soul. Someone else using it can remake the whole of their being, even script their thoughts. Someone discovering their own ... grants them god-like power."

Anton shifted to put down the blueprints in a stack against the raised part of the machine, so they didn't roll everywhere. "Where does the power in names come from? We don't know. How does one measure the quality of a name? You can't. That is the characteristic of magic."

The concept of names having power wasn't an unknown one to Robert, but it was a fictional one as well. His bemusement was clear, but he was trying to translate it in to something he could understand...nothing simply came to mind. True names? Given, taken?

"And you can simply accept that?"

He knew there were, and would always things beyond his reach. But beyond the world's reach, forever?

Not in the slightest. He hardly expected it to be an easy path, but he wouldn't have appreciated it if it was. But where would he even start with that?

"I do," said Anton, and smiled. "Professor Grouse does not. He's a healer by magical inclination, but a scientist by choice, constantly developing. The necromancers, of course, are also greatly interested in elements of the soul, and ... the foundation of the world beyond the physical, I suppose one might say."

Of course, the necromancers were also a cult, so one had to take that with a grain of salt. Still, it was the necromancers who developed the soul-catcher, and that worked precisely as it was meant ... and sounds.

"One of my old unit," Anton continued, "was what's known as an energy-thrower. Ordinarily all they can do is generate energy in their hands, and use it as a weapon. Dexter figured out how to manipulate that energy into solid objects. It was a means of conjuration no one had seen before; he was something of a physicist."

Of course, Dexter hadn't conjured in over a century. He always said it required a mental stability he didn't always have ... and he hadn't had for a very long time. Anton didn't think he had even pursued incidental research on the matter in that time.

Edited (icon) 2015-01-05 22:40 (UTC)

Healers. Necromancers. Energy-throwers. This was beginning to sound like something out of a movie, and if it weren't for the blueprints in front of him, the furnace to his side, and everything else from flinching back and blinking to opening his eyes in the middle of nowhere...

Well, maybe the latter is part electric eel. Callaghan reaches up with two fingers, pressing them at his temple and rubbing for a few moments.

Magic. And here he thought what he taught at SFIT pushed boundaries...

"I'm going to need caffeine at some point. I heard there was tea?"

"There is," said Anton. "There should also be some coffee left, if the others haven't found it; I've found it necessary to ration, especially of late." Anton preferred tea, and tea was healthier, but coffee was occasionally necessary and too popular a drink not to lay in stores. It was one of the few supplies that had still been left after the year beneath the shell was over--but also one of the few supplies he couldn't easily restock.

Anton rose. "How do you take it, and would you like anything to eat in the meantime?"

Coffee sounds amazing right now, but considering that it has to be rationed- maybe it should be saved for an emergency. "Importing problems?" he ventures, before taking Anton's motions as an invitation for him to clean up the area. Or to at least try; there didn't seem to be much of a table or workspace, here, but considering its utility that didn't surprise him. The microbots could no doubt form one for him, if he retrieved them...

And then he paused, considering just how long it'd been since he'd eaten. Aside from a rather sparse breakfast - he'd barely been able to take anything - he probably hasn't had a decent meal in...well.

"I won't say no to something light."

"Keeliai is a city of tea-drinkers, it seems," Anton said dryly, and motioned for Callaghan to stay. "There is no need. I shan't require this area for some time." The consideration was appreciated, but Anton could easily cook a meal and maintain conversation without Callaghan having to pack up--though if Callaghan wanted a work-table, one of the nearer kitchen counters could do.

"Some soup, perhaps." Anton went to retrieve one of his stores of coffee and filled the grinder, and then went to one of the fridges. "I regularly make meals to be fridged and frozen," he explained, voice easily lifted to be heard in the manner of a man used to a battlefield. "If you're hungry and cannot make a meal yourself, these are free for all patrons to use."

So saying, he brought back the container and fished out a pot to reheat the soup on the stove. The way he moved around the kitchen was of someone eminently comfortable in the space, just as comfortable as Callaghan was while looking at the incinerator's mechanics.

As long as there's something, Robert won't mind, but that's neither here nor there. If Anton doesn't need him out, then, he'll see what he can do with what he has at hand; primarily it's what easy fixes he can make, and then getting a better idea of what he'll need for others- or if he can gut and remake with what's available.

"That's quite generous," he notes, the work simple enough that he, too, can keep conversation; there's the occasional glance back towards the kitchen, but otherwise his eyes remain at his work. "Do you get a lot of business, then, to keep this place going?"

He didn't want to venture that magic was involved.

"And, ah, on the coffee- black's fine."

Edited (I DID IT AGAIN) 2015-01-06 19:21 (UTC)

"This is a place of sanctuary," Anton said simply. "There is little more comforting than food and shelter readily available." It did mean the Hotel was on the expensive side, and yet reasonable given what was offered. And, of course, Anton took alternate payments.

"I do," he said, stirring the soup. "The Hotel is ordinarily translocational. Every twelve hours, it would move to another location in the world, so I had a far greater patron base than most Hotels do. Nor do I discriminate. As long as the Hotel's rules are followed, anyone is welcome here--regardless of what they've done in their pasts or presents. Many of my patrons are those who have been shunned or committed crimes, and have found ordinary life difficult. For most, it's simply a temporary refuge. For some, it's an opportunity."

The truly terrible always thought they could get away with it, somehow. Anton had had many, many people try to abuse the Hotel over the years, people who felt that since Anton disallowed law-enforcement it meant he was a pushover, or could be bribed. Even some of those who knew his reputation from the war started to think he had been tamed. They learned, very quickly, that such thinking was false.

The coffee grinder's alarm went off, and Anton made sure the soup was fine before finding a mug and going to finish making the drink, and brought it to Callaghan steaming hot.

He tried to focus on the mention of translocational as opposed to shunned or crimes or refuge. "You mean it- crosses dimensions? Is that how we're here in the first place?"

He was struggling to understand, struggling to apply his own knowledge, memory, the portal- was that this, then? He'd perhaps gotten knocked out instead of killed, thrown in to it in a twist of irony, and then all this?

...did that mean Abigail was here?

By the time Anton returned, he'd had to put down the tools at hand, two fingers pressed to his forehead as he readdressed the circumstances that had brought him here. It seemed as though it was all just hitting him now, causing no small amount of stressed tension to bleed through his best attempts at control. He hardly noticed the other man's approach until the scent reached him, and he lowered his hand slowly, trying to focus on /that/.

"Thank you. I do appreciate it."

Edited 2015-01-07 20:44 (UTC)

"Count off your breathing, if you must," Anton advised gently, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder and the coffee into his hand. The dose of caffeine would probably help the man's clear discombobulation. It wasn't the first time Anton had seen someone newly introduced to magic, and he doubted it would be the last.

"Not through the Hotel, no," said Anton. "My Hotel is highly warded and highly magical. When the magician who summoned me did so, her magic crossed with the Hotel's and brought it here in my wake. However ..." He glanced around thoughtfully. "However, I have been beginning to think it may be possible to use the Hotel in such a manner. The theory of dimensional shunting is sound; in practice no one has managed a solid cross-dimensional connection only because there are too many dimensions to reliably connect to one that's habitable."

Shunters had been trying for centuries. It was the magic of the wild, the reckless, those unhappy with the world and wanting to leave it; the magic of sorcerers who sought something past the confines of the planet. After a fashion, the magical version of astronauts.

"Magic or not, it doesn't sound safe."

There- might have been an unconscious bitterness to his tone, but rather than elaborate on it Callaghan instead took a sip of the dark liquid at hand. Its sharpness was almost a relief, a grounding and familiar taste with all of this...nonsense.

Twenty four hours ago, he'd been in the ruins of Krei Tech's old test facilities, hunting down the last parts he needed for his vengeance. Now?...

Now he was talking about dimensional shunting to someone who may as well have been a sorcerer, and trying very hard not to let his mind slip in to all the terrible sort of things that could have happened, with all this new information, all the wretched fates and inhabitable worlds because Krei had been too stupid and proud to make sure everything was clear-

He took another sip, hand so tight on the mug that the knuckles had begun to turn white. The odds that Abigail was here, too, were so astronomically small as to be nonexistent.

She was still gone. And he was no longer in a position to do anything about it.

"Once I can get this running," he went on, trying to change the subject, "along with the other devices- will I have to worry about breaking the 'magic' in it, or will that adapt to what's there?"

"Very few things in any world are safe," Anton said, "but that is not always a reason to avoid doing them." He heard that note, felt the tension in Callaghan's shoulder and back, saw the way he clutched the mug. There was anger there. Anger and--something else. It wasn't the magic. If it were the magic Callaghan would have answered with anger from the off. No, this was directed at--the dimensional travel? Hm.

"The incinerator should adapt," Anton answered the topic-shift, "though I will still review what's there after the fact, to ensure it hasn't affected anything untoward. The fridges I shall have to update." He observed Callaghan for a moment longer and then added, somewhat obliquely, "If, at any time, you have any questions regarding ... anything in Keeliai which may be unfamiliar ... allow me to oblige you by answering them."

It was a somewhat sideways offer to talk. Callaghan didn't strike Anton as the type to have bothered making many friends, or who felt the need to discuss much other than his work. Skulduggery was the same way, and that hadn't turned out particularly well on several occasions.

When steps could be taken...

Nonetheless, Callaghan kept to the subject change with a stubborn determination. "I'd like to be there when you do, if you don't mind. Maybe I can get a better understanding from watching you work with it." The notes would help, but so would seeing it in practice. Hopefully it was more than just chalk and symbols, because if that was all it took to it...

Though the offer? Had him pause, and tilt his head. And then, after another moment, nod.

"I'd be grateful."

Whether or not he understood the hidden offer remained to be seen, but it would be good to have someone he could count on here.

"Of course," said Anton. "Practical experience is necessary to expand upon the theoretical." Chalk was the quickest and simplest method of interrupting sigil-magic, but long-lasting sigils were usually engraved in some fashion.

"Is there anything for which you require my aid in the present?" he asked. If not, he would go back into the lobby to complete some of his work there, and let Callaghan familiarise himself with the mechanics.

"Not that I can think of. But where could I find you, if something comes up?" He wasn't sure if he expected such or not, because the blueprints - magic aside - seemed easy enough to understand...but that was just it. That was if he didn't focus on the magic portions.

He had the feeling that sooner or later, he'd have to face it.

yep!

gistful - 2015-02-09 23:15 (UTC) - Expand

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The Midnight Hotel January catch-all

PRETTY MUCH

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if i'm misvisualizing the area please let me know!

no, that's fine!

and then i realized i forgot to have him answer re; coffee. whup.

all good XD

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i'm really sorry this is so late

NO WORRIES i think we can basically fade at this point?

yep!