[Midnight Hotel] July catch-alll

[gistful]

Characters: Anyone, everyone.
Date: Month of JULY, 2016.
Location: The Midnight Hotel.
Situation: Catch-all post! Feel free to use this post for anything that happens within the Midnight Hotel during the month, using the subject header to label specific rooms or for specific people. See also the OOC note at the bottom.
Warnings/Rating: Mark your threads if content warnings become applicable, please!

Though the attack on Anton and Jintou occurred outside of the Hotel, its effects can nevertheless be seen on the Hotel’s runnings during July. Jintou is absent, in the first place, though Anton keeps his room in the event he’s found.

For the last few days of June and the first couple days of July Anton is preoccupied with rebuilding the shops he damaged in his attempt to stop Jintou from being taken, and therefore a good deal of the Hotel’s daily running is in the hands of his staff and a handful of trusted ex-gang kedan.

Within the first few days of the month Anton’s health takes a nosedive. Though the chronic condition discovered by Raine and Tony wasn’t previously active, the poisoning attempt apparently changed that and for the rest of this month Anton is under enforced bed-rest—or if not bed-rest then an enforced holiday. For that reason, any and all offers to help out with maintenance, cleaning, cooking, accounting and other daily chores at the Hotel will be welcomed.

Provided, that is, that no one minds the Hotel proprietor hovering over their shoulders—when he isn’t being sat on by a giant wolf to make sure he doesn’t overtax himself.

Hotel rules are, obviously, still in effect.

[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, JOB OR AREA IN THE GARAGE, OR ARE MOVING OUT. Anton will manufacture means of payment until Foreigners are able to properly offer recompense or choose to move out.]

Comments

[edgeoftheknife]

"Was," Ravel echoed, the ghost of a smile on his face at the memory. "Was a better dancer." And then something cold clutched at his heart and he shook his head, banishing those thoughts back to the dark recesses they crawled out of every night. They would be back in due time. They always were.

"And never let it be said I didn't appreciate you cooking," he continued, tone lighter than before. "Or warm socks. We never would have lasted the war out without you, Mother."

It was a tease, but it was true. Not because of the socks, necessarily, but how many times had they been forced to fall back behind Anton so that he could release the gist? How many of those fights would they have survived without Anton?

Ravel seized on the opportunity to change the dance. "Viennese waltz," he said instantly, taking Anton's hands and moving them where they needed to be for the more formal ballroom dance. One in Ravel's own hand, the other on Ravel's side. "You remember?"

[gistful]

Anton very deliberately ignored the correction and the emotion it most likely elicited in favour of the humour, of the banter. This was the most light-hearted they'd been since Erskine's arrival. It was like they had been way back when, once upon a time a band of brothers fighting an impossible war.

"Don't you forget it," he said, and stepped up, pulling Erskine closer. "I remember." Erskine hadn't specified which Viennese Waltz he meant, so Anton opted for the traditional version, which was quicker and in his opinion far more lively. In spite of his warning, he knew this dance well and there was no toe-stepping in sight.

[edgeoftheknife]

As a matter of fact, Erskine had specifically chosen the Viennese waltz because the traditional version was quick and fun and didn't require a lot of fancy footwork. A few basic steps and they were all but floating across the floor, even if the music playing didn't quite fit the tone of a waltz performed at the great parties in Europe. The beat fit the pace of the dance and that was what mattered.

Erskine grinned in spite of himself, in spite of that little pang of heartache a moment ago. Getting Shudder to dance with anyone but Larrikin had been like pulling teeth, and now he was all but dragging Erskine onto the dance floor. Ravel could guess at the reason, of course, but that didn't make the reversal any less amusing.

"Rover would be insanely jealous, you know."

[gistful]

"Rover Larrikin is a possessive little shite," said Anton, totally straight-faced between one step and the next, and deliberately using the present-tense. He'd seen Larrikin not all that long ago, and Dead Men presence ... it shouldn't be so dependent on their actual physical presence. It never had been when they were all alive. It shouldn't be now.

He paused to dip Erskine before continuing. "I need to be free to see other men, Ravel. I thought you knew this about me."

[edgeoftheknife]

Ravel nearly choked on his tongue at that, straightening up out of the dip with a slightly stunned look on his face. Anton was joking, of course, but rarely was he quite so open about joking... and that was what threw Ravel. The moment passed quickly and the grin returned with a vengeance.

"I always suspected you were a player, Anton," Erskine all but cackled, only too happy to continue the joke. "You do the rest of us proud."

[gistful]

That look. That look was the reason Anton played the straight man, aside from the fact that he legitimately was. But the fact that he was made moments like this all the more amusing.

The fact that it made Erskine laugh like that while being spun across the floor also made it worth it.

"Whyever should I want to do you proud?" Anton asked, still completely straight-faced. "I invented playacting. Shame on your lack of faith in me, Ravel."

and then SUDDENLY SPOILERS? Yes. Spoilers.

[edgeoftheknife]

Playacting. Ravel snorted in amusement. Leave it to Shudder to both be in on the joke, have originated the joke, and yet be so horribly, amusingly out of touch with it at the same time. "I have never lacked faith in you, Anton," he replied with a smirk. "You're just so terribly subtle about it. I suppose Saracen and I should have taken our cues from you, eh?"

The absurdity of the situation struck him as if he'd been slapped. Dancing and laughing with Anton like nothing had happened. Like Erskine hadn't done something unforgivable. Had he forgotten? Should he even be allowed to have fun like this anymore?

Ravel's steps faltered. He released Anton's hand, jumping back out of the waltz, and turned to move off the dance floor and away. Anywhere that wasn't here. His steps were quick, his head bowed.

[gistful]

Anton was about to answer when Erskine stopped and pulled away suddenly. Something had flitted over his face in that second just beforehand--almost too quick to see, except that something had shattered. Anton stood for a moment out of surprise, but then followed, his long legs catching easily up with Erskine.

He didn't say anything, though. Steered Erskine into his room, but didn't say anything until they were in and the door was closed, and then he asked gently: "What happened?"

[edgeoftheknife]

It was easy enough to steer him, aimless and half-aware as he was. Erskine moved into the bedroom and took a seat on the side of the bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. At Anton's question he shook his head.

"Just... dancing. Happy. I can't...."

It probably didn't make much sense. Not much did anymore, from what Erskine had noticed. Particularly when it came to himself. He moved his hands from the sides of his head to slide over his face.

At least he was only shaking. At least he wasn't crying. This time.

[gistful]

It didn't make much sense, at first, but at the same time more than Erskine expected. The only thing Anton had to pause to parse was whether Erskine meant himself or Anton--though truthfully it could have been both.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked finally, leaving that question open for Erskine to answer by implication.

stilllll spoilers. big spoilers. BIG SPOILERS.

[edgeoftheknife]

"Because I killed you," Erskine choked out, letting his hands come to rest over his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath. It didn't help. "What bloody right do I have to be out there laughing and dancing like nothing happened? Like everything's okay? I killed you."

They had talked about punishment. About how death wasn't always the best answer to murder. Erskine had swallowed it at the time, but even so... at least if he were in prison now, he'd know he was being punished. He wouldn't be on this strange rollercoaster of normalcy and despair.

"I... I'm sorry. You should go back out, I just need a minute."

[gistful]

Instead of leaving, Anton crossed to the bed and sat next to Erskine. "Rights don't have anything to do with it," he said. "Everyone has a right to be healthy and adjusted, too, and look where most of us ended up. If everyone had everything they had a right to, I might actually believe in heaven."

He shook his head. "You keep acting as though the worst punishment was being tortured by Darquesse, Erskine. It isn't. For you, the worst punishment is not being punished. Escaping punishment means figuring out how to carry the burden. It means understanding what happened, and knowing how not to do it next time. It means getting on your feet and moving forward, no matter what. A good man's guilt is heavier than his crimes."

Anton rose and held out his hand. Even with the door closed, they could still hear the music. "Dance with me, Dead Man."

[edgeoftheknife]

And you had a right to your life, and I took that from you.

There were so many things Erskine wanted to say, so many of Anton's points to refute, or to agree with. Figuring out how to carry the burden. That was the problem, wasn't it? He hadn't figured it out and it was crushing him, a little more every day. Seeing Anton here every day, alive and well, had brought tears to his eyes on more than one occasion--partly from the simple joy of it, and partly from the knowledge of what he'd taken. Of how egregious his crime had been.

A good man's guilt. But that didn't apply, did it? No matter how noble his intentions, he'd murdered his brothers. Erskine hadn't considered himself a good man for quite some time now.

Possibly since Mevolent. The man had left his stain on Erskine's life in so very many ways.

But Ravel voiced none of it, chose instead to sit with his hands over his eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Anton had heard it all before. Erskine felt a little like a broken record, in more ways than one.

He finally pulled his hands away from his eyes when Anton spoke again, the sadness on his face melting into some combination of amusement and confusion. He hesitated for perhaps another few seconds before taking the proffered hand. Tears stung his eyes, a sick, wonderful burst of nostalgia washing over him.

Who knew when he might be sent back, to that empty shell of a world of theirs, to more pain? Even if it hurt here and now, Erskine could think of precious few things he would trade this for. He should be enjoying it, to the extent that his broken framework would allow.

"Well, when you put it that way."

[gistful]

"I do put it that way," said Anton with a vaguely stern note--but the playful sort. The sort he'd used on his younger siblings, so long ago. The look on Erskine's face made his mouth twitch, and he pulled Erskine to his feet.

The music was distant and the bedroom was a strange dance-hall, perhaps. But it wasn't any stranger than some of the places the Dead Men had danced before, and on this night they had more time to spare than most. There was no reason not to take it.