Alfie Solomons (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
devoutish) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
snowblindrpg2017-05-09 07:41 pm
devoutish) wrote in snowblindrpg2017-05-09 07:41 pm
[log] check-in time [closed]
Characters: Alfie Solomons, Royce Melborn, Zidane Tribal
Location: building 162
Date: evening of 237
Summary: an accidental meet-up
Warnings: n/a; will edit if anything comes up
A hotel--the Norfinbury Inn. By hotel standards, it's not especially large, but it's the largest building in the downtown area. The lobby is mostly empty and seems a bit old-fashioned in design, with what appear to be wooden floors and fairly plain walls. There are a few cozy areas where people can sit, and a fireplace in the center that, while it has no wood, is in perfect working order. The front desk has nothing of note except for all the keycards to the various rooms of the hotel. It looks like there are a total of twenty rooms. There is no elevator--looks like you'll have to use the stairs the old-fashioned way. "ALFIE SOLOMONS, 1922. Camden Town, London, England, UK, Europe, Earth. Day 179, March 9 or March 10." has been written on the wall of the lobby.
There is a small dining room area, although there are no tables or chairs to be found. The room echoes uncomfortably due to its emptiness. It connects to a small industrial kitchen, although there is no longer any food or appliances to be found. It seems like the ovens and stoves were cut out of their places. The sinks still work, at least. There is also a door that unlocks with a management keycard that can be found in the lobby that leads downstairs.
The basement is very simple. It's colder down here than in the rest of the building, and utilitarian in style. There's a small break room, a laundry room that no longer has any of its machinery but does have large rolling baskets for moving clothes in bulk (that refuse to leave the hotel, unfortunately) and some cleaning carts devoid of cleaning supplies (that are just as stubborn as the clothes baskets). There's a small room with space for what must have once been a furnace--and an actual very old-fashioned incinerator. It's not on, of course, but if a fire were started manually, it would still function. There's nothing inside it.
The first floor of the hotel contains rooms 101 to 110. There are five single rooms and five double rooms. All of the plumbing works, though the water runs cold. The second floor, containing rooms 201 to 210, is identical to the first floor, except for one door that has no key. It's unlocked--going inside reveals an empty room covered in pictures of an eye, drawn in black paint. All of the eyes have been scribbled out with black pen.
Location: building 162
Date: evening of 237
Summary: an accidental meet-up
Warnings: n/a; will edit if anything comes up
A hotel--the Norfinbury Inn. By hotel standards, it's not especially large, but it's the largest building in the downtown area. The lobby is mostly empty and seems a bit old-fashioned in design, with what appear to be wooden floors and fairly plain walls. There are a few cozy areas where people can sit, and a fireplace in the center that, while it has no wood, is in perfect working order. The front desk has nothing of note except for all the keycards to the various rooms of the hotel. It looks like there are a total of twenty rooms. There is no elevator--looks like you'll have to use the stairs the old-fashioned way. "ALFIE SOLOMONS, 1922. Camden Town, London, England, UK, Europe, Earth. Day 179, March 9 or March 10." has been written on the wall of the lobby.
There is a small dining room area, although there are no tables or chairs to be found. The room echoes uncomfortably due to its emptiness. It connects to a small industrial kitchen, although there is no longer any food or appliances to be found. It seems like the ovens and stoves were cut out of their places. The sinks still work, at least. There is also a door that unlocks with a management keycard that can be found in the lobby that leads downstairs.
The basement is very simple. It's colder down here than in the rest of the building, and utilitarian in style. There's a small break room, a laundry room that no longer has any of its machinery but does have large rolling baskets for moving clothes in bulk (that refuse to leave the hotel, unfortunately) and some cleaning carts devoid of cleaning supplies (that are just as stubborn as the clothes baskets). There's a small room with space for what must have once been a furnace--and an actual very old-fashioned incinerator. It's not on, of course, but if a fire were started manually, it would still function. There's nothing inside it.
The first floor of the hotel contains rooms 101 to 110. There are five single rooms and five double rooms. All of the plumbing works, though the water runs cold. The second floor, containing rooms 201 to 210, is identical to the first floor, except for one door that has no key. It's unlocked--going inside reveals an empty room covered in pictures of an eye, drawn in black paint. All of the eyes have been scribbled out with black pen.
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[He's stopped walking, at least, but he's still a tightly-wound coil, and he's practically spitting his words.]
Do keep working to escape. Do try to keep yourself from falling into despair. But do not - do not - act as if the reason we haven't broken out yet is because we haven't tried enough, haven't been brave enough, haven't believed enough. You and your effort, your bravery, your hope are not the one special element we have been waiting for, do you understand?
[His feet stay where they are, but his body shifts forward just slightly, like he's going to bodily spring at Zidane.]
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Been a lot of people that have died being brave, here. [ Royce says, softer. It's the same sort of danger-soft that matches Alfie's. ] Insisting that they weren't brave enough is a disservice to their memory. [ And normally, he wouldn't care, it's just. He has two girls very specifically in mind. ]
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[Zidane straightens up.]
I said if we lost sight of hope we'd all be stuck here, I didn't say that already happened.
Sorry if you took it that way but it's not what I meant.
[He folds his arms behind his head but his eyes stay on Alfie. The apology is sincere but he still sounds annoyed about this whole situation.]
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Do not tell me to brighten up. Do not tell me that nothing, not even Norfinbury, can stop you from getting back to your people waiting at home, as if Norfinbury hasn't done that very thing for so many fucking others before you. Do not talk.
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He's silent support. He doesn't have full context, so he can't add anything else. ]
Not much of an apology. [ He will remark on that, though. Quietly. ]
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Even now not a day goes by he doesn't sing Dagger's song to remind himself of his home.... Of that place he'll return to someday.]
I can't let it.
Even if I fail I'll at least die knowing I had hope and my memories will live on.
[Last time he'd been here he'd died without leaving any trace of his own existence, he'd only left a name. That won't happen again, it can't.]
Whatever.
Guess we're done here, huh?
[He can understand where the older men are coming from but stubbornly refuses to align himself with their points of view. People trying to intimidate him or push him around have always annoyed him. Saying they're right means they won and that won't do.
He turns on the balls of his feet and brushes past Royce in an effort to stalk off down the hall.]
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But then finally, he does answer, his voice low and hoarse.]
I am very, very tired of hearing the opinions of people who have been here less than a month.
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Quietly: ] It's hard to imagine having that sort of optimism.
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[He grits his teeth.]
Optimism is making plans; making an effort. But what has he done? Eh? Have you seen him do anything to contribute, or do anything at all but swan about?
Believing that you are special enough that the universe will bend at the knee to you isn't optimism. It's fucking hubris, and I'm tired of hearing from people who think that their presence alone is going to make any sort of difference for us. I'm tired of the certainty that they're above being struck down by Norfinbury. I'm tired of the implication that those who haven't succeeded yet, those who have died, are just missing something that they've got.
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He'll learn soon enough that isn't the case. [ He's really trying to get mad for Alfie, it's just not working very well. Like an engine trying to start, fruitlessly. ] He's not special. The world and Norfinbury will tear new holes in him just like it did to us. Just might take longer.
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[Alfie's back hits the wall behind him and he slumps, a little, like he's getting ready to slide down and sit on the floor.]
I'm sure he's off telling himself that I'm just a big bully wanting him to give up, and giving himself a nice pat on the back for not falling for it.
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Of course he is. People are going to tell themselves what they want to hear. He doesn't want to hear that he's wrong, so you're the bad guy. He'll learn eventually. Probably in a way that will kill him.
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I'm so fucking tired, Royce.
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I am too. [ He says, finally. ] Mostly, I don't feel anything. Translates to tired, I guess.
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His voice is thick when he speaks again.]
That's not a good thing, Royce.
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I can't do anything to change it.
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[He leans against Royce a little.]
Was Emily not special? Did she not want it enough?
[They're rhetorical questions, of course - he wouldn't entertain any answers other than yes, she was special, and yes, she wanted it.]
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She wanted it enough. [ Royce murmurs. He's not sure that Zidane meant it the way he meant it, but - that's only because he didn't hear everything. He didn't hear the whole story, and he also has some emotional distance. All of the emotional distance, actually. His voice is kind of dull. ]
Both her and Tifa. [ He misses them. Royce closes his eyes. ]
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Yeah.
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I still have alcohol. [ He's going to hate running out of the stuff. ]
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[Eyes still closed, his cheek rests on Royce's shoulder.]
We're staying here for a few days anyway, eh?
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Mm. Should get rid of it. We can't keep getting drunk. [ It's dangerous. He shouldn't like getting drunk this much. ]
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