Even with the street lights that are still on, despite the apparent lack of people, Eve keeps her flashlight on as they enter into the town. She keeps her right hand on her bag and her eyes on every shadow, waiting for something to move, and only getting more and more tense as nothing does. Silence is something she does not like, silence used to precede the storms that rose up in her life and turned her black and blue.

She keeps ahead of the rest of the group as she walks, her long legs keeping her moving quickly through the abandoned streets. The only thing that is comforting about the situation is that there are no police, maybe stopping here wouldn’t be as bad as she had originally thought it would be. She could also restock her supplies. No one was here to stop her from taking what she needed and she wouldn’t feel bad about it as it had all been abandoned.

First things first though, a place to sleep for the night. In the morning she could get up and start looking for some supplies and then figure out a way to get out of this God forsaken town and get to Mexico, without the pack.

The sign of course catches her eye. Hopefully the inn would have beds, perhaps some food and water too. She walks toward it, running her flashlight up along the building to inspect it further. Her grip tightens on the bag as she moves off the main sidewalk.

What she does first is to inspect the place for signs of life, if she finds none she will then start to look at the boards that have closed the place up, seeing if there is one that looks more loose or nailed in improperly so that it would be easy for her to pry up.

There was something very wrong with this town. He could feel it… smell it… taste it on the air that pressed against him as he swept out of the station and onto the streets of Altin. Bas paused for a moment and, while his eyes panned across the empty and damaged town that spread out before him, his nostrils flared as he sniffed at the atmosphere and sampled the strangely tainted essence that seemed to pervade in the Autumn night air.

Winter is coming, he told himself as he surveyed the place, taking particular notice of the seemingly random pock-marks of destruction and the clock tower in the distance that refused to chime the hour…

The summer season, it seemed, had come to a somehow indifferent end, giving way to the autumn months earlier than what might seem normal to those who kept track of such things. However unusual it may appear though, most would simply dismiss it as a simple meteorological anomaly. Some would curse the change and some would welcome it but, in the end, the vast majority would acknowledge the inevitability of it and go on about their lives having missed the deeper meaning of Nature’s change in mood.

An old shaman had taken him in for a time and had explained the seasons to him…made him clearly understand that, somehow, that the World was readying itself for the dying that was to come…and that, while the seasons of the Reckoning were longer than the seasons of the year, all things considered, the cycles were the same and could be defined in identical fashion – Spring sees the birthing of the new and the growing begins, then Summer emerges to take hold of the burgeoning growth and urges the new life on to the height of its power. Soon thereafter, Autumn begins to usurp the land and all that which had flourished begins to diminish, dwindling towards the dying time until, finally, the death-cold fingers of Winter layer the dead things with crystalline blankets until it comes time for the cycle to begin anew.

“A time of changing,” Bas muttered as his gaze swept over the city. An insistent breeze blew against him, trying to urge him back into the station as he defiantly stalked farther out into the street. He crouched beside one of the blackened heaps of rubble that dotted the place and resurveyed the city, fingers dipping to pluck a small stone from between his boots as he breathed deeply of the odors carried on that zephyr. “Changing,” he whispered as he stood and hurled the stone at the distant clock tower, “and preparing to die.”

…Once more on his feet, Bas tore his lupine eyes away from their scan of Altin, turned them curiously to the faint sliver of a moon that hung in the dead sky, and then strode off in the direction Eve had gone. He caught sight of her, again, not far away, and watched her for a long moment before he allowed himself to catch up to her. The woman’s anxiousness and apparent need to keep moving had initially…instinctually… caused him to label her a rabbit but, given the fact that she had met his gaze without hesitation just a while a go and as he watched her now, walking purposefully towards a building designated as The Blue House Inn by it’s off kilter sign, Bas decided that Eve was surely more predator than prey. She moved like a predator, alert and confident but, at the same time, something in the way she walked indicated that the confidence there was something all together new for the woman with the blood-colored hair.

He whispered to a stop a few feet from her, glanced back the way he had come to check the position and condition of the others, and then returned to watching her in silence as she inspects the boarded portals of the Blue House Inn… “Looking for a way in,” he asks rhetorically, that enigmatic ghost-smile curling the corners of his mouth.

((OOC: Okay… not sure what exactly may apply up there but Perception, Tracking, or Supernatural Senses checks as Bas surveys the town please… Hunter than he is, Bas’ll be looking, sniffing, and feeling for anything useful, out of the ordinary, etc… … also, backposts and such as needed for keeping up the earlier convo with Guin… Bas won’t be trying to kill her if she’s tagging along at his heels or anything… I promise. ))

“Looking for a way in,” he asks rhetorically, that enigmatic ghost-smile curling the corners of his mouth.
Eve rolls her eyes up to him just as she is reaching out to test one of the boards on a window. For a moment the reply she has sticks in her throat. It is hot, heavy and acidic as it rests there.

Don't you get snippy with him dear, you know better then to get snippy her mother warns...

And for a moment she heeds the warning, as she always has. For years and years replies have stuck in her throat, their tastes from sweet to sour to bitter dripping back down into her stomach to fester there. Always afraid of what would happen if they were to be vomitted out. Afraid because even when they had seemed like decent replies they would sometimes result in a black eye or worse.

But that was Cheryl, Cheryl was afraid. Cheryl was dead. This was freedom and she'd say whatever she **** well pleased. And if this hulking figure had an issue with it, had an issue that he felt needed to be dealt with with his fist, well... Cheryl didn't hit back... but Cheryl was dead. Eve did hit back.

"No... I'm trying to get OUT" She retorts finally, in real time there is only a second of space that she hesitates before saying this and then rolling the eyes she gives him before they refix themselves on the board on the window.

Studiously ignoring the growing numbness in her right arm, Guinevere surveyed the dead and still town. It was as if the very breath of the city had ceased and rigor mortis was setting into its streets, while the uncaring breeze gently stirred the air around its colossal corpse—Guin particularly liked that last part, it made the situation feel very dramatic, she thought. Six waylaid train passengers, united by fate to discover what caused the pulse of an entire city to suddenly cease. But these are no ordinary passengers, they are top-notch magicians from around the world, gathered together to deal with this unknown threat to the safety of the world, lead by the strong, courageous, noble, just, and perfectly sane Guinevere MacIntire. It would make a good drama.

She switched her mp3 off, having decided that it wasn’t going to give her anything useful tonight. As a precaution she removed the headphones and put them in her pocket. Besides, there was no sense in letting it read her thoughts when it wasn’t returning the favour.

The breeze stirred up a slight shiver, but she wouldn’t let it show to her fellow cast in this play (in reflection, she would never be sure when it shifted from being a drama). She looked up to the clock tower in the distance, one of the few things that really stuck out in the town. Seeing the hands pointed in the vicinity of eleven o’ clock, she braces herself for the chimes to shatter the totality of the town’s silence. That would have been an eerie sound, which would draw to mind the normalcy of it in an otherwise very abnormal environment, in short, classic. Instead, and perhaps more unsettlingly (for those who got unsettled), it remained entirely silent as the long hand clearly wandered past the twelve. Guinevere got goose bumps from the very slowly building suspense.

The dishevelled swaying sign of The Blue House Hotel caught their attention. H.R. San Diego, who hadn’t mentioned her name yet, began to inspect the building from outside, being unable to see past the boarded up windows. Guinevere, pumped on the adrenaline of the recent encounter and the growing interest in the adventure set out before them, felt absolutely no desire to rest right now, there were clues to find and plot hooks to take. Even still, finding and setting up a base before hand would be a good idea.

Apparently, H.R. San Diego agreed, but seemed to be of the opinion that the window needed redecorating, first. “Looking to find a way in,” Sebastian, murderer of crows, stated, not asked. “No… I’m trying to get OUT,” H.R. said, venomous with sarcasm. Guinevere glanced at Mrs. Wheelchair (who may or may not have said that her name was Carrie) and decided that it would never do to try to limit their base’s entrances to windows, to throw off invaders.

“Well,” she announced, “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m going in.” She strode to the door, conjuring scenarios that might occur upon committing so fateful an act as opening the door. A monster could be lurking in the abandoned building, waiting to pounce on anything that should enter its lair, or perhaps inside lay the first clue of the puzzle, or even the head of this conspiracy used this establishment as a meeting place for their clandestine operation. Or at least that’s what would be in there in a book. Going on these assumptions, Guin decided not to try to prepare for the situation; after all, sometimes the only way to progress was to be a little blunt. She grasped the handle and opened the boarded door wide. Her last thought before the entryway was laid open; What kind of creature nails up the front door but doesn’t barricade it?

As Eve and Bas examine the place with their own methods, it became clear that all of the wooden planks are firm and sturdy; this was no small job, and it was done to near-perfection. Yet, even with this, there were no signs of anyone within that even Bas could tell. No sounds, no scents, nothing. The inn remained mysterious, even under such close scrutiny. Likewise, there was nothing lingering from the rest of the town. There was the occasional, light scent from one of the dark patches that was likely at one point spilt blood, but no sounds other than the whistling of the wind.

Yet, with the door thrown open, a few things are immediately apparent. Firstly, the electrical lighting within the entryway is rather strong, a fair indication that it has been maintained. Secondly, painted upon one of the doors is a bizarre symbol, or rather, half of one. It's unclear what it is at the moment, as the other half is likely on the other door. A further indication of presence, of which Bas can tell immediately with the door open, is the mixed scents of humans within. Finally, a startled 'Oh!', as well as other, subdued sounds of people from within the building, easily alerts everyone without a keen sense of smell to the same thing.

A middle-aged woman, appearing 30 or so, with white-blond hair, green eyes and wearing a blue uniform comes to the entrance. The uniform is not the same as that of the conductor from earlier, for those that seek to compare, and has the insignia of the inn upon her shoulder on a sort of armband.

"Is... it over?" She asks nervously, before calming herself down and straightening, "Er, I mean... welcome to the Blue House Inn; how can we help you this evening?"

“No,” the little redhead snapped after an instant, “I’m trying to get OUT!” She rolled her eyes then and returned to her perusal of the boarded up building.

“Funny,” Bas rumbled, his gaze tracking to Guin and the others as they approached the doorway of the Blue House, “that you’d pick an Inn as your way out…”

He watched as Guin, herself, surveyed the group that trailed behind her then smiled faintly when the tiny girl’s voice reached his ears; “Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m going in.”

The Feral’s smile widened when, without compunction, Guin reached out, grasped the handle and swung the door of the place wide open. His gaze slid sidelong towards Eve, again… “There ya go,” he smirked, winking one of those odd, green-gold eyes at her before pushing away from where he’d been leaning against the wall, “Out through the inn door…”

His duster whirled about his ankles as he turned and prowled towards the entry. As he drew nearer, the emptiness of the town that he had perceived thus far was quickly challenged. Now, instead of the faint, coppery tang of old blood that had, so far, been the only scent in the air, there was the near overwhelming odor of multiple humans within the battened-down structure. The deathly silence of the town, too, was finally broken; the lonely wind suddenly punctuated by a startled exclamation and the murmurings of other muted sounds of life and the living. Bas stopped in the Blue House Inn’s doorway, squinting for a moment against the too bright lighting of the place, then studying the half-sigil painted on one half of the door, before finally stepping inside.

A uniformed woman, vaguely reminiscent of the conductor on the train was quick to meet them at the entrance. “Is... it over?” The woman’s apprehensive query and nervous demeanor was quickly buried behind the façade of professionalism though; “Er, I mean... welcome to the Blue House Inn; how can we help you this evening?”

Uniform’s different. She’s more rabbit than the conductor, too, Bas noted, otherwise ignoring the woman as his senses swept the place… The voices that carried on the air were all human, the tang of their essence belying them all as mundane as far as he could tell…

There’s something else, though, he thought, his nostrils flaring as moved past the uniformed woman, tracking the scent further into the hallway from whence it emanated, something… different…
Whatever it was, it was very faint… very light… and very… peculiar… His fingers flexed and drifted towards the folds of his coat as he progressed forward; sniffing the air as well as those he passed en route to the source of the aroma. That low, rumbling growl worked up in his chest as he flicked a glance back at the others and quieted again as his fingers found the hilt of the knife inside his coat… his stance lowered, then, succumbing to the hunter’s instincts and his eyes flicked back up the hallway to where the strange spoor was leading… Is that… velvet?
((OOC: give a wolf a scent and he’s liable to examine it as closely as he can, yes? Bas has little interest in the mundanes near the front of the Inn at the moment but is very curious about whatever it is farther inside…))

Eve’s hand rested on one of the boards closing a window and turned. Her eyes narrowed into dark grey slits as she watched the little blonde girl just open the front door, and then heard the raspy voice of the Indian man beside her making his terrible puns.

Her eyes turn to give him a glare but he’s gone, already prowling inside the brightly lit inn.

The night was not going well for Eve. Grimacing at her luck she steps in behind the others. The bright light washing over her, making her red locks glare. As she did this she catches what the woman who appeared in the entry way says. It rings in her ears.

Is… it over?
Eve considers and knows somewhere deep down in her gut that it isn’t over. It certainly isn’t over for her, but she feels it isn’t over for them either. Something very strange is at hand here. This is the first time Eve has taken a moment to really consider it, consider it above considering her own flight to Mexico. But ever since the train stopped things had been going very oddly.

She is busy considering all the strange events and wondering what they could mean, when she realizes that the woman has asked another question, one much easier to answer but one which Eve has missed.

But the woman is looking at them as if expecting some answer. Eve hurries to try and figure it out then shrugs and decides that the woman most likely asked what they needed. What Eve needed was to get out of this place… to get back on track toward Mexico.

“We had an issue with our train… I could use a place to sleep for the night, and…” She glances down at the leg she still has tied up with Mr. Bubble, “a first aid kit if you have one. Just some bandages would be fine. It sounds like you have a busy house already… and to be honest this is an unscheduled stop and my funding is a bit low, so wherever you have room is fine.”

"A... busy house?" The woman laughed, "No, not really; those people you hear just find that it feels safer in the inn than their own houses. We haven't had a true customer in weeks, not since the clock tower began turning things upside down."

"Oh, and sir," She added, turning to Bas and seeing him start heading down the hallway, "If you want to visit the seer, he's taken to leaving his door unlocked. It's impossible to miss; the door is velveteen blue, unlike the royal blue of most other doors, with a strange pattern on it. Although, I should tell you that most people find he leaves you with more questions than answers."

"But as to accommodations..." The woman continued, turning back to Eve, "Well, just choose whatever room you'd like, provided it's unoccupied. You'll find that money isn't an issue here; the merchants almost all packed up and left when this mess began. There should be a first aid kit in each bathroom."

A seer? Eve made a mental note about that, the velveteen door with the strange markings on it. The room to avoid. A seer was not something that Eve needed to further complicate things for her. Not that she was altogether certain that she believed in such things. Even with the gift she had she wasn’t sure how much stock she gave to magic. But knowing the gift that she held within her she decided not to push the envelope. If the man could see things, she would steer clear of him.

As for the clock tower ‘turning things upside down’… not her problem. Mexico was Eve’s problem, everything else was a roadblock trying to keep her from her goal.

When the woman went over the accommodations Eve nodded. “Thanks… I’ll go on up then.”

She knew that before she could get to Mexico she had some things to take care of; first and foremost her leg. The walk to this strange little inn had induced throbbing along her calf, and Mr. Bubble was going to work as a temporary bandage for only so long. Gripping the strap of her backpack a bit tighter she dropped her head and walked past the woman in the uniform. For a moment she took in those around her, keeping tabs of their whereabouts. She liked to know where things were, where people were; the man ahead of her, the other townies in the next room with their poker game, the blonde and the other train survivors behind her. She still didn’t know any of their names, the Indian man and the blonde had been talking on the way up, and she assumed they had exchanged names, but she had not caught them. It was better that way though. The less attached she got and the less she had to lie the better. She also took stock of what was around them. Looking not only for escape routes and places to hide but also at the items in the inn, seeing which ones could be made into shields or weapons if the situation arose. It was something she just did without much thought. One never knew when that knowledge would come in handy.

With her quick survey done she mounted the stairs and started inspecting the rooms. She goes about looking for one that seems to have at least a decent lock, a bed and a window that faces the street if possible. Finally selecting a room she heads into the bathroom, closing and (if possible) locking the door behind her.

A quick search reveals the first aid equipment the woman downstairs had spoken about. It is surprisingly well equipped too. Pulling out what she needs she sets it out and then goes about uncovering the wound she sustained. Mr. Bubble is thrown into the sink as she turns the cold water on over it, watching how the water turns pink with the blood. Letting that soak she sighs at the jeans; ripped and bloody, and her only pair.

Back to the cut though. She cleans it thoroughly with the alcohol in the kit, makes sure there isn’t any debris to cause infection later and then bandages it up nice and clean and tight. Even with the strange angle it puts her in to do it it is done well. Perhaps she has had some experience in self first-aid practice before?

That done she finds the bottle of aspirin in the med kit and pops the cap to shake a few of the pretty white pills into her palm. A bloody shirt soaking in the sink, her ripped jeans on the floor to be dealt with later, she sits on the toilet seat in her Hard Rock t-shirt and undergarments, those long legs stretching out with only the bandage marring them, she leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes as the sharp bitter taste of the pills fills her mouth as she chews them. It was a habit she picked up from her father. He claimed you could cut a hangover by doing it, she didn’t really drink, but she knew it put the drugs into her system faster, and by now it was just something she did without thinking.

So she sat there now, not even bothering to move to wash the taste of the aspirin out of her mouth when she had finished chewing it. Giving the drugs time to go into effect, giving herself some time to settle back down and collect her thoughts, plan out her next actions.

Guinevere’s heart sank in the flood of light pouring out from the door, indicating human habitation. Not only did this ruin the secret base’s quintessential secrecy, but there wasn’t even anything particularly interesting inside—unless of course the humanoid forms of the patrons inside were actually disguises made to lure the hapless adventurers in.

“Is . . . it over?” A woman with similarly blonde hair to Guinevere, who looked to be inn-staff or keep, asked nervously. “Er, I mean . . . welcome to the Blue House Inn; how can we help you this evening?”
Guinevere paused a moment and smoothed out her skirt, then stepped across the threshold of the business and first into the building. “Good evening, is what over?” Guinevere replied politely as Bas slipped past her. She didn’t wait for her answer, leaving H.R. San Diego to fill the answers for the attendant’s questions in her pursuit of her latest charge. She kept an eye on Sebastian’s expression as she followed him. How very strange, she thought, he doesn’t twitch his whole nose when he sniffs, like a real animal. He must know what he’s doing. Eager to learn potentially useful life skills, Guinevere too began to sniff the air (taking care not to twitch her own nose), hoping to train herself to discover what it was her new mentor sought.

Her attention, however, was diverted by Bluehouse’s response to H.R. "A... busy house?" she laughed, "No, not really; those people you hear just find that it feels safer in the inn than their own houses. We haven't had a true customer in weeks, not since the clock tower began turning things upside down."
Guinevere checked the ceiling for footprints almost compulsively. These people feel safer here, at a business, than they do behind the thresholds of their own homes. Of course, judging by the teeming vigour of the streets, individual homes would be downright isolated compared to the communion of the inn. This whole town smelled of the bad spirits of fear—the kind that crept up on nervous minds and turned every shadow into an enemy.

--Aie! There were footprints! Just above the door, there was dirt tracked across the roof. Devious magic was at play here. She resolved to take care to never go out without a shirt on (that she would likely ever face such a situation outside of certain bad dreams, of course, was irrelevant). She was already properly protected for now, and Bas was growling, so she moved on.

“Oh, and sir,” Bluehouse took note of their hunt. "If you want to visit the seer, he's taken to leaving his door unlocked. It's impossible to miss; the door is velveteen blue, unlike the royal blue of most other doors, with a strange pattern on it. Although, I should tell you that most people find he leaves you with more questions than answers."
A seer, not to mention an open one—charlatan or not, Guin would have to see this. She hoped Bas would want to see (or was it be seen by?) the seer so she wouldn’t have to make a decision between duty and curiosity. Glancing down the hall, one door was painted a slightly darker shade than the rest, and for those who missed the shift, there was a so-called ‘strange pattern’ decorating it.

She glanced back to Bas, who may or may not have been actively ignoring or even paying attention to her all this time. She shifted her brown shoulder bag on her arm. “Shall we go see?”

EDIT: Whoops, as it turns out, Guinevere did see a footprint on the ceiling. Can't wait for that explaination.

Kenneth, who had remained in the back, eying the front door with suspicion, spoke up from hearing about the lack of merchants in the town, "If there's no merchants... then what of the rest of the infrastructure? Medical, police...?"

The front desk lady shrugged, "This is a pretty small town... only one infirmary and one police station... both of which have closed down. Although, most of us have some experience with first aid by now... not unlike your friend there," She adds, pointing to Eve's Mr. Bubble bandage.

Carrie tapped a finger on the armrest of her wheelchair, as she seemed lost in thought about something. She also seemed to be almost staring at Bas, although her eyes were a bit distant. Her husband gently lay a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her reverie, "Shall we get a room then, hun?" He asks softly.

"One moment," She replied, getting one last look at Bas, also noting Guinevere following after him, before nodding. The pair of them disappeared (not literally) along the east wing of the inn.

Kenneth crossed his arms, not really liking it. His eyes darted about, taking note and stock of the inn. All the lighting was electrical, simple domes attached to the ceiling for the most part. All the windows, as seen from inside, were boarded up from the outside, much like front doors. That meant the only escape routes he'd be able to use were the front doors, or, if there were any, back doors. He also noted that the strange symbol on the front door was copied on the window barricades as well... An irregular six-sided star in a diamond, with two crossed ovals in a circle at the center. Most of the furniture was well intact... although some had peculiar damages to them... the normal scratches and markings of wear, but some... almost claw-like ones, and then there were ones with... what could only be called gouges in them, at least in the front foyer. Still, it was hard to say when the next train was... that and... He growls softly. He was late. He quickly disappears up the spiral staircase to the second floor without a word.

The front desk lady scratches her cheek absently, before sighing and going behind the counter. She pulls out a brush and a small can of wood finish, and goes back to repairing the furniture as best she can. As an afterthought, she calls after the others, "You might want to come back to the foyer to be here at 11:27, that is, if you're still awake then."

~~~

The 'velvet door' so to speak, indeed had a strange pattern to it. Almost something one would expect to exist only in a chateau, belonging to a stage magician, flowing, and spiralling.

The scent that lurks within is very difficult to place, even for Bas. One of the easiest things he can determine is that it is vaguely similar to the scent of the conductor, as well as that he can't really determine much else about it. Not even if it belongs to a human.

~~~

Eve finds a room very easily... but she has to rely on her memory in order to determine if it faces the street or not, that is, if she wasn't slightly disoriented by the spiral staircase. It's impossible to tell otherwise if it does or not, as the windows are all boarded up. In the room that she finds, however, there is even what is likely a small dining table. Yet, fortunately or unfortunately, the chair that went with it looks as though it had seen better days... The wood itself looked decently strong, perhaps oak, carved into the antique fashion copied throughout the rest of the hotel, visible even in its design, such as the mouldings along the floor or ceiling and the walls. Still, it looked wobbly, as though the wood glue no longer held, so was merely held together by friction, potentially possible to take it apart. There is an alarm clock on the bedside table, the faintly glowing light from it revealing it to be a digital clock rather than analog.

The aspirin hit her blood stream and it began to slow the throbbing pain in her leg. It also helped her to relax and to formulate her plan. She would finish up what she had to in here and then go to sleep. In the morning she might try to find some food here instead of dipping into her stash of crackers. After that she would venture out, alone, find some store and see if there was anything left that would be worth adding to her supplies and then she would head out on foot, south.

She had to stay focused on her goals. With a sigh she got up and went back to the sink where Mr. Bubble was soaking in cold water. She grabbed the bar of soap off the soap stand and plunged her hands into the water. The pink material of the shirt slid through her fingers as she began scrubbing the soap into it. The water had turned pink and the bubbles that now frothed on its surface had a pink tint to them as well.

How many times have you done this? a voice asked her. And she sighed.

Everything she had done in the past few years she had done to avoid just this. She kept scrubbing but closed her eyes as she remembered the first time she had done this. Only then it had not been a Mr. Bubble t-shirt. Then it had been an off white silk framed in lace from La Perla. What had been meant as an apology was soaked in her blood. Her tears had fallen over the soap bubbles that formed in the sink that night. There were no tears left in her now.

The smiling face of the bubble brush on the pink cotton was nearly clear of the blood stains. It was not a perfect job she noted as she let the sink drain and rinsed it out. But it was not La Perla. She wrung it out and then hung it over the shower bar, watching the drops of water that fell from it and landed on the edge of the tub. For a moment she looked longingly at the shower. A nice long hot shower would be great right now. But she needed sleep and she need to stay on guard here. Showers relaxed her, she didn’t want to be relaxed. Controlled, but not relaxed.

The jeans are picked up and the first aid kit is as well as she goes back into the room. The clock reads 11:20. But she had missed what the woman had said about coming downstairs. So she just sighs at the late hour as she plops down onto the small bed. From her bag she pulls out the nightstick she had been prepared to take out if anything seemed overly wrong on their way here. Now she sets it beside her before she pulls the jeans onto her bare lap and starts to use the small sewing kit that was in the first aid box to stitch up the tear in the leg.

“Oh, and sir,” the desk-clerk (conductor?) called…

Bas’ slow stalking of the hallway paused at the sound of the woman’s voice and his wolfen eyes ticked back to where she and many of his Gods-chosen ‘pack’ still stood…

“…If you want to visit the seer, he's taken to leaving his door unlocked. It's impossible to miss; the door is velveteen blue, unlike the royal blue of most other doors, with a strange pattern on it. Although, I should tell you that most people find he leaves you with more questions than answers.”

…his lips split into something caught between smile and snarl before he offered the woman a curt nod. “Been my experience,” he rumbled, his gaze lingering on the desk-clerk for a second before skimming over the others, “that that’s usually the way it works…”

Eve had already left the group; Bas could hear the muffled thudding of her boots on the stairs as the woman with the blood-colored hair made her way up that twisting flight in search of some perceived sanctuary... findin’ a hidey hole where she can lick her wounds and figure her way “out.”
Kenneth… Mr. Gods-damned-clickity-clack-pants-pissin-rabbit… lingered a moment longer than Eve had – his nervous gaze flitting around the Inn’s interior before, during, and after peppering the desk-clerk with more questions about police and crap… as if the emptiness of the town hadn’t already given away that there ain’t none left…¬ – but it wasn’t much longer. With a huff and a bit of a frenetic expression etched on his face, he disappeared from the reception area and up the stairs, as well, after a moment.

The married couple still tarried near the reception desk, though; the husband hovering warily behind his wheelchair-bound wife… Did someone say the woman’s name was Carrie?… who, Bas couldn’t help but notice, seemed to be staring both at and through him, her finger tapping almost thoughtfully on the arm of her chair. The Indian’s eyes narrowed a bit, his head canting curiously to one side as he tried to read the woman’s expression, and then, as he thought he might have an idea of what was running through Carrie’s head, he grinned that feral grin of his… “Ya go lookin’ for answers and get more questions for your trouble,” Bas said quietly, his gaze finally drifting away from the contemplative woman and her husband and falling on the tiny girl who had designated herself as his shadow, “but the questions are the answers, ain’t they?”

“Shall we go see?” Guinevere chirped almost anxiously, indicating the ‘seer’s door’ with an involuntary flick on her eyes, as Bas’ lupine gaze fixed on her.

He took a moment to study this little girl with the huge spirit… his eyes ticking away from where hers blinked out amidst a frame of wisps of her pale hair and heavy fabric of her hoody and fixing for a moment on the rabbit embroidered on the front of that garment… There’s always answers in the questions, he mused, Wonder what the answer to this one is…
“Yeah,” he chuffed, his eyes snapping back to Guin’s for an instant and then setting, once more, on the strangely patterned door, “Let’s get us a look, little spirit…” Bas stalked towards the door, his senses keen to the environment as he went – eyes scanning, nose sniffing at the air, body feeling and instinctively reacting to the slightest change in air pressure made by the movement of other people…or things – there was something curiously indefinable about the spoor that emanated from behind that velveteen door. It wasn’t a scent he could recall from any other time or place. It wasn’t exactly human and it wasn’t entirely supernatural, either… and it made Bas curious and tentative at the same time…

He didn’t like it… could feel that the Moon Gods didn’t like it, either, as the urge to change ripple through him as he reached for the door, traced a finger along one of the odd designs on the face of the thing, and then, shoved the door open.

“You might want to come back to the foyer to be here at 11:27, that is, if you're still awake then.” The last thing Guinevere overheard as she and Bas started down the east wing.

With a bit of thrashing she managed to wiggle her sleeve down past her wrist and glanced at her watch. 12:10 Sun 10 the digital display read.

With a pause of confusion, she chided herself for not adjusting west over the time zone earlier. At the moment, Sebastian was beginning to get away from her, so she ignored it and ran to catch up.

The ‘velvet door’, so to speak, indeed had a strange pattern to it. Almost something one would expect to exist only in a chateau, belonging to a stage magician, flowing, and spiraling.
Guinevere gave an experimental sniff in the direction of the door. The patterns on the door drew the eye into many flowing twists and loops that flourished all over.

“Shall we go see?” Guinevere chirped almost anxiously, indicating the ‘seer’s door’ with an involuntary flick on her eyes, as Bas’ lupine gaze fixed on her.

“Yeah,” he chuffed, his eyes snapping back to Guin’s for an instant and then setting, once more, on the strangely patterned door, “Let’s get us a look, little spirit…”
Sebastian stalked up to the door and grasped the handle and paused without turning it. For a moment Guinevere was afraid that the seer had anticipated their arrival and had locked his door. It didn’t happen that often to her, but it had happened. Perhaps, even as they stood there trying to get in, he was now trying to escape through his boarded window, jumping in apprehension when the giant dark-haired man who had come for the bounty on his head clicked the handle. Any moment now, the terrifying figure would reach into his duster and draw forth his loaded shotgun, aiming it to blow off the handle of the door while his trusty sidekick began the invocation that would—Wait a sec.

Guinevere’s wild fantasy crashed to a halt when she suddenly realized that Sebastian hadn’t actually turned the handle yet, only wrapped his hand around it and prepared to open. She banished such thoughts and waited to see at least if the door actually was locked before she began to summon energy to work with.

With a twinge of impatience fueled by insatiable curiosity, Guin was wondering whether she should offer a word of encouragement to the timid figure that filled the doorway, or should throw the door open herself when Bas twisted the knob and threw the door open in a sudden motion.

Mostly obscured behind Sebastian’s six-feet-and-one-inch, Guinevere peered into the room from around him, interestedly taking in as many details as she could at once. “Helloo-oo, anybody home?”

(Assuming the seer is in, Guin will promptly offer her hand and introduce Bas and herself. “Hi, I’m Guinevere, and this is my friend, Sebastian. Our train just blew up.”)

As the door to the velvet room opens, the interior lighting of the room is visible, not strong nor weak, just enough to light all within, though it has no visible source. There is an object, that could be a sundial, mounted on the far wall. It is ornate, and seemingly made up of a mix of cultural traits. In particular, the interior of the dial is a weave akin to a Celtic knot, with Norse runes around the outer circle. Yet, the pillar in the middle is reminiscent of a spinning wheel's spindle, and a thread is woven around it, dropping down where it holds a clear crystal pendant, swaying back and forth.

The room itself is rather plain, a gentle shade of velvet painted on the walls. However, the far wall has what appears to be an intricate and noble woven gate or fence, which supports the large sundial. In one corner of the room, there is an urn filled with soil, and next to it is a pitcher of water. If there is a bud, it is hard to tell; the earthen scent of the good soil obscures what else may lie in it. In the middle of the room is a table with a glass top. Past the table opposite of the door is an armchair, but its occupant is obscured by the three simpler chairs facing them, the middle of which is occupied. The one seated there is woman with short blonde hair, a blue cap and uniform, and she doesn't even have a scent. She disappears as quickly as she is seen, however, simply fading out like a candle vanquished by the wind of an opened door, but with a lack of smoke, of course.

With the conductor no longer obscuring the view, the room's owner is visible. She wears a white veil that flows back from a silver circlet set in her raven black hair, as well as a black kimono with a subtle white floral pattern upon it. She appears to be seated with one leg crossed over the other, her elbows resting on the armrests and her white gloved hands overlaying one another. Her face however, is obscured by a mask. The mask has no eye holes, and actually depicts closed eyes upon it. Half of the mask is white, with black lips and a black eyelid, while the other half is the exact opposite.

"Welcome, to my velvet room." She says softly, but her voice can still be heard from the other side of the room. She motions with one hand, indicating the chairs opposite of the table to her, "Please take a seat, if you wish."

Even though there is no incense in the room, the room faintly smells of it. However, of the seer's scent, it is difficult to determine much about her. The kimono is silk, as is the veil over her hair. Her scent has a strange mustiness to it, akin to that of a very old library, yet, she is not an immortal. Nor is she human. She almost smells of time, in a manner... in particular, the time of summer, with traces of an earthen and green scent upon her.

While Guinevere extends a hand, the seer instead returns with what could be taken as a bow, albeit one done from her seated position.

"I've been called many names... but right now you can call me Rena." She says in introduction, "And yes... I know... I could hear the explosion from here, after all."

She pauses a moment, waiting expectantly.