Damascus nodded slowly, his mouth full. "Sho... a double agehnt maybe?" He spoke around the food in his mouth, his eyes wide in something resembling excitement. Voices echoed from the lobby, and he frowned, glancing at the hall and swallowing.
"Should we go check on everyone?" He looked regretfully down at his mostly full plate, but stood all the same.
~~~
"I would mind very much if I was dead." Sevy commented, his voice calmly strangled. "Jane, answer us here: how do we not die?"
"Information classified," she answered shortly, "...Checkout is sunset tomorrow."
Sevy opened his mouth, and was promptly beat to the punch by Tamika. ""How do we- how do we tell the time!?" She threw up her arms, exasperated. "It's completely black outside, and there aren't any clocks that I can see!"
There was no answer from Jane, but a flock of trays flew down, individual old-fashioned keys laid shining on them.
"We probably should," Mothman agreed. He went to go get out of from his seat, but paused halfway through it and looked back over at Damascus. "And I think you might be...you might be right. If he stays with cryptid hunters, then he can find other cryptids using their resources and prevent them from harming them."
xXx
Adrian and Jersey stared down at the tray. Adrian nervously looked around again; poor guy didn't seem all that accustomed to magicky things. Jersey gave a little stretch, then decided it was best to address the issue at hand: the keys must have been meant for them, but he honestly had no idea if they were supposed to pick one on their own or if there was a system they had to follow.
"Hey, Jane?" he asked. "Can we just pick whatever key we want, or is there a specific one we're each supposed to take?"
Damascus nodded and pushed back his chair, grabbing a chicken leg on his way toward the door.
"Yes, that's precisely it. And I hope for your sake that that's the case. I imagine you'll find out soon enough." He smiled reassuringly and took a large bite of chicken, heading out into the hall.
~~~
Sevy glanced over at Kira, frowning thoughtfully. Despite all that was happening currently, he was interested and slightly concerned for her sake. Why did she want to stay here? Could what she had been escaping from me that terrible?
He also didn't want to pry, so he decided he wouldn't bring it up casually later, if the time was right.
"They keys are acclimated to be personalized based on the holder," Jane answered crisply. "Any will do."
Tamika was the first to step forward, and with quiet resignation she grabbed a key. It felt warm to the touch.
Kira sighed and took a key, rather reluctantly. She didn't want to be dead, but after all she had endured in the land of the living, she didn't really want to go back either. Her key alternated between warm and cold and turned a slight green. The key knew what her power was? She frowned a little.
"Those moments when your in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down"
"I'm erasing myself from the narrative. Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart
Mothman followed him out into the hallway and then down onto the first floor, where he finally caught a glimpse of the newcomer. He looked more than a little intimidating; if it wasn't for the confused look on his face as he reached out to take a key from a floating tray, Mothman might have been terrified of him. As it was, he was uneasy as he approached Jersey and the others.
"Oh, hey!" Jersey said, perking up when he saw the two approach. He was in the middle of grabbing a key from the tray as well. "We're getting our room keys. Jane said that we can take anyone, and that'll be personalized based on the holder-Whoa, Adrian! Is yours changing color?"
The man - apparently named Adrian - stared down at the key in his hands. As Jersey had observed, it was fluidly shifting from one color to another, and even the handle refused to remain steady; it was changing shape in sync with the colors.
Jersey and Mothman came to the same simultaneous conclusion about Jersey's key, and both glanced down to see that it now was all black and had sprouted a pair of mini-horns. Jersey gave an absolutely devilish grin and this, then gestured for Mothman to come over and take a key of his own.
He hesitantly did as asked.
The moment his hand grasped the key, a pair of metallic wings unfolded from it. The entire key was different shades of gray.
It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story. — Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind
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