maskormenacelogs | Welcome to the Hotel Calimurder

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Welcome to the Hotel Calimurder

WHO: Jack and James
WHERE: Hotel Castile
WHEN: Sometime after this
WHAT: Jack moves in, James offers a warm welcome.
WARNINGS: Warnings for canon content for both, possible mentions of murder, blood, gore and all that stuff. Or maybe just talk of adorable kittens.

[The hotel wasn’t bad.

Jack had half expected to be greeted by something run by a slum lord on his initial arrival and yet here he was, pleasantly surprised by the decor and oddly nostalgic for it. They just didn’t make them like this any more. While he hadn’t actually had a proper look around before accepting the job offer or the room, he was already well aware it’d be a step up from plenty of the places he’d worked and lived before. Money is money, the room just an added in was just a damn fine extra.

It takes no time for him to move in, what with his accumulated belongings equally a small duffel bag of spare clothes and money and literally nothing else. Easy to please, this one, likes to keep to himself too judging by the fact he doesn’t have any of intention of leaving his room again until absolutely necessary, content enough with just a bed to sleep the day away. If he’s called away to work he’ll do it without complaint, but until then he’s busy nesting in his new bed.

By late evening Jack manages to drag himself from a restless slumber and straight towards the shower, stripping down and spending far too long letting the water work into his muscles. There isn’t much effort to dry once he’s out beyond a quick rub down, lazily ruffling a towel through his hair as he wanders out of the bathroom…]

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[When Sally had a new beau, March...generally hadn't paid attention. Back home, at any rate. He expected her to do whatever necessary to feed the demon and her own dark desires, and that was about it. Here? That was different. If Sally was inviting new men to live with them, essentially, he was rather bound to take an interest. He was rather bound to use his influence. To watch the man without him knowing, eyes narrowed on the unique aura surrounding him. It was an aura March was familiar with in the worst of ways; like an alcoholic with the next shot, a smoker with the next cigarette, he longed to reach out and grasp Jack, pull him to his chest and claim him as his own.

Of course he doesn't.

Instead, he takes a seat in the corner of Jack's room as he showers. He picks the most shadowy corner, the one that won't be immediately spotted whenever Jack makes his exit. Perhaps he'll smell the pipe first, or see the smoke. March is dressed to the nines and puffing away in the chair like this is his own room. No sign of gun or knife, his cane casually leaning against the armrest as he puffs, puffs, puffs.

He looks more a pervert than a murderer, really. This sort of set up might scream as wanting a private show, a stolen glimpse of wet ass and cock, something perhaps meant to turn into more. Not what's on his own mind, not at all, but it would be an easy mistake to make.

He says nothing. Might lend to the pervert idea more.

Just sitting there, watching, in the dark. Smoking a pipe. In a three piece suit with an ascot. At enough of a distance he can leap up if Jack goes rushing at him.

This is your Captain watching you get out of the shower; all aboard the crazy ship, eh?]

[That pipe smoke is caught the moment Jack steps foot out of the bathroom, smelling the air like a dog for a few curious sniffs before whipping around like he's already pinpointed exactly where the culprit will be. Dark corner, not that hard to work out, but the fact his new company is just sitting there was less expected, then again an attacker smoking like a chimney wouldn't exactly be a stealthy one.

His body relaxes the second he picks March out of the dull lighting and through a fog of smoke, deeming the threat level low while his new companion sat there, and perhaps not much more of a threat if he were on his feet. Jack learnt long ago that immortality was no excuse for arrogance but his continued survival had brought about an air of apathy, one that spoke of giving no fucks for the possibility of danger. This is his room now and he will defend himself in it if he has to.

There's no concern for those prying eyes, towel tiredly slung over a shoulder as he lets his arms drop loosely by his side, content as he appears to be just stood there, damp and tired and most definitely naked. Jack strikes quite the figure, stocky and solid, both arms and a leg covered in tattoos and absolutely no shame in being watched. It's confidence softened by indifference, not threatened by the unexpected presence, just curious. And... tired. So tired.]

Hi. [Can he help you, weird dude?

That's all March is getting. The floor is left open for the creepy ascot wearing guy to introduce himself, or if he'd rather just sit there in silence then Jack's just as happy to stare back in continued silence. He's got a whole eternity to live, he's in no rush to get anything done.]

Good evening, darling.

[His voice cuts through and, judging by it, none of this is out of place. At all. The puffing stops so he can lift a hand to the lamp on the nearby nightstand, flooding the room with a warm, yellow-ish light, making it easy to spot the crystal pitchers, one of green liquid and of clear liquid sitting next to it on a silver platter. Two glasses round everything out, and March leans forward only to fill them. Just pure, straight up absinthe in one, something clear in the other.]

I saw you with dear dear our Sally and thought, my, that looks like a man who could use a drink. But then you weren't having any drinks with her. Must have a rather good reason to avoid indulging in a drink around a beautiful woman.

[He picks up the glass of mystery liquid and stands to extend it to Jack without ever showing an ounce of concern about the whole naked thing. And also being his room thing.]

It's only water.

[hooray for surprise room service]

[The mystery guy fits the hotel aesthetic perfectly, right down to the ascot, but it still doesn't exactly explain why he's here in Jack's room uninvited, with drinks. Water, apparently.

Mentions of Sally being a familiar clear up enough to allow Jack some assumptions on who his company may be; Employee, partner of Sally or manager, yet what he's doing remains to be discussed. A knock on the door would have been enough of an introduction, unless this invasion is supposed to prove some kind of point, set the mood for what's to be expected around here.

For now he plays along, reaching for the glass and giving it a cursory sniff to confirm whether his company speaks the truth. The possibility of poison doesn't cause much concern either, not when he can live through it easily enough.]

Okay... I didn't hear you knock.

[Just in case there is some misunderstanding here, friend.]

[It's totally a mood thing. Setting up the proper aesthetic, golly gee imagine that. It's not only hipsters who have ever obsessed about looking #soblessed.]

Of course you didn't! I didn't knock. [Eyebrows lift, his smile takes a more predatory appearance. But this isn't cat and mouse or snake and mouse. No, this is something much much better. Equal and equal. Or equal and once equal...Jack's aura has some questions about it.] James Patrick March is the name! I own this hotel. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance.

[He extends a hand, bouncing up on the balls of his feet a bit. Just so eager to meet new folks that he ghosts right into their room. How adorable.]

[The owner. Well that makes this just mildly better, and if this is the person that'll be giving him money and this room Jack supposes he should show some level of hospitality. If only he can remember how to do that...

This guy is odd as far as first impressions go, eager and cheerful countering clueless and bored, Jack left still wondering what to make of all this even as he stares down at the offered hand, leaving it in dead air for far too long. There's something more here, something in that smile...

As if only just remembering he's still on this plane of existence he finally reaches for the hand, grasping firm and stepping in just a little closer as he takes a slow inhale. Not too informative when his senses are filled with pipe smoke and absinthe.]

Jack. [A pleasure, maybe. Or not. Either way the handshake doesn't last long at all before he's trying to claim his hand back.]

So you're the boss. ImPort?

[Eternally eager and cheerful, judging by how damn happy he is to get a name from the man himself. He is just a bottomless well of joy. And tact, too; he gives Jack back his hand without any weird lingering and manages to treat, to look at him, as he would anyone fully clothed at a business party. No wandering eyes here. That color surrounding Jack is what has March's interest, nothing else.]

Indeed, indeed! I took this place from an older gentleman not long after I arrived. [With the help of his wife, he doesn't mention. Instead he turns, walking back to his corner as he speaks, puffing away. Giving Jack time and space to get some clothes on if he wants to. If he doesn't, no problem. Some people don't like wearing clothes to bed. They just maybe don't have to make that decision in front of the new landlord...ah...] So, will you simply be staying with us, or has Sally offered you a job?

[She's second-in-command at the moment. What a world, what a world.]

[''Took' this place' is certainly an interesting way to put it, Jack thinks, but he doesn't question it. Doesn't question any of it, even as he's just left standing there holding a glass of water and staring over at the retreating figure.

This is... What? Okay, this can be a normal conversation. They can make this whole scenario a relatively normal thing, and Jack can go put some clothes on and answer questions and pretend he's not curious as hell about this odd new landlordboss.]

Uh. Job. I think. [So long as March is fine with that. If he isn't, well... he'll probably still find Jack doing the odd job around the hotel anyway because boredom.

Jack moves towards the bed and reaches for the few items of clothing tossed onto it, pulling on a pair of boxers to take his dick out of the meeting. It was never invited anyway. Go away. With nakedness taken care of, he continues, tugging an old grey t-shirt over his head as he speaks, his back to March (with two fairly angry looking scars briefly on display).]

I can do whatever you need around the hotel. Cleaning, fixing, doesn't matter.

["This is... What?" will become a common thought for some time around the hotel. But with enough time, that feeling, that question will disappear entirely, leaving only acceptance of whatever strange reality he comes across.]

Doesn't matter. [He's picked up the absinthe and downed it in one go, pinkie extended like a true posh douchebag.] I should hope not! A man is only as good as his word.

[He should hope it doesn't matter as long as Jack is paid. He should hope it doesn't matter on a moral level. This is going well so far, much better than the time he came across a nude John. Hopefully it keeps on track. Hopefully Sally's brought another like mind to their bosom.]

Sally's brought you aboard for a job, a job you shall have. I suppose all that matters now is your desired salary, hmm?

[He smiles, sits back down, and lights up his pipe again. Boss work in the office can get so stuffy and boring. This is preferable, yes. Best sort of house call.]

[March goes to sit again and Jack mirrors, dropping down heavily onto the corner of the bed and hunkering forward, his arms dangling tiredly between his legs as he uses his knees as an elbow rest. His gaze never really falters, watching his company like a hawk, a quiet sort of keenness through a facade of boredom.

This besuited guy isn't normal, that much is growing more obvious by the moment, but it's difficult pinpointing why, beyond the odd behaviour presented, Jack's Scooby senses are tingling. Could just be a misplaced eccentric with an odd sense of social norms. That's okay though, Jack's exactly the same, just less enthusiastic in his displays.]

Yeah. [Eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully.] I already told her I'm not working below minimum.

[He has standards! Except not really.]

[March likes this fellow already, he's decided. Jack's reacted fantastically to a stranger in his room. Not that March would have minded a half-nude physical altercation, oh no, but pleasant calms are to be appreciated.]

Minimum. [There was no minimum when March operated. That was great for March, because he could rip off poor people breaking their backs to build his hotel, and kill them if they complained! That's what capitalism is all about, baby! If it wasn't for coming here, he wouldn't have a fucking clue what minimum was.] Goodness, no. We'll start you out two dollars above minimum, room and board included. We've washers and dryers about. You can do your own laundry or have it done for you. If you need anything, day or night, room 64 is mine.

[It's his. He's not saying he stays there, or lives there, or will be there. More of that fun with phrasing, followed with a grin.]

How's that sound to you, Jack?

[Hey, he gets it. He's lived through whole slews of history where slavery was a totally acceptable thing, it's just times are tough right now and he needs that money for reasons.]

Sounds... decent. [Too good to be true for just a simple cleaner or handyman but he won't argue it. Without room and board to worry about, that pay can go straight to trying to find food suppliers for his habit. That stuff doesn't come cheap.]

You got many living here or just short term guests?

[Might as well know what sort of shit goes on around here if this is now where he's living.]

[Look, if he's in the hotel, then he's always on call. He's also always open to seeing weird shit at any given time, which is good. It helps keep things from growing stale. If all goes well, Jack will help out with the weird shit that goes on. A brand new family! His withered black heart could cry.]

Oh, not many! We've a few. [Including a scarecrow and a clown, as is fitting. And now Jack! He always knew it would change in time.] The majority milling about are guests, here for a night or two. The bar attracts an outside crowd: short-lived, here for the drinks. Unless they become intoxicated, that is. Then they may be with us for the night!

[Or longer.]

[The added bonus here is that Jack doesn't get out much, so he'll be readily available all too often. Not to mention March will learn soon enough that nothing worries Jack, not even dead people, in fact he's often strangely pleased to see them like that. The dead don't talk back, harass or annoy him, plus they taste good. Perfect employee, right?!

March may not be a bad landlord bossman either, considering he probably won't mind if Jack occasionally scurries to his room with clothing covered in blood. Some landlords get really weird about it...

For now Jack will just be his normal cautious self, avoid too much notice or confrontation and just get on with it all. Nothing to see here, especially not an immortal biblical cannibal.]

Lived above bars before. It's okay. [Noise doesn't bother him, is what he's saying.]

Thanks though. Good to be out of Government housing.

[He's so calm! How charming. March puffs away a bit more, sets everything back on the platter he brought along, and nods enthusiastically.]

Yes, yes, absolutely! Who knows what they might be hiding in those houses, hmm? There is no such thing as a free meal, they say. Doubly true where the government is concerned. [Pipe hanging out of his mouth almost cartoonishly, March draws the platter to his chest like a server, having on difficulty balancing pitchers and glasses.] I'll leave you to become accustomed to your new surroundings then. Don't forget!

[His free hand goes up, holding a finger aloft. He looks far more like the help than the owner. A giddy fellow providing room service eager for a chunky tip.]

Room 64.

[That is important information; Jack will surely find out more about why later.]

Room 64. Got it.

[Seriously, there is too much emphasis on that room. One of these days he won't be able to help himself, one of these days he'll have to check it out, consequences be damned. Could just be a normal room, could be a creepy sex dungeon, could be something else entirely, but it's that sense of mystery that keeps the idea of it interesting. Room 64...

As March goes to leave Jack rises to his feet out of some vague but instinctual politeness. Bossman is on his feet, that means Jack must also be on his feet, that's just how it works.

He doesn't bother with any further goodbye, just parts ways with a tired nod and slouched shoulders, waiting to be left alone so he can strip down again and spend even more time sleeping.]

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Welcome to the Hotel Calimurder

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