multiversallogs | open post ● we're about to get up and burn this floor

Entry tags:

open post ● we're about to get up and burn this floor

Who: Everyone.
What: The Grand Re-Opening of the Gravity Falls Station.
Where: Babylon.
When: Veerdi to Sukkardi.
Notes: Party post!!! Go nuts y'all.
Warnings: Probable alcohol (and drug?) use. Flag stuff in subject titles if it needs a warning and I'll edit it up in here.

It's clear from the first moment anyone even gets on the Skyrail tonight that the Stratosphere Entertainment Group's pricey investment is going to pay off - every rail car is crowded with people decked out and excited for the event. To natives of Baedal, the idea of a holiday is days off work, maybe some camping - escape is alien, a little frightening, and completely thrilling. Even when the Gravity Falls station had hosted other venues, it was nothing so ambitious as to capture the imaginations of the city as a whole. And to immigrants to the city who no longer have the luxury of even simple trips out of town - well, it's priceless. A bittersweet but suddenly vital excursion.

Doors open just as the sun begins to set, the light reflecting off the water of the ocean illuminating the great floating platform as if the entire sky was on fire, before slipping into deep purple then black, the ceiling of their experience dotted with brilliant stars. Staff members wrangling the hazards of the first night are anxious but excited, kind and helpful even if they end up frazzled by the overwhelming turnout. There is security, all sporting neon purple shirts with lion logos, but even by their own admission, they're only there to breakup fights - and even they're smiling all night, too.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Has Rachel ever been punched for telling something akin to a ghost story without warning? Bruce has. He is Being Polite, okay.

"It's best if you go up when it's still dark, and watch the light come up." Not the sun come up, he's not sure if the sun does anything, here, or if they're moving in orbit, or... He lets that train of thought fade into nothingness, or else it's one of those threads that'll drive him insane.

"Practically a drive-in theater up here," he murmurs, and then - noise from the hall again, this time a handful of people laughing (drunkenly) loudly, stumbling around. Somebody thunks into the door of the room they're currently borrowing, and a muffled but distinct 'WHO HAS THE KEY?' can be heard.

Welp.

She's about to answer when the commotion outside the door startles her. Rachel freezes for a moment, all but panicked. But then she takes a step away from the window, eyes darting about the room--it's probably evident to Bruce that she's thinking, trying to come up with a plan, and quickly.

There's no other exit besides, well, the window. But she's not sure how far the next balcony down would be, if there are decent handholds, if it's safe. Nowhere really to hide, either, closet, bathroom, under the bed; even if they did manage to remain undetected they'd then have to stay the night to remain hidden.

Dammit.

"DON'T TELL ME YOU DROPPED IT." "WAIT, WAIT..."

She spares a glance at the door before doing another quick study of the room. And then she turns back to Bruce, grabbing his arms and giving him a gentle shove in the direction of the bed. "Sorry. Get on the bed, lie down."

She follows, but she doesn't stretch out, instead perching at the foot of the bed, watching the door, waiting to see if the noisy revelers just beyond come through or not.

Apparently, now there's a plan.

Bruce already has a plan, because out the window and down the side of the building is perfectly safe (if alarmingly steep) and he could probably get away with only minor bruising even with Rache- oh okay, he's being steered at the bed.

He dos as he's manhandled, plunking down, though he remains raised up on his elbows to observe the scheming.

Quietly, but sort of amused: "Sure you don't want to jump out the window?"

(Meanwhile, in the hall: "I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!!")

"It still might come to that, depending on how this goes," she says over her shoulder, still watching the door. There is a plan, she swears, and as soon as these people come through the door, it'll happen.

She waits.

And waits.

(Out in the hall, someone says "THAT'S OKAY, I'LL FEEL YOUR LEGS FOR YOU," and laughs in rather a suggestive way.)

But any second now the people in the hall will stop fooling around and find their key and come through that door and--

"I GAVE YOU THE KEY, I SWEAR."

"Jesus Christ," Rachel mutters, and there's a clear, impatient note of do I have to do everything myself about the Son of God's name taken in vain there. Look, really, why can't people get with a plan and stop drunkenly pussyfooting around in the hall when she's waiting for them to do something? Honestly.

She pushes off the bed, heading for the door, clearly addressing it with a very loud "What the hell is going on? I didn't pay all this money to get up here and have my night disturbed like this."

The noise beyond the door subsides.

"This is ridiculous-- no, you stay there," she adds, addressing Bruce as she pulls the door open, oh so neatly letting the people gathered on the other side know she's not alone in the room. "Can I help you guys?"

"Um. This is our room."

"No, this is our room, they said so at the front desk. Our key opened the door and everything. You guys sure you have the right room?"

There's some discussion among the four people in the hall, and the consensus is, yes, it is their room, they have the right number. "Then you guys just totally paid for a room that you can't use, you better go back down there and deal with that." When the partiers don't appear to be prompted by that, she adds, with a pointed tone and an elaborate shrug: "We're already using the bed and everything."

Some more discussion, a lot of yeah, this is messed up from beyond the threshold, and a bit of I'm sorry about this but I don't want you guys' night ruined, go make them give you the right room on Rachel's part, and the group finally goes staggering back toward the elevators.

She closes the door and turns, leaning against it. And as much as she's trying to keep up that air of collected, I-totally-handled-that confidence, the slight sag of her posture as she puts her back to the door, and the swift, shallow rise and fall of her chest give away that she's running on adrenaline and probably pretty damn surprised that worked as well as it did.

"Hopefully that buys us enough time to get the hell out of here before we have to consider your out-the-window plan."

As soon as Rachel loses her patience, there's a noise from Bruce that sounds like a stifled laugh - if she'd have been looking at him, she might have actually caught that rare sight (not that she'd know it was that rare, but hey). He plays his part, sitting up on the bed in the dark, body language oh-so-confused - despite the fact that his shoes are on, but hey, some people are into that.

"What, you don't want to go out the window?"

Why won't anyone let him do anything stupid tonight? Alas. But he gets up, still trying to bite down on the impulse to laugh at the scene that just transpired.

"Nice job." He doesn't sound remotely worried as he stands up again, going nearer to the door and pausing to listen as their impromptu guests struggle down the hall noisily. Once the ping of the elevator doors bookends the noise and leaves the floor silent, he moves to open the door.

"Fire escape?" Since, you know. Now it's time to get the hell outta Dodge.

"I didn't wear my going-out-the-window shoes, what was I thinking?" she asks, wry. And far too kind to come out and say who the hell just goes out windows, dude, are you serious? "And thanks. It's occasionally served me well to make a quiet scene, when I think I can get away with it--most people don't want a scene so they'll try to appease you."

It's probably not nice to play on most people's inherent good natures and good manners like that. Oh, well.

She nods as he moves toward the door. "I think the fire escape's the best way. We can probably get down to the lobby but I'm not sure about our chances down there in the open." It's also more safe.

Probably.

"Clearly not planning ahead." His sass is so understated it's almost normal, but no, that is still definite sass given the default tone he takes otherwise. He pops the door open and glances up and down the hall before setting off, waiting for her to exit so he can shut the door quietly behind them. Stairwell door spotted, he leads the way swiftly and.. of course it's locked, but he jimmies it with the card (it doesn't unlock immediately - this must be a security stairwell) and pulls the door back, keeping his distance at first while scoping it out. A moment later he closes it.

"Camera," is his explanation, and so he approaches the window at the end of the hall, looking for - aha. The little red plastic pull-tab at the bottom corner.

So, literally, a fire scape. He grabs and yanks it, and the window neatly swings out, revealing a slim steel series of terrifyingly spindly platforms and ladders down the side of the building.

"I never got those lessons," she counters with mock gravity. "Do you know the Girl Scouts wouldn't have me? They said I was trouble, I have no idea what that's about."

She waits behind him as he gets the stairwell door open, trying to casually keep lookout. She's ready to walk through behind him but he stops short; at his explanation. Rachel's eyes widen a little, and she nods, understanding. They can't be on camera, there can't be any record they were here or any means of identifying them later.

She follows Bruce to the window, eyes tracking him breaking its seal and the window swinging out. She leans out to see what's beyond, and she has a brief oh holy shit moment. But then she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and lifts her chin; the smile she summons is a near-perfect confident one.

"Okay. Ladies first, right?" She grasps the window frame and swings a leg out, planting that foot on the steel platform beyond before slipping the rest of the way out.

Ladies first is not what he'd have done, but stopping her mid-move isn't exactly safe - so instead he waits until she's on the other side and stable before hopping over himself, and closing the window behind them. (Is it weird that he can close a security window perfectly from the wrong side?)

"Hey, the view out here is great." Shut up, Tom. He pulls himself to the outside of the escape frame so that they aren't squished in together and off-balance. "We're only a couple floors up though, so this shouldn't be too big of a deal."

Better than the window into the courtyard right? ... Right?

It would be weird if Rachel had time to inspect the window frame or give the window a moment's thought once it's closed. But Bruce climbs to the outside of the frame, and the window is immediately forgotten.

"Oh, Tom, be careful," she says, not because she thinks this is a bad idea (she grasps that it's not, there's more room and better distribution of weight this way) and not because she thinks he's incompetent (he's proven he's anything but, and they were just talking about him rock climbing anyway). She says be careful because she likes him, and is therefore not only concerned for his safety and well-being, but would be genuinely bereft were he to fall and be hurt, and be careful is just an easier and less-time consuming thing to say on a fire escape.

Especially when hotel security might be at their heels at any second. She spares a glance back through the window to make sure the coast--that coast, anyway--is still clear, and then she turns back, meeting his gaze, nodding. She's ready, they should do this thing.

He makes sure that he moves with enough care to look competent but not alarmingly ninja-like, as is sometimes an issue with him if he doesn't pay close enough attention - but he has Rachel to look out for, too, so it's not that laborious of a task.

"Thinking about it," he begins, halfway down, making sure an extended ladder is stable before she steps on it, "They were so tanked we could probably have just taken the elevator down and walked out, there's no way they're communicating in an efficient manner."

.. He sounds kind of amused.

Rachel is also proving capable, if very, very focused on what she's doing. She's tentative as they start down, but by the time Bruce speaks, lifting her head to look at him through the rungs of the ladder, half-smiling, isn't alarming.

"What, and miss this view? You were right, by the way--it's lovely from up here."

He's right, too, about the state of the partygoers in the hall. Between the four of them they couldn't even find their room key, and it took them how long to grasp that Rachel was telling them to go away, get another room, get out? It's likely they're still at the front desk, trying to explain what happened.

"Probably," she allows. "But better safe than sorry, right?"

Because a fire escape is so totally more safe than just walking out of the place.

...At least it's not the window to the courtyard.

"Entirely better." The last bit is, of course, the part with the taller-than-a-person drop, to prevent anyone from getting up and breaking and entering. "Hold on-" To give her a warning, before he drops down, landing neatly and steadily then standing back up, like it ain't no thang.

Up at Rachel: "You can aim for me, if you want."

This will end well.

She hovers there, up on the ladder, frowning. It's clear there's some internal debate going on--it's a thoughtful frown on her face, weighing options, not the this guy's nuts, I'm not doing that sort of frown.

Except that she is not doing that, because as much as making that drop is a thang for her, it feels worse to take advantage of someone's indulgence by flattening them in a side alley. But she can't stay on the ladder. But she can't just aim for Bruce and hope for the best, either.

"Okay, so. I will aim for you, but there's something I can try to do so it's not me coming down full weight on your head, but... are you, like. Freaked out by displays of superhuman ability? And an attendant lack of full mastery therein?"

Pause.

"It won't kill you or anything."

Bruce is never surprised anymore when someone admits to having supernatural powers - there was a time when it bothered him, but he's moved on to apathy. He's not in Kansas anymore, or whatever. So he shrugs, though she probably can't see it.

"Well if it won't kill me, I can't complain."

"Okay." Rachel moves around to the side of the ladder Bruce just vacated, her feet on the very last rung before the drop.

There's a light shining down from somewhere above, blue, as much for setting the festive-yet-relaxed mood around the hotel as it is for any kind of security. Her hands are on another rung, at about her chest level. She opens her right hand, studying it for a long moment; he probably can't see from below, but she's inspecting the shadow it casts on the steel. It's not much since the light source is neither strong nor crisp enough for this to work perfectly, but maybe it's just enough.

She leans back slightly, concentrating on her right hand. And then she releases her grip on the ladder, left hand opening as she steps off that last rung. She drops... but only halfway to the ground, downward momentum suddenly arrested.

She hangs there for the space of a few breaths, right arm stretched up as if it's holding to something, as if she's hanging from it. But it's not her hand, it's her shadow, stretched up from the hand open in mid-air, existing where it should not, until it reaches the spot where it is legitimately being cast.

It's just enough--but only just enough to keep her from hitting the ground directly from letting go, not enough for the cautious lowering-herself-to-the-ground she'd hoped to pull off. She hovers there, flailing slightly as her shadow fades, and then she drops the remaining distance.

It's just enough that, should he actually be somewhere near or under her trying to break her fall, Rachel hopefully won't crash into him with enough force to do him any harm.

Fortunately for them both, Bruce happens to be fuck mothering Batman, so when Rachel lets go of her shadowy hand-hold and falls the rest of the way down, he's able to catch her without incident in that obnoxiously perfect Hollywood-impossible style, with barely a stagger.

Still, he makes a little 'oof' noise for comedic affect.

"You should carry a flashlight," he observes, hair still slightly screwed up from the windforce of her fall very near his head.

In other words: neat trick.

If Rachel had any idea he is in fact fuck mothering Batman, she might've kept that trick to herself, and not worried so much about aiming for him.

...Might've. Look, even if a guy is a badass superhero, it still seems rude (to her) to just drop yourself on his head.

He seems satisfyingly unharmed by the experience, so Rachel does what fussing over him she can. Namely, his hair, reaching up to smooth it back into place.

"I usually do," she confides, with a little shrug. "Sometimes several. But I hate bringing a bag to a club and it's always hard to hide a decent one on me without a bag."

Bruce tolerates the hair fussing as he sets her down, pleased that went down without a hitch, though he does take a look around and start leading the way out around the building before carrying on the conversation. Best not to loiter at the scene of the crime.

"So this crawling around in unexpected places is a normal thing?"

"An occasional thing," she corrects, very gently. "I think if I keep practicing, I might be able to use it to open doors, like slip it in the gap," and here she gestures as they walk, her hand flat and perpendicular to the ground in a slipping-it-into-a-tight-place kind of motion, "and turn the lock over or whatever."

Everyone's got life goals, right?

"But I mostly carry flashlights for protecting myself. Just in case, right? Though, like, when the sky broke open that one time I was able to punch out a--I don't even know what it was, but I punched it out and saved myself and my--a friend."

Did Bruce's typist forget that he already asked that a while back? Perhaps. But that's okay, he can do with looking a bit dopey. It's better for his cover.

"I think that's a pretty pragmatic goal for it." It's sort of refreshing to hear someone talk about a supernatural ability that way. It sucks all the mystery out of it, which is something Captain No Fun Allowed here appreciates without irony.

And then- "Man, that whole thing sucked." Which is the most genuine bit of sudden emotion he's expressed all night.

But it REALLY SUCKED, okay.

Cover to be protected or not, it's no thing, seriously.

She shrugs as they walk. "I figured, if I'm stuck with it, I might as well learn to do useful things with it, right?"

Never mind that this frame of mind where her ability is concerned is a very recent development, brought on by the monsters from the hole in the sky and aided with Raylan's acceptance and Charles Xavier's guidance.

"You know. Defend myself as needed, punch out horrifying creatures, refine my breaking and entering technique... speaking of--"

She glances over at him, half-grinning. "Do you make a habit of raiding housekeeping carts at hotels or were you just feeling daring tonight?" The way she says it implies that she wouldn't react badly if it was the former over the latter.

"You'd be surprised what they teach you in boyscouting," he says - and of course Bruce has done enough research to be able to pass himself off as a legitimate member - as they walk. "I've found myself doing it more often since showing up here. Baedal has more weird stuff than Maryland."

Maryland: completely harmless, east coast, plenty of pleasantly middle class towns. (It's also where Sol is from, so yeah, Bruce is kifing some of his friend's context, which got a little weird when the Sol in Baedal turned out to be an alternate.)

"I bet I would be, since I was never a boy or a scout. The things I miss out on, man. Also, I thought California had cornered the market on weird."

It's probably been evident to Bruce all along that that's where she hails from, Southern California accent/word choices/cadence with the odd San Francisco pronunciation here and there. So she has no idea about anything in Maryland, and takes his suggestion of there be weird shit at face value.

"Though not even California compared to this place."

"Everywhere has its margin for weird," and he sounds so normal saying it - reflective, almost. Not like someone who's been to every corner of the planet, neck deep in insanity. "I keep telling myself I don't want to know what qualifies as genuinely insane here. Hotel rooms can't hurt, right?"

open post ● we're about to get up and burn this floor

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i thought i replied to this ages ago.. /slide in to wrap

never fear, it is all good