Gotta get out of this place
(ooc: open to anyone who wants to go through the Bellboy's drawers, but FYI--there's nothing of interest to find in his office. Unless you have a thing for laundry lists and dessert menus....)
Cuddy had reached the end of her rope. She was sick of pretending to have a life in this place. She was sick of having no control. She was sick of feeling like the Hotel was watching her. She was sick of seeing a steady stream of newcomers, all apparently ripped away from their lives, and not being able to do anything to stop it.
Mostly, though, she was simply heartsick over the confrontation she and House had had over Dean. But there was nothing more she could do about that. She could only wait and hope that House would be able to get past it.
In the meantime she needed to do something, and she was angry and frustrated and upset enough that finally raiding the Bellboy's office seemed like an excellent idea. So excellent that she wasn't sure she'd hold back even if the Bellboy was sitting at his desk. It was probably just as well she didn't have to make that decision because she wasn't thinking all that clearly. As it turned out, he was nowhere to be seen when she got to the lobby.
With a quick glance around the lobby, she slipped into the office. Slightly disappointed that it looked like just any old office (as opposed to what, she didn't know--Satan's throne room?), she set to methodically going through the desk drawers. Several minutes later she hadn't found anything more exciting than a linen inventory. Damn it, she didn't want all the time she'd spent studying the Bellboy's schedule, plotting to break in here, to go to waste.
Next she eyed a file cabinet, but then she turned back to the desk and stared at the phone. If any phone in the hotel was capable of reaching the outside world, it would be his, wouldn't it? Slowly she lifted the receiver to her ear and dialed the hospital number back in Princeton, but the minute she dialed out of the hotel system she got dead air. Not a dial tone. Not even a busy signal. Just...dead air. She returned the receiver to the cradle just as slowly but didn't release it. Her knuckles were white as she continued to clench her hand on the phone and tried to decide whether she wanted to scream or throw the phone at the wall. She was seriously considering doing both.
Cuddy had reached the end of her rope. She was sick of pretending to have a life in this place. She was sick of having no control. She was sick of feeling like the Hotel was watching her. She was sick of seeing a steady stream of newcomers, all apparently ripped away from their lives, and not being able to do anything to stop it.
Mostly, though, she was simply heartsick over the confrontation she and House had had over Dean. But there was nothing more she could do about that. She could only wait and hope that House would be able to get past it.
In the meantime she needed to do something, and she was angry and frustrated and upset enough that finally raiding the Bellboy's office seemed like an excellent idea. So excellent that she wasn't sure she'd hold back even if the Bellboy was sitting at his desk. It was probably just as well she didn't have to make that decision because she wasn't thinking all that clearly. As it turned out, he was nowhere to be seen when she got to the lobby.
With a quick glance around the lobby, she slipped into the office. Slightly disappointed that it looked like just any old office (as opposed to what, she didn't know--Satan's throne room?), she set to methodically going through the desk drawers. Several minutes later she hadn't found anything more exciting than a linen inventory. Damn it, she didn't want all the time she'd spent studying the Bellboy's schedule, plotting to break in here, to go to waste.
Next she eyed a file cabinet, but then she turned back to the desk and stared at the phone. If any phone in the hotel was capable of reaching the outside world, it would be his, wouldn't it? Slowly she lifted the receiver to her ear and dialed the hospital number back in Princeton, but the minute she dialed out of the hotel system she got dead air. Not a dial tone. Not even a busy signal. Just...dead air. She returned the receiver to the cradle just as slowly but didn't release it. Her knuckles were white as she continued to clench her hand on the phone and tried to decide whether she wanted to scream or throw the phone at the wall. She was seriously considering doing both.