Miles had no ready solution for murder. A slip and fall? Sure. Domestic violence? Possibly. There were ways to deal with those things because they were conceivable. Horrible, but possible - things Miles could imagine happening in one of the rooms, even if he fervently wished that they never would. But a grisly murder in his father's hotel? Yeah. No solution. He got a brief look into the room as he came to a stop, and a hand immediately went to his mouth. No, he wasn't going to throw up, but for a moment his stomach squirmed like a fish flopping on a dry riverbank. Crime scenes on the television were one thing - it was entirely another to view it up-close, and Miles hadn't come from a particularly gruesome Tale. He had little to prepare him.
"Okay," he managed, his voice soft at first, though it grew stronger as he spoke. "Someone's calling the police?" It was the sort of question-that-wasn't-a-question. Miles left a brief pause afterwards, but he'd turned to glance at the man in the other room, the one who was on the phone. "...we'd better... no, don't go in, it's a crime scene." He reached out to stop a woman who'd approached into the hallway. "Just, uh, your room. Please? Go back in, call the front desk and let them know? What's going on, I mean."
"...it's certainly enough to drive a person mad," Miles added, again quiet. "We should ask for an ambulance too. For her."
Devin certainly didn't feel like she was going mad - though if that's what everyone wanted to think, then she'd let them. Apart from the inappropriate laughter, pent up stress escaping, she felt perfectly sane. Rational, too. Visually, she searched the room for her belongings - her pants were there, on the floor by the foot of the bed, and her purse was over next to the television.
Presumably, her phone was in there, too. But who was she going to call and what was she going to say? No one she could think of would be of any help right now, and the phone calls could wait until later.
"Anser," she spoke up after a moment, the laughter cut off. "Someone call him for me, yeah?" Maybe a testament to how not-crazy she was at the moment: she could tell there were other Tales. Probably more than one, by the size of the feeling in her stomach. In most other people, the Tale-sense would've been stopped by a different twisty turny feeling in the stomach - the oh god, a dead body feeling - but not Devin.
Miles was still completely stunned, so having a task to complete was wonderful. Call Anser. That was something he could do. He moved to try to block the door with his admittedly thin frame, to keep any more gawkers out and their psyches safely un-scarred by the mutilated body, and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. It took him a moment to realize that he didn't have Anser's number stored in memory. Oops?
So, Miles called Information. His voice was a little shaky, but he made every effort at keeping his composure. "Jacob Anser, please," he said, followed by a pause, and then "uh-huh. Yes. Dial it too."
It didn't occur to him until the second ring that the conversation might be better had away from all the strangers and hotel-guests. With a sigh, Miles turned to head down the hall, (hopefully) out of earshot.
Fatima was about to respond to Miles, but was cut off by Devin's sudden request for someone to call Anser. She darted her head towards Devin's direction, her eyes quickly adjusting themselves to look down at the floor rather than the corpse near Devin. "Anser," she murmured to herself, wondering for a brief moment why this woman would know him. The reason dawned on her no more than a few seconds later. Tales. Devin was a tale... and so was the man that approached her just now. Of course, there had been tales at the party, how could there not be others here now?
Before she could offer to call Anser, Miles was already taking out his cell phone and leaving the room. What should she do? She glanced at Devin, then at the strangers surrounding the door. "Go!" she called out to them as she approached in a vain attempt at crowd control. "There is nothing to see, go back to you rooms!"
"Okay," he managed, his voice soft at first, though it grew stronger as he spoke. "Someone's calling the police?" It was the sort of question-that-wasn't-a-question. Miles left a brief pause afterwards, but he'd turned to glance at the man in the other room, the one who was on the phone. "...we'd better... no, don't go in, it's a crime scene." He reached out to stop a woman who'd approached into the hallway. "Just, uh, your room. Please? Go back in, call the front desk and let them know? What's going on, I mean."
"...it's certainly enough to drive a person mad," Miles added, again quiet. "We should ask for an ambulance too. For her."
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Presumably, her phone was in there, too. But who was she going to call and what was she going to say? No one she could think of would be of any help right now, and the phone calls could wait until later.
"Anser," she spoke up after a moment, the laughter cut off. "Someone call him for me, yeah?" Maybe a testament to how not-crazy she was at the moment: she could tell there were other Tales. Probably more than one, by the size of the feeling in her stomach. In most other people, the Tale-sense would've been stopped by a different twisty turny feeling in the stomach - the oh god, a dead body feeling - but not Devin.
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So, Miles called Information. His voice was a little shaky, but he made every effort at keeping his composure. "Jacob Anser, please," he said, followed by a pause, and then "uh-huh. Yes. Dial it too."
It didn't occur to him until the second ring that the conversation might be better had away from all the strangers and hotel-guests. With a sigh, Miles turned to head down the hall, (hopefully) out of earshot.
Reply
Before she could offer to call Anser, Miles was already taking out his cell phone and leaving the room. What should she do? She glanced at Devin, then at the strangers surrounding the door. "Go!" she called out to them as she approached in a vain attempt at crowd control. "There is nothing to see, go back to you rooms!"
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