A fine morning...
Who: Al Swearengen, and anyone close enough to hear him, or stumble upon him.
When: Early morning, sometime after the sunrise.
Where: Second Floor of the hotel, in the hallway outside room #208
What: Al Swearengen's entrance post!
When he woke, it was slowly. The throbbing ache in his skull told Al that the night before had not gone well. Perhaps too much whisky had been consumed, but this was unlike any hangover he had experienced, before. With a soft groan, he pushed himself from the comfortable mattress of his bed, and stopped dead.
Something was.. wrong.
Eyes narrowing, the older man twisted his head slowly as he peered around a room that was not the one he'd gone to sleep in. The sun shone through the window, displaying an alarmingly cheerful glow upon the curtains and the room's desk.. upon which sat some kind of square, gun-metal.... tablet, for a lack of better understanding upon his part. There were other things, there. Belongings of his own that lie upon a clean table cloth upon the desk. His knife, and a bottle laid out with a pair of shot-glasses to accompany, among other personal artifacts. A wooden box sat beside all of it.. the sight of which caused Albert to sneer his lip slightly in a small bit of rage. Wherever he was.. someone had been touching his personal belongings. Certainly, he wouldn't have packed these items, himself.
Running his hands down his chest, Al was surprised to find that he was fully dressed; not having been sleeping within his woolen night clothes as he normally did. A small grunt of frustration murmured under his mustache with this knowledge.. This situation was indeed getting stranger, by the minute, and a lesser man might be absolutely horrified.
When he finally chose to move, his heavy footsteps took him towards the door of his room. Al tucked something nonchalantly up the sleeve of his coat as he approached the door, leaving behind a vacant spot where his buck-knife had been. He then passed over the threshold and out into the hallway.
"Excuse my discourteous tone!" He yelled aloud as he stepped down the hall.. eyes scanning his immediate area for anyone who may seek to come around and stab him callously in the back. In such a situation, it would be foolish not to be cautious.
Spreading his arms, his voice raised.. anger clear in his booming voice, demanding attention:
"Under who's authority have I the pleasure of being summoned? Furthermore, by what means have I been escorted? Fine fucking day for a visit, but I want to know the cocksucker who owns this property!"
((OOC: How can I get the tag for this to say Albert Swearengen, instead? The character doesn't refer to himself as Ellis, and it might confuse people.. ))
When: Early morning, sometime after the sunrise.
Where: Second Floor of the hotel, in the hallway outside room #208
What: Al Swearengen's entrance post!
When he woke, it was slowly. The throbbing ache in his skull told Al that the night before had not gone well. Perhaps too much whisky had been consumed, but this was unlike any hangover he had experienced, before. With a soft groan, he pushed himself from the comfortable mattress of his bed, and stopped dead.
Something was.. wrong.
Eyes narrowing, the older man twisted his head slowly as he peered around a room that was not the one he'd gone to sleep in. The sun shone through the window, displaying an alarmingly cheerful glow upon the curtains and the room's desk.. upon which sat some kind of square, gun-metal.... tablet, for a lack of better understanding upon his part. There were other things, there. Belongings of his own that lie upon a clean table cloth upon the desk. His knife, and a bottle laid out with a pair of shot-glasses to accompany, among other personal artifacts. A wooden box sat beside all of it.. the sight of which caused Albert to sneer his lip slightly in a small bit of rage. Wherever he was.. someone had been touching his personal belongings. Certainly, he wouldn't have packed these items, himself.
Running his hands down his chest, Al was surprised to find that he was fully dressed; not having been sleeping within his woolen night clothes as he normally did. A small grunt of frustration murmured under his mustache with this knowledge.. This situation was indeed getting stranger, by the minute, and a lesser man might be absolutely horrified.
When he finally chose to move, his heavy footsteps took him towards the door of his room. Al tucked something nonchalantly up the sleeve of his coat as he approached the door, leaving behind a vacant spot where his buck-knife had been. He then passed over the threshold and out into the hallway.
"Excuse my discourteous tone!" He yelled aloud as he stepped down the hall.. eyes scanning his immediate area for anyone who may seek to come around and stab him callously in the back. In such a situation, it would be foolish not to be cautious.
Spreading his arms, his voice raised.. anger clear in his booming voice, demanding attention:
"Under who's authority have I the pleasure of being summoned? Furthermore, by what means have I been escorted? Fine fucking day for a visit, but I want to know the cocksucker who owns this property!"
((OOC: How can I get the tag for this to say Albert Swearengen, instead? The character doesn't refer to himself as Ellis, and it might confuse people.. ))