300, sans the Spartians.
(ooc: I like keeping a regular blog for characters...so I'm keeping mine as a record of Dean's thoughts and singular events while in the hotel -anything that happens in his room when he is alone and not in the presence of others or planning to. That will all be in the main RPG rooms-)
Following Dean's Arrival at the Hotel
Dean found the room easy enough. He stepped onto the 3rd floor, wary of the stairs as he had been told by Cordelia that they moved. His room was right there when he reached the landing and he stood in the hallway, taking in the sights and the sounds before putting his key in the door and stepping inside.
It was indeed a double room. And it was very creepy that who ever owned the hotel had known Dean would have asked for one.
And it looked as if the people of the hotel expected his brother to be along shortly.
It was unsettling to be standing there, looking at the two queen sized beds, the one closest to the door stacked with a change of clothes that was from his own bag of laundry and various items that had come from his car. A canister of salt, a jug of holy water with the rosary still in it. His favorite bowie knife, the one he slept with under his pillow at night, was laying on the bedspread in it's leather sheath. His laptop was there as well, even though it was apparent the hotel supplied one on the office desk near one of the windows.
He closed the door behind him and licked his lips in consideration. This was not sitting right with him. Not at all.
Dean reached to the closet door and opened it, startled to find his other jacket hanging up inside and one of his duffel bags neatly folded on the shelf above it.
"Oh you assholes." He muttered, snatching the duffle down. He was probably going to need it once he found out where on earth they had taken his car. The hunter flung it at the bed and it landed on the pile of belongings while he checked his phone again for a signal. He sighed when it read No Service once more, and shook his head.
"I'm trapped in a hotel that shouldn't exist." Dean said in disbelief, tossing his phone down amid his stuff.
He turned his attention to the computer at the desk, opened it up and clicked on the browser to the internet. It failed to connect.
Dean tried not to growl as he attempted to log online again. He pulled up a chair and stared at the computer again, checking all the programs before he found one that was some sort of internet messaging service. At first glance he thought for a moment he had found a means to the outside world. But instead it appeared to be a communications system between people of the hotel itself. A local network.
Disgusted that his searching had turned up nothing useful, Dean shoved the computer away from him and sat back in his chair, his teeth grinding as he tried to think.
This hotel can't exist. It's a fictional place in a song. In a god damn song! Dean thought. It looks like something the angels would do...but to a whole punch of people? Maybe...maybe its a Trickster.
Dean reached up to his face and rubbed at his eyes. "I need a beer." He muttered, staring at the neglected computer for a moment and reading some of the public announcements. He pulled the machine forward again and started scrolling through the logs.
Hours later, he finally decided to make himself known to the residents of the hotel.
Following Dean's Arrival at the Hotel
Dean found the room easy enough. He stepped onto the 3rd floor, wary of the stairs as he had been told by Cordelia that they moved. His room was right there when he reached the landing and he stood in the hallway, taking in the sights and the sounds before putting his key in the door and stepping inside.
It was indeed a double room. And it was very creepy that who ever owned the hotel had known Dean would have asked for one.
And it looked as if the people of the hotel expected his brother to be along shortly.
It was unsettling to be standing there, looking at the two queen sized beds, the one closest to the door stacked with a change of clothes that was from his own bag of laundry and various items that had come from his car. A canister of salt, a jug of holy water with the rosary still in it. His favorite bowie knife, the one he slept with under his pillow at night, was laying on the bedspread in it's leather sheath. His laptop was there as well, even though it was apparent the hotel supplied one on the office desk near one of the windows.
He closed the door behind him and licked his lips in consideration. This was not sitting right with him. Not at all.
Dean reached to the closet door and opened it, startled to find his other jacket hanging up inside and one of his duffel bags neatly folded on the shelf above it.
"Oh you assholes." He muttered, snatching the duffle down. He was probably going to need it once he found out where on earth they had taken his car. The hunter flung it at the bed and it landed on the pile of belongings while he checked his phone again for a signal. He sighed when it read No Service once more, and shook his head.
"I'm trapped in a hotel that shouldn't exist." Dean said in disbelief, tossing his phone down amid his stuff.
He turned his attention to the computer at the desk, opened it up and clicked on the browser to the internet. It failed to connect.
Dean tried not to growl as he attempted to log online again. He pulled up a chair and stared at the computer again, checking all the programs before he found one that was some sort of internet messaging service. At first glance he thought for a moment he had found a means to the outside world. But instead it appeared to be a communications system between people of the hotel itself. A local network.
Disgusted that his searching had turned up nothing useful, Dean shoved the computer away from him and sat back in his chair, his teeth grinding as he tried to think.
This hotel can't exist. It's a fictional place in a song. In a god damn song! Dean thought. It looks like something the angels would do...but to a whole punch of people? Maybe...maybe its a Trickster.
Dean reached up to his face and rubbed at his eyes. "I need a beer." He muttered, staring at the neglected computer for a moment and reading some of the public announcements. He pulled the machine forward again and started scrolling through the logs.
Hours later, he finally decided to make himself known to the residents of the hotel.