elseworldexiles | The Hotel Wundagore

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The Hotel Wundagore

It's a hell of a place.

They have seven suites on the top floor. The ritziest kind of opulent glamour of the era. Everything's comfortable, everything's stylized, and everyone gets their own hot showers.

Thanks to one guy getting sick of a neverending journey through crap.

"Here we are, kids. Try not to damage the upholstery. And if anyone's around, my name is Tyler Stone."

His throat constricts and tastes of vomit just for saying that.

"You're welcome."

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"Spidey, I could kiss you," TJ announces, happily launching herself into her room and stretching out on her bed, sprawling on top of the covers stomach-first. It's a full, tail-extending stretch. Beds, showers, and, you know, no one immediately trying to kill them. Now she just has to find the booze, and she's in for a good night's rest.

"I could use it," he mutters, leaning against the hallway in the private wing... watching everyone's reactions.

These people deserve a little pampering.

A smile quirks one corner of Raven's mouth. She shifts into Lyla's blonde bombshell look and plants one squarely on him.

"Thanks for the rooms."

Between the crowd's approval at their impromptu busking and the knowledge that Lord Magneto is a philanthropist in this world, she's feeling unusually good.

Now if she can just figure out how to get her personal arsenal out of this jacket and back into the physical caveties where's she's used to storing them. It'll take practice and patience. She heads into her room to play with herself.

Miguel is suitably stunned as Raven heads back to her bedroom. She's awful. He shouldn't have liked that - especially after she was just covered in Wolverine spit not so long ago...

That's when Lyla appears next to him.

"Would you like me to research the legality of marriage to a grandmother and granddaughter at the same time?"

A hand drags down his face.

"I don't think the local municipality has jurisdiction over the space-time continuum, Lyla."

"For extradition purposes, then?"

"No, Lyla, thank you."

"I don't know how we're affording this..."

Morph's still studying the newspaper, absorbing the information - and not in the fashion of Silly Putty, either.

"We're not. Someone who can is. This is a gift horse, no tonsilectomy is necessary."

That might even be a smile on O'Hara's face. That certainly doesn't happen much.

The Daily Bugle Morph is reading is crowded with articles and accompanying black-and-white photos. The most prominent articles describe corruption running throughout the city and state. Headlines include "Dockworkers Fear Mob Strongarming," "Erik Lensherr: Philanthropic Real Estate Mogul or Mafia Don?" and "Opium Empire Claims Thousands of Lives Annually."

Another black-bordered photo of Peter Parker graces the op-ed page, the caption this time pledging that the Daily Bugle will not rest until justice is done.

Miguel glances over Morph's shoulder at the paper.

"Anything in there about fatal loins?"

"You think they even have a Paris Hilton on this world?"

He says it without missing a beat, but the delivery's not his usual.

He just blinks.

"I'm guessing a pop-culture slut from your world?"

If he doesn't get the joke, he can at least get the gist.

"Got it in one - we'll have you up to speed yet."

He sets the paper aside, looking pensive.

"I recall you saying that you once ran into the original Spider-Man on your world, right?"

His brow furrows for a moment. Did I actually tell him that?

Then a shrug. "My world, but it wasn't my time - one of the only times I got sucked into extra-dimensional nonsense before this whole Timebroker mess started."

"Time-travel's always a hoot. Anyway - I knew Spider-Man back home, too. We were friends. People say Captain America's an inspiration - and sure, he is - but Spider-Man? One of the most singularly decent human beings it has ever been my pleasure to know."

There's a pause, then a sigh.

"Okay. I'm not living up to the name, fine, I get it."

His eyes move back to the paper.

"Does this Lensherr guy ring a bell?"

"No, that - this isn't about you. You're a fine Spider-Man, I just wish you had his joie de vivre, sometimes. No, I'm bummed because his desire to see justice done got him murdered, here."

He nods, to the second question.

"Yeah, Magneto. Absolute control over magnetism. Violent mutants-rights activist back home, and sometimes veered into terrorism. He had some lighter moments, but most of the time, he was very 'ends justify the means'."

Miguel slaps his own forehead. "Lensherr, right. Raven can't shut up about how much of a god he is. I must've just tuned her out and forgot about him. No wonder she's in a good enough mood to shove her tongue in my mouth."

His face twitches a little. Still not sure how he feels about that. She's so irritating most of the time.

"But anyway... there's no sense in trying to compete with you in the happy-go-lucky department. Most class clowns take pride in being the only one."

"Yeah, maybe. I don't feel very funny right now, though."

An eyebrow raises.

"And maybe now you can understand why I'm not full of the joy of life."

"Difference is that I'm going to do something about what's bumming me out, and then it'll be back to business as usual. Grim and gritty all the time? No, thanks."

Miguel just shakes his head.

"I've got a hologram in my wrist that giggles like Marilyn Monroe. Nothing gritty about that."

With that, he turns to head off toward his room. He could use the shut-eye.

The suites are quite luxurious. Central air and heating, a full bathroom, a wet bar, dataport ... everything a high-powered executive would want. The television is huge, and a tastefully designed brochure explains that guests of the Hotel Wundagore may enjoy dozens of channels in full color and stereo sound.

The spacious suite is nice. The last time she stayed somewhere like this, she assassinated a Vice President of Accounting. She pulls a bottle of Johnny Walker Black out of the minibar.

Raven unfolds the jacket on the bed. She stares down at it's contents. Best to start with something small - and something that won't cause tissue damage if this doesn't work.

She picks up a stack of bills and presses it against her thigh. The skin ripples unpleasantly, but doesn't open. Okay. She knows she can do this. She takes a deep breath and tries again.

...Great. She's reinvented cellulite.

This is going to take a lot of practice. Her gaze slips to the mini-bar. She's going to need reinforcements for this experiment.

Bucky returns, bags under his arms.

"I've got clothes, medical supplies, and some basic survival gear," he announces as he steps onto the floor. "The gear's in case the next world doesn't have nice hotels."

He throws the bags down and grins. "I took a guess at sizes, but I've got a good eye for it."

Through the door, Raven can hear Barnes reference clothes.

Oh, good lord. Her body may have forgotton all the tweaks she's made to it over the years, but at least she's not that bad off. She steps in front of a mirror. Blue skin ripples until she's once more in a semblance of her comforting Red Guard uniform.

She opens her door. "Do you have a rucksack? I'm...at a bit of a loss for storage." She's still holding the stack of bills with her Lord Magneto's profile.

He pulls out a backpack from one of the bags.

"It's tear-proof, durable, and has a wide range of pockets... not unlike yourself." He tosses it to her. "All but bulletproof."

There's no way he should have been able to afford something like that with the money he had.

She stares at it, her face a mixture of gratitude and frustration.

"I've never been stripped of my powers like that. If you asked, I would've expected to end up a wizened old woman." She sighs. "Now, I can't quite remember how to put my body back together again. Basic skin and bone movement, sure. And my hair is an organ again instead of..." Her mouth wrinkles. She can go another hundred years without having to deal with human hair. How do they do it?

"It's like I'm in my 40's again - full of ideas but not sure how to execute them."

He winks. "It gets much better once you hit 70, doesn't it? And yes, suspended animation does too count."

She returns his wink. "There isn't enough love or money in the universe for me to be 50 again. You should've seen my mid-life crisis."

"I'll try to work you up a comm unit, Patriot... er, Barnes. Bucky. As soon as I figure out how to give one to the girl whose head lights on fire, and thus would not treat an earpiece well."

A glance toward Roxanne's room. "Not to mention an instruction manual full of monosyllabic words."

"Ah heard that, jackass!" A beat and yawn. "But I won't come out there since it's ah nice room and all."

"I was lucky. I got to sleep through my 50's and most of my 60's."

Sarah is asleep long before the medical supplies arrive. She wakes relatively quickly - the joys of coming from a world of constant guerilla warfare, and takes to the bracing and the rest without complaint. By the end, her ribs are bound, and between a shoulder sling, arm bracing, and the wrapping over the burns her arms are nigh immobile. Inconvenient, but now she can start healing, and no one seems to mind giving her some quiet time.

For the moment, she avoids asking any questions or asking for the newspaper - she doesn't want to know. Knowing would lead to wanting to do something about... whatever they're here for. Between Mystique, Bucky and Spider, she's pretty sure they can handle it anyhow.

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The Hotel Wundagore

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