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[youngtimer]

NeverAcorned - Standard UN || HoratioV - Fog/Lighthouse UN || 5ofDiamonds - Casino Business || Odyssean - Anonymous/Sock UN

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, NEVERACORNED. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 208.52.15.25 *** NEVERACORNED has joined 208.52.15.25 <NEVERACORNED> This is the private channel for Horatio Hargreeves. Leave me a message and I'll reply as soon as I can. If this is related to the Lucky 38, please start your message with a '38' so I can prioritize. <NEVERACORNED> Spammers will be banned, IP tracked, and have their index fingers broken. Have a nice day. :)

Comments

[action], some days after the network snuff film

[boneshears]

[He doesn't stand on ceremony. Instead, he gathers supplies. A bottle of local booze, high proof. Several containers of home cooking made with care by himself and Montgomery, all neatly sealed in tupperware and frozen for easy reheating convenience. And of course: Grand Bois' favourites from the conbini. It's not just people that miss each other. There's a sharp rap at Horatio's door, and if he doesn't answer, the sounds of the lock being deftly picked soon after.]

Horatio? It's me.

cw: (apparent) underage alcoholism

[youngtimer]

[Gabe will, indeed, have to pick that lock. When he opens the door to the Presidential Suite, he'll find that it is in absolute ruin: every piece from the neatly kept bar and beverage station smashed on the floor in a sea of glass and porcelain. the tea boxes have been thrown. Horatio's axe is embedded in the middle of the sofa, and fluff is everywhere. any piece of furniture that could have been broken and mangled has been, and there are splintered bits of wood everywhere. the windows have been smashed, and Dolores' usual window seat is abandoned.

The mannequin herself stands near the door to the guest room, as if staring in. The only reassuring detail may be that the amount of blood on the floor is negligible: spotting here and there, as though Horatio cut himself by accident over the course of his rampage, but nothing bad enough to worry about.

Gabe's sharp eye would notice that while the bar is empty, there are no broken bottles. If he peers into the guest room or passes Dolores to go in, he will discover the answer to the puzzle: Horatio, curled up unconscious on the guest bed, surrounded by empty liquor bottles]

[boneshears]

Dolores.

[A concerned nod of greeting. He's had to pick his way over the glass carefully to avoid slashing his paw pads, and peers through the door to see Horatio surrounded by the liquor bottles. His jaw sets. He's already had time to do this much, at least.

He sighs, and moves back past the mannequin to the kitchen, putting the food in the freezer and the booze on the bar, filling a surviving glass with water, ice and sacrificing some of his own painkillers to set up some succour from the hangover that was definitely hanging over the unconscious faerie's head. And then he starts the slow process of cleaning up the mess. Liquor bottles are removed to recycling. The shards of glass and smashed furniture are swept into bags and dropped into the garbage chute. Dolores is politely moved to her seat with various murmured apologies for doing so as he sweeps the room, and returned to her post once everything's free of splinters. By the time he's done, his jacket is hanging neatly from the haft of the embedded axe, and his sleeves are rolled to the elbow.

With the apartment tidied, he returns to the guest room, dropping the one, surviving chair down as he sits. As soon as Horatio stirs, he speaks.]

Your door lock's shit. Didn't even have to get the good tools out.

[He's at least polite enough not to smoke. He's less familiar with it, but he can smell perfume in the room and he's not about to ruin that.]

Horatio. Please drink that water and take the painkillers.