Difference between revisions of "6986/Changing of the Guard"

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(Terry takes his turn guarding a friend)
 
 
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|Poses=:'''{{#var:384|Michael Hannigan (384)}} has posed:'''<br>Security threats aside, the tour must go on. Well technically, the tour could be cancelled but, good luck with telling THAT to the fans and bands. But things have been made to reduce the risk. One such thing is that the other bands and band members are not rooming with Nick Drago, reducing the potential risk to just rehearsals and actual concerts.<br><br> If that wasn't cautious enough, in this particular instance, Nick's not even staying at the same hotel. Due to the level of discretion that the Metropolis location showed, it seemed imperative to use one of their sister locations when the tour led them to Virginia Beach. They were just as accommodating. Allowing for just the right amount of rooms to be booked together. <br><br> Positioned in the central most room of the block taken up, the rooms to either side of him are taken up by security with the door that adjoins the one to the right being unlocked to grand the security types in that room access to his, just in case. The room is reasonably generous in furnishings. Unlike in Rome, there are two double beds and a pull out sleep chair which could REASONABLY sleep 5 people in the room comfortably. <br><br> But right now, stripped away from the stage persona of Nick Drago, Mike Hannigan lies in one bed that has been, oddly pulled away from the wall. As for the reason behind the furniture move? Well... Housekeeping's probably going to raise their brows a bit when they have to go vaccuum up the ring of salt around it. <br><br> Off to the cracked door to the adjacent room, a figure obscured by the darkness of the room quietly watches.<br> <br>
+
|Poses=:'''{{#var:384|Michael Hannigan (384)}} has posed:'''<br>Security threats aside, the tour must go on. Well technically, the tour could be cancelled but, good luck with telling THAT to the fans and bands. But things have been made to reduce the risk. One such thing is that the other bands and band members are not rooming with Nick Drago, reducing the potential risk to just rehearsals and actual concerts.<br><br> If that wasn't cautious enough, in this particular instance, Nick's not even staying at the same hotel. Due to the level of discretion that the Metropolis location showed, it seemed imperative to use one of their sister locations when the tour led them to Virginia Beach. They were just as accommodating. Allowing for just the right amount of rooms to be booked together. <br><br> Positioned in the central most room of the block taken up, the rooms to either side of him are taken up by security with the door that adjoins the one to the right being unlocked to grant the security types in that room access to his, just in case. The room is reasonably generous in furnishings. Unlike in Rome, there are two double beds and a pull out sleep chair which could REASONABLY sleep 5 people in the room comfortably. <br><br> But right now, stripped away from the stage persona of Nick Drago, Mike Hannigan lies in one bed that has been, oddly pulled away from the wall. As for the reason behind the furniture move? Well... Housekeeping's probably going to raise their brows a bit when they have to go vaccuum up the ring of salt around it. <br><br> Off to the cracked door to the adjacent room, a figure obscured by the darkness of the room quietly watches.<br> <br>
  
 
:'''{{#var:339|Terry O'Neil (339)}} has posed:'''<br> Terry steps out of the bathroom, clad only in the cartoon cat pajama pants. Breath minty-fresh from brushing, he makes his way over to the chair, pausing briefly by Mike to make sure he is alright. Careful not to cross the circle of salt, the Cheshire leans over, nods his head and then slinks over to the chair. <br><br>He hadn't brought anything to read, and he didn't want to Rabbit Hole back to his apartment to search for something, because someone might strike at that moment. <br><br>So he had to make do with the books people left in the lobby. By the time he had to come for his shift at standing guard, only one book was left. So he sits down and glances at the copy. <br><br>"The Beginner's Guide to Sex in the Afterlife: An Exploration of the Extraordinary Potential of Sexual Energy by David Staume," he mutters, and gives the book a glare. Well, this was going to be a fun reading. "Maybe the Gentleman Ghost could pick up a few tips. Maybe he'll stop bothering him if he gets laid..."<br> <br>
 
:'''{{#var:339|Terry O'Neil (339)}} has posed:'''<br> Terry steps out of the bathroom, clad only in the cartoon cat pajama pants. Breath minty-fresh from brushing, he makes his way over to the chair, pausing briefly by Mike to make sure he is alright. Careful not to cross the circle of salt, the Cheshire leans over, nods his head and then slinks over to the chair. <br><br>He hadn't brought anything to read, and he didn't want to Rabbit Hole back to his apartment to search for something, because someone might strike at that moment. <br><br>So he had to make do with the books people left in the lobby. By the time he had to come for his shift at standing guard, only one book was left. So he sits down and glances at the copy. <br><br>"The Beginner's Guide to Sex in the Afterlife: An Exploration of the Extraordinary Potential of Sexual Energy by David Staume," he mutters, and gives the book a glare. Well, this was going to be a fun reading. "Maybe the Gentleman Ghost could pick up a few tips. Maybe he'll stop bothering him if he gets laid..."<br> <br>

Latest revision as of 04:42, 18 July 2021

Changing of the Guard
Date of Scene: 18 July 2021
Location: The Muse Hotel and Spa - Virginia Beach, VA
Synopsis: Terry takes his turn guarding a friend
Cast of Characters: Michael Hannigan, Terry O'Neil




Michael Hannigan has posed:
Security threats aside, the tour must go on. Well technically, the tour could be cancelled but, good luck with telling THAT to the fans and bands. But things have been made to reduce the risk. One such thing is that the other bands and band members are not rooming with Nick Drago, reducing the potential risk to just rehearsals and actual concerts.

If that wasn't cautious enough, in this particular instance, Nick's not even staying at the same hotel. Due to the level of discretion that the Metropolis location showed, it seemed imperative to use one of their sister locations when the tour led them to Virginia Beach. They were just as accommodating. Allowing for just the right amount of rooms to be booked together.

Positioned in the central most room of the block taken up, the rooms to either side of him are taken up by security with the door that adjoins the one to the right being unlocked to grant the security types in that room access to his, just in case. The room is reasonably generous in furnishings. Unlike in Rome, there are two double beds and a pull out sleep chair which could REASONABLY sleep 5 people in the room comfortably.

But right now, stripped away from the stage persona of Nick Drago, Mike Hannigan lies in one bed that has been, oddly pulled away from the wall. As for the reason behind the furniture move? Well... Housekeeping's probably going to raise their brows a bit when they have to go vaccuum up the ring of salt around it.

Off to the cracked door to the adjacent room, a figure obscured by the darkness of the room quietly watches.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry steps out of the bathroom, clad only in the cartoon cat pajama pants. Breath minty-fresh from brushing, he makes his way over to the chair, pausing briefly by Mike to make sure he is alright. Careful not to cross the circle of salt, the Cheshire leans over, nods his head and then slinks over to the chair.

He hadn't brought anything to read, and he didn't want to Rabbit Hole back to his apartment to search for something, because someone might strike at that moment.

So he had to make do with the books people left in the lobby. By the time he had to come for his shift at standing guard, only one book was left. So he sits down and glances at the copy.

"The Beginner's Guide to Sex in the Afterlife: An Exploration of the Extraordinary Potential of Sexual Energy by David Staume," he mutters, and gives the book a glare. Well, this was going to be a fun reading. "Maybe the Gentleman Ghost could pick up a few tips. Maybe he'll stop bothering him if he gets laid..."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
With Terry once again in a position to watch, the door to the adjacent room closes. The shadowy form is gone from view as they are positioned on the other side of the door. So Terry is left to his... oddly available book and the doped up performer lying on the bed.

Tired pale blue eyes start to blink open, getting a glimpse of the room from underneath the veil of brown hair. With the mostly dark room save for the area where Terry reads, the view is pretty obscured. The musician gives a slight murr of wakefulness as he rolls onto his back, causing the comforter to raise up on one side of the bed as he does a damn good impression of a sushi roll.

The comment from Terry doesn't go unnoticed however. "...Well, I'm not volunteering." Mike grumbles out.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry raises his eyebrows and puts the book down. "Mikey, I didn't know you were awake. Are you having a hard time sleeping?"

He puts the book on the chair as he slides out of it, and walks quietly across to the singer's bed. He steps over the circle of salt, careful and meticulous about not disturbing it, and kneels on the mattress.

"You need anything? Water? Warm milk? Stuffed toy? A lobster thermidor?"

The darkness of the room doesn't bother him- he is a cat, after all. He can pick up more details in the dark than most humans do, unless there is absolutely no light at all.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"'S fine." Mike murmurs, "Meds wearing off..."

Feeling the bed start to give with the added weight of the Titan, the musician's head turns. Eyes squint to force his own eyes to make do with the limited light as well. "Jus' don't call me Mikey."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Alright, no Mikey." Sitting on the bed, the Cheshire frowns, "You should get your rest, though. If there's anything I can do, just tell me." He starts to get up, and looks down at the circle of salt. Some half-remembered memories that don't belong to him emerge.

There's a man kneeling in front of a circle of salt, saying 'Hyssop. It's important to make a braid from a rope made of Hyssop, that way It disturbs the aether so that saaaiti manifestations don't materialize....'

He frowns as the memory fades. The clothes were decidedly not contemporary. Victorian, perhaps, and the accent was not American. It doesn't make sense. He also got the impression that the man was talking /about/ him... or, the owner of the memory, not him.

"... I wonder how hard it is to get hyssop," he says quietly to himself, and sits back down on the bed again, piecing his memories together.

"... I could conk you over the head with a mallet and knock you out," he offers, clearly kidding.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike closes his eyes slowly, giving a smile. Perhaps not quite being free of the medicine's effects just yet. "-Been resting for all of..." He pauses, smile fading as he ends up unable to provide the information. "...Uh. Check in."

The head rolls, watching Terry's shifting movements, "His Sop?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh. Just a memory from... I think... my dad. Something about a rope made of Hyssop- I don't even know what Hyssop /is/- that's supposed to strengthen salt circles."

He lifts both legs onto the bed and glances over at Mike. "I'll do some research tomorrow. If it's something that can help, I'll get us some of it. The weird part is that the memory doesn't... oh, you don't need to be bothered by my memories, you've got enough problems of your own."

He reaches over and runs a hand through the curtain of hair. "Do you want me to turn on the bedside lights? If you squint any more your face is going to get stuck like that!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
With the soft touch brushing away some of the hair from his face, Mike's smile makes a comeback as he starts leaning in to the softness. "If you think it will help..." Mike murmurs, "Sure."

It is unclear if he's referring to the the Hyssop, sharing the life story, or turning on the light. Why not all three? What could hurt?

"...What memories?"

Ah HA! There it is!

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry chuckles and slides down to lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. He's had a full helping of sleep, and thus is wide awake. "Alright, but it's weird!" he says. Glancing over to his side, he adds, "Also, if you slide over to snuggle, I won't be upset. I'm practically a teddy bear. Anyways..."

He stretches his legs and arms, and settles in. "Every now and then I get flashes of memories from my father. The... you know, the Cheshire Cat." He pauses again, and feels the need to clarify. "There can be only one Cheshire Cat at any one point ever. We're talking multiverse here- just one. So... when my dad had me with mother, he winked out of existence because suddenly there were /two/. As a result, I got his powers, and I guess half my soul is that Cheshire cat. The part that is five hundred or so years old. And sometimes I get memories. Flashes of things that are buried deeper, but get triggered when an association or a word brings them tumbling out..."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
With the room remaining dark, Mke rolls a bit, allowing for the new position to give him a better look to the catman beside him. And perhaps to hear better. Who knows? There's the slightest of nods to the explanation. "So...like a book in your head where some of the pages just stick together?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Something like that. More like a personal theater show." The hand returns to stroke Mike's hair as he continues his explanation- the cat petting the human, "Yeah. All of the memories I've had so far come from the time my dad was here... you know. Nineteen years ago. So far so good. I've seen some things he did. Apparently a Nickelback concert was one of them, which only goes to show you that there is no accounting for taste..." he smirks, "But this memory was different. It looked like it happened in England more than a hundred years ago. But I was under the impression that nineteen years ago was the first and only time my dad came here..." he trails off, and then sighs quietly.

"I wish he were around to tell me. All of my life, there was just his absence, and now there's just questions and the cat suit."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"Hmm..." Mike's smile remains, head leaning into the hand. A small sigh escapes from his lips, "He kind of is. If you're getting his memories. Always with you..."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Well. His memories are. But the man himself isn't, and I have no idea what advice he'd give me." He frowns, and then he looks over at Mike, watching as he leans into the hand. "Are you sure you're not part cat?" he jokes, and scoots a little closer in order to touch his cold nose to Mike's forehead playfully. "I am sorry you're having to deal with this ghost nonsense. But we'll get through this to the end. You, me, and the motley crue...er...crew we've assembled."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"No..." Mike replies, "Never turned into a cat... Usually Ravens, Wolves, and-" He pauses, smile faltering, "-other things. Just not cats." Heavy lidded eyes look up to the close proximity hero as the apology and assurance is being made. He gives a slight chuckle, "We'll be fine... not the first time..."

The eyes close as he turns his head the other way, gicing a toothy grin. "Least this time I didn't have to change my number."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Well," Terry says, drawing back in order to sit up on the bed, "It's a little pointless when it's a ghost. Astral plane probably has all sorts of connections."

He swivels to drop his feet on the floor and glances at the salt once more, mentally calculating just how much would be needed to surround a bed. And how much rope length might be needed.

"The waiting for the other shoe to drop is the worst part of it. It's dreadfully boring."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"If the shoe drops." Mike murmurs, "Could just be aggravating a lot of housekeepers." The Sushi rolled Mike wiggles slightly as two balled up fists peek out of the top, stretching as much as the comforter allows. His mouth opens wide as he gives a long yawn.

"Mom's probably cringing every time we pour that salt."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Terry glances at Mike and raises an eyebrow, "It seems to me like you're ready for another hibernation session. I'll get off your bed so you can sleep in the arms of Morpheus." The circle of salt gets another consiation, and he smirks, "The effectiveness of salt circles tends to be... a variable thing. Depending on the forces at work. I suspect that memory may have been a way of warning me we aren't as fully-armed as we might hope."

Toes over the line, he stretches yet again and makes his way back to the chair.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"Yeah." Mike murmurs. "Just don't bring the phone inside of one...Not a pleasant way to travel. Night Ter-" The name on the lips die away as Mike closes his eyes. Brain already set to follw up on Terry's observation.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry tries not to chuckle. "Oh? You try falling down a rabbit hole and you'll know unpleasant..." he sits himself comfortably, and reaches for the book. "Okay. Time for you, weird sex ghost guy..."

Upon reading the first paragraph, he makes a face and whispers, "Dude.... really?"

But he still turns the page.