Text: Octavia -> Whore
@caidenwilcox
Octavia: before you say anything arrogant or that could piss me off
Octavia: Iâm not texting you for pleasure
Octavia: We need to talk

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Text: Octavia -> Whore
@caidenwilcox
Octavia: before you say anything arrogant or that could piss me off
Octavia: Iâm not texting you for pleasure
Octavia: We need to talk

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It was routine. Finish a job, make a report, get a new job, ignore it for a few months, actually do it, carry on. Simple enough. The Hotel wasnât a place Kane liked to be, preferred to be, his being there simply a product of necessity. Heâs always been lucky - though he would call it skill - and today he is supremely so. A floor below the fireâs start, he doesnât notice it right away, doesnât notice it until itâs uncomfortably hot, until itâs spreading faster than he can run, until the ceiling is caving in on him. Until he chokes, until a sharp pain at the back of his head takes his consciousness away. The world goes black, in more ways than one.
The first thing Kane recognizes as he comes to is pain, incredible pain, and the want to scream - but a throat too dry and lungs too choked to actually make a noise.
Mssg: Jin & Open
[Jin Baek] : If you're trying to ask for information about a patient, quit while you're ahead. I can't give it to you. It's a HIPPA violation.
It should be noted that Victoria did not believe in Ghost stories. The very notion of believing in the supernatural was enough to turn her nose up at, laughing in superiority when someone tried to convince her. Please, I stopped believing in Father Christmas at six. (She had made three children cry that day when she had announced it, one early December morning). The theory was, she supposed, that people were drawn to what was beyond them, to the hope of magic in such a mundane world. But Victoria had never needed that. Her world was vibrant, it took on an existence that threw her at every turn. It challenged her. Her second favourite thing, after winning, was having to work for that win. Which, she mused, she was having to do at the moment.
It was two days since the attack, the watershed moment that changed everything. Battle lines had been drawn in new places - and begun to cease in old, longtime grudges beginning to smudge - their barriers less clear. If she had been a betting woman, she would have hedged hers on an old proverb coming true. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Alone, they appeared powerless against this faceless enemy. But together? Well - they were the best and brightest of their kind, possessed by a lethal kind of beauty. It was the sort of beautiful that only shone in the dark. Which, she supposed, seemed fitting, given the climate. With each day that progressed, winter drew closer - its chill a choke hold around their neck.
In the dim light, it would have been easy to miss him. Had it not been for his familiar shape, for the face she had memorized each and every day as he sauntered into his office, she would have pushed him away - inclined to recoil away from strangers. But he was no stranger. Breathing in sharply, Victoria clasped one hand to her mouth, the other stretching out to reach him - half not believing the image her eyes showed. âHoly fuck.â
From that day on, Victoria began to believe in ghosts.
@patroclusxgrey
âGrey?â Jared lingered in the doorway of his husbandâs hospital room weighed down too heavily by guilt to approach them just yet. It was his fault...somehow. If Jared hadnât gotten them involved in The Olympians, Grey never wouldâve been at The Boudoir and he wouldnât be in the hospital.
Christ, they canât afford hospital bills, that was Jaredâs fault too for not finishing college.
âHey, babe.â Jared slowly made his way to their bedside and once there reached for their hand. âAre you awake?â He hoped heâd stopped shaking so Grey wouldnât be even more scared; they were selfless like that, would worry about scared and uninjured Jared before themself.

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Hospital, Post Attacks
@bleedinghearth
âIâm not fucking around Nurse Adams, tell Dr. Khan to reschedule his non-emergency surgery, the OR is mine in thirty minutes for my patient!â Jin hissed , smacking the palm of his hand against a wall. âGet me that OR. Nurse Wilder! Youâre scrubbing in on my surgeries for the rest of the night.âÂ
In the end, it seemed that Robert Frost had it right. Fire would see the world end. Even though she stood, living and breathing, she felt a fundamental shift in the earth, a beckoning of a new dawn. This was no mistake. This was no idle attack. This was war. Their enemy? Unknown. That was perhaps the worst part. Hating an anonymous figure was somewhat irritating. Exhausting, too. She remained where she had been stood the entire time, drawn towards the smoldering remains of a hotel she had once called home, itâs final fate yet unknown. Technically, she supposed, she was on enemy property. But such divisions felt foolish. She couldnât even bring herself to hate Caiden. Not right now, not tonight. Coughing to shift the ash from her lungs, she refused to bend, determined to remain a statue - a concrete figure beyond reproach. âI always thought it was a little ugly anyway.â Dark comedy - the only type she knew.
It could be worse. A motto that his mother had drilled into his head, something she said every time she was covering up a bruise in his cheek so the teacher wouldnât ask him about his life at home. It could be worse. Every time his dad came back home a three  smelling like a liquor store and threw bottles at the walls because his dinner was cold. It could be worse.Â
So as he waited for a doctor or a nurse to at least ask him what was wrong, he kept telling himself those same words, repeating them in his head like a mantra as he kept remembering the incidents that had lead him to where he was: the fire, the panic, the screaming, the smoke. It couldâve been worse.
He looked at the clock on the wall. It was late and he had to head home. Jack would be pissed off if he came home late and woke him up, right? He didnât want to deal with someone yelling at him after everything...He was tired and sore, his throat was dry and itchy. He wanted to go home.
âi um...Excuse me....â He coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, rubbing his eye with the other. âSorry to bother you but um...I-I dropped my phone. I donât...I-I need to....I have to call someone....They donât know where I am and I....I need to tell Jack...I-I need....I need a phone.â He tried to catch a nurseâs attention but the emergency room was swarming with people and he had always been good at staying out of sight.
It could be worse.