@enthronedhera
Darcy didn’t really like meeting in hotels. They were so obvious - one person checking in under a fake name, the other going up an hour later, trying to look inconspicuous. It only ever worked at huge hotels - granted, this one was well over a hundred rooms, but all the same. She worried. She was a worrier. That was just what she did. But Hera had asked her to. She wasn’t totally sure what the meeting was for, and Caiden hadn’t been able to elaborate - he was... Busy, or away, or... Something. She didn’t like how enigmatic he could be, but she wasn’t one to comment or complain. Even if it had been her place. And if it was anybody’s place, it was Hera’s.
So she wore a light coat and jeans and a pretty green blouse. Her sense of fashion wasn’t “out there” at all, so her ordinary clothes were perfect for blending in. Nothing odd about her. In fact, she was almost a little bland. Drab. The lift dinged as she stepped in, and dinged as she stepped out again. Floor seven, room B. As soon as she had got the text to her Van Gogh phone, she had memorised it and deleted it. Just in case.
Darcy knocked thrice on the door, soft enough that she wouldn’t disturb the other guests’ evenings. Though she knew it was stupid, she still looked up and down the corridor, paranoid, half-convinced that a police officer or New Olympian would appear round the corner disguised as a cleaner. Stupid fear. But still. She worried until the door opened and Hera let her in.
“Victoria,” she greeted pleasantly, evenly, as she entered and allowed the door to shut behind her. “Gorgeous evening, isn’t it?”