Tape #1(open rp call)
Static fills the screen as what appears to a rundown motel room flickers in between. Briefly, light can be seen flickering through the window. Occasionally, a body can be seen or the warm glow of a fire. The static finally clears, as the door swings open from a rather harsh kick. A person follows the foot, dressed in a dark grey hoodie, torn military pants, a pair of high buckle boots, with a gas mask strapped tightly to their face. The person marches towards the camera and grabs it, then the screen goes pitch black.
The man sitting on the bedās hand twitched slightly toward the rifle leaned against the wall beside him. For a moment, his instincts as a lifelong renter of apartments had him thinking a mournful Iām not getting my deposit back now, before he remembered that this particular hotel had no currently living owner. And even if it did, it was so ramshackle theyād probably not even have noticed a busted door.
So instead he watched as the intruder stalked across the room, running through his mental Rolodex of secret worlders (which was large), townies (not so large), and people in his current apartment building that might be angry at him (he couldnāt think of any at the moment, though Mrs. Pinkininy down the hall had asked for some sugar last week and he hadnāt had any so she may have held a grudge).
When that failed, he smiled his best āone of my recruits just failed their first mission, but I donāt want to make them feel bad about it because that would be rudeā smiles.
āAnyway, hello. Welcome to this hotel room. ā It was not his hotel room, but welcoming people into the room was a thing people did, and he wasnāt going to be unfriendly just because technically whoever this was had just kicked down a door. Speaking of... āYou, uh, know you could have just knocked?ā He asked, on the off chance that this person did not in fact know.
He, he being Owen Mitchell, unfolded his long legs from their crossed position and rebuttoned the top button of his shirt which he had undone as soon as heād arrived at the hotel. It was one of his favorite shirts: orange and yellow, in a pattern that was probably supposed to be paisley but made by manufacturers that didnāt really know what paisley looked like. Inanna had gotten it for him for his birthday. She thought she was getting it to make fun of him, but he knew it was secretly because they were good friends and she understood his tastes.
