It’s a look in her eyes, it’s not something many people would notice but taking care of countless teenagers, she’s learned to read people.. this stranger knows something. What, she isn’t sure, but well, she’s sure she can find out. “She checked in under the name Queenie.” As if the woman behind the counter didn’t know. almost everyone in the country knew their names now, their faces. Queenie had called before going in, it had been one of the conditions for letting people go. She’s overprotective of her girls, especially the Queenie and Zoe.
any shred of hope she may have held for the off - chance that, maybe, ms. goode was in search of another person, a different witch, instantly dissipates. as the blonde lets queenie’s name slip from her lips, liz’s heart leaps into her throat. a harsh swallow sounds : an accidental admission, per body language, of guilt. with an inkling of hesitation, she moves to browse the guestbook, as if she doesn’t already know queenie’s current status. as she comes upon the dead girl’s signature, she quickly comes up with a monotone lie, without looking up : ❝ –– says here she checked out. ❞
It’s been weeks without a word from Queenie, and a member of her council going missing isn’t something Cordelia can just ignore. So of course she went looking, leaving Zoe in charge of the girls, ending her search at the Cortez. She walks carefully towards the front desk, shoes silently tapping against the carpet. “Excuse me.” Brown eyes rest on the other’s features, she does not hesitate when she speaks, a polite smile traces her lips, though the fact she can sense something is off makes this small peace offering rather… Fragile. “I’m sorry-” She says it as if the room is filled with people, as if just standing in front of the other is taking the stranger away from more important work. “A student of mine had a room here a few days ago, I was wondering if she checked out?”
CHECKED OUT was an understatement. almost immediately, the other’s face is placed, & consequently recognized as cordelia goode: the supreme of the coven to which the witch in question belonged. & with this realization comes the unfamiliar prickle of nervousness. iris & her hardly stopped to think about the fact that someone was bound to come looking for queenie, & now, that stumble of a misstep was coming back to bite her in the ass. but any culpability that may alter features from nonchalant & complacent is quickly dissolved, in favor of an expression that doesn’t outright spellguilty. smoldering cigarette is lifted to lips, drag taken purposely slow, in an effort to aide the facade being painted, brows lifting lazily. ❛ ––– name? ❜
