Name: Conrad Campopolus
Location: A Best Western in Midtown Manhattan
Faction: Vigilante Fanboy
Affected RPers: @Death's Spook

Conrad fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Of course, that was only after he had literally fallen. The girl had seemed to come out of nowhere and barreled into the young man with enough force that he knew there was absolutely no way that she could have seen him. Unfortunately, his plan, so much as one could call it that, to lean up against the closed elevator door all cool and respectable-like to offer her a non-threatening hand was fouled up by the elevator doors opening without any ding or indicator that it had been called. Conrad must have hit the call button on accident somehow, or maybe the girl had struck it when she fell? There was not a lot of time to linger on those whys and wherefores because the elevator itself seemed to have decided that it was in fault and quickly closed its doors again. That reversal mean that the hood of Conrad's winter coat was securely caught in the elevator door's clutches when it began moving back down to the lobby.

It was a lot harder to look like a helpful but unobtrusive bystander when one is slowly being dragged to the floor by a rogue elevator, but, like with everything else he did, Conrad put in a valiant effort.

The sheepish "aw shucks" grin was fixed on his face as Conrad's legs splayed out below him as he went from leaning to sliding to laying on the hallway's carpeted floor, as if this was no more troubling that a traffic light staying red for a little longer than expected. Fortunately, and before his veneer of casualness would be challenged by the unsightly scene of him being strangled to death by the bizarre conspiracy of coat and lift, Conrad faintly heard something tear and then the pressure on his neck was released. Without missing a beat, he stood up and perfected the pose he had been trying to accomplish before, albeit this time on a wall instead of a set of elevator doors.

By that time, the olive-skinned girl had her own ascent well under control, but now a new factor was in play: she was crying. If there was one thing that was Conrad's Kryptonite (to coin a phrase), it was a girl with a good hearty sob. He recognized that part of him, but sometimes just being aware of an issue you have is not enough to stop you from shaving a not-unimpressive anchor into your chest hair so that you can serve as a waiter for a fundraising event put on by Delta Gamma.

"Hey now, it's okay!" Conrad said perhaps a little too cheerfully. Obviously he didn't know exactly what was going on with this stranger, but he had always been a firm believer that if you see someone without a smile, it was your duty to give them yours. "I'm totally fine, see? Do you need help getting up...or anything?" He drew slightly closer and offered his arm in case the girl needed to something to pull herself up with besides tackily wallpapered hotel walls.

Hunger could wait; the Righteous Armadilloman, even in his expertly concealed civilian identity, could hardly ignore a damsel so obviously in distress!