You are in a large room, with cracks running along the floor in all directions. The ceiling, far above, is murky and covered with pipes; there may be gears grinding up there, but what they do is a mystery.
In the center of the room, a Bruges lace tablecloth is laid, pristine white, over two uneven plywood crates. A few overstuffed old sofas lined with green velveteen are clustered around this table, and bouncy multicolored exercise ball chairs roll around without apparent aim.
On the tablecloth is an blue porcelain chocolate pot, a sleek glass teapot with rosebuds steeping in the water, and a rather confused squid. The squid is to be taken with milk. There is also a plate of triangular sandwiches with the crusts neatly trimmed off one side of each. Next to the plate is a small pile of books: In the Forest of Forgetting, Castle Waiting, and City of Saints and Madmen. This last one has mushrooms growing on it. Eating them is not recommended; they tend to avenge their own.
To the North is an old, scratched-up, blackened oaken door. The bar has a keypad on it, and may be electrified. To the East is the sort of door that irises open. There are strange symbols etched into it. Near it huddles a small community of scones, with many a fearful sideways glance at the Bruges lace. To the South-South-west is a rabbit hole.
The door you came in through seems no longer to be there. When you have need for it, you must look for it in a direction no compass can point to.
>>
*ahem*
Come in, come in, be welcome; tell tales and ask questions, and try not to fall through the interstices
A little direction:
We're talking about what makes us interstitial-or-other-oddity folks here, and we're chatting some here, though I'd like to keep that one more focused on questions wot we need to answer, and have the salon for the more open-ended ones.
In the center of the room, a Bruges lace tablecloth is laid, pristine white, over two uneven plywood crates. A few overstuffed old sofas lined with green velveteen are clustered around this table, and bouncy multicolored exercise ball chairs roll around without apparent aim.
On the tablecloth is an blue porcelain chocolate pot, a sleek glass teapot with rosebuds steeping in the water, and a rather confused squid. The squid is to be taken with milk. There is also a plate of triangular sandwiches with the crusts neatly trimmed off one side of each. Next to the plate is a small pile of books: In the Forest of Forgetting, Castle Waiting, and City of Saints and Madmen. This last one has mushrooms growing on it. Eating them is not recommended; they tend to avenge their own.
To the North is an old, scratched-up, blackened oaken door. The bar has a keypad on it, and may be electrified. To the East is the sort of door that irises open. There are strange symbols etched into it. Near it huddles a small community of scones, with many a fearful sideways glance at the Bruges lace. To the South-South-west is a rabbit hole.
The door you came in through seems no longer to be there. When you have need for it, you must look for it in a direction no compass can point to.
>>
*ahem*
Come in, come in, be welcome; tell tales and ask questions, and try not to fall through the interstices
A little direction:
We're talking about what makes us interstitial-or-other-oddity folks here, and we're chatting some here, though I'd like to keep that one more focused on questions wot we need to answer, and have the salon for the more open-ended ones.
Last edited:
s: Thanks for the link