OPENING MINGLE LOG: THE LOUNGE

[yourkeepers]

	THE LOUNGE

Once used for the Keeper's extravagant, personal parties, the Lounge seems just slightly larger than average in scale, making the many cushions and couches more than enough to rest on. The lighting shifts between shades of purple and blue. Living trees grow from the floor in decorative intervals, and flickering candles light the various tables. The roof appears to be a vibrant night sky, displaying alien constellations and nebulas that shift over the day.

Comments

no actually I'm really sorry I was gonna wait but Crystal said hi adkdbsdg

[manelesscatking]

"...probably. Where am I and who are you guys? This sort of thing just keeps happening, sorry."

The page draws himself up to full height (which isn't that impressive), and inspects the Damascus-steel hilt of the parasol in his hands.

"Also, sorry if I interrupted anything," he inclines his head at the typewriter, "this is the first time I've seen more than one person at a time."

[nosentimentalist]

Hmmm. Well, okay, he can live with the extra company. He puts his hands in his pockets, shrugging at the page's question.

"You're in the..." The typewriter glances around. "The lounge, I believe?" Don't know if there is a name for it. I'm a typewriter, and he's a sword in pieces for some unknown and possibly stupid reason involving a furnace. What are you?"

[ironspirit]

He cocks his head to the side. "What sort of thing is that?" he asks. "You just run up to people randomly sometimes? That's weird. Are you some kind of magic compass?" That seems like the kind of thing that would randomly seek people out, if anything would.

He scowls in the typewriter's direction again, folding his arms in a huff. "It's not a stupid reason! I was stolen, that wasn't even my fault!"

[manelesscatking]

"Oh! The lounge! Okay then. I'm..." The page pokes his arms and runs his hands through his hair.

"I'm me, I guess. I am - was? - am a page for the Master. The kind that fetches weapons and waits on knights while they eat, not the kind you write on.

"Speaking of which, a typewriter? Is that the key-smashing thing I would hear guests writing on sometimes?"

He turns his attention from Key Smasher to Sword Arms, leaving an ear pointed at the typewriter. "The thing where I wake up and someone's looking at me funny. This is the first time I've done it without them touching me, though! Also I'm holding an umbrella made of nice metal. Uh. Do you want it?"

[nosentimentalist]

Ah, so this is a page. He hadn't seen one before, but now it makes sense. He shrugs at the question.

"Yes, that would be me. Though I would hate it if they smashed my keys, I don't think that would feel nice at all."

He turns to the sword. "Got stolen...? For what reason? Did someone have the urge to go murder someone else with you, or what?"

And now the page is offering him and the other possession an umbrella made of...metal? He holds up a hand as he shakes his head. "Don't think I have any need for it, no. Maybe you could give it to our friend here for a crutch to walk around with instead of lying here in pieces?"