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Lexine and Alvaro -- Reunited

11/4/2006

11:58 PM
Logfile from Lexine.


It's Sunday, April sixteenth 2006. 08:50 am 
The sun is up. The last quarter moon is up. <43.3% full and fading>
The tide is high and ebbing.
A light rain falls from a grey sky. It's cool and there's a mild wind from the west.


Seventh House Cafe: Indoors - Grand Street: East
    This long hallway is lined with a half-dozen tables along one wall, opposite the  window into the kitchen. A line of old fashioned track lighting runs down the center of the  ceiling, casting indirect lighting onto the cement floor under foot. The walls are papered  with play bills for musicals such as 'Fantasticks', 'Fiddler on the Roof', 'Darling of the  Day', 'Hair', 'Godspell', 'Grease', 'The Wiz', 'A Little Night Music', 'Chicago', and  'Cabaret'. At the far end of the hallway away from the patio, a sturdy metal door is marked  "Stairs Down -- Managers Only".
                            * There are 'places' *                           
Contents:
Tarot Deck (visible)


Sunday morning, and the Seventh House is busy, most patrons however outside beneath the  safety of the canopy. It's been a long, snowy winter--a little rain is nothing. Inside the  cafe, Lexine sits at a table for two by herself. There's a still steaming cup of tea infront  of her, and she's writing something down in a notebook, thoughtful little smile on her lips.  There's an edge of tiredness to her eyes, but nothing so bad that it drags down her mood,  dims her smile.

Alvaro is at the counter, collecting his first caffienated beverage of the monring: a simple  cappucino dusted wtih a little cinnamon. He turns to scan the room, looking for a place to  sit. There are not empty tables, just empty seats at occupied ones. He sighs and looks  toward the table where the fox whom he met months ago sits. Well, at least he knows her a  little, even if it's been a while since he's scene her. He heads over and stands behind the  chair, resting his hand on it. "Lexine?" His beast noses out, a little tentative, though  they spent the night together, he's unsure what sort of recpetion to expect this morning.

Nostrils flare at her name, eyes abit wide as she looks up to find Alvaro there. It had been  awhile, since that night they comforted each other, gave and took what was needed. Lexine  smiles at him, a soft thing, her fox greeting his rat with a fond sort of rememberance.  "Alvaro," she murmurs softly, looking to the empty chair. "Join me for brekkie?" Her accent  is more London than it was before, her scent holding that of two other foxes, her new  family. "It's...been awhile," she says, pointing out the obvious.

Alvaro smiles at her and answers his his Portugese almost-lilt. "Thank you," he says  gratefuly. "It seems I must join someone, and of the choices you are by far the best." He  pulls the chair out as his rat nuzzles lightly. He nods once he's seated. "It has. It seems  you have found some others of your kind?" He smells of another too, though the rat community  is well established so that's not quite as notable.

Lexine's scent was likely once a familiar thing at the Rodere home, back when she was with  Marcus still. Even though she and Alvaro managed to not bump into each other, she was there,  alot. But that, too, was months ago. At the mention of others, she smiles, nodding. "There  are four of us, now, in the city. Two of them kits." She considers something for a moment,  eyes going thoughtful as she looks over him. Her fox nuzzles under his chin, as if greeting  an old friend. That's what he was, after all, that night.

Yes, Alvaro remembers smelling her on Marcus - and that hurt a little, but then he was his  usual shy self and did not exactly pursue the relationship. "Four? That's impressive,  congratulations." He smiles at the nuzzle and curls his beast around her a loosely. "How  have things been otherwise?" He looks at her as he sips from his drink.

"Busy," Lexine admits with a little chuckle. " 'N 'ow about you? 'ave you found your place  amoung your kind?" There's genuine curiousity, concern in the question. She'd hate for so  sweet a man to be lonely still, to not have found family truly. Her chair is scooted closer  to his, and she takes a sip of her tea, thoughtful still.

Alvaro smiles and shrugs. "In some ways, I have, yes." Recently events have been unsettling  for him. "There's been some inner, unh, disturbance... oh, turmoil. That's the word I'm  looking for. It's been a bit confusing." He smiles weakly as she scoots closer and drinks  again.

Lexine's smile slips at that, head tilting. "I'm sorry to 'ear that," she says softly,  placing a hand on his shoulder without really thinking about it. She puts her cup down, so  she can pay more attention to him and less to keeping the tea from spilling. "Anything that  I can 'elp with?"

Alvaro reaches up to cover her hand with his. "It's alright I guess. If nothing else, it's  made me think." He shakes his head. "No, not really. It's mainly my confused feelings." He  manages a grin, "Unless you want to got to New Orleans and beat someone up with me?"

Lexine appears to give that some serious consideration, fingers squeezing his shoulder.  "Mebbe if I didn't 'ave a new kit...well, two, rilly, to worry about," she says rather  seriously. "We could try asking 'im for a dance off first, like in West Side Story." She  smiles, warmly, towards him, the fox snuggling against his rat further.

Alvaro looks at her with mild alarm as he sees her considering it. "I was joking..." Though  his hand tightens over hers before he pulls it off to take his cup and drink from it. He  laughs at her joke. "We could. He was a cook, do cooks dance well?" He closes his eyes and  twines his rat a bit with her fox. "So, do you have an alpha for your pack?" Or whatever the  English word for a group of foxes.

Lexine lets her hand fall away once his moves, taking up her own cup once more. "I'm sure  that the two of us would leave the bloke slack-jawed with awe n' amazement." She does, of  course, remember that night they spent together well, how they moved together. "Actually,  we're jus starting to try to organize, now that it's more'n just my mate an' myself. He's  alpha, but I'm becoming more o' the public face. There was something that I was 'oping on  talking to your Queen about, actually..."

Alvaro grins now. "Yes, yes we would. Well, should he dare show his face in Chicago..." He  remembers it too, very fondly. A faint nod at her explanation, then a smile. "I was going to  offer to take you or your alpha to meet her." He looks at her more seriously now. "What do  you need to speak to her about."

"Yours it too lovely a smile not to wear all the time, Alvaro," Lexine says softly,  truthfully, before sipping at her tea. "I'd appreciate the chance for a meeting with 'er  greatly. We're just trying to make connections right now, let the o'ers know that we're a  Skulk now, no longer part o' the Independents. An'..." She looks at him, considering. "The  Ulfric approached us a few nights ago, an' I've 'eard rumors about it too. Apparently, the  Lukoi are taking other species into their Pack, the Coyotes already joining up. He wanted us  to join, too. It's too bold a move for someone so new. If we were to make alliances, I'd  want it to be with a group like the Rodere, where I know the leader has the respect of their  people, and has held it for some time."

Alvaro blushes and looks down. Ahh, would that he had pursued her, he thinks briefly. "Ah,  skulk. Thank you, I didn't know the term. The ulfric met with Rian, but she hasn't told us  anything, so I don't think there's anything... formal there." He looks at her with some  skepticism at the news the lukoi are adopting. "That is bold. I wonder why he is doing  this." He chews his lip a moment. "Have you met with the master of the city? He is close  with my Queen, if you need an introduction you could ask."

It could've been fun, yes, had they pursued the relationship. Lexine gives him an almost shy  smile, before the serious talk resumes. "I am not quite sure myself. But this pack seems to  change leaders so often, I'm not sure I want to put my faith in him. I've 'eard that Ulfrics  tend to jus' up an leave 'round 'ere. But I've asked around, an Rian 'as been Queen for some  time, n' it doesn't look like that's going to change, anytime soon." She smiles at him,  nodding. "We've already met with the Master of the city, yes, but thank you. He was actually  the first we announced ourselves too. Easiest to get ahold of," she chuckles. "Having an  office and all that."

Alvaro can't exactly argue with that. He's not been here long, but he knows enough of the  lukoi's recent history to know that stable leadership hasn't been something they've enjoyed.  He smiles shyly. "We are... very loyal to our Queen." He smiles. "What did you think of him?  He seems different than most vampirs I've known." And he did come to help Rian when she was  so upset over Lucian, so that earns him high marks in Alvaro's book. "I will speka to Rian  and call you about a meeting. I think it will be soon, she's not usually too busy."

Lexine smiles softly, finishing off her tea. "I've 'eard that, the loyalty the Rodere 'ave  for the Queen. Makes me want to meet the woman." She looks outside, and a small frown comes  to her lips. "He was interesting, that's for sure. Seemed the decent sort, another person I  won' mind working with. I 'ate to go, but I've got to get 'ome before the kit wakes up and  starts getting into trouble." There's affection in her voice at the thought of it, the  troublesome one that's recently become one of hers. "I'm working at the 1001 Nights now, so  if you e'er want to stop by..." She stands, leaning over to kiss his cheek, fox slowly  uncurling from his rat. "It was good to see you again, Alvaro. Take care o' yourself, k?"  And with that, she goes, heading out of the cafe.

Our Destinies Are Bound Like A Knot

It's Thursday, March twenty-third 2006

1001 Nights: Backstage -- Lexine's Room -- Clarke Street: South(#5124RL)


Decor keeping with theme, Lexine's private room is decorated in a fashion that calls to mind the harems of desert sultans. The walls are painted a pale, creamy gold, niches within the walls holding pillar candles. The carpeting is thick, alternating designs of gold, crimson and ivory with a scattering of navy. Against the center of the back wall is a queen-sized canopy bed, curtains of transparent cream pulled back to reveal the navy bedspread, a mountain of pillows of various colors and shapes. Two dressers are also in the room, along with a free-standing full length mirror. By the door is an antique make-up vanity, metal cases full of makeup and hair supplies on it. There are some touches that make the room undeniably Lexine's, however. A black electric guitar, amp, and small red drumset in one corner, pictures of family and friends on her nightstand.

Late afternoon, bordering on evening, and it's two days after everything happened. The fight, the healing, all still left unexplained. The door to Lexine's room is open, the woman herself on the bed. Sitting against the headboard, her knees are up, being used as a surface to rest the notebook she writes in on. Her hair is wet, left untamed, fingers tapping on one leg as the fingers of her other hand hold a pen, scribbling something down.

In his familiar old suit, Wes was pretty damned curious about what exactly had happened. He would have come sonner, if not for the unfortunate timing of the event, he had on the way to meeting with a business associate, which, for Wes, meant that he had missed it. As it was, he was running around, trying to gather up the ends and tails of the broken deal. Two days later, and he still smelled of blood. Wes stands in the doorway, his arm leaning against the frame as he watches her for a moment, curiosity momentarily replaced by the familiar love and lust for the woman. "'ello, luv," he says.

Wherein Ivanya gets a little... snippy.

It's Tuesday, March twenty-first 2006.

Seventh House Cafe: Indoors - Grand Street: East

     This long hallway is lined with a half-dozen tables along one wall, opposite the window into the kitchen. A line of old fashioned track lighting runs down the center of the ceiling, casting indirect lighting onto the cement floor under foot. The walls are papered with play bills for musicals such as 'Fantasticks', 'Fiddler on the Roof', 'Darling of the Day', 'Hair', 'Godspell', 'Grease', 'The Wiz', 'A Little Night Music', 'Chicago', and 'Cabaret'. At the far end of the hallway away from the patio, a sturdy metal door is marked "Stairs Down -- Managers Only".


Peter stomps in from the driving, bitter rain, slicking back his hair "ok, that's mess" he shivers, the makes his way to the counter, lap top under his arm. "ummmm I'll take one of those Cinmon tea things...and" he hmmmss "those cookies" he grins and nods "yup all of them...I'm starving..." he glances around trying to find which poster he'll grace with his preasence.

The college-aged girl behind the counter takes the order, bringing out the cookies and making the tea with a smile. That smile brightens as another woman comes from the back room, pulling her red hair back with a bit of ribbon. A bow of the head is given to the red-head, who smiles in return. "Enjoy," the girl chirps as the tea is handed over. Ivanya herself stays by the counter, leaning against it as she looks over Peter slowly.

Peter smiles "I can't help but think I've seen you before...somewhere?" he takes his tea and cookies settling on the chicago poster. "you have great eyes" he winks "you should consider working in film."

Drama! Guns! Knights in Silken Suits!

                                            
Logfile from Lexine.

Mon Mar 20 2006 Winter After Midnight blizzard
<<< Pseudo World 1 >>>

    Deep in the bowels of an old warehouse on the southside - the boiler room can only be described as.. disgusting. If the smell of unwashed bodies from the wandering transients, or trapped dead rats, and rotting bait aren't enough to turn one's stomach.. perhaps with the addition of budding black mold - it might. The boiler in the corner is going full blast now with winter still in high swing, painting the normally dank sub basement with an evil glow. Perhaps a gem of a place to be thirty years ago.. is now beaten, and broken.


    It's been a few days since Michael was last seen. And, with the way he was that night? Well.. perhaps it leave some room for concern. He left to wander a little bit during one of Lexine's shifts, with the promise that he'd be back to snuggle that evening. He promised that he'd be fine, that he'd call if he got into trouble. But, of course, there was none of the above. 'Threatening' the folks of Michael's old haunt, would bring up the fact that one of their suppliers was looking for him - and where they'd be waiting. Perhaps the stories the boy told about his past where.. true?

There's a mix of emotions, thoughts, swirling around Lexine's head as she pulls up to one of those warehouses left abandoned on the South Side. Concern. Worry. Fear. Anger. Perhaps she should've waited for Wes to return her call, but she just...couldn't. She remembered Michael's story, of what would happen if they found him. As she enters, her footsteps are soft, hands kept by her side. Both fox and woman are alert, nostrils flared as they seek out the smell of her friend.

There's an access door from the outside to the basement - an old service door, that, obviously has been 'jared' open, and shut once more. The place isn't quiet, two or three different voices heard. Laughter? Ciagerettes? The shuffle of cards - accompanied with the undertone of blood - perhaps something worthwhile, if smelled over the dank of the basement. And, with the pairs play? The bleeder is perhaps easily recognized as Michael. "When the fuck is he gonna get back with food?" A voice half growls, half bitches, the others muttering about card, hands. Poker. Yet no sound of the boy.

Trio of Trouble


04:19 AM
Logfile from Lexine.

Wed Mar 15 2006 Winter Night lightsnow
1001 Nights: Main Floor -- Clarke Street: South
    Beyond the mirrored doors at the entrance of the club, the entire atmosphere alters from the modern angles and shine of steel and glass to a warmer, more decadent glow of Persian riches mingling with Bohemian ideals. Hardwood floors have been painted ebony and polished to a high shine, accented by gilt covered trim, carved in arches and swirls. Walls are papered with a shimmering crimson silk paper with brass sconces and matching chandeliers lending a warm glow to the room. Across the large room a stage is raised and expertly lighted, velvet drapes in a royal navy are drawn when there is no show in progress, or pulled back to show whatever backdrop goes with the current show.
    A large area is cleared for dancing before the stage, and surrounding the dance floor are black laquered tables with crimson cushioned chairs to allow patrons to rest for a moment or watch the shows performed on the stage. Cocktail waiters and waitresses are scantily clad in gold and blue ensembles styled to put one in mind of sultans and shieks, harems and desert nights - though the materials are generally so sheer that even the most liberal Persians would question their decency.
    On the edges of the stage, the wings lead back to a backstage area for employees as they prepare for the next number. On the other side of the main room and on the far wall, another set of double doors leads back to the courtyard - propped open during operating hours, save for inclement weather.
         




Timing really is everything. The 1001 Nights is busy tonight, the women and men that work for the club bustling around with drinks, each moving with an ease and grace that comes natural to them. While some are at the bar, others sharing conversation, most have their attention firmly set on the stage. The music is slow, seductive, and so are the movements of the woman on stage. Facing the audience, Lexine shows -just- how much control she has over the muscles of her stomach, body moving in ripples that make the tassels on her sway. Her arms move above her head, as the beat gets faster, harder. Down to two veils, little covers her bottom half, exposing muscled legs as she dances, eyes closed, wicked little smile on her lips.

Not even bothering to explain his presence anymore, Michael makes his way into the club, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. It always sucks moving from the heat of the club, to the outside world. Though, another sharp shiver almost.. forces hands out to rub at the boys arms - an action that slows however.. as the boy takes notice of the stage, well, and it's performer.. as both eyebrows lift, and movement stops.. even if it IS amidst the path of those coming and going.

The mirrored doors shut behind Michael and Wesley, who follows just a minute after the boy. He claps Michael on the back as he shivers. "N' there is our lady o' lust 'erself," Wes says in a whistled undervoice, half to Michael and half to himself. He tips his hat to Lexine, a smile spreading across his lips, mouthing the words, "'ello, luv." to her, even as the crowd eddied around them like living currents in the growing pulse of the music.

Lexine and Michael -- Intensity Squared


10/13/2006

11:56 PM
Logfile from Lexine.

IC Date Tuesday March 14 2006


1001 Nights: Backstage -- Lexine's Room -- Clarke Street: South(#5124RL)

Decor keeping with theme, Lexine's private room is decorated in a fashion that calls to mind the harems of desert sultans. The walls are painted a pale, creamy gold, niches within the walls holding pillar candles. The carpeting is thick, alternating designs of gold, crimson and ivory with a scattering of navy. Against the center of the back wall is a queen-sized canopy bed, curtains of transparent cream pulled back to reveal the navy bedspread, a mountain of pillows of various colors and shapes. Two dressers are also in the room, along with a free-standing full length mirror. By the door is an antique make-up vanity, metal cases full of makeup and hair supplies on it. There are some touches that make the room undeniably Lexine's, however. A black electric guitar, amp, and small red drumset in one corner, pictures of family and friends on her nightstand.


    That first night of rest, of cuddling? Was like a dream come true. Curled up, warm, comfortable.. yet last night was.. well if either of them woke up /rested/, would be some sort of miracle. Michael didn't hold still all night long. Shivering, shaking.. cold sweats, pain.. He's more exhausted then before he laid down to rest. Though he did listen, he did obey, and didn't use anymore that day. In and out, the boy finds himself at another waking point, curled curled on his side.. cold sweat coating his entire body.

Whenever those shakes, the pain, woke Michael from his sleep, Lexine was already starting to wake. Soft, coaxing words coming from her, sometimes in Spanish when she was still half asleep. She held him, as best she could, and told him that she was proud. As he starts to wake again, as sweaty as he is, Lex curls with him. "Shh, it's okay Michael. Be strong," she whispers, fingers gently brushing the hair away from his forehead.

  
"You look like you could do with a friend" she said
"You look like you could use a hand
Someone to make you smile" she said
"Someone who can understand
Share your trouble
Comfort you
Hold you close
And I can do all of these...
I think you need me here with you"

--Wendy Time : The Cure
                                                                 
                                                                    
                                                                    
 IC Date > Fri Mar 10 2006
.
1001 Nights: Main Floor -- Clarke Street: South
    Beyond the mirrored doors at the entrance of the club, the entire atmosphere alters from the modern angles and shine of steel and glass to a warmer, more decadent glow of Persian riches mingling with Bohemian ideals. Hardwood floors have been painted ebony and polished to a high shine, accented by gilt covered trim, carved in arches and swirls. Walls are papered with a shimmering crimson silk paper with brass sconces and matching chandeliers lending a warm glow to the room. Across the large room a stage is raised and expertly lighted, velvet drapes in a royal navy are drawn when there is no show in progress, or pulled back to show whatever backdrop goes with the current show.
    A large area is cleared for dancing before the stage, and surrounding the dance floor are black laquered tables with crimson cushioned chairs to allow patrons to rest for a moment or watch the shows performed on the stage. Cocktail waiters and waitresses are scantily clad in gold and blue ensembles styled to put one in mind of sultans and shieks, harems and desert nights - though the materials are generally so sheer that even the most liberal Persians would question their decency.
    On the edges of the stage, the wings lead back to a backstage area for employees as they prepare for the next number. On the other side of the main room and on the far wall, another set of double doors leads back to the courtyard - propped open during operating hours, save for inclement weather.

   
    Another late night, and another appearance by Michael. Seems he might be becoming a regular all on his own? Once more, the boy slips through the door, and, once more.. the bartender is approached. Again, he can probably be smelled, opiates oozing from the boy's pores as normal. Michael radar signature. He waits for the 'tenders attention, before grinning once more, a slimmer pair of s hades worn tonight - yet the same outfit. Third time's the charm? "Is she here tonight? Err.. Lexine?"

    The bartender shakes his head at Michael. "No, she's off ton..." Before he can get out the rest of his sentence, the Vixen in question slides onto the main floor of the club in her streetclothes, coming in from the door that leads to an outside patio. "Nevermind," the 'tender says flatly, looking over at the woman. Nostrils flaring, Lex catches that familiar scent of drugs and partying, sickly sweet smell rolling through her. Smiling, she heads over to the bar, fingers of one hand ruffling her hair abit.

    Nevermind? Michael turns to look in the direction of the bartenders gaze, smile growing a slowly, as Lex approaches. "Just when I thought I'd have to find somewhere else to haunt." The boy grins, taking a moment to swipe his own hair from his face, a slight shiver running down his spine. "You even hang here on your nights off?"

Chasing the Dragon.

0
GAME> Thursday, Mar 09 03:11:31 2006 - Winter After Midnight < Lightsnow >
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

1001 Nights: Main Floor -- Clarke Street: South
Beyond the mirrored doors at the entrance of the club, the entire atmosphere alters from the modern angles and shine of steel and glass to a warmer, more decadent glow of Persian riches mingling with Bohemian ideals. Hardwood floors have been painted ebony and polished to a high shine, accented by gilt covered trim, carved in arches and swirls. Walls are papered with a shimmering crimson silk paper with brass sconces and matching chandeliers lending a warm glow to the room. Across the large room a stage is raised and expertly lighted, velvet drapes in a royal navy are drawn when there is no show in progress, or pulled back to show whatever backdrop goes with the current show.
A large area is cleared for dancing before the stage, and surrounding the dance floor are black laquered tables with crimson cushioned chairs to allow patrons to rest for a moment or watch the shows performed on the stage. Cocktail waiters and waitresses are scantily clad in gold and blue ensembles styled to put one in mind of sultans and shieks, harems and desert nights - though the materials are generally so sheer that even the most liberal Persians would question their decency.
On the edges of the stage, the wings lead back to a backstage area for employees as they prepare for the next number. On the other side of the main room and on the far wall, another set of double doors leads back to the courtyard - propped open during operating hours, save for inclement weather.




It's strange, not having to sneak into a club for once. Though, as Michael pushes through the front doors /legally/, he can't help but feel awkward about it. It's late, late enough for the night scene to be in full swing. Slowly, Michael makes his way towards the bar, waiting to get the 'tenders attention - asking about Lexine. "Yeah, tell her that her ahh.. cousin's here?" Awkward!

The bartender gives Michael a once over, look on his face saying without words that he clearly doesn't buy the 'cousin' bit. He doesn't say anything verbal about it, just points to the woman in red and black with her back to them. She's working the patrons, bent over with her hands at her knees as she whispers something into a man's ear. The stage is currently empty, but still the music plays, hips of the workers moving to that slow, seductive sound.

Meanwhile, at the Wyld Hunt...

<NIGHT> Wyld Hunt: Tap Room - Lake Shore Drive
 A large tap room sprawls before you like taking a step back into a tavern right out of the middle ages. A few minor modern conveniences have been blended in to the atmosphere and décor. The floors battered and scared with years of use, while the walls glisten with a soft polished sheen. Above one can make out the rough hewn timbers supporting the floor above, the occasional fire-sprinkler threatening the effect.
 Filling the main body of the room are several large wooden tables constructed from round cross sections cut from an ancient tree. Each table intricately carved within the center around oil lamps perched within the very middle. The carvings on the tables echoed in the carvings on the oaken columns scattered in amongst them.
 At the far end of the room a flag stone hearth dominates the wall, decorated with a carved oaken mantel scattered with several drinking vessels. About the hearth several benches, chairs and small side tables have been scattered. The largest feature of the room is the large carved oaken bar. Tapped casks and bottles of every variety climb the wall behind the bar framed by two doors leading off to other portions of the building.
    <+views available>
               << 'places' available - +help places for help >>              
The Cast:
Lexine, Wes, Gene, Rowan, Bianca, Cairen, JC, Mackenzie



Seventh House Cafe: Basement - Grand Street: East
    The stairs lead down into an area designed to be the foyer for the underground suite. Slender white columns rise upward to the left and right of the doors, ending in a curved arch that gives the stairs the feel of mirrored french doors. Flanking the columns, twin Strelitzia Nicolai (White Bird of Paradise) plants spread their graceful leaves in a fountainesque arch that reaches nearly to the ceiling. To the far left one can make out a pair of french double doors that lead to a cozy alcove, the design meant to balance the effect created by the stairs.
    Closed doors stand flank the siting area, leading deeper into the suite. A dining table holds sway over the rightmost section of the room, the deep mahogany tones matched in the eight high-backed chairs arranged in precise lines around it. A lush fern holds court in the center of the table. Overhead, a brass and glass chandelier casts a mellow light upon the dinners. Hunt scenes matted in muted shades of red and green adorn the walls in this section of the room, a swinging wooden door providing entrance to what one presumes to be the kitchen.
                      * 'places' and '+view' available *                     
Obvious exits:
Stairs <O>  Double Door <DD>  Wooden Door <WD>  Library <LI>