[For a brief moment it looks very much like Wysteria is struggling to find some reason beyond the preservation of her own pride to punt them back down the stairs after all. And why shouldn't she? Except, of course, that she will then be forced to endure an even greater number of questions when she rejoins them.
No, says her withering (in the sense that she, personally, is withering; soon, she will be a mere featureless husk propped there in the corridor) expression. There is simply no use for it. So with a great sniff to avoid from emitting an even greater sigh, she wheels back around and resumes her death march.
At last, they arrive at the landing. At last, they reach the door. At last, Wysteria unlocks the heavy bolt and leads Bastien and Val through into the rooms beyond.]
Maejyr Ralston! Maejyr, I implore you to stay there in your chair! I will only be here for a short while. There is no reason at all to come and say hello, [she calls as they pass into the world's most cramped front hall. It is not cramped from a shortage of square footage, but rather from the shocking assortment of objects which seem eager to spill out into the landing after them.
Here is a coat rack overflowing with a dozen coats, and here is a pair of discarded men's boots which must be stepped over. A fabulous two-sided conversation chair is shoved up against the wall, blocking one of the seats entirely which might be a very funny joke if not for the fact that both cushions are so overflowing with books and papers and the various odds and ends that one naturally discards when they enter a house so as to render the whole piece of furniture utterly useless except perhaps as a shelving unit. There are stacks of newspapers and an even more formidable stack of luggage and a great mirror whose lead has begun to go spotty.
What there is not is a Maejyr, or an answer to their greeting. But an assortment of doors and a wide lintel leading further into the apartments suggests there must be more to the rooms than the crowded entry hall, so it's possible their host is only very shy—]
no subject
No, says her withering (in the sense that she, personally, is withering; soon, she will be a mere featureless husk propped there in the corridor) expression. There is simply no use for it. So with a great sniff to avoid from emitting an even greater sigh, she wheels back around and resumes her death march.
At last, they arrive at the landing. At last, they reach the door. At last, Wysteria unlocks the heavy bolt and leads Bastien and Val through into the rooms beyond.]
Maejyr Ralston! Maejyr, I implore you to stay there in your chair! I will only be here for a short while. There is no reason at all to come and say hello, [she calls as they pass into the world's most cramped front hall. It is not cramped from a shortage of square footage, but rather from the shocking assortment of objects which seem eager to spill out into the landing after them.
Here is a coat rack overflowing with a dozen coats, and here is a pair of discarded men's boots which must be stepped over. A fabulous two-sided conversation chair is shoved up against the wall, blocking one of the seats entirely which might be a very funny joke if not for the fact that both cushions are so overflowing with books and papers and the various odds and ends that one naturally discards when they enter a house so as to render the whole piece of furniture utterly useless except perhaps as a shelving unit. There are stacks of newspapers and an even more formidable stack of luggage and a great mirror whose lead has begun to go spotty.
What there is not is a Maejyr, or an answer to their greeting. But an assortment of doors and a wide lintel leading further into the apartments suggests there must be more to the rooms than the crowded entry hall, so it's possible their host is only very shy—]