Quentin looks down the side of the staircase, trying to see the bottom. “That is one damn long staircase” He mutters, seeing no bottom. “This is such a pain. *sigh* Might as well start walking” Quentin takes his iPod out again and turns it on, and starts his long walk down the stairs.

BTW, just for some mental imaging, is there a railing on the stairs? And if there is what color is it. Also what color is the ceiling. The colors should be of some importance.

The Staircase

Looking more closely, there’s a thin dark railing along the edges of the staircase. The bars are spiraled and black, while the rail is a mahogany wood. The ceiling is the color of the walls: disturbingly black.

The Bottom

At the bottom of the staircase, there is a long hallway. The walls are the same disturbing black of the staircase room, and the doors which stretch downwards are all of the same dark mahogany of the railing. Silver doorknobs stick out from each door, and the hallway goes on for at least another few yards, with branches in both directions.

Each of the doors has a placard with a name on it, none you recognize.

The Hallways of Distraught

Silence, followed by some noises.

Followed by, “Christ, do you know what time it is? Go to bed!”

“But I don’t know where my room is! Do you know where I should go to find a room?”

The Unknown Posted:

Fatalism, huh.

I think it’s called fatalism coz no matter what we do same **** happens to us >_>

I go into the private room after the first few people have gone in, taking a few minutes to analyze the drab, dark architecture and colors. This building definitely isn’t looking to impress anyone, but it hardly seems functional either. Who the hell built this thing, and what were they thinking? My analysis doesn’t give me a single clue about what I’m getting myself into.

When I reach the bottom of the stairwell, I feel a nervous shiver sent up my back. Rows and rows of unfamiliar doors, one after another, just placed in front of me in the eerie darkness. It’s like Satan turned Hell into an office complex.

I observe the actions of my companion and follow suit, opting instead to knock on another door. “Anybody home?”

Growling to herself, Ann walks in the building, with Whiskey right behind her.

I flash the card that the weird guy had given me. “The dog doesn’t need one, I hope? Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly do you guys do here?”

“Oh, okay… So which way do I go? Mister… Um, Keyholetea? He didn’t say.”

Back. Sorry about that

Appiah, having long ago vegetatively walked by the man **** was barking at, is now in the lobby. As the receptionist asks for ID, he looks all kinds of uncomfortable.

“Je suis Appiah Jawarah. Quixote, he send me here. You not need ID card to see that Appiah exist. You take my word for it, mademoiselle.”

He adds, hopefully, “You have nice dress and pretty eyes?”