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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was more than relieved, she had sat down at the pleasant table not far from the bar and by Frank, the tall, thin man and Lou, and all of them were talking about various things, including that strange voice which no one could see.

But la Raconteuse was already rather restless since she had not been able to write for far too long; she quickly arranged all her stuff in her big red bag, then she stood up (carefully), and walked to the bar, right by one of her best friends, Denise aka the Bartender.

“You’ve been busy for a while, haven’t you,” grinned Denise as she put the coffees and cakes on a long tray, “do you want some of this as well?” – “very much so,” said la Raconteuse, “although I would rather go back to my usual booth,” – “not a problem,” said Denise, “I’ll join you for a bit.”

So, Denise and the red-headed writer had a great gassing time; they grinned, they laughed and, well, what a riot they had, as they made many jokes and schemes.

But then Denise had to go back to the bar, and the red-headed writer was back to her nonsense writing very tall tales and many spinning yarns.

A little later, la Raconteuse looked up, she muttered to herself, and said, that must be the pretty young woman who Denise mentioned in passing, I’m sure she’s a poet, I’ll have to meet her, and soon!

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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was feeling rather off-kilter since that odd room, called Room 215, was still bugging her, she had notice that it said it was only for Proprietors on the door, but clearly she had seen other people inside, like Frank, for example, so that didn’t seem correct.

La Raconteuse had dithered for a bit, wondering what she should do with that small card that she had got, it said, “Get out of jail, it’s free”, but in the end she managed to poke it under the door, maybe Moxie might decide to come into the hallway?

But little Moxie had been adamant to stay in those areas around the Room 215, and the last thing la Raconteuse heard was Moxie running with a little pink kite.

Heaving a small sigh, la Raconteuse held her big bag tightly as she had a last look at that door, but then she thought she should not go any further along the hallway to the back, but rather she should go to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro.

She was walking quite quickly now, but she stopped to see if the tall, thin man was around in the Manager’s Office, but no-one was there; but then she saw a young pretty woman who was about to go into the bathroom.

She had stopped just before opening the door, as she took one shoe off then rubbed her foot; she was wearing kitten heel shoes and it was clear that one of them pinched.

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“Come on,” said the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse), “please can we go back to the Room 215,” as the two of them sat in the usual dumbwaiter, “it’s all very well for you, dear Moxie, but for me, it’s very cramped in here, and by the way, what’s the large red balloon doing in there as well?”

“Good question,” grinned Moxie, as she began to let down the rope, while glancing at the bright red balloon, “you know, I’ve no idea, but I expect we’ll find out, and soon,” as Moxie tied up the rope and opened the dumbwaiter.

So, la Raconteuse retrieved her big bag by the floor, and her smartphone and charger by the shelf next to the clockwork contraption, then looked around the Room 215, “excellent,” she said and smiled, “let’s open the door and make our way back to the Café and Bistro, I’m missing all my friends.”

“Not me though,” said Moxie, “I’m not able to leave those various rooms – you know, the almost sky up there, the red room and the blue room, and here, of course,” as she jumped to the floor by the four-foot bellhop, “I wouldn’t even dare to go out there.”

The four-foot bellhop then offered a note to la Raconteuse, as the bright red balloon hovered by him, as a couple of rather small animals, some kind of deer, also appeared.

“Mad, and mad,” muttered la Raconteuse, as she read the note: Get out of jail, it’s free.

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“It’s all very well,” muttered the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse), as she continued to stare at the wonderful vista for a while, then turned to little Moxie, and said, “it’s not real, is it… there’s no ocean by the roof top garden, it can’t be that.”

“Aha, you’re right,” as Moxie began to do a couple of pirouettes, then said: “I’ll show you another place instead; we’ll go back to the usual dumbwaiter, I just need to find a particular vestibule, and then we’ll walk to a larger room, it’s called The Blue Room.”

So, la Raconteuse did as she was told, although she was almost desperate to get her big bag back, since she needed to write all these strange things down.

“Here we are, we’ve made it,” grinned Moxie, “you’re going to like this immensely… come on, you can look at all these excellent objects and even people and animals; and I’m going to run a quick victory lap to show how happy I am.”

It was alluring and also weird – there were three fat ladies who would dance with a moment’s notice, lifting up their thunder thighs and doing their can-can several times; then further over la Raconteuse saw a huge snake, and said, “wow, that looks dangerous?” – “nah, that’s Daisy,” grinned Moxie, “she’s a pussy cat, and not venomous, by the way.”

“All very interesting,” said la Raconteuse to Moxie, “but I really want to go back to Room 215, and kind of now.”

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