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“So who’s overseeing this place now, eh?” muttered the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) since it was now rather busy in the Room 215, as she looked across to the tall, thin man, then to that small strange four-foot bellhop, all so known as a dumbwaiter, and then to the sweet sprite; plus two made-up people who had just arrived from the closet and now were sitting at two rather nice wingback armchairs.

“Aha, Frank, how lovely to see you,” grinned la Raconteuse, “it’s definitely a crowd now; but, sorry, it seems that I need to follow that little sprite, and I must remember she’s called Moxie, not Honeybun, it seems that she has a plan for me.”

“Come on, be quick,” said Moxie to la Raconteuse, as she pointed to that wonderful clockwork machine, “see, the time… the six bells by the owls will chime very noisily.”

Moxie jumped across several shelves, then scampered down to the floor, while la Raconteuse watched her, then both of them looked at each other, grinned, then stepped across to the closet, since it was free at that time.

La Raconteuse pouted and said: “I have to get into that contraption… really?” – “you can definitely do this,” said Moxie, as she jumped up; “I’m pulling it down again, and all you need to do is sit in it, since it’s a dumbwaiter, and the usual kind.”

So both went up, “what a vista,’ grinned la Raconteuse, “I can see the ocean from here!”

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“I need to charge my phone,” said the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse); “if for some reason that strange door would not open for our friends outside, I will be able to talk to them at least, unless you have yours,” as she looked up to the tall, thin man… “well, do you have yours, your phone?”

But the tall, thin man had not commented about that, he had other thoughts about things, like that four-foot bellhop.

So, la Raconteuse had decided to move a little further away, since she still found that very short person, or whatever he was, was rather hostile she felt.

La Raconteuse put her charger on, and then put both of them by one of the shelves, it was the one with the excellent many clocks and stuff; it was lucky, she thought to herself, that she hadn’t left the charger at home, since she often did.

She continued to look at that large steampunk clockwork machine, it was so interesting, but then she suddenly saw a rather tiny… what? a fairy perhaps? but certainly a little female person and it, sorry, she, was moving quite quickly as she was pirouetting along the clocks.

La Raconteuse peered at the little person, and then a moment later the pirouetting stopped, and the tiny person peered back at her, and said: “my name is Honeybun, and I am a sprite, by the way, and also I don’t like my name, I prefer to be called Moxie…so there.”

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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had looked up and stared, as the tall, thin man removed part of the pelmet and something behind there it as well, as he said to her, ‘please, don’t say anything at all… just wait… and look, it will take only a little while.’

La Raconteuse just managed to not talk for a bit, while some dust floated down as a small part of the strange Room 215 revealed something more than weird, she blinked several times, and then she asked, but very quietly, ‘what on earth is this?’

She had anticipated many things she thought, but not this; ‘my goodness,’ she muttered to herself, ‘I didn’t expect this.’

She had so many emotions, and most odd it seemed for her, she felt she was on a rollercoaster for a while – it was not anger… no that was wrong, but there was an element of fight or flight, but why… this very short man surely shouldn’t worry her, but clearly it did.

La Raconteuse glanced from the small mechanical machine to the tall, thin man; she moved from the table by the fireplace as she walked rather quickly to stand very close to him, while looking up, she said: ‘what are we going to do with this, this… this… person.’

However, something else caught her attention, and it seemed that someone was almost to the door outside, she started to smile since it would surely be another Proprietor or, at least, a good friend.

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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had heard the noise outside the room, and a moment later the tall, thin man had opened the door, she grinned happily – such a good friend, although he seemed rather keen to make the move to another part of that room.

The tall, thin man suggested that she should sit down near that rather splendid yet small black marble fireplace, she concurred since she felt no qualms, in fact she was rather glad to sit there and start an interesting conversation.

La Raconteuse related so many wonderful things in those shelves as she wittered and wittered on, she took a breath, and then she said: ‘we do like to talk don’t we… we’re both able to make many quick quips and clever remarks, and even witticisms and retorts, yes?’

But the tall, thin man had been thinking other things by now, as he thought about options, and particularly on those excellent shelves – all those clockwork machines and stuff… more than useful, he thought.

Now, the red-headed writer suddenly stopped talking… at least for a moment: ‘oh gosh, sorry, I’ve been rabbiting on, as usual, you said something about options, you mean we would put some of those things down by the bar and the walls, would that be fine?’

The two of them glanced around the room, ‘sounds like a plan,’ she said, ‘I bet loads of people would want to see them, in fact, they might even be a queue around the block!’

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