A boy meets you at the bottom of the stairs. He leans against the rail like he's hardcore or something, but if you look close, he wears contacts. With that information, you can almost picture him in large, wire frame glasses held together at the bridge of the nose with duct tape and carrying a large stack of books. He smiles at you as you approach, noting the armful of writing supplies you carry. "Hello there. So you've come to write, have you? Well, up the stairs there are numerous rooms. Some for authors, short stories, poets, and even lyrics. You can open another room specifically for yourself, but please be sure to delegate it as such. We don't want confusion over who's is what now do we? You can allow others in your room, or keep it for yourself just so you don't lose track of your work. Either case will be just fine and dandy with us. We just hope you enjoy your stay and have many bright and fair evenings." His eyes twinkle in the light as he watches you ascend the stairs. He calls up after you. "If you have any questions, I can normally be found in the first room on the right!"
