[Triggers: depression, child abuse, prostitution, dismemberment, death of animals, death of dirtbags, terminal illness, brutal fighting, jfc. You might not want to come in??? There are... some nice memories in here somewhere...]
[There's a distinctly traditional Japanese atmosphere here for those with the knowledge to recognise it. Lanterns bobbing outside, and the sound of festivities somewhere distant, and mournful shamisen music echoing along the corridor you find yourself in. It's an old building, Japanese architecture of the 18th century, wooden floors that have seen better days but are nevertheless polished, and shoji doors that have been repaired multiple times with expert fingers.
There are signs of wear and tear, but the upkeep shows signs of repair over and over again.
The very front room at the end of the corridor leads to a balcony overlooking the street, and there are narrow stairs leading downward at the opposite end. Opening any of the doors reveals them to be mostly empty, though there are futons present and Japanese room dividers present, any number of clothing items draped over the top, the smell of incense and tobacco permeating throughout.
Touching anything in these rooms will likely give you a memory. Going down the stairs takes you, incongruously, to what looks like a wide field full of dead trees, each warped and in odd formations, pictures engraved into the bark. The staircase stays where it is for ease of retreat, but otherwise...?
Otono-Tachibana Makie
[There's a distinctly traditional Japanese atmosphere here for those with the knowledge to recognise it. Lanterns bobbing outside, and the sound of festivities somewhere distant, and mournful shamisen music echoing along the corridor you find yourself in. It's an old building, Japanese architecture of the 18th century, wooden floors that have seen better days but are nevertheless polished, and shoji doors that have been repaired multiple times with expert fingers.
There are signs of wear and tear, but the upkeep shows signs of repair over and over again.
The very front room at the end of the corridor leads to a balcony overlooking the street, and there are narrow stairs leading downward at the opposite end. Opening any of the doors reveals them to be mostly empty, though there are futons present and Japanese room dividers present, any number of clothing items draped over the top, the smell of incense and tobacco permeating throughout.
Touching anything in these rooms will likely give you a memory. Going down the stairs takes you, incongruously, to what looks like a wide field full of dead trees, each warped and in odd formations, pictures engraved into the bark. The staircase stays where it is for ease of retreat, but otherwise...?
This wasteland is all there is.
Maybe.]