Dragon Tamers - A room for those of us with anxiety / depression / etc

[Alexis Voltaire]

The room is paneled with dark wood and floored with stone, overlain with many thick rugs. Candles and gaslamps give a soft glow, as does a fire burning in the hearth. The room is an irregular shape, seemingly designed to fit many nooks and alcoves into a small cozy space. These are filled with stuffed and padded chairs, whose wooden arms and clawed feet are carved in the design of sleeping dragons.

Standing out from one wall is a bar, or perhaps more of a counter top. There are drinks lining the shelves, but also a spacious and warm kitchen. A worn doorway leads to a vast pantry. At the back of a brick oven there is a glow of flame, rising and falling as though fueled by slow breath.

A plate of warm cookies sits on the counter.

"Welcome, any who seek a quiet place where the outer world will not disturb you. You may make or order whatever comforting food or drink you desire, and the dishes are self-cleaning, so no need to worry about washing up."

[CmDr Jean W Gearwood-Day]

that sounds like a nice place to be ... and I could certainly use it from time to time.....

[Madasasteamfish]

How's the WiFi in here?

I suspect I'll probably be loitering here more often than not, so you'd best rig me up a tea urn to an IV drip.

[Flightless Phoenix]

*sneaks in, pinches a cookie from the counter and retreats into an alcove, curls up in armchair with a good book*

Nice to have somewhere to retreat from the world!

[CorneliaCarton]

At last, a place I can go where there are others who, like me, suffer anxiety and depression. Lovely to meet you all.

[Arabella Periscope]

Enters with weary step, gropes for tea urn with blind fingers, fumbles cookie into pocket of enveloping cloak, fades into deep, warm alcove with old chair.  Quiet sob of relief is heard, then "Thank you."

[Alexis Voltaire]

Hello all.

*Pours a large cup of hot water from a huge copper boiler sitting to one side of the brick oven, and hands it to madasasteamfish*

Here you go. There's teas in the basket just there.

*Points to a nook in the wall, where a modem supported by two silver dragon bookends* The wifi is quite nice. Just be sure to install the meta-recursion filter.

[Madasasteamfish]

Ah, thank you.

*drops tea bag into cup before retreating into a particularly dark alcove and curling up in a chesterfied under a number of furs*

[MWBailey]

*shuffles out from a shadowy niche next to and almost behind the bookcase, snags a cookie, a cup, and a small bottle of cream. Is wearing a big coat and shearling houseslippers.*
"MMm. Hello everyone."
*The figure extends a brass tentacle to open the kitchen door, and enters. Bailey exits the kitchen with a cup of white coffee, returns to the common room, and retreats to his former niche, which is lighted by both the wintry glow from a mostly-curtained window and a gas flare in a bluish crystal globe on a sconce on the wall opposite the window. The niche is provided with a deeply-cushioned armchair which accommodates the odd, huge bulge on his back, and a small swing-top writing table. Bailey opens the notebook on the swingtable and continues writing where he left off a few moments before*

MMmm hmm, and there's a Hmmm ha hum hum, large mumble nyar mangle hmmm hom...GULLP! AHHhhh...

*scritching of pen on paper and the occasional bump of forceful punctuation*

[Camellia Wingnut]

A furtive rustle is heard near the stout oaken door, iron-studded, multifariously bolted and locked, behind which lies the Outside World; a place of drizzle, mist-clad hills and, very near to the threshold, the restless pacing and growling of wolves. Upon closer inspection, each wolf is seen to have a great leather collar with a bronze plaque affixed to it, stamped with the name of one of the persons within the Dragon Room. IT IS WAITING.
The newcomer is so diffident as to be virtually invisible. Fortunately, some wise presiding spirit understands. A warm scone - no, a plate full of warm buttered scones, with sultanas, appears upon a secluded tripod table in the deepest of the inglenooks. Beside it is a steaming brown teapot in which Prince of Wales tea is brewing, fearfully strong, about to be poured with a dash of milk into a delicate but commodious cup of flower-patterned china.
A pause ensues. An alert observer might scent Floris Rose Geranium, beloved of bluestockings, and see the edge of a red (faux) fox-fur mantle, which has been allowed to slide over the arm of the crimson leather chair. Daintily booted feet are elevated with a sigh. The tea in the flowery cup is mysteriously depleted. Ladylike munching and sipping echo off the stones of the hearth. A thick volume of Rider Haggard is raised to avid bespectacled eyes.
Thank you!

[walking stick]

A plate of macaroons and a hot chocolate made with goats milk are placed before a female with a curious walking stick. An eclectic collection of books trinkets and art equipment seems to be accumulating around her without any obvious action on her part.

[Arabella Periscope]

 

After a nap-length interval, a moss green velvet cloak slips to the Bokhara rug and a tentative laced boot emerges from a certain deep alcove.  A low voice, measurably happier than that which sobbed, murmurs, "I believe I could fancy a poached egg on toast.  Free-range, of course."  A tall shadowy form trails a long pale skirt along the wall, library-quiet.  "Possibly even a cafe au lait."  She checks for spare handkerchiefs.  There is always the danger of sudden weeping on certain days, and this is one of them; and one never knows, another such person might have sought out this dim and grateful retreat.

[frances]

The smell of eggs and fresh toast wafts its way around a few nooks and crannies and from behind a large Grecian statue a figure disentangles itself from a mass of cushions and furs:

[neon_suntan]

*sidles in surreptitiously wearing a masque of showing a finely toned façade of well adjusted normality*

*orders tea and waits for meds to kick in*

[Camellia Wingnut]

My Dears,
If you look carefully, you will see a Gothic armoire near the door with a needlework sampler on the wall next to it: Please check all masques, normal cheerful personae, and other forms of armour at the door. Your real self is safe within.

C.W.

[Alexis Voltaire]

Poached eggs and toast sounds delightful. Haven't had it in quite a while...

*Sets about working in the kitchen. A few minutes later, a plate stacked high with toast and a plate of warm poached eggs is placed on the counter*

There's jams, jellies, butter, honey, cream... well, anything you can think of in the cupboard back here. Even some leftover spiced cake frosting. Help yourselves.

*nibbles on an egg*

[Arabella Periscope]

Absorbs two eggs on toast as politely as possible, given sudden hunger and the realization that she has been too worried to eat for  . . . how long?  Wonders who is the benefactor, the individual who has created this haven she has sought for a lifetime fleeing the wolves in the snow, and how long she will be able to stay. Sneaks sidelong glances at various swathed figures holding steaming cups and vaguely person-shaped bulges under rugs and furs -- wait, no, that one is not really shaped like a person.

[walking stick]

Sidleling past a taller individual as she simultaneously adjusts her hat, extracts some spelt bread from the wide range available and adds to the table a butter dish decorated with a figure of a goat , the lady with the unusual walking stick apologises, "I can only reach to about the third persona down, my real self has been in hiding for a very long time."  She smiles in some embarrassment. "I can advise others far more easily than I can help myself."

[Camellia Wingnut]

My Dears,
If you will look in the persona armoire, while removing as many layers as you can, you will see that (as in C.S. Lewis's Wardrobe) there is a row of the most sumptuous, satin-lined (faux) furs available to wrap the shivering, vulnerable, but authentic creatures exposed in the process. There are also numerous veils and false whiskers - not as personae, but as a form of psychic swaddling, for modesty.
Now you can snugly enter and enjoy the fireside. Nobody stares at you here.
C.W.
There are also, upon request, hot-water bottles in plush covers, and specially insulated furry earmuffs which allow you, and others, to rant without causing disturbances of the peace.
Best of all, a selection of uncritical gentle golden retrievers and (probably critical, but well-disposed) cats to curl up with you:

[Madasasteamfish]

*A figure clumsily extricates itself from under a pile of furs, bursting from the alcove with an empty(ish) bottle of booze. Staggering into the room shouting and ranting about government incompetence, corporate greed and self interest along with a general disrespect for any kind of integrity. A particular wolf leaps through the door, leaping in attack at the figure, latching itself onto the figure's shoulder. The figures begins cursing at the wolf in brief interludes between rants, whilst attempting to strike it with the bottle. Eventually a blow lands on the wolf, dislodging it from its' shoulder. The figure turns and kicks the wolf out of the door, where it can be heard to land with a whining thud before the figure silently slinks back into the alcove from whence it came.*

[Camellia Wingnut]

My dear Mr. M.A.A.S. Fish,
Cruelty to wolves, no matter how well-deserved and, indeed, understandable, is unworthy of a Gentleman. A tranquilizer dart works just as well. Besides, there is a force-field over the threshold which absolutely forbids them to enter and attack you. You need not worry about them while you are within.
C.W.

[MWBailey]

*cocks an ear to the voice of the announcer. Shortly thereafter, a pair of proto-cybernetic brass-and-steel wings reside in the appropriate armoire, hanging beside a voluminous watch coat modified with a lining of some kind of xeno-exotic fur and a multiple-jointed brass tentacle liner, as a shadowy, betentacled figure slumps back to the niche, snagging a large number of furs along the way, including a hooded cloak-like affair, whilst cradling a smallish 5-string banjo of teh 'frailer' variety.*

Gotta have my ol' banjo, if only to stand it in the corner and hear it chime when a draft blows by.

[Lady Chrystal]

The door opens, allowing a brief draft to sound the banjo, which falls silent as the door is closed firmly again. A tall figure in a tight-fitting jacket edges towards the bar.

"Hello, All," she says, holding out a covered tray. "I can't stay today, but it's good to know this place exists. I just dropped by to replenish the supplies with these seasonal spiced cookies."

Placing the tray on the bar, she quickly leaves, the banjo's soulful voice marking her exit.

[frances]

"More hot buttered toast" a figure from a deep alcove cries.

[Arabella Periscope]

After a considerable interval of 'browsing and sluicing,' a huffing sound is heard, as of someone having slight difficulty breathing.  "If there is another . . . lady present  . . . perhaps . . . a little assistance . . . the easing of my . . . laces?"