[Matt's in one of the bars scattered around the mansion, as he often is on the weekend. As usual, he has a pint of beer in front of him, a cigarette in one hand, and a paperback in the other (Unseen Academicals, today ( Read more... )

[Matt's sitting behind the bar, cigarette in one hand, thumbing with the other through a tattered and rather syrupy copy of the Mr. Boston's Bar Guide, which appears to be in the process of turning into something else, if the digressions about the history of ageing barrels as they relate to pirates, and do-it-yourself instructions for a greenhouse ( Read more... )

[Matt doesn't really care where he's going, these days, and he doesn't look to make sure the room where the kitchen ought to be is actually the kitchen. But he is somewhat surprised to find himself in a suit, complete with a fedora. Heeey, stylin', he thinks, checking out the new duds. Only, why is everything orange? Oh right, the room put the ( Read more... )

[Matt's sitting behind the bar, with a cigarette in one hand, a paperback version of Interesting Times in the other, and a half-finished pint glass of a copper-colored beer in front of him. He's lost track of how many times he's read through the Discworld series, and most of his attention isn't on the book, which he's mostly memorized by now anyway ( Read more... )

[Matt's sitting at the table in one of the kitchens with a bowl of soup in front of him, but he's smoking instead of eating, using a stray teacup as an ashtray. His goggles are pushed up onto his forehead. Every once in a while, he pulls a piece of paper from his vest pocket, unfolds it, and smiles in a wavery sort of way before tucking it away ( Read more... )

[Matt's hurrying toward the kitchen on the fourth floor, smoking and muttering under his breath in what sounds like an argument, except no one else is around.]

...not a fucking doctor, mansion, thanks so much for throwing this one at me, when you weren't gonna have the courtesy to give me, I dunno, actually medically useful shit...

[Matt's wandering. The anger he felt since remembering his own death has burned out, leaving him aimless and empty. When he opens a door onto what looks like a bar, he doesn't particularly care if the room has an effect or not ( Read more... )

[Matt's looking for someone while trying to pretend to himself and the mansion that he's not, and the show of exaggerated casualness he's putting on has gotten him in trouble before. It's not so bad this time, he thinks at first. This room's like a library, but all the volumes on the shelves are self-help books. There's a computer monitor in the ( Read more... )

[Matt's wandering and smoking, as he does. The library he wants, the one where the books sometimes seem to mutter to themselves, is nowhere to be found ( Read more... )

[The first thing Matt notices when he steps into the room is that nothing's yellow-tinted anymore: his goggles have gone. That turns out to be a minor indignity compared to his new outfit: a bowling shirt. With flames on it. That clashes horribly with the green cords, which in turn clash horribly with the orange high-top sneakers. He starts to ( Read more... )