Apartment 501 -- Olympus Heights
The first thing one would notice about this room is that it's dimly lit by a blue-green light coming in through the window -- until an ornate fixture hanging from the ceiling is turned on. Afterward, it's difficult to describe the era in which this room is modeled after: The 20's? 40's? Perhaps the 50's.
In one corner there is a small and barely used kitchenette with black and white checkered tile. There's a very old-looking radio on the counter, and it's playing some sort of crooning jazz. You can try to change the station, but it won't matter -- the radio doesn't play any song post 1959, nor anything that's not jazz.
Behind a plush couch and a coffee table covered in papers, there is a large unmade canopy bed, with the sheets rumpled and tangled. The desk next to it is absolutely cluttered with paper and books, as well as many glass vials filled with liquids of all different colors.
There's also a door here, which leads to a small bathroom. It's quite unremarkable, aside from black and white checked tile matching that in the kitchenette, and a very large clawfoot tub, complete with two shower heads.
Most intriguing is the very large floor-to-ceiling window that illuminates the room when all the lights are off. When the curtains are pulled back, it looks across a glowing, neon cityscape that, strangely, appears to be underwater. And it very well is -- if the occasional school of fish or whale that swims into and out of view have anything to say about it.
