Rooms verse (roomsverse) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-05-31 11:50:00 |
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Outside, there was snow. deep and cold, and the shopping center ahead was obviously deserted. The doors were closed, but not locked. In fact, light shone beneath, through the slit in the center, a promise of escape from the frigid and empty nothing. And there was no one there, no one in that white cold, nothing for company. And so the doors, the doors were promise. Inside, impossibly, it was beautiful. There were people, but they were oblivious. They walked, they talked, they noticed nothing, they noticed no one. No alarms rang when things were taken, and no one protested if the fresh piece of pizza set upon the counter was eaten. There was light and bright and whimsy. Our shoppers arrived in whatever their borrowed bodies were wearing last, or in whatever they wanted those bodies to be in wearing, suits and capes and cowls. Ailments and illnesses persisted, but mobility existed, if it was absent. Things were fluid, and things were changing. Abilities, though, abilities were consistent, and scars remained, too ingrained for even this mirage to erase. And the mind. Ah, the mind. Our shoppers remained themselves, but how much of the other remained with their new skin, that was up to them. And the hotel was helpful, ever helpful, and it took away names. It took away the memory of names. Names, you see, were not for sale. In all ways, our mall was normal. The stores you would normally find were all there, regardless of region or country. Whatever our shoppers wanted? Oh, there it was! Clothing stores and furniture stores, arcades and bookstores, restaurants and coffee shops. It was all there, along with the three little additions. Memory Emporium: The sign on the door proclaimed a sale on happy childhoods. Inside, the store was minimalistic. Behind the counter, items were all priced $ 0.00, and the items for sale were simple: A Happy Childhood. Good Romance. Great Career. Start From Scratch. Here, mindwipes were easy, and they came with whatever level of forgetting our shopper wanted. Wonderful parents replaced bad ones, lovely exs replaced terrible ones, fantastic careers replaced stagnant ones. Whatever our shoppers wanted to forget for the evening? It was forgotten. Or, if preferred, it was replaced with something perfect. Warning: Bleedover could occur. The Drive: It looked like a car accessory store, save for the bright red sign above the door. Sleek and metal and smooth, the items here were much, much darker than at the Memory Emporium. Here, shoppers could buy a few very specific items: Increased Libido. Dark Urges. Odd Kinks. Alternate Sexuality. Sex Drive. Purchases came with use of quiet little rooms in the back, one-sided mirrors, glory holes and curtained alcoves. Oh, and one complimentary accessory per customer, available from a long, long wall of toys. Tea House: The Tea House was whimsical, pretty, with little bistro sets in dark woods. Tea could be ordered at the counter or at the tables, and the menu was just one tiny little line of text on a pretty placard. Oolong, green, white or rooibos: Add one emotion per cup. And any emotion was on the menu. Happiness, sadness, forgiveness, loathing, love, desire, hate. Anything that could be felt, and the special of the day was writ in script above the counter: Never experienced Love? Try our Love Tea today! |