After a few moments, Schön opens the door, brows rising momentarily in recognition before he moves aside to raise his arm in an invitation. "Please, won't you come in?"
The room within is a spacious office, made cozy by the bright Oriental rugs covering most of the hardwood floor. The desk, opposite the door, is a monolith of mahogany, inlaid with accents of rosewood and teak, carved with reliefs of twining roots and branches, of fanciful creatures, and of faces peeking from among the leaves. The chairs before and behind the desk are upholstered in silk and buttery-soft leather, the one behind the desk tall and evocative of a throne.
The walls, papered in a deep Chinese red pinstriped with navy, are densely clustered with art in a dizzying array of styles; most are paintings, but a few cameos hang as well, and a violin enjoys pride of place over the mantle. Shelves behind the desk are similarly crowded with books and odd little knickknacks, the former rarely comprising the sort of orderly matched sets that tend to fill shelves behind desks in offices. To one side of the door stand a coat rack and a sideboard loaded with bottles of exotic libations, while to the opposite side stands a small table bearing several indistinct articles over which has been draped a gossamer shroud. Against one side wall sits an overstuffed couch, and in the opposite wall is set a fireplace, though it has clearly never seen a fire, and the single log that sits in the grate is a piece of elaborate scrimshaw, evocative of flames.
When he closes the door behind Ameila, the sounds of the outside world fall away to a serene hush. The quiet makes the low, melodious tones of his voice more noticeable. "Have a seat."
Quite the post, indeed. (Sorry about the delay.)
The room within is a spacious office, made cozy by the bright Oriental rugs covering most of the hardwood floor. The desk, opposite the door, is a monolith of mahogany, inlaid with accents of rosewood and teak, carved with reliefs of twining roots and branches, of fanciful creatures, and of faces peeking from among the leaves. The chairs before and behind the desk are upholstered in silk and buttery-soft leather, the one behind the desk tall and evocative of a throne.
The walls, papered in a deep Chinese red pinstriped with navy, are densely clustered with art in a dizzying array of styles; most are paintings, but a few cameos hang as well, and a violin enjoys pride of place over the mantle. Shelves behind the desk are similarly crowded with books and odd little knickknacks, the former rarely comprising the sort of orderly matched sets that tend to fill shelves behind desks in offices. To one side of the door stand a coat rack and a sideboard loaded with bottles of exotic libations, while to the opposite side stands a small table bearing several indistinct articles over which has been draped a gossamer shroud. Against one side wall sits an overstuffed couch, and in the opposite wall is set a fireplace, though it has clearly never seen a fire, and the single log that sits in the grate is a piece of elaborate scrimshaw, evocative of flames.
When he closes the door behind Ameila, the sounds of the outside world fall away to a serene hush. The quiet makes the low, melodious tones of his voice more noticeable. "Have a seat."