<div class="floatleft">(http://coolmaterial.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Marie-Bean-Bag-Chair-0.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Three of Many the "Beanbag"<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Echo Chamber<br/><strong>Where In That Location:</strong>Where it needs to  be.<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>A lie. A dirty, filthy lie.<br/><strong>Tagging Who?</strong>Ellen! Ellllen!<br/><br/><hr/><br/>"Do you like it soft? Do you like it hard? I can be whatever you want, Ellen,"[/glow] The beanbag chair seemed to think at her, shifting ever so slightly, rea rranging itself into eye-pleasing shapes that would surely be butt and back pleasing as well. So comfy looking. So very, very comfy looking. But how did it know her name? Why was its voice so... smooth, lulling? It's like someone or something was giving her brain a massage.<br/><br/>"Just sit on me. I promise not to eat you," The beanbag chair's tongue lolled out of its mouth, dripping drool on the orange-red wood beneath it; wood that began to change its coloration towards a putrid, sickly, vomit-esque green-yellow. It had been far too long since it had the chance to feast on such tender vittles.<br/><br/>It seemed so tempting. The beanbag chair was her friend,<em> after all</em>. It would never do anything to hurt her,<em>after all</em>. It just wanted to make her happy,<em> after all</em>.<em>What could possibly go wrong?</em><br/><br/>One of the curvy shadow-figures slides through the air around Ellen, the very faintest of tinkling sounds--like tiny, tiny jingle bells--following in the trail of the mass of inky blackness, which bore a distinctly feminine shape. "Come, come, this way miss. Have a seat. What would you like to drink?" Came a different voice, one alluring, with a distinctly indistinct accent that was light, and accompanied by the tinkling sound.<br/><br/>Ellen was being ushered to a different beanbag. One that did not 'talk'. One that was probably safe, but almost certainly not as comfy as the talking one.