<div class="floatright"> (http://orig02.deviantart.net/4ef7/f/2014/229/2/4/liliraune_by_gensokyo_man-d7vkiiv.jpg) </div><br/>Room 37's door was lovingly decorated by a series of dried flower petals that had been laminated and pressed into a mural. It was a pink and burgundy portrait in petals of a young Asian woman in traditional garb, her kimono hanging loosely across her frame, exposing her back as she peered over her pale soft shoulders. Her amber eyes were brimming with secrets but her full red lips were full of promises. The door number was cunningly hidden in the motif of her kimono. 37.<br/><br/>There was a warm and sticky sweet smell from behind the door that permeated the entire floor. It was like baked goods, molasses and fresh citrus. Cinnamon and vanilla danced invisibly across the air. As they arrived, the mural on the door seemed to shiver, the petals swaying as if there was a sudden breeze.<br/><br/>Before anyone could knock, the amber "eyes" of the mural fluttered, and appeared to open wide. The door knob turned on its own with a rustle of leaves and slowly creaked open. A pair of voices called out in unison, "Come in!!"<br/><br/>It sounded as if there was an old Kurosawa samurai movie playing inside as metal met metal with a "CLANG CLANG CLANG". The small apartment was sparsely decorated, its walls lined by vines and photos of the same pink woman that adorned the door. Translucent and shimmering in the right light, it looked as if the photos had been halphazardly placed on the walls less for decorative purposes and more for a culling, like a photographers studio.<br/><br/>Jars of various sizes were stacked against the wall, recently sanitized and drying. All of the furniture seemed to be grown, rather than purchased, hardwoods and soft foliage forming a couch and studio chairs. The inhabitants of the apartment were no where to be found, until one made the sharp turn towards the kitchen. The source of the clashing steel sounds became apparent as they made their way past the breakfast nook.<br/><br/>A pair of tiny young women were frantically working at their stations, one manning the stovetop and oven, while the other was carefully arranging the food on trays. It looked like they were preparing for a party with the amount they were preparing, with a tray each of orange zest cinnamon rolls, cherry and cream croissants, jalapeno and cotijia bread, bacon wrapped figs, eight roast quails with a sausage, walnut and cranberry stuffing, cucumber sandwiches with a banh mi relish of carrot, cilantro, habanero, cucumber and diced pork, and.... it kept on going.<br/><br/>Was this a feast in honor of Robert's arrival?<br/><br/>"Hello!" "Hello!" The two flower girls chimed, only slightly out of sync as one was busy sampling a crawfish bisque she was preparing and couldn't speak until she had swallowed. They were once again in sequence as they continued mechanically to work while beaming at their guests, "We were just finishing Miss Kirsche's evening repast! Is this the new maintenance boy?"<br/><br/>"He's cute." "He's small." Their assessments disagreed, and they looked at each other as if silently arguing who was right. After a few moments of deadlock, they nodded, taking a break from their preparations, "Sorry. I don't mean to be rude! I'm Blossom!" "Sorry. I don't mean to be rude! I'm Berry!"<br/><br/>