Where Gods Go To Retire

And where I go to relax.

Ah, Hotel Immortum, The Heavenly Hotel Beyond All Realms of Space, the closest beachhead on the path towards the inksea. I think it's one of my favorite hideaways, a quiet place, surrounded by people yet remarkably calm.

Setting up a room there involves filling out the most obnoxious, and even I can't half stand it, stack of paperwork that genuinely breaks lesser tables and takes two and a half hours on average to fill out. Once that Horrible, Horrible thing is done with, all you need to do to check in is give a name, occupation, and room number. Occupation doesn't necessarily mean Job, a number of guests that aren't divine use that question to describe the role they try to have in life, what they feel is their reason for being. Name is a long process, but the hotel staff are capable of translating what they need out of it. It's part of why the paperwork takes so long, they have to try and find a Soul Name. The room number tends to get carved in a bone on the first night one sleeps there, in a way that the Hotel can see whenever, but also in a way that unless it is known to be looked for, it won't be found or noticed.

The hotel's shop floor doesn't use money, rather, direct trade. I personally offer my feathers (sometimes molded with ink into the form of a raven) and trinkets from other iterative islands as my own barter, others offer favors or crafts. Equivalent Exchange is law on the shop floor, though a great number of folks operate on a "Take it, it's yours my friend, all you need do is ask" policy. Simple things, really.

It is quite literally impossible to fight in the Hotel, or in any of the rooms. Or, rather, Hostility is impossible. There's a wrestling ring I wander by sometimes that proves fighting possible, but all Non Hostile Acts are allowed, within Any Wildest Fantasy. Hostility if not automatically surpressed by the Hotel itself, will cause one to suddenly appear back where they're from, or at least back in their room, depending on the nature of the hostility.

There is a plaque in the main hall, a simple bit of engraved gold that reads:

"Everything with purpose. Everything with cause. All with Resolution, and with resolution, meaning."

The Golden Band accepts my preened feathers in exchange for their jewelry, and I near exclusively go there if I need any metalworking done. Apparently, my black and gree feathers make excellent earrings with minimal alterations.

The Infinite Rack is where I get most of my clothing, and for nothing extra, they'll even accomodate the wings this second skin of mine has. Sometimes they get in the way, make me stick out more than I'd like, and oddly enough, it's difficult to use the ink to change my own appearance.

Feeb's Burguria has a special deal they occasionally bring around, the Glorious Golden Mountain. Folks will wait months for it, and having had it while waiting for my friend to proof one of my stories for Iteration 11, I completely understand the hype. It's the greasiest, most horrible concotion of meat and cheese and fresh picked tomatoes that I feel like I should hate myself for consuming, but I've never felt more alive than that time I had it. Never before have I eaten a burger and needed a spoon for it.

You can find my friend, Baorvo, on floor 117, in room 325. He's a great deal of help proofing these concepts before I take them over to Broadcast.

Floor 1, Rooms 17 and 19 are reserved for me and, Someone Else, Someone related to Broadcast in a weird way that makes explaining them difficult. If I am the Writer, then they are the Reader.

I'm never in room 17, though, I'm usually hiding away on floor 501, in room 493, an infinitely expansive log cabin.

Gaius has a room on floor 3, room 57.