kaolinandbone

As the many multiversal guests are gated in, singly or in groups, a crowd slowly begins to form in the entry hall. Lioncourt looks up from her meditation break and claps her hands twice: in moments, a dozen automaton servants file out from the adjoining rooms, hands of gleaming white porcelain holding equally elegant china tea-sets. A pair of the automatons open the doors at the far end of the hall, revealing a tiered rose garden, the stone benches dotted here and there ringing a large central clearing.

"Tea is served, either here or in the gardens: I would appreciate it, however, if some of my guests might proceed onward so as to reduce crowding."