Lodgings - 73 Deadend Hill

[marisolfcanela]

Ground Floor

Two streets up from Spite's ragged old market is a slighly more quiet street than the competeitions between urchins and stallholders to see who can yell the loudest.  Here, tucked away in the middle of Deadend Hill, is the wide bannered sign set into the brick of a building spilling light onto the cobbles from its windows - the Sea and Sun.

Underneath the simple sign with a golden orb over a mottled blue background, a set of double doors opens into a large, if packed, bar.  The main serving station wraps around from the middle of the room, heavy and dark, the mirrored back bar covered with shelves and rows of bottles.  Some are familiar, some less so.  A space in the bottles is left for a wooden cross, high up, clustered with candles.

There's an icebox behind the counter, flanked by two bright standing lamps.  Where that ends, the back counter begins, equally used to prepare drinks or serve the food that comes from the kitchen, downstairs.

Comfortable, well-worn stools wrap the bar itself, and the high tables that look out onto the street.  A few booths are tucked against a wall, a darker, quieter corner for patrons to talk.  Where the corners don't support seating, a battered upright piano stands - 'Æolian Co' in faded gold on the cover, ready to be played.

The walls are thick with decoration, framed, fuzzy pictures of people; a handful of flags draped over with playbills; a few stuffed and mounted heads (deer, mostly).  A chunk of one wall seems devoted to the ever-changing local ordinances, the strip of wall beside it tacked with notes to and from patrons.

Basement

The rules and regulations that cover the Bazaar are myopic, byzantine, and ever-changing.  While smugglers might choose to ignore those rules, the restaurant in the basement of Sea and Sun takes full advantage of both those rules and the smuggling.  In la Casa de Suavidad Silenciosa, private dinners are held.

If apples are difficult to come by, one week, la Casa will feature a seven-course spread.  When a new monster is discovered, Marisol will have it plated in hours.  La Casa is always happy to give people what they want - at least, those that have the means to pay exorbinant fees to indulge in the luxury of mealtimes.

Entry into the basement of Sea and Sun is by invitation only - either from upstairs, past the doorwoman checking the names off a list, or through the back, by Marisol's watchful eye for deliveries.

The kitchen here roars with activity, three stoves and two ovens in constant use.  A sturdy central table keeps the focus, ringed with all manner of kitchen acoutrement.  Copper and cast iron pots and pans dangle from every avaliable inch of wall, while twists of onions and garlic drape from exposed beams.  Each section of the counter that wraps the wall is stationed - pastry, sauces, and so on.

Something is always on the boil, here, something always rising on the counter and baking in the oven.

The dining room is separated from the kitchen by a series of thick curtains over the doorway - all the better to muffle the noises coming from chopping blocks and kettles.

Generally, the room is set with one long table, seating sixteen.  Matching chairs flank the table, everything tasteful, slightly understated, and all dimly lit from the wall sconces.  A serviette and bar run the back wall, both, too, undecorated.  If there's eating to do, it's eating that the focus will be on, and not the decorations.

Top floor