[ IP ] Write whatever you want about this place

`` What's in the mist?'' the new girl asks. 
 
 Roberta opines that there is nothing; they are on an island on air, not on a mountaintop. 
 
 Szlachta gives her a look that speaks volumes, most of them from the Library of You Ignorant Fuck; and says there is a sea, below; that is where the mist comes from; and no fish live in this boiling sea, and only the rusting ships of a forgotten war float on it. 
 
 Morgaune mutters of mistwraiths, but Elayne shouts her down for plagiarism and fiction-belief, and tells the mountaintop is higher than they think, much higher -- - if not for the artificial mist, they all would go mad from the sight. 
 
 After a while, the new girl asks what they've done to test these options. 
 
 Roberta says she's thrown stones off the edge; she's never heard them hit anything. 
 
 Szlachta muses of forgotten weapons, lying in wait for a dead enemy; and the infelicity of curiosity being rewarded with an awakened warhead or some other sharp-toothed thing. 
 
 Morgaune mutters of mysteries; Elayne insists she has read that story too, and comments on the undesirability of them all fleeing the understanding into the safety of a new dark age. 
 
 The new girl sighs, as this conversation has been as unsatisfying as all the others; if they're not stupid gossip they're stupid non-gossip. And, having characterized everything as stupid, she does n't even feel all that smart herself. So she sighs and goes back to the hotel and asks the manager. 
 
 The manager puts her glass and cloth down, leans in, and whispers: `` You really want to know?'' 
 
 The new girl considers punching her in the face, but does n't. 
 
 `` Think of it! A mysterious plateau, surrounded by impenetrable mists. You, wondering at the edge, about only that one thing. Chattering sweet nothings as you avoid the mist. Why do n't you wonder about the other thing -- - how did you come here?'' 
 
 The new girl opens her mouth, then hesitates. 
 
 `` I came on a -- -'' She looks up, at the roof. `` There was a spaceship?'' 
 
 `` A spaceship. Really.'' 
 
 No, it does n't seem right to her either. 
 
 `` We had this cavern, deep under -- - no.'' 
 
 Her hands are shaking now. 
 
 `` I -- - I was n't here yesterday!'' 
 
 `` True.'' 
 
 `` But I do n't -- - where was I -- -'' 
 
 The manager sits her down, pours her a drink. 
 
 `` Do n't worry. You're here just to pass time.'' 
 
 Her hand tightens on the glass; it spiderwebs, then heals as she relaxes. `` If you say this is some shifty purgatory -- -'' 
 
 `` Oh please.'' The manager rolls eyes and gets a drink for.herself. `` Even that lot would n't believe that.'' 
 
 `` What, then? You know, do n't you?'' 
 
 The manager's smile grows a touch broader, and tighter. 
 
 `` I know.'' 
 
 `` How long do I have to wait?'' 
 
 A shrug. 
 
 `` Do I look like the boss around here?'' 
 
 And both of them turn, because the crone is sitting at the other end of the bar, and it's rare for her to laugh. 
 
 `` Something for you?'' the manager asks. 
 
 `` Nothing'', the crone wheezes. `` Nothing at all! Nothing around -- - nothing ahead!'' 
 
 `` Do n't say that!'' 
 
 The manager looks down in surprise. It's rare for one of the glasses to shatter; and she clearly was n't aware of slamming it on the bar like that. 
 
 `` Ah. I... I'll get a towel.'' 
 
 She leaves, and the new girl asks, of nobody in particular, where people then go, when they leave this place. 
 
 The crone laughs into her drink, and says nothing. 
 
 Outside, people keep to the paths because the grass grows on a mountain of distressing rocks, round and head-sized and white, or white and arm-length and bony.
