IdleWylde
Coordinates: ∞ / ∞ Floating
Stack: Unresolved
Perched amongst the low-drift haze of the Stacks, the IdleWylde floats like a stubborn memory, glowing warm against the dusk-purple fog. With its weathered bulk and bolted-on additions, the exterior hasn't changed in over a dozen Ages—patchwork plating, repurposed antennas, and a weather-beaten neon sign that buzzes the name in cursive flame. But step inside? It's never the same twice.
The Structure
The IdleWylde is part haven, skyfaring relic, and architectural rumor. It floats independently of tether or logic, shifting gently throughout the city's thermals. Cables run between towers but never seem to connect—they just drift alongside like lazy eels.
Inside the Wylde
Every hour, the IdleWylde winks. The furniture reshapes. The walls breathe. Some hours it’s a diner with cracked vinyl booths and gum under the tables. Next, it’s a velvet-draped lounge lit by ghost-chandeliers. The shift is always seamless but never subtle. If you don’t like the mood? Wait an hour. Or order dessert.
Interior layout of the IdleWylde
A Note on Conduct:
Attempts to harm a guest, staff member, or even the decor are met with a peculiar and absolute response: the offender simply blinks out of existence—no sound, no flash, no warning. They reappear somewhere else in the endless sprawl of Convergence... somewhere random. The IdleWylde does not eject troublemakers—it forgets them. And not all are remembered again.
To date, there has never been a single act of violence within the IdleWylde. Not one. Which makes it an ideal location for delicate dealings, whispered arrangements, and meetings that are best left unrecorded.
Varn Voxlin, Chef
Varn was once the Lead Culinary Transcriptor for the Empress of the Age of Gilt and Gears, a tyrant known for executing chefs who couldn’t make food taste like emotions. He survived a record 273 state dinners before vanishing through what witnesses described as a “pantry implosion.”
When the IdleWylde next shifted form, Varn was in the kitchen—already preparing a dish no one had heard of, but everyone wanted. The staff, surprised, asked if he was the new head cook. He nodded once and replied: “This timeline needed seasoning.” He’s been there ever since. Or maybe since before.
Staff
Quince, Sous-Chef
Lithe, twitchy, and perpetually powdered in something probably edible, Quince claims to have trained under a celestial butcher in the Age of Emberlight. However, no one has been able to confirm that Age ever existed. They wear their chef whites like a lab coat—stained with sauces, singed at the hem, and pinned with safety forks.
Quince talks to the ingredients, arguing with garlic, apologizing to onions, calling dough a “traitor” and challenging it to rise properly or be thrown from the balcony. No one has seen them sleep.
Seasoning
Wears a belt of salt shakers. None of them contains salt.
Has a sixth sense for customers trying to steal silverware. Calls them out before they do it.
Believes the mop closet is sentient and flirts with it regularly.
Another interior layout of the IdleWylde
Mister Knell, Host
"Welcome to the IdleWylde. May I take your time?"
Impeccably dressed in a dark, pin-striped waistcoat stitched with constellations, Mister Knell is IdleWylde’s enigmatic maître d’, concierge, and possible temporal artifact. Tall, pale, and smooth as a pause in conversation, he appears to glide more than walk.
Knell speaks charmingly, like he's rehearsed this greeting for the last thousand years, and maybe he has. His face is human-adjacent: symmetrical, kind, but forgettable. Most patrons only remember his smile—too many teeth, all too polite.
Seasoning
Always asks guests, “Would you like to dine with time, or without?”
Keeps a pocket watch with no hands. Claims he can read it anyway.
Has no known first name. Staff who ask are reassigned to mop closet inventory.
Rello “The Ragman” Nix, Dishwasher
Down in the IdleWylde’s under-galley—an area that technically doesn’t exist on any current floor plan—you’ll find Rello Nix, better known by staff as The Ragman. Bent-backed, wild-eyed, and perpetually wet around the cuffs, Rello has been washing dishes longer than IdleWylde’s been above inspection.
No one remembers hiring him. Varn won’t speak to him directly. Quince refuses to go near the under-galley unless it's leaking “that weird blue again.” And yet, every night the dishes come out spotless. Even the utensils that scream.
Seasoning
Keeps a diary made entirely of damp napkins.
Speaks fluent “drain rattle.”
Swears he once found an entire Age stuck to the underside of a soup bowl.
