In the basement of Dante\'s Inferno, a heavy steel door occupies a mostly-unnoticed corner behind a stack of dryers. A thumbprint reader has been recently installed beside it, a small and discreet affair of matte black plastic.
Once the door has been opened, a wooden staircase descends into the lower level of the basement. Flourescent lights stripe the ceiling, a heavy wooden construction darkened by age. An old plaid sofa and a battered but comfortable brown upholstery armchair are positioned near the base of the stairs on the concrete floor. A large thrift shop rug covers an area beside the staircase, stained with unnamed colors from indeterminate origin.
Half-empty bookshelves and folding work tables line the rug, delineating a space roughly fifteen feet long by ten feet wide. Everything is in perfect order, from the odd occult tools arranged on the shelves, to the mundane-looking items and notes spread across the tables. Frequently, bizarre bones, containers of blood, and the macabre components of blood magic research are visible while Conner is working on a project. These are never left laying about, though.
The space underneath the work tables is occupied by neatly arranged rows of wooden boxes, of varying sizes and of seemingly random types of wood. They have no latches or locks, but will not open without Conner\'s permission unless the box is broken.
The space outside of the perimeter of the workshop fades into dusty dimness. Something easily overlooked, though, is an aged mini-fridge and a small microwave, stocked with a few packets of blood. It\'s only noticeable because of the extension cord running around the back of one of the bookcases.
