The rain pours down; lightning battles against the darkness, and thunder grumbles to itself. You dash through the streets, your tiny umbrella making a hopeless, yet defiant, stand against the weather. Seeing a public building with the lights on, you shoot inside, not knowing what it is.
You enter the building, rotating doors whizzing behind you, and stand dripping, gazing about the curious room. Very large, it appears to extend much further than its tiny shop front; a crystal chandelier graces the ceiling, whilst staircases sweep from the back of the room to balconies above. A circular wooden counter takes the centre of the room. Ornamented with intricate brass plating, a large crane sits behind it, writing with an enormous quill pen. It, or indeed he, wears a neat white waistcoat (watch-and-chain dangling from one pocket) with pressed brown trousers. He looks up, and, seeing you, leaves his counter and his work and approaches.
"Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Museum of Nonesuch." He snaps his fingers (despite the fact he has no fingers) and a 3-foot tall cat enters on its hind legs, and helps your coat off. He then takes it, with your umbrella, and floats back to his (presumable) cloak room.
The crane clears his throat, and speaks again: "I trust you shall enjoy your stay at the Museum of Nonesuch, sir. We specialise in all kinds of curiosities and anomalies. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask me, or one of my colleagues."
You thank him, and admire the huge skeleton tucked away beneath the stairs.
Where would you like to go next?