The building is old, stone and masonry with a copper plated roof that's verdigrised enough that the moss is hard to make out. If one were to go up three stories, make a right, and slip under a cedar door with a ceramic handle, one would be in a small, cozy dorm room. Through a thick warped window tilted outwards to relieve a bit of heat, one can hear the sound of noise from the street outside, the chatter and hum of a great marketplace. A bell strikes four times, followed an elaborate overlapping chime which would inform the listener that it's suppertime. Most of the room is tidy, with special care taken with a polished-smooth section of floor that has only the faintest of chalk marks left on it. It's very well-lit, streams of color pouring from a stained glass skylight and a broad lamp with a dolphin as a base. The walls are covered in papers, diagrams tacked on diagrams until the whole thing looks like very intricate wallpaper designed by either a mathematician or a madman. Or both. Collaboration is encouraged, after all, which is why there are two figures sitting at the desks in this room. There's an implicit line down the center, clearly negotiated with some care from people with particular preferences, and the aesthetics do complement more than clash, mostly.