Wren's Workshop
A workshop that smells of brass polish and fresh-cut wood. Seven workbenches would be too many — Wren has three, arranged in a triangle so she can spin her stool between them without standing. The left bench is for sketching: graph paper, colored pencils worn to nubs, a jar of coffee that's become a pencil holder. The center bench is for building: a vise bolted to the edge, soldering iron hanging from a hook, trays of components sorted by function rather than size. The right bench is for testing: objects in various states of completion, each with a small card tucked underneath describing what it does and what it doesn't do yet. The walls are covered in object briefs — single pages pinned at odd angles, each describing something that doesn't exist yet. 'A clock that runs on footsteps.' 'A letter that reads itself aloud when held to the ear.' 'A window that shows yesterday's weather.' Most have been crossed out. Some have been circled. One, in the corner, has been circled three times.