You steel yourself and enter through the doors marked "W. Wasp," cringing as you see the mess that lies before you. Papers are everywhere- the place seeming to carry no sense of organization or reason. Plant life dangles from garden baskets and crawls out of terrariums, encroaching worryingly on the last small sections of space uncluttered. You'd wonder how the researcher whose space this belongs to gets anything down at all, had you not encountered this sort of person before. The space is welcoming enough, and though you look around for signs of animal or scientist life, there are few.