The Dining room blurs your perceptions somewhat.

It does not change, for with so many occupants, how could it possibly decide what it should change to?

But it appears to you differently than it appears to others.

It is the viking halls of Valhalla, the ceiling thatched with golden shields. Or a festival held in a vast Byzantine palace. It’s that pub where you used to listen to Iron Maiden and drink lager with the lads. It’s the nightclub in which you had your first kiss. Or first… something else.

But no occupant has ever complained of any discrepency.

While you drink your microbrew and have your salt and vinegar crisps, your friend may quaff mead and eat suckling pig. The conversation may turn to stories of heroism or politically correct jokes. You may hear Whitesnake on the jukebox or a Skald reciting Grímnismál.

But it does not occur to you that this is a problem.

You see only your friends, and that they eat, drink and make merry.

You are happy, and that is all that matters.