This is a session I recently played in a solo journaling RPG called “The Last Tea Shop” in which you run a tea shop that travelers visit between life and death.
The shop is made of stone with fine woodwork over the windows. Yellow paper lanterns swirl in the wind over the front porch. Ivy climbs up one wall, and the grey roof tiles are covered with a thick patina from the frequent rains. The swamp surrounding my little island is still water covered with lily pads; low gnarled trees rise out of dry spots in the fen. Through the circular door, the entrance room has a bench for guests can sit and remove their shoes. A rough quartz of white and rosy pink the size of a loaf of bread rests on a squat plinth carved from a single piece of teak wood, dominating the space.
Tea service is in a rectangular room with large wood-framed windows peeking into the swamp. Four square tables rising just below the knee, each with a section removed from the center for a burner and fat iron kettle wait quietly in the corners. When drinking tea, customers sit on a hodge podge of cushions thrown about the woven mat floor. Walking through this room requires smooth soft steps or the old wooden floor planks will creak and groan and a faint perfumed incense smell never seems to fully dissipate.
An old black dog dreams of her younger days on a circular pad against one wall. Her paws wave back and forth as she chases rabbits through the forest in her sleep.
The teaware is all glazed pinch pot cups, bowls, and gaiwans. The tables all host rough cut, fist sized rocks or gems to inspect and stare into over tea.
The dog and I haven’t had a visitor in four days. We’ve traipsed through the bog in that time and dried off by a ceramic fire pit on the stone and moss patio. My tea stores are running low, save for a beautiful sample of reindeer lichen I found in the trees nearby.
Fog the color of bruised skin hangs heavily over the water today like a blanket you are too tired to peel off. Through the mist a swinging light bobs up and down- a lantern grasped in the fist of a lost soul.
The dog raises her dreary head and one ear flops back. The sound of boots crunching up the path doesn’t seem to bother her. She licks her jowls, yawns her cavernous toothy yawn, and puts her head back onto the pillow.
A young man strides in with auburn hair parted down the middle and loose white socks. “I’m headed somewhere and could use a pick me up. Do you have anything to wet the whistle?” he asks in a southern accent.
I scoop out a small tray of the reindeer lichen and weigh ten grams on a rickety brass scale. “This stuff is known to cause fits of uncontrollable laughter. Like staying up too late with friends you haven’t seen in a long time.” I hand him the lichen to inspect. “Have a seat while I get the coals ready.”
We sit on opposite sides of the table as the water boils, legs stretching out to either side of the table. Leaves swirl on the surface of the swamp out the window. “I feel like I’ve stayed up too late already.” He said after some moments. “See? I’m just now registering what you said to me.” I chuckle and douse a wash of hot water on to the dry lichen. It wriggles to life.
“You seem to have left wherever it is you’ve come from in quite a hurry. Did you forget something?” I ask.
His body sank into a deep sigh. “Lots. Not forgotten per se. Just thought I’d have more time.” He blew a layer of steam off his piping hot bowl of tea; his eyebrows came together as he drank the first sip. “I bought myself a beat up old 40-foot sailboat when I graduated college. Got her seaworthy and set off for… who knows where.” I had a lot of good times on that boat. Nights anchored in Aruba. Sailing to Rio during a terrible storm. Spear fishing for my dinner half the time. Hell, in a way I’m surprised it took me so long to end up here.” He cracked a smile; his sunbaked crows feet betrayed his youthful face. “You go out there thinking you’ll make it back someday. That’s always the goal. Cell phones and GPS and satellite internet mean you can always call your mom, always tell her where you are. You can always call her and tell her how much you’re enjoying yourself and that you miss her. You say you’re gonna go back and get a real job and live the life they wanted you to live. You say you will, and you really believe it. You think time only passes on the boat, and everything else stands still. Moms and dogs just won’t age, your friends don’t drift away from you, and there’s still a girl waiting for you back at the port you set out on. You’re not lying to anyone. You’re just… you’re just wrong.”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes and laughed softly. “I tell ya, one time in the Gulf near Honduras, I got surrounded and boarded by the Coast Guard” He emotes fear and puts his hands up like he’s been caught. “middle of the night they bind my hands and pull me off my boat. I’ve never been more scared in my life!” his laughter is deep and booming; I look on waiting for the missing context. “They saw me accidentally dump out of a box of food overboard and thought I was dead dropping a brick of cocaine. I was just about sure they were gonna lock my ass up and throw away the key.” I joined the laughter. The old dog ambled over and put her chin on my leg, her eyes insinuating I scratch behind her ears.
The sailor’s laugh waned into a smile and he continued telling me of his time- some spent alone, some with crew, and some with the occasional passenger. All afternoon we traded stories and cackled til my the muscles in my belly began to feel sore.
Seven bowls of the mirthy brew we drank in total. Finally, after all was quiet and the cloud of silence settled overhead, I asked him “did you do anything out there that you’re proud of?”
He pulled his knees up to his chest. “Yea. The whole damn thing. I went my own way. I saw things most people I know only dream of. Only climbing the mountain lets you see the view, you know? Also this one time I engineered this really cool gimbal for my solar panels. I built the whole system out of some motors and microcontrollers, and the rigging I made from plywood. It took me about a week to get it all set up while I was docked in the Bahamas. Totally kick ass. I’ll miss that old gal.” His voice sounded peaceful as it reverberated around the room.
He stood, went into the mudroom, pulled on his boots, and pat the dog on the head. “I hardly ever knew exactly where I was going next, but I always ended up there anyway” he told me as I folded my arms and leaned against the door frame.
“You’re to set sail again,” I replied. “The river you’ll be crossing is too wide to swim. This time you’ll be the passenger though, I suspect. Heck, maybe you can give the ferryman a few pointers.”
“You know I will.” he said and waved a salute. He was ready. “Oh and by the way,” he said, stuffing his hand into a coat pocket. “I won’t be needing this. Take a penny, leave a penny,” he said and held out a paper-wrapped bundle of dried kawakawa leaves. “I used to boil this and drink it. Try it with your next guest.”
My thoughts
The Last Tea Shop is cozy as hell. I didn’t expect to “get into” writing like this. I’ve tried Thousand Year Old Vampire and some other solo RPGs, but never have I been so absorbed in the details of the moment or of the space. You’re supposed to play until day 24 in Tea Shop, and this was day 4. When a visitor leaves, you roll a die and add that many days. I’ve not had a second session yet, but if the mood strikes I certainly will. The rules are available to download for free at https://springvillager.itch.io/last-tea-shop
Stuff Cam Wrote 