The Epitome of Populous

You're just outside of the doors. Inside, you can hear all sorts of clamor, the sign above the door proudly sporting a lavish name with neon lights. Of course, all the other doors try to be just as flashy. You can't quite pinpoint what drew you to this one in particular, but nevertheless, you enter.

The moment you enter, a small crowd rushes up to greet you. several generically well-dressed men hold out business cards to you, in the hopes of receiving your attention and, more importantly, your money. You walks past them, of course. You have seen the types of people who accept their business. The neon lights of the door illuminate the crowded hall you just walked into. There are people in all shapes an sizes, many of them wearing garishly colored outfits or the logo of some celebrity. Someone wearing what could easily be mistaken for nothing flounces past you, bellowing something barely audible in the roar of the crowd.

You soon find yourself pressed against a wall, pushing towards a door. You can only hope that isn't as full as this place. Several people spill through the door with you as it opens at your touch. You are still new to the place, and unfamiliar with the details of what to do.

The door closes swiftly as you walk through, taking a seat at a small booth. All around you, there are other tables, each with enough room to hold twelve people. In almost every seated group, there is a considerable amount of bickering. You begin to wonder why they sit next to each other, until you see a string of guests being ushered towards you. The seating is not reserved; it is assigned.
In a matter of seconds, you are surrounded by a group of people. Two of them are wearing the same celebrity's logo, and seem to be getting along fairly well, Another is in a vaguely familiar outfit, but is staring at the tabletop and will not speak. There is another in a mask, who seems to be taunting one in a neon green jacket, and just like that, your table becomes just as noisy as the others.

Before you can excuse yourself from the table, a stern-looking man walks around and deals everyone at your table three cards. You stare at yours, managing to tune out the incessant wailing coming from your right as you decipher the words on the cards enough to have an understanding of the game that has started. However, it seems that everyone at your table is more experienced than you are, the only one seeming willing to help you being the one that still won't speak.

Exactly nine minutes later, the game is finished. The wailing next to you sounds almost as if it has changed in tone in order to be taunting. Perhaps that's only your perception after losing the game. Everyone is directed back out into the hall, and you decide you've had enough. Pushing past the bellowing individuals, through a celebration of some sort, and dodging the business cards waving at your face, you push through the doors to the cold night.

The walk back home is a short one, so you decide to stop by a small building, one with a wooden sign and no flashing lights. It clearly isn't in the best condition, but it was the first place you went to after discovering the network you now live in. The door swings open for you and you take a seat by a window. There's far less room, but also a dramatic decrease in people. Sitting back and enjoying the silence, your mind is slowly transported to your earlier years.

(Thank you for reading this story. I used it to explore what an ordinary person might think of if someone were to describe a multiplayer server to them without using words such as "players," "skins," or "minigames," and instead trying to say it in a way that's familiar in some ways. I eventually came to the conclusion that the result of such a description would be bizarre.)