Toplitz Productions GmbH
FN: 317068b
VAT: ATU64492604
Trautenfelserstraße 281
8952 Irdning
Toplitz Productions. Games with Heart and Soul.
Named after the mystic “Toplitz Lake” which is situated in a dense mountain forest high up in the Alps, Toplitz Productions was recently founded with the aim of developing and publishing computer and video games “with heart and soul”.
Next came the wire coat hanger, straightened with brute force and guilt. He fed it down the plughole, twisting blindly. The metal scraped against something soft and unyielding: a wad of something ancient. Hair, probably. Soap scum. The film of a hundred showers and a dozen half-melted bath bombs from the Christmas before last.
More came out. Strands of his own hair, long and ginger, tangled with what looked like cat fur (they’d never owned a cat). A bobby pin. The ghost of a cotton ball. Finally, with a wet, sucking sigh, the drain released. The water spun into a lazy vortex, then vanished with a hollow gurgle.
“Right,” he muttered. “Fine.”
The water sat in the tub like old tea, unmoving and brown-tinged, hours after Liam had climbed out. He stood in the doorway, towel still damp on his shoulders, staring at the greasy ring left behind.
He pulled out a dark, sodden clump that smelled like a wetland grave. A wave of nausea passed. He dropped it into a plastic bag and went back in.
He fetched the plunger first—the small sink-sized one, which was optimistic. Three hard pumps sent a belch of foul air up through the drain, but the water level didn’t drop. It just shivered, as if mocking him.
Next came the wire coat hanger, straightened with brute force and guilt. He fed it down the plughole, twisting blindly. The metal scraped against something soft and unyielding: a wad of something ancient. Hair, probably. Soap scum. The film of a hundred showers and a dozen half-melted bath bombs from the Christmas before last.
More came out. Strands of his own hair, long and ginger, tangled with what looked like cat fur (they’d never owned a cat). A bobby pin. The ghost of a cotton ball. Finally, with a wet, sucking sigh, the drain released. The water spun into a lazy vortex, then vanished with a hollow gurgle. unblocking a bath
“Right,” he muttered. “Fine.”
The water sat in the tub like old tea, unmoving and brown-tinged, hours after Liam had climbed out. He stood in the doorway, towel still damp on his shoulders, staring at the greasy ring left behind. Next came the wire coat hanger, straightened with
He pulled out a dark, sodden clump that smelled like a wetland grave. A wave of nausea passed. He dropped it into a plastic bag and went back in. Hair, probably
He fetched the plunger first—the small sink-sized one, which was optimistic. Three hard pumps sent a belch of foul air up through the drain, but the water level didn’t drop. It just shivered, as if mocking him.
