Since about 2009 the collective of Monsieur Soeur in its various forms has met in a warm room in a middling apartment with several couches, and makeshift tables. Ever present is the smell and sting of hot glue, discolored fingers, and a living landscape of all manner of matters and odds and ends. The room is home to six inch people, terrible monsters, and their sleepy giggly masters shuffling them off to their awful ends. Stories are being told, writing is rewritten, and tiny crafted films are made in a made rash rush.