A tanned hand comes through the elevator doors, lifting Matthew up and out of the metal room. Stumbling for a moment from the force of the pull, bumping into the mountain of a man. Spewing apologies, almost tripping over the red Legend of Zelda banner, and gaining a smile from him, Matthew steps back and further into the hall.
The man is familiar to Matthew, obviously knowing his own buildings' residents and their habits. An athlete who didn’t make it big, living with his little sister, funded by out of state parents. Dyed red hair that hangs to his chin, hair that he helped dye that is now grown out, and ever present red bruises on his knuckles. Casual clothes he never seems to change out of, jeans already look like they’ve been worn for over a week with splatters of paint.
Black shirt with holes near the bottom hem, ash stains barely noticeable, even on the edges of his languid hands. Jeans just the same, holes at the knees and cuffed at the bottom. Bracelets, black and red and blue and yellow, apparently they used to have meanings. None, of course, that Matthew remembers. Willingly at least. Never his, of course, then again maybe Sandie Urbino delegated him to some other kind of object in his arsenal.
His sister always hides behind him just out of sight, brown eyes trained on the wall, but still stands tall. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective. Groceries in hand, Bernadette waits for her brother to finish his good deed of the day. She just seems to like hiding in peoples shadows, more like. Then again, the shadow of a mountain is more comfortable and inviting when you’ve known it all your life.
“Hello!” A voice rings from below chest level. Turning their gazes, the demon is still in the elevator. Trash bag in one hand, glass cup in the other, “Care to help?”
“Oh shit, yeah, of course,” The muscled man leans down, taking the slushing trash bag with a grimace before lifting her out by the hand. This time, no stumbling from too much strength. Perfect balance and perfect visage.
“You alright?” He questions her, scanning her up and down. His eyes linger on the obvious places, not much is left to the imagination, but only for a second. Eyes shoot back to Matthew, “Both of you?”
“Yeah, yeah. We’re fine,” His stance is a bit more rigid than Sandie’s relaxed one. Weight shifting, foot to foot, as he turns and looks down the hall, “Thanks for the help, we’ve got it from here.”
The demon has bent down to pick up where she left the glass on the ledge before being raised up, taking the trenchcoat with her as she stands tall. From the little girl's eyes, with the woman being closer, she looks taller than both the men she knows. Looks more put together as well.
“You sure? The elevator just broke, I don’t mind helping you get back,” Sandie says, eyes barely leaving Matthew's general direction, “Probably a long way back down. Just the two of you,” Eyes only flickering back to the woman at the last part.
Before Matthew has a chance to fully stand up, picking up his bag, the demon cuts in, “We’re not headed down, we’re going to his apartment.”
His stance becomes even more rigid than before, grip on the trash bag tightening, Sandie’s posture matching Matthews previous one. A small snort leaves the little black haired girl, hidden by the sudden rifling through white plastic bags. His head whips around to his little sister, red flaring out around him and revealing a fresh undyed undercut, snatching the chocolate bar out of her hand. Reprimanding her about eating sugar too late at night, she barely even bothers with a reaction, an almost unnoticeable pout.
As he turns back around, he barely catches Matthew rolling his eyes, “Well. I’ll leave you to it then. A bit of a surprise though, didn’t take him to be the type to foot the bill on anything other than cigs,” Fully turning away from Matthew, he strides past the demon, blue eyes focused on the furthest end of the hall, past his own sister. He picks up where he left his grocery bags and Hyrule flag, rushing the girl along and popping the staff into her hands.
Animalistic orange eyes flicked across his frame, noticing how his hands are now balled in fists, veins popping beneath warm sand colored skin, “Mm. How kind.”
Sandie falters in his step for a moment, before continuing on. Rather than leaving the topic be, she asks, “What's your relation to him?”
“He’s- he’s a neighbor. That’s all,” A slammed door echoes in the distance of the hallway, just the two of them left, “An estranged friend, maybe.”
The demon looks unconvinced, raised eyebrow and folded arms, staring at his turned back. Finding it a better use of her time, she brushes past him on the way to the stairway's green entrance sign. Heels echo throughout the hallway, undulled by the carpeted flooring.
“I-,” Matthew stops himself from talking, quelling his questions. He’d rather ask and receive answers in his apartment. It would be easier to put things together that way, he hopes.
Turning back at the sound, a questioning, “Hm?” resounds through the empty stairwell, alongside the metal door slamming close. The cement seems to stretch eternally, forever leading upwards. Echoing sound infinitely.
He thinks for a moment, is it worth it to fully question things right now? A great expanse overhead, thunder echoing outside, the only difference here being the lack of metal ceiling. Would it pan out the same, just for no answers as always, “It’s just-”
“The deal? Wondering how it works?” She cuts him off before he finishes, practically reading his mind.
“...yes.”
“Here, let me show you,” She steps closer to him, palms facing the great expanse above. Looking him straight in the eye, orange eyes rimmed with the thinnest of limbal rings, barely noticeable from the size of the iris. Large black pupils mirroring his own tired, black rimmed under eyes.
“Imagine a pulley system. You know how that works, right?” Metal, silver and wheel in center. Enough for a rope to pass through
“Just about,” he says. A bit of annoyance seeps into his tone, the topic isn’t exactly something that needs to be dumbed down. A look from her, a smile with all teeth and ever present eyes with a head tilt, settles him down.
“Alright, imagine a rope in the middle of the stairwell. Two of them side by side, hanging down,” Imaging as such, a pulley far above, latched into the cement ceiling. Ropes dangling in the middle of the circling square stairs, infinite in both directions, “One has four ropes, leading to a large wooden slab, one big enough for two people to stand on. The other having, lets say, a big rock tied up well enough by the other end of the rope.”
“And what will this do?” He questions, eyes trained on his palms mirroring hers. For a moment, he questions how it’s supposed to work. The magic, does it rely on empty space to appear, or is the summoning of just about anything happen regardless of obstacle. How would the pulley even connect into the ceiling without being drill-?
Stolen story; please report.
“An improvised elevator, obviously.”
The words shock him still for a moment, before, “A what!?”
The yell echoes across the gray expanse, the yellow guardrails ringing from his voice. The sound surprises even the demon, a jump from her solidifies it. Her pupils shrunk from the loud sound, as well.
“Fucking Hell! There is no reason to scream in my damn ear!” She hits him on the shoulder, a palm hit. Right after, she pushes her hair back, fully palming her bangs back and taking a moment to step away. Eyes clenched shut, other hand on her waist.
“The hell do you mean ‘an improvised elevator!?’” Rightfully so, he yells again. What need do they have for a rickety elevator out of the stone ages? If anything, the only reason the lights haven’t gone out is purely by luck the city generator hasn’t been hit yet.
“Exactly what it means, dipshit. Do you want to get to the next floor or not?” Finally letting go of her pained expression, her hand falls back to her side and points up.
“Its four fucking stories! You don’t need an elevator for seven flights of stairs!” Gesturing with both of his hands towards the stairs, her eyes roll from his antics. With a shake of her head and a cruel laugh, she simply gives in.
Giving a mock bow to him, arms outstretched either side, “Fine! You want to walk up the stairs on your own, be my guest! I was just trying to be nice!”
For a moment, everything silences. The thunder outside the building, already dulled by the multiple layers of concrete, now no longer heard. The prolonged ringing of the guardrails no longer there, the constant buzz of the warm lights waning. The lack of sound louder than the previous muffled storm.
The eerie feeling of emptiness makes the beat of his heart in his ears more present than when held against the metal wall. He can hear his blood rushing, a slight ring accompanying it. A flap of feathers sharpens his focus back from the overwhelming feeling of unease and self disbalancing. Black consumes his vision for a moment, ducking back, wind rushing past his ears.
True to her words she leaves him on the 23rd floor. A black bird flies from before his face, electric fire light meets his eyes only for a moment. The crow dives through the middle of the concrete spiral, beneath his view.
He rushes to the edge of the guardrails, pale fists gripping the chipped yellow paint. Nothing except a small black bird shooting to the ground shows itself to him. Just spirals of cement, again and again echoing his momentary frantic footsteps.
Before realizing it, the night-bound black crow shows itself again, blurring past his face and sending him stumbling back. Barely thinking, rushing back to the edge for another glance, this time looking above to the endless expanse above.
Barely missing her, the shadowed tailfeathers barely able to be seen before dodging above the cement flooring. Just in view, beside the yellow guardrails, a large number 27 is painted on the wall. Cracked paint the same as the guardrails.
The silence permeates the empty stairwell again, before being quickly replaced by the usual silence. Dull thunder can be heard again echoing down.
The silence continues, Matthew stuck in place, waiting for her to make a sound. The lack of it after a few moments has him turning back to his dropped items, trash bag and dropped trenchcoat. The bowl and spoon are sitting on the tan jacket, luckily no broken glass to be seen and lacking any cracks. Unfortunately one more thing to balance and carry up the next four flights.
Making his way to his left, up the stairs, the first flight, opposite to the muted yellow number 23.
The stairs are the same as ever during the night. Two flights per floor and long landings. Constant and gray, the yellow chipped and barely standing out. The occasional stains contaminating the floor, old and incapable of being washed away. Now that he thinks about it, he doubts he’s ever actually seen any of the janitors of the building.
Then again, it's doubtful anyone would waste their time in such a dull expanse of a spiral. Perhaps he should have taken the offer. Learn more about the deal, the fact she’s a demon, how it works, let her be right. Not exactly necessary however, it's simply five more flights of stairs. It’s easy, he’s done enough cardio for this to be fine. He’s never exactly had to use the stairs all that often, but elevators break all the time. No doubt others have had to walk up further than he has.
A voice echoes down from above, pausing him in step for a moment, “You know, leaving you in silence seems too easy. Whatever shall we do about that?” An audible smirk can be heard in her voice, musings on how to make his life harder pleasant to her ears.
“Are you interested in mythos at all?”
Mythos? Really? Why would he be interested in the why’s and how’s of old stories? The matters in which they affected don’t matter here. Old stories and old histories only affect themselves, the morals they teach are better learned in practice, not pondered only to forget later. Why are there so many stairs in this building?
“No, thank you. I prefer the quiet,” Matthew continues up the steps, unfortunately they only seem to go on forever, becoming longer and harder to climb. Perhaps he never should have read those notes, should have written them off as madness, should’ve never staked his life on them. Sold his soul, God what is wrong with him?
“Now, Faustus, what wouldst thou have me do? Await in silence?” Her voice echoes throughout the spiral again, smirk louder than before. An old accent marred her euphonic voice as she leaned back against the rails, head leaning towards the empty middle of the stairwell, “Oh! The silence which strike a terror to my fainting soul!”
Who the fuck is Faust? Matthew ponders why he would know such a name, is it meant to be regional? European, most likely. Not his strong suit.
Looking up through the stairwell, she’s again to his left and only two floors above him, “Is this necessary? The prose is great and all, but you were the one complaining about my voice earlier,” for a moment her head turns, but not fully to look at him. Black hair curtaining behind her head.
Face tensing for a moment, scoffing laughter ringing true against the gray, “And through heaven above, proclaim the elevation of the host!” Hands raised, pushing herself away from the edge and spinning past his vision. What need does she have to listen to him? A pause in her steps does nothing to stop his.
“Or perhaps you enjoy more mainstream types? The kind you can make allegories of?” Back to the railing, both hands on the edge and looking down at his spiraling figure. How rude does she want to be? Poke fun at open wounds, maybe dig a little deeper. Her head lifts, staring at the adjacent wall, eyes focused and focusing on what she knows.
Matthew continues up the steps, she’s now only about one story above him. An attempt to get under his skin is unnecessary when she has already succeeded. How long will the deal last? He hopes the time frame of it is shorter than how long these stairs seem to be taking him.
“Oh woe is me, the ‘confirmed bachelor’ dredging up the tireless mountain, forever pushing up the immovable boulder?”
Perhaps when he gets up there he should push her over the railing. A shame she can apparently fly, jail sounds like a better waste of his time. Adjusting the trenchcoat over his shoulder, he continues up the stairs, fingers tightening their grip on the stolen glassware as the spoon makes a tiny sound as it slips slightly in his clenched digits.
Finally at the top of the stairs, one last remark is thrown at him, “Who dares to seek the sun, and yet still want more,” she stands back up from her leaning over position, meeting his gaze head on. A tilt of head is all he needs to rush towards the door, a bit of an oversight on his part.
Striding forward, she opens the door for him. Her everpresent smirk might just burn itself into his eyes, just the same as his incorrigible attitude will ring in her mind for far too long. A quick pass and they are on their way. Heels clacking against pearly black floors.
She notices that this floor of the building is, more polished, for lack of better words. Maybe stale would fit it better, the lighting fits the same as the same as the lobby and elevator. The modernist setting is almost enough to make her skin crawl.
Sooner than she realizes, they are stood before his apartment door, room 2263 on the gold nameplate beside the door. Odd numbering system she muses as Matthew continues to fumble around with his bearings.
She does find it a bit odd that the doors are so spread apart on this floor. No windows and oddly long and large, thin, hallways. The bag hits the floor. Maybe its a duplex tower, it would explain the odd way the windows grew taller the further they went up when looking from outside. Wondering which way the grand window faces, the jangling of keys scratching against metal gives her her cue.
Matthew stands before the door after unlocking it, keys still in the door, barely pushed open. Throwing the trenchcoat back over his shoulder, switching the glass from left to right, and picking the trash bag back up, he kicks the door open and takes the keys out with his pinkie in the ringhole at the same time.
She was right, it is a duplex. A pathetically messy one.