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Post by Bucket on Jun 10, 2012 23:37:42 GMT -5
Right hand thrust firmly into his pocket to rub at his worry coin, Nikolai forged his way up the flight of stair in a randomly selected apartment complex. It's wasn't particularly nice, but it wasn't as dirty as the last few he had considered, which was at least a start. In his other pocket were two small polyethylene bottles full of dangerous mixtures.
After seven flights of stairs Nikolai stopped, standing perfectly still to take in the hallway outside of the stairwell door. Not good enough. He moved up one more level. Again repeating the process, he hesitated for just a moment. This was the most quiet level yet. It would have to do. Nikolai pressed onward into the complex, doing his best to ignore the humming of failing light bulbs and the garish paisley patterns on the walls which seemed to be spreading like a fungus onto the carpet. He walked along, considering the door numbers on the apartments. He stopped at 827. 8/27 was Nikolai's birthday. Perfect.
Without even bothering to check if there was anyone looking Nikolai withdrew the two bottled from his left pocket and uncapped one. He carefully squirted the clear fluid into the door's lock, stopping as soon as it began to run back out. Capping that bottle and checking three times that it was secure he slipped it back into his pocket before repeating the process with the remaining bottle. A few seconds of silence passed before Nikolai picked up on the faint hissing sound of powerful acids eating away the lock's mechanisms, liquefying the metal viscera.
With the hard part done, Nikolai gave the door a knock followed by a gentle push. It swung open easily, allowing the sight of the apartment beyond to ram into Nikolai like a steam engine of sensory input.
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Post by Chess on Jun 10, 2012 23:51:57 GMT -5
The apartment currently had no one inside, the owner away at work, to come home in an odd couple of hours. The place was in a pretty poor condition, but it was to be expected from someone that was trying to dodge past the legal system. From the door stood the living room, a rather small kitchen immediately to the left. It was open to the rest of the apartment, except for the counters surrounding the area. There were more than enough blood stains on the counter and in the sink, the product of such slaughter questionably in the freezer that rested against the wall. There was plenty of vodka in the fridge, to be sure, and plenty of glasses in the cupboards. Or, at least, that's what the sink had to say about the issue. To the right of the door was the living room, composed of lumpy furniture that didn't see much use.
To the back right of the apartment was a small bedroom. A surprisingly comfortable bed could be found inside, as well as a nightstand and trashcan. On the nightstand was a carton of cigarettes and an ashtray - almost overflowing with ashes. The trashcan, directly in front of the nightstand, contained ashes and cigarette butts, as well as a few odd pieces of paper. A small dresser (almost more akin to a chest) was to the very far right corner of the room and contained enough clothes to get by, though there were not many in there. A small tv rested upon the dresser, remote on top of it. In the left far corner of the apartment - across the bedroom - was a restroom that contained a shower, toilet, sink, trashcan. Pretty standard. There was nothing in the apartment that gave it any personality, except for the smell of alcohol and cigarettes - but that was present from the beginning. The apartment was poorly lit, like the rest of them, and could use a good scrubbing down. While the clothes were in the right spot, nearly everything else was in a state of disorganization and could use attention, especially the bloodied knives that could be found in the sink. Heavens knows what the owner of them used them for.
Alek, the owner of the apartment, wanted nothing more than to go home. She stood moodily in the bar and watched the man she often worked with run around like a white rabbit out of time as he tried to keep people happy. She planned on leaving early to go home to take a hot shower and sit down with something to drink and brood alone. Checking her watch, she poured herself a drink and lit a cigarette, observing the crowd.
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Post by Bucket on Jun 11, 2012 17:58:39 GMT -5
Nikolai was appalled by the state of the room. It froze him in place to see such disorder. The shock persisted for only a minute though before Nikolai sprung into action, muttering in hushed Russian as he moved into the room, turned immediately to the right, and circled the wall, observing the clutter.
Before long Nikolai made it back to the door, which he swung closed as quietly as possible. The door squealed irritatingly, but the hinges could be oiled later. At the time Nikolai's priority was to tidy up the apartment. First he went to the small cabinets, rummaging around until he found a duster which he wielded as a sword with which to slay clutter. Weapon in hand, he set about the room like a tornado or organization, carefully removing everything in sight from its place, dusting it's place, and setting all assembled objects back in orderly lines of progression based on color for dissimilar objects and size for similar ones such as books.
After at least an hour of organization Nikolai was warmed up and ready to move on. He Went back to the neatly organized kitchen area and pulled out a scrub to replace the feather duster he had put back in the closet. Getting then a bucket of water and a large towel Nikolai set about cleaning the multitude of bloodstains which were offensively marring every visible surface. Another hour of scrubbing passed mostly in silence.
By the time he was finally satisfied by the state of the room it appeared to be as sterile as a surgical ward. There was nothing out of place, and everything was the cleanest it had been in years. Everything except for the refrigerator shower. Nikolai had observed enough to know that you aren't supposed to enter people's bathrooms without asking them first and that you shouldn't take people's food without permission. The idea of another refuge of filth bothered him, but he handed the situation as best he could. The last visible dirty thing in the room was Nikolai himself. The thought was saddening. He was partially soaked from his furious scrubbing and his hands were raw from the same action. The pain reminded him of the cobbler he used to work for. Leather was a rough surface, like sandpaper. Nikolai was musing over the imbalances in the tanning solution that caused such misfortune when the apartment's owner returned.
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Post by Chess on Jun 12, 2012 10:45:07 GMT -5
Alek had stopped drinking the vodka when her partner came back up and gave her a dirty look. She also was asked to put her cigarette out. Her hands were fidgeting and her mood had soured considerably before she walked out of the bar. The moment she stepped foot out of that hellhole of a business she dug out a cigarette and inhaled deeply, stopping her movement to intake the nicotine and close her eyes in pleasure. She could feel the smoke unfurl in her lungs, the chemicals rush through her blood to her brain... It was satisfying. She exhaled through her nose, her trembling slowing considerably. Alek considered the fact she would probably not live to see forty with the way she smoked and drank. Alek didn't really care.
The walk to the apartment complex was not too far away. She was walking up the floors and was very soon at her room, pulling the key out of her pocket. Pulling another cigarette out and placing it between her lips to light, she froze. The lock of her door was wrong. If someone had broken in and was still in there, they were about to meet their maker.
Slipping the key into her pocket and putting the unlit cigarette back into the box, she pushed the door open and slipped into her apartment, looking around. The place was now spotless. She left the door open and took a step into the apartment, then saw the culprit. She slipped into the kitchen and pulled a knife out of the drawer, taking a short moment to make sure the blade was still sharp. She noticed the lack of blood stains on the counter as a drop of her own blood fell to it from cutting herself, her eyes narrowing a little. Moving quickly she into the room where the boy was and grabbed him by his shirt, roughly pulling him up to and slamming him against the wall, if he didn't escape her grasp. She would press the knife to his throat, not caring if she cut him, and yell at him. If he did happen to escape her grasp, she would track him and yell at him, readying lunge at him. She yelled in her heavily accented English.
"Who the hell are you and what the FUCK are you doing in my apartment? What do you want!? You better have a damn good excuse or this knife will soon find itself embedded in your throat, boy!"
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Post by Bucket on Jun 15, 2012 0:21:07 GMT -5
Nikolai, who was panicked beyond belief, tried to express his response in the only way that he could at the moment. "Stop! Stop! You'll get blood on the walls! The walls are clean! You can't get blood on them! I can't handle that!" he pleaded in Russian, the only language he could speak.
The walls should have been the least of the young boy's worries, but they were nevertheless first in his mind. He had just worked to hard to clean them, and now this girl was coming out of nowhere and getting them dirty by touching things and pushing him into the wall. It wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to do that. Nikolai wasn't sure how to handle a situation like that. His hands worked into his pocket and pulled out his coin, which he rubbed furiously between both hands in a futile effort to calm himself. He also clamped his exposed eye shut as tightly as he could, removing the image of the girl's face from his vision. It was a terrible face, screwed up like she was smelling something rancid.
Of course, the knife wasn't helping his panic. The entire situation was terribly uncomfortable. He didn't like how cold the unforgiving metal blade was or how he could feel the zipper of his jacket pressed into his chest by the pale-haired girl's arm.
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Post by Chess on Jun 18, 2012 10:16:39 GMT -5
The knife was digging deeper into the boy's neck, but Aleksandra immediately stopped when the boy spoke. It took her a moment to process what he had said, but she stopped. She hadn't heard Russian in how many years now? She pulled the knife away from the boy's neck, but kept him pressed against the wall. Her face maybe softened a little, but she was still suspicious. It was not unknown that she came from Russian parents. If the government had tracked her down and sent this boy as a spy...
She spoke again, this time in Russian, this time not yelling. There was an edge in her voice, as she was still not completely forgiving for the boy breaking into her apartment, but the Russian certainly calmed her down enough to be willing to talk. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Did someone send you? What does it matter if the walls are clean?
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