The Dead Tenants

Next morning finds him helping Charles out in the entryway. There’s a gun holstered around Charles’ hips and hanging on his thigh, but Ramiel’s not really paying attention to it. He’s not at the risk of being shot, even though he doesn’t feel exactly comfortable.

It might’ve been just the way he’s died.

“Natasha’s gonna join us as well soon.” Charles speaks and Ramiel nods. “She normally hangs around at Moe’s. She’s pretty up high up there in 55, so she normally comes to spend her day on one of the lower floors. But she sometimes enjoys the isolation too, you know. Everybody does in a while.”

Charles Ravensdale doesn’t strike Ramiel as somebody who enjoys being isolated, though. He’s left Ramiel’s room around four in the morning, if Ramiel’s clock is to be trusted, and he returned around seven to call him to cleaning duty, if he was feeling up to it. It’s not like the blonde had anything else to do or anywhere else to be, plus he’s managed to snag another hour of sleep and he was feeling weirdly invigorated, so he joined him.

He has found out, in his short talk with Charles while he was getting dressed, that he’d dropped by Simon already. They’d knocked on another marked door on Ramiel’s floor – 9 this time, the one without any letters on. Zero’s door. Whoever the Zero is, they didn’t answer to the knocks and the two men moved on. They went to Moe next and found Natasha with her – Ramiel thought her rather pleasant. The last door they went was number 5, a small person with cute round face, sky blue eyes and sharp tongue. Ramiel thought them to be the woman first, due to their body, but it seemed that Charles and the person disagreed.

He’d never caught their name in the conversation, either.

Natasha arrives with the clicking of bright green pointy shoes that fit her perfectly and match with the small bag she has slung over her shoulder. She steps before the two of them, twirls a little and laughs, but then she slides the heels off and takes flat shoes from the bag she’s brought with her. These don’t match, but these look older too – fit for work around the house, if Ramiel could be the judge.

“What did you think?” The woman’s voice echoes from the entrance. Ramiel had found out that there’s a small supply room opposite of the elevator too, even though they’ve gotten the most supplies from Ramiel’s floor (and cleaned out the blood in front of his apartment too, which had gotten brown and crusty at that point). Natasha reappears in the entranceway a second later.

“Think about what? Your girly twirl?” Charles is snorting, but there’s no malice in his tone – Ramiel had yet to hear that from him. “It was average. I’ve seen better. Could’ve used the dress.”

Natasha makes a not-so-amused face, sighs and points towards the shoes. “About them, idiot.”

Charles’ eyes are blue, Ramiel notices. Natasha’s are dark, so dark that he first thought they were black until he noticed the red circle appearing in them when the sun lit them. But her eyes are not violent red – they’re friendly, warm and rested. Charles’s eyes are more tired. His skin is, admittedly, a lot lighter than Natasha’s and it’s freckled, too, but his eyes are bluish grey, diluted and somewhat worn. They shine brightly, though.

These same eyes flitter towards the shoes and he spends a full minute observing them.

“They look like shoes to me.” He concludes in the end and then keeps sweeping up the front of the entrance, removing most of the debris – it is, mainly, a thin layer of... something. Ramiel supposes it’s what remains of the monsters who couldn’t hide before the sunrise. It doesn’t look like anything of the human origin – grey and crusted, it looks like dust on glue more than anything else. It’s removed easily and Ramiel keeps working too.

Natasha’s multitasking, although right now she’s looking at him expectantly. She’s asking the opinion on the shoes. Oh.

“They look fine.” He says, although he doesn’t sound very convincing even to his own ears. “They suit you well. I like the contrast.” He screwed this one up.

“That’s general idea.” Or maybe he didn’t. Natasha’s gripping the broom lightly, but her movements are quick and sharp. “This one here—“ She makes a vague motion towards Charles, her chin up. “—has no idea.”

Charles throws his hands up defensively and, in the process, drops his broom; Natasha laughs, but her laughter sounds different. It’s like she’s mocking him. It sounds like that but her face doesn’t betray a thing. Ramiel’s not sure that she isn’t truly having fun at Charles’ expense, but Charlie doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that she’s laughing or the way she does it, so the best he can do is assume that it’s how Natasha laughs all the time.

He’s only met her this morning anyway.

“I’m not much of an opinion either, honestly.” Ramiel admits sheepishly and Natasha sends him a blinding smile. It’s quirked just so at the corner of his lips and it tells him: I know. I know, but I have asked you anyway.

“Normally I bother Moe, but she went to Darling. He’s redecorating, or something.” Darling. Somebody in the building might be them.

“Darling?” He asks, curious, just to make sure, or to be surprised. Maybe Natasha’s meant Simon—she could call anybody her darling and Ramiel only thought of it now. He corrects himself quickly: “Your darling?”

The woman does a small wave of her hand, approaches him and pinches his cheek. It takes it a while to register. It feels familiar, far more familiar than the two of them are.

“No, silly. I don’t have a darling here. And I won’t have a darling here anyway.” She doesn’t sound too sad about it. “It’s one more tenant. In the apartment 5. That’s where Darling lives.” So he was right. Darling is somebody’s name after all.

“Oh—I—Thanks. Would’ve been awkward if I made the mistake.” He does feel like she has helped him. Charles comments how Darling will make it awkward anyway, but Ramiel is not sure what he means so he doesn’t respond.

The three of them work quickly – they divide the part they want to clean in three parts, then work separately. They’re all quick and the brooms are soon discarded and brought back to their respective places. Natasha knocks on number 5 and leaves her heels inside, then invites two people with them. Ramiel doesn’t hear what they reply, but Natasha’s shrug and the movement of furniture are enough of the answer for him.

“Where are we going to, anyway?” He asks when they start ascending the stairs. Before getting to the second floor, he hears footsteps – light and easy, somewhat like Natasha’s, only that they’re not coming from her. He’s the first one to peek around the corner towards his own hallway, but when he does, he sees nobody there.

Natasha’s hands land on his shoulder blades and she pushes him towards the second floor hallway – towards his own room. Or rather yet, to the apartment 9; where Zero resides.

“We were going to accost Simon you know? Bully him into coming with us. But we’re gonna try here first and then continue to him. He’s right above anyway.” Natasha sounds very nonchalant when she speaks about this and Ramiel isn’t sure if she should be. Charles doesn’t seem to be worried at all. To Ramiel, so far, this only means he’s tried this before.

There is no doubt in Ramiel’s mind that he did.

They approach the door, but Natasha whizzes past him when they get close, all light grace. He’s thought Moe was ragged elegance – he wasn’t wrong. But Natasha is it – a little lady, all proper and with the best knowledge of dress-up, stature and movements, behaviour and speech. Ramiel’s not sure how long she’s been here – eleventh floor is pretty high up and he didn’t manage to see the words beneath her number.

With the same elegance she always possesses, she knocks on the door numbered 9. Nobody answers.

“Zero!” She’s nearly singing it too, all bright smile and proper manners. “Open up!”

No answer comes for minutes. They don’t move and Natasha knocks again, the sound of her hand against the wood ghastly loud in the silent hallway. Ramiel feels like they’re intruding. They are cut short for an answer still, until, a few minutes later—“Go away!”

So Zero is a woman too, although perhaps a whole different sort of woman when it comes to comparing the types. Despite everybody mentioning Simon, Ramiel can hardly imagine a person like Simon – possibly shy, possibly introverted – and person like Charles, who jumps from one roof to another, to hang out. Together, at the same time.

He has never seen Zero, but he can’t imagine her in company of Natasha already. Moe, maybe. He doesn’t know either of them enough. But Natasha, with her utter elegance and swish of eyelashes and endless cheeky smiles? No. The other woman sounds too harsh.

“We’ve got a new member. He’s your neighbour too!” Natasha keeps speaking, undeterred. “We’re gonna take him to the Coffee Bean, if you want to come?” It’s an honest offer spoken too loudly at the door of a woman. Nobody touches the knob – that would surely be a step too far. Ramiel is always the one for respecting the privacy of another; always, unconditionally.

“I’ve seen him. He better not turn out like the one we’ve taken in before.” Natasha tells her about the door and the apartment – how it’s obviously a spot meant for Ramiel. She even tries to get the other woman out by coaxing her into meeting him, but it doesn’t work. “You know my answer. Go away.” A pause as long as a heartbeat and then: “Before I make you!”

Natasha sighs and Charles pulls her away by the shoulders. A defeat is clear here. Still, Charles approaches the door and knocks softly.

“Do you need us to bring you anything?” He is met with silence. Natasha sighs; she tries to run her hand through her hair, but it’s risen up in a possibly complicated bun – Ramiel can’t tell. Either way, it is spotless and clean and to run her hand through it would mean to ruin it altogether.

The three of them turn around, ready to leave. Natasha’s on the stairs already and Ramiel is just about ready to follow when the door creaks. Lights comes from them, indicating that the apartment 9 is brightly lit. Ramiel can barely make out that somebody is leaning on the door, too, but he cannot tell their features apart.

“Latte.” The woman says and with that, she closes the door.