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A Trip to the Hostel

Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.


==Initial Post==

The Chronicles of Scottie Melnik – A Trip to the Hostel – July 06

((Posted by Scottie Melnik on July 6, 2010))

I’ve been pacing in my lab for hours, spinning the events of the last two days in my head. I had even pulled a few vials from the icebox to do some work, but immediately replaced them. I couldn’t work with my mind attempting to comprehend it all.

Two days ago I made a trip to Oldbridge to check out Mr. Underby’s new shop. I had no real reason to visit his shop aside from utter curiosity. As I grew near I saw a new building right next to his with a sign above the door that read, “Rossa Luna”. I absently thought I might check it out later when I saw Miss Namori inside. I stopped cold and observed her through the window, obviously working to get whatever it was ready. I decided to find out what was going on.

It was just starting to get dark as I entered the establishment and called out to Bianca, the name I was still calling her by at the time. It was familiar to me and I hadn’t given up on her yet. She answered pleasantly enough and came to a reception desk. A quick scan of the place showed a stairs leading up to several room off to the side. We exchanged pleasantries easily enough and everything seemed fine. I asked her the nature of her endeavor and she explained it was a hostel. Again, perfectly harmless.

Then she said “As for the name…I got it from a friend. A inside story one could say” and met me with that same smirk that she gave me on the roof just a few nights before. Except it wasn’t the same. It didn’t seem to touch her eyes. Her eyes were… haunted, fighting.

I let the issue of the name go for the time but filed it away for future reference. There was a story there, but I thought it best to proceed slowly. In retrospect I probably should have just pushed because it was all downhill from here. She muttered something about ‘we’ not being able to do this tonight. I inquired as to what she meant and she just glared at me. She suggested a tour and obliged, once again filing this strange behavior away.

She showed me around; common room, kitchen, rooms for rent. It was a nice place, very cozy. Then I noticed she was rubbing her head, like she was fighting a headache. Night fell as we spoke in the common area at the top of the stairs and I asked her if she was okay. She said she had a migraine and grew quiet, staring off. I waved my hand before her eyes, trying to get her attention. She rubbed her head as though I wasn’t there, mumbling again, “Why must you always be so difficult at night? Perhaps Mr. Harvey was right… you need a shrink…” I just looked at her, a bit stunned. Her seemingly incoherent rambling seemed to be pieces of a puzzle. I needed more pieces.

I asked her about Mr. Harvey but she seemed to snap from whatever the migraine was doing to her. She said she had a grand time dancing with Mr. Harvey at her uncle Michael’s Trainwreck, quickly changing the subject off of him and onto me. “Did you enjoy yourself flitting around with women?” her voice had changed, tainted somehow. “None of them are probably as fun as what you’re used to…” and she took a couple steps toward me, her hand reaching up to caress my cheek, “…or deserve.” I narrowed my eyes and took one step back, “Those ladies and I are friends, nothing more. And as to what I’m used to, or deserve, is not really for you to say.”

She looked at her hand as if wondering what would have caused me to step back. She lowered it and closed her eyes, sighing deeply. The girl who had been struggling this evening disappeared and finally coalesced, her manner quite clear now. This wasn’t necessarily a good thing, as it turns out. Her voice took on that of the girl who had been teasing me that night on the roof and the damnable smirk was back yet again. “Pity… I thought you more… fun than a boring old dance Mr. Melnik.”

A bit more bantering and she sauntered down the stairs and froze, her attention focused on the window. She strode up to it as I followed and peered out. I looked over her trying to discern what she was looking at, asking her what was wrong. She backed away from the window and shook her head. I turned toward her, not realizing I was in a corner and my back was against the wall. Even being weary of Bianca I was still disarmed by her. That was about to change.

She approached the receptionist desk and casually picked up a very sharp looking letter opener. She engaged me with small talk about how long we’d known each other and if I’d ever wondered about her but my attention was rather directed at the opener. She stepped forward slowly as I answered that I may have to some extent but never seriously considered anything between us. “Why not? It’s as natural to wonder about someone as it is to have blood in our bodies.” I got a chill from that, but not as much as her next words. As she backed me to the window she whispered, “What a beautiful sight… a stained glass window… of blood.”

I darted my eyes from the blade of the opener to her eyes, “I suppose it is as natural as that. You seem a bit fixated on blood, Bianca.”

“We are… just a little,” and suddenly as I was very sorry I’d taken my eyes off the opener. I felt it sliding along my inner thigh. “But you’re the only thing that excites us, really… everyone else would be dead by now.” My hand flashed to her wrist and gripped it hard, putting distance between the blade and my most intimate parts. At least at first that’s what I thought she was headed for but thinking back, after the blood talk, I realize a man can bleed out quite quickly from a punctured femoral artery. Frankly, I can’t rule out that it might not have come to both.

Sarcastically I yelped, “I’m flattered, but what the hell, Bianca! And who in the hell is ‘us’?” She dropped the letter opener in surprise and her wrist went limp as she acted as if I was the one out of line. With her free hand she reached for my belt, tugging on it tauntingly, her fingers sliding around under my duster when he met the butt of my pistol. Her entire demeanor changed instantly from scary playful to scary cold. Her eyes peered into mine, “I see you don’t wish to play this evening. Pity…”

I brushed her hand away from the colt but kept the hand that had held the opener in my grip, my mind reaching for some reply. I finally settled that I hadn’t planned to use a gun here. She made a rather direct comment about her own hand and attempted to snatch it back. I held firm as that smirk returned, worried about what other weapons she may bring to bear. The shock was washing away and it was slowly being replaced by anger, I pulled her hand up for both us to see, “Who is ‘us’, Bianca?” She played it off that she was referring to she and I, but I wasn’t going for it. I repeated back exactly what she had said and that smirk faded much to my satisfaction.

I could hear her gritting her teeth and her eyes were burning into me. Finally, an honest reaction. She was angry and meeting mine for the first time since these dances had started. I again asked her what was wrong and she merely replied that her wrist was going numb from my grip. That anger of her seemed to fall away as quickly as it rose. I wasn’t having that. I sneered back that this wrist was attached to the hand that held a blade to me.

And then it happened. I don’t know how, but she leaned in and kissed me hard. It was but a moment before I released her wrist and brought both hands to her shoulders, pushing her away just a bit too forcefully. She hit the floor with her rear hard next to the dropped letter opener and just began laughing hysterically, “The petty mind of a man is always so predictable, Mr. Melnik… thank you for keep that theory current.”

She licked at blood on her lip as she looked up at me, I brought my fingers to my own and sure enough, she had bitten my lip, probably in the shove. I was astounded by her claim, noting to her that it was she who had come at with a sharp object and thrown herself at me. She just looked up at me with a devilish look upon her face. I removed myself from the corner and backed toward the door. Again she laughed, claiming I was not afraid of her and then insinuating that working with books made me soft. She rose from the floor, he gaze dead and her voice, hollow and eerie, “What happened to the man… that wasn’t afraid of a little challenge?”

My blood boiled and I stopped backing away, instead stepping toward her now. My eyes met hers once again, matching the deadliness within, whispering, “Don’t tempt me, Bianca. I push you away like this because I know what I’m capable of when back in a corner. Friend or no friend, I’m protecting you.”

She crossed her arms defiantly, stating she didn’t need protection, just the will to survive and the desire to destroy. I nodded and made it known that this much was obvious, but issued her a warning to take care of whom she had designs on and to not push me. Ever.

“Last I checked, I was the one landing on the floor,” she snapped back at me, her voice rising, “Do not worry, I need this place in one piece and what I wish to destroy could be that very cocked-up ego you have before me, Scottie. Whether you like it or not this is what you to be around. The air of freedom, not the prim and prose. So stop lying to yourself and let yourself go for once.” She was yelling rather loudly now, “Stop hiding behind your books before a bird gobbles you up, you little worm!”

I sucked my lip between my teeth, tasting the blood trickling from the bite, my hands clenched in fists and nearly shaking with rage. Clearly I was looking on a completely different woman now. Any illusions I once had that this was Bianca were shattered. I felt myself going to a dark, dark place, a place I had no wish to visit ever again. As close as I was to her I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The rage began to clear and I opened them, “Don’t pretend to know what I like. You clearly don’t anymore.”

She taunted me once again saying that she was going to bring me back, both of them were. It was like she was referring to herself as two different people. Or was there someone else? Either way, I didn’t like the idea of bringing up the past and asked her what she wanted with me. She said I’d find out. I approached the door and replied that I would do just that. As I opened the door I heard her laugh coldly. I turned to face her once more, “Have a good night, Miss Namori,” putting emphasis on the more formal use of her name. As I exited the building I heard her behind me, “Good night, lover, think of me often! I’m sure you will…” and then scoffing, “I know we’ll miss you.”

The walk back to my shop did a world of good for my temper. By the time I got to my lab I paced just like I am now. Putting together what I had learned from the encounter. I may need to watch her, see what she was doing, who she was associating with. It was the next day I ran into Miss Iniko, a friend of hers from the Arabia and another story entirely.

==Comments==

*Comment by Bianca Namori on July 7, 2010 at 1:09am
((-snickers- I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking and I love it. Great capture! I’m glad Iniko came out too! What a great game of clue to come!))

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