7 Deadly Roommates

by George Saoulidis

  He took the long commute north, back towards home.

  Chapter 4: Superbia

  “What did you think of him?” the rich woman said.

  The blonde replied, “I’m not sure yet. He has potential, but it remains to be seen.

  The top-floor restaurant overlooking the Parthenon was one of the finest in Plaka. A waiter poured more champagne in their glasses and they clinked them together, just a slight tap, like ladies.

  “Here’s to a good one, then,” the rich woman said. She wiped the edge of her mouth with a fancy cloth napkin, and breathed in as if preparing herself for something. “Did you get him to agree to the terms?”

  The blonde grinned. “He didn’t even glance at them, he agreed on the spot.”

  “Excellent, my dear,” the rich woman said with restrained joy.

  “I’m certain our sisters are on their way to him as we speak.”

  The rich woman looked up, thinking. Her golden jewelry tingled as she moved her neck. “I have this image in my mind of Acedia running towards him.”

  “Well, she might run indeed, so that she may have more time sitting around and doing nothing.”

  The rich woman chuckled at that. “Good one. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past her. She really does have strange motivations. Or lack thereof.” She picked up her ridiculously expensive clutch and fished out her credit card. With a slight wave, the waiter strode close and took it, going off to complete the payment.

  “Why do you always come here before a job?”

  The rich woman glanced at the ancient temple atop the Acropolis hill. She gave it some introspection. “It... grounds me. Helps me remember who we are.”

  The blonde grunted and nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.

  “Not to mention that this is the last bit of luxury I can enjoy for a long while,” the rich woman said, taking in the champagne’s aroma.

  Chapter 5: Horace

  Horace queued to get through the automatic gates at the metro station. He juggled his box of things and his electronic pass in his hands. As he was about to swipe and go through, a large man cut him off and swiped instead, walking in front of him. Horace found it rude but let it go, and harrumphed as he balanced his step through the narrow gates.

  He waited for a bit, and his arms got tired. He looked around and the only place to sit on was on the bench, right next to the large man. Now that Horace had the chance to take a look at him, he was the bodybuilder/asshole kind of person. Tight t-shirt over bloated muscles, dyed hair according to the latest fashion, tattoos, skinny jeans. He also rolled a komboloi in his hand, a circle of thread with beads in it, a traditional Greek alternative to a stress ball.

  Horace had no beef with the guy, so he sat down next to him. The seats were tight, and it was as if the man felt obligated to claim his space for he stretched and turned and slowly pushed Horace to the side. Horace tsked but said nothing.

  After a few minutes, the metro came. He got inside and stood in the middle of the compartment, putting his box on the floor, making sure it was out of the way.

  Horace looked outside and his mind wandered. He didn’t realise that the large man had leaned down and grabbed one of his action figures from the box. It depicted a female warrior from a game, Horace only liked female action figures, and she was particularly buxom and wearing a skimpy outfit.

  “What’s this? Jerk-off material? Playing with dolls, are you?” the large man said, waving it around.

  Horace blushed with shame and he felt his blood boil. He didn’t want to confront another person this day. Actually, he didn’t want to confront another person this year, his quota had been used up. Not to mention that the large man was a head taller and about twenty kilos heavier, and they were all muscles. “Please, give me my action figure.”

  “This thing?” the large man smiled but he wasn’t friendly.

  “Yes. It’s mine. Please give it back.” He waited with a palm up.

  “Want your doll back?” the large man said slowly.

  “Yes- What? No, it’s not a doll. It’s an action figure, and it’s a collectible. Please, give it back.”

  Horace didn’t want to confront the large man in this confined space. He waited and was ready for anything.

  But he wasn’t ready for an elbow in his ribs. “Ow!” he started, stepping back. It came from below. A short woman stood there, frowning at him. She had black hair that poked around her head in angry short curls, an angry face on a head that was slightly larger than it should be for her height, and angry arms that were thicker than Horace’s. She definitely had dwarfism, Horace could tell from the proportions of her head and her limbs compared to her body.

  “Aren’t you gonna fight back?” she asked, slapping her fist inside her tiny, but very powerful-looking palm.

  Horace had no clue how to answer that. “I have no clue how to answer that,” he said, staring at her, mouth open. “Fight who? You?”

  “Not me, you idiot! But I wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with you. You look like a bleeder, it will be fun. No, I’m talking about this pile of meat over here. Punch him in the groin.”

  “What? No, why?” Horace said, shaking his head.

  “He took something from you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes...”

  “So punch him and take it back!” she said, slapping her fist in her palm again and making Horace jerk back.

  “I will not do that,” Horace said, as calmly as he could. What was it with this day and insane women telling him what to do?”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” She waved him away with her small hand. “If you were ready, we wouldn’t be here, would we? Okay, fine, don’t punch him in the groin, even though it’s nice and exposed like that. Then at least, get back what he took from you.”

  The large man wasn’t paying attention. He was checking out the breasts on the action figure and showing it to people around, chuckling and pointing at Horace.

  That was rude.

  Horace balled his fists but kept calm. He decided to deflate the situation with cunning instead. Digging his hand into the box, he pulled up two more action figures, one that was a cat lady, still busty, and another of a witch. He presented them to the large man. “Here, you seem to like playing with my dolls. Have some more.”

  The large man frowned down at him and then threw the action figure at Horace’s chest. It bounced off and fell on the floor. Horace wanted nothing more than to pick up his collectible action figure from the dirty mass-transit floor, but managed to stay still.

  The large man grunted and stepped away, suddenly engrossed in his phone.

  Horace picked up the action figure and placed it back in the box.

  The short lady put her arms on her waist and frowned some more at him. “Hmm. Not what I would have done, but it was a confrontation nonetheless. Don’t let anyone say I cheated ya. Here, grab my token.”

  Horace squinted at her and was about to ask what the fuck she was talking about, but then remembered the app. No way! This was nuts. He was nuts? Perhaps. He fished out his phone and opened the Evil Thoughts app, pointing it at the lady dwarf. There was indeed a token hovering in the air before her, spinning slowly just like before. It said wrath in Greek, ΟΡΓΗ.

  “Seriously, lady, what the fuck is happening here? Did you follow me around?”

  She laughed whole-heartedly and slapped him on the shoulder. It stung, it seriously did. She was very strong. “You’re funny. We’re gonna have a blast.”

  “We? How? Do I know you?” He looked her up and down, even if that distance wasn’t that much to cover. She wore a plain red dress and brown moccasins that were more suited for a man. The hair was like a black mop on top, and she was somewhat average in beauty, barely touching the level of pretty if he had time to get used to her. Nope, he’d never met the crazy woman before in his life.

  “This is your stop, ain’t it?” she said, and before he could actually look up and check he got kicked out, literally kicked out the coa
ch’s doors by the dwarf lady.

  He stumbled and looked back, her short leg still in the air.

  The doors closed and she waved him off as she left the station, sliding to the left.

  He looked around. Nope, he wasn’t in the right stop, it was one too early. The metro stopped at Kifisia station anyway, it was the end of the line, that was why we never paid attention while returning home.

  He grabbed the box better and started walking home, basically going along the tracks. He could wait for the next train but he was too angry to wait. He was gonna pace up and down anyway so he might as well pace towards home. It was hot and he got sweaty.

  Why were these things happening to him? Did he have a bull’s-eye in his back or something? He seemed to be on the receiving end of crap such as this for as long as he could remember. The same way some guys had a don’t-fuck-with-me face, Horace seemed to have a sucker-here face.

  He put one foot after another and walked towards home. The last two stations weren’t that far away after all, and the setting sun between the trees made it cool and nice to walk about.

  Chapter 6: Horace

  Horace had enough for one day. Getting fired, meeting with weird women, confronting not one but two scary people, not to mention the heat. He was panting and sweaty and the front door to his apartment building seemed like an oasis.

  Sure, he was unemployed now. But that was a problem for later.

  He walked up the stairs, it was only the first floor and he didn’t wanna wait for the elevator. He fumbled with the box, again, found his keys and got inside.

  His apartment was big, too big for a bachelor living alone.. Of course, he could never afford it on his own. It was his parents’ house, the one he grew up in. His parents had gone to visit some family in Australia for a prolonged summer in the winter, since seasons are swapped there, and decided to stay.

  No really, they went there, loved the place, said, ‘What the heck, we’re retired anyway,’ and asked him to ship off some of their belongings to them.

  So he was left alone in a three-bedroom apartment in northern Athens. The area was called Kifisia and it was one of the prominent ones, but it was way too far away for the daily commute down to central Athens. The mass transit was frequent but as with everything in Greece, you couldn’t really rely on it to be on time. Horace usually spent at least one hour, maybe an hour and a half back and forth every day. And that was on the days with proper service, because the frequent strikes by the bus or the metro drivers were creating new and exciting obstacles for him to overcome.

  That was Greece for you.

  He put the box down which had soaked sweat from his wrists where he held it. He kicked off his shoes, a habit from a lifetime of having his mother drill good manners into him. And he went straight for the kitchen, poured a cool glass of water and downed it all. In the same motion while chugging water, he spread his arm to unlatch the window and let some of the afternoon breeze in.

  He found it open.

  Had he forgotten it? That was stupid, Horace. The apartment was old but burglaries were pretty common around these parts, and couldn’t afford the fancy home alarm system.

  Shrugging and making a mental note to check the balconies and the windows before going out, he opened the fridge. The chilly air felt nice on his cheek.

  “There’s no more lemonade. You should go for another grocery run,” a tired voice said from the living room.

  Horace nodded in agreement.

  Then he froze in shock, because he remembered he lived alone.

  He turned towards the living room and walked like a cat, stepping softly with his socks. He looked around for something he could use as a weapon. He had an ornamental dagger from some old videogame. It was flimsy, but the burglar didn’t know that. Putting one foot in front of another, he carefully approached the living room and peeked inside.

  The TV was on. Indeed, cans of lemonade were thrown all over the place.

  Someone was sitting on his sofa.

  A female someone.

  He looked behind him, then tension lifted from his shoulders. Putting his back towards the wall so he couldn’t be surprised by anyone else who might be inside, he walked in the living room carrying a fantasy dagger.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he squeaked, a lot higher in pitch than he’d like. He cleared his throat and repeated the question deeply, like a man. “I mean, who are you?”

  The woman turned slowly to him. She had droopy eyelids, she looked like he had interrupted her nap. How rude of him. She wore light blue pyjamas that had lumps of thread from the excessive use. They looked comfy and soft, and Horace was certain Evie would like them. She had a blanket on her feet and was sitting comfortably, coiled on his sofa. She was platinum blonde, and very thin. Her motions were veeery slooow, and her voice sounded faraway, like Luna’s from the Harry Potter movies. “Hello Horace. I’m Acedia. Nice to meet you,” she said and smiled slowly at him.

  Horace realised he was threatening a skinny girl with a knife, so he pointed it away. But she had after all broken into his home. He then noticed the light blue travel bag next to her. “Yes, nice to meet you, Acedia, whatever. Why are you in my house?”

  “I’m going to live here with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “What?”

  “Oh, excuse me, sometimes I speak too softly. I said, I’m-”

  “No, I heard you. I said ‘what’ as in ‘why?’”

  “Oh, wow. It’s part of the Terms of Service you agreed to.” She slowly turned to the TV, as if the matter was resolved.

  Horace dropped the dagger on the coffee table and walked between her and the TV. “What terms are those?”

  “Horace,” she tsked slowly three times, “you really should read those things. You never know what you might have agreed to.”

  “You mean that app?” he asked, frantic, looking for his phone in his pocket.

  “Yes!” she said with the minute excitement her eyes could muster.

  He found the app and went through the terms of service, scrolling wildly.

  “Let me help you with that. It says that the mortal, from hereon named user, agrees to provide lodging and all necessary amenities in exchange for guidance.”

  “What sort of guidance is that?”

  She chortled slowly. Then she stood up and it was like watching a glacier come towards you. When she finally closed the distance, she touched his temple with her bony finger. “Thought guidance, of course.”

  Her eyes were light blue and he lost his train of thought for a minute as he felt her presence so close to him. The Acedia slowly walked back to her spot and made herself comfortable.

  On. His. Sofa.

  “Look, lady, I don’t know what sort of prank you and the other ladies are pulling here...”

  “No prank. I’m staying. Now scoot over, I’m watching this show and the remote is too far away for me to rewind it.”

  Horace stepped aside, then looked at the remote. Then at her. Then at the remote, again. It was right next to her.

  Right. Next. To her.

  He snapped. “What are you talking about? It’s right there! The fucking remote is right there! Just move your hand, what, five, six centimetres?”

  Acedia turned her eyes at the remote and stared at it longingly. Then she sighed a deep sigh of surrender, of defeat. Of laziness.

  Horace threw his arms up in the air. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” he said and walked around the coffee table, picked up the remote, and placed it just a few centimetres away right into her palm.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Wow. Thank you, dear.”

  The app glinged and he opened the notification.

  New token collected, it said. The rotating AR object had the Greek word for sloth on it, ΑΚΗΔΙΑ.

  He tapped an icon on the app that said, ‘Stats.’

  Evil Thought

  Tokens

  Gula

  0

  Luxuria

  0


  Avaritia

  0

  Superbia

  1

  Invidia

  0

  Ira

  1

  Acedia

  1

  He frowned, looking at the frail woman on his sofa, then back at the app. What was the name of that dwarf lady? Ira? And Superbia from before at the office, and Acedia right here in front of him. So they were all in on the trick.

  But what was the point to all this? It wasn’t funny. Were there hidden cameras? He was nobody, a temp, people wouldn’t even bother to prank him, let alone with something so elaborate as this, with apps and AROs and various women.

  Horace’s mind raced and he whipped his head back to demand answers of Acedia or whatever.

  His only reply was a soft snoring coming from the thin woman.

  He blinked at her a few times. Still snoring.

  He sighed, then covered her up with the blanket. It was still warm in the northern suburbs but thin people like her were always feeling chilly.

  Chapter 7: Ira

  Ira waited in the coach. When the large guy got off, she got off too. She walked behind him, practically jogging, his legs were so long and hers were so much shorter she couldn’t possibly keep up with him at a normal pace.

  No matter. She worked out, after all.

  He climbed the metro stairs and she shadowed him.

  Despite her red dress, he didn’t pay attention to her. She wasn’t that pretty, and her being different made a lot of men look away.

  Ira clenched her fists and followed him. He got off the metro station and walked down the street. Ira didn’t really know where she was but she didn’t care. All she saw was red in her vision, all that mattered was the unsuspecting son of a bitch in front of her, all she wanted was to pummel him to the ground.

  She saw a beggar approach the large man as he walked past, shaking his foam cup, making the coins rattle. The large man slapped the beggar away and took his change.