“The smaller the better, I suppose.”

“Sure, why not. I wouldn’t say famous, yet. But I do have a lot of stuff that I don’t need, and I’m feeling like being a nice person today. Specifically, what do you need?”

“I’m eighteen, actually. Shocker, I know.”

“Well, you’re little in height.”

“Don’t call me little girl… And thanks…”

“But you are a little girl. Anyway, want to tell me why you’re stealing?”

“No, it wasn’t a rat. It was one of my house’s maids. My father hired her when I was thirteen, pretty sure he liked the look of her. She was annoying, and she always kept trying to touch — Anyway, I think she deserved it.” Rohan cleared his throat. “She did.”

“How am I suppose to believe that? You don’t look like a killer, and I doubt you’d be walking the streets. You’d be a dead man yourself.”

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but could you help me? I need a few questions answered about this place, you know, your experience here and what you think about the hotel’s past. It’s for a paper, so it’d really help me out.”

“Well, I’ve got a film to shoot in three hours, but sure.”

“No, it’s not what it looks like, I swear.”

“Take it, little girl. You obviously need it if you’re stealing.”

Victor sat in an overstuffed chair positioned in the far side of the hotel lobby watching as people walked in and out of the building. None of the people looked too terribly interesting and his attention to the hotel guests was starting to fade. It had been an unusually boring afternoon and Victor was craving some excitement or just someone to talk to him, notice him, anything really. 

“Tell me about it, I’ve been waiting for my damn car for an entire hour.” She sighed, slumping into the seat across from him. “And my agent won’t pick up her phone. You really can’t get the staff these days... am I right, handsome?”

“Why? Just leave if it bothers you so much.”

“No, mud baths are my fetish. Okay, that time I was being sarcastic. Joking. Not being serious. You get the idea. But mud is actually kind of awesome. And facials sound fun.”

“Wait... so you do think mud is awesome, or? I don’t know... but I’m getting us some anyway."

He frowned, slightly offended. Although he could understand her rejection of someone like him. “I ain’t a bellboy. I’m a murderer.” He stated, bluntly.  “Bitch.”

“Ooh, fiesty.” She replied. “You’re not a murderer. Killing rats in the basement doesn’t count.”

“I like the sound of that, darling. I think you and I should be friends.” He grimaced, before shaking his head. “Sexual? No, no, no… but it’s good that I’m not your type. That’s not what I want from you. Just friendship. And Louis Vuitton bags.” Sean smiled.

“Friendship and Louis Vuitton bags... I can do that. Why would you want to be friends though?”

Well, she had definitely confirmed her wealth. He smiled, nodding as he listened intently to her, showing much interest. “I see. Well, I know who to come to if I ever need a Louis Vuitton bag.” Laughing himself, his eyes drifted down to her collarbone, observing her hair flow over her shoulder. He quirked a brow at her suggestion of Chanel perfume. She already smelled heavenly.  “No. It’ll be something you can’t quite so easily get rid of.”

“I can get you anything you want if you’re nice to me.. and it’s within reason.” She smiled. Her eyes watched his, and she couldn’t help but feel slightly uneasy. “That sounds sexual.” She laughed. “Sorry, but you’re not my type...”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, and the ghost thing is just a rumour, and I didn’t kick the bucket a few years ago, and–” She paused, counted something out on her fingers, and then nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, whatever. That actually sounds amazing. I have always wanted to surround myself with dirt. I mean, seriously. No sarcasm here.”

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, are you joking again?” She laughed, trying to hide the uncomfortable feeling she felt. “I- uh, don’t... Is that sarcasm? I mean, I know you said ‘no sarcasm’, but... “

Rohan grinned. “Well, where’s your room?”

“I’m kidding...” Hallie scoffed, followed by a slight laugh. “Look at me, and then look at you. Stars don’t fuck bellboys, or whatever you are.”

“I know you could, aren’t you pretty rich or something?” He assumed all film stars were, but he needed the confirmation to continue on with his endeavour. Wasting time was something he didn’t particularity like to indulge himself in. And even though the girl before him was a beauty, he only wanted one thing from her… or several things. Depending on the wealth she had. “I like the way you think.” He grimaced. “I guess you’re right. The real torture will just have to come later.” He almost felt bad for her. However, he had tried to save her from the monstrosities in this hotel, including himself. She chose to stay, and he’d rather she become one of his victims than a victim to one of the more ruthless ‘guests’.

“Something like that.” Hallie smiled broadly. “But my aunt manages one of the stores, so if need be I could just get a discount on anything I want. Not to brag.” She laughed, flicking her auburn locks over her shoulder playfully. “Real torture, huh? Well, I think I can handle it. What’s it going to be next, a Chanel perfume?” 

“Louis Vuitton?” He repeated, the familiarity of the name striking his curiosity. It was then that he had placed the memory in which the famous brand had made an appearance. “I think a lady the other week left her Louis Vuitton bag or purse here.” She hadn’t. In reality he’d stolen it from her, that and her life. But the latter he’d admit was an accident. “It’s still in lost and found. Guess she didn’t really want it, otherwise she’d have picked it up by now. Would you like it?” 

“I’m not going to take some lady’s purse that I could probably afford myself!” Hallie replied, quite abruptly. Although in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but consider taking a peek at such an expensive possession. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just look at the value of it. Maybe test it out to see if I should get one myself.” She said, with a casual shrug. “Oh and by the way... I shouldn’t like my torture, you know..”

“Oh, right!” Vivien lied, again, nodding her head as if she had seen those films before. She had heard of The Breakfast Club from some of the younger ghosts, but she had never seen it – the thought of opening up her mind wide enough to sit down and enjoy a movie that was in color – that wasn’t Gone With The Wind – brought her some kind of strange anxiety. Letting go of the simplicity of the past was something she was still struggling with.

“I doubt that,” Hallie chuckled. “The only female lead role is basically a teenager, and she’s the only female on screen for most of the film. Although I’m sure it would be interesting for a Vivien Harding lookalike to make a cameo... it’ll probably help sell the movie.” She said. “I know, we should get you to play Jim’s mother. The actress we have now is terrible.”