Stairs-Chan UnSober Writefagging

(I figured I'd give this writefagging thing a try tonight. I've never actually done it myself but I've read some /monster/ and /tg/ stuff in the past, so here goes nothing. It's also like 5 AM here so there was minimal proof-reading.)


The young man standing before the mansion-like property had never asked for the affluent life of a movie director's son, not that he could fathom why anyone would desire a childhood spent being shuffled around from state to state to chase the next big trend in cinema. Unlike many of his peers, few of which he could call friends, he had not struck out to travel the world on his parents' dime or stepped into the starring roles of half a dozen nepotism-fueled blockbusters.

Instead, the young man had simply surprised his father with a simple request: To inherit one of the old filming properties. He had elected to reside in an old, disused set that wouldn't look out of place in a wealthy Beverly Hills neighborhood, but without the buzz and traffic that came with city life. The building overshadowed him as he approached at a comfortable pace, its tall roof betraying the fact that the building only had two stories.

The new owner slipped inside without a sound, setting his bags down and locking the door behind himself. Slipping the key back into his pocket, he turned and let out a relieved sigh, drinking in the peace and quiet he had longed for after so long; the silent estate filled with soft footsteps as he stepped into the entryway and looked around at the once-familiar set.

It was not long until his nostalgia had faded, replaced with the weight of sleeplessness; prompting the young man begin charting a course upstairs to a bedroom and to turn back to the door and bags-- though to his surprise, his luggage had seemingly vanished!

Shocked, the owner stepped forward to search for his twin suitcases; only beginning to track his gaze upwards along the stairs as the old wood creaked from someone's ascent. The pale, barefoot legs stood on the carpeted stairs alarmed him just as much as his missing luggage did, though as his eyes crawled upwards he spied the ivory dress which was slanted to one side.

He would have continued his visual ascension, had the stark contrast of her bright red undergarments not caught his eyes, only being interrupted by the sudden obstacle that was his smaller suitcase conspicuously drifting in front of it. The change forced the young man to recognize the woman for what she was, made all the simpler by her flushed face matching her all-too-visible undergarments, at least from his perspective.

Embarrassed, the woman suddenly began to shuffle upstairs, prompting the young man to give chase to the second floor, and into the hall; though it is there where he stopped, his forming accusations of squatting and theft being smothered as he caught the woman red-handed... In the act of setting his luggage down inside a spotless, recently furnished bedroom.

The woman began to quietly hold her hands together in front of herself, swaying anxiously in place as if simply being seen was enough to tease her nerves, only for her to soundlessly flinch as the puzzled young man began to speak up.

“... Who are you?”

The question struck her with visible impact, her lip quivering as she floundered trying to come up with a reply. The man took a moment to look over her oddly designed dress, however his patience quickly wore thin and he approached, extending a hand to be shaken as he spoke again.

“Well, I'm Anon.”

He said, putting on a simple smile while trying to place just who the woman was, reaching out to gently take and shake her balled up hands. The physical contact made her squirm ever so slightly in place as she continued to avoid meeting his eyes, preferring to stare at the floor to her left.

“I assume my father sent you?”

The young man followed, finally catching the full attention of the woman as she looked up to him, giving a little nod before returning her gaze to the carpet. The man nodded back, glad to have made some sort of understanding.

“So you're some sort of Maid then, right?”

She nodded again.

“Well... I suppose I'll leave you to it then.”

The man smiled, leaning down to catch a glimpse over her face before she nodded again, hurriedly rushing past him and back down the hall without a word. The new owner sighed, wondering what he'd gotten himself into with his father's 'help' as he began to unpack his things, eager to find the time to take a quick nap...

. . .

With a roll on the sheets and a grunting stretch, the young man slowly rose to an upright position on the bed, still dressed in the clothing he wore on the drive down. A few moments of confusion reminded him of his location and circumstances, quickly followed by the mouth-watering aroma of a warm meal in the air. The source? A tray on the desk, complete with a little clear dish over the plate.

The young man scooted across the sheets, and into the desk chair to dig into the meal, only possessed by curiosity as his awakened hunger was sated. Pondering where the hot dish had come from, he rose to his feet, brushing off his shirt, and making his way back down the second story hall to investigate.

He had made it almost all the way down the steps, trying to plot a course to what he hopefully remembered to be the kitchen, when he found himself stumbling, only barely holding on to the guardrails to keep his ground. Looking down, he discovered his obstacle: The pale woman from before was curled up on the stairs, his foot firmly planted on her arm, the other having already skid across her dress-clad belly.

Stumbling back, the man muttered an apology, falling onto his rear as he scampered back up the stairwell. In return, the woman only quietly sat up, slowly shifting and brushing her hair back into place with her fingers. For a brief moment, the young man could see her face fully, recognizing the dark circles under her eyes and the guilty expression bleeding into the rest of her body language.

The woman quickly slid onto her knees, quietly staring up at the young man's chest as he tried to process the woman's peculiar second appearance, leading to a new question.

“Erm, did you make me lunch?”

The woman gave a more certain nod, as though the recognition gave her some morsel of confidence.

“...And why were you sleeping on the stairs?”

The woman remained quiet this time, only placing her hands in her lap and slinking down like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Don't you have a bed?”

The young man asked his question almost sarcastically, leading to quite the surprise as she weakly raised a hand to point towards the underside of the stairs-- A small arch with a blanket and pillow underneath it, along with what seemed to be a small box of personal items. The young man stared for a moment, his confusion quickly yielding to disbelief as he shook his head, working his way back to his feet and reaching down to take the timid female's hand.

The woman sluggishly remained still, however the stubborn young man began to tug her upright.

“Nobody ought to be sleeping like that...”

He said to her, feeling her try to slip back away and try to stand, obviously shuffling towards her humiliating furnishings; something the young man simply couldn't abide by. He stood first, holding her firmly and leaning down to reach behind her, hefting her body up off the stairs and into his arms.

“Here, let's get you to a real bed, uh...”
“...You still haven't told me your name.”

The woman's meager protests quickly drop off as she's stunned with the question yet again, letting herself be carried by the young man as he ascended yet again. The owner grunted, bemoaning the surprising weight of his female counterpart as he made his way upwards; curiously regarding the smooth suppleness of her body as she hung in his arms like a piece of furniture.

A few shuffle steps and a grunt later, the new owner was laying down the woman over the same slightly-wrinkled sheets he had been snoozing on top of previously, and as the uncomfortable question's effects washed away, she resumed her previous squirming in his grasp.

The woman sat up slightly as he released his grip, only to curl up as the new owner took a seat on the side of the bed, taking a moment to gather himself after bringing his payload uphill. He took a moment, looking up to catch her eyes briefly before she buried her face in her knees again.

“When's the last time you got a good night's rest?”

He asked, practically rhetorically as she turned her head away from him. The young man sighed, planting a hand on her knee and giving her a little shake.

“Hey, c'mon, give me something here. You have a name, right?”

He said with a faintly pleading tone, only for her to bunch up more in response.

“Well, have it your way-- I'll call you...”

He glanced around, his eyes being dragged back towards the doorway to the second floor's hall, only for him to be struck by genius.

“Stairs. I'll just call you Stairs until you tell me your name.”

The woman froze up completely at this point, not even squirming or rocking slightly, leading to a pang of guilt as the young man wondered if the nickname had been too brash or insulting. He sighed and began to withdraw his hand, turning back towards the doorway.

“Well, just do me a favor and get a good rest, alright? I don't want to...”

The young man said, slowly trailing off as he found the woman tenderly gripping his wrist with both hands, gently tugging him closer as if to whisper something. The young man leaned in, finally catching sight of an excited, but elusive smile on the woman's faintly colored lips.

“Do you want something, Stairs?”

He asked quietly, only for the young woman to give a more energetic nod than last...

. . .