Rainie was getting increasingly frustrated with the others. Why wouldnâ€™t they just<span style="font-style: italic">listen?!</span>She had a gut feeling about this. They needed to check this place out. Smashing windows wouldnâ€™t work. And if it did, it was probably freezing out there, considering how chilly it was<span style="font-style: italic">inside</span>. Although, as she thought about it, the air felt sort of stagnant, humid. It felt..gross. Rainieâ€™s brow creased, wondering...<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">â€œBecause it wonâ€™t work.â€</span></span><br/><br/>Rainie glanced at the speaker, eyes curious. It was the man with the cigarettes. She studied his face briefly, deciding that if she were to draw it, she would do so in a light pencil sketch. She thought about these things randomly.<br/><br/>What stunned her, however, was when he took his â€“expensive- iphone, and hurled it at a window. The device shattered on impact, splintering mechanical parts, plastic, and green circuit boards on the floor. Rainie blinked curiously at the mess and the unharmed window.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Point taken.</span><br/><br/>Although, iPhones were notoriously delicate. She wondered what her Nokia could do to the glass...<br/><br/>She had dropped her phone down the stairs once... And it had left a dent in each step it collided against.<br/><br/>But she ultimately decided against it. There was the cold to consider, as well.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"The door has been opened."</span></span>Said the man with the cigarettes dryly.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"I'm going to play ball, because I can take a hint and I don't think I'm any better off just sitting here. If you do, feel free to stay."</span></span><br/><br/>The cigarette man stood, fumbling slightly with his cigarette, almost unnoticeably. But Rainie had dedicated many hours to watching people. She noticed an accident when she saw it.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">â€œGood point, sitting around is getting us nowhere. The least we can do some looking around to see if we can find out how we got into this mess.â€</span></span>Said one of the men, looking at Rainie.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">â€œDoes this mean youâ€™ll be the volunteer that goes down the hallway where that sound came from to see what awaits us?â€</span></span><br/><br/>Rainie glared at him, noting the challenge in his statement. She didnâ€™t want to lead this. She had no wish to stick her neck out for the safety of these people she didnâ€™t trust. And with this statement, she trusted this particular man even less. Encouraging her to go down the hallway alone? It was like he was<span style="font-style: italic">inviting</span>her to walk into a trap.<br/><br/>But he wasnâ€™t done. He continued.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">â€œI-if this really is just a house, nothing will happen to us. Whoever put us here just wants to have some fun, evidently. We definitely are being fucked with, thatâ€™s for sure. Iâ€™ll bet this is one of those stupid shows like Scare Tactics where they place people in life threatening situations just to make them piss themselves.â€</span></span><br/><br/>He was just as scared as the rest of them. Just masks.<br/><br/>So she just stared at him evenly, meeting his challenge with steady resolve. â€œWhy on earth would I go there alone?â€ She spat monotonously. â€œIf youâ€™re brave enough, come with me.â€ She said, daring him to insult her resolve again.<br/><br/>She looked back to the cigarette guy, who looked determined to go down the very hallway. He led the way, and Rainie let her own relief show briefly on her face while no one was looking. Then she followed, no apprehension in her steps. She wanted to see what was behind that door too.<br/><br/>The hall echoed with footsteps, hers and the man she lingered behind. Her curiosity was what made her feet move, but her uncertainty made her hold back and let him look first. She reached the door shortly after him, and peered around him and inside.<br/><br/>It was an old fashioned study, with a big mahogany desk with yellowing papers, an unused hearth, and a large, dim window. There was a large leather chair and velvet curtains, bookcases, an inkwell on the desk and a telephone. In her mind, Rainie wiped away the dust and turned the telephone into an old-fashioned Victoria-era Eiffel style phone. Eiffel phones had always been her favorites.<br/><br/>With the dust wiped away, it was the richest room she had seen so far. The deep red-brown of the desk, the soft, textured yellow of the paper, the majestic burgundy of the curtains. She stepped around the cigarette man and stepped inside, eyes taking it all in.<br/><br/>She would paint it oils, during the early hours of evening. Perhaps she would set a model behind the desk. A man with a smart suit and a cravat, perhaps. She would also stand back against one wall, to catch the scene at an angle. But what would she use? Oils took too long to dry. Acrylics were too...cheesy. Watercolors, too light. Too airy.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Oil pastels,</span>she decided. The range of colors in the room demanded paint, and oil pastels would work perfectly.<br/><br/>She gave the room a look over and stepped over to inspect the phone. Maybe their cell phones werenâ€™t working, but perhaps the land lines would function? She ran her finger over it curiously.<br/><br/>â€œDo you think the phone--â€œ Rainie glanced up at the man with the cigarettes, who remained in the doorway. But she stopped short, her words silencing.<br/><br/>â€œ...Are you alright?â€ she asked, blinking.