Passages: Bruce B and Matt M
[The hotel's old planks creaked under Matt's weight as he moved with an old man's cautious gait down the hallway. The hotel was a curious thing to a man with senses such as his, offering gaping voids and peculiar smells from disparate worlds available through the shifting doorways. Matthew came from a world in which a person could confidently blame such things on the devil and witchcraft, and having a personal acquaintance with many a witchbreed himself, Matthew gave the doors a wide berth as he moved down the exact center of the hallway. He wore his mismatched dark clothes and blindfold, because it made him feel more comfortable and also hid the undoubtedly ruinous condition of his still-healing face and body. His lungs were no longer whistling in his throat, however, which he took to be a good thing, and he knew that the lady Clementine's fussing was probably more justified than he liked to think.
Still, Arachne had spoke of this man before her death, and because he had been told of only her passing, he felt the promise he had not fulfilled most keenly, even as he tested painful limbs and pressed split lips together.
He found the room and the man mostly by sound, the only other beating heart on the floor, and hesitated in the doorway.]