"Listen, Schiller, you can't..." Natasha braced herself against the doorframe. As soon as she said that, she squeezed her eyes shut in pain, as though the alcohol was surging into her brain.
"Ma'am, you're drunk. You should go back and get some rest." Schiller held the doorknob with the air of someone seeing a guest out.
"First, I'm not drunk. Second, you need to stop whatever you're doing right now. It's not that it's evil or anything, it's just... you can't do that." Natasha swayed back and forth as she spoke.
"I don't know what you mean, ma'am. I was about to wash up and go to bed. Do you want me not to?"
"You know exactly what I mean!" Natasha gritted her teeth and stared at Schiller. "Don't pretend you haven't done anything!"
"That is the truth." Schiller remained perfectly calm. He was still wearing the shirt he had worn during the day, without a single wrinkle on it. Even his tie knot was perfectly symmetrical. He was immaculate from head to toe.
That appearance only made Natasha angrier. It was as if her fury were entirely unprovoked, as if she were simply making trouble. And if there were any onlookers, they would surely think the same: a reckless drunk had barged into this gentleman's room and disturbed his rest.
A bead of cold sweat crawled down Natasha's back. She looked at Schiller with slightly unfocused eyes and asked, "How many people have you made disappear like this?"
Schiller was about to continue seeing her out when Natasha shoved the door open with one arm and said, "No matter how many there were, I won't be one of them. Let me in."
"There's nothing for you to do here, ma'am. Trust me." Schiller released the doorknob with a hint