Harlock couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this sober for this long. Not exactly a bad thing, but he’d long-since begun to crave a drink by the time he made it to the apartment the little cretins said he now took residence in. His eye found the kitchen as soon as his foot hit the small living area, but there wouldn’t be anything there.
At least, nothing there belonged to him. The imps might have mentioned a few things about someone else living with him, but he brushed that off as a joke. As he kicked the door closed behind him with the heel of his boot, he frowned at the signs that the place was occupied – small things out of place, a cabinet slightly ajar. Four doors lined the walls, too many to house one. Perhaps the most telling sign of a roommate was the young girl already in the space itself. He blinked at the sight of her, as if willing her to be a momentary hallucination.
Still, she remained - a very young girl. Not his ideal roommate, but then, no one was. And where were his manners? “Excuse me,” he said at length, reaching back and belatedly knocking at his own door. “May I come in? I believe I live here now.”