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Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2016 9:25 pm
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Preacher looked up at the building and twisted her braid around one finger. It was a fishtail braid, and it had taken damn near forever, but it looked alright. She was here to make good impressions, after all, so junk like that was important. Her forays into the forest, the changing weather, the horrible deluge - everything was nudging her into getting an actual roof over her head, sooner rather than later. The flyer had been like another sign. It was straight-forward: roommate wanted, and just the sort of things she could use. Rent was expensive and, if she could live with bugs and out of a tent for several months, she could handle any roommate. Maybe.
So, she'd called, set up a time to come by and meet the guy and see the place and... Here she was. Preacher scuffed her boot against the sidewalk, feeling unnaturally nervous. She swallowed it and tried taking the steps up to the door two at a time, misjudged, and nearly fell flat on her face. Well then. Tucking a lose strand of hair behind one ear, she rang the doorbell and tried to look appropriately demure and yet sociable.
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Posted: Fri Oct 21, 2016 7:41 am
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Chester hadn't been the one to make the flyer or answer the phone or any of that. It had all been Uncle Alan, the sports-loving long time friend of the family who was not actually his uncle at all. Alan had seen the writing on the wall—or rather "the ********' sludge in the ********' bay, what the ******** had decided to relocate to his Florida winter house a little before the end of hurricane season this year. When Chester had expressed interest in using his apartment in his absence, citing parental interference in his personal life, Alan had given him a knowing smile and an elbow nudge, like they were starring in some cheesy half hour sitcom.
"I know how that is," he'd said, pausing for the laugh track.
It wasn't that Chester wasn't thankful that Uncle Alan had taken care of the ads and the interview scheduling and was leaving behind furniture and wasn't demanding rent for a couple of months so his pseudo-nephew could find a job, but the man really didn't know. There would be no scamming on college girls in Alan's Red Sox shrine of a living room. Even if the first person he was interviewing was female.
Chester straightened his jacket and took a closer look at the list just as the doorbell bing-bonged around him.
Preacher Maria.
Preacher. From the police station.
He debated not answering at all, but that would just be weird, considering she had an appointment and everything. Maybe she wouldn't recognize him without the hat. Maybe she wouldn't remember him at all. Chester took a deliberate breath. If anything, he had to answer before she rang the bell again. He rushed toward the door, pulling it open almost violently as he grimaced down at her.
"Here to see the apartment?" he asked, his voice slightly more pleasant than his horrible smile. Well, duh.
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Posted: Mon Oct 24, 2016 9:19 pm
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Twice this had happened now. Twice he had dreaded facing women he had made a fool of himself in front of, only to have them fail to remember him in the slightest. On the one hand, it was a blessing. On the other, it was rather humbling. He held out his cold hand to shake.
"Yes, the appointment. It's nice to meet you. Please, come in." He held off on giving his name, even though it almost physically hurt not to be cordial.
Back down the hall he led her, past foam fingers hanging on walls and shelves of glass-encased baseballs and swaths of red and white. It was a relatively small living space, since a great deal of this floor was used for storage, but there was a staircase leading up and the kitchen had an island with a pair of stools next to it, one of which Chester gestured to. He took the other.
"This place is my uncle's, though I've been assured that I may rent it for at least a year. Upstairs it's less... sporty. I can show you all of that after any initial questions you might have, I suppose?"
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 12:42 pm
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"Yes, hello, it's you," she repeated back, smirking a bit. She was a little put off that he was going to keep it secret, like he was afraid Preacher would sucker punch him in the gut for even existing. Se didn't really keep grudges. "Nah, what's in tha past belongs in tha past. I dun care, y'know. I don't bite."
Now that was an odd little dance he did - almost a stand, but not quite. "I'd bring it to ya, but it's gotta be signed out 'gain by tha person what brought it. Ya can come anytime." She watched for a few more moments, then took pity on how obviously uncomfortable he was. Bouncing off the stood, she stuck her hands in her pockets.
"Sure. Lead tha way."
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