Logan Residence
A definite fixer-upper if ever there was one. This house, though, must once have been quite a sight, when it was first built, probably sometime in the late 40's, early 50's and much of its charmed, though tarnished, still remains. Ranch-style, with wider, more open rooms than modern houses, and vaulted ceilings in most of the rooms, on a nice plot of land, even for a West Dallas. But the house seems to have suffered the fate of most houses when the area in which they've been build has become depreciated. The drywall is discoloured in places and needs to be replaced, as do the fixtures and some of the cabinetry. But it's still liveable, with two bedrooms, two baths and a small den. A living room with attached dining area and a kitchen round out the remainder of the house. Simple, utilitarian furniture has been moved in for use of the current resident.
It's quiet, a rare thing, for West Dallas. Perhaps it's the warmth of the day, or the time, just before kids start getting home and parents soon to follow. Or maybe it's just the location, butted up against a small cluster of businesses that all sport 'For Lease' signs and homes that are all, seemingly 'For Sale' or 'For Rent'. But it seems at least one home is occupied. And someone has gone to the trouble to clean up the yard in front of the Logan Residence. Mow the lawn, clean out the old garden row that sweeps around the majority of the house. And there's music, something eastern and slightly exotic, filtering out through the screened, but open windows.
—-
A few moments of solitude pass before a privatized sedan parks itself at the curb outside of the Logan residence, a black BMW of tinted windows and polished rims, perfection tucked into the executive vehicle. The man of the hour steps out of the rear of the vehicle slowly, bringing his cane with him after speaking to the driver ahead. "No need to linger, I'll call," he smiles as he speaks before stepping out more fully and closing the door behind him. With a turn, he lifts his free hand in order to slide his sunglasses on. The man turns in order to look the house over and yard then as the car begins to drive away. He begins to walk toward the front entrance, "Reminds me of home." Chance moves to knock, twice if allowed, before stepping back.
—-
The door does not receive an immediate answer. At least not in so far as the door is actually unlocked. What the knock does receive is a raised voice, echoing back from what must be the rear of the house, "Just a minute!" Feminine, and young, with a vague accent that is decidedly non-southern. And following the voice, the sound of footsteps as the owner of the voice works her way through the house to the door. Though it's lighter outside than in, it's still possible to see a vague outline of her figure, through the screen of the windows closest to the door. Slightly above average height, for a woman, and perhaps youthful to match her voice. Finally, the door opens, and the woman in question opens the door. Her hair is pulled up, a ponytail that takes a few years off of her, with smudges of white powder here and there on her face, and on the simple camisole and cargo pants she's wearing. Still her voice is friendly enough, her expression curious as she looks over the man outside of her door, "Yes? May I help you?"
—-
Chance settles back on his cane and his fingertips curl around the skull placed at its top, smiling briefly to the responding call from the opposite end of the door. He does wait that minute and he doesn't mind waiting at all. While waiting, he removes his sunglasses and pockets them, even straightens his black tie. He lifts his eyebrows curiously to the opening of the door and when the woman at the other end opens up his expression lingers in that lifted tone now out of surprise. He then stiffens and looks aside while leaning back in order to check the address once again. "Stephen Chance," he greets, turning his attention back to her. He holds his weight to his cane and offers his left hand to shake. "I was answering… an ad…"
—-
Paige is rarely one to miss a change in expression, a shift in body movement, but her demeanour doesn't change as she sees the man's response to her, the double-take on the house, "I suppose you were expecting someone like Mrs. Pike?" There's just a slight flick of her eyes towards the yard across the way, where an old purple-tinted haired, muu-muu clad woman is rocking out on her porch, pointedly looking on at the goings ons at the Logan house. What old neighbourhood doesn't have a greying busybody. "The ad for the room to let, please, come in." Paige steps back, bringing the door with her, "I really must apologize. I didn't expect to get an answer so quickly." And clearly, from the way she's dressed, she wasn't expecting visitors, "Can I get you something to drink? I've got some bottled water in the fridge."
You say, "I'm Miss Logan, as you might expect, but you can call me Paige."
—-
Chance slowly nods and he looks down at his hand. Well, he had went for the handshake, it was just an offer, he retracts it to his side and doesn't consider it a complete and utter failure of first impressions since the woman is allowing him to step into the building still. He nods his head respectfully to her and offers a glance over his shoulder to across the street. "No offence to Misses Pike, but I prefer you, Miss Logan." He trails off at that much and steps in to stand to the side of things rather than pace about. It helps with his leg. "It's okay. I've been in the market of things," he turns, smiling to her, "Please." Water would be a nice ice breaker.
—-
"I didn't mean to be rude, and if I was I apologize." The woman calls back from kitchen as she moves in that direction. Just before she gets to the sink, Paige holds up her hands, her own patchy with plaster and dirt. She turns her attention to the sink, taking a few long minutes to scrub her hands clean, before she goes to the refrigerator, which looks newish, and pulls out two bottles of water, "Were you looking for the room for a friend?" That comes as Paige walks the bottles back to you, "As you can see, I'm still working on most of the house, and it's just me, so it's been a bit slow, but the room for rent is completely finished." Now that her hands are clean, she tucks one of the bottles into the pocket of her cargoes, offers you the second, and this time she offers the handshake, now complete with clean hand.
—-
Chance gives a shake of his head when it comes to being rude or not. He understands. He also takes the moment to look around the place once again before focusing in on her direction and stepping towards the kitchen. "Though the probability of me wanting a place like this is, well, honestly, abysmal… It'd be for me, and I can offer all the help I can." He does lift the cane and use it to point out his leg's injury but then he smiles and shakes his mind of that much of a thought. It doesn't hold him back. He still walks. In fact, he steps forward while placing the cane under his arm and accepts both water bottle and shake of her hand, firm but amiable, with him soon grinning. "It's a pleasure, Miss Logan. I assume we aren't standing on an ancient Indian burial ground as well?"
—-
Paige's handshake is just as firm, just as friendly, before she steps back, slipping the water back out of her pocket, allowing you the freedom to wander around the place, «I hate that.» A hand rubs at the cold spot on her leg, «Better.» A hand cracks open the water, as she continues, "Oh, you wouldn't have to help with the house. I mean, you'd be here for the room, «Nice view from the back.», not to work as a handyman." Even if she probably could use the help, "A pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Chance." There's a mischievous look in her eyes, "Oh no, no chance of A Return to Amityville here." An answering grin, as she chucks a thumb back behind her, "You want to see the room now, or go through the rest of the house first?" «This has got to be some sort of prank.»
—-
Chance, with an understanding nod, releases her hand soon enough and moves to hold his cane to the floor once again, using it to hold half of his weight while cracking open the top of the water bottle. Against the crystalline skull of his cane, he holds the cap, and in his other hand he takes a slow sip while walking along. He moves to enter the kitchen and looks over back to her when she speaks up. "If you wouldn't want me to help with the work, then I'd like to pay for the supplies," he pauses and then further adds, walking back to her, "A tour would help. I mean, I do plan on being seen around here more often."
—-
"Oh, well, let's start with your room first." Paige recaps her bottle, though she avoids putting it back in her pocket, as she moves off to the right of the house, towards the backyard, «Good thing I made that trip to the store on Monday.» She opens up the last door on that wall, and pushes it open, stepping inside and leaving the door wide enough for you to step in. The 'for let' room seems to be the master bedroom. It's large and airy, with a vaulted ceiling and nearly floor to ceiling windows that give a rather nice view of the backyard and the side of the house. The furniture is all new, and looks completely pristine. Paige continues on into the bathroom, pushing it open. There's an antique clawfoot tub and all new fixtures. It seems she really did put most of her effort into making this room as nice as possible. «I hope he doesn't hate it.» Once the door to the bathroom is open, Paige turns back, "So this would be your room. There's a lock on the door which only you'll have a key to, so I won't be able to come in. The bathroom, of course. The furniture's all brand new, the bed linens and everything. It's all included, but of course, if you want to bring in your own things, you're more than welcome."
—-
Step-clack-step-clack, Chance's shoes and cane sound off each step he takes as he follows right along with Paige, giving a nod of his head once again. He can tour his would-be room first if need be, he doesn't mind. He's slow to enter but he lacks caution. There's a smile to his features and he steps for the bed itself as she moves for the bathroom. "That isn't counter-productive to safety? I mean, I might have locked the door and could be choking," he jests, all the while he's busying himself with pressing at the mattress of the bed and the sheets atop it with the end of his cane, testing. "I actually just have a small wardrobe, you know, new in town and all. This reminds me of home." He turns, looking to her and by extension the bathroom. "I like it."
—-
"I can force the door if I absolutely have to. And I suppose," she offers, as she moves back into the center of the room, "If you felt safe enough, you could leave a key for me in the house, but you have my word that I would respect your privacy. «No thoughts, but she is telling the truth.» Sorry if you don't like blue and white. But it seemed the most neutral decor I could come up with." The bed is queen-sized, and is platform style, so nothing to whack yourself against in the night, "Oh, there's a side entrance here." She moves over to the far side of the room, pulling back one of the window treatments to reveal a door beyond, which looks rather new, "So you have a private entrance in and out of the house. And you're welcome to have guests. Just if you could let me know in advance so I'm not surprised, just call me or something if it's sudden." She allows the treatment to fall back to cover the door, and moves to the door back into the house, "We could fit your wardrobe in here no problem." «Is it too many rules? It's probably too many rules. I never rented a room to anyone before.» She steps back, moving back into the main house, "You grew up near here?" «No accent, but people can't tell I'm from Alaska either.»
—-
Chance is having some vague amounts of fun in pushing at the bed with his cane, testing it off and on, and then he swings his cane around to his forefront and rests its end to the flooring while setting his weight against it. "So, then, this all seems rather simple and straight-forward." He presses his lips into a light, reassuring smile after looking from the secret entrance to the woman herself. "I was thinking of just burning the lot of it and then buying a new set, but," he trails off at that admission, even if it's somewhat baseless, and lifts his chin, "Vegas, you? I'm going to take a guess or two, not from town, right?"
—-
"Well, I wish you wouldn't, I'd hate to waste a nice set like that." About the bedding, she means. Paige waits for you outside of your bedroom door, allowing you to move at your own pace, «Good thing the house is one story. Have to make sure to check the steps front and back, make sure they're stable.» She reopens her water, taking another long sip, "I've never been to Vegas. It's a pretty popular vacation spot where I'm from though. Oh, no, not here, Nome…Alaska?" Her lips curl back into that mischievous smile, "That's -not- a popular destination, in case you're wondering." «Work, right.» "Oh, I should probably mention, I'm sort of in and out. I do a lot of traveling for my job, so you won't have to have someone living on top of you all of the time. I'll make sure I mark it on the calendar for you." She chucks a thumb back behind her again, this time in the direction of the calendar that's plastered up in the dining room.
—-
"Sorry," Chance quietly apologizes and absentmindedly begins to follow after the woman, which leads to his leaving behind of the water bottle on the bed that he enjoys testing with his cane. He did get a good couple of drinks from it though. Pausing at the door, he taps the door's frame with the cane and then glances upwards before following in full. "You're from Alaska? Well, that explains my inability at tracing that accent, but, it'd be a nice place to visit." He gives a brief look to the calendar and then slowly begins to speak up. "Oh, I figured it'd be something like that," it's why he's made the paranormal joke in the beginning, "I mean, it's understandable. I don't mind women living on to- wait, no, that's coming out wrong."
—-
"Oh, you don't have to apologize. Take all of the time you need." Paige does step away, her back to the back door as she gestures to the rest of the house, "It is a nice place to visit, especially around Nome, if you like things slow and quiet and really beautiful." «And snow, upon snow, and sunlight for days.» She continues on, moving towards the couch in the living room, "I guess you know what I do for a living. I don't bring my work home, so you don't have to worry about that." She pauses, a hand on the back of the couch. "So, there's not much else to see. The living room, kitchen. I'm changing the cabinets as soon as I finish the drywall, there's a little den there. Has a couple of built-in bookshelves and there's room for a desk and a TV. My bedroom's over there," and the door is open wide enough for you to see in. All of the furniture is covered with plastic sheeting, "but don't go in right now, the plaster dust might choke you."
—-
"Huh, well then," Chance gives a look to the left and then a solid glance to the right before clearing his throat and stepping further along with her. He doesn't speak up too much more on Alaska, or Las Vegas either, but he does keep both places in mind now that their respective homes have been brought up. "I own a lucratively small business, personally. I actually don't do much beyond play math puzzles all day and look fancy, intelligent, and some dare say that I'm good-looking about it," he comes to lean his weight on the couch and stand near to her. He spins the cane in his fingertips. "Don't enter your room for fear of death by plaster, gotcha." He looks over in its direction, nodding. "I do like avoiding death, since I'm allergic to it, so," Chance charmingly smiles while looking back to her, "Still think I'm looking for the room for a friend? Though, I think I've yet to settle that this isn't a prank or anything. I should work on that part."
—-
"So why are you looking to live here? I mean, don't get me wrong, I could certainly do with the roommate, but if your business is as successful as you say, I'm sure you could find something that was less of a «Dump.» fixer-upper." Still, Paige isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she heads towards the kitchen, pulling a manila folder out of one of the drawers, which she carries back over to you, "Hopefully, with the extra money coming in, I'll be able to work a bit faster, and I'll try to work only when you're not home, so I'm not a bother to you when you are. It can get pretty noisy." Her eyes narrow at the last, but she makes no reply, save internally. «I never said that out loud. But it's not like he couldn't have seen the look on my face.» "Here's the paperwork, if you're really serious." She offers the folder, "It's all there, a rental contract, with all of the term laid out, the fees, how much we split the utilities and such."
—-
"Oh, well, that's simple, really. I just chalk it up to I want to. You know, something to tell the grandkids years from now." It's not as if there is something stopping him from apparently slumming it even if he could buy multiple of these homes, maybe - he would have to actually verify that with the appropriate people. Nonetheless, he quietly laughs and sinks down into the cushions of the couch in an effort to disappear from the questioning. "I can pay for anything you want if you need it, too, without repayment. So I consider that a bonus. I already offered to work too, since I don't do much of anything anyway. I'm used to tuning a lot of excess noise out, so, that doesn't bother me." He has his medication, too, and that helps. He smiles. He then sits up in order to receive the paperwork. "I'm an ideal choice then, eh? Great day this is turning out to be. Wow."
—-
Paige hands over the paperwork, then moves to settle onto the small recliner across from the couch, giving you more than ample space and time to look over the contract. It's your standard sublet agreement. Full and private use of your room, bathroom and entrance, complete shared access to all of the other room in the house, with the exception of Paige's room. Rent halved, all utilities halved. Kitchen utensils can be shared or you can bring your own, same with the fridge, that sort of thing. No hidden clauses and such. Drinking is allowed, but no big parties, no illicit drug use in the premises. "We'll handle you chipping in for supplies or doing work after we get you settled in." «Really nice view from the front.» "Well, you have your own job, you look respectable enough, and you're polite. And I could certainly use the money. «Oma's bills don't pay themselves. And Mom's retiring from school.» I mean, anything else we're going to figure out once you move in and we see how we mesh together. Oh, I try to cook most nights, nothing fancy, but if you want to go halves on the food, we can work on a weekly menu."
—-
Chance leans forward as he begins to delve into the art of paper-reading and information processing. He's able to do it fairly quickly but that doesn't stop him from taking the opportunity to idly spin his cane around in the air next to him as if it were a windmill. When she thinks of fronts, or his front, he looks up to her and smiles. It's just a quick flash of his teeth, pearly whites set to that far-reaching grin of his. "Well, that's a lovely little admittance." He sets down a sheet of paper while pulling out a pen. The cane stops spinning. "I've cooked a few times in my life. My dad used to be a, uh, chef, so, the offer of help is there too. Paige… have any plans for tonight?"
—-
"Well, I'm asking you to be honest with me, I might as well be honest with you. I make pretty good money with the show, and I freelance a couple of places, but I send most of my money home, which is why I'm in this place, and why I need someone to share the bills." Paige does answer the smile with one of hers, "Well, you're probably better at it then I am then. I don't know how to make anything fancy, that's for sure. I am all about the crockpot." The last question brings a slight frown to her face, not displeased, just curious, "Probably just working on the house some more, why? I'm trying to get my bedroom done by the end of the week, so I don't have to keep sleeping on the couch."
—-
Chance removes his cell phone while listening to her, even while watching her, and he nods in reply to being honest and sets the fetched miniaturized tablet aside. It does help smooth things over that he likes helping people and it looks like Paige needs help, but he clears his throat in order to interject. "Chef of a diner, it was nothing great. Trust me," he quietly implores, grinning. "Take my room, okay? I can sleep on the couch, but tonight we celebrate. My treat, and, you know, get to know each other."
—-
"Well," Paige offers with a grin, "I suppose I should go out a pick up a few more cookbooks then, we might need them." She does remember her manners, and she stops whatever else she might be about to say, once you pull out your cell phone. But when you speak, rather than dial, she answers, "Your room is your room. And I'm used to sleeping on worse." Paige may seem quite and kind enough, but she does have some backbone to her, "I'd like that. I have the feeling I'm going to enjoy getting to know you, Stephen Chance."
—-
"Oh no, take it for the time being. It's the least I could do, I mean," he holds himself to that thought now that she has accepted going out together and them cutting loose enough to enjoy hanging out. He smiles and then cuts back into his previous thought. "I can handle a couch, trust me. I can handle stairs too, and hills, and this one time I rode a bike - all by myself." He's smirking though, even while dialing and even while signing. The cane's been left aside for the time being. "Trust me, yeah? You take the bed."
—-
"I certainly didn't mean to imply that your disability was my first consideration. Frankly, you hardly seem to notice it at all." And her inner dialogue is enough to confirm that it certainly doesn't bother her in the least. As the man seems insistent, she finally gives in, "Alright, when we get back home, I'll change out the linens and use the bed, but -only- until I finish up my room. And I'll prorate the rent you owe and utilities for the first day that you're actually in the room."
—-
Chance doesn't have a personal lawyer or anything but he does have a personal driver and he speaks to the man for a moment, something along the lines of needing to be picked back up in roughly ten minutes or so unless something changes. He glances over in Paige's direction and nods before hanging up and dialing another number, in order to finalize things beyond just a signature. It takes all of two minutes, at the most. "Paige, I'm fairly certain I could pay all of our utilities and rent and buy this house twice over, at least. It's okay. There's no need. I'll consider this my first day."
—-
«I'M NOT A CHARITY!» Paige rises from the couch, as she hears the half of the conversation, "If we're living here .together. then I want us to share the costs and the responsibilities .together., Stephen. I work hard to support myself, I've always done my fair share and I want to keep doing that, okay?" Once you click off the phone, she continues, her tone still moderated, "I'd better go get cleaned up. You don't want to go out with someone looking like she just got finished bulldozing a house." Which she did. She does offers a faint smile, leaving you to consider her words, before she heads off towards the second bathroom, which, unlike yours, isn't inside the bedroom. "I won't be long. I'm very low maintenance."
—-
"And I don't want you to prorate anything. I'm offering because, well, because it's a nice thing to do and I'd rather sleep on a couch than watch someone else sleep on it." Chance needs to stop being so controlling, but it is a vice and he enjoys his vices. Slowly, he rises to his feet without the aid of his cane and in the process of moving into the fullness of his height he pockets his cell phone and looks squarely back to her. "Put on something to match your eyes? I like them, I mean. Very, uh, beautiful," he's left to consider everything though.
—-
Paige turns, just before she steps into the bathroom and closes the door. She doesn't answer, except for that playful smile. And true to her word, it hardly takes her any time at all to take a quick shower, fifteen minutes, if that, before she's coming back out, wrapped in an extra long bath sheet, hair damp, but combed. She's quick as a bug to duck into the den, one would imagine where she's keeping her clothes, and shut the door behind her. «OMG, OMG, I can't believe I forgot to take a change of clothes in there with me!» Maybe another ten minutes after that, she steps back out. She's dressed in a pair of slacks, black, slinky, accenting her curves, and a brilliant sapphire blue wrap shirt, which certainly does bring out her eyes. Her hair she's combed out again, but left free. "I'm sorry, fast as I could."
—-
Chance smiles more brightly in return to hers, now that he knows neither of them are suddenly going to kill each other or anything over simple words and agreeing to disagree, or something. In the time it takes to wait for her to shower, the man has gone and found where he had left his bottle around, peeked into the other - her - bedroom and then returned to his spot near to the couch while the water is shut off. When the door opens and she's only wearing a towel, well, he looks over catches such a sight, looking on with his brows curiously lifted and his attention fixed on her. There are a lot of attractive women around Dallas, and no matter where he goes he seems to bump into them.
He leans over to watch as much of her as he can before fishing out a bottle of pills from his pocket: painkillers, for his leg. He takes two and then caps the bottle, pockets it, and waits some more. His car has arrived and is waiting in its previous spot. Chance simply looks to her. "Wow," is about all his brilliant mind can afford right now. Where is he? Where's his cane? Why's he- oh, he remembers now. He blindly reaches aside, looking on appraisingly. "Low maintenance my ass, you look nice. Not that the plaster didn't help, but, well."
—-
Thankfully, Paige was too busy trying to make it from the bathroom to the den to see the ogling going on, or she might have been mortified, well, more than she already was. Her bedroom is simple and spartan, even the furniture is utilitarian. She seems to have put much more effort into making up the for let room. And it is indeed covered with plaster everywhere, though you can see where the plaster has already been replaced. But all of that goes unnoticed and uncommented, as Paige returns and steps into the living room. "Well, I didn't put on any makeup, or take time to dry my hair. Just threw on some clothes, doesn't that qualify?" «He's staring at me. Did I forget to put on a bra?» Paige looks down at herself, giving herself a hard evaluation. «No, I definitely did. Okay.» But it would be a lie to say the compliment doesn't get a reaction from her, and she reaches up, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, a clearly nervous gesture, "Thanks. I guess you're big on plaster then?" She does look towards the front door, "We keeping anyone waiting?"
—-
Chance only continues to stare after-the-fact because she's brought up underwear choices, in her head, and like an all-powerful radar dish he fixates on that message and then looks briefly to said area. Then, he looks at his feet. "Qualifies, technically," answers the man before finding his cane and standing with it before him. By then, he's looking back to Paige and smiling. The paperwork has been collected and gathered back into the folder, which still sits on the couch. That was sometime during the showering. "No," he laughs, "But I'll tell you what, I'll tell you what I am big on while we're out." He turns and looks around, and then out a window, "My driver, it seems, but he's used to it. He says it gives him time to meditate. Anyway…"
—-
"Oh, right, let me close all of the windows real quick, I don't need someone breaking in." «Not like they'd have anything to steal.» Paige starts off, to do just that, though she can still hear your comment as she walks. Such is the small size, relatively speaking, of the house, "Well," she finally answers, when he comments on the things he likes, "I suppose we should get them all out in the open now, hash it all out, see if the paperwork survives the rest of the night." She fully intends to make this work if she can, but it will be what it will be, "I think I'm ready now. We shouldn't keep your driver waiting any longer than he needs to."
—-
Chance turns about in order to watch the goings-on of closing all of the windows and he makes himself look tidy while she moves about. Why couldn't he have dressed better than this? He looks at his tie and then begins to undo it for the evening, unraveling it and then holding it with his cane. The top button's also been undone to make things more casual. He nods to her and moves up to open the door for her, smiling, "Well then, let's."
—-
It doesn't take Paige long, to get the house in order, and to check all of the doors and windows. The last thing she does is turn off most of the lights, leaving enough to move through the house safely, before she steps up to you, and to the door, stepping through with a smile, and a once over and a, "Thank you." «Very nice buttoned-down.» She steps out onto the small porch, hands rising to push her hair back from her face, as she looks down to the car. «Jesus, Paige, he's your tenant, for god's sake.» She starts down the steps, before she turns to face you, «I'm going straight to hell.» "I'm ready when you are."
