[ ADVRIK ]
A quick week passed following my arrival at Brickhedge and my meeting with the mayor. I was filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation, eager to see the property I had purchased. Little did I know, the events that followed immediately after would be a stark contrast to this initial feeling.
You see, as I'd mentioned previously, the property was purchased sight unseen. All I knew from the listing was it was a small two-story, two-bedroom townhouse on Main Street with a small front yard and neighbors on either side. It was nearly smack dab in the middle of town so everything that I could hope for was within walking distance, save for the Super K-Mart outside town.
On paper, it sounded like something you'd easily be spending six digits on, and in some places, likely more than that. But the caveats here were that it was sight unseen and was listed as "Needing a little TLC". Upon my arrival in Brickhedge, my initial impression of the building was that, yeah, this could use good pressure washing, good mowing, and weeding along the perimeter.
But as I delved deeper into my inspection, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. There were some minor foundational issues: broken and cracked bricks making up the structure's primary material, a few of the rear windows were fractured or flat-out broken, and the molding around the front door needed to be replaced, etcetera, etcetera.
And that was even before I put the key in the door and went inside.
I get it. The place had been abandoned for years, possibly left in a state of misuse long before even that. I'm not kidding when I say I found bags of Cooler Ranch, not Cool Ranch Doritos, among the deepest trenches.
It's kind of funny thinking that there could have been, like, a dead body or something hidden in here. A drug den. Moonshiners, anything! No one would have looked either. What a crazy story this house must have.
Once the interior started taking shape and the semblance of a liveable environment began to form, the little pangs of regret I felt initially began to melt away. None of the beasts I had spoken to knew of any break-ins or squatters, nor could they claim to have known what the original occupant's lifestyle was truly like. They were some third-shift runner at a factory somewhere off the mountain, and that was about it.
I told myself during the whole process that it WOULD get better, but the amount of trash bags I had tossed out the windows and doors during that week-long process was too numerous to state and not feel some sort of sadness for the sheer amount of garbage I had sent to the local landfill.
Once the trash had been picked up, the carpet torn out, and the very 1970s-styled linoleum tiles beneath cleaned to hell and back, things started to feel a bit more, I don't know, clean? I still had no furniture to speak of(besides my bed and a new mattress); what was in the building now sat on the curb awaiting pickup, along with the pieces that made up some kitchen cabinets that had gone to mold.
I had a place to sleep, a kitchen to cook my food in, and a place to sit and eat (and also sleep!), so it was high time I hit a few thrift stores and see what the local populace had for me, if anything.
Stepping outside into the crisp morning air of the mountains in springtime, my senses were immediately assaulted by the heavy floral fragrances of the vast fields of flowers that ran all over the mountainside, punctuated by the smell of the recently spread manure across some of the local farms and smaller gardens.
The morning fog was still sitting pretty heavily on Main, obscuring the view in both directions. Condensation was heavy on the glass panes within the door and windows(the ones that weren't broken and are currently covered in plastic). I had to resist the urge to draw a smiley face on my front door. The things we never grow out of, eh?
The smell of the gardens made me think back to the little community garden I helped tend to during my years at the orphanage. I could definitely put one in the corner of the yard, I thought, looking at the dew-heavy blades of thick, weed-like grass that had sprouted up in the untended yard, along with a bunch of fresh new dandelions and sticker bushes.
In the week I've been here, I've left the house maybe three times tops, once to the local hardware store, where the friendly badger there welcomed me to town and told me a few valuable tips for living in Brickhedge. For example, if I wanted to send money via Western Union(he's an older fellow), I should use the service at the bank at the Potato Street intersection, not at the bank within K-Mart.
The second tip he gave me, one that I actually thought would be useful, was that an excellent way to get to know the locals was to attend the town hall meetings every other month. He'd assured me that it was more than local government beasts talking politics and whatnot.
So the upcoming town hall meeting was on my To-Do list for sure. The way the old shopkeep talked about it, it sounded more like it was just an excuse for the locals to gather together and mingle, and as a new creature in town, what better way to get out there and make some new friends?
There were few beasts out this early in the morning, so very little in the way of opportunities to stop and ask somebeast where I might find the thrift shop, if there even is one.
I'd expect to see a mail carrier at some point; My house was right along the first few stops she made in the morning in her little USPS truck.
Gwen was a skunk with the prettiest green eyes I'd ever seen, and we'd made small talk a few times that I caught her as she swung by my house on her route. The first time, she was dropping off the rolled-up mattress I'd ordered through Amazon, complaining about the bulk and size of the package. I helped her out that morning.
The second morning, she delivered my bed frame. Again, I helped her out, and we made small talk as we tried to dislodge the awkwardly-shaped box from the back of the truck.
"Amazon really needs to give us a truck for this shit," She'd said, zero humor in her voice. Her emerald eyes fixed on me as we leaned the box up against the rusted iron fence. "Name's Gwen, by the way." She introduced herself, giving me what was clearly her nickname based on the employee ID card that hung from the lanyard around her neck(Which read Gwenivere).
There was still no humor in her voice.
She caught me watching her as she climbed back into her truck, her butt facing me. Tightly packed in a pair of knee-length denim shorts.
I wasn't all that into butts, to be honest, but I could appreciate a nice one when I saw it.
I'd only noticed she was looking at me looking at her when I saw the glimmer of green in her eyes in the reflection coming off the little corner mirror.
"I'll see you around, Mr. Drahcir." She said as she put the truck in gear. I'd felt like the statement had been intended to be a bit more impactful than it was because when she had to get out again teen feet away, I could tell she had tensed up, trying to appear focused and not at all like the dud I'm sure she felt like right then.
I know I would definitely have.
Checking the clock on my phone, the answer to the question I had silently been asking myself as I strolled down the fog-covered Silent Hill-esque block came to light. It was Sunday, so no mail would be running. Great, fantastic. Not that it harmed my plans any, but it'd been nice to see Gwen again.
"What is a beast to do?" I asked myself, a little louder than I had intended.
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