Sachin Arya

the corners of her mouth twitched with a microscopic hint of reluctant amusement. i prefer curious. of course he did. that was the classic euphemism for people who liked to stick their noses through half broken parlor doors on a rainy afternoon. "you write them," she repeated, her investigative instincts immediately latching onto the detail like a hound on a scent trail. she ignored his comment about editors entirely. "so you're not just a merchant peddling first editions. you’re an author. that explains the pseudo intellectual psychoanalysis about the story in my head." she didn't sound entirely disapproving, but she wasn't about to give him a trophy for it either. she adjusted her grip on the sledgehammer, the heavy metal head resting solidly against the unlevel subfloor as she watched him take that careful, measured step into the kitchen.

"i'm still ruminating on the exact aesthetic" ada admitted with a noncommittal shrug. "i don't want a sterile box," nothing that looked like the high rise on the upper east side she used to share with her ex husband. "and i’m not trying to paint over the history of this place either. look at the exterior structure out there, the bones of the building are classic victorian revival. i'm restoring the integrity of those gables and the woodwork, not fighting them." she raised her yellow pencil, pointing it like a conductor’s baton toward the far wall where the old plumbing lines were currently exposed like copper veins. "the vision isn't dark or bright. it's organic and structured. think urban academic meets old world european, but stripped of any unnecessary noise. clean lines, heavy wood, and natural light to feed a literal jungle of hanging plants and wild ivy."

she stepped closer, her leather slides crunching softly on the grit as she crossed her arms over her chest, scanning the bare framing of the kitchen and the rooms beyond. "it's a kitchen for late night black coffee, classical music, and intense reading, not small town domesticity. which brings me to a practical constraint. since you’re so heavily researched." she tilted her head, a challenging glint in her eyes. "any of those reference books of yours cover the specific art of securing a heavy, antique stone basin into raw cedar framing without compromising the structural load? or are you strictly a theoretical intellectual?"

the question hung in the air for a second before ada suddenly dropped her shoulders, a momentary break appearing in her ironclad exterior. she looked down at the sledgehammer, then back up at him, a flicker of genuine fatigue crossing her face. "look, sorry," she muttered, the apology sounding like it had been dragged out of her with hot pliers. "i'm not usually this incredibly difficult." she paused, her jaw tightening as she immediately regretted the vulnerability. clearing her throat, ada's chin tilting right back up to its defensive angle. "actually, no, that's a lie. i am exactly this difficult" a brief huff of amused, self deprecating breathe escaped her nose. "i believe the exact words my ex husband used was unreasonable rigidity."

"There's truly no reason to start all over when the bones are good," Sachin agreed. He didn't know much about building and the logistics that went into it, but he could at least recognize when a property had been built well. There were so many cookie cutter neighborhoods popping up all over the place. Houses that looked exactly the same and were built within two weeks made someone appreciate the integrity of a house that had been standing for decades. Houses, quite literally, weren't built like this anymore. "Although, there's something to be said about small town domesticity..." He mused. "People come here for it... I see your vision, I appreciate it, but surely you should keep your potential clientèle in mind." Sachin shrugged, not trying to point her in one direction over another, just simply sharing his thoughts.

"Hmm, no, I'm afraid not." He chuckled. "My research is heavily wrapped up in Hindu mythology and ancient Egyptian archeology, most recently." Sachin cracked a smile. "I fear I'm no help in the structural load department." He knew just enough to get himself in trouble. That wasn't to say he wouldn't do his research, if Ada actually wanted him to. There were far more qualified people in town, but if she needed a dedicated researcher then she had one standing right in front of her.

Sachin's brows rose towards his hairline at her apology. He wasn't entirely clear why she felt the need to offer one. "I don't mind difficult," He replied, shrugging. He pointed a finger at her, a fake expression of shock gracing his features. "Unreasonably rigid?" He turned his finger on himself. "Obnoxiously pretentious!" Sachin smiled, waving off her apology. "An apology isn't necessary, Ada, you haven't offended or bothered me... I'm not so easily cowed. A much more amiable man than your ex-husband, it would seem."

juniper’s hand halted mid stroke, the nib of her fountain pen lingering over the fresh page like a drop of heavy rain poised to fall. she slowly tilted her face upward, her dark eyes narrowing through the dim, amber glow of the parlor lamp as the extra layers of this historical monstrosity washed over her. the plum tinted curve of her lips shifted from a standard smirk into an expression of fascination. "the previous owner," she murmured, her voice sinking into a hum of creative triumph. "oh, that is the exquisite coup de grâce. it isn't merely the destruction of the maiden's aspirations, it is the absolute desecration of a master artisan's lifetime of devotion. to create something magnificent, to surrender it into the world under the naive assumption that it will be cherished, only to have a petulant child reduce it to scrap metal out of spite..."

she began to write again with a renewed energy, the scratching of her pen providing a sharp percussion against the steady drumming of the downpour outside. the taxidermy owls on the surrounding shelves seemed to lean forward from their perches, their glass eyes mirroring the dark brilliance of her focus. "the father’s apathy fits perfectly into the framework," she dictated aloud with a palpable aristocratic disdain for the mundane upper class. "in the text, the elder duke will not offer a single word of reprimand when the news of the ravine reaches the manor. he will simply view the slaughter of the beast as a trifling, youthful indiscretion. a minor line item in the family ledger easily erased by an exchange of coin. a family legacy built entirely upon the foundation of unchecked privilege and a complete absence of consequence."

at his offered applause across the coffee table, juniper allowed her chin to shift upward, accepting the praise as though it were her divine right as the sovereign of this cluttered, paper strewn realm. the internal panic that had paralyzed her before his arrival had completely dissipated, locked away behind the iron gates of her fictional citadel. "the early aughts sound like a thoroughly lawless era," she remarked dryly, a faint, nostalgic glint in her eyes as she leaned back against the faded velvet cushions. "a period where wealthy miscreants could commit acts of profound psychological warfare without the modern inconvenience of a digital record. it is the perfect canvas for villainy."

then, his sudden, deadpan confession dropped into the quiet space between them. juniper’s entire posture locked. her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him with a blank expression while her thoughts whirled. one heartbeat passed. two. her mind scrambled through several of friendship, wildly reevaluating every single interaction they had ever shared, trying to reconcile the grounding presence in her living room with the image of a teenage monster cackling on a cliffside. the moment his grin broke through the charade, a gasping breath escaped her lips. she grabbed a nearby crumpled page of an aborted chapter three and hurled it directly at his face with dramatic velocity.

"you are an absolute demon, sachin arya," she hissed, though the theatrical rage in her voice was entirely betrayed by the sudden, breathless laughter that followed it. "for three agonizing seconds, I genuinely believed i had permitted a sociopath to take up residence in my home." she adjusted her position, pointing her fountain pen at him like a tiny spear. "naturally, it was an entitled white boy," she sniffed, her usual cynical composure returning with full force.

"Naturally," Sachin agreed, knowing that a terrible son often came from a terrible father. The apple didn't fall far from the tree in situations like this. His own father wasn't the best man to ever be born, but he was far better than the vast majority of the father's of his former classmates. "It truly makes you wonder what kind of terrible things his father had erased from his own life..." People that rich... men that rich, often thought they could get away with anything.

"I'd like to think if the same thing happened now, he'd get in some sort of trouble." Sachin thought aloud, thinking about how different it could've been had his classmates antics been filmed. It was very likely that the father of the kid would've gotten him out of any trouble, but the kids name would be passed around the internet like a hot cake. He'd likely be exiled from any company he wanted to work for. The people of today's internet were vicious in their own right.

Sachin roared with laughter, clutching his stomach as it cramped against the weight of his laughter. "I couldn't help it," He said through his chuckles. "Could you imagine? I've done my fair share of stupid things, but, Christ, nothing that's caused irreparable damage." Especially not as a vintage car enthusiast himself. "Fear not, my friend, I do not harbor any hidden sociopathic tendencies." Sachin considered that for a moment then added, "At least not that I know of."

                pinehaven   was   nothing   like   what   she   had   thought   it   would   be   .   she   had   heard   of   it   through   sachin   a   few   times   ,   but   seeing   it   firsthand   was   something   else   entirely   .   there   were   no   towering   buildings   ,   no   roundabouts   ,   borderline   no   streetlights   .   it   was   the   epitome   of   a   small   town   ,   the   type   of   place   she   figured   would   be   featured   on   postcards   and   local   access   pbs   channels   .   and   now   she   was   living   here   ,   albeit   temporarily   .

                the   book   nook   was   easy   to   find   .   everything   in   the   town   was   easy   to   find   ;   she   found   it   hard   to   believe   anyone   could   ever   get   lost   ,   at   least   near   main   street   .   it   was   one   of   those   rural   places   where   the   county   line   stretched   for   miles   ,   leaving   people   in   rural   farmhouses   sagging   with   time   and   neglect   .   sachin's   rushing   up   to   her   made   her   startle   .   she   realized   her   being   there   was   a   surprise   ,   but   not   one   that   should   have   had   him   so   harrowed   .   .   .   right   ?

                    “   relax   ,   brother   ,”   she   said   with   a   soft   smile   .   “   i'm   okay   ,   everything   is   okay   ,   no   one   is   dead   ,   ”   she   promised   .   she   liked   to   think   she   would've   reached   out   to   him   far   before   hopping   on   a   plane   and   arriving   hours   away   in   seattle   .   the   whole   dance   company   had   had   to   make   the   two   hour   trek   by   bus   just   to   get   here   ,   and   it   was   a   much   less   comfortable   ride   than   she'd   been   expecting   .   “   i'm   here   for   the   foreseeable   future   with   the   ballet   .   we're   uh   ,   experiencing   a   loss   ,   so   they   thought   the   quiet   countryside   and   fresh   air   might   do   us   all   some   good   ,   ”   she   sniffed   .   she   preferred   the   hustle   and   bustle   of   zurich   ,   but   it   was   out   of   her   hands   .   “   how   are   you   ,   are   you   well   ?   ”

"And they picked... Pinehaven?" Sachin racked his brain trying to figure out what could have possibly brought them here from Zurich. He knew there was a well established ballet studio in town, but he'd had no idea it had garnered an international presence. Right now, it didn't matter. "I'm sorry for your loss," Sachin said, opening his arms to wrap his sister in a quick but tight hug. He motioned towards the leather couches settled by the windows, leading her over to sit. "I'm good, I'm good," He nodded. "Wrapping up the last few details before my book is published, that's keeping me busy, but otherwise..." He shrugged as if to say not much else. "Where are you staying? Have you got everything you need?" Despite not being as close as they could be, Sachin was still Ziva's older brother. There was a certain protectiveness he felt whenever she was around.

"What kind of bullshit did you get up to?" she inquired, noting the man's laugh. "I assume not eating strawberry cake until you explode, but I could be wrong. Some place outside of Pinehaven might have stolen our one major event for the year." Night shrugged her shoulders. She would be lying if she said she wasn't still doing the young and stupid things she did as a teen. Granted, she was encouraged by her only friend to break into abandoned buildings for fun. But a stranger didn't need to know that, even though he seemed to be decent. Many people put on faces just to have a facade of kindness, especially with people they did not know. "Night," she followed his introduction. "I'll take a strawberry soda. This bet isn't wroth more than five bucks."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Night asked. It was a light tease and she hoped it came off friendly enough to not turn the man away or upset the conversation they were having. Though such conversation was just gossiping about the participants of the shortcake eating contest. But there wasn't much else to do here. "The older people often think they know better," Night explained her reasoning, "but then they panic when the young ones do something that's unexpected. Good pacing turns into frantically trying to catch up and then tapping out too early because they exerted themselves. But I guess that's most sports, if this is considered a sport."

ada’s jaw tightened subtly as she caught the slight shift in his posture. she had spent a decade in new york interviewing politicians, hedge fund managers, and high profile criminals; she knew the exact look of a man who wasn't intimidated by a sharp tongue. furthermore, sachin wasn't vibrating on the typical, soft spoken pinehaven register. there was a layer of buried polish underneath his cozy exterior, the kind that meant he’d likely dealt with people far meaner than her. it was instantly aggravating. she couldn't out maneuver someone who refused to take the bait. she let out a small, defeated breath through her nose, observing and analyzing as he spun in a slow circle, absorbing the structural skeleton of the room. he wasn't looking at the dust; he was looking for the blueprints. "fine," she muttered, turning on her heel and leading the way through the exposed framing into what would eventually be the dining hall. her leather slides made a soft, contrasting slap slap against the rough, unlevel subfloor, a bizarre counterpoint to the heavy crunch of his shoes behind her.

she stepped over a pile of discarded cedar shingles, gesturing with the tip of her yellow pencil toward a massive, gaping expanse where the back wall met the ceiling. "the dining room is going to be dark neutrals. onyx, slate, heavy charcoal wools," she began, mapping out the empty space with precise movements of her hand. "no ruffles, no pastel bed and breakfast kitsch. i’m tearing out that modern latex paint over there to expose the original 1900s brick chimney. over by the windows, i’m sourcing antique brass fixtures and building custom, floor to ceiling cedar shelving to hold a real research collection. not romance novels. historical reference, regional maps, proper literature."

she stopped near the threshold of the kitchen, her pencil aggressively tapping against her thigh, thump thump, as his next questions cut straight through her carefully constructed aesthetic breakdown. the interrogation felt entirely too familiar. it was the exact sequence she would have used on a subject in an interview room. ada turned around slowly, leaning her lower back against a exposed partition beam, her arms crossing tightly over the chalky white smudge on her boxy blazer. the defensive armor was back up in an instant, her eyes narrowing into two sharp, calculating slits. "you're a very nosy man, sachin," she didn't sound entirely angry, but the warning track was clear. "did the bookstore business slow down today, or do you just moonlight as the town's chief investigative reporter?"

she cleared her throat, her thumb rubbing the smooth wood of her pencil as her gaze flicked toward the cracked windowpane looking out at the rainy woods. the mention of the previous owner hit a nerve she didn't like exposing to a virtual stranger. "yes," she admitted shortly, her tone flattening out as she gave him a rare, unembellished truth. "he was my grandfather. and as for the why..." her chin tilted upward. "because people have a habit of taking things from you if you don't build the walls yourself. doing it on my own means nobody else owns the narrative. no contractors cutting corners, no corporate suits trying to buy out the square footage, and no one telling me how the story ends before I’ve finished writing it. it's my property. my project."

"I prefer curious," Sachin mused when she called him nosy. "But, yes, I suppose I am." It wasn't the first time he'd been called that and it wouldn't be the last. He was very comfortable in his curiosity. No one ever needed to tell him anything, if they didn't want, but how would he know how willing they were if he didn't ask his questions? So, he typically asked whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted. Within reason, of course, he would never ask anything untoward. "I have an employee holding down the bookstore," He added, glancing around the work in progress that was the kitchen. "I suppose I could claim the title of investigative reporter... I do heavily research my books before I write them... today, though, pure and simple curiosity."

"No comment is always an acceptable answer," Sachin said, looking at Ada again. He kept looking at her as she explained her why, his smile small but impressed. Sachin's brows raised in appreciation, and he nodded. "I like the way you think." Getting used to editors had been a learning curve for him early on in his career, and he'd gone through a few of them before he found someone he worked well with. He could understand the desire for your work to remain completely your own without any input. And he applauded Ada for having the gall to hold her ground.

"It's all very impressive, truly..." Sachin took another careful step into the kitchen, his gaze on the floor to ensure a nail didn't go through his expensive shoes. "What's the vision here? Keeping the dark theme? Or brightening it up?"

juniper’s dark eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter, her entire physical form stiffening into a state of absolute, predatory focus as the narrative unfolded. the nib of her pen remained poised over the crisp parchment, trembling slightly with the aesthetic thrill of the revelation. a low, breathless sound, somewhere between a gasp of artistic rapture and a chilling chuckle, escaped her throat. "cackling," she repeated, the word slipping from her tongue with the relish of an executioner tasting a flawless poison. "he wasn't merely vacant. he was entirely consumed by the ecstatic bliss of his own malice. oh, sachin, that is delightfully, exquisitely unhinged." she leaned even further across the low table, her voluminous sleeves sweeping across the scattered manuscripts as she hung on every single syllable. the mental image of a pack of obscenely wealthy, unchecked youths racing expensive machinery through a desolate forest toward a precipice was practically begging to be translated into the archaic grandeur of her fictional world.

"the calculated theatre of rolling from the driver's seat a mere breath before the plunge," she murmured, her gaze turning inward as her imagination violently reconstructed the scene into a gothic masterpiece. "it is the supreme manifestation of aristocratic rot. he didn't just want to break the object; he required an audience to witness the exact moment her heart shattered in tandem with the glass. to destroy a legacy, an impossible dream, and then casually request a libation...it speaks to an internal wasteland, a boy who views the universe as nothing more than a sandbox for his personal vendettas." her pen finally descended, scratching against the paper with an urgency as she translated the modern automotive carnage into something far more visceral, far more bleedingly romantic.

"in the text, lord julian will not merely force the stallion into the ravine from the saddle," she dictated aloud, her voice dropping into that rich, evocative purr that completely commanded the room. "no, he shall dismount at the very precipice, whispering a final, mocking endearment into the creature's ear before striking its flank with his jeweled riding crop. he will watch it fall with that precise, sinister glee, the echo of his laughter drowning out the sound of breaking bones in the dark current below. and then, when he faces her, he will merely adjust his signet ring and comment on the poor traction of the mud."

she paused, snapping her gaze back up to lock onto his with a triumphant, glittering intensity. the lingering remnants of her own real world terror; the fear of the threshold, the suffocating anxiety of the publisher's demands, were entirely vanquished, temporarily consumed by the intoxicating fire of creation. "you see, sachin, your youth was not an education; it was an archaeological excavation of human depravity," she preened loftily, her lips curving into a thoroughly wicked grin. "and i am immensely grateful for your survival, if only because your memory serves as the perfect fuel for my literary bonfires." and, not so secretly even if she would likely never voice it, because his friendship meant so much to her.

"His father didn't care, either..." Sachin went on. "We asked him about it the next week, just casually over dinner, and he shrugged... said his father didn't even bat an eye at his recklessness." He shook his head. Had the roles been reversed, and had Sachin done something so expensive and stupid, his father would have been livid. He'd have been snatched out of that school in a heartbeat and never to be heard from again. Likely shipped off to the small town in India his father's people came from.

Sachin fell silent, letting Juniper's story unfold before him once again. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, listening intently and nodding along as she spoke. An ache former in his stomach at the mere visuals of what she was describing. Anyone reading the words would feel sick with hatred for this Lord Julian character. When she looked up at him again, Sachin quietly tapped his fingers against the opposite palm in a silent applause. "Absolutely terrible, in the best way possible."

Sachin laughed, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. "My youth certainly was one for the books." And, at times, he was surprised he'd made it through unscathed. The early 2000's had been an entirely different world, one without cell phones plastered to hands or hours spent on social media. That gave the youths of his time amble opportunity to get up to things they shouldn't. Although, Sachin was quite pleased that some of his antics hadn't been permanently documented.

"Is this the part I admit that I was the one who drove the car off the cliff?" Sachin mused after a long moment of silence. He let that statement hang heavy in the air for one, two, three heartbeats before he cracked and let his grin overtake his expression again. "Kidding, kidding, it was a white boy, naturally."

"You don't sound engaged," Night noted. "When in Rome... I'm not going to shackle you to the game if you'd rather discuss something else." Though, she didn't blame him. This was the big event in Pinehaven: the Strawberry festival. She figured it was hard for most people to get invested unless they grew up in Pinehaven. The residents never seemed to grow tired of the humble little strawberry getting it's big celebration. But it had to be a bit bizarre from an outsider (or so Night assumed). "But the teens always surprise you. They are over-confident, but they are more willing to employ interesting strategies."

closed starter for: @sachin-arya event: 007 @ the strawberry shortcake eating contest

In most local festivities, Night was not here on her own accord. Sometimes she was employed to cater the event or was dragged along by one of her very few friends. The Strawberry festival was a notable exception to this rule for one small thing: the shortcake eating contest. It fascinated her. How many denizens of Pinehaven assumed themselves capable of eating so much sugar so quickly. Her morbid curiosity always got the better of her and Night stomached such social events just to see what fiasco might happen as a result.

As another spectator appeared next to her, Night tilted her head to the side and inquired, "Wanna place bets on who's gonna barf first?"

juniper’s eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the sweeping trajectory of his finger as it pointed from his own chest back to hers. a faint, microscopic breath of a laugh escaped her nose; a rare, completely unprompted sound that she immediately tried to cover by adjusting the heavy drape of her oversized sleeve. "a terrifyingly accurate description of your methods, sachin. i shall have to ensure you are thoroughly supervised during the execution of this particular campaign, lest you accidentally charm beatris into offering you my royalties as well." the rhythm of his assurance settled into the quiet corners of the room, pushing back the lingering shadows of the anxiety that had threatened to swallow her whole just an hour prior. he was here and he would let her simply exist within the boundaries she had fought so bitterly to establish.

she watched him fold his hands behind his head with a casual ease and couldn't help but offer a highly critical look at his posture. "you are entirely too comfortable for a man sitting in a room populated by deceased fowls," she observed loftily, though she finally set her cold teacup down with a definitive click and leaned her chin back onto her hand. her dark eyes flared with that sharp, feral literary interest once more as she tapped the gold nib of her fountain pen against the open page of her notebook.

"what else is plaguing my brain? a calculated question," she murmured, her painted lips curling into a thoroughly wicked, cynical smile. "if we are to fully construct this villain of ours. this magnificent, hollow investment banker who incinerates hopes for sport. i require the logistics of his arrogance. you skipped a crucial chapter in your narrative, sachin." she leaned forward, her entire posture sharpening as she leveled a demanding, intense look across the coffee table at him, completely back in her element now.

"when he crashed that poor girl's dream...when the metal twisted and the glass shattered, and he was left standing in the wreckage of what he procured purely out of spite...what did his face look like? i need to know if his expression was entirely vacant. perhaps a profound emptiness of a man who feels absolutely nothing, or if there was a sickening hint of satisfaction in his eyes before he brushed the dust from his jacket. tell me everything. do not dare to spare a single, vulgar detail."

"Juniper," Sachin leveled her with a completely straight and serious expression. "He was cackling." He'd never seen a teenage boy possess as much glee as his former suite mate after crashing the oh so gorgeous vintage car. Sachin sat up, winding his hands in a circle to indicate he was going back to the beginning of the story. "Okay, there was a wooded area behind our school and beyond that this field we used to hang out in. There was an old road that ran between them that no one besides maintenance used, but we used to drive our cars back there... a bunch of idiot teenagers with stupidly expensive cars, the whole thing..." Sachin had sped down that road in his own car more times than he could count.

"At one point in the road, the side just kind of dropped off down this massive hill...a cliff, even." He sloped his hand for effect. "So, we're all hanging out one night... my other suite mates, some girls from our class... and we hear a car coming down the road, and we look over and it's this truly beautiful 1960 Enzmann 506 coming down the road... stupidly expensive, too, like a hundred grand..." An important detail to set the scene of just how rich the kids at this school were. "And he pulls up and gets out and is, you know, boasting and being obnoxious... this poor girls face is absolutely devastated, because she knows exactly which car this is... anyway, he gets back into the car and says 'check this out', and speeds off down the road... we see him curve towards the drop off, and genuinely, Juniper, we thought he lost control of the car because it just went over the edge..."

"So, we all sprint in that direction, and find him dusting himself off with this sinister smile on his face." Sachin shook his head, the same disbelief he'd felt at 17 coming over him again. "He'd rolled out of the car right before it went over... and at the bottom of this rock covered drop off is the crumbled up car... broken beyond repair, even if repairing it was possible. We all looked back at him in utter disbelief and the kid is cackling..." Sachin leaned back in his seat again, his eyes wide. "Absolute madness... and then he just acted like nothing happened... he looked at this girl who broke up with him and said oops and then asked for a beer..."

in the immediate, micro second silence that followed his sudden intrusion, her internal database did a rapid, unbidden sort through her local files until it clicked into place: sachin, the bookstore owner. the man who sat behind the counter surrounded by best sellers, quietly observing the town while she aggressively flipped through home renovation manuals, using her pencil to mark up pages on load bearing beams and plumbing traps. she had purposefully avoided eye contact during those bookstore runs, hoping her aura of new york hostility would ward off any small town pleasantries. clearly, it hadn't worked. she braced herself, tightening the muscles in her jaw as she prepared for the patronizing smirk of a local man witnessing a city woman in over her head, but the expected condescension never materialized. instead, he stood there radiating a quiet, intensely visual inquisitiveness that caught her entirely on the back foot. ada hated being thrown off balance. it forced her to think on her feet, a survival mechanism she had honed in a hundred high pressure newsrooms.

a physical embodiment of a story in your head. the phrase struck a chord, a direct hit to her literary, academic core. it was a frustratingly accurate description. the misty gable inn wasn’t merely an inheritance or a foolish real estate gamble; it was a sprawling, multi layered narrative arc she was desperately trying to author from scratch, an aggressive attempt to rewrite her own trajectory after the entire first volume of her adult life had been brutally redacted by a team of expensive divorce attorneys in a windowless office on madison avenue. when the request for a tour actually left his mouth, a sharp, genuinely incredulous puff of air escaped her nose, a sound that was half laugh and half defense mechanism. slowly, deliberately, she lowered the heavy iron head of the sledgehammer until it met the dust choked floorboards with a dull thud, her hands remaining stacked on the top of the handle as she leaned her weight against it; a cynical, battle weary sentinel standing guard over a ruin of her own making.

"a tour?" ada echoed, her cadence stretching the syllables out just enough to coat them in a layer of dry, biting amusement. "look around. if i give you a tour right now, the highlights include 'exposed lath and plaster from 1902,' 'the imminent danger of a stepladder with a stripped screw,' and 'whatever rodent family i disturbed when i put my foot through the baseboard this morning.'" she reached up, her thumb and forefinger lightly grazing the tortoiseshell claw clip to ensure the large flake of drywall hadn't migrated further down her face, before sliding her yellow pencil out from behind her ear. she aggressively tapped the pink eraser twice against the fiberglass handle of the hammer. "the story right now is a tragedy, or at the very least, a very loud, very dusty dark comedy," she continued, her chin tilting up as her pride reasserted itself, though the hostile edge in her voice had softened into something resembling a reluctant, gritty truce.

"if you’re looking for a romanticized, local color charm, you’ve crossed into the wrong jurisdiction. but..." she swept the pencil in a brief, encompassing gesture toward the gaping hole in the partition wall, her sharp gaze tracking his expression to see if he could actually visualize the layout. "...if you can look past the dust and the very real possibility of stepping on a rusty framing nail, the parlor drops into a sunken library over there. or it will. once i figure out how to use a circular saw without amputating a finger. so, if you're truly fascinated by structural chaos...i suppose you can follow me into the dining room. just watch your step. i haven't quite mastered the concept of leveling the subfloor yet."

"Mhm..." Sachin replied, turning in a full slow circle to take in his surroundings. He looked back over to Ada, raising his brows as if to say sooo... no tour? He waved his hands, shaking his head, "No, no, the visual tour... I don't care what it looks like now. I want to know what it's going to look like when you're done." He wanted to know if she was building in shelves, using wallpaper or paint, if the tile in the kitchen was going to be porcelain or stone. He chuckled when she claimed the story was a tragedy. He supposed that made sense, considering the state the place was currently in. But he cared more about the vision.

A triumphant smile spread across his lips, Sachin's whole face lighting up with a smile as Ada pointed out the future sunken library and then told him to follow her. He made sure to watch where he put his foot, in case she was serious about rusty nails or uneven flooring. The absolute last thing Sachin wanted was to get injured somewhere he shouldn't even be. He followed behind Ada with his hands in his pockets, his gaze moving from the floor to the walls and ceiling, and back again.

"So, what's the why of the story?" He asked. "What made you decide to do this all on your own?" Sachin had been in town for a decade at this point, he'd known the previous owner in passing, and was naturally curious about the relation here. "Are you a relative of the previous owner?"