2019-06-01 - The Odder Couple

~Lovely Scene Set by Ruiz~

There was an ad posted to craigslist, as one does:

'Roommates wanted to share a three bedroom house. Must be clean. No partying. Smoking is fine, pets are fine so long as they shit outside. Text 319-443-4399 for more information.'

And, presuming that Lexi did in fact fire off a text to the aforementioned number, arrangements were summarily made to meet up for coffee. Somewhere public, naturally, also as one does. Just in the off chance that one of them is sketchy. Ruiz has arrived early, and found a seat by the window. Tee shirt, jeans, scuffed boots and a leather jacket thrown over his shoulders. Coffee steaming in front of him, and eyes on that window. Intent yet distracted.

Well, it seems Lex can text. She has that going for her, right? And there was /reading/. As for the rest... well, the young woman who's shouldering her way into the lovely little establishment isn't just sketchy, she appears to be the entire sketch book. Green eyes flicker around the more-or-less empty establishment -- who actually drinks coffee at this hour...? -- before settling on Ruiz and his window-staring. A pierced 'brow is arched dubiously, before he'd find himself quite abruptly joined by the silver-haired woman. She drops into the seat opposite him with little ceremony, and with that 'brow still raised, queries, "You the one who posted about roommates, or this some new version of Catfish or some shit? I mean, you got that hot dad thing goin' and all, but..." She's tipping an exaggerated look around the cafe, as if she might catch sight of a camera crew. Despite the potentially... offensive words, her tone is wry. Amiable, if one can handle that sort of humor. Or /wants/ to.

Ruiz saw the girl pass by the window, of course, and he saw her step inside the coffee shop. It would be hard to miss someone like that, covered in ink and practically asking to be looked at. His to-go cup is halfway to his mouth by the time she rounds toward his table, and it's pretty clear he to-went nowhere with it. There's a pause when she accuses him of catfishing, and his eyes linger on her at the 'hot dad' comment. And continue to linger, like he's trying to make heads or tails of the girl while she searches for a candid camera. Finally, he sets his coffee cup back down and clears his throat.

"Yes. I am the one who posted. I am not.. trolling you." He, too, sounds amused. And not a native English speaker; his accent is drenched in what could only be Mexican Spanish. "Sit." He tells rather than asks, and toes the chair opposite him out with his boot.

She drops into the toed seat without ceremony, seeming almost to dismiss that 'order' by sheer lack of... well, social grace. She may be a walking billboard, but she doesn't seem terribly concerned about manners. "Si, senor," she notes after-the-fact, layering on the reassurance that she has no intention of playing submissive. There's a glance toward his coffee cup, another slightly dubious expression, and then a flickered look toward the lingering barista.

"Yeah. Considering /I/ texted /you/, kinda defeats the whole... set-up theory, huh?" Amiable enough, if you can look past the spikes. Literally. "You really looking for roommates? Ain't got the whole... wife and litter thing going?"

Ruiz may be a man accustomed to telling people what to do, and expecting a certain level of follow-through. Or he may just be a pushy asshole who thinks he can tell pretty young things to jump, and have them asking how high. He waits, therefore, until she sits before he'll speak again. And then, with a twitch at the corners of his lips that doesn't quite approximate a smile. "It does not seem likely. I agree."

He's both intent in his study of the tattooed, gray-haired girl, yet curiously shies away from direct eye contact for the most part. "No wife," he confirms. Something in his voice there hitches, but smoothes out a moment later. "No.. litter." He sips his coffee. "Three fifty for the room, and use of the kitchen and bathroom. No partying." Yes, he said so explicitly in the ad. And he's saying it again. Probably because she looks like a partier.

Her? Party? Surely you jest. "Fuck, count me out," is her semi-predictable response to his last statement, and then there's an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "I do ink for a living." She shrugs her shoulders back against the seat, leaning back enough to prop a black-clad knee against the edge of the table. Either she's making an effort to demonstrate poor parenting, or she simply... well, let's go with the effort theory. "Think of this..." A tip of her chin toward the bare skin of her right arm, left exposed by the otherwise baggy black wife-beater. "as advertisement. Shockingly effective on the drunk." Breathalyzers in the tattoo parlors, check. "Shared bothroom, or solo? The place furnished?" One could almost imagine she's taking the option seriously.

If she's thinking to fuck with him by threatening to walk? Well, that tactic might not work out so well for her; the flippant response, predictable though it may be, engenders almost nothing in the way of a response from the man. His hand rests loosely around his coffee cup, and his muddled eyes trail her movement absently as she props a knee against the table and explains to him the value of being a walking billboard. He sips again, and doesn't comment at all on her ink - despite the fact that he's studying it while she talks. "Shared bathroom," he replies flatly. "Furnished. You can bring your own things. If there is room, we keep them. If there isn't, they go. If they shit in the house, they go." He pauses, thinks. "You have references?"

For all the tattoo work she has done on her chest, that tank actually comes fairly high up. The youth may be a walking neon sign, but the signals may not be as clear as most. "Yeah, I get you, you're an ass. I'm a bitch." She lifts a hand, pretending to bring it into the middle of the table, then makes a 'whoosh' sound in a mockery of the typical 'fist-bump' before drawing said hand back to herself. Egos established? "References?" She echoes his question with a one-sided smirk, eyes actually glinting a bit with amusement. "Nah. Haven't been around these parts for about seven years, and let's just say... I left the city in the city. That a deal breaker?"

Ruiz's gaze drifts from her shoulder, back to her face, and rests there a good long while in silent consideration. The fist-bump, of course, is not reciprocated, though the mockery of it gains a twinge of his lips that holds a vestige of amusement. "I am telling you my expectations. I tell you my expectations now, we do not have any nasty surprises down the road. Yes?" Clearly, egos are nothing to do with it. Clearly. Her question about references being a dealbreaker causes him to make a sound in his throat. Low and indistinct, fingers rifled through his dark hair while he seems to think about that. Then, "No." A little shake of his head. "No es un factor decisivo."

"Lo siento, muy poquito Espanol," is her retort to his last statement, followed by a soft snort. If he can piece together her English, maybe he can piece together the Spanish, too. "But I can make out enough to know if you ratting me out, and I can say 'I got it from him' in at least five languages." That's followed by an actual smile, though the expression seems somehow.... less sincere than the smirk. Perhaps it's that dimple-inducing piercing in her left cheek? Whatever the case, she still falls shy of mocking. If anything, a discerning eye may pick up on the air of one accustomed to... putting on a face. Giving the audience what they expect. "You said you don't care about smoke. That include weed, or you picky about your carcinogens?"

The patchwork Spanish causes him to chuckle softly, but he doesn't comment one way or the other. He does seem briefly curious about the cheek piercing, but it's hardly something he's going to comment on to a perfect stranger. Instead, "Don't give a shit what you smoke. None of my business." His eyes tick to hers for just a moment, and there's a touch of something there. Like he has a line, where he might decide to make it his business. And that line is not pot, but it might be other things. And it's really, really better if she just doesn't ask. "You keep it outside. Or you open a window." He shakes his head slowly, and repeats, "None of my business."

She's back to smirking by the time he finishes speaking -- the expression that seems more genuine than any of the others she's displayed before. 'Friendly' may be taking it a bit too far, but really, what can one expect? "So. Would we be talking a landlord or a roommate situation?" In what is undoubtedly a rarity, she isn't continuing with a 'witty' follow-up. Whereas he may study the various eccentricities she's 'worn' for display, her eyes remain on his features. His own eyes, if she can catch them. Trying to get a read?

The smirk is considered, and then he ducks his gaze to sip from his coffee cup. The contents are an unappealing lukewarm by now, but he nurses that thing like it's his lifeline. "Roommate. I am renting the house from a woman.. an out of towner. She stops by once a.. once a month, once every couple of months. In and out. I need help with the rent." He meets her gaze, only briefly; his eyes could be termed brown or they could be termed green, but at the moment they're closer to dark, muddied gray. There's a shine about him, at the very edges. Faint and tenuous, like a candle that could be snuffed by a stiff breeze.

Any humor that may have been coloring her gaze seems to sober as she speaks, though her study of the man grows no less pointed. In anything, she seems more intent on watching each shift and nuance. Phrasing. Whatever her conclusions, her gaze appears straight-forward for the moment he finds it. Roommates. And both of them sitting in a less-than-likely coffee joint on the wrong side of the clock. Who's supposed to start the judging? Even /guessing/, at this point... "How 'bout this." She shifts a bit in her chair, the heel of her boot actually propped on the edge of the seat, and her knee close to her chest. "We give things a shot for two weeks. What's that... $175? Long enough to see if we wanna kill each other, but don't tie either of us down. You know, with the whole... no references bit." As for that shine? Depending on how he sense's the town's unique brand of Bizarre, 'it' marks Lex as visibly as those tattoos. Not the blinding specimen he might've come by thus far, but... grounded. Deeply-rooted, so to speak. "Sound fair to you?"

Ruiz is probably no stranger to being sized up. He's got that look about him, and the obviously-broken-a-time-or-two nose and old, faded ink on the backs of the fingers of his right hand probably tell their own tale. Quiet-like, where some men scream it. Her voice draws him back from his study of her and her deep roots, and he scratches at his nose again with his thumb, before finishing off his coffee. Knuckles to his lower lip, to make sure he isn't wearing any in his close-cropped beard. "Si." The empty cup is nudged away, and he finally flickers a smile that creases the corners of his eyes. "Sounds fair. We try. I will show you the place first. And then if you still want it, we try." He glances at his watch, and then snags the empty cup and begins easing to his feet slowly. "Tomorrow?" For her to stop by and see the house, presumably.

"I work from nine to seven. Around this time cool with you?" There's a flickered glance toward the shop's clock, as if it hadn't been, oh, you know, five minutes sice the 'eight'o'clock' they'd met at. "Careful with that Spanish shit, mijo... I can still claim ignorance." There's an actual wink with that, and then standing in turn. She moves easily enough, considering the way she'd pretzeled herself, and she's offering a hand as he asks the question. Shaking on it? So /old school/. "Text me the address? This town's the size of a Goddamn postage stamp, and I still can't get the 'street names' right." Heavy air-quotes there.

"Eight o'clock. Yes." He's a fair bit taller, on his feet, though still nothing overly impressive. A hair under six feet, perhaps, but the sort of man who seems bigger than he is. He chuckles again at something she says, and starts to drift a step backward when she reaches for his hand. Hesitation, and then it's grasped firmly. No shake. "Google maps. Saves my ass all the time." He chances a grin at that, but it's gone almost as soon as it presented itself. "See you tomorrow." Abruptly, he turns to go, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he moves for the door. Not much of a people person, this one.

<The End... for now. Mwahaha.>