2019-08-11 - Not the roommate you're looking for.

It's sort of a cliche for a writer to hang out in coffee shops. But really, it has everything one might need - caffeine, food, and free WiFi. Dante has been holed up here for the last few hours, at a small table in the corner. So when the message came through with a potential accommodation situation, he invited her to the coffee shop. Given the strange happenings lately, neutral ground seemed a good idea.

After dithering outside for a minute, looking at the sign over the building, then up farther at the afternoon sun, then back the way she came, Hailey eventually decides to just bite the bullet and come inside. She's got the air of a person that's been hurrying all day long, that sort of frazzled vibe, with hair falling out of her braid and a box-cutter stuffed into the back pocket of her jeans (considering serial killer murmurings, she probably shoulda ditched that but too late). Anyway, she orders an iced tea and, while waiting for it, scans the interior. Dante gets the question, "Are you 'seeking medium-term housing,' by any chance?"

Dante doesn't look up at first. He's busy tap-tap-tapping something out on a silver Chromebook. He looks up after a moment. "Mhmm? Oh, yes, hello." He tugs a pair of dark framed glasses off his face and stands. "Dante Taylor. Have a seat?" He motions across from him. He's finally starting to dress down a little, though for him that means expensive looking dark wash skinny jeans, a white button up and a blue linen jacket with white pocket square.

The expensive-looking attire gets a once-over from Hailey, complete with a quirked brow, then she takes her iced tea and a packet of sugar over to the table. "Hi, Dante Taylor. I'm Hailey Stevenson, we were - " She makes gestures with her now empty hands, suggesting the back-and-forth of communication that lead up to this meeting. A handshake gets offered at the same time she sits, leaving her asking, "So why are you looking for a roommate?"

"Not a roommate so much. That sounds very permanent. I don't know how long I'll be in town and I've started to feel a bit...cooped up at the bed and breakfast I've been staying in. Plus..." Dante's eyebrows arch, and he takes a sip from his coffee. He makes a face. Cold. "...they're lovely people but I'm getting a bit sick of their breakfast." He flashes a smile, then, "So I'm not certain I'd be a good candidate if you're looking for someone to share a place long-term, or if it would be a bother if I left town on short notice."

Forgive Hailey for the momentary look of amusement that crosses her face about halfway through his answer, the brow-lift coming back into play before she attends the process of dumping sugar into her tea. Flick-flick, gotta snap that little sugar packet a couple times, then stir-stir with her straw. She's done with the tea about the time Dante is talking about being a bother. "Okay. Ahhm, why are you looking to share less-temporary accommodations?"

"I'm a writer in town doing research. And one never knows exactly how long these things are going to take." Dante lifts and sets his mug just out of reach so he doesn't habitually sip from the cold liquid again. "So the situation I was looking for was rather...to rent out someone's guest room for a bit, or a long-term AirBnB."

Hailey holds the empty sugar-packet and looks pointedly at the coffee cup that Dante's putting out of reach; the question communicated in the shift of her attention is if it's okay if she throws trash in that cup? She keeps the sugar-packet poised, waiting for the answer on that. "Mmkay," she agrees with his clarification, like it's her place to decide if that's a legit reason. "What kind of writer are you? What do you write?"

Dante gestures towards the cup to give her permission to use it as a waste bin. "Horror, mostly. But I'm researching a book on local lore, legends and cold cases for a nonfiction series I also write." A beat, then, "And yourself?"

The sugar-packet finds its end in a watery grave (coffee-y grave?), and Hailey's eyes widen at the first answer: horror. She sputters a sip of tea, recovers when Dante's on to explaining in a little more detail, and comes up with, "It sounds like you came to the right place." And herself? "I'm not a writer so... nothing?" She writes nothing. Her smile is a touch confused.

"What do you...do. Sorry." Dante blinks and rubs the side of his face. "Been staring at my computer monitor all day. Nothing but writing on the brain. What do you do?"

"Oh! Yeah. Duh." The duh is on her, though, and Hailey shakes her head at herself for a moment, absently pushing down all the little bubbles in the lid on her iced tea cup - the ones that say 'cola, diet, other.' "I'm about to start my third year of residency at Addington Memorial Hospital. Which, if you were to try to pick the exact opposite job from 'writer,' that would have to be in the top ten?"

"Perhaps. Though, both involve keeping odd hours?" Dante chuckles a little. "So, em, this may have wasted your time if you were looking for a more traditional arrangement. But at least the coffee is good?" he motions to the counter.

With a slow nod, Hailey agrees, "Graaaanted," to the odd hours, at least. "And blood and gore?" No, she shakes her head on that one, then fixes a long look on her cup of iced tea, eyes flicking toward the counter when it's indicated but still. She's really looking at her tea. "I'll have to take your word for it," on the coffee, she means, and presses her lips till her smile smooths out. Ahem, serious housing situation talk here. "You're right, though. It's probably not quite the situation I'm hunting for. I need someone to split bills." Le sigh.

"And if I decided to leave on short notice, I'd leave you in a bit of a spot. But that's the situation I'm in, I'm afraid. Sorry to disappoint." Dante almost reaches for the mug again, then stops, fingers curling under. Force of habit.

Hailey saves him from himself, walking her fingers across the table and hooking the handle of the mug with her index finger, dragging it another half-foot away. So it's less of a temptation. All without a word about it. "That's okay, you didn't turn out to be the serial killer, so I'll cope somehow. Sorry that I'm not running a proper boarding house with a room to let?"

"Yes, that whole business. That's why I thought it prudent to meet on neutral ground in the full light of day." Dante folds his hands into his lap, fingers lacing together. "If I run into anyone in my travels who is looking for a more conventional arrangement, I'll refer them to you?"

"I'm thinking that might be more awkward than just answering an endless series of want ads." Having people referred to her, she means. "But I appreciate the offer. Dante." Hailey lets the pause before his name get just a hair longer than conversationally necessary - talk of serial killers, his name is Dante, he writes horror books, can we blame her?! - and then pushes her chair back. "I hope you find somewhere to stay that doesn't involve the same boring breakfast every day. And also where all the murder is confined to the printed page."

"Fair enough," says Dante. "Good luck to you. I'd imagine we'd see each other around, given the size of this town. But here's hoping not while you're on duty?" He quirks a grin.

"Considering what you pen? Yes, I'm going to hope our paths cross on non-professional terms only." Since she dumped her trash in it, Hailey snags the coffee cup once she's on her feet, then shifts it awkwardly so she's holding it and the to-go-teacup in the same hand, freeing up the other to offer a handshake at Dante. "It was nice to meet you, Dante. Good luck to you, too."

"I'm harmless, really. I've just an active imagination," says Dante as he shakes her hand. "Have a good day."

Hailey's last words are, "Famous last words." Then she's off - after stopping to snag one of those little Pennysaver-type-things from the rack on the way out. Can't hurt~!