2020-08-20 - Cover Stories

The morning at the Sea View has been particularly bewildering for the new owner. A group of tourists, yachters by the looks of them, poured in early to strike up a conversation with the apparent Hilton. They heard all about her plans to revitalize the old motel. Shame about those silly ghost stories cropping up just after she bought it though. Renata was careful to keep her expression politely neutral as the chatter wore on but there was clearly some bemusement on her part. The small crowd dispersed by the afternoon, allowing her some peace and quiet to figure out what just happened. She sits at the counter now, taking down a few notes with a thoughtful frown on her lips

The small crowd disperses, and it's about four minutes later when the lobby door flies open again. The entrant has the hallmarks of a tourist in his attire - sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, one of the cheap Hawaiian shirts that they sell on the boardwalk to people who haven't figured out that the Pacific Northwest ≠ the tropics - and walks up to the front desk, just like any other guest would. He plops his elbows down on the counter, beaming charmingly to say, "I need to talk to the owner of this joint. Please." He turns up the wattage on the aforementioned beam prettily.

Renata quickly finishes writing something out in a notebook as the door opens, smoothly closing it as the new tourist strolls up. Her attire is neat and professional, a green blouse paired with black slacks and heels. She pauses slightly as she looks up to greet him, taking another moment to look over that getup. She plasters on a pleasant smile that, in contrast to his, says customer service more than warm personality. "It's your lucky day then. I'm Renata, the new owner of the Sea View Suites. How can I be of service?"

Squinting his left eye closed, Graham cocks his head to ask, "Is that your first name or your last name?" Then clucks his tongue against the back of his teeth hurriedly, lifting his index finger to wag it and dismiss the question. "You're a Hilton, so Renata Hilton?" The hand attached to the wagging finger extends across the counter toward her, there for the shaking, and he introduces himself with the same super-glossy smile back in play. "My name's Graham. I used to work here, and I left some shiiistuff," don't curse in front of people you just met, G, it's bad form, "in room nine. If nobody's in there... is it all good with you if I just go snag it?" Yes, he is technically batting his lashes across them baby blues that he walks around with.

That pleasant smile falters a little when he identifies her as a Hilton but it's only for a second. "Word travels fast around here," She murmurs mostly to herself. Assuming that he's a tourist like the others, she chooses not to correct him on her origins. Perhaps she's already decided to use it to her advantage. "A pleasure to meet you, Graham," She says politely as she takes his hand to shake. Her lips quirk up slightly at that near slip but she doesn't seem to mind. "Room nine, you said?" She reaches over to a different, better kept notebook and flips it open. If Graham is looking closely, he would be able to see room numbers but not names as she flips through it. "Hm, it doesn't seem like anyone is staying there currently." She observes those lashes being batted at her with that same politely neutral expression. It's hard to read if it's actually working. "While I understand you were a former employee here, I'm not sure about letting someone just roam the grounds. I could grab it for you, if you'd like."

Graham makes no pretense about the amount of attention that he pays; he rolls up onto his toes, leaning on his elbow, far forward over the counter to be nosy about Renata's notebook. For all the good it does him, since it's just room numbers. "Small towns, what can you do," with a lanky shrug about the speed of gossip and an appropriate smile flashed for the pleasure-to-meet-you bits. He listens attentively while she explains her issues with letting random strangers wander around the property, nodding like he totally respects where she's coming from buuuuuut... "It's gonna be hard to explain where it is. So what if I just come with you, and you can open the room, I'll get my stuff out and be outta your hair in no time."

Look how trustworthy he seems! Definitely not a robber...

Renata drums her fingers on the counter as she considers Graham's suggestion. She looks over his shoulder at the door to check if anyone else might be coming before turning her attention back to him. "That seems like a fair compromise. It must have been pretty hectic after everything that happened..." She doesn't go into any further detail about his previous employment given the circumstances. She steps over to the pigeonhole drawers and pulls an old-fashioned key of her pocket. Whatever system she uses to navigate these drawers isn't readily apparent as she immediately picks one out. Strangely, she stays at an angle with her back to Graham as she unlocks it. "Here we are. It's pretty slow going in the afternoons so we should have time." She closes the drawer after taking out the key to room nine and gestures for Graham to follow her down the hall.

Graham rolls on his toes again, doing the thing where he's nosily watching over her shoulder for whatever can be seen, then dropping back to the flats of his feet in time for her to turn back, his smile turning wry to accompany the lift of another shrug. "Yeah, it was a mess. Cops were a real pain in the ass afterward, too." So much for the profanity filter. He jumps right on the 'follow me' gesture, falling in a couple steps behind Renata for the trek to room number nine. His tone at least acknowledges the social awkwardness of sharing details like the one he tacks on: "The old owners were my in-laws. So it sucked." Still, he drags in a bolstering breath and adds chattily, "So howcome you bought the place with cash? Is that a Hilton thing?"

Surprise flickers across Renata's face when Graham shares his relationship with the previous owners. It takes her off guard and she doesn't have time to recover before he's driving forward with that next question as they arrive at the door. Renata stiffens with the room key in her hand, shoulders slightly hunched. "I-- what? How did you know that? I didn't..." Her calm, controlled facade cracks for the first time during this conversation as her eyes dart in the supposed tourist's direction.

Almost exactly like he said it the last time, Graham repeats, "Small towns, what can you do." He glances back over his shoulder toward the lobby, then lifts his chin to look down the hallway ahead of them, then smiles back at Renata like everything is fine. "But I'd understand if you didn't wanna have this conversation in the hallway." So he stops walking next to the door's frame and lazily raps the door itself with his knuckles, dropping a pointed look to the key that she's got in hand.

Renata doesn't return the same customer service smile as she realizes that Graham isn't just a handsome face. She finds herself trying to process exactly what's happening for the second time today. "I suppose so..." She takes a steadying breath and unlocks the door, quickly stepping inside and turning around so her back isn't to him. "What do you want? Was all of that stuff about working here and knowing the owners just a story?" There's a certain intensity to her eyes that wasn't there before, like a cornered animal.

Hovering in the doorway rather than crossing the threshold, Graham pauses with his head cocked to a questioning angle to answer Renata's obvious fear. "First off, I told you what I want. Just some shit I stashed in here." He leans into the opening of the doorway, peering beyond her toward the back of the room, then drops safely back into the hallway. "Second off, if it was just bullshit, wouldn't this be, like, the worst time to try and call me on it? Yanno, when you're in a private room and not the public lobby?" Beat. "Though I guess the lobby ain't exactly safe, either." He dithers for a second, then shrugs it off. "Anyway, can I come in or are you about to freak out? 'Cause I'm not here to murder you or anything."

SAID EVERY MURDERER EVER.

Renata isn't exactly put at ease by Graham's assurance that he would not murder her. Scout's honor doesn't really work for this kind of thing. But she seems anxious for an entirely different reason that's hard to pin down. "Yeah, not a lot of options when you're in the Murder Motel. Except where it happens, I guess," She replies, her voice quavering slightly. The motel owner manages another steadying breath when she realizes he's not making any aggressive movements so far. "... Alright. I'll try to keep any freaking out to a minimum." She folds her arms and steps to the side to give him space to look around.

Hissing a breath in across his teeth at the term 'Murder Motel,' Graham lets his eyes wince while he ducks into the room. "I mentioned those were my in-laws, right? That wasn't bullshit. They were straight-up executed in the lobby." Busy as he is, now letting himself through the room and into the bathroom, his comments still convey an appropriate measure of sorrow about the whole mess - like, it was a while ago, so he's not about to break down in tears, but there's lingering pain on the edges of his voice. He'll be in the bathroom for a minute or two; if Renata's inclined to keep eyes on him (which isn't a bad idea, btw, he steals shit), he's digging around way in the back of the vanity beneath the bathroom sink, crouched down so he's climbing his torso into the cupboard to rummage. "So why cash? You in witness protection or something?" The anti-climax to all this is that what he winds up collecting? Is a carton of cigarettes, one that he hugs to his chest with a deep, content sigh.

Renata is skeptical of Graham's claim at first but her expression turns apologetic in response to the raw emotion in his voice. "Sorry... I didn't mean anything by it. I can be a little morbid at times, I guess." She stays fairly quiet once he starts rummaging around in the bathroom, watching him just as he watched her earlier. It might partly be out of curiosity over what he's got stashed too. She clears her throat when he asks about her transaction choices. "Yeah, something like that. It's not really important." It totally is but she's not telling. Her interest in the secret stash visibly dims when he reveals what was actually in it. "Smokes? You came back here for smokes?"

"It's a'ight," says Graham like he means it, shrugging off the apology. "The whole town's morbid." Her 'something like that' response merits a brow-lift, so he gives it one, letting the dubious expression that accompanies it speak for how little he's buying that dismissive answer. "You really oughta work on your cover story, hon," he says after a couple of seconds holding that doubtful look in place.

"I mean, would you feel better if it was a brick of coke or a severed head or something?" He looks down at the box of Marlboros that he loves so much, then back up to Renata, and beyond her to the door. "I'm gonna start smoking these in about four seconds, so I should probably get outta here. But I'mma come back later. So we can talk about the cash situation. Color me curious." He smiles at her again, all pretty and gleamy and already working his fingers into the tabs that keep the box closed. He was serious about the 'four seconds' part.

"You know, that's fair," Renata concedes to Graham's point that his stash could've turned out to be something a lot worse. She quietly avoids the topic of her cover story, not wanting to go down that particular rabbit hole just now. She lets out a small sigh when he mentions coming back to revisit the subject anyway. "Oh, good. I'm so looking forward to it. See you then, Graham." Life in Gray Harbor might be a little more complicated than she bargained for.

Graham, on his way out, spares some parting advice: "And change the locks." Then he throws a thumbs-up over his shoulder and FRANTICALLY SMOKES in the parking lot before he gets in his stupidloud car~