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halequeenjas · 4 years ago

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It’ll Cost an Arm and a Leg || Alain & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Alain meets with Jasmine to discuss selling his home and buying a new one.

Who could have known that the hardest part of going to Ms. Hale’s real estate agency would not be the crutches (he had abandoned the idea of using a wheelchair after his first encounter with the sidewalk), but rather running into people he vaguely knew from his job as a mechanic, and who just had to ask him how he was ? Alain who did not want to be late, and had, even when he had two legs, never liked making small talk with people, had to find a polite way to tell them to fuck off and leave him be. After all, he had never really had a thing for caring about other people’s business, and he wanted people to feel the same about him. The less they knew, the better. And so, he had to use this trick that managed to make anyone feel uncomfortable and like you did not care : calling them by the wrong name. It was a simple trick that allowed you to politely indicate that these people were not your friends and that you would not talk with them any longer. Obviously, this was not the attitude he would have with Jasmine Hale. She had to know a few things about him in order to help him sell his house and purchase a new one.

Pulling the door open with the crutches was another hassle, and the man found himself smiling at that stupid door with the most annoyed grin on his face.

Coming to the office and working on real estate was a welcome distraction to the sheer volume of ghost related problems that seemed to be piling up on. Jasmine knew her ability meant it was her duty to protect people from malevolent spirits and help some pass on, but it got exhausting after a while. Real estate was easier. Lives weren’t put on her shoulders when she was showing properties and helping people find their dream homes. Plus, the pay out was a lot more money for a lot less stress. This particular morning she had been preemptively working on advertisements and open house dates for Alain’s home. Finding him a townhome he liked would be no problem. She had a few lined up she was sure fit both his budget and lifestyle. These were solutions she could easily provide with no sweat off her back. Not that she could do much of her other work with her arm currently broken. She’d be putting herself and others at risk if she even tried. So she’d knock out as much real estate work as she could. She’d been looking through some listings when she heard some struggle with the door. She was quick to get up and open the door for him with her good arm. The arm in the black cast gestured for him to come in. “Hello,” she greeted with a bright smile, “You must be Mr. Babineaux. Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like some coffee or tea? I have some water bottles in here as well.”

“Thank you,” Alain gave the door one last annoyed glance before turning his attention toward the amicable woman. “The leg gave it away, huh?” He asked, walking in with the help of his crutches. He was still not used to walking with those, but already more comfortable than he had been when he got out of his hospital room about thirty minutes ago. Several times, on his way to here, he found himself repeating to himself that this would be okay, that he would be okay. Everyone had kept on assuring him that it was possible to live a normal life even with a whole limb gone, and he had decided to listen to them. What other choice did he have? Giving up had never been in his nature, but this one hardship seemed to have been the one droplet of water that had managed to make him drown. He was grateful for the people that had checked on him, Kaden, Erin, Blanche, and even Evelyn. The thought brought a thin smile to him. Sitting down by her desk, he looked over at Ms.Hale, a perplexed look on his face. He could have coffee, right? “Coffee sounds good,” he nodded, putting his crutches to rest against the arm of the second chair. He did not really want to leave his countryside home, but there was something inevitable here. He could not afford to live alone, away from all commodities. “Thank you,” he added, eventually. It was not so much about the coffee, but rather about the fact that she had been so swift. Maybe he had expressed anxiety in his message, or maybe she was just effective like that. Either way, he was thankful.

Though Jasmine hadn’t known about the leg thing prior to their meeting, the first floor home made more sense now. Not that she loved stairs either, but walking up stairs with 5-inch heels was way different than walking up stairs with crutches. At least she imagined so. While she was curious, she wasn’t going to ask too many questions about it. She laughed slightly at his joke and retorted, “Well, my only other appointment this morning is Mrs. Belsky and you don’t really look like an elderly Russian woman.” There was a humorous grin on her face as she turned around to pour some coffee for her client. She always kept a hot pot going so she'd have something to offer anyone who visited her office. She admittedly also loved the smell. There was a bit of a struggle as she was still getting used to the cast on her arm, but she managed to pour a mug without making a total mess. With a mug in her good hand and a cup of cream and sugar packets in the other, she took careful steps back toward her desk. She was almost home free when she felt herself become unsteady. She caught herself well enough to not spill hot coffee all over herself or Alain, but she did manage to send her bag falling from her desk. Internally, she cursed herself as the loud clang of iron rods hit the floor with salt spilling out after them. She let out a sigh and set the coffee down in front of Alain. “Well, if the coffee wasn’t going to wake you up. That surely did.” She collected the iron rods, salt, and assorted tubes of lipstick that fell out of her purse from the ground. “Sorry about that. Promise I’m not some sort of freak or anything. Doing a couple of crafts and repairs for a showing I have later today.” That sounded legitimate enough.

“I knew I should not have gone out without a scarf to cover my hair,” Alain’s smile dropped, as if he was feeling remorse for failing at dressing like an old Russian lady. “Maybe next time,” leaning back in the chair, he looked as she poured coffee. He had no idea of how it was that she had broken her arm, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that this was not due to her falling down the stairs. He just tried to recall, now, just how many times he had broken his arm, his leg, through all these years. It seemed like he had stopped counting at 10. Who could blame him? There was something inevitable here. And there was no point to keep counts as the number would just keep on growing. The sound of metal hitting the ground brought him out of his thoughts. How long had he been lost in his thoughts this time ? Could not have been more than a few seconds, right? “I… right, thank you for … waking me up,” his voice faltered as he glanced at the things scattered on the floor. Salt and iron rods. Right. Not exactly typical. His brows furrowed, and he glanced back at the realtor with a perplexed look in his eyes. “That’s a lot of salt. Probably a lot of lipstick too. Not that I’m an expert. We don’t have that in Russia,” he was not here to discuss why she got hurt, or who she really was, just like he was not here to discuss his injury and how he got it. “So, how are we going to do this?”

Jasmine had an amused grin on her face as Alain went along with her joke. In any other situation she’d make a joke about how he was far too handsome to be an elderly woman, but given the professional setting she simply laughed along. While flirting with clients probably could have gotten her farther in some cases, Jasmine prided herself on her professionalism among many other things. Though her little display of accidentally spilling ghost weapons and makeup out of her purse was far from. She’d never broken any bones before and outside of clashing with literally every single outfit she owned, the cast was making it hard to navigate. She recovered quickly with a bright smile and responded, “Any time.” The mention of salt and lipstick was only mildly concerning. What possible excuse could she have for the salt without him thinking she was one of those new age fake wiccan chicks? At least he said it in a somewhat joking manner so she laughed along. “You never know when you’ll have a lipstick emergency. Have to have a shade for every outfit.” Maybe if she just glossed over the salt thing, they could move on to a subject that didn’t make her seem like a total White Crest freak. Thankfully, he was asking about the process now which was a lot easier to go over. “So, I do already have some listings I’ve picked out for you to check out that I think fit the bill of what you’re looking for. I’ll be setting up an appointment for you to meet with a mortgage broker so we can get you preapproved so we can immediately put an offer in if you find a place you love. As far as selling your home goes, I’ll be coming by with my photographer so we can get some top tier photos for the listing I’ll put in the MLS. Do a few open houses. I do like to stage the area so I may do some little touches here and there around the house. Always have a vanilla candle going during showings too. Makes it’s smell home-y.”

“I really don’t relate to that, but I’m going to trust your word on this,” he cleared his throat, coughing lightly in his hand, although it was clear that he just had a smile to hide here. She had not made any comments on the salt, but considering salt was something mostly used by hunters, he had no business asking too many questions although he did wonder what it was she dealt with. As far as he was concerned, his only experience with salt had been his attempt to keep a mara away. Attempt, and success. The subject went back to the house seeking question, and he stopped thinking about hunting then. Or at least, for a few. He wondered if asking to be away from cemeteries was suspicious or not, but figured that it was a legit worry for some people, not having a room with a view on tombstones. “I forgot to precise, but I really would rather not have a view on a cemetery. We have so many in town that it might make it a lot harder, but… that’s just so morbid, you know?” Sure. Morbid. He had always been great at pretending to be normal, but never a great liar, and he hoped that she wouldn’t ask more questions about this. He doubted that she would, but that still worried him. Many things did, but losing a leg did put things into perspective. “Okay, that sounds great. I’ll have a couple hospital bills to pay, but that’s alright,” he was speaking mostly to himself here, thinking aloud. “I’ll start packing some things as soon as I get home. The house will look less cluttered. I suppose that’s better. I’ll try to keep the dogs out of the house. They have a way to make the place smell home-y in a different way,” he wrinkled his nose. He missed his dogs so much and he could not wait to see them again. It was nice to know that Kaden and Nell had been taking care of them, but it was not the same as seeing them.

“Right, of course. No lipstick in Russia after all,” Jasmine joked with an amused smirk on her face. At least he wasn’t pushing on the salt thing and she much preferred to keep their little joke going. It seemed he was likely clueless as to why someone would be carrying salt around anyhow. Crafting seemed legitimate enough. They were now focusing on the purpose of this meeting and it was much preferred. Jasmine took a seat in her leather desk chair and listened as he spoke. All his requests seemed easy enough though it was curious that he noted the whole cemetery thing. Not that she wanted to live near one either. Last thing she wanted was to see ghosts right outside her window. “I think I can manage to find something without a cemetery view. I’m not a big fan of them either. Definitely a little morbid and home should be cozy not morbid.” She quickly jotted that down on her notepad just to be sure she didn’t forget. Not that she usually chose places near cemeteries. Well, occasionally she did. There was always some young white couple who wanted their home to be spooky which she never understood. Who wanted to literally live in a Stephen King novel? Not her, that was for sure. As he mentioned the dog smell, she refrained from scrunching her nose and nodded slowly. “That’d be perfect. Generally better to not have them in the house during showings anyhow. Some people are afraid of dogs of all things. I’m sure a few candles would give us just the vibe we’re going for. Maybe I’ll do maple candles, that’s totally a remote home vibe.” Touching on the previous thing he said, she added, “I wouldn’t worry too much about the hospital bills affecting your preapproval. Those don’t generally impact credit. I hope they weren’t too bad though. I know medical expenses here can be through the roof.” She thought briefly of Nell and Bea and their current medical debt predicament. “If you do end up needing some debt consolidation for those, I know a guy… Actually, I pretty much know a guy for everything. Anyway, did you want to take a peek at some of the listings I thought may work for you and the pups?”

“I would rather avoid having a morbid house, yes. That’s what I was looking for when I renovated the house I live in, something that felt like home,” and somewhere lost in the middle of nowhere, where he would have quiet and peace for whatever he chose to do there. Through the years, a few vampires had shown up by his doorstep, and you could not afford to have the neighbors watch you drag them inside, could you? That was simply out of the question. With a pleasant smile, Alain glanced away from the realtor to have a look around the office. The place was tidy and there was something about the way it had been arranged that made him feel uncomfortable. Of course, Ms Hale’s charming demeanor helped as well.

“Of course, I’ll make sure to move their belongings to the garage, and to have them with me at work during showings,” he probably would have commented on the candles more if it was not for the fact that he had not a damn clue about those. The last time he used candles was when the power was cut for a few hours a few years ago, and he could not find the camping lamps. And you were safe to assume that those emergency candles had no scent to them. The idea of putting perfume in his house seemed a bit too much to him, but if people would buy it faster that way, then he would go with it. She knew her job better than he did, this much was sure. “I know a guy for everything.” His tone, as he repeated that sentence, was not quite the same as hers. His, was perplexed, as if he questioned what that could mean. “Well that’s ominous. You don’t seem the type to work for a crime lord but you never know in this town,” leaning forward, he glanced over at her monitor, wondering if she was going to show her something there, of if she had printed out something for him. Maybe both.

“Thank god. As much as I’m willing to oblige the weird hipster trend of spooky houses, it’s not my preferred place to be,” Jasmine said with a laugh. Usually those houses had ghosts galore and it always made her skin crawl. She got rid of them or warded off the homes for the sake of safety, but it still left her entirely perplexed. How could someone just want to live in a haunted house? Not that all ghosts were malicious by any measure, but the more they hung around and decided they didn’t like that you re-painted, the more unstable and dangerous they became. Not that these people had any actual understanding of that. At least this Alain guy seemed to have some actual sense even living off in a remote part of town had never been her cup of tea. There was a huge difference between enjoying your privacy and having a dangerous morbid fascination with the more occult aspects of the town. Not that she avoided hauntings, but she didn’t want to live with them.

“Perfect, if this weekend works for you, I’ll come by and get the photos done,” Jasmine answered with a relaxed grin on her face. Of her current clients, Alain seemed to be fairly easy going and it’d be simple enough for her to find what he was looking for. She set her notepad down on her desk and rummaged around her drawer for a card for the mortgage broker that she set near her for the time being as she noticed a shift in his tone. Her face was confused for a moment as she realized that her statement did in fact sound a little ominous. A laugh filled the otherwise still air and she responded, “Oh, god no. I definitely didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just lived here my whole life and I’m well connected so hence… a guy for everything. You know, like handy work, business, or like tech-y things.” Also, had people for magic and muscle but that just sounded crazy. She recovered quickly and had her signature smile back on her face. “Please, me and crime don’t mix. Do I look like I could survive in prison? Or that I’d be caught alive in a polyester jumpsuit?”

“Oh so that’s a trend among hipsters, alright,” Alain’s raised eyebrows and small smirk told a lot regarding his opinion on hipsters although he could not recall ever meeting a single person who approved of these people. “Well, good for you if they want those houses, they can’t be easy to sell,” his eyebrows raised further more as he got even more exasperated by some people’s stupidity. Jasmine probably would think that he had a strong distaste for hipsters and cemeteries, which he did not really mind. There was nothing weird with that, right?

“I don’t really go to work these days, but I’ll be home this weekend,” he nodded to further his agreement, smiling back as he thought of all the crap he would have to hide in boxes before Saturday came. Great. Sounded like a great time. Then, he did not have much of a choice, unless he wanted whoever visited the house to know about his strange passion for all things undead and medieval weaponry. Far from ideal, really. Her laughter caught him off guard, and his eyebrows furrowed as he locked eyes with her. Well, at least he had made her laugh, that was something. Shaking his head, he raised his hands apologetically, “look, in a town like that one, don’t blame me for having several questions about this statement,” she was truly easy to speak to. He wondered if this was genuine, or all part of an act meant to sell more. It might have been a mix of both. “I don’t know, I don’t know you enough to assume that. I might be surprised,” he gave her a shrug, although her last comment brought a deadpan look to his face, “I’m sure you could pull it off, not a lot of people can pride themselves with that,” he grimaced, “so I’m guessing you didn’t break your arm in an underground fighting ring? How disappointing,” he sighed.

“I can’t say I get it, but they have some weird fascination with things being haunted or occult without any actual understanding,” Jasmine responded with an amused grin on her currently red lips. It seemed like he had the same distaste for people who were obsessed with haunted houses though Jasmine’s issue was more with people endangering themselves without even realizing it. Probably better to not mention that. That was a whole can of worms that would likely make her appear crazy if he wasn’t already privy to the more unsavory aspects of the town. “Odd trends have their perks, I suppose.” It wasn’t like haunted houses always looked haunted anyway.

“That makes sense,” she said with a small nod and a sympathetic gaze, “I’m sure adjusting after the accident hasn’t been easy. I can help out with tidying up and clearing clutter if the clutter isn’t too heavy. If you’d like, that is.” Did she just offer to help clean? Was this some sort of out of body experience? She didn’t even do her own tidying, she paid Lauren for that. Too late to rescind the offer now. It’d look bad and this client was both selling and purchasing through her. That commission could easily fund some holiday fun. Maybe if she went right back to the joking, he’d forget she’d made the offer? “You make a fair point, but I can go ahead and tell you prison and I would not get along. Aside from that, I’m totally cool with the whole following the laws thing. They’re there for a reason.” As much was true. Plus, doing the right thing was always better. Her parents could have taken a lesson from her on that one. She laughed at the idea of her in a crime-fighting ring. “I’m flattered really. Afraid the real story isn’t quite that exciting. Just a bit of a clumsy moment with a tree.” That she was thrown into by a ghost. Semantics, really. “I’d look better in than most. Would still rather not. My bed is far too comfortable to give up for a prison cot.” Was that a good recovery? She didn’t know. She liked to think the easiness of their back and forth kept him from being too suspicious.

“Well their loss. This town has a way to remind you that stories are told for a good reason,” he shook his head and sighed. Alain doubted that the stories he had been told as a child were the same as the one most people had heard, the ones that she had heard. In his books, SnowWhite was a vampire coming back from the dead, and the Prince a hunter who staked her in her coffin. To someone unaware of what was going on in town, what he said could appear as slightly odd, or a bit too serious, and for someone aware, it was just telling.

His brows furrowed however, at her next offer. He did not know what it was with women with their arms in a cast and offering help with packing boxes, but Jasmine was the second to make him this offer. From Erin, it was expected. She had always been supportive, and she probably felt bad for the bear incident. He hardly blamed her for it. “No such thing as too much help, especially while I’m still recovering,” to think that he could have carried half his furniture on his own, and that now, he would need help for this. Unacceptable. “Thank you for the offer,” he added with a tight lipped smile. Well if this did not show that he still had no idea of how to accept help from people or how to thank them. His people skill had never been anything but rusty, but you would think that some things could get better with age. Alain shook his head as she admitted to having a vicious fight with a tree. “Well let me know if you want to … get revenge on the tree, anything,” his shoulders raised briefly as he scoffed. His arms crossed over his chest and once again, shook his head at her. “That is by far the best reason someone has given me for staying out of jail, so congratulations, Ms. Hale,” he lightly touched the tip of his nose and looked away from her for a second, moving his hand to scratch a leg that just wasn’t there. It’s only as he touched the fabric of the chair that he looked up with a confused look on his face. “Saturday is when you stop by, right?”

“That they are. Doesn’t stop the high schoolers from turning it into a party game,” Jasmine said as a nod to the kids who summoned Bloody Mary and in turn the Sand Creep. There was no way for her to discern if they knew what would happen. Probably not what Alain had meant anyway. Unless he had. She wasn’t about to do a supernatural chicken game on a first meeting with a client so she wasn’t about to push it. On the chance he was totally normal, she’d rather him think of her the same. The whole “I see dead people” thing was a little too M. Night Shyamalan for most.

Jasmine could have cursed herself for offering to help pack up some of the clutter while she was there. While she had a broken arm at that. Had she completely lost her mind? It’d be far too rude to rescind the offer now, so she smiled and said, “Of course! It’ll help me get an idea of staging before we start showing the place.” It was true. She hated it a little bit, but it was true. At least he really wasn’t Mrs. Belsky. She’d have to hear stories about every single creepy angel figurine if that was the case. Somehow, this seemed preferable. Unless he secretly collected dolls or something. She caught herself from blurting that thought out loud and instead said, “Yep, Saturday mid morning if that works for you.” As he moved to leave, she was quick to open the door again. She offered a warm smile and a wave as he left. “I’ll see you Saturday, Mr. Babineaux!”

#wickedswriting #it'll cost an arm and a leg #alain

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