Participants:
| Scene Title | The All-Seeing Cat |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Unbeknownst to Abigail, she's renting a place in Cat's home/business/safehouse. It's bound to make everyone happy. |
| Date | March 16, 2009 |
The lobby of this building is spacious, with wide glass windows which look out onto 4th Street. The floor is a polished grey marble; the smooth walls are freshly painted in a cream color. A security desk staffed by men and women in professional clothing occupies a central position. From that desk maintenance crews are overseen and directed; they also monitor the footage from discreetly placed security cameras which cover all the public areas on the first through fourth floors, including the elevators (one centered in the lobby and each corridor), the stairwells at the front and back of the interior, and the outside of the entire building. More than one person is on duty at all times, and the public areas are kept well lit around the clock.
Behind the desk are four unmarked doors of heavy steel with strong locks and keycard access, evenly spaced. Keycards are required for entry to the building itself during hours of darkness. Anyone without them must make their case for entry with the security staff by the voice transmitters on both sides of the doors.
The rest of the ground floor has three corridors of four apartments each, their doors are sturdy pine with strong locks operated by metal keys and numbered from 101 through 112. Floors two and three are the same as the first floor, minus the security desk and unmarked doors. Each of these have apartments in that corridor instead, making a total of sixteen each, numbered in the same fashion as the first floor residences.
What exists above the third floor is anyone's guess. The elevators only have visible buttons for those first three levels and a control panel of some sort which takes a key and a keycard to access. If the security staff members know what's up there, they aren't saying.
It's a Monday morning, like any other. People get up, go to work, do their daily business. Greenwich Village, and the Village Renaissance building at 4 East 14th Street in it are little different. Approaching on the street brings one past the Rock Cellar entrance (stairs down to the basement) to the glass front of the building above. People can be seen through it at the security desk, mostly those working there, but there are a resident or two moving around.
A taxi brought her here, folder in her hand with her previous living references. The great apartment hunt. This place had confused her at first. Normally, there's a set cost for renting an apartment. This company had asked her what she could afford. She'd already looked into another place and was unhappy with what she saw. Not enough room. She'd gotten used to a little room in the apartment, even if by other standards it's still small. Through the front door Abby steps, past the glass towards the security desk. Still unhealthily thin, but slowly getting back to where she needs to be. "Pardon me, I had an appointment to look at an apartment." When she manages to get the attention of someone at a front desk.
The brown haired five feet ten inches tall, semi-athletic, and professionally dressed she just spoke to smiles in that professional way, and glances down at something on the desk before him. What that is exactly is hidden from Abby's view as he raises his eyes back to her. "Good morning, Miss… Beauchamp?" He seeks to verify her identity, perhaps knowing it already based on the time of her arrival, shortly before nine in the morning.
One of the doors opens behind him and a woman in her late twenties steps out. This might be the rental agent, given that she looks around to perhaps see if someone has arrived and settles attention on the healer who is herself healing.
Six floors above, someone else's interest has been captured. A pair of eyes linger on a monitor and watch the image seen in it, a curious expression settling onto the face of that person.
"Abigail Beauchamp." There's a slight nod. "I have an appointment at 9 to speak with the rental agent." The woman exiting the elevator gets a flicker of blue eyes on her before she looks back to the front desk security. The only ID she has right now is her brand spanking new evolved card, everything else is now conveniently in the mail. So it's slid across the front desk to verify her identity. The woman on the card is the woman before them.
"Miss Beauchamp," the woman who emerged greets, "I'm Melanie Walters. How are you this morning?" She smiles brightly and comes out around the security desk, offering her hand to shake once. Her grip is a limp one, there's not much strength behind it. Clearly an office worker most of her maybe twenty-eight years. One hand carries a clipboard with some papers attached to it, these she carries facing inward. "We've a decent number of openings, some are even on the first floor."
"Hello Ms. Walters" Abigail's grip is stronger than Melanie's, but she lets go the moment the woman's handshake is done. "I'm looking for something with two rooms, like I'd said over the phone but," There's a glance around the lobby. "I'm a little.. wary that perhaps this all might be too good to be true…"
Six floors up, that pair of eyes continues to observe images on the monitor. Cat had just ducked into the office area to have a quick look at goings on in the corridors and lobby while getting ready to visit an airfield and converse with the man called Fedor, who provided aerial transportation and support for the liberation operation, and who is set to do the same for a far larger op. That her timing matches with Abby being in the lobby is a stroke of fortune. It provides a possible chance to see to her housing needs while the healer herself has no idea just whose building she now resides in, and would enable a modicum of looking out for her too. Being a kidnap survivor herself, she feels a bit more affinity for the younger woman even though she fully intends never to be discovered by Abby in her role here.
Miss Walters smiles still, with some professional warmth if there is such a thing, and starts moving toward one of the corridors so she can show the healer a random unit. "We're just looking to provide a service to the Village and help to bring some more stability to the neighborhood," she explains. A short time later, she's using a key to open an apartment door and step inside.
The interior is carpeted, and there are appliances provided. Refrigerator, stove, microwave, central heating and cooling, washer, dryer, a bathroom with shower, living area, and two bedrooms. It's all about the average size of a middle income New York City apartment.
Except Abby's nowhere near middle income. Less if she actually follows through with the schooling. She walks through the apartment none the less, a smile flickering to her face at the fact that there's a washer and a dryer within the unit. would mean no more quarters. "What all's included, is there parking and what's security like and how much is the security deposit?"
Miss Walters begins to show the apartment, starting with the kitchen and laundry rooms, seeming enthusiastic about the place and her job without overdoing it like some people in this line of work might. "We're fairly flexible, Miss Beauchamp," she assures. "Security is good, as you've seen. There's the desk which is manned around the clock, the front doors lock and can only be opened by residents with keycards after the hours of darkness, or the security staff if a resident doesn't have it with her. There's an intercom at the street doors, they can see who's out there and verify identities. And, of course, all the corridors in the building have cameras."
So Teo would be satisfied with the security. She's satisfied with the security. The camera's everything, Elisabeth would likely be happy with it. Be less worry on Abby's mind. "There's going to be another resident, he's not in the state yet. But I can have his name put on the agreement, if that's fine with your employer's. Is there an application for I can fill out. I brought references and a letter of employment. Proof that she can afford what she said she could afford.
With the pair having entered the apartment, Miss Walters and Abby are no longer in view of the corridor camera Cat was watching footage from, but she does know which one that is. Her eyes drift to other views, she's made a mental note to send word down later and make sure Miss Beauchamp is welcomed to the building if she chooses to live here. It would certainly make a number of people around her happy, even though they'll never tell her how much they know.
"I have that right here, Miss," the agent replies, extending the clipboard she's holding. "It's a formality in your case, I'm certain. When would you like to move in?"
One thing Cat hasn't anticipated, however, is the power of perceptions. The basics of the apartment may seem familiar to Abby. Carpet is a different color, but the design is fairly close to what she saw three floors above, after blindfold was removed.
Just a formality and when would she like to move in. It's as if the woman could read her mind. Abby looks around from her perch in the middle of the living area, blonde brows furrowing for a moment. Whatever she's thinking is brushed off, stored away, filed in some little distant cupboard of her mind. Deja vu. She takes the clipboard from the agents hand, with it's pen, looking over the questions. "Tomorrow, or the day after. A unit on the floor. I can… walk through right now. I can have the money by the end of the day if everything on your end checks out"
"Splendid, Miss Beauchamp," the agent answers, her smile one of being professionally pleased. "We look forward to having you here at the Village Renaissance."
You say, "You're near work, that puts you ahead of most of the other places I have looked. Do you have a place I can sit and fill this out?" A gesture to the clipboard. "Or some water?""
"Of course," the agent answers. "If you'll come with me to the office, I can get you that water and a place to sit." She makes her way back to the door.
"Thank you." All southern manners and politeness. "Are all the units the same, what I see there I'll see in mine? Can you generally hear the club through the walls at night?" Not that she'll be home many nights, but it's good to know, since Alexander would be. Maybe. If he's ever sprung.
"They're fairly standard," Miss Walters supplies, "a few are three bedroom and some are one, but the majority are two bedroom units, Miss Beauchamp. And no, the soundproofing is very good." She flashes that smile again. "I like the club, myself, it has good music and food." Out the door she goes, back to the lobby and behind the security desk, then the unmarked door and the office inside it. A fairly standard office for is purpose.
The emergence, and where those two go, catch Doctor Chesterfield's attention. Her features curve into a grin, and she uses the time while they're behind that door to exit the building. She has a man to meet at an airfield. Details about Abby and greasing the wheels to make sure she gets accepted can happen later.
Abby's preference in music is most likely not the club's preference in music but she lived in far worse, far far worse, and so far. "This place is too good to be true." She's waiting for the other shoe to drop some mysterious invisible string that will be produced that makes the rest of it all make sense. But through the door the jean clad blonde maneuvers behind the agent, taking a seat so that she can get to filling out the application. "How many keys would I be allowed? I have a cat and a bird, and I have some people who take care of them for me. I'd like them to be able to get past security."
"How many would you need?" The agent asks her question as she sits and lets the client start with the paperwork. "I don't imagine a few people would be a problem." It's not as if the public areas of the building aren't monitored, after all, if a resident chooses to grant access that's her concern.
"Three maybe, if I need more I can ask. I've… it's been a rough month, and I have some people who are helping keep an eye on me and my pets. More for my peace of mind, that someone else has a keycard and one to stash at work just in case. Things happen." Abby fills out this and that, the relevant lines of information required, her social security number, you name it before she signs her name on the bottom, slips the pen back into the clip and passes it over.
"That won't be a problem at all," she assures with confidence. Miss Walters takes the clipboard and the documents on it, scanning over them briefly, then makes eye contact. "All of this seems in order. We'll be in contact soon, and don't expect any hindrance to you moving in tomorrow or the day after." The papers are taken off and laid on her desk, the clipboard put into a drawer.
"I'll have the cashier's check dropped off before the end of the business day." Abigail rises from the chair, holding her hand out for Miss Walters to take again. "Thank you. You made it fairly painless. I'm sure i'll be happy here." There's a chemically induced smile rising to her face.
The offered hand is shaken once and released; Miss Walters rises along with Abby and sees her back out into the lobby. "Enjoy your day, Miss Beauchamp," she offers in parting.
And by this time, Cat is a few blocks away.
 March 16th: India Ink |
 March 16th: Short Sleeves |