[1:7] Lavender Valley

It was about 2am when the pulsing finally stopped for good. You were a little wound up. You played through a dozen versions of the confrontation that you were going to have tomorrow several becoming arguments which you won’t with scathing insults and dazzling word play. You were the best and by 3 am you fell into a restless anxious sleep. 

Your alarm went off at around 8am but you slapped snooze a bunch of times and finally got up around 9 something. You didn’t feel great. Either it was the rough night’s sleep or the gut full of pizza and beer you were not accustomed to that did it. You felt sluggish and bloated. A bit of coffee and a super light breakfast was enough to take the edge off the worst of it. 

At half past 10 you had settled in behind your laptop to once again spend a few hours writing CVs, follow up emails, and filling out applications again. It had become a painful routine. All the while you were listening intently to any sound from next door. A return of the music, footsteps, a TV…anything. But it was dead quiet. No one must be home.

After a few hours you had enough. You were sore from being crunched over and typing, your eyes were strained and you were still fighting that vaguely sick feeling from the night before so you decided to go for a walk. Hopefully the fresh air and a bit of exercise would clear your head. 

The complex was pretty quiet this time of day. You followed the nice paved path that connected the three main apartment buildings around the center court area. It was very well maintained. There were large brick planters filled with dark soil and new flowers that in a few months, when summer really hit, would surely fill it in. There were old oak trees that had been preserved and protected from the construction crews that built this place. The leaves on the massive branches were just beginning to sprout. 

The path lead you back behind the complex where the gardens continued. Beyond that you saw the gazebo that Josh must have been talking about. It was a white and Victorian style. With a budding wisteria swallowing almost one whole side with its twisting and curling branches.  

The Gazebo sat at the end of the path, on a small hill overlooking both the forest to the west and the small lake to the east. The path split there, one route going around the lake and the other into the forest which you were guessing was a county park and not part of the complex’s grounds. 

It was empty but inside were small pink metal tables and matching chairs. There was a delicate flowing floral pattern stamped into the metal. Against one wall was a long deck box that doubled as a padded bench. The thin rafters that crisscrossed in the tall domed ceiling was wrapped with wisteria and come spring and summer you could only imagine clumps of heavy violet flowers filling the space with their scent as the guests below had tea and chatted. It was as if it was a locus of pure femininity. 

You hoped maybe you would be asked to join. It might be nice to have some gal pals again.

By the time you got back to your apartment the fresh air had rejuvenated you, and you were feeling better. You got inside, threw your hoodie on the coat hooks by the doors and headed to the only real source of entertainment in your painfully spartan apartment; your computer. You couldn’t wait to get some furniture.

Shortly thereafter your attention was pulled from YouTube when you heard a solitary thud from next door then almost immediately the rhythmic thudding returned but louder this time. What also returned was your annoyance that immediately morphed into anger. You shut your computer, decided there was no time like the present and you went to have that very well practiced confrontation. 

You tried your best to have a neutral knock that didn’t reveal the anger was simmering. The door opened a few seconds later and behind it was a blonde woman with a carefully mussed ponytail and fringe and wearing an off-the-shoulder top and skirt combo. Her eyes were piercing and when she saw you she smirked. She braced herself in the doorway, crossing her ankles and drumming her long manicured metallic pink nails on the jamb. 

She had to speak a bit louder to be heard over the music. You weren’t sure what it was. It was loud and chaotic. Like the band didn’t quite know how to play their instruments. It was definitely some version of Punk but it wasn’t something you knew at all. 

“Oh. You're the new guy.” she says with an exasperated sigh.

“Umm yeah. I am –” you stammer, trying your best to remain pleasant but she cut you off before you could continue, disrupting the spiel you had prepared to kick off this confrontation.

“-- if you’re selling anything  - cutlery, vacuums, god - that’s gonna be a hard pass. I have all I need.”

“I-I’m not selling anything I just -"

“-- great! Well Mr. Doesn’t-introduce-himself what do you want then?” 

You were reminded of a cat playing with their prey.

1. ) Gently Broach the Subject. You catch more flies with honey, delicately explain that her music was a bit loud and if she could just turn it down a notch in the future it’d be great. (Brains Roll, -10% for Hot Headed Trait)

2.) Who does this chick think she is? High school taught you how to deal with a mean girl or two. She’s giving attitude, you give some right back and tell her to be considerate and turn down the music.

3.) Get in her good graces. Yeah, she might be rude but if you want to get her to turn down the music you need to at least put that aside and cut through the standoffishness. (Cunning roll, -10% for Hot Headed Trait)