Thursday, October 01, 2015

Dubious Arrangement: Day 1

Word Count: 6,029

Summary of Events:
Greyson arrived at the Shady Acres Chicken Farm and, after a lengthy search, found Clement Odell, the owner, who gave him a less then warm welcome before he agreed to rent the trailer he'd come there to see being as the rent was 1% of what he'd find anywhere else. He also encountered a pregnant black cat whom he named Hanna, built himself a table and chair — being as there was none in the house — and found the father of Hanna's kittens, whom he named Edmund.

Excerpt of the Day:
"After a particularly jagged stretch he finally found a small, square cabin that looked to be in the best repair of any of the buildings he'd encountered on the property so far. All of the window coverings were drawn — not that there were many windows, he could only see two.
He walked up to the door and knocked. Silence. He knocked again. Was that a creak he heard? The grinding of an old knob turning reached his ears and he glanced down at the knob, then saw the door slide open and heard something hard rubbing against the wood.
Looking up, his eyes popped wide. A gleaming rifle barrel was staring him in the face coldly. He stared at it without moving.
"Go away," an old, gruff voice that sounded a lot like the one he'd talked to on the phone said roughly.
"Are you Mr. Clement Odell?" he asked.
"Go away," the man replied with added irritation.
"You haven't answered my question," he said, taking hold of the doorknob with one hand and putting his other forearm against the door.
"Go away," the man repeated.
"I haven't driven all this way to be sent off by a coward who greets people with his rifle barrel," he said. "I have questions I want answered, and I'm not going anywhere until they're answered."
"Go away!" the man snapped.
He thrust himself against the door and kept pushing after the door jumped open a little. As he pushed he slid his right arm up the door and seized hold of the rifle barrel. Getting his foot on the inside of the doorjamb, he pushed the door fully open and got himself inside and the rifle out of the man's hand in the same manoeuvre.
A slightly short, slim, slightly stooped, and shifty looking old man wearing dark coloured pants and a light coloured button-front long sleeved shirt, along with hiking boots and a tousled, thinning head of grey hair glared at him with flashing blue eyes, standing back, braced, almost like he thought he should dare charge forward to retake the weapon.
Changing hands with the weapon, he crossed his arms and looked seriously down at Mr. Odell — or at least whom he was pretty sure was Mr. Odell.
"Are you Mr. Clement Odell?" he asked.
The man stared at him in silence, his expression still severe, and his face unshaven, he noticed.
"Yes," the man finally answered roughly.
"Did you place an advertisement offering your mobile home for rent?" he asked.
"Yes," Mr. Odell replied, still rough.
"Very well then," he said, uncrossing his arms. "I am Greyson Adler, and I wouldn't mind looking to see if your mobile home suits what I'm looking for in the way of accommodations."
Mr. Odell looked at Greyson's proffered, gloved right hand with reticency before he reached out and shook it. Greyson returned Mr. Odell's rifle to him and held the door for Mr. Odell to walk out."

Odell: ohdell

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