Welcome to Gaia! ::

House calls. They weren't his favorite thing, but he made them, because business was new and even having a sort of niche in Ashdown didn't change the fact he had to build his reputation. Deacon wore presentable with professional - a button-up undone to his collar, sleeves rolled up, shirt tucked in, long hair in a ponytail. It was an easy way to prepare for work, as once he'd done meeting with the client, he could go back to his workshop and remove the shirt and get started. He wasn't lazy, he just preferred efficiency, and playing dress up was never something he carried with him despite his upbringing.

It was a nice complex, though he had to admit that his customer base typically didn't come out of apartments. It didn't take him long to find the appropriate room, knocking a polite three times, adjusting the small bag of tools over his shoulder.

He heard a woman's voice, drawing his curiosity. It meant that a female was involved (which, in his work, was rare) and that he had clients, plural, not just one. Deacon hoped it wouldn't mean the start of a long meeting with debates and disagreements.

The woman that answered the door was pretty enough, but the way she spoke definitely hearkened back to his youth, growing up with ladies who used words like velvet and razors. His smile in turn was all charm, inclining his head to her and offering his hand. "Good afternoon. I'm Deacon." A faint chuckle escaped him, his smile growing. "Glad to do so, thank you for having me."

Once he was let in, his blue eyes turned quickly over the space, appraising, memorizing. The place looked decently lived in and wasn't overly cluttered, which meant matching a style shouldn't be too hard. "Nice place you have," he ventured to compliment, catching sight of the man - the one he assumed had called - and nodding a greeting to him.

Deacon shook the man's hand, noting a wedding ring on his left whereas Vespertine had none. Far be it from him to assume or judge, he simply smiled and moved to the indicated couch. He didn't sit, however, instead lowering the bag from his shoulder and pulling out a tape measure.

"You've done well - is this all planned then?" He indicated the decor and the homey touches that suggested use and time, rather than something more pristine and lifeless, like a magazine photo. "Then you've called the right man," he replied, automatic and with practiced patience. "Whereabouts did you want it?"

Accepting the paper, he looked over the shape and glanced to the indicated space it would occupy, and after several moments of silence, he raised his brows and looked to the woman. "Did you do this?" he asked, tapping the paper with one of his work worn fingers. "It's a solid idea. Draws attention without being the center of it and," a wry smile curved Deacon's lips, a small slip of his exasperation with some clients briefly visible, "it's sturdy, functional, the way furniture ought to be."

Clearly, he was not one for conversation pieces or decor. Clutter and 'filling space' was beyond him, but this was almost entirely up his alley. He was, for perhaps the first time in his profession outside of the Army, impressed. "It's a simple design - I could have it to you by tomorrow, if I have the right metal in my shop."

Deacon arched a brow slowly, looking over to Donald and then back to Vesp, a silent question passing between him and the woman; he really didn't have much of an idea, did he? He was piecing together who was running the show here, but he'd play the proper game of respect and professionalism while he had to.

"What good is a table that has no purpose other than to take up space, huh?" he asked to Donald, flashing another smile.

To Vesp, he nodded, carefully putting the paper down on the couch to see clearly and shifting to the side with his measuring tape. "You seem really knowledgeable about design," he finally said in a conversational tone, pulling out the tape and adjusting it with a flicker of his blue eyes between the picture and the space between his hands.

"Do you do this for a living? And how about this for size?" He kept the tape extended between his fingers, allowing her to see, determine and suggest as she pleased - he had a feeling she'd know best. "We can go larger, but I'd advise against too much, or it'll be taller than most people are comfortable to reach -- any smaller, and you'll run into the opposite problem." Unless it was decorative, but - functionality. It had a reason.

"A hobby you went to college for?" he asked, mildly surprised. Again. It seemed this Vespertine woman had a whole slew of methods and ways that he hadn't come across since he'd entered Ashdown. It was reminiscent of home, and while that was generally an unpleasant topic, there was a sort of comfort in it. With her, Deacon at least had half an idea of what he was dealing with.

Glancing at the tape's spread, he let it slide close and tugged a pencil out of his pack, adding a few notes on the corner of the drawing, the math done in his head. "In my experience, I've found that it's less about making a job out of doing what you love, and learning to love what you're capable of doing." The schematics fairly finished, he carefully put the drawing back into his back, the pencil and tape following suit.

A card was procured, and then after a split second of consideration, a second was withdrawn. "What type of wood or metal did you have in mind?" he asked to either of them, handing a card out to each of them. "That's all I need to get started."

The pause of his blue eyes on Vesp was probably very telling - but not judgmental. Deacon inclined his head slightly, then, pulling himself to his full height and looking between the two of them. "Then I'll get started as soon as I get back to my workshop." Not that he didn't have other projects, but a table was quick and the more he had for his portfolio, the better.

To Donald, he added as a necessity, "The terms of payment we agreed to are still viable. As long as it clears today, the table will be here tomorrow."

Heading towards the door, he paused, adding, "It was nice to meet you both. See you tomorrow, about the same time."

*

True to his word, Deacon was back the next day - dressed from work, though, a little less professional with his tank top that put his tattoo on display, his jeans sporting a bit of a rip and the faint scent of sawdust. When they answered the door, they'd find him smiling more genuinely this time, the expression reaching his bright eyes. The table was hidden beneath a heavy cloth, the item itself tucked beneath his arm, gripping the edge of it with a gloved hand. "Delivery," he greeted in good spirits.