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 Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 1:30 pm
It was hot.
Nathaniel lifted a gloved hand and wiped at his forehead, his face feeling too warm to be comfortable. Overhead, the sun was beating down relentlessly, making the back of his shirt stick unpleasantly to him, and everything smelled like soil and freshly mowed grass.
The tulips were a nice touch, Nathaniel thought, eyeing them. He'd added a few red ones to the boxes on either side of the funeral home doors, mixed in with the yellow ones, and now they brightened everything up - a cheery thought for a place that housed death behind its doors.
Nathaniel stood, hands on jean-clad hips, and glanced around. The little cart with his supplies stood beside him, but the water bottle he normally kept filled was, unfortunately, entirely empty, the dryness mocking him.
Stripping off his gloves, Nathaniel plucked up the bottle and made for the funeral home doors. He'd only been inside a few times - most of his work was outside - and knew almost nothing of the layout, a frown tugging at his lips as he stood in the foyer, trying to figure out where the bathrooms or a water fountain was.
Or at least someone who could tell him where they were. Nathaniel decided to go left, padding quietly down the hall and hoping he wasn't trailing potting soil everywhere he went.
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 1:40 pm
Ripley, who had not been watching the security cameras but was most certainly trained to respond to the sound of the door chime, moved away from his desk and his mound of paperwork when the telling buzz of the front door went off. It could have been anything. Mrs. Lawrence, here to drop off her husband's clothing. Mr. Spring, early for his pre-arrangement. A flower delivery, perhaps. Maybe even a walk-in.
Or, perhaps, a lost gardener.
"Everything okay?" Ripley called once he was in both view and earshot (as he also learned early on, that people startle easy when placed in Funeral Homes).
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 2:02 pm
Nathaniel, who had not been expecting to hear a voice waft from a nearby office, jumped a little, clutching his water bottle. Hastily covering this little hiccup with a cough, he smoothed a hand down the front of his teeshirt and offered a polite smile to the man.
He looked somewhat familiar; Nathaniel was relatively sure that this was the funeral home director, the one who signed all of his work orders and checks when it came to the maintaining of the funeral home grounds, though he couldn't quite be certain of that.
"Ah...I was just wondering where the nearest water fountain was," said Nathaniel, the faintest hint of a drawl to his voice. He cleared his throat and added, a little apologetically, "I'm afraid my water bottle's empty."
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 3:27 pm
Along with being trained for door chimes, Ripley was also trained in the fine art of pretending he didn't see the startled deer-in-the-headlights expression most people got when he startled them. Instead, he took that moment to place the other man, recalling him quickly as the younger gentleman they had working on their outer gardens. He did a good job; the outside of the building always got compliments.
Empty?
Amber eyes dropped to the water bottle clutched in the tall man's hands, then shifted to the window in the front lobby. Inside the building, it was pretty cold; Ripley was comfortable in his three piece suit. Outside, he recalled, was hotter than hell. At least, that's what he thought when he had come in to work today, which was already blazing before the sun had even come up.
And there the poor guy was, outside in satan's armpit, without water.
"Lounge. Come on." He moved the last few paces to catch up, then to put himself in the other's path, and lead him around the corner to the coffee lounge, complete with a distilled water machine. "Take a break while you're in here, alright? It's hotter than hell." The concern in his voice, however minute, was still quite real. Then he gestured to the machine he would need to fill his precious bottle.
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 5:03 pm
Nathaniel opened his mouth to say something along the lines of no, it's okay, just point me in the right direction; except that the man was already getting up. Swallowing back the automatic protest, he trailed along after him, glancing self-consciously down at his dirt stained jeans.
They were nothing like the elegant three-piece suit, Nathaniel's eyes flickering somewhat longingly over the pristine fabric and the expert cut; a luxury he could never afford, not with the salary he had now. He glanced sideways at the offered water machine and then offered the man a little smile, lips quirking up at the corners.
"Thank you," he said, and made his way towards the machine, unscrewing the cap to his bottle and holding it in place.
There was a moment's silence while he floundered for a question that didn't make him sound stupid.
"So...you're the owner, right?" Nathaniel asked, then mentally berated himself for not knowing the simple fact of who signed his work slips, his cheeks coloring slightly. He cleared his throat and tried to work around it. "Have you always owned this place?"
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 6:56 pm
"That'd be my Father." Ripley replied, sounding mildly amused. "One day, though." What he didn't say, was that he felt like he ran the place already. Instead, he simply stared at the other man, looking him over and realizing, perhaps for the first time, that he couldn't quite remember this young man's name.
"Ripley Crowell." He said, extending his hand.
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 7:24 pm
Oh.
Well, that made more sense. Nathaniel finished filling up his water bottle, screwing the cap back on and feeling slightly less ashamed of himself for not knowing this man's name. Come to think of it, he did only look to be in his mid-twenties or so, which felt a little young for a funeral director - but then again, Nathaniel had no idea how these things worked.
He felt his cheeks warm at the offered hand, but gave Ripley a smile, reaching out to accept and internally thanking himself for having had the foresight to remove his dirty work gloves.
"Nathaniel Parrish," he said. "It's a very nice looking place, by the way. I mean, it's...well, it's a nice place - not - not for, well, I suppose, other people who come in here, but - "
Nathaniel shut his mouth hastily, cleared his throat, and said politely, "It's a very nice place."
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 8:35 pm
"Nice to meet you." said Ripley as he shook Nathaniel's hand. A bit of sincerity tinged his voice. It was followed by a small pause at the little ramble, which drew an amused breath from him.
"Well, thanks. We take great pride in it." It seemed like a good idea to downplay the awkward rambling, as cute as it was. "Don't worry, nothing here will bite." Hard, he added, under his breath, for fun, while releasing his hand. "Are you hungry? We're overflowing with leftovers."
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 8:49 pm
In spite of himself, Nathaniel felt the corners of his lips quirk upwards into a slight smile.
"So, no zombies or anything, then?" he asked, his tone light and a little joking. "I thought all funeral homes had at least one zombie in their ranks, or at least something undead and haunting. That's how it's supposed to be, right?"
He felt a pink tinge come across his face, Nathaniel biting his lip.
"I...wouldn't want to impose," he mumbled, "I mean, that's very kind of you..."
He trailed off awkwardly, wondering if he'd just messed up the interaction completely now.
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2016 10:20 pm
"If by all that you mean Funeral Director, so yes, there's at least one here." Ripley joked easily, though his demeanour remained calm and impassive. "Still, I don't bite." Hard, apparently.
"You'd be doing us a favour. Wouldn't want it to go to waste." He gestured to Nathaniel to follow him, and once he did, he ducked into another room. Almost instantly came the smell of various spices and meats, but the room itself seemed a little plain. Sure, it was littered with four-person tables and chairs, there was still beautiful paintings on the wall and decorative drapery on one wall, but the tables had been stripped, it seemed. They were bare, almost as if they didn't fit in currently. Still, along the wall to their right was an assortment of heated trays, most with food still in it, covered up to keep it safe.
"Caribbean family. We have enough curry goat, oxtail, rice, beans and soup to last the week." He gestured to the table of food, which had a few paper plates and cutlery still stacked on it. "There's sandwiches in the fridge if you're not one for hot food, but those are from last night. Sure they're fine, though." He shrugged, simply believing they were freshly made yesterday, which would make them just fine today.
"Please, dig in, if you'd like."
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2016 7:09 am
The joke, in spite of Ripley's calm expression, made Nathaniel smile. There was something easygoing in the nature of a man who worked with the dead for a living; maybe it was because he worked for the dead that he was able to joke about it.
Nathaniel morbidly wondered if he'd made any death related puns to clientele.
(Probably not. He looked a bit too serious for that.)
There was no chance to protest. Ripley was leading him out of the first room and into a second, and after a moment's hesitation, Nathaniel followed, sighing a little as he trailed along, hoping that he at least looked as though he belonged there. The heavy scent of spices and herbs met his nose, and he was slightly distracted by the trays of food, Nathaniel's empty stomach growling.
He rarely got to eat anything other than sandwiches or cheap pasta these days. Swallowing back the instinctive desire to resist, simply for pride's sake, Nathaniel nodded and edged over to the table, picking up a paper plate and attempting to look as though he wasn't inwardly drooling over everything.
"So," he said, as he scooped a helping of rice onto his dish. "Is it your family that's Caribbean, then? Or a client's? This all smells amazing."
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