Northeastern Virginia
Lee Appleby stood, thin arms crossed over each other, a frown on his face, slowly panning his gaze over the room he was appraising, the potential seller standing a few feet away, in a pause that could only be described as an eager one, the brief silence of a man waiting only a few moments to leap back into speech.
"Sure is something, isn't it? You don't find this nice of a place for this price very often, but there's no one who can find deals like I can! You made a good call coming my way!" the salesman enthusiastically claimed and exclaimed.
"You won't get something this good for five times this price!"
You could, Lee knew, though he didn't judge the man for claiming otherwise, given the Congressman's current appearance. An old, worn, black Star Wars t-shirt, a frayed-off hole on the right side near bottom, and a pair of black shorts, slightly too short, ending a little ways above the knee despite the brisk weather, were covering his wiry frame. A dour-looking angular face and brown hair, short-cut on his head and covering his upper lip in an outdated mustache on the face, finished off the appearance, with streaks of grey just starting to make their appearances in each. It was one which, in whole, gave more of an impression of a man who had never managed to grow up and make his way into the working world than a multi-millionaire.
The assumption suited Lee just fine. From his perspective, the only thing people knowing you had money did was make other people nag you for it, and he had had enough of that with his family always trying to guilt him into financially supporting them. He certainly knew what something better could look like, in contrast to the beliefs of the energetic man trying to sell him on the apartment, but he didn't care for that either. He wasn't looking for much as a priority besides a cheap cost, with a generally passable place being all he needed-at least in his mind. In reality, he was rather picky about just what he was getting, which was half the reason why, in his fourth month working in the District, he still hadn't gotten settled into a permanent living situation, the other half being, of course, cost.
Permanent was the wrong word for it, though, from Lee's perspective at least. He did not bother responding to the enthusiastic assurances, merely continuing his disinterested-looking appraisal, the combination of his silence and facial expression shifting the energy of the tall youth next to him more into the nervous spectrum. This location was only there for the commute, coming into work from Wyandotte not exactly an option, with no illusions in Appleby's mind that his place of residence would remain there, though his tax returns would muddle the answer.
Blasted tax returns. Never a good thing about them.
It was thus that he had no intention of staying at the place any weekend or day off-but he had ended up doing so at the last place anyways. Lack of care about the location had been run over by a greater concern about commute costs back to Michigan, and cost was always something that could stop most any idea of his in its tracks, regardless of the fraction of a percent it represented in his available funds, or income.
In any case, he probably owed the kid at least a few words before he went from unnerved to irritated.
"Two fifty." Lee stated flatly.
His counterpart did a double-take. "Two fifty? You're kidding, right? Unless you mean two fifty a week. This isn't some rathole here, this is quality."
"Two fifty a month, or I walk." Lee restated, in the same monotone.
"Come on, man, that's not even reasonable. Look...."
Lee, quite true to his word, uncrossed his arms and started striding towards the door.
"Dude, come on. Look, four hundred, and that's half of what it should be, all right?"
Lee grasped the door handle, turned, and opened it, stepping out into the hallway, not listening to the man's protests. He turned, and made his way down a flight of stairs, then paused to see if he was following.
Apparently not.
Lee smirked slightly. This one wasn't an fool. He'd find someone who was soon enough.
Stepping outside the apartment building, he walked around the corner and crouched down to spin the tumblers on his bike lock, freeing it from the rack he had set it in before entering, and swinging his leg over to mount it, and pedaled away onto the street, another few locations on his list to check into getting, scattered about relatively close northeastern Virginia. He had been biking in daily, something that was not particularly hygienic, but which he generally enjoyed, despite, or perhaps because of, the rough, chill weather that reminded him of his youth. And if things were bad enough that he had to walk the cycle or didn't make it on time despite his early-morning wakings, then he didn't mind showing up late too much. It wasn't like it was an hourly position.
He had begun to consider simply setting up a cot or a sleeping bag in his office, quite seriously. It was a good enough room, and obviously cost-controlled, and he had done it for the first several nights, not flying into DC until the morning of the swearing-in, and lacking any arrangements for living otherwise. The morning ride was currently the one thing keeping him from going ahead with the strategy, but he was near to the point of turning that ride into a simple roundabout of the capital and resting his head where he worked.
As the end-of-month grace period had ended in his last departure, he would be there for this night, at the least, and then he'd take another look at getting a ripped-off price for a quad of walls and a bed. He could keep looking today, but he didn't much feel like it, and he did, after all, have a job to get to.
Adjusting his helmet slightly, Appleby resettled himself on the seat and pedaled his way in towards the city.
