Girls Like You [Open]

Eighty years ago Shira had lived in her apothecary shop, in a room way in the back where you had to cross the herbs room to get to. It had been quite nice living right there where her work was, so she could disappear anytime during the day and get back up whenever she felt like it, without having to bother with transportation. The room, although spacious, was little more than a prison with a tiny window very high up and a single lamp for use as a backup light source and eventually even Shira had to admit it was depressing. 

So she'd moved out then, into an actual house that was one of Vincent's old residences. She'd long paid him off and now it was hers completely, adorned with two gardens of vegetables in the back and her favorite flowers in the front. Her old bedroom had been converted to storage, which was good because all the extra pots and fertilizers and things were out of the way from the herbs room and she could work with a clean space. She was able to keep the shop open longer, too, because she didn't need to close up early to obsess over a new method of organizing the extra inventory to try and create more space. 

The interior of the house was sparse; Shira's OCD caused her to live a minimalist lifestyle. This morning she was bustling around, dusting everything per her daily routine. In the living room, there was a brown leather loveseat, a matching brown leather armchair, and, completing the set, a brown leather ottoman coffee table. An oak bookshelf, still like new from Shira's careful care, faced the furniture and was perfectly full of books, ordered by height. Shira donated or threw out any book that she read and so most of the books present were new. In the kitchen there was an oven and stove, a cookie jar, and cupboard with one baking pan, one muffin tin, one cake pan, one set of china, one set of four mugs, one tea set, one set of utensils, and one set of knives. Vincent had once gifted her a second cake pan of a smaller personal size, but she had no where to put it, refusing to stack it on the first cake pan when the baking and muffin tins didn't have anything stacked on top of them, thus ruining the aesthetic. 

Her bedroom was simple, with her bed (clad in sparsely patterned floral sheets), dresser, nightstand, lamp, and closet (which contained precisely ten of each clothing type). A plant adorned each setting: in the living room, a lemon tree next to the bookshelf; in the kitchen, a line of succulents on the window; in her bedroom, a bird of paradise; in the the bathroom, an aloe; and in the guest room, a ficus. She went around watering them after polishing the furniture, then went downstairs and into the garage to pick up her rake to care for the outdoor plants in the frontyard garden. 

Shira loved her spotless house, and so it was to her utter and unpleasant surprise that she found a woman sleeping on the bench in her backyard overlooking the flowerbeds. "Oh!" she let out a squeak, covering her mouth in case the woman woke up and was hostile. Wide-eyed, Shira stared, her mind racing. Who was she? Was she homeless and looking for a place to stay? Certainly, not in her house in those clothes. She resisted the urge to push the woman off the bench so she could thoroughly sanitize it. 

But the woman looked like she was in pain. And the anxious voice in Shira's head commented her that in this woman's present state, anything Shira did could not be lower than what this woman must've done to get her here, lying on some stranger's house passed out. It was a nasty thought, but it nonetheless reassured Shira and she took a deep breath. The woman suddenly opened her eyes and seemed to be getting her bearings. Shira had set the rake down and bent over, hands on her kneecaps and a gentle smile as if she was talking to a confused child rather than a hungover adult. Well. Same thing, she supposed. "Good morning," she tried again, her voice bright. 

Tagging: Bellamy Reed

Shira was immediately alarmed by the other woman's shrill voice-- it sounded like scolding. She was always intimated by people who weren't entirely passive and she almost gave in and backed away, content to let the woman stew in her misery were it not for the fact that this was her home. The ODC stepped in, stopping her in her tracks and telling Shira to hold her ground. This woman was an unwanted weed in the garden and she had to go. Or at the very least, be freshened up.

Gingerly, the vampire bent down without breaking stare at the stranger to pick up her rake, holding it somewhat defensively, although still loosely, in front of her like a weapon. Although, there was really nothing to defend against because this woman looked more or less powerless right now, disoriented and unwanting to even join the rest of the world in waking up. Plus, given the general vibe of the woman, Shira wouldn't put it past her that she was a mortal, and not another vampire.

"You smell nice." Shira froze at that. What was that supposed to mean, other than what it laid out plainly? "Let's hug."

"Um..." at this Shira did back away. "I like hugs," she said, trying to reject the suggestion with a gentle tone and suppress the anxiety, "but, let's get you cleaned up first? You can come into my house and take a shower, if you'd like. You don't look too comfortable right now."

Tagging: Bellamy Reed