[For Lisa]

[statement_ends]

John might not be keeping his finger on the pulse of Darrow's suburban development plans, but he's reasonably certain that the cul-de-sac and the enormous two-story house that dominates it have sprung up at a speed that beggars belief. Darrow might resist any eldritch certainty he tries to apply to the situation, but he's still confident that none of this was here a month ago.

Granted, it isn't impossible that the developers would have focused on finishing up one house first — a standing advertizement of what's to come, more effective than any 'just you wait' placard they'd otherwise be relying upon. That could explain why one structure stands completed while the rest of the plots are either still sitting empty or in earlier stages of construction. But something feels off about it, and it takes him a few seconds to realize what's really bothering him.

How fast does ivy grow? Not fast enough to cover so much of the brick facade in only a few weeks, surely.

That justifies a closer look. John walks closer, projecting the same casual, I'm-supposed-to-be-here confidence that used to get him into all kinds of restricted areas as a child. The neighboring construction workers don't pay any particular attention to him, which could be down to his acting skills, or could just be down to the locals' tendency to ignore anything odd so long as it poses no immediate threat.

As he nears the structure, he checks for any signs of occupation, but the lawn is devoid of lawn ornaments, gardening tools, or toys. Maybe it is just a model home, rampant ivy growth aside. He briefly considers knocking on the front door, decides that might be too conspicuous (not to mention foolish looking, if it is indeed unoccupied), and instead cuts around the side of the house, as if he's simply taking a shortcut over to the next block.

And if he hesitates, peering into one of the windows at the seemingly bare room beyond... well, an occupied home would have furniture, wouldn't it? And if it's meant to be a model home, then a prospective buyer could be excused for stepping up to the glass to get a better look at the interior.

Comments

[busybetty]

There's a man creeping around the house. Not 'creeping' in the literal sense — he's strolling, meandering, or whatever — but in the sense that he's being a creep because this place is none of his business.

Lisa stands in the upstairs window, just off to the side so the glare of the sun against the glass hides her just right, and she watches him to see what he's planning to do.

She'd almost think he's casing the place, but he's too well-dressed for that. Besides, it's empty. He'll see that in just a glance inside, and then he'll move on, right? Except he glances in, and he doesn't move on, not fast enough for Lisa's liking.

What the hell does he think he's doing? She glares down at him, and there's a defensive, protective part of her that wants to give him a piece of her mind. Get up in his space and demand he get out of here. She's so annoyed that her ears are rushing.

No, that's something else. The rushing gets louder and louder as she glares down at him, so loud she feels dizzy with it. Lisa squeezes her eyes shut and for an impossible second she feels like her feet leave the ground—

And then the rushing is gone, cut off like someone snapping shut a book. Lisa opens her eyes. She's outside. She's standing behind the guy, staring at his back, and she only takes a second to recalibrate before she crosses her arms.

"What're you doing?" she snaps.