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pancakerabbit06, artillie , kensson , frenchroast , chaucerettescs , and whoever else happens by!
Ratings/Warnings:  None yet.
Open Characters: (Updated 8/4) Anyone living on the first floor, Mr. Erendrake of 2A, whoever lives in 2C, the mysterious spice-hoarding recluse of 3C, resident crazy old lady Fidelia Cotton of 4C, and an unlimited number of characters who may reside on the floors above.
Notes:  Unless it says otherwise, assume all letters have been slipped under the recipient's door.

To: Current Occupant of Apartment 3B 


Hi!  Welcome to the building.  I’m Becca Roberts, I live directly above you.  Sorry I didn’t get to help you move in or anything—I try to be on first-name basis with everybody in the building, but lately I’ve been working a lot of night shifts, so it’s hard to socialize with new neighbors.  

I can still give you the inside scoop if you want it, though.  You’re on a good floor.  Morgan, the guy who lives in 3A, is super nice.  He plays viola some evenings, and he’s got a lot of talent.  (Just don’t say “good morning” to him if you see him in the hallway before 7 am, and he’s not holding coffee.)  As for your other next door neighbor, nobody knows much about whoever lives in 3C.  I don’t think any of us have even seen this individual; the only way we know that 3C is inhabited at all is that sometimes, for totally unknown reasons, it absolutely reeks of nutmeg.    Still he-or-she is totally quiet and never leaves anything blocking the hallway, as long as you like nutmeg, not a bad deal! 

So hey, tell me about yourself.  What brings you to the city? 


P.S.  This is probably nothing, but it kind of freaked me out.  On my way home from work last night, I saw a guy in a suit outside your door, and it looked like he was trying to pick the lock.  I mean, for all I know, it was you, and you’d just forgotten your keys or something, it’s just that the guy bolted when he saw me.  I don’t know.  Maybe it was an innocent mix-up.

P.P.S.  Do you like oatmeal cookies?  I just made about 6 dozen, and am rapidly coming to the conclusion that this may be too much cookie for even I.


Aug. 3rd, 2009 04:08 pm (UTC)
Dear Ms. Roberts:

Thank you for your kind welcome. My name is Anna Stern, and my disreputable roommate is Cadburry. If he tells you that your eyes are beautiful, please don't listen to him, because it means that he's trying to get into your pants. I am a secretary for a construction firm. What do you do?

We've noticed the nutmeg smell from apartment 3C in the past few days and were wondering about it. Cadburry speaks of "busting down the door" to check it out. The scent doesn't bother me, and I told him as much and called him a hypocrite. (Please forgive us if my roommate's marijuana smoke drifts up to your fire escape; I've tried to talk to him about his habits, but he never seems to listen.) I find Mr. Morgan's viola-playing relaxing when I get home from work in the evening. It's nice to have a name to put to the instrument.

I've always lived in this city, but my roommate has not. If you hear screams, crashes, or other worrisome noises, it's because we're beating each other up working out our differences.

And thank you for telling me about the man in the suit, Ms. Roberts. I'll have it looked into.

- Stern.

P.S. I'm not a fan, but Cadburry says, and I quote, "Fuck yeah" to the oatmeal cookies.
Aug. 5th, 2009 12:58 am (UTC)
Dear Stern,

Nice to meet you! And tell your roommate I said hi. I assume Cadburry is his last name? I'm also going to guess that by "getting into your pants", you mean he'd be hitting on me, and not, say, trying to shoplift my trousers. Either way, I'll look out for from his pants-related machinations--thanks for the warning!

I've got two jobs, actually. On weekday nights, I work at Django's, a 24-hour diner about seven blocks from here. On the weekends, I'm a street performer. You know those "living statue" things where they paint their faces and wear costumes and stand really still? I could never support myself full-time on it, but it's nice for extra cash. Do you like being a secretary?

Haha, thanks for telling me about the smoke. I was wondering why I felt so mellow last night.

What do you think of the city? I thought it was a little overwhelming at first, but it's nice to live someplace where so many things are happening. Any places you can recommend?

If you don't mind me asking, how did you and Mr. Cadburry wind up as roommates? If your apartment's the same size as mine, then I can't imagine sharing it with someone else. I wish you luck in sorting out your differences without violence.


P.S. One bag of cookies for your disreputable roommate! I'm pretty proud about fitting it under the door without breaking any. Um, hope nobody trips on it. Oops, sorry about that.
Aug. 5th, 2009 02:08 am (UTC)
Dear Ms. Roberts:

Cadburry says hello back--yes, that's his last name--and asks me to ask you what your cup size is. He is, in fact, hovering over my shoulder as I write this to ensure that it's going down on paper. I'm very sorry. He's walked away now. I should, by all means, cross that out, but something in me doesn't want to.

I also have a weekend job. I've seen a few of the statue people downtown--were you one of them, or did you work elsewhere? I've also seen them down by the pier. Being a secretary can be tedious work, but I find it rewarding. Also, I checked out your restaurant, and it seems that Cadburry works as a bartender in a bar not far from it. Would you like me to ask him to accompany you home sometime? No one would accost you in the middle of the night, with him at your side.

I've been dragged to Wolff's Biergarten und Wurst Haus, on Delaware St., a few times. I understand that it's a fun place to go, and the beer (the bier) is excellent by anyone's standards. The bartenders will talk your ear off, so I let him order for me, and I can't remember what we drank, but it was good.

Our living situations before this were more cramped. To be honest, we have a bunk bed--an extra-long one, to accomodate his frame, but still. We manage. We still haven't figured out who gets top bunk, though. Neither of us wants it.

- Stern

P.S. The cookies were appreciated.
Aug. 18th, 2009 01:25 am (UTC)
Dear Stern,

I believe I've now officially met your roommate! And by "officially met", I mean "might've accidentally scared the crap out of him in the hallway last night." In his defense, it was 2 am, and I was dressed as a mermaid and holding a trident. (I am indeed one of the statue people who works at the pier, in case you were wondering.) Anyway, if you could let him know that I'm sorry for startling him, and that it wasn't some kind of wacky drug trip on his part, that'd be excellent.

So what is your job on the weekends?

Does Cadburry by any chance work at the Amarillo? I've never been, but I've heard good things. And thanks for the offer, but my typical hours lately have been 9 pm to 5 am, so I feel pretty safe walking there and back alone. Also, I make it a point to carry mace. (Hell, on weekends, I carry mace and a trident.)

Thanks for the tip about Wolff's.

Wow, where in the world did you live before here? I mean, I love this building, but I can't really imagine the apartments being much smaller than they are. How long have you two been roommates?

Aug. 5th, 2009 01:19 am (UTC)
One note tacked to the door
I hope you don't find this terribly rude and I do hope that I have the right apartment, but last night, at an absolutely unmentionable hour, I noticed an odd, dark-haired young man quite pleasantly swinging from the rungs of my fire escape, knocking over a fair few of my planters in the process. I believe the young man was quite intoxicated as when I poked my head out the window to shout at him, he only murmured something about chocolate eggs and scaled the fire escape to your window.

I am quite certain the young man is a tenant of this apartment, or, at least, grudgingly hope he is, because if not, that's one more nosy stranger to worry about. If he is a tenant of this apartment, I would like him to know that he destroyed several quite exemplary Hydrangeas and that I really must demand compensation.

Peter Gray,
Apartment 2B
Aug. 5th, 2009 01:34 am (UTC)
Note tacked to the door in response
If it was a young black man you saw, then it was my roommate. Cadburry claims that he doesn't remember anything, and that if anything had happened he would have "totally remembered it because I was only blazed that night." However, looking down at the alleyway, I did see a flower pot and some purple flowers. How much did they cost? I'll tell him it was twice that.

Anna Stern, 3B


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