Who: Spike Spiegel, and open to anyone interested in joining the log (will edit tags when log is complete) When: Around noon-ish Where: The bare bones of Spike's bar, Dreamcatcher What: Idle Ramblings Warnings: None at the moment - will edit if this changes for some reason
The door to the building looked like it had weathered more than a few storms, and Spike couldn’t help but wonder how old the wood was. He could tell that the paint used to be red, but the sun had long bleached the color a strange pastel-orange hue. The wrongness of the shade burned Spike’s eyes, but he couldn’t think of one reason why he should be bothered by the color so much.
He slipped the key into the rusted lock and was surprised when he heard the release of the mechanisms – he half expected that he’d have to knock the door out just to get inside. Spike pushed the door open and cringed at the brittle groan that clawed at his ears. He gave the door a wan smile and decided that its joints needed a good rub down with oil. If that didn’t help set things to right, he’d have no choice but to knock it down. It would be a shame to get rid of something that was still functional.
The staleness lingering in the air inside crawled up his nostrils and coated his throat with a fine layer of dust. Spike coughed and walked deeper into the room, surveying the area for any major cracks or holes. Much to his surprise, he saw nothing really major wrong with the inside of the building, which was a big relief. He had spent a good chunk of his savings buying the place, and there wasn’t much left for expansive renovation.
From what he could tell, a good dusting from floor to ceiling was all that the place really needed, along with a couple of coats of paint. The wooden floor was a bit scuffed up, but the marks just added character to the room. Spike slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants and shuffled around the open space.
There were a couple of old tables and stools still housed in the building, and all passed a quick inspection. Why waste money on brand new furniture when these items were still in good condition? Spike could already tell which areas he wanted to build in. His carpenter skills weren’t too shabby; all he needed was to buy some decent wood and a good stain.
Something suddenly flashed in his peripheral vision, and Spike turned just in time to see a white fluffy cat dash across the window. He watched it race across the street and disappear behind a dumpster. The scene tugged at his mind, and he searched his memory for some reason why he would be interested in a cat, but he found nothing. A sense of missing something crept up his spine, but Spike shook it off. If it was important, he would remember it eventually.
He explored the rest of the building, and was impressed to find the small bathroom on the first floor in good condition. The old woman must have been a stickler for keeping things tidy. He’d have to scrub several layers of dirt away, but there wasn’t a patch of rust to be found.
He chuckled and slapped the doorframe of the bathroom. “Thank the heavens for small miracles and all that jazz.”
Spike turned and ascended the wooden staircase that led to the second level, and he was amused at the creaking that followed his every step. He decided to leave the staircase untouched as well. The upper floor was filled with sunlight, a deep contrast to the natural light permitted on the bottom level. He squinted and looked around the room – there were windows everywhere.
He ambled across the hardwood floor and was surprised to find a king size bed sitting in a far corner of the room. The bed sat nestled between two large windows, and it was framed by what looked like a homemade canopy frame that held large panels of sheer fabric. The material acted like oversized curtains that cocooned the bed, and Spike normally scoffed at such designs, but something about the overall look fascinated him.
“Guess I’ll be keeping this, too,” he chuckled. Spike reached out and ran his fingertips down the length of the fabric. The softness of it reminded him of something…but whatever it was remained out his reach. He shrugged and spied a lone sink sitting across the room. He didn’t know the old brod that used to own the joint, but he liked her style. She lived simple, and that made her all right in his book.
“Damn,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. The vessel sink was covered in a thick layer of grime. “I’m going to have to call around and hire someone to help me clean this place up.”
His eyes shifted and lingered on the bed for a long second before Spike turned and trudged down the stairs. He noted an old broom leaning against one of the walls, and several old containers filled with mummified remnants of what used to be flowers. He shuffled over toward the broom and gave it a long look.
"The floor isn't going to sweep itself," Spike mused. He reached out and grabbed hold of the wooden handle and began to clean up over a decade's worth of mess. The door to the building stood wide open, almost as if in silent invitation.