Hild (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
light_of_the_world) wrote2016-08-29 01:15 pm
light_of_the_world) wrote2016-08-29 01:15 pm
Entry tags:
fresh coffee at sunrise, warm my lips against the cup
The deal was all but done. The unimpressive little shop with crystals and pointless little herbal concoctions had gone into something called bankruptcy. The man selling the shop -- a real estate broker -- had explained that meant the business had no money and so, to pay off some of the people owed, the shop had to be sold.
For cheap. Cheaper, at least, than any other shopfronts on the market, which were few.
Hild had thought handing over money would be enough. She had already gone to the bank and learned what a loan was, had applied, had done the math and been sure she could make the payments, provided the business did well.
But then there were things called escrow and deeds and taxes. There were rules for how to run a business, rules set by the city for what she could sell and how the building must be kept and how she must pay and treat her employees. They all came together in a vague pattern that Hild thought she could understand, but it was a painfully slow process to stop and look up the meaning of every phrase or concept she did not understand.
She could have gone to Luke. She had already asked questions of him, learned from watching and doing. But she hadn't realized the sheer number of laws that dictated his actions. All of his actions simply made sense.
She could have gone to Luke. She could have gone to Derek. But she wanted to go to Spencer. They saw each other often; at the very least, Hild could expect to see him whenever she had a shift at the bookstore. But they had not sat down and had a proper talk, with coffee, just by themselves, in some time.
So she placed her folder full of papers, two coffees (Spencer's favorite blend, made as he liked it), and a plate filled with pastry on the table of the coffee shop, and waited for Spencer to arrive.
For cheap. Cheaper, at least, than any other shopfronts on the market, which were few.
Hild had thought handing over money would be enough. She had already gone to the bank and learned what a loan was, had applied, had done the math and been sure she could make the payments, provided the business did well.
But then there were things called escrow and deeds and taxes. There were rules for how to run a business, rules set by the city for what she could sell and how the building must be kept and how she must pay and treat her employees. They all came together in a vague pattern that Hild thought she could understand, but it was a painfully slow process to stop and look up the meaning of every phrase or concept she did not understand.
She could have gone to Luke. She had already asked questions of him, learned from watching and doing. But she hadn't realized the sheer number of laws that dictated his actions. All of his actions simply made sense.
She could have gone to Luke. She could have gone to Derek. But she wanted to go to Spencer. They saw each other often; at the very least, Hild could expect to see him whenever she had a shift at the bookstore. But they had not sat down and had a proper talk, with coffee, just by themselves, in some time.
So she placed her folder full of papers, two coffees (Spencer's favorite blend, made as he liked it), and a plate filled with pastry on the table of the coffee shop, and waited for Spencer to arrive.
no subject
"Anyway," he says, deciding it's necessary to steer the conversation away from anything else that may be potentially incriminating, "you'll have my support. Luke's, too. I'll march up and down outside of City Hall handing out fliers if you need me to, I'm sure nobody would mind."
no subject
"But I hope word of mouth will do the trick. I have been selling things here and there, mostly at the festivals. They know my work. I must wait to see if they will buy it." She smirked faintly. "And they must, for I have to buy my friends a great gift for their wedding."