rei-amamiya [ REPLY ID: REI AMAMIYA ]:
Rei’s not really ready to re-enter the world. There’s still the grief, and the terror beyond it. But before any of that, they are poor. Eviction is only a few weeks away if they don’t scrape enough money together for rent. So they’re back outside, taking whatever work they can get. In this case, that’s cleaning up some rich person’s apartment.
It feels weird to break out their gear. They haven’t used it since-
No, they’re not going to think about that. They’ll replace their things whenever they can afford to next. That might be a long while from now but it doesn’t bear consideration. What’s in front of them is this job and the rent money behind it. Another month in their apartment. This is how they reach the future, by putting one foot in front of the other.
Their first attempt to knock at the door is too soft. Their second sounds entirely too loud. They’re already wincing and apologizing by the time it swings open. “Sorry about that, uh, hi, you called for a deep cleaning?”
If there’s anything in this world that he cannot seem to afford with the abundance of wealth in every aspect, it would be anonymity. The persona of his incognito vigilantism act is rather... undisclosed, but it’s still quite expensive with all its drawbacks. While most of the time 0 would be too obscure for any media to cover his presence, amidst all the chaos that recently occurred in the city as well, this façade still needs an upkeep, and that’s where another arbitrary call for the ‘deep cleaning’ was arranged.
He doesn’t truly care who, or even what, as long as the person’s background checks out—no gang affiliation, no history of violence, and essentially... none, nothing on the deep or dark web. It’s simple to hire the service, and he finished all his lists before the designated day; its arrival cuts a bit too close for his schedule that he has to scamper towards the foyer to personally answer the door. Failure to do so might jeopardise some parts of his plans, so he cannot afford that; everything has been arranged meticulously, after all, including having the permit for this specific ‘Rei’ person to be able to enter the premise seamlessly, reaching his front door.
He answers the door after the second knock, semi-breathless. They certainly haven’t been exposed to this latest technology called the ‘doorbell’—either that, or 740 Park’s image has preceded itself with its classic ornaments that perhaps there are assumptions, making them believe there’s no such thing as a ‘doorbell’. Either way, Maxence raises his eyebrows at the sight of the cleaner. “Yes,” he nods. “Yes, come in.” He steps aside, ignoring the weird glances cast their way; of course, with half a dozen of maids around the living room alone, he shouldn’t have needed any extra force to do the cleaning, but this room is... an anomaly, where he keeps most of his latest self-constructed gadgets. It’s easier to hire an anonymous worker that he can detach from effortlessly after the pay.
“Follow me,” he gestures as he strides towards the second floor of the abode, leading towards his so-called leisure room. He doesn’t wait for the stranger to keep up with him, knowing that typically they’d be eager to tail him. “Just one room. Don’t open anything, don’t mind me while I’m working. It’s mostly just... cleaning the surfaces.” He leads them to the room at the end of the hallway, where the marbled floor is polished, the million dollars’ worth of arts are displayed, mounted on the stark white walls. Rothko, Pollock. He opens the door into the modernised leisure room with its private bar, as well as centralised sleek black billiard table, as well as a home theatre installed on a side.
But that’s not where the job is. In the corner, the bookshelf is already pushed open, leaving the crevasse into his ‘reading’ chamber open. He’s shoved everything into the deposit boxes. None of his latest invention should peek out, nor would the cleaner be able to see his equipment. He enters the large concrete-slab room with minimalist approach to interior, if anything. Most things are well-hidden, shoved into drawers, alongside the full-length steel cupboards, covering the farthest wall and its right. The left of the room is filled with shelves of books, chosen to be covered with the Windsor Corporate’s logo to illustrate the idea that it’s his work room. He situates himself in the middle of it all, where a long white marbled table with black rims is at. Sitting on the cushioned black seat, he offers the cleaner a crooked smile. “If anything, don’t ask why it’s so... dusted.” After all, he’s done too many all-nighters here, its black granite floor witnessing too many acts of defilement in the name of technology, so the debris would have accumulated from all those projects from a month ago.