Lovely Little Vanderbilt || Claire and Quentin
“Yeah. I think that’s what happens when you live in a town with a population under a thousand.” he laughed a bit. “It gets stuck in it’s ways.” He gave the melancholic street one more glance before turning the corner on a row of identical homes with actual picket fences. They weren’t as old as the rest of the town—a few of the original Levitowns leftover from the fifties, placed strategically back when Vanderbilt was bustling and growing every minute. He hadn’t been alive then, but he longed for the days.
He though about her question for a moment before replying with a cheery sort of weariness. “The people.” His mother had been raised in Vanderbilt, going to the then two hundred child High School and living in one of these houses. She had never liked talking about her life before having him, but from what he had gathered after her death, she had been the smartest girl in her admittedly small school. And she had broken out of the town, earning a scholarship before she even turned eighteen—but her parents had fallen ill, and she had been forced to come back to the tiny, constricting town before her first semester was over. She had watched as her friends left for better places or married off, and finally given in herself. It was sad, in some ways—but he remembered that she had always seemed happy and at home and in her classroom, and wondered if it was really so tragic. Vanderbilt seemed to have its own magic, sucking people into its depths and not giving them the chance to leave until they were too attached to even think of it.
“These are mostly leftover from the fifties, but there’s a couple that are older. Mostly the ones with big porches and chimneys.” he pointed a few out, leaning over Claire so he could get a good view of her breasts as she looked out.
"The people?" she echoed, a genuine smile appearing on her lips. Honestly, despite urging him not to give her a tourist answer, she'd still been expecting one. Something more along the lines of 'my favorite part is our famous museum' or 'my favorite part is that we have the best corn this side of the county line'. And maybe saying that the people who lived in a town were the best part was more than a little bit cheesy, but it was somewhat adorable too. Especially coming from a mayor she'd written off as slightly skeevy, if totally cute.
"That's completely sentimental," Claire said, teasingly. "But I guess that's one of the nice things about a small town, you really get to know everyone in it," she said. Oh, she liked that line. Note to self: work in characters having a conversation about 'the people' and 'small towns'. "Besides, sentimental is a good trait in a mayor," she said, decisively nodding her head. "It means you really care and...all that," she trailed off, lamely, unsure of where she'd even been going with that. Why on earth had she sounded like she was gearing up to give Quentin a pep talk? He was in politics, he knew sentimentality sold.
Shaking off her suddenly awkward moment, Claire followed his gesturing, turning to look out the window at the older houses. Oh, this was something he should lead with, when giving future tours. These fifties houses were far cuter than some of the newer ones. Vintage. Quaint. Some of them literally had picket fences. Claire was torn between being disturbed by how stereotypically cute this street was, and just enjoying how stereotypically cute this street was. "How old are the oldest ones?" she asked, settling back in her seat to look at Quentin.
