and so it continues...

(in which Martha hates people)

.l.e.

Chapter 2

"a failed sale and...what the hell"

It all begins―as all nonsense usually does―with a rumor.

Actually…wait.

Martha is almost one hundred percent sure that this annoying need to deny their attraction to one another, began much earlier than that crisp autumn morning for Natsu and Lucy.

Because at that specific point in time denials came as easily as breathing to the two of them. Explanations and excuses fell from their lips with practiced ease. Laughter, light and carefree, filled the air as they disregarded any and all suggestions that whatever this is between them wasn't wholly platonic. Unspoken questions hung so high above them, ever present, like the sun. Warming their skin and igniting sparks that tickled their fingers with every shared touch―but also blinding if they looked too close.

It was all rather impressive. T

he sheer strength of their denial. She is sure that it requires a hell of a lot of practice, commitment, and a concrete will to maintain the level of delusion that those two were under. So if she was to guess, she would say that both Natsu and Lucy had been, unnecessarily, dealing with their stunted romance for a few years prior to her involvement in their personal affairs.

(Which was perfectly fine, of course. It was their business. They would deal with it whenever they were ready. And honestly Martha would have been happy to never be involved in the romantic entanglements of the two hormonal young adults in the first place.

That is, until it started to affect her sales. And then, of course, it wasn't fine. Not by a long shot. )

But for her?

The entire thing actually begins with a rumor, a failed sale and an annoying pink-haired pervert.

And honestly, the failed sale was all that had mattered to her at the time―the rumor is just what gets the ball rolling.

"And this is the living room. " She said, as she stepped into the modest sized room with a warm smile on her face.

If the family she is showing the apartment to notices that her smile sits strangely on her face―it is a tinge too wide, slightly too bright, and doesn't seem to belong on her face―they do not comment. Nope. At this point in the viewing the couple is completely bewitched by both the charm of apartment 4A and the charisma radiating from their tiny saleswoman.

Just as she would expect this far onto a viewing. It is all going according to plan and she has them wrapped around her little finger. And soon enough, she will have her hands wrapped around their hefty deposit.

"And here is the kitchen." She gestured to the oak surfaces and the laminate flooring of the kitchen space. "And as you can see, it is very modern and even has an open plan. Perfect for you to whip up all the masterpieces you want and still keep an eye on your little angel, Mr Ryes. And the breakfast bar is the perfect place to watch while he does it. Don't you think, Mrs Ryes?"

Her voice was completely corporate, polished and authoritative, but practice has allowed her to maintain an air the vibrancy and freshness. The very same, in fact, that had, in her youth, made her most successful female realtor this side of Crocus―and has kept her and her business at number one for over thirty years.

And it is this tried-and-tested approach that has Mrs Ryes beaming at her with a bright smile before she launches back into idle chitchat about how perfect the kitchen is and "Jana. Jana look. Even Janet doesn't have a breakfast bar!"

Martha listens with the ear of a professional. Commenting were appropriate and sparing a few believable giggles at Mr Ryes jokes before guiding the family to the bedrooms with a few carefully selected words.

Years of practice has granted her the ability to adapt her somewhat gruff and sarcastic tone to suit whatever home hunter happened to enter her web, lulling the unwitting patrons into such a stupor that they'd sign whatever she told them with little to no resistance. It was an invaluable skill that she had spent years refining to hide the fact that, while she had no problem attracting clients to her―flowing purple hair, bright blue eyes and a generous chest had done the trick in her youth and as she had aged, her success and reputation had spoken for itself― she had very little interest in the people she showed houses to. And even less interest in those that weren't looking to line her pockets.

It was ironic really.

Considering the fact that her career was so customer oriented and success in said career meant having to not only subject herself to idle small chat, but excelling at it.

Though, it really wasn't something she worried about much.

People were fairly simple to understand because they were all, at their very core, the same. Whether they be a hardened criminal or the heiress of a grand estate, they were fundamentally identical. Each had a plan, an aim, and an agenda. And their personalities, their relationships and their lifestyles were nothing but facades. Masks for them to wear on their mission to achieve their goals. Human are built for self-preservation and their every action, whether they know it or not, is only ever about furthering themselves.

And she had always found them―most of them―to be dreadfully boring.

Because for one for whom the truth was so clear, they offered no challenge. No surprises, no diversity, no depth. Once she shifted through the grandeur and meaningless words they all had the same fault―they were selfish. Selfish and, more often than not, their masks were covered in cracks and ugly gaps. So it was easy, so easy, to pick apart the illusion piece by piece.

Not that she was any better. Martha was a lot of things, including a few colorful words that had been used to refer to her on more than one occasion, but she wasn't foolish enough to think herself immune to her own humanity.

In fact she relied on it.

It made influencing and coaxing people easier when you could add pieces of their illusion to your own. When you could understand them so completely.

And that was why she was a landlady. Because yes. She was business savvy, shrewd and very good at her job. But also because she found it strangely...satisfying to find people a place where they could finally take their masks off. Where they could be their most genuine self away from this world shrouded in smoke and mirrors.

So on that day, when the young family―man, woman and ten year old daughter―looking for a spacious apartment fell right into her lap, she was ready. Complimentary words, as sweet as the chocolate chip cookies she held on her platter, fell from her mouth with practiced ease. Adored in her plain blue dress, white apron wrapped strategically around her waist, and lack elaborate jewelry, she beamed at them as soon as they set foot in her office.

The quintessential sweet old lady.

She swapped recipes with the man, Jana, and complimented his wife's dress. She ruffled their daughter's hair and laughed sweetly.

In fact, you could even call her tone friendly as she showed Emily her potential new room.

Emily calls it small.

She says cozy.

Emily says the plain white walls are totally boring.

She says they're the perfect blank canvas to embrace and nurture the imagination of such a vibrant and energetic young girl.

Emily calls her old, she smiles while patting the girl's hair and refrains from calling her a little brat.

She is polished, she is practiced, and she is one hell of a sales woman.

"I'm sorry," Jana said. They were out in the hall now, standing outside apartment 4A. The end of the brass key is clutched in her hand. The other half is still in the door. "But I just don't think this place is right for us."

His voice is vibrating with nerves and his eyes have yet to meet hers, instead choosing to follow after the retreating forms of his wife and daughter.

Martha froze.

"Sorry?"

"I'm so sorry, ma'am." He said. "This was a waste of your time."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying sir." She asked, the tone of her voice forces his brown eyes to make contact with her own. "Why was this a waste of my time? Was there something wrong with the apartment?"

He shook his head.

"No, ma'am."

"Was it the kitchen? Maybe you don't like the open plan design as much as you initially thought?"

"No, no. I love the kitchen."

"Bathrooms? Do you want another ensuite, after all? I know how important it is for young girls to have their own bathroom space."

"No. Two bathrooms is more than enough."

"Closet space?"

"Definitely not." He said. His voice lightens suddenly." Marge does not need any excuse to buy more shoes."

"Then what is it? Was Emily's room too small?" She asks, and her words are colored in apprehension. "I could tell she wasn't exactly sold. Do you need a bigger room?"

"No. It's the perfect size for a ten year old." He said, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Honestly, you could have showed us a two story mansion with a pool and a bunch of ponies in the backyard, and Emily still wouldn't have been very happy."

"So is it Emily? Does she not want to move?" She pries―and she knows she shouldn't.

There is a thin line between feigning interest and being down right nosy―she has been on the receiving end of the latter enough times to know difference―and usually asking personal details about kids and family was a huge realtor no-no.

But his sudden and blunt rejection has completely blindsided her.

They had been the model family. The kind of clients that were almost too easy to please. And this had seemed like such an easy sell and

honestly, now, she is grasping at straws.

She was supposed to be a professional and if she really was losing her touch with old age, she'll be damned if she lets this mousy young man and his bratty daughter be the ones to bring her to that realization.

So she pries.

"I know moving can be hard on kids her age. I moved around a lot in my childhood myself. Maybe I can talk to her? See if I can help?"

She hopes this is it. Bratty daughters? She can deal with. Has dealt with bratty children all throughout her career so she is more than equip to deal with this particular little angel.

"That's a lovely thought, Miss Martha." He said, seemly touched by her offer. She resists the sudden urge to slap him." But we've eased her into the idea. I think she'll be okay here in Magnolia."

"Then what?" She asked, a touch more forceful than might be justified. "I thought you loved this place."

"We do. " He insisted. "It's absolutely perfect."

She feels the irritation, pure and potent, beginning to build even before it warms the back of her neck. But she has been in this business for too long, been too successful in her craft, given up too much to take no for an answer. So she tightens her grip on the door handle, an action that was meant to be subtle but still causes the lanky young man to jump slightly. But it is still better than replacing the door knob with his neck. Which is what she really wants to do. So with that reassurance she turns back to him.

"If it is so perfect," She asks. "Then what is the problem?"

He doesn't answer, choosing instead to shift his eyes to the ceiling and then back down to the carpet.

"If this apartment isn't to your liking," She continues with a smile. She wants to kill him. "I have others you may be interested in. Just let me know what you didn't like about this one and I'm sure I can find a more suitable one for you."

"No really. That's quite alright."

She swallows. Then it must be…

"Is it," She asks. She prays that he does not pick up the sudden higher pitch of her voice or the sweat on her palms. "Is it the rent? Is it too high?"

He blinks―once, twice, thrice―and her stomach plummets.

"If that is it, I'm sure we can reach some kind of agreement. I'm a reasonable woman. "Somewhat." We can talk."

"What?" He laughs. And she can feel her murderous urge pulse. "No, no. The money is not a problem. In fact this place is slightly under our budget."

"Then what," she can almost taste the frustration in her voice and at this point she really doesn't care that he can probably hear it too, "pray tell is the problem?"

"N-nothing!"

She stares at him and blinks.

"Tell the truth."

"I am!"

"Now, Mr Ryes…"

"Miss Martha, I―"

"Tell. The. Truth."

"I can't. It's not app―"

She grips the doorknob again. He swallows.

"Mr Ryes." She said, in a voice that balances resentment and kindness in the way only she can achieve. "If there is something I should know then please. Tell. Me."

"Well…It's just…well," He stuttered." I-I just don't think it would be appropriate for me to discuss this with you! It's rather...crass."

Crass. She quirked a brow.

"I'm sure my poor old heart can take it."

"I'm not so sure."

"Try me." She replied, deadpan.

"Okay, look," and for once he meets her gaze straight on, through the red dusting his cheeks lets her know he is still horribly uncomfortably," Before we came to you, we went to another estate agency here in Magnolia. When we told her we planned to talk to you before making our final decision, we could tell she wasn't happy. And normally, I'd ignore any kind of talk from a rude and jealous realtor―it really is a dog eat dog business, Miss Martha, I don't know how you manage it―but the wife just loves that kind of thing. I think it's the drama. Actors. You know?" Sadly, she did know. She had been on the receiving end of more of Mrs Rye's dramatic spells than she cared to remember. It wouldn't have been too bad, if the lady could act." When she told her about…what goes on here, she was engrossed in the story. I didn't wanna hear it. It was just seemed so crazy and…slanderous that I was sure she was making the whole thing up. I mean who wouldn't have thought that? It was unbelievable. And I told her as much. 'There's no way Miss Martha runs a place like that,' I said."

Martha blinked.

What? "What?"

"I said," He looked concerned again." 'There is no way Miss Martha ru―"

"No, no. I was simply thinking out loud." She interrupts. "Please, dear. Continue."

"Oh. Alright then." He says." Where was I?"

Martha resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Oh, yes." He said. "But Marge was hanging on the old hag's every word and…the lady was so over the top. You should have seen her, Miss Martha. You could just tell she was enjoying herself. I, for one, was having none of it." His eyes shifted. "At least…until a passer-by started backing her up. And I know it's still hearsay but…well…it made the whole thing sound pretty believable."

A rather awkward moment passes as Martha stares at the side of Jana's face while he is seemly engrossed in the brass numbers on the apartment door. This man is an idiot.

"Mr Ryes." She said. He made no move to react.

She sighed.

"Mr Ryes? You haven't told me anything."

"Sure I have." He said, eyes moving from the door to the floor. "I told you what happened."

Martha's left eye twitched.

"No, Mr Ryes. No, you didn't." She said through gritted teeth. "You've said a whole bunch of words. But you haven't told me anything, Mr Ryes."

"I don't know what you mean."

"What did they," Martha made a note to find out which wanna-be realtor was busy flapping their gums instead of making any sales, "say about me?"

"Oh. Miss Martha." Jana shook his head. "You've got it all wrong. It wasn't about you."

"What was it about then?"

"It was about…well…"

That was it. She was done encouraging this ridiculous conversation.

"Spit it out, Mr Ryes!" She exclaimed.

"Pervert!"

She blinked and then looked at Mr Rye's suddenly red face. Then blinked again.

"Excuse me?"

"Hm?" He squeaked.

His cheeks were slightly puffed, the effort only adding to the redness of his face, and his eyes had shut. He looked like he was about to pass out.

"For the love of god, Jana." She said, all formalities having left with the very last shred of her patience. "Breathe."

Jana inhaled and as the redness slowly left his face, Martha rolled her eyes.

"I'm okay." He said. "I'm okay."

"I'm glad." Martha couldn't find it in her to even fake concern. "Now, what did you say, Mr Ryes."

"Oh yes." He said, clearing his throat and this time, rather impressively, looked Martha right in the eyes. "She told us that a flaming pervert climbs into the bedroom windows of your apartment building looking for young girls."

And that was really how all this started.

the first real chapter with actual plot! let me know what you think...