I’m on another break, in a way. Social media doesn’t provide what I need, or else my expectations are too unrealistic, so rather than show up and be grumpy at strangers, I’ve deactivated a number of my accounts. That’s temporary, it’s a nice option they offer.

Instead, I hope to use my time more gainfully: tackling the academic books in earnest, studying and taking notes on chapter after chapter, refining and enriching my understanding on heathen Scandinavian giantess-worship. And writing. I’m just doing little writing exercises, conceptual pieces that may or may not involve Size Fantasy, trying to discipline myself to the feel of sitting down and hacking something out for ten or twenty minutes. I did this before and I let it trail off; I’m picking it up again. I don’t want to not write.

So, here’s a little something meaningless.

*   *   *

The Dollhouse

“Dawn? Nice to meet you. Come on inside, it’s hotter than hell out there.”

“Thanks so much for seeing me!”

“Of course. Did you find the place okay?”

“Yeah, no problem. Thanks for the heads-up about the construction. It’s really torn up around here.”

“Not exactly the ideal setting in which to show off a new apartment, though. Have you seen a lot of other places?”

“Yeah, several other places, but none as nice as this place, and I’d love to live in this part of town.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I hope you don’t change your mind when you actually see the place.”

The landlady, Anika, guided the young woman down half a flight to the hallway of four garden-level apartments. The carpet smelled old but clean, the walls were glossy with thick layers of paint over the decades, and the light fixtures were naturally yellow, no matter what. She led Dawn to the first door on the left, jangling through a ring of keys, only thinking to knock in mid-turn. “Mr. Gentry? Heath? It’s Anika, I have a guest.” She grinned at Dawn and pushed the door open.

The apartment, like the rest of the house, was relatively old but kept in great condition. “It was built in a time when the wealthy families all had guesthouses, so you’ll see a lot of the same features. The hutch, the mirrored hutch, that’s ubiquitous. The windows have all been replaced for insulation, but we’re doing what we can to keep the original light fixtures. Some of us like our traditions,” she added, dropping her voice and nodding behind her.

The women slipped their shoes off and stepped into the apartment, new champagne pile carpet springing beneath their soles. “The kitchenette was updated about five or six years ago. Heath will know exactly when. We found a restoration shop that refurbished a complete set of appliances, bringing them up to modern code. I personally love the vintage feel.”

Dawn’s eyes were wide as she looked at the enameled steel, the art deco fixtures. “It’s like a Clark Gable movie or something,” she breathed. “Look at that cocktail shaker.”

Anika drew a deep breath, smiling. “Heath will be so glad to hear that. Would you like to meet him?” The wrinkle to her eyes told Dawn that they’d come to the dealbreaker.

Quietly, Dawn following Anika’s lead, they entered the living room, a spacious area with a row of windows by the ceiling. “The south-facing view only looks at the next building, so no chance for curious foot traffic peeking in or anything. Maybe a squirrel around autumn.” Anika stepped through the spaces where a couch would go, where a recliner might go, where the entertainment center could go, pacing around a low, broad table that housed a gorgeous Victorian dollhouse. She knelt by its front door and rested her hands in her lap. “Heath, the new potential tenant is here. Would you like to meet her?”

Dawn’s body went gently rigid. She was familiar with Anthropoles, of course, she worked with some. But there was a gravity in this room that caused all forces to dip toward this dollhouse. She wasn’t sure what the attraction was, the magnetic pull, until a tiny, old man pushed the front door open and stood on the exquisitely carved porch. “How close should I get,” she breathed, strangely awed by the gravitas of the little man. Anika waved her closer and indicated where she too might kneel. They flanked the porch in this manner as Heath Gentry stood at the top of the little steps leading to the coffee table.

To her eyes, frankly, he looked like an old fisherman, with his stout little sweater and tousled salt-and-pepper hair. His face was browned by the sun and deeply wrinkled, and he styled a snowy fringe of beard running down from each muttonchop, foregoing the mustache. All he needed was a pipe and a boat’s wheel at hand and he could’ve appeared on a box of fish sticks. Mr. Gentry kept one hand on a pole of the porch and his eyes on Anika.

“You told her about respectin’ the place,” he said. His voice was quiet and thin. Dawn wondered whether she’d hear him better if he turned to her.

“I was just about to explain all that. We were talking about it on the way in, how we like the old fixtures, we like to keep the traditions as much as we can.” Anika nodded encouragingly at the younger woman. “I just thought that she should meet her new roommate.”

Dawn blinked a couple times. “New roommate …” That would explain the conspicuously lower rent for this part of town. It explained the apocryphal wording of the as-is clause, when she scanned the lease PDF. It read like someone was urgently trying to get something important across without saying anything too revealing. “So, he’s not just showing off the place to a prospect. He lives here?”

Anika nodded, her eyes a little wider. “I hope that’s not going to be a problem. Mr. Gentry is nothing but respectful, of course, and he only asks that the tenants, everyone in this building, are just as respectful to this lovely old property.” She snorted by way of laughter. “It’s almost as though he’s collected us. He’s certainly been here longer than everyone living here. The stories he could tell you …”

Dawn weaved where she knelt, slightly. It was almost too much information at once. She was going to live with an elderly Anthropole. How did she feel about that? And he was custodian of the building, to some extent. And shouldn’t he be bonded with someone? Wasn’t that required for Anthropoles to live this long? He couldn’t be on his five-year lifespan if he’d been living here before everyone else in the building, including the current landlord. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Gentry.”

“You should more properly greet yourself with ‘how do you do’,” he said gruffly, not turning to her. “If you start out with ‘it’s nice to meet you,’ I could prove you a liar within 20 minutes.”

Anika let the silence play out before explaining that this was his generation’s idea of a joke. “It’s quite charming once you get a taste for it, very deep and rich. Like a whiskey, I like to say.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Dawn said, recovering. “I’m more of a beer-and-chicken girl, myself.”

Confusion crossed Anika’s face. “Beer and chicken? You mean, like, beer can chicken?”

Dawn straightened up. “Oh, no. I have my car, and the hotel packed us a basket lunch with beer and chicken and—”

Deep-set in the tiny man’s face was a twinkle, briefly. “To Catch a Thief. You might could dig out one of yer Office Depot contracts for this one, Anika.”