The gaudy green cube van rolled to a stop in front of a set of rusting, off-kilter gates. Its grumbling engine quieted as he slipped it into park, and a man in a similarly garish-coloured uniform leaned out the window. The gate had an intercom, but some engineering genius had positioned in such a way that it took a minor act of acrobatics to reach it without getting out of a vehicle. He brushed the faded red button next to the speaker with the tip of his index finger. The buzzing noise made it sound like he'd triggered an angry hive to bees.
"Hello?" a barely audible voice asked. Even through the hiss and static, he could tell it was a young woman's.
"This is Rob with the American Delivery Services. I have several packages for this address."
The intercom went silent. Rob drummed his fingers on the wheel of his delivery van, waiting.
"Drop them by the door, near the bench. Don't knock," the woman commanded. As the intercom shut off with a squeal of interference, the gates creaked open. He wondered how the damn thing was still working. He pushed the van into first and rolled forward into the property.
Rob had been a driver for ADS for two dull, lifeless years, and for most of that he'd been making deliveries to the Turner Estate. Each week the loaders gave him several boxes destined to the decaying turn-of-the-century mansion, all under different names. The packages ranged in size from little wrapped bottles to large, multi-box items that were furniture of some description. The only constant was at least one cooler full of meat. He knew it was meat because one time he'd 'accidentally' popped the lid. Several pounds worth of pork, beef, and chicken, enough to run a restaurant for a day or two. Whoever lived in the house, they had to be some hungry motherfuckers to go through a decent barbeque's worth every week.
He had never seen the owners, never even spoken with them beyond the occasional word of compliance or acknowledgement when he arrived. Every time, he left them on the side of the door like he was instructed. But this time...this time he wanted answers. One package was by verified mail and needed a signature. At least he'd get to see one of the people who lived inside the strange home.
He navigated his van up the cracked pavement, past the grey stone fountain filled with stagnant, and parked it at the foot of a set of stairs. The stalks of upthrust weeds and grasses pocked the eroded steps. He popped the driver door, opened the back, and retrieved the first of the packages: a large manilla envelope from the Philippines, of all places.
The path to the front door was always something of an obstacle course. Rob's eye caught the divot where he'd slipped and could have had a lawsuit on his hands a few weeks back. Unfortunately, he'd recovered without breaking a bone. Judging by the look of this place, these weirdos might not have money. But if they did, he could set himself up for life with a good spill.
He wanted to know more. His curiosity ate at him every time he rolled up to the gates. Who were these people? A search for information on the place only yielded historical records of the original family, all saying the Turners had all died out with their last son just after the Stock Market Crash of 1929. Any information after that was mysteriously non-existent.
He held the laptop sized box in his hands that required the receiver to sign for it. If nothing else, he'd prove that something inhabited this place. He had no evidence of that besides the voice on the other end of the intercom, and that could easily be connected to the internet or something. Maybe it was all some weird PO Box-style front for someone else?
He'd be lying if he were to say the fact the voice on the other end of the intercom sounded like a woman wasn't part of the reason he was interested. As a permanent bachelor, a mysterious...if somewhat deranged...lady he could court had a certain allure. Of course, he was also a troglodyte when it came to interacting with them. He had two modes: he could treat them like a guy, or he could treat them like someone he was interested in. The former meant he could interact with them; the latter meaning he fumbled over his words, sweat like a Canadian in Arizona, and made an ass out of himself. But maybe this time would be different.
Maybe.
This was it. He steeled himself. Rob did this kind of thing a dozen times a day, but never before to this house. He set down the package, grasped the large brass ring, and slammed it against the door three times. He pulled the signature device from his satchel and waited.
Minutes passed. He knocked again, harder this time. The clanking of withdrawing deadbolts made him jump. He hadn't even heard anyone approach. He made sure his uniform looked crisp and straightened up just in time for the door to open ever so slightly. A single, red iris slid into view. Rob was taken aback by the colour, but he had seen stranger things at Cons. What was really surprisingly was that the eye was at least a foot higher than his own!
"I said no knocking. Just leave the packages at the door," a voice said. It almost sounded like the voice from the intercom, meaning this woman was tall.
"I...umm...I need your signature." Rob held out the little signing device and stylus. The eye blinked several times as it scanned him head to toe. After a minute of silent inspection, she pushed the door open a little more. Just enough to get a good look at her.
She was an impressive sight. Not only was she at least seven feet tall, but her body was not proportioned like the tall girls he had seen in his life. She swore a hoodie, pulled up over her head and only letting a trace of her straight, raven hair spill out. Even in the baggy black sweater, her chest pushed against the fabric. He spotted a logo on the front of sweater which looked familiar, but Rob couldn't quite place it. A flowing blue skirt concealed her legs, but the garment accentuated her impressive hips as they bowed out the fabric on both sides. The clothes she wore were frumpy and wrinkled. A reflected glint brought his attention down to her feet where the plastic eyes on a pair of pink bunny slippers stared at him with googly disinterest.
He handed over the device. She flicked out a quick signature and practically tossed it back at him.
"Good? Anything else?" Her voice was clipped. Either annoyed, or deeply uncomfortable.
He held his hands out, trying to allay any concern. "Just trying to do my job ma'am. This is the first package, the rest are in the van."
She examined him, eyes narrowing. After an uncomfortable silence, she game him a curt nod. "Okay. Go get them. Just leave them there." The woman indicated a spot right of the doorframe. He turned his back and headed towards the van. The pair of crimson eyes bored into his back as he fetched the second item.
He racked his brain, trying to remember where he had seen the logo on her sweater before. It was an almond-shaped white shield with a red crescent pointing downward. Behind it were a pair of crossed swords.
The answer struck him like a hammer: it was the emblem of the Coalition! His favourite MMO, Crusaders of a Twisted Land, had two factions vying for dominion. The Host, the edgelord bad guys were of course his team, and the Coalition, the smug Goody Two Shoes side. This strange lady had a reference to a game he played on her chest! It was almost too good to be true. But has he grabbed the second package, his palms sweat. What now?
The few times he'd talked with women about shared interests, he'd smothered them. His zeal for sharing his passions somehow translated across the gender gap like the ravings of a lunatic, or at the very least, a loser. For all he knew, she'd got it on consignment and just liked the pattern. He knew he had to play this cool.
Rob dropped off the second package, eyes not meeting the ones glaring at him as he moved almost robotically up the stairs, placing the box on the ground, and then back down to his van. Before he knew it, he was almost out of packages. If he was going to move, it would have to be now. He padded up the stairs at a reduced pace, trying to undo the knot in his throat.
"So...umm...you on the Coalition?" He placed the last box on the pile, ready mentally to make his awkward escape. She looked at him. His heart thudded. To his relief, the slightest hint of a smile cracked on her beautiful face.
"All the way," she said. "My main is on Coal, but I have a Level 55 Dread Archer too. My heart is on the Red Team though."
Rob smiled back. Something deep in his heart fluttered. "No way! I have a 55 Greenskin Archer! You spec in Precision or Arrowlord?"
They spoke for a few minutes in the arcane language of nerd, Rob's apprehension fading as they communicated in his native tongue. But as the conversation lost a little steam, he knew he had to press his luck. Meeting an attractive woman with a high APM is not something you did every day. "You know, I can't find anyone else to talk to about CoaTL. My shift is almost up...could I come in for a while?"
Her smile faded, and her hand fell on the door again. "Isn't that against policy?"
"Nothing against talking, I don't think. Besides, you've been a reliable enough customer. Maybe I can help to address your needs better if I got to know you better?" A bald-faced, shameless lie. They had been specifically warned about fraternising with the customer base. A previous employee had thought that his job was a license to flirt with the many lonely housewives he was sure existed. Porn is a terrible preparation for a delivery job. The wrinkle of her nose told her she didn't buy that line entirely. Thinking quickly, he added: "I could at least help you bring in these boxes!"
Her head looked over her shoulder, then snapped back. "Okay..." she muttered, "I gotta check on an auction. Just drop them off near the stairs."
Rob resisted the urge to pump his fist, but just barely. She spun on her heel and retreated, leaving the door open for him. He picked up the box he'd just put down and walked inside the mansion.
The lobby was a vast space, the thing you'd see in 19th century period dramas. He could just imagine ladies with billowing dresses carefully treading down the wooden staircase to be met by the steady hand of dapper gents in top hats. It was in disrepair, the wood faded and cracking in places. But with some renovations, this place could easily fetch a few million dollars.
"Your home is incredible!" Rob said, loud enough to make his voice carry. It reverberated off the walls, echoing back at him quieter and strangely distorted. The air smelled of old books, with the slightest hint of something floral that followed in the wake of the tall woman. Shampoo, he postulated. Or she'd been caught in range of an exploding bouquet.
The woman reappeared. Her hood was still up, which he thought was odd. They were indoors, and the house was a comfortable temperature to him. But everything about this trip was strange. Why not her apparel? Her large moon of a face filled the department store branded hood completely. When she turned her head, the fabric seemed to catch on something underneath. She had to keep adjusting to keep it from falling off. "So I got my auction squared away. And you've offloaded the last of my packages, yeah?"
Rob looked toward the door. He was already inside...and he still had so many questions! "Yes ma'am. But...if you don't mind, I'm curious. Do you live alone?"
"Why does it matter, huh?" she asked sharply. She stalked forward, her hands slapping his sides and arms in a harsh version of a police pat-down. "You wearing a wire? You got guns or a sword somewhere? Huh?!"
"No ma'am! Just a couple pens," Rob said truthfully, suddenly relieved he left a box cutter in the door well of his van. Regret built in the back of his mind. Could this had been a mistake? Someone who lived like this ought to have been a little off. But he took another look at her amazing red eyes, and how they brought out the subtle colour of her skin...and realised he couldn't back out now.
Her pat-down drifted a little too far south. He stepped back. "Whoa there!"
She blushed, melting the delivery boy's heart. "Oh my god, sorry! I just...it's dangerous for me out there, and bringing someone new in, and...sorry."
Rob tossed a casual shrug. "It's alright. And I'm not trying to hurt you. Promise!"
"Promise?" she asked.
