He was greeted by an older woman, who called him 'dearie' in a very sweet and almost motherly type of tone. It makes Darien's awkwardly forced smile turn genuine, thanking her as he is led inside. His large eyes can't help but scan everything. Everything. This wasn't her place? She said Mistress. Someone young owns? What the hell, is her family part of the Mafia or something? Jealousy starts to seep into his mind and heart looking at all the luxurious things. Things he would never afford. In a house not even his children's children could ever live in.

Mistress? So it's a woman who lives here. Maybe her husband is out of town?

Once inside the parlor, he looks at the drinks and the rather stiff but still gorgeous furniture. Make myself at home, eh? Before she leaves, he turns to thank her. "Thank you, Patrice. My name is Darien by the way." She seemed to have other things on her mind, but nothing short of manners as she takes her leave. Before long, he was alone inside this room with nothing but his thoughts and those few bottles. It's too much of a temptation. I need to make a good first impression but fuck .. a drink sounds nice. He struggles with being polite and what he desired for a solid five minutes, even too scared to sit down for fear of breaking something.

He broke anything in here, he'd never be able to pay it back! At least, in this lifetime!

"Fuck it." Taking off his backpack and placing it beside a loveseat, he goes to the table and grabs himself a glass, pouring in something that looks and smells like strong Whiskey; straight. He doesn't recognize the names of any of these alcohol choices before him, which was surprising. Truth be told, it was the best he's ever tasted, too. That jealousy gets a little stronger. No wonder they need someone to do yard and pool work. I'd be drunk and doing nothing else if I lived like this. Darien drinks the entire glass, and then pours himself another before walking back to the loveseat and sitting down on it.

It was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture he'd ever sat on. This made even the ones at the Shelter seem like heaven. He sits back, elbow on its rest and legs spread open, trying to get comfy. Taking off his beanie to let out his blonde bedhead. And it begins.

The wait. The wait that never seemed to end.

There was a moment he was about to dial for Patrice, but his shyness and not wanting to be a pest gets in the way. Did they forget about me? Is this some sort of test? His left leg bounces, he's still sipping his second glass gingerly but the longer he's here, the more nervous he gets and those Vodka drinks were starting to look like they needed to be tasted. He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he sits there, like a jitterish statue. This has to be part of the job. Seeing how badly I want it. Any other time he would have been utterly annoyed by this, but with the drinks it felt more like a stroke of serendipity, one he would handle.

And then, the shades begin to lower in the parlor. It startles Darien at first as he sits up and watches it grow dark and darker in this little room. A familiar chilled rushes over him. A sensation he had experienced once before, a coldness like death, in a bar not too long ago. And like some reacted part of theater, she comes bouncing in. Dressed like confliction with her statement. His eyes go from her face, to her hips, to her feet, studying her closely. He smiles coyly at her. She wasn't what he expected. She seemed .. bubbly, but refined. She was pretty, but was this a trick all her kind played? Always the gorgeous ones? "The sun doesn't get along with you, but you wear a nice sundress?" It sounds kind of rude after he's asked it, and he realizes this. "I'm sorry." He finishes his drink in one gulp and places it on the coffee table in front of him. "I just mean't I think you would look nice in the sun, if it would agree."

He watches as she moves to the center of the parlor and motions for him to take a seat opposite of her. 'I don't bite' and Darien knows he has it figured now. Something about him and vampires always crossed paths ... wait, this wasn't some fake job interview and more a 'meal' for herself .. right? He chuckles a little (feeling so uneasy), unsure of what to say back or even do. He nervously can't decide what to stare at as he quickly does as she asked him. Direct eye contact. How much is too much? She wastes no time in getting right to it. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I don't have a stable form of transportation so I apologize for getting here too early." He folds his fingers in his lap, licking his lips anxiously. He looks into her eyes, but only for a moment, before his gaze would fall on his hands and he'd fidget. "Darien, my name is Darien by the way."

When was the last time he'd been interviewed for a job? He can't remember. "Professional experience? No. I don't have any of that, Miss. The only experience I have is cleaning out the leaves and deads bugs in the pool as a kid or helping my mom plant or dig carrots out of our garden." He smirks, realizing how momma's boy that sounded when the truth was the opposite. His eyes look back up, directly into her's and there is a honest passion shining in his blue eyes, masked by the shyness. "I am open to learning. I can! I like being outside. I love water and I'd love to help you make this place look great. I can't make your hedges look like horses or teddy bears or any of that crap, but I can keep them alive, and clean. I can make it look good. I need something to do that requires a little artist touch and while I might be better at drawing or singing, I can certainly bring life to your beautiful home the same way. "

Even in the darkness, Darien can see the softness in her face. Her striking eyes and delicate lips. Even her sharp cheekbones. I have a weakness for vampires. I really do. And hopefully she doesn't notice that he was trying, miserably, to be slick about checking her out.