viewing a house - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Viewing a house was Faith's least favourite of things to do. Brian insisted on getting a "fixer upper" every time and there were only so many kitchens with silver fish she could see in a day without feeling queasy. Brian stopped the car outside a brick house, perhaps where they'd be living in few short weeks. The walls were in good shape, the windows so rotten it was hard to believe the wind hadn't knocked them out already. The door was cornflower blue with white paint showing in the parts that had chipped or blistered and fallen away. Before she'd taken off her seat belt Brian had entered, leaving the door wide open.
Crossing the threshold it was clear why he'd done it and why he was now opening every window he could. The place stank of ammonia and cigarette smoke. Faith gagged and stepped back outside, her skin blanched. There was something about these "worst of the worst" places that sucked Brian in. Part of it was the call of a bargain and part of it was the thrill of "making a silk purse out of a sow's ear."
"Babe! There you are. Ain't she a beaut'? Go on, ask me what they want for it? Guess!" Faith was still sucking in the fresh outside air, hearing Brian's voice like it was a distant radio, crackling and indistinct. "Babe? Faith?..."
Tammy ran her hand over the kitchen wall tiles, each one of them a smooth horizontal glass bar about two pencils thick. Perhaps pulled away from the wall they would be translucent, perhaps they would cast the irrepressible sunlight into the seaside tones they were. The deepest of them was like driftwood, another was the same hue as the sand at Camber, the blue was like the ocean on a cool Autumn day rather than the brilliant blue of the tourist season...
When Rachel saw the tiled floor her heart beat went double time. It wouldn't do to let the relator know so she kept the same bored facial expression she had had for the last five houses. It was slate, but not grey. It was blacks and browns in a chaotic tumble of wonderfulness. She inwardly squealed letting the slight roughness and coolness come through her stockinged feet. She made an effort to pout,"Oh the floor is so cold!" The relator's face fell and she almost felt guilty, but this was her hard earned cash and she wanted the best deal she could get.
"There's underfloor heating," he quipped, fussing with the knot of his tie." She made a huff and went into the kitchen. She'd rip it out for sure, put in something darker with nicer counters...
Autumn approached the low level gate, fancy wrought iron in a grey stone wall. The house behind it had once been a simple country home, less desirable for being so far out of town. The front door, made of dark wood planks with black hinges spreading half way across, had that rustic appeal the rich city folk craved. Inside it would be renovated, no expense spared - the charm of the country with every modern convenience of a penthouse suite. Before pressing the intercom she let her fingers walk over the rough stone walls, stone lifted from the very dales she'd grown up in. Even in the warm spring sunshine there was a coolness to it. She let her eyes absorb the myriad of hues, all grey but made unique by their variance in minerals. She removed her hand and turned to press the button, but as her finger moved forward the door opened. Her professional smile was instant, her patter on autopilot. The cottage would have buyers lining up in their pristine off road cars...