Moving In

[very_sharpe]

Thomas stretched after setting down a box of books in the living room. He'd gotten everything out of the apartment, and most of his boxes were in the spare room for now, to be sorted at his leisure. Important things had already been put in appropriate rooms: clothes were in the bedroom, a few boxes of books down here to put away wherever they would fit. His desk had gone up in the spare room; the rats were currently settled in Saoirse's room. He was quite grateful that the little girl liked them and that Greta was allowing them in her house. He wasn't sure he'd ever get her to warm up to them, but they were pets he could share with Saoirse.

He headed back out to make sure there was nothing left on the truck before he sent the driver on his way. That made things easier, at least - he'd hired a couple of men to help him get things out of the old apartment.

"Greta?" he called as he moved into the kitchen. He had a small box of things in there. He'd just sort of packed everything, figuring he would deal with getting rid of things later.

"I got rid of most of my dishes, except the mugs you said you liked, but I wasn't sure about some of these other things."

Comments

[very_sharpe]

"Yes, I think that's the way to go about it. Here."

He pulled the secretary desk open, revealing all the nooks and crannies for filing and organization that were, currently, empty. They did have little labels, though: invoices, custom orders, supply orders, payroll. The boxes were equally meticulous in their labeling - the last thing he wanted was to bury something important and not find it for months.

With Greta's help, moving the boxes went quickly, and they managed to organize the pile in such a way that even if he did need to dig, it wouldn't take terribly long.

"Would you mind filing these as I hand them to you?" Like a little assembly line, he figured it would just go faster rather than both of them trying to poke around. He knew what was in all the boxes, and Greta was perfectly capable of reading a label on a desk file box. "I'd like the desk at least sorted before I call it finished for now."

[andhiswife]

Greta has seen the desk before, which is the only thing that keeps her from exclaiming over it, now. But she likes how cleverly it's put together (and leave it to Thomas to acquire furniture that's as complex, in its own way, as some of his creations), and how organized it is. Bookkeeping is one of the aspects of business ownership that she doesn't especially miss, but she can appreciate that he's at least going about it in a manner that ought to minimize frustration -- and mistakes.

"Of course," she says, plunking herself down in the desk's accompanying swivel chair and glancing over the labels, familiarizing herself with what goes where before they begin. "Should be easy enough, from the looks of things."

And it is. They settle into a rhythm after a minute or two, and Thomas was careful enough when he packed them that there aren't any surprises. Before too long, the desk's myriad little cubbies are full, and Greta sits back with a satisfied little smile. "There we are. You could get right to work. Not that you ought to," she adds, getting to her feet. "If anything, I'd say you've earned a break."