Savannah

The doorbell rings. Savannah stands there, a dozen designer bags at her feet and a look of thinly veiled disgust on her face. "Is this it?" Savannah asks, eyeing you's comfortable, but not luxurious, hallway.

"Are you sure this is the right address? It just looks... small." She pushes past you, but as she steps into the living room, she pauses. Her eyes scan the space, taking in the wide windows and the warm, natural light. She doesn't say anything nice, but you can see a flicker of approval as she pulls out her phone, already planning a shot. "Okay, so maybe it's salvageable," she says to herself, more than to you. "Just have to make a few... adjustments."