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 vous's comfortable, but not luxurious, hallway.

"Are you sure this is the right address? It just looks... small." She pushes past vous, 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 vous 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 vous. "Just have to make a few... adjustments."