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| Stuck In An Elevator | |
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| Participants | Lorna Scott |
| Synopsis | Two mutants don't exactly follow Aerosmith's plans for elevator companionship. |
| Location | The Manhattan Elevator |
| Time | January 14, 2016 |
| Posted By | Lorna |
This is not the place one would expect to find Scott Summers. He's got that blue-collar greasemonkey look, better suited for lying underneath a broken down Lexus. The stained beater, the faded jeans, the workboots, the rough brown leather jacket — it's all there. So in a place as spiffy and upscale as this, it's a wonder Scott got past the doorman. But then, maybe he's the resident janitor, right? Could be. He's going down in the elevator, today — descending from the penthouse level above. Disheveled, unshaven, hungover. With dark sunglasses, too. But hey, Scott makes it look good.
When the elevator stops at one of the lower floors, the doors open to reveal a green haired young woman carrying an armload of books. She steps on, her head held low and her lips pursed slightly into a small smile. She is wearing a puffy pink parka that makes the lime green shade of her hair stand out even more. It can't be dyed that color, since all the way to the roots it's a rather even shade. The muzak in the lift provides a good distraction for the pair, the female part of which is casting curious glances over at the rough looking man whenever she thinks he's not looking.
The thing with sunglasses, it's tough to accurately predict when a man's looking. And the thing with green-haired babes, a man's always looking. So even with an aching migraine, Scott doesn't miss the stranger's furtive attempts at subtlety. She's a new sight, obviously — as Scott is usually sneaking in and out during the wee hours. And, Scott is not ashamed to think, an interesting one. The green hair, well, that just about spells 'mutant' right there, unless it's some fashion statement.. Then again, she does look familiar. Billboards, maybe? Huhn. He slouches more heavily against the corner of the elevator, about to offer the most crooked of grins — not the most welcome sight from a shady ruffian like Scott — when the elevator shudders to a halt. Of course!
The shuddering of the elevator causes the young woman to stumble just a little, well not just a little, a lot. She practically falls into the man, actually, saving herself from the embarrassment of landing against him is the pile of books that fall to the floor and her newly freed hand is able to catch onto the rail. "Uhm.." she begins nervously, "I'm.." Then she ducks down to the floor and begins picking up her books. Some of the books look a little out of the ordinary for a regular curriculum.
Well, crap. That's Scott's first thought, even as all equilibrium is thrown out the window. He's not immune to such changes, knocked off-balance — though without books, Scott manages much better than the poor woman. He snags the rail right-off, clutching the metal with a gloved hand. And, driven by pure instinct, Scott's other hand shoots out to 'catch' the stumbling stranger — but when she manages to steady herself, Scott quickly converts the gesture. Wouldn't want to be seen as a Good Samaritan, right? He offers a grunt, acknowledging the fallen books with a glance - but it takes Scott another beat, still acclimating to the new situation. "Fuck," Scott mutters. An awkward pause, then Scott tentatively releases the rail and drops down to the floor of the now-stabilized elevator. He reaches for one of the books, something about the X-Gene. Heh. ".. This is just typical, huhn?"
As Scott grabs one of the books, Lorna pauses for a moment before she looks up at him and finishes gathering all the rest of them. Slowly, she lifts herself to a stand and holds out her hand for the book. "Yeah, it's uhm.. I wouldn't just be lucky enough that you're one of the maintenance men, would I?" Her voice is a little bit soft, maybe shy. The pink tinge in her cheeks suggests the latter. Gently taking the book from his hand, she arranges it back into the stack in her arms, carefully concealing it underneath a couple of others. "It kind of gets like this every once in a while, you know. We could be here for a little while if you don't know how to fix it." Already she's getting just a little warm in her heavy coat.
He doesn't miss the title. But the man's expression doesn't change — no raised brow, no frown, no look of surprise or scorn. He doesn't draw attention to it, because there's really no need to — it just furthers Scott's suspicion that this green-haired, semi-familiar chick is totally a mutant. Which only makes her that much hotter, really. Typical Scott. Standing too, Scott relinquishes the book without a struggle. And only then does the hungover man arch a dark brow above the ridge of those sunglasses. "Maintenance? Honestly, babe, what makes you think I don't live here?" But it's followed with a lopsided grin, dashing any shot at playing 'offended'.
"Uh… Do you? I'm sorry, I just, I've never seen you around before and you…" He doesn't dress like someone that lives there. He also called her babe, something that deepens the flush on her cheeks. Chewing on her lower lip, Lorna considers getting them out of the situation. The fleeting thought doesn't come without its own set of worries. What would happen if she did? She's sure that it would overtax her completely, then where would she be? Left completely vulnerable, perhaps unconscious, and still stuck in an elevator. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. Do you live here?"
Fortunately, Scott can't make out the warming pinkness of her cheeks — it's difficult to distinguish such shades through the ruby-redness of rose quartz. But unfortunately, Scott also doesn't know the top from the bottom of an elevator. He's also unaware that Lorna could probably turn this elevator into a can of soup with a thought. Not that Scott doesn't consider exploiting his own mutant powers, either. He could just blow a hole through the elevator doors — but who knows to what end. They might be between floors, or there might be someone patiently waiting for an elevator that'll never come. And that someone might get a blast of concussive force to the face. "Save your apologies," Scott suggests, brushing off the hasty conclusion. He sidles over to the control panel thing, giving it an unhelpful study. "I do cars, not elevators. And no, I don't live anywhere near here." He pauses, then shoots her a meaningful, over-the-shoulder look. "And I don't work here, either."
He seems so glib about her fumbling, this is a good thing. Lorna's also feeling a little hot under the collar due to the extremely warm jacket she's wearing. Since they're going to be stuck here for a little while, she bends down and sets her books on the floor. Straightening, she pulls down the zipper of her coat and sheds the bulky thing, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. It makes the perfect pillow, so she slides down the walls to sit on it. "You do cars? All cars or…" She begins, then it occurs to her that perhaps an introduction might be in order. "I'm Lorna, by the way. I live on the tenth floor." Which he might have noticed, since that's where she came in. when he examines the panel, she just gives his back a little smile and catches her lower lip between her teeth. "The help phone is broken. Help will come when someone calls the elevator and notices it's not working."
Well, she's comfortable — that much Scott catches in a glance. Lucky. He's lacking in the puffy jacket department, his being rather beaten and well-worn. But then, Scott isn't about to complain. Whining is for the weak. He taps the panel with a covered finger, considering the whole phone option. It's a rather obvious choice, but before Scott can proceed along this path of logic, she steps in. Huhn. His in-motion hand freezes, then falls away from the emergency phone. "Yeah? You can call me Scott," comes the return-introduction. Abandoning the whole fix-it attitude, Scott resigns himself to waiting in a rare act of patience. He, too, slumps down to the floor, keeping one leg bent at the knee while the other stretches out towards Lorna. "And yeah, all cars. Why, got one that needs fixing, babe?"
"Not at the moment, but the timing is a little tricky on it so it always needs an adjustment or two." Lorna explains as she watches him make himself comfortable. Once he is, she reaches across to him with one hand, offering hers to shake. "Pleased to meet you. Were you visiting a friend?" The question isn't really meant to be nosy, just offered in a conversational type of way. Wherever he came from, it must have been from one of the better apartments, so he probably has friends with piles of money. It's nothing that makes the young woman uncomfortable, but if he's used to the finer things in life she's likely better off not embarrassing herself too much with her very modest living allowance. "It's a Triumph," she continues, "Not exactly the best kind of car for this climate… or …" Her voice drops off before the war is mentioned.
The offer is given a glance, and the temptation to blow Lorna off is there — but in the end, Scott does duck over to take the hand. A very masculine grip, firm and rough. But it's short, Lorna released so that Scott can ease back against the elevator wall again. "A friend?" It's said with a laugh, obviously an amusing prospect. The doggish grin remains, as Scott plays over the appropriate choice of words. "Yeah, you could say that. Visiting, fucking — same thing." His callous remark is breezed over, of course, by the subject of Lorna's troublesome transportation issue. Both brows raise. "For a minute, I thought you were talking about a Triumph bike. That'd be way sexier." But as is, she's rolling around in a convertible. "Huhn, well. Those are pretty unreliable. Ought to bring her by Bruno's sometime." Evidently, Bruno's is the garage Scott works at.
He's involved, well then! The thought causes the young woman to blush a bright red, the darkening of her skin unmistakable if he were watching, even if he does see in shades of red. "I don't have a license to ride a motorcycle. I haven't tried getting one here, I figured the test would be a little brutal because…" Lorna clears her throat, it's not really something that's deniable. She was fairly high profile a few years ago. ".. because I'm a mutant." With the admission made, she leans back against the wall, not knowing whether he's anti or pro of her kind. Not that he could have mistaken her for anything but. "So, you're girlfriend lives on one of the upper floors?" She's assuming now, wholesome girl from Iowa, though she is used to the way things operate in the city, she's still kept some of her ideals.
Involved is not the word Scott — or the 'lucky' woman — might use. It's a loose arrangement, so far. No strings or something. Better that way. Which just makes that wholesome assumption on Lorna's part that much more inappropriate. But Scott'll get to that. First, there's the whole mutant hurdle. His reaction to the not-so-groundbreaking news is almost a non-reaction. If it weren't for the widening of that grin, there might not have been any indication towards Scott's feelings one way or the other on mutants. "Yeah. I can see that, babe." So Scott's clearly dismissing that remote possibility that the emerald-green curls are artificially colored. "But getting your motorcycle license is a breeze. Easier than automobile. And I doubt you being you's got anything to do with it." And then the 'girlfriend' remark. That earns an unbidden snort, Scott unable to cover the amusement. "Hah! Yeah. Yeah, the girl I'm fucking lives upstairs." He's smart enough to twist Lorna's assumption into a more accurate term: Girl I'm Fucking. "In one of those pretentious penthouses."
Girl he's fucking, somewhere in Lorna's brain there's a little gasp, but it's well contained in her expression. "I was in one of the penthouses the other day," the young green haired woman comments idly. "They're really nice. Probably cost a bazillion dollars though. I know, it's not a real number, but real estate here is pretty sky high." She's lucky that it wasn't when her mother bought the modest little apartment on the tenth floor. High enough to be respectable, not high enough for more than one room. "They're also about ten times bigger than my shoe box." With that, she gives him a rather wide smile, a joke at her own expense… or at least the expense of the apartment she calls home.
"Well, too bad you're going down, huhn? Wouldn't have objected to a beer in that shoe box of yours, not after this debacle," Scott drawls, so easy-going in that almost self-invitation. He gestures to the still-stuck elevator, the cramped space quickly becoming more and more of an annoyance. It's not so cute anymore, this romantic-comedy-esque moment. But Scott's not at the point of raging, thankfully, so the guy only gives a sigh-and-grunt in combination. Well, since she's the only source of entertainment — Scott might as well focus on her, turning the tables back on Lorna. "So what's your deal, then? A shoe box here costs more than my place in Clinton. You must be making ends. What're you, another one of those off-Broadway actresses? Y'know, the ones that can't make it in Hollywood."
"I have hot chocolate, nothing really alcoholic unless you want to add some of that year old peppermint schnapps that I've been hiding from my mom." Lorna offers with a semi-smile. Perhaps now is the time to bring them up (or down) since he didn't beat her senseless when she admitted to him that she was a mutant. "And, really, I'm nobody. Just Lorna Dane. My mom bought the apartment for me when I first moved to New York a few years ago." From her words, it's fairly safe to assume that she doesn't live with her mother, but the fear of her walking in at any moment is always there. "I just go to college, no huge revelations or anything. As for making it in Hollywood, I haven't really been doing much since my contract came up a while ago."
Heh, hot chocolate. Is she quite serious? Scott gives the fellow elevator-compatriot a good look, unsure whether to buy any of this. Not only is she not a drinker, a rare thing to find in the ruined New York City — even rarer among the targeted mutant community — but she's coasting on the generosity of her mother? He's forgotten that parents could be so supportive. "This contract, that why you seem almost familiar?" You'd think with green hair, she'd be easy to place. But Scott's still unable to figure it out. He reaches up, mussing that already disheveled mop of brown hair. "College, heh. What're you, then, nineteen? Oh, and if you're sincere - I will polish off anything." Pause. "Even spiked cocoa."
"Uhm… Yeah, Magnetix. My face is still all over for makeup ads." The young woman admits lowly, gingerly standing up from her seated position. Crossing the small lift, she reaches the doors and runs her hands along the smooth metal. "I'm twenty-two. I started late and I've never taken a full course load." Not that she's dim or slow, she's just been distracted. Considering the closed doors in front of her for a moment, she turns to Scott and licks her lips. "I don't know if I can lift the whole thing… but can you give me a boost?" Then she points up to the ceiling. Apparently she's planning on getting them out.
Well, to be fair, Scott doesn't know much about cosmetics and their models — so the answer only brings a furrowed frown to the man's expression. That might be why she's familiar, yeah. Like those damn annoying 'Maybeline' commercials, right? He doesn't budge when she stands, when she examines the doors — because none of this is clicking. Yeah, she's a mutant. Yeah, she's apparently some public figure, so Scott should know about the whole Magnetix thing. But, color Scott puzzled. He looks up at her when she turns around, all gung-ho about figuring this out herself. "Who're you, Indiana Jones? I mean, if you can fly, this is one helluva time to tell me. You must do this often, huhn? I bet you rigged the elevator yourself, just so you can stew in near-claustrophobic awkwardness with a perfect stranger — " He pushes up, away from the wall. " — and then play heroine. I can play along. I'll totally swoon. Believe me."
Frowning deeply, Lorna actually takes a little bit of offense to the suggestion. "Look, if you have a better idea, then by all means. I'll let you climb up to the next floor and get help." Then she cups her hands together and bends down, ready to give him a boost. Is she serious? "I think I'M going to need a drink after this." Her jaw is set into a stern frown and she has averted her eyes from him. "Besides, I don't think I can fly this high off the ground." Though it's not flying… exactly.
Scott gives Lorna another one of those looks, then cracks a grin. He waves off the woman's preparations — though not without a glance at her ass, all the better emphasized in that squat. "Look, Indiana, you can get your shot at glory," Scott offers, really amused to see how this plays out. Once she's out of the elevator, that's the tricky part. Of course, Scott's still in the dark about the whole magnetic thing — but it'll still be a hoot to see if she panics or not. He moves beneath the emergency hatch above, dropping into the standard squat, hands cupped for Lorna's foot. "But after, I demand extra schnapps."
Stepping into his hand, Lorna vaults upward and pops the ceiling panel up and shoves it aside. Then she reaches up and pulls herself up and out of sight. She really has no idea what to do, and they are stuck between floors. She can see the faded paint where they had marked the cement below the eighth floor door and she waves her hand. The door flies open on her whim, but that was really the easy part. Crouching down to peek her head through the hole, she looks at Scott. "Hang on to the rail and when I yell again pull open the doors." Then the hard work begins…
Again, male instinct prevails — boosting Lorna up is a perfect opportunity to check out the model's posterior. Which is all the more reason to go along with this ridiculous plan. And with their luck, watch the maintenance crew kick the stalled elevator into action just as she's trying to balance on its top. But thankfully, it doesn't come to that. He steps back, trying to make out what's happening through the open hatch. The grinding sign of those doors opening above raises both of Scott's eyebrows. "How did you — " Yes, mutant. But that doesn't mean Scott's not curious, even so. He frowns, cut off by Lorna's instructions. "Heh. Bossy, aren't you.." Scott mutters, more to himself. He takes the rail, still dubious.
Taking a deep breath, Lorna grips onto the cable and climbs up just past the eighth floor door. Then she hangs on to the cable with one hand to hold herself up and with the other she lifts her hand, willing the elevator to move upward. It's damn heavy and at first it only shudders. Then it actually lifts a little bit before it gives and falls back down. There's the sound of a young woman from Iowa cursing like a sailor from above and then she grits her teeth and tries again. Slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, the lift moves upward and soon she calls out to him. "Okay, open the door… I don't know how long I can hold it!"
Suffice it to say, Scott's stunned when the elevator gives that first shudder. What in the hell is she doing up there? Then it jerks, falls, and Scott matches Lorna curse for curse. But there's no use berating her for the early clumsiness. Because before Scott can muster a smart-tongued complaint, the elevator inches up. Then again, again. Steadied, Scott abandons the rail — waiting 'till Lorna is sure the doors are aligned with the appropriate floor. When she calls out, Scott's gloved fingers are already digging into the crack between the doors. But it's damn hard, without some sort of wedge. A person needs to get an inch or two of give before the safety feature kicks in, allowing the doors to be pushed open completely. He's not getting close to that. So with a glance up to Lorna, Scott too plays on a mutant heritage. Sparing a hand, Scott focuses, aims, then tilts those dark sunglasses up for no more than two seconds. There's the cold thunk of crunching metal, maybe a flash of red - but nothing else. He's blown a good three-inch hole between the two doors. Perfect aim. And now, Scott can get his fingers between the doors, wrenching them apart with God-given strength. There, open. He looks back, though. "What about you?"
Should he be able to see her, Lorna is straining and her forehead has a sheen of perspiration covering it. She forgot all about her books and coat but not for long. Once she feels Scott's weight off of the elevator it shudders once again and it drops and she drops with it. The doors on the eighth floor are still open so the sight is clearly visible to the man in sunglasses.
CRASH
She goes through the ceiling of the elevator and lands on its floor on her pile of books. The green haired woman is unmoving for at least a minute before she groans and tries to lift herself from the floor. Well now he's free and she's trapped. For the moment.
Scott only just has the sense of mind to pull away from the doors as the elevator crashes back to its original position, the tension cables whining with protest. It's a wonder the weight of the thing didn't snap the cords and send Lorna flying down to the ground floor. He can't help but curse. "Fuck." This was totally the wrong way to go about this. Surely, the Manchester should've been working on this damn elevator problem by now — a high-class place like this, and all. But a glance either direction confirms the worst, that the floor is empty. No confused residents waiting, no mechanics scrambling to get to work. He frowns. "Well, dammit. Now what do we do about you?" He's calling down to Lorna now, hanging onto the edge of that cursed doorway to peer down through the elevator's top at the fallen would-be heroine.
"Just, just give me a minute," Lorna says breathlessly as she pulls herself to a seated position and rests her back against the wall with her eyes closed. She hasn't even had the presence of mind to spot the neat little hole that the man had blasted through the door. A few breaths later, she opens her eyes to look through the very large hole in the ceiling to spy Scott peering at her and gives him a weak smile. "Do you think there's an exposed beam or something? It needs to be metal." Hopefully what she has in mind won't destroy the place… but there's no guarantees.
Frown. It's becoming a permanent expression for Scott. This really isn't the best way to spend a morning recovering from too much drinking and too much sex. And Bruno isn't going to be very happy, Scott swaggering in late for the umpteenth time. "Metal?" Well, things are starting to make more sense now. Much like that mutant radical in the news. He stares down at the trapped woman, suddenly uncertain just who she is — despite the introduction, despite the abbreviated background story. But, eh. First thing's first, right? He searches the interior of the elevator shaft, applying a combination of mechanical knowledge and common sense to isolate a serviceable beam. "Uh. There — " He points to a diagonal support, which appears to be secondary. It's a good eight feet, maybe. "It's not much. You gonna be able to work mutant-magic with that, babe?"
It's shaky, but the woman finally gets up off the floor and stands on wobbly legs, much like a lamb taking its first steps. Spying the beam, she just hopes that she's strong enough to draw herself to it. Or at least has enough focus. Then she nods, "Can you catch me?" She says it like she's asking him to catch her when she falls. Picking up her books and coat, she puts one arm through her sleeve and hugs the stack to her chest so she's able to keep one arm free. Then again, she concentrates. The elevator shudders as the walls begin to bend toward her. It's a slow start but soon she's whipping up off the ground and barreling toward the beam. Hopefully she's within Scott's reach.
"Catch you?" Scott echoes. He's not doubting the possibility — she's a small-enough thing, for a woman. He's doubting the plausibility, uncertain just what she's cooking up in that crazy green head of hers. "Yeah, I got.." His words trail, too caught up in the scene she's putting on. The prep, the focus, the shaking.. His frown deepens, of course. This just doesn't seem very practical. He ought've just thrown caution to the wind and played superhero, too, blasted the doors open in the first place. So what if they barged into someone's seventh floor apartment? This is riskier. But she's already flying upwards through the air, so. Time to act. Lorna's efforts are just enough for Scott to, still holding that door's edge, lean into the elevator shaft and wrap a supporting arm around the girl's waist. Far more romantic a catch than just catching her hand and tugging her up, duh. "Gotcha."
The young woman almost pulled both of them toward the beam, but at the first touch of his hand, she turned whatever it was off and caught the ledge with her foot. "Thanks," she murmurs, once again breathlessly, "You're a real life saver." Then she nearly collapses against him. She's exhausted, every part of her body aches from strain and mentally she's drained. "I don't think I'll be making it to school today…" That much is obvious, even if she was able to drive fast enough to make it before her first class there's the chance that she'd fall asleep at the wheel. "How about that drink? I think I need about five."
Huhn. He grunts with the full weight of an exhausted Lorna, wise enough to lean away from the open shaft — dragging the tired woman back, away from the perilous ledge. He half-carries, half-drags Lorna into the safety of the hallway proper, giving her just enough support to make it easier. And there, Scott plays the role of unyielding wall, 'till she's strong enough to manage on her own. He's not exactly going to scoop her up in his arms and single-handedly carry her up two flights of stairs. That'd be silly. "Yeah. Yeah, why the fuck not," Scott relents, giving up on the whole idea of making an honest living today. Bruno'll have to understand. "I could use an early start. Nothing better for a hangover. Hey babe, you gonna be okay?"
"I've never done anything like that before," the green haired woman answers honestly. "I didn't think it would work, the elevator was so heavy." She's able to stand on her own now, though still extremely shaky and tired. Turning to look over her shoulder, she uses one last wisp of her power to close the elevator doors, lest someone accidentally fall down the shaft. With that minor good deed done, she nods up to him and begins leading him up the stairs toward her little apartment.
(To Be Continued)
