Stuffy.... officious... prude! Lauren ran through the list of insults in her head. Her Vehement hatred blazed clearly in her eyes. Overpaid! She brushed brusquely past an office secretary, who made a slight sound of protest, which was stifled by Lauren's incredible rage.
Lauren reached the elevators at long last and pounded the button for the bottom floor, which was, in fact, underground. The building was made on some soft dirt, or something, and all the entrances had been moved up a level, but the bar had remained underground, in true pub fashion.
The elevator ride droned on for a longer time then Lauren would have liked, and it only served to further agitate her already foul mood. The Muzak was annoying, and the only other company she had in the elevator was a severely overweight, over perfumed, underwashed wheezing woman who was, at the moment, indulging in a twinkie. Lauren forced the boiling anger back down, and took a deep breath.
After all ... it wasn't the elevator Muzak, or the woman who had pissed her off. No, that honor was left to the Corporate Bastards with whom she had to deal. Lauren drew the cover art of romance novels. A horribly controlled, underpaid job, which she really did hate, but did for the money. The art was all too similar, swoon torn bodice babe, and overmuscled superhunk, with no shirt.
Lauren had taken the advice of a long time friend, and tried to make her work life somewhat more enjoyable by bringing in some new artwork, to make the book stand out from the others on the shelf. The response had been less then good, even though her sketches had been better then most of the crap she'd done over the last year. The general reply was that Lauren "obviously didn't understand the field" and she should "stick to what she knew." Lauren was an impatient woman, with a temper, this did not go over well.
The author, for her part, had seemed interested, and had even tried, for a short time, to further ask Lauren if she was interested in following through with any of these sketches. However, the author was no match for the five members of the committee whose heads were so far stuck up each other's asses that there was no room for a shred of logic, or change to get through.
The blunt stomping of both the works of the writer, and Lauren's own artistic vision had made her physically ill with rage. She had, at that point, with as much control as she could muster, told the committee exactly what they could do with themselves. After which, she bid the author a good day, gathered her portfolio, and stormed out of the room.
Truth be known, she wasn't ever expecting to hear back from them, and strangely, she didn't care.
Lauren caught a glimpse of her own eyes on the reflective surface of the elevator wall, and with much effort, forced herself to calm down. Her red hair looked like fire on her head, and her gray eyes were smoldering. She set her portfolio down on the floor, and leaned it against her legs, smoothing her T-shirt back out, and adjusting her jeans in place. She made a mental note to hit the punching bag when she got home. She wasn't a small girl, never had been, though she took pains to keep her figure at some state of well being. She didn't care if she was never a size 8, as long as she was in shape.
The elevator stopped, and Lauren strode out, pushing the glass door of the bar aside without slowing. The bar was sparsely populated; one somewhat handsome man with dark hair, green eyes, and a well shaped figure was seated at the bar, with a blonde, overly made-up teenie bopper chattering incessantly in his ear. He was wearing a tailored suit that probably came from some French place Lauren couldn't pronounce. He smelled of money. Lauren shot him a look of sympathy as he glanced her way. There was a couple at one of the tables nuzzling drunkenly into each other's necks, and then the bartender. An older man, named John with a distinguished looking gray streak, and prominent cheekbones. John gave Lauren a nod as she sat down at the bar. The whole room was done in dark wood, stained a deep mahogany, with black marble surfacing, and stained glass accents. It had to have cost a fortune.
"How are you today?" He asked, setting a basket of pretzels before Lauren had to ask.
"Peachy" Lauren growled as a response, smiling wanly. "Can I have a Bud Light, please?"
"Sure thing, Lauren." John said, easily. He was use to her moods. The dark haired suit glanced over, and looked Lauren up and down. Lauren looked back, and raised her eyebrow a bit. The man grinned roguishly, before the teenybopper noticed he wasn't looking at her anymore. She glared at Lauren and started to crawl over the man, he glanced skyward, and started to protest, when the earth came out from beneath Lauren. She was surprised at first, when she found herself off the barstool and on the floor. The ground was still for only another few seconds, just enough time for Lauren to hear the suit curse.
"Shit, it's an earthquake." He murmured, pushing the blonde toward the door. "Get under the doorway." He ordered. She bore no protest, pushing over a chair on her way to the "safe" doorframe. The man held a hand down to Lauren.
"Come on!" He ordered. "Get up."
Lauren took his hand just as the real earthquake started. Her rescuer fell against the bar, and hauled Lauren to her feet. Lauren glanced up as she heard something scream above her.
"The ceiling!" She screamed, pointing with her free hand. He looked up and his eyes went wide for a second. He glanced around frantically, as the ceiling started to fall, and threw Lauren bodily over the bar, following himself a moment after.
"Get under the bar. It's Marble, maybe it'll hold!" He yelled, turning and throwing a box of plastic cups away from under the shelf, and shoving Lauren underneath it. Her head hit something metal, and stars broke out over her eyes. Darkness crept over her vision as the twisted screaming came to a terrible crescendo and the ceiling came down in a shower of dust, debris, metal, and glass.
The air was stale, but Lauren was thankful to be breathing. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, very glad to be awake, as she tested her limbs to see that she still had them all, and that nothing was broken. There was a cut over her eye, it was bleeding bad, but then, all headwounds did. It didn't feel serious outside of that. So she pressed her hand on it, and finally opened her eyes and saw... Nothing...
The room was pitch black, not even a shred of light illuminated the small space around her. And above her own throbbing heart, and ragged breathing, she could hear nothing... Was she alone? Trapped? For the second time that day, Lauren felt ill. She indulged herself in a moment of silent tears, and finally got to her knees and started to feel around. The space was no larger then a walk in refrigerator on it's side, and, as far as Lauren could tell, no less cold. How long had she been out, that the cold had seeped in through the cracks of the building? She felt along the floor, and came across another hand. Her hero, the dark haired suit, it had to be. She shuddered for a moment. Was he dead?
"Hello?" She asked, shakily. "Oh, God, don't be dead..." She followed his hand up, and found a piece of debris that had apparently fallen over him. It didn't seem to be holding anything up, so she pushed it off of him, and heard his breathing faintly.
"Wake up." She urged, shaking him a bit. "Come on.... Wake up!"
He took a long breath, inhaled some dust, coughed, and groaned.
"Thank God..." She murmured. "Hey, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear..." He moaned. "I can't see anything... am I blind?"
"No. There's no light."
"Oh, well, that's good." He said. Lauren heard him shift around a bit. "Ouch! Shit... There's broken glass on the floor over here, be careful."
"Um. Okay." Lauren heard herself say, most intelligently.
"Are you all right?" He asked, sitting up beside her, and touching her arm to see where she was.
"Fine, I think. I have a headache, maybe a concussion, but nothing worse." Lauren said, looking to where she thought he was. "You?"
"Oh me? I'm just peachy." He said with a grin in his voice. "So, we're both relatively unscathed. It's a miracle."
"I'd have to agree. I'm pretty glad to be alive at the moment. Thank you."
