Lauren Cooper (sometimescoyote) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2012-02-23 13:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-09-01, jackson, lauren |
Who: Jackson and Lauren
Where: ...A road... in Scarlet Oak...
When: Early evening
What: Murphy's Law
The more time Lauren spent at Ophelia's shop, the less she wanted to take up the reins of the former Wildfire Ink, but she was keeping that to herself - working with the insurance company to repair the remains of the shop was necessary whether or not she ever went back to work there, and it bought her more time to ponder potential career moves. But damned if it wasn't nice to let someone else worry about utility bills and payroll and inventory and focus instead on just the art. She'd had plans to spend the day with her insurance agent, filling out forms and arguing coverages (cheap bastards were still arguing that demon attack didn't fall under the policy terms but were reluctantly ponying up after several convincing arguments on Lauren's part.) She'd even stuck to those plans for a few solid hours.
But paperwork made her want to punch things and her insurance agent was the least helpful, most condescending little Napoleon complex she'd ever seen, so by one she was ready for a break. A last-minute appointment request made up her mind, and she called a halt to the day's paperwork in favor of heading over to Ophelia's for the much more pleasant work of finishing up a sleeve on a client. It was his last session, and by the time they were done several hours later, there wasn't a bare millimeter of skin left un-inked between his shoulder and his wrist.
Lauren had taken some photos for her portfolio, collected her payment (and a hefty tip - he was a good customer), and sent the man on his way with some business cards to give to his buddies. Since she hadn't been scheduled to actually work that day and the insurance bullshit had worn her down, she decided an early dinner and a quiet night in were just what she needed. And now was a good time to do it, while the rain seemed to have slowed up a bit. So she jumped in her beat up old Camaro and headed out while the heading out was good.
Of course, Murphy's Law would choose that day to kick in. Not only did the rain start to really come down the second she was in the car, but the instant she hit a fairly deserted stretch of road she heard the all-too-recognizable pop, hiss, and thump of a flat tire. "Crap," she muttered, banging the wheel and pulling to the shoulder. Looking around through the windows, what few little shops she saw were closed, lights off, and the rain didn't show much sign of letting up. "Dammit," she said, deciding to just handle it. At least it wasn't cold out.
Taking off her jacket and tossing it on the passenger seat, Lauren pulled off her jewelry and set that aside, too. Her boots were going to get soaked, but they were worn anyway and would dry out and be easier to re-condition than the old jacket, which she was rather attached to. At least the tank top was dark enough that getting it wet wouldn't lead to any transparency. Shoving her hair back in a ponytail, she jumped out of the car and ran back to the trunk.
Hauling out the spare, she rolled it over to the flat on the front driver's side, then went back for the tools. Jack, check. Tire iron... Grimacing, she bent further over and rummaged through the various crap she had in the trunk. She knew it had to be in here. She'd seen it the other day when she'd moved those storage crates. She'd leaned it up against her apartment wall to make room and... The realization that the tire iron was just where she'd left it - in her apartment - made her slam the trunk and give the rear tire a vicious kick. Her curse this time was a shout. "Son of a bitch!"