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Daniel Ciin (miaiphonos) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2010-08-17 15:03:00

Who: Paul and Samuel.
What: Technical difficulties and new friends. (Completed log.)
Where: The elevator, lodged solidly between floors.
When: Evening.
Warnings: None.

Paul needed groceries or he was going to have to make like a rat and scrounge for cheese and scraps in his own cupboards. Therefore, it was time to go to the grocery store. Not that an excursion to buy food was one of his favorite activities - frankly, grocery shopping was boring - but it was a necessity of life. So off he went, grabbing his wallet and his keys and heading to the elevator entrance. He tried to take the stairs whenever possible but just didn’t feel like it today. Distractions and dark clouds loomed over his head, as usual, and it was probably safer to not risk falling down ten whole flights.

After waiting for a short amount of time, the doors opened and Paul stepped inside the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby level. It wasn’t a trip straight to the lobby, however, as the elevator came to a stop on the seventh floor. He didn’t expect it to be be a straight shot, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. He simply stepped back to let whomever was waiting get on the evil device.

Samuel ducked into the elevator just before the doors closed, his keys clacking against the brushed metal. “Thanks,” he mumbled, clearly distracted by the cell phone in his hand. His thumb pecked out a hurried text message, sending it out into the world before the little metal box disrupted his signal overmuch. That done, he looked up to his newfound companion - for this and six more floors, at least - and carefully took his measure. He looked distracted, himself, that much was clear, but seemed not in the least out of place. Assuming this marked him as another unmet neighbor, and one with perhaps an interesting story as to the origins of that pensive expression, Samuel took it upon himself to handle introductions.

“You a new neighbor of mine?” he asked. “I guess I’m the new one, really, but you know what I mean. Sergeant Samuel Wolfe.” He nodded in a sort of greeting, slipping his phone into his pocket.

The introduction surprised Paul. People didn’t seem to like to give names out around here, instead preferring to talk on the forums through their apartment numbers. But he was pleased, in this case, that someone was actually willing to introduce themselves.

“Paul. Paul Halloran,” he added, tacking his last name on at the end as he extended his hand for a shake. Samuel took it, pleased at his neighbor’s solid grip. “Yeah, I’m sort of new. I just moved in a few weeks ago.” Man, this building was filling up quickly. New people were moving in right and left! Paul could understand why; the rent was more than reasonable for such a fantastic view and the location was ideal too. “I’m not a Sergeant, I’m just an Oceanographer,” he grinned.

“Sounds interesting. You do anything with Shark Week?” Having only the vaguest idea what someone of this job description did, it seemed wise - or at least entertaining - to assume every one of them was directly involved in producing Air Jaws.

The elevator began moving downward, as the button for the lobby was still lit up, but then all of a sudden there was a jolt - and the elevator came to a quick, noisy stop. Oh great, stuck between floors. How perfect.

Samuel’s jaw clenched, annoyance clearly written on his face. He shoved his keys into his pocket, now certain he was by no means going to make the appointment he had only just made. And such a pretty, long-legged appointment it was. He gave an anguished little growl at the prospect of missing out on these hastily-made plans, stepping flush to the elevator doors without the slightest of plans. He wedged his fingers into the seam of the doors, making a valiant but futile effort to pry them apart.

“I don’t suppose oceanographers know anything about breaking out of elevators,” he offered, somewhat unhelpfully. He cast an irritated glance around their little cage. “Is there a call box in here?”

Fucking hell. Of all days for the elevator to get stuck, it had to happen today. Nothing against Samuel, but Paul would just rather be stuck in a small space with someone like Cassie. Now he was just hoping that they’d get out alive and not resort to pulling a Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible and crawling down the cables or some shit.

“Unfortunately, we’re not equipped to handle elevator malfunctions,” he replied with a sigh, and opened the call box to see what could be done. But after pressing the big red button essentially marked PANIC OHMUHGAWD without anything happening, he knew it wasn’t just a normal elevator they were dealing with here.

Well, alright then. “How about Sergeants? Any fancy escape tricks up your sleeve?”

“Normally I’m breaking in,” Samuel said, “not out. The lack of a battering ram kinda complicates things, too.”

As could be expected, continued wrestling with the doors did no more good than the call box. The doors remained infuriatingly shut, and the elevator showed no signs of motion. All the same, Samuel was slow to admit defeat, and only after painfully bending back a short-bitten nail did he abandon his efforts with an angrily muttered curse. “I guess barring some miracle we’re stuck here, huh.” He moved away from the doors, leaning back against one cold wall. He was grateful for that small chill; like as not the little room would get warm all too soon, and leave them both to stew in the stuffy heat. “I saw a video on the internet like this. Guy was stuck in his office elevator all weekend.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “No shit, really? All weekend? Did he go completely crazy?” It seemed like such a thing was possible. No food or water, no bathroom readily available, cramped in a small, tight space. The thought gave Paul the creeps.

“Okay, well, uh....I guess we have to wait until the elevator decides to let us out,” he said slowly. It sounded ridiculous even to him. “I swear, this building is just so...strange.”

“Explains the low rent, at least.” Already bored, growing more annoyed with their situation with each passing second, Samuel heaved a dramatic sigh, sinking to the floor, keys clinking in his pocket as he folded his legs beneath him. With his more comfortable position now secure, he returned to a topic of at least momentary interest. “So, yeah. That guy looked like a hamster in a kindergarten class’ cage,” he said. He raised one hand, his index finger describing a restless circuit in the air. “Pacing for hours, trying to sleep, randomly waking up... didn’t look like my idea of a great time. But I guess we’ll find out.”

He tapped his fingers against the floor of the car, marking out a rhythm largely for his own edification. “An oceanographer, huh. What exactly does that involve?”

This was only slightly weird, but Paul supposed he better settle in - lest he want to get even more uncomfortable than he already was. But get him talking about his job and he could potentially go off for hours on the subject. “Well, basically...we study the physical properties and processes of oceans, like the chemical composition of ocean water samples and physical changes in tides and currents, analyze volcanic activity or survey the ocean floors, things like that,” he explained. “I work at a research institute close by.”

Paul shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, but then after a few moments of that he gave in and sat down on the floor as well. “I guess this could be worse. We could be stuck in here with milk that would spoil. So, a Sergeant...that seems pretty exciting.” Careers that required men be big and buff and carry guns tended to attract women by the droves. Paul wasn’t a shrimp by any means, but he definitely didn’t carry a gun. “This is so weird,” he continued on. “I was just in the elevator with my friend Lia, helping her bring her luggage up, and it was totally fine.”

This new development eclipsed entirely Samuel’s interest in Paul’s career, sharks notwithstanding. Briefly he forgot even the welcome opportunity to brag about his own line of work. It occurred to him that there might be more ‘Lias’ in southern California than just the one elusive specimen he now had in mind; still more ‘Leahs’ and ‘Leas’ if a liberal interpretation and several variations in spelling were allowed for, given the minuscule snippet of information Paul provided. This possibility, however, did nothing to deter Samuel’s curiosity, and by no means dampened his spirits.

“Lia?” he repeated, his tone attempting vague, neutral interest and falling well short. “Small world. I just met a ‘Lia’ the other day. I hope yours is a little more forgiving than that one.”

It didn’t come as a surprise that this Samuel fellow knew Lia, since Lia seemed to know most of the male persuasion. Hey, she was young and single and beautiful, so why not?

“Forgiving?” Paul repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You must have caught her on a bad day. The one I’ve known is sweet as pie. Though I suppose she can be...passionate about her beliefs and whatnot. Where did you two meet?” he asked, studying the guy. If this was to be a potential suitor, well, Paul was going to make sure he was okay. He was just protective of his friends, that’s all.

“Bad day,” Samuel said, letting slip a smirking laugh. “Maybe so. I was out surfing, met her on the beach on my way in.” He shrugged idly, barely noticing the appraisal in his companion’s protracted gaze. “Never seen a conversation go so far south so fast.” Thoughtlessly he pressed his palm to his cheek. It had not been the hardest slap he’d endured, but it had certainly been the quickest. “Assuming it is the same one,” he offered, “how’d you two meet? You didn’t call into that show of hers, I hope.”

Go south? Paul pressed his lips together to avoid an obvious laugh. He wasn’t laughing at Samuel, per se, but if Lia had slapped him? He just wish he could have been there to see her ferocity in action.

“She’s definitely a memorable spitfire,” he allowed. “Lia Valencia? The one with the advice-giving show, yep. I’ve never called in before though.” Though he had been considering it, especially lately. Goddamn. “We met through a mutual friend,” Paul went on. “A few years ago but now we recently re-connected because of this whole ‘moving into the same place’ sort of deal.”

He paused, then actually did let a small laugh out - but masked it with a cough. “You got shot down? Sorry, man.”

Someone more observant, or perhaps less self assured, might have caught the small slip. Samuel remained blissfully oblivious, having no inkling whatsoever of his new acquaintance’s amusement at his plight. He waved one hand: a dismissive and unwittingly fitful little gesture. “It happens to the best of us,” he said. “Not often. But it happens.” This rare admission was the closest Samuel got to a fit of melancholy, at least under mundane circumstances; almost immediately that emotional fog seemed to lift, a bright and boyish grin taking its place. “But she lives here,” he said, laughing. “That’s luck, right there. Second time’s a charm. Or third. Whatever it takes.”

He cut a sidelong glance over to Paul, his narrowed eyes glinting impishly. “What about our other neighbors?” he asked. “Anybody you’ve got your eye on?”

The question made Paul want to bash his head against the wall, but he remained calm. “Uh...well...” he trailed off, debating whether or not he wanted to divulge any information about his ridiculous interest in Cassie to Sergeant Samuel. He hadn’t even told Vince yet, but he would get around to that eventually. “A girl on the first floor, actually,” he let out in an exhale. “But it’s...she has no idea.”

And if Samuel was truly interested in Lia, then the least Paul could do was attempt to help. Whether or not the guy took his advice was entirely out of his hands. “But about Lia, just be honest with her. She’s pretty sensitive, though she tries not to appear that way.” Therefore, fucking around with her was not an option if Samuel expected to get anywhere.

His initial hedging and hasty subject change were clear signals that this was no comfortable topic, thereby making it of immediate and pressing interest to Samuel. Still, this was a chance he would be foolish to entirely ignore, a rare moment to pick the brain of a friend before deliberately bumping into her again. His burgeoning need to pick at the matter of the oblivious love interest could wait, at least for a time. “Honest? I could swear I tried that, but I can certainly give it another go. You wouldn’t lead me astray, would you, Paul?” He grinned. “What kind of honesty are we talking about? Because her definition obviously varies a bit from mine. So. Embarrassing childhood memories, life goals... what?”

“I definitely wouldn’t lead you astray,” Paul promised, holding up his right hand as if swearing on the Bible. It was all advice from one brother to another or something! “I mean, honesty like...don’t tell her you’re going to visit your sick mother in the hospital but then hook up with another girl. She will find out.” Lia had a sixth sense about these things. And Paul was certain that many relationships had ended with the man’s tail between his legs (and his balls probably hurting) because he mistook Lia for an airhead. “She’s intelligent - brains and beauty, you know?” Being upfront was good, but if the guy had been slapped that may have indicated that he was a bit too forward. Hopefully in the future he would strike a better balance so he didn’t get his face mangled.

“Anyway, she’s been...pursued a lot?” he went on. Pursued. Was that the word for it? “So, if it’s any consolation, I’ll bet you at least made a lasting impression.”

“I’ll take that for now,” Samuel laughed. “Better than nothing, right?” He hoped his expression gave nothing away of the fact that these were precisely the types of lies he had become quite accustomed to telling; in his failed marriage they had gotten him plenty of beratings and more than a few broken belongings, but in most other ways they had been an outstanding help. It was possible, he thought, that he might find someone for whom he could make an exception - temporary or otherwise - to this unspoken rule, though it was far too soon to tell if she would fit that bill. Paul, at least, appeared to think highly of her, though he seemed a remarkably friendly sort, making his judgment in these matters somewhat questionable, to Samuel’s roundabout logic.

“Sorry I can’t offer any advice in return,” he added. “I’ve not met a lot of neighbors, and nobody from the first floor that I know of. At least her location means you must run into her pretty often?”

“We work together too,” Paul replied, and he wasn’t going to go into how seeing Cassie everyday gave him a reason to actually get up in the morning. That would just make him look like a lovestruck tool, and maybe he was, but neither he nor Samuel had any beer yet so now was not the time for those types of discussions. “We’ll see what happens, I guess? Women can be complicated, but I’m sure you know this.”

As if agreeing, the elevator jolted to life all of a sudden. Paul scrambled up from the floor, grateful that they were actually moving now - and toward the lobby, a bonus. He was also grateful that he’d managed to steer the conversation away from executing Bourne Identity tactics to find freedom. With his luck he would end up clinging to the elevator cable while Samuel filmed the action with his phone and posted the video on YouTube. “Well, I guess the stupid thing decided to cooperate,” he smiled. “It was good getting stuck in a box with you?”

Samuel unfolded himself from the floor, nodding his own agreement. “You too,” he said, plucking his keys from his pocket. Paul had been good company, to be sure, but the prospect of escape - and more, making his all-important appointment - put an earnest smile on his face. “And hey, good luck with that co-worker. Maybe next time we’ll both have some entertaining stories to tell. In a place that isn’t an elevator, and maybe involves some alcohol, right?”

The elevator glided to a gentle stop at the lobby, obviously done with its tantrums for now. Samuel breathed an audible sigh of relief as the doors slid open to the markedly welcome view of the open, airy lobby beyond. “See you, Paul. Don’t be a stranger.”

An invitation for ‘guy time’ and drinks? Paul couldn’t turn that down! “Sounds great,” he nodded, giving Samuel a departing nod before they veered off in different directions. “I’m in 1005. And I think I’ll take you up on that offer sooner rather than later.”

“I’m 707,” he called, waving behind him. A thought occurred to him; he stopped in his tracks, turning to deliver a crucial, utterly relevant point. “And I like imports, if you’re buying. None of that PBR, Miller, Coors shit.” Laughing, he turned on his heel, striding toward his beloved truck. “See you soon.”