Her spinning chair wasn't spinny enough.
It would go around in circles, but only if it stays in one place. Try rolling on it across the whole length of archives while spinning, preferably with your limbs flying around like a halo and you have a national emergency at your hands.
Her head lolled back, her whole body strewn on the chair, the back creaking under her weight as she stopped trying to get on the other side of the room. She frowned at the sound, and tucked her muffin belly under her belt of her jeans shorts, patting it afterwards, hoping the belt would not tear. Taking her hair in one hand she threw it behind her and then reached her hands behind the chair, trying to cope a feel of how long it was. She wasn't sure why, but they always felt longer when she tried to measure them that way.
Goosebumps were rising on her bare legs and she cursed the hot weather outside. The glorious concrete streets of New York City were like oven these days, frying unfortunate dickheads in their million fibre suits and watches from gold that unicorns shit. Vick pitied them, but only just a little, cause you know, they still were dickheads. But being the low life of a company, had it's perks of having free will in choosing what you wear, e.g. jean shorts and red shirt with ketchup stain that could be considered artistic if viewed from distance great enough. But the creepy cold from the archives, that were situated in basement, and Vick is like what the fuck why does it always have to be the basement, weren't kind to her poor limbs.
Touching her feet briefly on a floor, she tried to propel herself into circular motion, the centrifugal force leaning her further back.
She felt a pang of pride at herself for using that word.
Centrifugal. My God, she sounded so smart. She could totally fake being a smart person with, like, gazillion brains and glasses thick like her waist and she would just rock.
But karma is a bitch.
And the bitch sent her sprawling ungracefully on the floor in a tangled heap of limbs and hair.
Vick let out a pitiful groan. Blowing a raspberry to get rid of hair in her mouth she let out a small; "Help."
Though the ceiling above her was thin enough so she was able to her anyone coming down to the archives, because they were so evolved and new that they didn't have an elevator coming to the basement, there wasn't a chance that they could hear her. Not that she had many visitors to be honest.
Once or twice, if the heaven allowed, she would get a delivery of materials and papers and documents to sort through and file. They always came on a cart with tiny wheels that were always creaking. She always though it was funny, because it never failed to carry a shitload of stuff and it looked like a donkey from India or just any other place where they have donkeys. The only true reason why she looked forward to it, was Steve.
That guy was sex on two legs.
He was the most gorgeous thing she ever saw.
She always sighed when she saw him and would get starry eyed. He had the craziest shoulders ever. Not ever the shirts he was wearing wanted to believe it, that's why they stretched too much and offered her a glorious view when he was leaving, going up on the stairs.
And the stairs.
Dude.
His butt was even rounder than two halves of a red watermelon.
Not a yellow one, though. No, no, no.
The big red juicy one, because son, we are talking business here. Too bad she couldn't test out the firmness. But at least she had something to talk about with her Black Widow pen that her cousin got her for her birthday. She was short on people material here. Steve just gave her a shy smile and never said a word, so she had to use what she had at her disposal. No stinky eye, man.
Getting back to present, she realized that she was still on a floor, her legs tingling from losing feeling in them. Groaning and huffing and puffing she got up and smoothed down her wrinkled shirt.
Seeing no scraps on her knees and arms, she concluded that the only casualty was the chair with one plastic wheel rolling to the other side of the archives.
Vick glared after it and then set her eyes at the chair.
"You unreliable piece of shit! Breaking my trust like that." Come on, she had that chair since she started to work here.
What in fact, was like 3 months.
But still enough to form some serious attachment.
Stalking back to her admission room, she shut the door firmly. She let herself sit on a wooden chair at her desk, apprehension visible in her body. She was distrustful for a temporary moment of any furniture for the foreseeable future.
She was done with her paperwork for this week. It was already Thursday, so it would be inhuman to give her another load to file. But if not working, she had no other way of spending her time in here. She didn't have a phone with internet, it's not like she could catch a signal in here, and copying her face proved fruitless as she wasn't able to keep her eyes open when the copier was scanning her face. And having stacks of papers with your body parts copied in her drawer seemed like enough. And even that stopped being funny when she once fell asleep with her face lying on the glass and she drooled all over the copier. Try explaining that to the repairman.
She was in a middle of combing Widow's hair into a braid when her ears picked up the sound of shoes clicking on the floor, one story higher.
Hiding her pen, she pulled out some random papers, trying to look like a busy woman immersed in her work. At first, faking working was hard, but practise makes you perfect and now she could start telling you about what was on the paper and what the numbers meant and sound like she knows her stuff.
Waiting for a knock, she kept her head down, her eyes scanning the letters, filling out all the o's.
The door opened without anyone knocking.
Well that's just rude.
Steve always knocks. Guess that makes Steve an extra special guy then.
She looked up, a small frown settling itself across her features. They could have interrupted her in counting something or she could have been filing some super duper secret government stuff they could kill someone for if they would get a glimpse of them. Truth to be told, there is nothing extremely confidential about office supplies, toilet paper and kitchen eatables and pretty much everything that was needed to run a company and keep alive a very large household.
It was a delivery guy.
Or a postman or whatever suits your needs. Vick never gets mail. Well, she does but it's mail she would rather forget.
She squinted her eyes in suspicion.
"Ehhhh." Started the guy, sliding the ball of pen across the delivery list with his hip sticking out. Just then she noticed a brown box under his armpit. A sweaty one. Ewwwww.
She willed him with her mind to go faster to keep her package in contamination free condition.
"Sherry Victor?" The guy asked, ugly smirk on his face revealing a set of crooked teeth. Vick scowled at him. So what. She had a special name. Her momma said it was a special name just like herself, so be it.
And damn right it was special.
She leaned over her desk, her breast knocking over her paper cup full of pens. Ignoring them as they scattered on the table, with some falling on the floor she read the name on his tag.
"I'm sorry, Hugo, do we have a problem here?" She asked him sweetly, trying to make his name sound as retarded as possible.
He rolled his eyes at her but didn't get rid of the smirk. He scrabbled something on a paper, tore it of and handed the clipboard to her.
"Sign it." He told her, shifting her box closer to his armpit. Seeing the package in dangerous proximity to the toxic area she quickly wrote down her name and handed the board back to him.
Closing the door after him without saying goodbye, Vick set the box on the table in front of her.
She never got packages. Like ever. Only mail and we covered that part already. This should be written down as a historic moment. Confetti and rice should be thrown all around with flashes of cameras directed at her.
Well, she was not going to wait for the crowds forever, was she.
This was so exciting she was starting to get a headache. She grabbed a small plastic container, that stood on the desk among the pens and shook out few pills on her hands, swallowing them dry. She was way past caring to count them.
It took her just few seconds to tear the package open, her excitement taking over.
And...
It was a phone.
Vick already has a phone. She didn't order a new one and didn't know about anyone sending her one. This must be a mistake. What was a bit depressing, considering the phone looked so high-tech that Stark would have trouble operating it.
OK, maybe not. Well, like at all not, like forever just not.
Disappointment flowed through her, her body slumping a tiny bit over the torn box.
But...Well, just because it wasn't hers that doesn't mean she couldn't play with it, right? And who said it didn't belong to her. It was after all her name Hugo read of the delivery list, wasn't it? Maybe it was her boss idea to reward her fruitful work in the basement and make the passing of time more fluid, giving her a toy to play it. That's it. She found the Holy Grail.
Taking the phone gingerly in her hands she scanned it for on button.
She wasn't stupid. She saw a commercial for iPhone a she knew that it had a button that was supposed to turn it on. But this one didn't have anything like that. The sides were smooth and the display was almost translucent.
"Well, fuck." She said out loud, seeing no way of turning it on.
The moment the words left her lips, the translucent screen lit up a bright pale blue colour.
"Access granted. Welcome. Please, state your name."A very synthetic but pleasant voice said from the phone.
The phone speaks.
"Jesus." Vick said, her eye bugged out in surprise.
"Incorrect. Two more attempts." The phone said calmly after if beeped rather obnoxiously.
"What?" She said again, completely boggled at the device in her hands.
"Incorrect. One more attempt." Phone said in disembodied voice.
Vick slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her from saying anything else but her name. Well, this was turning out to be way more exciting Thursday than what she hoped for.
She would have cleared her throat, but she though the phone might take it for her name.
"Sherry Victor." She said but her voice chose that exact moment to hitch. Vick made a grimace expecting the voice to shut down on her or make her repeat her name over and over again so she could have her own Chekov moment.
But the phone stayed silent.
Well, that was anticlimactic.
Looking back at it, she should have waited a moment before thinking that.
The previously light blue screen turned red, a flash blinding her vision, a photo of her shocked face with an opened mouth visible on the display.
"Security breach. Protocol 5-7-omega-8-1 activated. Sherry Victor- object identified. Contacting Director Nicholas Fury Jr."
Oh, fuck.
At least she got her camera with a flash.
.
.
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I was playing Sims and I had there a character Beth Barnes (ohmygooo how original) and I made her write and write because I wanted her to be a best-seller author and then I was like, "Really?". So I turned it off and went to write a chapter for my other story. And then I though, I'm going to start a new one, so here I am.
I just would love to know if there is anyone interested in reading more? If you are, please leave a review even the shortest possible like yes/God please no so I would know. Thanks a lot :)