I was going to wait until this was 100% done to post, but I think getting out there will actually encourage me to write more, instead of spending time moving commas about.
John jabs at the call button for the elevator, the squeak echoing through the empty foyer. The heavy oak doors to the banquet room mask the sound of the ongoing benefit – the rowdy conversation, the music, the clatter of silver cutlery on fine china. It helps, a bit, to have that racket toned down a few decibels – releasing the pressure on his brain that is crowding out all rational thought. It doesn't make him less angry though. Gordon had no right to say that. It just makes space for the anger to grow a little, pushing up against the headache brewing behind his eyes. He jabs the button again, even though he can see the elevator is already on the way.
John loosens his bowtie and untucks his shirt, having given up on appearances. Those were already ruined anyway by his very presence. It was Scott who was meant to be the other Tracy present, not him, and as a hurried last minute substitution they hadn't come up with a convincing reason why the eldest wasn't there, let alone found a properly fitting outfit for John. They were lucky he had even been in the same country, but his 'delivering keynote speech' outfit was not 'high profile charity auction' appropriate, so one hasty visit to a suit hire shop later John had presented himself in a passable tuxedo, even it was a little small to be comfortable.
Used to his form fitting uniform, or even Brains' custom tux, wearing something that didn't quite fit had started the evening off like a stone in his shoe. And then was Gordon.
The elevator arrives with a sophisticated chime and the tinkling of inoffensive light jazz. John is through the doors before they have been able to glide fully open, jabbing the button for the ground floor. He needs the cool night air, a fresh breeze and to be away from here. The doors close with an aggravatingly leisurely pace before the elevator starts its journey down the hundred plus floors.
John leans against the back wall, letting his shoulders slump. He's going to hear it from Scott for bailing. Gordon's probably already ratted him out, without explaining why obviously. John can almost hear the lecture now: blah blah blah public persona blah blah blah social responsibility - as if they don't take on enough responsibilities as it is! Though Scott will be laid up with that broken leg. If John is quick enough he might be able to get off the island and back to Five before Scott even realises he's been on the island, and with a judicious use of the mute button that lecture won't be so bad.
John is idly watching the floors count down while mentally walking though the path from the light aircraft hangers – which he and Gordon would be using to get back – to the space elevator platform, when the current elevator jolts to one side.
"What the...?" John's shoulder smashes into the wall with enough force that he bounces back, staggering in his tight dress shoes to keep his balance. Another jolt – the whole elevator moving in a way it really shouldn't be able to – and John stumbles, slamming into the floor. He barely gets his hands out to prevent a broken nose, hugging the vibrating, shuddering floor. Distantly, from far above is the screech of collapsing metal. Something heavy collides with the roof of the elevator, the music stops and the lights go out.