â âI hate you but youâre my loverâs best friend and now weâre stuck in an elevator together and you keep making inappropriate jokes; I swear to god donât make me choke yoâIT ISNâT KINKY.â oh my god this is so good do it with Molly with ANY you choose. I trust you
wow I spent forever trying to figure out which characters to use lol (who would hate Molly??? who would Molly hate???). also i stole a bunch of jokes because my humor is not inappropriate enough. and this is still very tame. itâs not quite the prompt but itâs prompt-adjacent
The elevator starts to close, but Molly hears footsteps quickly rounding the corner, so she hits the âopenâ button to hold the door.
Except, when she sees who it is, she knows she neednât have bothered.
Molly looks up to see an impassive expression on a narrow face. Aquiline, almost lofty, if you could discount the eyes. No, the eyes were anything but detached. They were eyes of the most animated sort, with crows feet that only enhanced the expressiveness. They could twinkle with joy, hallow out with some sort of existential depth, or, when they deigned to look upon Molly, turn into some sort of smoldering anger.
Sebastian Moran steps into the elevator, and gave her a curt nod.
Then he presses the button for the lobby, despite the fact that Molly had already done so, and turns to face front so as to not have to look at her or otherwise engage in any interaction.
âI already hit that,â Molly says.
He gives her a cursory glance, but says nothing.
The two of them are alone in the elevator, and Molly thinks, a 12-floor ride canât be that bad.
Itâs like being in the elevator alone, except thereâs a menacing man not two steps from her and theyâre stuck in this little enclosed space. Not that small. Maybe she should take a step back. Except itâs just an elevator ride and 6âŚ.5âŚ. itâll be over soon.
The elevator stops, and Molly instinctively takes a step forward, only to come face to back with Moran because he hasnât moved. She startles, and sees the doors havenât opened.
And that the floor number is stuck on 3.
She takes the opportunity to take three steps back, and waits.
An ominous humming whirrs above them. Just the vents, she reminds herself.
The doors donât open, and no one on the third floor seems to be trying to get in.
Moran completely ignores her.
Alright, conversation not necessary. Itâs just an elevator ride anyway. It would be over soon, no matter.
The elevator doesnât budge, and neither does the door.
Molly takes out her phone, even though she knows it wonât be of much use. Thereâs no signal. And theyâve already been in here for 8 minutes.
Thatâs a really long time for an elevator ride.
Itâs also a really long time to awkwardly not-acknowledge someone youâre standing less than three feet from.
âSo. Um,â she starts. He barely glances at her, but that was a half-slight-turn. Good sign.
âDid you know itâs illegal to tell jokes about the Holocaust in Germany?â she asks, because Molly is full of trivia, and not that great at small talk.
He freezes, visibly tenses, but doesnât say anything.
âLike, isnât that just an incredibly facist approach to anti-Semitism?â she continues, unable to stop herself. âHave they learned nothing?â
Moran slowlyâvery, very, slowlyâturns around, so that he can look at her. He gives he an almost incredulous stare. Like heâs pretty sure he heard correctly, but doesnât really want to have heard correctly.
âUm. Do you like cats?â she asks.
âI have a cat, you know, youâve met him,â she says. âBut, funny story.â
âSo, my friend has a cat, and a couple of years ago she had two cats, before she and her boyfriend broke up and they split the cats, very sad story, completely different thing, Iâll tell you later,â she rambles.
âAnd one was a boy cat and the other was a girl cat,â Molly continues. She takes a deep breath. âAnd anyway, she asked me to house sit one week, when they were taking a holiday together, and I said of course, because I didnât have anything to do that week. I was. Alone then.â
She clears her throat. Heâs looking at anywhere but her.
âSo Iâm house-sitting for her and her two cats are there, and then, at 9:30 p.m., I remember, because I was about to call her, before I remembered, you know, sheâs on holiday and Iâm in her flat,â Molly says.
âThe boy cat starts having sex with her winter boots.â
Moran is staring at the wall again.
âAnd it wasnât just once. This went on for, well, pretty much every single night I was house sitting for her. Every single night, between 9 and 10 p.m., the cat would just go at it with the boot.â
âAnd, remember, she has two cats. There is a girl cat and a boy cat. He had options,â Molly continues, gesturing now. âThere was literally another cat. But he looked at that girl cat, the only other cat heâd ever seen, and he decided, no thanks, Iâm going to go with the boot.â
âI mean, how ugly must the girl cat have felt?â
Moran walks over to the wall and jams the âfireâ button, and the emergency line starts to dial.
âHow must that girl cat have felt about herself?â
âCan you please stop talking,â Moran grits out.
Molly opens her mouth to respond, but the lobby receptionist picks up.
âHello, yes, weâre stuck in the West elevator, itâs stuck on the third floor,â Moran says. âAnd weâd like to get out.â
âHold on a moment, sir.â
And then he gets put on hold.
âI wonder whatâs the matter,â Molly says.
Moran leans his head against the wall.
âProbably a while. I find this happens often, with helplines and things like that. I was at the Apple store the other day, to get my laptop fixed, and you know, the people at the genius bar are just so mean,â she says, like she hasnât married a literal genius with a social deficiency, and Moran tries to think about literally anything else.
âAnyway, after I picked up my laptop, there was this other man whoâd brought his computer to get fixed too, and the woman flips open the laptop and then says, âWhy is this so sticky?!ââ Molly mimicks.
Moran stares at her, and he looks kind of livid.
âAnd he says âI spilled Sangria,ââ she retells, in a really sad, pathetic tone.
âDid you think I was going to say jizz? That would be bad, too, I suppose. Worse if it was both,â she says and then snorts. âLike you were trying to wine and dine yourself.â
Moran inhales deeply and counts to ten.
âLook,â he says. âI donât like you.â
âYou know I only put up with you because your husband and I are poker buddies,â he continues in that clipped tone. Pokerânamely, not just holding his own against three emotionally volatile/stunted geniuses but also cleaning them out on a weekly basisâwas the highlight of his week now that they werenât trying to kill each other and he was out of a job. âBut that doesnât mean weâre friends, that doesnât mean I have to talk to you, it doesnât mean I have to go out of my way to be nice to you.â
Completely unnecessary, Molly thinks. But she nods her agreement anyway.
âYou clearly donât care much for me either,â he says, not bitter, but matter-of-factly, âso I think it would be better if we just stayed out of each otherâs ways.â
Molly nods again. Makes sense.
âSo howâs Carol?â she asks. He pretends not to hear. âGoing well, I suppose? Since youâre here. In her apartment building. At 7 in the morning. In yesterdayâs clothes. Are they still calling it the walk ofââ
âOkay if you say one more thing, I swear to God, I will choke youââ
