Baton Pass! (Round 6)

Supply and Demand

It had been the Mondayest of Mondays for Sylvie Lushton. Which was weird, given that it was a Thursday. 

Then again, if she was being honest, every single day this month had felt like a Monday.

It didn’t used to be this way. There was a time where Sylvie actually enjoyed coming to work, believe it or not. For a little less than a year now, Sylvie had worked as a junior sales associate for Thunder Valley Appliances, or TVA. Basically, TVA’s business model was to buy appliance and computer parts wholesale and then resell the parts to manufacturers at markup.  

It was a stupid job at a stupid company with a stupid mission, but Sylvie was good at it. Really good at it. Like, breaking sales records her first ten months on the job good at it. Single-handedly dragging the company into the black good at it. Her work had even earned her a half-smile and a “Nice work, Lushton,” from the COO, Ravonna Renslayer—and that, as anyone who worked at TVA knows, is the highest of compliments. And her direct manager, Mr. Mobius, had mentioned during her stellar annual review that if she kept this up, she’d be promoted in no time at all.

Yes, Sylvie was on track to achieve everything she’d set out to do when she started working at this company.

But then, about two months ago, TVA decided that their division was doing such a good job (thanks mainly to Sylvie) that they could afford to hire another junior sales associate.

Enter Loki Laufeyson—the bane of Sylvie’s existence, and the reason for her month of Mondays. 

Loki Laufeyson was exactly the type of person Sylvie couldn’t stand—someone who had been handed every privilege from the moment he was born. Laufeyson was annoyingly tall and stupidly good looking, with perfectly coiffed black hair, striking blue eyes, and a rather charming smile. He’d attended the best business schools and interned at the most prestigious sales firms. He wore his superiority, his privilege, and his pride like a well-fitted suit.

Plus, there was the little fact that his father—the owner of Asgard Properties—was one of the wealthiest and most influential people in the country. 

From the moment Sylvie met Laufeyson, he struck her as someone who probably felt like he was entitled to every opportunity that was thrust his way. He could probably charm someone into letting him copy their homework, and then, after taking all the credit for it, he’d expect them to thank him for copying it.

Well, Sylvie wasn’t falling for any of it. She had a reputation to maintain. Who cared if Laufeyson seemed to get along with every single person in the office in that easy, effortless manner that only a good-looking, rich white male could? Who cared that he was already buddy-buddy with Mr. Mobius? Who cared that people thought he was charming and handsome, or that he already had way more friends in the office than she did? They were there to work, after all, not to make friends. And Sylvie was smart enough to see through his little nice guy act.

Unfortunately, the more Sylvie tried to ignore him, the harder he seemed to work to try to gain her favor. He’d hold open doors for her, then ask about her day as they walked to their cubicle area—no doubt trying to gather intel on her to use to his advantage. He’d bring in donuts for the team, and she’d come in to find that he’d placed a strawberry-frosted one (her favorite) on a napkin on her desk—as if he could buy her friendship or something. He didn’t even ask if she wanted one! What if she was diabetic or off sugar or something?

(She wasn’t—and, yes, the donut was always wanted, and always delicious—but still.) 

He was always staring at her, too. She could feel his annoying, pretty blue eyes on her whenever they were in the same room; then, when she’d glance up at him, he’d use the eye contact as an excuse to pester her about her sales techniques—no doubt, to try to copy them himself, or to steal one of her clients. 

It’s all just a tactic, Sylvie reminded herself. He doesn’t actually want to be friends. He’s just trying to get on your good side so he can stab you in the back later. 

It was all very annoying, for sure, but Sylvie wasn’t too threatened by it at first. After all, Laufeyson was clearly a nepo baby. TVA’s CEO, Nathaniel Richards, probably knew Loki’s dad, and gave his incompetent frat boy kid a job here out of pity. He probably never worked hard a day in his life. Who even knew if he’d actually be any good at sales? He’d probably grow bored with the job and quit after a week or two, so that he could go back to living off his trust fund or something.

But then, Laufeyson did the unthinkable—something Sylvie could never, ever forgive him for. 

He beat her sales record for June. 

“Wow!” Mobius had said when final sales figures were announced. “It was close, but it looks like we have a new sales leader! Nice work, Laufeyson!”

Laufeyson’s smile smacked of false modesty.

“Beginner’s luck, I’m sure,” he shrugged. “I may be the superior junior sales associate this month, but Lushton will probably wipe the floor with me next month.”

His sharp blue eyes met hers, and Sylvie forced a tight smile.

Inside, though, she was seething.

Superior junior sales associate, my ass.

And it was in that moment that Sylvie decided that Loki Laufeyson was her enemy, and that she would make it her mission in life to defeat him, at all costs.

Then, last week, the perfect opportunity arose to do just that when Mobius announced that TVA would be interviewing for a new senior sales associate. 

Sylvie really wanted this position. It would mean a bigger salary, generous stock options, a bigger cubicle, and a parking space. A parking space! (Sure, Sylvie didn’t own a car or anything...but it would be nice to have regardless.) Mostly, though, it would mean she would finally be able to afford to move out of her shitty studio apartment atop the fishmonger and get herself a nicer, less smelly apartment—maybe atop a bakery, or a coffee shop. 

Sylvie really did love baked goods.

When she dropped off her application and résumé to Renslayer’s inbox on Friday, visions of sugar cookies and cupcakes dancing in her head, there were already about ten resumes stacked in there...and she couldn’t help but notice Laufeyson’s application lying atop the stack. It was printed on the fanciest paper Sylvie had ever seen—some kind of hybrid parchment that was so thick it looked like it could probably get soaking wet and still hold up a bowling ball. 

Sylvie rolled her eyes. Who did Laufeyson think he was, applying for the senior sales position after only being there for a few weeks? He didn’t seriously think he would get the job, especially over her, did he? Her current contact lenses have been around longer than he’d worked at TVA! (Sylvie made a quick mental note to change her contacts tomorrow morning.) 

If he thinks Renslayer and Richards are gonna fall for his ‘I’m God’s gift to sales’ schtick, he’s in for a rude awakening, Sylvie thought as she slapped her Up&Up brand all-purpose paper résumé atop his. 

Sylvie spent the entire weekend preparing for her interview, and her hard work paid off: she absolutely nailed her first interview on Monday, charming and wowing the middle managers to a degree even she didn’t think herself capable of. Sylvie was absolutely thrilled when Mobius stopped by her cubicle to invite her back for a second interview on Thursday, this time with Renslayer and TVA’s CEO, Nathaniel Richards. 

“You really impressed them, Lushton,” said Mobius. “I hear it’s down to you and one other person.”

Sylvie should have realized who the other person was the second Mobius said it. After all, she was well familiar with the way the universe worked when it came to her; she knew how much it hated her. Her entire life up to that point had been one shitty, unlucky situation after another. She had no idea what she'd done to deserve it. Maybe in a past life, she kicked the universe’s puppy, or stole its shoveled-out parking spot during a blizzard.

In any case, as she walked down the long corridor toward the executive suite lobby early Thursday afternoon, armed with the worn leather briefcase she’d thrifted for $15 and dressed in last-last season’s green designer business suit with a pencil skirt that she’d gotten on clearance at TJ Maxx, she shouldn’t have been surprised to see who was also waiting there.

And yet, the sight that greeted her when she walked into the lobby still stopped her in her tracks.

Oh, you have GOT to be shitting me.

But no, her eyes were not, in fact, shitting her, for seated in the chair by the picture window was Loki Laufeyson, in all his smug, rich glory. His arm was draped casually over the back of the chair next to him, on which his own pristine briefcase rested. He was wearing a navy-blue suit that perfectly complemented his eyes and that fit like it was tailor made for him—which, Sylvie reminded herself, it probably had been, given who his father was. 

When she stepped into the room, his eyes snapped to the door; he looked her up and down, quickly, before flashing her that stupid, charming smile that she absolutely detested.

“Ah, Lushton,” he said. “Looks like it’s down to you and me, huh?”

“Yep. Looks like it,” Sylvie managed through gritted teeth. She made her way over to the other end of the room and tugged at the end of her pencil skirt as she lowered herself into the chair.

“I figured you were the other person,” Laufeyson said. He shifted in his seat slightly so that he faced her. 

“Yeah? Well, I had no idea you’d be called back.”

Laufeyson had the gall to chuckle. “Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are, given how new I am. I suppose I interview well. I didn’t even want to apply until Mobius said I should.” He fiddled with the handle of his briefcase.

Sylvie made a mental note to add salt to Mobius’ next cup of coffee when he wasn’t looking.

Laufeyson continued, “Too bad we both can get the position, eh?” 

Sylvie gritted her teeth harder. She let out a noncommittal grunt.

They sat quietly for a few moments, an awkward silence stretching between them, until Richards’ secretary, Minnie, came into the room to give them each a clipboard with some sort of pre-interview questionnaire. Minnie was notorious around the office for having the absolute worst fashion sense. Today, for example, she was wearing a rather ugly orange dress that clashed horribly with her spray tan.

Sylvie might’ve made a joke about it if anyone other than Laufeyson was in the room with her. But, as it was, she kept her comments to herself.

“If y’all can just fill those sheets out before your interviews, that’d be swell,” said Minnie in her syrupy sweet voice. “Mr. Richards will be seeing you shortly.” She left.

Sylvie pulled a pen out of her bag and busied herself by filling out the questionnaire. So engrossed in the questions was she that she didn’t even notice that Laufeyson had gotten up and crossed the room until he lowered himself into the seat next to hers.

“Hey, Lushton?” 

Sylvie jumped. She looked at him, distracted. “What?”

“I, er…I just realized I forgot to bring a pen. Do you have an extra one I can borrow?”

“No,” said Sylvie, “I don’t, actually.” She really didn’t. She’d only grabbed this one off her desk at the last minute because she thought she might need it. 

“Ah,” said Laufeyson. “OK.” 

Sylvie returned to her questionnaire. She filled out all but the last question before Laufeyson interrupted her again.

“Er…can I borrow that one? When you’re finished, of course.”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “You want to borrow my only pen?” 

“Well, yeah.”

Sylvie shook her head. “No.” 

Laufeyson blinked, baffled, as if he’d never heard that word before. “No?” 

“No,” Sylvie confirmed. “I’m not lending you my only pen, Laufeyson. I might need it.” 

“Well, I do need it. How else can I fill out this form?”

“Go ask Minnie for a pen.”

“What, and have orange bronzer stains on my hands for the rest of the day? No, thank you,” said Laufeyson.

Sylvie pursed her lips; it took everything she had not to give him the satisfaction of a laugh. She distracted herself by scrawling out one final sentence on the last question on her sheet.

“I’m not giving you my pen, Laufeyson,” she said. “You should’ve brought your own. You know part of this job entails always being prepared, right?”

“Oh, c’mon, have some pity,” he said. “Your interview’s first, right?”

“So?”

“So, you won’t be needing it in there. You’ll be talking, mostly. And then I can use the time to fill out my questionnaire.” 

Sylvie stared at him. 

“C’mon, Lushton, please? I mean, doesn’t this job also entail being a helpful coworker?”

Sylvie sighed. “All right, fine,” she said. She emphatically crossed a T on her sheet, capped the pen, then handed it to him. “But I want it back.”

Laufeyson grinned. “Thanks, Lushton. You won’t regret this.”

“I already do.”

It wasn’t long before Miss Minnie came into the lobby again. “Miss Lushton? They’re ready for you.”

Sylvie gathered her things and rose from her chair. Laufeyson, who was in the middle of filling out his questionnaire in the most pristine handwriting Sylvie had ever seen, winked at her.

“Good luck, Lushton,” he said, saluting her with the pen.

Sylvie gave him a tight smile, hugging the clipboard to her chest. “You too, Laufeyson. And may the superior junior sales associate win.”

*** 

Sylvie’s interview with Richards and Renslayer had gone well—at least, she thought it had. She had done everything right. She answered every question they had for her, clearly and with purpose. She’d earned a few approving nods from Renslayer. Even Richards looked impressed.

“I’ve heard great things about you, Lushton,” Richards said. “People say you’re quite the dragon when it comes to sales. I could use a dragon on my senior sales team.”

“Well, who couldn’t, right?” Sylvie replied. “Dragons are very useful. Probably hard to clean up after, though. Not that I’m…you know…hard to clean up after. I keep a very tidy desk.”

Richards merely smiled. 

They kept her in there for the full half hour, which Sylvie thought was a good sign. When the interview ended, she shook both of their hands and made her way back out into the lobby, where Laufeyson was waiting quietly, tapping his foot against the ground, and Sylvie realized with some satisfaction that he might be nervous. 

Good, she thought. 

He looked up when she entered, then tilted his head, as though in question.

Sylvie gave him another tight smile. “They said to send you in.”

“Ah. Right.”

He rose, picking up his briefcase. They faced each other for a moment; Sylvie stood as tall as she could, though even in heels, he still had several inches on her, like a broad, towering oak. (Why’d he have to be so tall? Ugh.) Then, he nodded down at her, she nodded back, and he made his way past her into the interview room. 

Sylvie couldn’t help but linger by the door a moment, making a show of rearranging her papers in her briefcase. She could hear muffled voices that inflected in a greeting manner. A deep muffled voice said something in reply, and suddenly, she could hear the three of them laughing uproariously.

Sylvie’s stomach turned to ice. There had been no laughing in her interview. Should there have been laughing in her interview?

Worry swirled in her gut for the rest of the day. She was distracted and distant, only half listening as her coworker Verity told her about her weekend. She skipped her afternoon snack; she didn’t think she could stomach it, anyway. By four o’clock, she’d gnawed off most of her right thumbnail—a habit she hadn’t done in years.

Mostly, though, she avoided Laufeyson at all costs. She didn’t want to think about how well he might’ve done in his interview, or how good he looked in that stupid blue suit, or how he might’ve used his connections to persuade Richards and Renslayer to give him the job that’s rightfully hers—the one she’d worked so hard for. 

She grabbed one of the smaller conference rooms and threw herself into her work for the rest of the day. She managed to avoid thinking about Laufeyson entirely until around five o’clock, when she stopped back at her desk to log her hours into her bullet journal and remembered that she’d loaned her only pen to him before his interview. 

Of course, the bastard had never returned it. 

Who knows, maybe Renslayer and Richards took him out to dinner to celebrate his big promotion, Sylvie thought bitterly. 

Annoyed, she made her way to the supply chest, only to find that they were out of the felt-tipped black pens she favored. 

“There might be more in the supply closet,” her coworker, Casey, had said as he shut down his laptop and shoved it in his bag. “They keep the big boxes back there. It’s worth checking out, anyway."

"Oh. Good idea. Thanks, Casey.

"Sure," said Casey as he pulled his jacket on. "Just be careful to put the wedge under the door—if the door closes when you’re in there, you could get locked inside.”

And so, Sylvie made her way down past the printers to the supply closet—an old, windowless office that had been lined with large shelves, each stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic bins of various shapes and sizes. After carefully shoving the wooden wedge under the door, she pulled on the chain, filling the room with flickering yellow light from a swinging lightbulb.  

The room was cold and musty, and had clearly not been cleaned in quite a while. Sylvie could see motes of dust swirling in the dim lighting. She squinted, examining the shelves for a few moments in search of the case of black felt-tipped pens. Finally, she spied the box… 

…on the top back shelf.

Sylvie sighed.

Fantastic. If this isn’t the rancid cherry on top of the shit sundae that was my day.

At first, Sylvie tried standing up on her tiptoes, but she was still several inches away from even grazing the top shelf. She tried putting one of her feet up on the first shelf to climb it, but it was a bit too tall, and the dumb pencil skirt she had decided to wear wouldn’t let her get her leg up that far without hiking it up to an obscene degree. Abandoning that idea, she then found an unopened box of printer paper and pushed it over to the back shelf. She stepped up onto the box, teetering carefully on her toes and cursing the fact that she decided to wear heels today.

She tried a few times to reach the box. The first time, her fingers barely grazed the cardboard before she fell back on her heels, huffed a breath, and tried again. The second time, she got a little bit closer, but still couldn’t get enough of a grip on the box to shift it toward her. 

Then, as she prepared to stretch up for a third time, Sylvie heard the last person in the world she wanted to hear.

“Lushton?” came a voice from the doorway. “You OK?”

Sylvie started. She turned to see Laufeyson standing by the door, looking both concerned and amused. 

“I’m fine,” Sylvie said, allowing just enough annoyance to creep into her voice so that Laufeyson would take the hint. 

He did not take the hint. In fact, he began edging his way into the small room. Annoyingly. 

“You sure?” he asked. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Sylvie stretched upward again; her fingertips grazed the box, but she somehow managed to push it about a half inch back. 

Dammit!

“Is that box all you need?” Laufeyson asked. “Because I’m pretty sure I could reach it for you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s really no trouble—”

“Piss off, Laufeyson.”

“Rude. I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t need your help. Now, will you please just go,” Sylvie said. She bent her knees slightly, readying to jump. 

Loki watched her, eyebrow raised. “Sylvie, be careful. You really shouldn’t—”

“Don’t—” She jumped; her fingers skimmed the box of pens. “—tell me what—” She jumped again, knocking it forward a bit. “—to…do!”

She jumped once more; this time, she managed to grip the corner of the pen box and shift it so that it was half hanging off the edge of the shelf.

“Ha!” she said triumphantly before she landed.

Except, she didn’t land. Not properly, anyway. 

The next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion.

Sylvie’s right heel pierced right through the cardboard of the box she was standing on; her left foot missed the box entirely. Sylvie could feel her feet slip out from under her as she fell backward toward the ground. 

Meanwhile, she could hear Laufeyson’s panicked “Watch out!” from behind her. She caught a glimpse of him rushing inside the closet to—well, Sylvie wasn’t sure what. Maybe catch her? Try to steady her? Whatever his reason, it wasn’t successful, because his giant foot caught on the wooden wedge she’d used to keep the supply closet door open. He tripped, crashing into her open-armed as she fell backwards into him. 

They both tumbled to the hard floor, landing in a heap, Sylvie on top of Laufeyson, whose shoulder knocked into the back shelf, shaking it. The pen box she had worked so hard to pull forward tipped over; black felt-tipped pens rained down on top of them, scattering across the floor, and they both shielded their faces.

“Ooph! Sorry—”

“What the hell—!”

“Ow! Stop!”

“Get off my leg!”

“I will if you just move a bit…”

“Rrrrgh!”

“...did you just growl at me?”

Then, to Sylvie’s horror, another sound joined their bickering:

The loud click of the supply closet door shutting. 

Sylvie bolted upright, panicked. “Shit. Shitshitshit…” 

“What?” asked Laufeyson. 

Sylvie ignored him. She shoved Laufeyson's body off her legs and raced over to the door, grabbing the handle and jiggling it.

It wouldn’t turn.

“No,” Sylvie whispered. She tried it again. And again. “No no no no dammit!” 

“What is it?” asked Laufeyson dazedly as he got to his feet. “Lushton?”

But Sylvie didn’t answer him. Panic swirled in her chest as the horrible truth dawned on her.

She was trapped. 

In a small closet. 

With Loki Laufeyson. 

Shit. SHIT! I have to get out of here! 

Frantically, Sylvie began banging on the door. 

“HELP! HELP! IS ANYONE OUT THERE? LET US OUT!”

“Lushton!” said Laufeyson. “Stop!” He reached out and grabbed her arm, gently. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

Sylvie spun on him. “I’ll tell you what’s going on, you idiot!” she spat out. She stabbed a finger into his stupid broad chest. “You kicked the door wedge, and this door locks itself! Now, we’re stuck in here!”

“What?” Laufeyson said, taken aback. “No, that…that can’t be right…you just have to…”  He reached forward and jiggled the handle himself, as if to prove her wrong, but the handle wouldn’t budge. He tried a few more times; nothing happened. “It…it won’t open,” he said unnecessarily.

“Of course it won’t open. I told you, the stupid door locks itself!” said Sylvie angrily. She banged on the door with both fists. “God, this is all your fault!”

“My fault?” Laufeyson looked appalled. “How is this my fault? I didn’t know the door would lock itself!”

“Everyone knows that door locks itself!” Sylvie yelled. “And if you’d worked here longer than an hour, you might’ve too!”

“Well, if you hadn’t been so stubborn and had just let me get the box for you, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!”

“I told you, I didn’t need your help! I had it handled!”

“Handled?” Laufeyson laughed mockingly. “Sorry, but I don’t think falling to your death from a height of fourteen inches counts as having it handled.” He turned back to the door. “There’s got to be a way to open this. They can’t have just installed a door that can trap people inside—it’s against the fire code.”

“Expert on building codes, are you?”

“A bit, yeah. My fath—” he paused, wincing. “I mean, my family’s in the real estate business. I grew up around this stuff.” He bent to examine the doorknob. “There’s got to be a hole, or a latch, or somethi—”

Sylvie ignored him. She began banging frantically on the door. “HELLO?! HELP! LET US OUT!”

Laufeyson let out a sigh. “Or, I guess we could do it your way.”

He joined her, banging against the upper part of the door while she took the lower half. 

“Hello! Is anyone out there?!” 

“HELLO?!”

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

“We’re stuck in the supply closet!”

“HELP US!”

They continued pounding on the door for several more minutes, until Loki finally stepped back. 

“It’s no use, Lushton,” he said. “It’s after five. Most people have probably already gone home by now. We could bang on the door all night and no one is ever going to hear us.”

Sylvie knew he was right. Most people in the office left the second it hit five. Still, she banged on the door several more times, mostly out of frustration, then let out a loud growl.

“Ugh. Fine. You got a better plan, then?”

"Yeah, I do," said Laufeyson. "We should stop panicking and just call or text someone to come get us.”

Sylvie blinked. Of course. 

Apparently, her blind panic over the whole situation made her brain forget that cell phones were a thing. 

“Right. OK.” Sylvie patted her pockets, searching for her phone. But then, she remembered that this stupid designer suit didn’t have any real pockets—only flaps that gave the appearance of pockets. Her phone was back at her desk. 

She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

To his credit, Laufeyson didn’t argue. He fished it out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to her.

Sylvie glanced at the top to see if he had a signal—and nearly dropped the phone in surprise.

“What the—? Your battery's at three percent!”

“Is it?” Laufeyson leaned forward, checking the screen. “Oh. I guess I forgot to charge it,” he replied unconcernedly.

Sylvie stared at him, appalled. “You let your battery get down to three percent? What is wrong with you? You got a death wish or something?” 

“It’s still got some juice left!” Laufeyson insisted. “I bet you can get out a quick call to Mobius or something before it dies.”

Sylvie tapped the phone icon, scrolling through the numbers to find Mobius’. But before she got far, the phone screen flickered, then went off. “Dammit!”

“What?” asked Laufeyson.

“What do you think?! Your phone died.” She shoved the phone into his chest; he fumbled it awkwardly.

“Ah. Well, we can just use yours.”

“No, we can’t, because mine is at my desk!”

“What?” Laufeyson blinked. “What’s it doing there?!”

“It’s there because, unlike men’s fashion, this stupid outfit doesn’t have any pockets, so I have no place to put it!” Sylvie growled, frustrated. “God, you’re such an idiot. Why the hell wouldn’t you charge your phone?!” 

“Why the hell wouldn’t you carry your phone?” he countered. “Aren’t you the one always harping on about being prepared?”

Sylvie scoffed. “Don’t talk to me about being prepared. I wouldn’t have even needed to come in here if you didn’t steal my pen!”

“I was going to return it!” Laufeyson insisted. “I looked for you all afternoon!”

Sylvie snorted. “Clearly not hard enough.” (Yes, she was well aware that she had been actively avoiding him—but really, that was no excuse.)

Laufeyson ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“OK, so…we can’t call anyone. We can’t yell for help. What else can we do?” He turned to her. “Do you have any ideas, Lushton? Preferably ones that don’t involve brute force and yowling like an animal?”

Sylvie bristled; god, he was insufferable. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

She made her way to the back of the room and began shoving the printer paper box she had been standing on to the back left corner.

Laufeyson watched her, perplexed. “What are you doing? You’re not trying to climb up through the vent, are you? Because those ventilation shafts aren’t actually as big as they are in the movies.”

“No, I’m not crawling through the vent,” said Sylvie. “I—” she moved the box a few more inches. “—am setting up my area of the closet.”

“Your area?”

“That’s right.” She righted herself, panting slightly. “This side of the room—” she waved her hand in a sweeping gesture, “is my side. That,” she gestured to the right side of the room, “is yours. Stay over there, and we won’t have a problem.”

“Stay over here?” Laufeyson looked bewildered. “So, your plan is for us to just…keep to separate sides of the room? All night?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly my plan.”

“That’s not much of a plan.”

“Well, there’s not exactly much else we can do, is there? Since you locked us in here after everyone already went home for the night, and you didn’t charge your phone.” Sylvie plopped down onto the box and tried to make herself comfortable. “And would you shut up? Just because I’m stuck in a closet with you doesn’t mean I want to hear your voice.”

“So…so you’re just giving up, then?” Laufeyson said, still looking bewildered. “But…don’t you want to try to figure out a way out of here?”

“What part of ‘shut up’ confuses you?”

Layfeyson stared at her for a moment. “OK. Well. Guess I’ll just…try to find a way out of here myself, then. Alone.”

Sylvie shrugged. “Do whatever you want.”

“I will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Good, indeed.”

Sylvie folded her arms and glared at him. He glared back for a moment, then sighed and turned to the door, examining it with his hands on his hips.

Sylvie watched him for a minute; her anger ebbed away slightly, replaced by a cold, ominous sense of dread. She could not believe her absolutely abysmal luck. 

She was stuck in a closet. With Loki Freaking Laufeyson. For an entire night.

Sylvie closed her eyes and sighed. 

Well. This is a nightmare.