fallen alien

art should comfort the disturbed & disturb the comfortable.

Welcome to London, RISA GINGOLD.  You’ve lived here for 15 YEARS, ON-AND-OFF and are originally from BROOKLYN, NY, USA. We see here that you’re pursuing a career as a FILMMAKER & VISUAL ARTIST and currently reside in HAMPSTEAD HEATH, CAMDEN.  You’re the spitting image of ZOË KRAVITZ, use SHE/HER pronouns, you’re 33 YEARS OLD, and your anthem is DAYBED by FKA TWIGS.  penned by Maya, she/they.

~~

“I don’t remember seeing your face but I’m certain you were present for at least a portion of my day, especially after that statement.” There were common threads in any career choice and this was unfortunately one of many scenarios they undoubtedly shared. “I’m afraid my career choice is just as boring as my day. I’m an attorney burdened by client privilege that does very little to shield the idiocy of some names on my roster.” Finally feeling the beginnings of relaxation coursing through her, Jaymes offered a soft smile, “What about you? It must be something fun, exciting even.” 

“You must have nerves of steel and a hell of a poker face,” Risa mused.  “I just deal with idiots but you have to represent them.” She chuckled, taking another sip of her drink. “I’m flattered that that’s your impression. I like to think it is — I’m a filmmaker. But art idiots are a species all of their own, I bet they could be taxonomized if it wouldn’t make the scientist lose their mind in the process.”

     ARIAN’S EYES DART TO THE HEM running along the length of his arm. he grimaces. “lady luck’s off her game, seems like,” he mumbles. his hair is further disheveled as he runs his fingers through it. he is by no means an important man; no one blows up his phone when he goes mia for a few hours and maybe not even if he goes missing for a few days. frankly, there’s nothing waiting for him out there, so he’s not sure why he’s feeling so antsy.

before he gets wholly consumed by a series of intrusive thoughts that should definitely not be thought of inside the seemingly slowly diminishing space of an elevator, the stranger kindly offers him something to snack on. and as much as he wants to continue brooding in his corner, his sweet tooth says otherwise. wordlessly, he reaches out to take one of the chocolates and peels the wrapper off, the prolonged eye contact he considers as his form of thanks. he could easily finish it in one swallow, but he decides to take his time with tiny squirrel nibbles.

“so. what you doin’ time here for?” he asks, staring back at the metal door in front of him.

“Yeah, she’s a bit of a bitch, huh?” Much as she liked to kvetch about it, Risa didn’t believe in luck, at least not in the sense of the personalized miracles from a benevolent ( or, for that matter, exceptions from a malevolent ) universe. At most, she believed in the cosmic joke of existence.

She shrugged. “Dunno, I think my morning was too nice. Not great or whatever, just...pleasant. Quiet.” She wiggled her eyebrows, adding in her best impression of a noir hero. “Too quiet.” 

“What about you?” And then, realizing that they might as well introduce themselves if they were going to be stuck in such close quarters, she added, “Oh, and I’m Risa. Nice to meet you, even if, you know...” She gestured generally to their metal surroundings.

~~

“Hey now…hey now…I know you’re in distress and all, stuck in the elevator.” Why did he have to remind himself of their very unfortunate fate, “But what we’re not gonna do is insult eighties hair band rock in all its Bon Jovi glory.” Clearing his throat, in an a threatening attempt to sing, “What would you rather hear? Since your musical taste is questionable. I don’t mean that as an insult as much as a statement of confusion. This version really doesn’t do it justice.” 

“I don’t know that Mr. Bongiovi would want to claim credit for this particular...reimagining of his work,”  Risa retorted with a snort. She raised an eyebrow. “Well, if we’re talking eighties, it doesn’t get much better than Prince. And I don’t think anyone could ruin him for me.”

     IT HASN’T BEEN MORE THAN TEN MINUTES since the elevator shut down, and already, arian is sitting in one corner, knees pulled against his chest as he begins to write his own obituary in his head. he shouldn’t have come here today; he already had a bad feeling in his gut that morning, telling him not to leave his house. and though there are a multitude of reasons why he shouldn’t go out and see his flavour of the month ( the fact that the woman is married, for one, or that she lives all the way across the city when she’d called asking for arian’s company ) but he’d chosen to go, anyway. he needed cash and coming here was guaranteed an easy prize.

he is now starting to question if this is all worth it.

“fuck if i know,” he says, lifts his head from where it was previously buried in the crook of his elbow, leans back against the cold, hard steel of the elevator wall. he checks his wristwatch for the time, and only then realizes from the inside-out hem of his shirt, that in his haste to not get caught by his covert lover’s husband, he’d accidentally put his shirt on backwards. “perfect. just perfect.” he groans. “my horoscope told me ‘climb’ today. whatever that meant. god, i should’ve listened.”

Well, her companion was definitely even less happy to be here than she was. Which wasn’t, as she realized a split second later, necessarily a plus. She gave him a sympathetic grimace. “Don’t people say it’s good luck to accidentally wear something inside-out?” Risa didn’t. She just hoped she hadn’t misremembered an ill omen. “Maybe something’ll make up for it after they get us out of here.” Whenever that was. Sitting still and stating put were never among Risa’s strengths. She had already begun to dig through her purse out of sheer boredom. Producing a couple of mini chocolate bars, she quirked an eyebrow at the man. “Want one?”

~~

“Even luckier now that neither of us are plagued by the constant sound of meetings and people who enjoy hearing the sound of their own voice while totally disregarding effective communication.” Accepting the hand that was offered, she gave it a firm but gentle shake. “Pleasure is all mine Risa. I’m Jaymes and I promise not to drone on and one for the remainder of the night.” 

“And decide to explain your job to you when all they’ve done is fail upwards.” She didn’t get the impression that she and the other woman had similar jobs, but there were walking, talking Dunning-Kruger effects anywhere nepotism babies and their ilk thrived. “Very lucky.” She smiled. “But I’m curious, what do you do?”

~~

Gideon was only half listening. He had a thing about confined spaces and box shaped compartments were supposed to move up then down then back again, choosing not. “Half an hour is a little longer than I was hoping for.” Forget the meetings, fresh air and free movement would be even better. Shifting his mind from the negative to an almost positive, “I don’t know. I was enjoying the massacre of a near perfect hit. Never heard the full strings version of Livin’ On a Prayer.  Next time I’ll sing along. Really give you a reason to cringe.” 

“Knock on wood.” She paused, and took another, dubiously effective, jab at optimism. “And hey, this is a nice building...” She shrugged, almost remarking on management’s paranoia about potential lawsuits but deciding that her companion probably didn’t need her to invoke worst-case scenarios. “I dunno, anything that can drown that shit out is an improvement.”

-

“This is a nice ambience?” Sergio gestured around them, the dull gray surrounding them could, in the unfortunate circumstances, feel suffocating. Thankfully, it was just the two of them. “I worry for how the amount of times you’ve been trapped in an elevator. I’m usually a stairs guy, myself, but not in a hurry… Damn good that did for me.” He smiled, though the expression was hardly out of happiness. “Are you here for business? I mean– not in the elevator business, but..” Sergio trailed off, a chuckle escaping him. “You know what I mean.” 

“Relatively,” she clarified. “And by ambience I mean there’s a lower likelihood of rats falling out of the ceiling.” She shuddered at the memory. “I’m from New York.” As if that explained it more than coming from anywhere else with very tall buildings did. “Yeah, at the gallery. What about you? Not elevator tourism, I assume.”

“That tells me, you are extremely intelligent.” Jaymes made room for the other, shifting as she lifted her drink, “If you insist but it’s not necessary but like you, I can appreciate a turn of generosity.” With a hint of a smile, “Thank you, for the no slurping. I’ve had to add it as a pre-condition after last week’s slurper and mouth breather.” Shaking her head, “Venting would dampen the flavor of this drink and bring the tension back to my shoulders. How about your day? Vent worthy or even better, I reason to brag.” 

“A free drink and a compliment? It’s my lucky day.” Risa raised her glass, making a face in commiseration at the idea of the sounds the woman must have been subjected to. “Meetings, meetings, meetings. A bit too inside baseball,” she replied, with a shrug, before extending her hand to the other. “I’m Risa, by the way.”

Just his luck. The poor girl next to him had to suffer the consequences of being around a Reyes family member. It was now normal to find himself in peculiar circumstances that would have him wondering what they point was. Nevertheless, all that was left to do was sit and wait– so he did. The cramped space was big enough for the two of them to sit if she also chose to, but Sergio slid himself down to the floor ungracefully seconds after the elevator stopped. Her words prompted a half shrug from him, “I believe that was to shut us up, knowing the way this city works we might be here forever.” A joke, mostly, even if it seemed a tad morbid. “If the music don’t kill you the lack of oxygen might.” 

Risa shrugged and slumped down onto the floor next to her companion, resting her feet against the opposite wall. “You’re not wrong. On the bright side, this elevator has better ambience than the last one I was stuck in. Which is important, for a mausoleum,” she said, dryly. Her tendency towards gallows humor wasn’t always well received, but it didn’t seem like the man would mind. “Slower but less painful...I’ll take it.”