The Deadline [WIP]

Chapter 1: The Train

There are reasons I prefer to keep a physical portfolio of my artwork. Since most of my earlier work from college was done with alcohol markers, it's easy to shove (or rather, delicately place it) into a briefcase without worrying that it'll be ruined. Any digital pieces that I create while practising can be printed on high quality paper and I can slide them across a desk while secretly imagining I'm a mob boss closing a big deal...

Besides, briefcases tend to lend an air of professionalism that I otherwise lack, and provided I can keep my mouth shut long enough for Stormcloud to consider hiring me, I'll need all the help I can get. It's rare enough that a publishing company as well-known as Stormcloud publicly advertises job vacancies, let alone for freelancers. So, in order to put my best foot forward, I keep my portfolio on me.

There are also disadvantages to carrying my portfolio around with me. I have learned this from experience.

Picture this: A woman in her early twenties, about five foot four, dressed in jeans and a green wool jumper running through the front doors of a tiny train station, briefcase swinging. Hi! That's me, on my way to an interview with the largest video game publisher in Ireland which I will be half an hour late for if I miss my train. I have a messenger bag with an outside pocket slung across my shoulder, and as I come up to the gate I rip the velcro flap open and grab my transport card, tapping it on a scanner before rushing through the gate. I've reached the platform, and all I have to do in order to get there on time is make it to the other end and climb on board. I make a mad dash down the length of the station, feeling the wind howl past my ears, my boots pounding the concrete floor, smile wide.

I'm going to make it. I'm going to make it. I'm going to-

WHAP. I careen directly into a man who had clearly been minding his own business before I came along and decided to knock the large, undoubtedly overpriced coffee out of his hand. There's a split second where I decide to chuck my briefcase away, to keep it from getting soaked... The trade-off is that I get soaked instead. Now both of us are covered in coffee and smell vaguely of caramel, and I take a long look at this poor guy whose day I've undoubtedly ruined to assess the damage. I have to look up at him to see his face, which surprises me even though I'm not exactly the tallest. He's wearing what I imagine was once a crisp, cream button-up shirt under a brown corduroy jacket with a pair of blue jeans and some boat shoes. He's... well-built, a brick wall in a way that would get me a little hot and bothered under any other circumstances. Now that I've scanned down the length of him for purely analytical reasons I've decided that it's the ideal time to look him square in the face, because that's obviously what you do.

Disadvantage of carrying a physical portfolio: It is more susceptible to damage, ergo you will always go out of your way to protect it. Regardless of the cost. Even if it's your last shred of dignity.

The man on the platform whose morning I've ruined is like something out of a dream. A dream you'd have about a home renovation TV show host, sure, but a dream nevertheless. His eyes are a deep, lustrous brown. His hair is black, curls neatly styled, and his eyebrows have been threaded. He's clean shaven, has some acne scars and redness, though I'm not sure if that last bit is just the way his skin looks or if he's rightfully annoyed at me. He'd be a bit dreamier if he wasn't scowling but, in all fairness, that is my fault.

Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm an artist, vivid imagery is my whole thing.

The quizzical look has only intensified and oh, shit, I haven't apologised yet. I tune in again and start to speak when the announcer's voice comes on over the PA system:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the train to Cork City Centre is leaving in five minutes."

He visibly panics. Eyes widened, mouth opening, but I don't really have time to take this in, because I'm crouching on the ground to scoop up my briefcase from where I unceremoniously hurled it a moment ago. When I get back off the ground and re-orient myself, he's started speedwalking in the direction of my train- shit. Clearly also his train. I resume my rush, trying to be more mindful of my surroundings and mostly succeeding, only nearly walking into one bin. When I get to the right platform I mindlessly go for the first carriage that I see, and there's only standing room but I'm practically giddy. With about a minute to spare, I'm on my way and feeling incredibly proud of myself. Then, because the Universe has it out for me this morning, I feel someone tap on my shoulder and turn my head to face Caramel Macchiato in his brown jacket and... newly brown shirt.