Have a character stuck in a closet. + If they are not actually gay, but actually trapped in a closet
"This is ridiculous," James said, banging against the wooden door of the closet. "What kind of cupboard shuts from the inside?"
"Maybe it was used for holding prisoners in," Lottie suggested half-heartedly, trying not to let her panic show.
"What, did your ancestors hold prisoners or war? Did they also help smuggle slaves while they were at it?" James shot back.
Lottie drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Maybe if she couldn't see how cramped the closet was, she wouldn't freak out about the fact it was so small.
"Are you okay?" James asked, his tone lowered.
Lottie nodded. "I'm good. You just keep trying to get us out of here."
"Are you claustrophobic or something?" He asked.
She opened her eyes again. "A little. It's not too bad. Maybe if you can find a lamp or torch or something, I'll feel a bit better."
James rummaged around in the filing cabinet they'd been searching through--still on the hunt for any sort of details about the family's financial situation--but came up empty. "I'm sorry, I can't find anything useful." Suddenly, his hands toughed something rough--the edge of a matchbox. He shook it, relieved to find that it still contained a few matches. "Wait. Okay, I'm going to light a match and see if I can find something." Even a candle would suffice at this stage, he thought.
He struck a match against the box and lifted it aloft in the hope that he'd find something better. Trying to ignore the worried look on Lottie's face, he noticed the stub of a candle sticking out of an ancient, rusted candleholder. Grabbing it from the shelf above Lottie's head, he set it on top of the filing cabinet and held the match against the wick, willing it to light.
"It won't last long, but at least it's better than staying in the dark," he said.
"Thanks," Lottie replied, wrapping her arms around herself. "I think it helps having some light, at least."
James leant his back against the door, wincing when it didn't move even a millimetre. "Does that mean that we've drawn a truce?" He asked, his tone slightly teasing.
Lottie sunk to the floor and leant against the shelves that spanned the right-hand wall. "I guess?" She said with a sigh. "I don't even remember what we were arguing about, to be honest."
James stepped over to her and lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs like he used to in elementary school.
"You'll get your nice trousers all dirty," Lottie remarked, wrapping her arms around her knees.
"I don't care," he said. "Are you sure you'll alright? Your sister will be back soon, I'm sure, and then we can get out of here."
"You mean you can't even bear the thought of being stuck in a closet with me for half an hour?" Lottie joked. James couldn't help but wonder if she really thought he felt like that. They hadn't exactly been on the best of terms since Tara had invited him to help figure out their financial situation. To say they'd gotten off on the wrong foot was an understatement.
"Truce, right?" He reminded her, tapping her hand lightly.
She drew her hand back sharply. "Whatever."
Word count: 545
"Maybe it was used for holding prisoners in," Lottie suggested half-heartedly, trying not to let her panic show.
"What, did your ancestors hold prisoners or war? Did they also help smuggle slaves while they were at it?" James shot back.
Lottie drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Maybe if she couldn't see how cramped the closet was, she wouldn't freak out about the fact it was so small.
"Are you okay?" James asked, his tone lowered.
Lottie nodded. "I'm good. You just keep trying to get us out of here."
"Are you claustrophobic or something?" He asked.
She opened her eyes again. "A little. It's not too bad. Maybe if you can find a lamp or torch or something, I'll feel a bit better."
James rummaged around in the filing cabinet they'd been searching through--still on the hunt for any sort of details about the family's financial situation--but came up empty. "I'm sorry, I can't find anything useful." Suddenly, his hands toughed something rough--the edge of a matchbox. He shook it, relieved to find that it still contained a few matches. "Wait. Okay, I'm going to light a match and see if I can find something." Even a candle would suffice at this stage, he thought.
He struck a match against the box and lifted it aloft in the hope that he'd find something better. Trying to ignore the worried look on Lottie's face, he noticed the stub of a candle sticking out of an ancient, rusted candleholder. Grabbing it from the shelf above Lottie's head, he set it on top of the filing cabinet and held the match against the wick, willing it to light.
"It won't last long, but at least it's better than staying in the dark," he said.
"Thanks," Lottie replied, wrapping her arms around herself. "I think it helps having some light, at least."
James leant his back against the door, wincing when it didn't move even a millimetre. "Does that mean that we've drawn a truce?" He asked, his tone slightly teasing.
Lottie sunk to the floor and leant against the shelves that spanned the right-hand wall. "I guess?" She said with a sigh. "I don't even remember what we were arguing about, to be honest."
James stepped over to her and lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs like he used to in elementary school.
"You'll get your nice trousers all dirty," Lottie remarked, wrapping her arms around her knees.
"I don't care," he said. "Are you sure you'll alright? Your sister will be back soon, I'm sure, and then we can get out of here."
"You mean you can't even bear the thought of being stuck in a closet with me for half an hour?" Lottie joked. James couldn't help but wonder if she really thought he felt like that. They hadn't exactly been on the best of terms since Tara had invited him to help figure out their financial situation. To say they'd gotten off on the wrong foot was an understatement.
"Truce, right?" He reminded her, tapping her hand lightly.
She drew her hand back sharply. "Whatever."
Word count: 545