[s] Untitled (as of yet)

Yeah, can you believe it? I finally came up with a good idea last night, and spent an hour or two just now thinking it out. What follows is merely the first few pages of what I expect (or at least hope) to be a very long project. It's not a fanfic, it's not fantasy, it's not futuristic or anything like that, so if normal fiction isn't your bag, you're better off turnin' back now.

At any rate, I'd like to get some feedback on what you'll read. I don't want to give away where I intend things to go, but instead just let you figure things out along the way. Constructive criticism is alllllllways welcome.

Without further ado. . .

_______________________________________

"Danielle, can I see you in my office for a minute? There's something that needs to be discussed."

Danielle Hardy looked up from her computer monitor into the eyes of the person that had spoken to her. It was her boss, looking somewhat sternly at her for reasons immediately beyond guessing. Personal experience served her partially well, though, since it always seemed to be something with him. Even so, she struggle to give a straight response.

"Uh? Oh, okay, I'll be there in a second." He didn't move, however, and she blushed at her apparent mistake. Just get out of your chair and go! she told herself, and her body complied. She stood up, brushing several strands of auburn hair behind her left shoulder in the process, jumping on her toes slightly as a sign of readiness. Finally, he turned around toward his office and walked away as she hurried behind.

He jiggled the doorknob a little and walked in when the path gave way, standing off to the side and holding the door open to allow Danielle inside. She held her hands together in front of her, nervously, silently dreading whatever was going to happen. When he closed the door, the normal flow of noise from the main room was swallowed by silence. The gentle hum of the air conditioning unit was the only distraction that prevented her from hearing her scream her panicked thoughts. Co-workers had led her to believe that he only allowed people into the office for interviews or for delivering crushing news. Shame, she thought, that my interview was a year ago. . .

"Please, Danielle, have a seat." He directed his arm to a plush black chair that was situated in front of an enormous oak desk. Danielle walked her hand along the back of the hair, moving around to the far side of it and noting the cleanliness of her boss' desk. The office computer, a writing utensil holder, family photo frames and a prominent bronze title that pronounced, "RICHARD ALLISON, ASSISTANT GENERAL MANAGER, ACCOUNTING" were all perfectly placed, and the wood finish was still virtually pristine. That's gotta be an administrative perk, but I should really keep my desk that clean, too. . .

"Alright, Mr. Allison. . ."

"Oh, please, call me Rick." He sat down across the desk from her, waiting for her to settle herself. Danielle desperately wanted to get the conversation rolling, but couldn't contain herself from squirming in the seat uncomfortably. She brushed her mid-length skirt with her hands and folded her hands in her lap before turning her complete attention to Rick.

"Okay. . . Rick."

"Great. Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I called you in here."

"Yeah. . .I mean, yes, you could say that."

He smiled warmly and pointed a finger at Danielle in understanding, "Mm, you're worried that I'm going to tell you some bad news, aren't you?"

"Well, uh. . ."

Rick held up his hand, "You don't need to be afraid, Miss Hardy. That's not why you're here." He used his hands then to push himself out of the chair, walking slowly to the broad window of the office.

Danielle squinted in confusion, "Okay, then why am I here?"

Rick had reached the window and was gazing out at his 41st floor view of the New York skyline, tilting his head and pausing for what Danielle considered to be effect, "Well, I've been informed from the top that they're looking for top young talent to move up the ladder and," he took a deep breath, "that you're on the list."

Danielle's eyes widened at the announcement, and her mouth likewise opened in surprise, "Me? I don't really know what I've done so special. All I do is answer phones. . ."

"Perhaps, but you handle about twenty percet more calls per day than your co-workers out there," He turned around and pointed a finger back toward the main workplace. Danielle turned her head to follow the invisible path, but still listened intently to his last words, "That's actually very good, and something that a lot of people can't do."

"Oh. . . I didn't know that."

"And if anyone has been telling you that we're downsizing, they're completely wrong," Rick walked gingerly back behind the desk and sat down again, "We have been laying off some people, yes, but not to cut costs."

Danielle lifted a hand to rub her neck warily, "Is that why Sherri was laid off two weeks ago?"

"Your phone-answering neighbor, right? Yeah, she was simply dragging down the volume of calls we take here. The company's plan, with some luck, is to hire fresh blood with your type of capabilities and potential."

"I see," Danielle said, letting the idea sink in. She felt flattered that Rick said she had "potential," but tried hard not to let on.

"They'd also like to know if you'd be willing to relocate downtown for it, so that they could see you for themselves."

"Manhattan?" She had never enjoyed the glitziest part of the city through her lifetime, mostly because she'd had belongings stolen there in unglamorous manners on more than one occassion. Slowly, but surely, she wrapped her mind around the notion and warmed up to it. The positives must outweigh the negatives, right?

"Right."

"I'd have to think about it, really."

Rick leaned back in his chair slightly, "I understand. Can you have an answer for me by the end of the week?"

"Well, I. . ." she trailed off and drew her gaze outside of the window. From the chair, only the tops of several skyscrapers and the hazy blue-grey sky were visible, but it somehow allowed Danielle to clear her mind, "Yes, Rick, I can have something by Friday."

"Great!" He propped out of the chair, sprightlier than before, and walked around the desk to meet Danielle as she stood, "If you decide to leave, I won't miss the messy work station. . ."

She held her breath for a moment, but Rick merely laughed and held out his hand, "What I will miss is the results you gave us here, without your realizing it."

She looked at his hand before obliging it with a handshake, "Thanks, I appreciate the chance!"

He shook his hand in return, nodding in approval, "Well, then, back to it, I suppose."

Danielle nodded quickly in response and pushed her hair behind her shoulders as she walked out of the office. The organized chaos of voices and chirping phones enveloped her hearing once again while she walked briskly back to her desk. She paid careful attention not to look at anyone directly in the eyes, and she restrained what would have been a full grin of joy to a subtle half-smile. As she sat back at her desk, the phone rang.

"Yep. Back to it, indeed."

I didn't have time to read it all (I promise I'll do later)
from what I've seen it looks great, keep up ! ^_^

I did have time to read it all, and I'm quite pleased with my decision to read it. Well done! But I wouldn't make that the end of chapter 1 unless it's a short story. You have a talent for providing visual imagery in your story. I could SEE what the characters were doing, and that's what makes for a great story...I can't wait for more.

10/10

good work :) how long do you imagine the whole story to be?

That's an awfully good question. As one of my professors always said last year, "As long as Lincoln's legs."

In other words, I'm gonna keep writing until I get to the end. =P

More of the same. You know what to do. ;)

_________________________________

Several miles away, 40,000 people were simultaneously erupting with cheers. Under the late afternoon sun, the New York Yankees were preparing to go for their fourth straight win over their ancient rival, the Boston Red Sox. With only a half-inning until a win, the fans knew exactly what was going to come next.

Amidst the noise, a young man in the familiar black-and-white pinstripes got up from a bench situated beyond the blue center field wall and began to throw a baseball to one of his teammates. He threw, shook his long left arm a little, caught the ball again with his glove, and rubbed his nose with the glove over and over again. He went through the procession rapidly, never changing even the slightest detail, as though he'd be doing it since the day he was born. After exactly three minutes, he took his glove off and wiped his brow with that free hand, another part of his methods, and paced back and forth on the dirt mound.

While he paced, he never focused directly on anything and never said a word. His teammates knew there was only one person allowed to break his routine, and for one reason only. While the fans around them screamed their support for the home team, the local phone rang and was promptly answered by a hefty older man in the same pinstripes. After a moment of intent listening, the older man nodded to the younger one.

The young man picked up the nod and suddenly flashed a seemingly uncharacteristic grin, "Hey, Jesse, are we on?"

The older man nodded in acknowledgment, "Yeah, Cael, it's your show now. Go get 'em!"

At those last words, the web of speaker in the stadium boomed with the combined sounds of a gong, bass drum and bass guitar. In turn, the crowd grew even louder with anticipation and the center field wall parted to allow Cael onto the field. With one last glance to Jesse, Cael's grin quickly evaporated into a scowl of immense intensity and he pounded his hand into his glove as he set foot on the outfield dirt.

The crowd went berzerk with cheering. There hadn't been any need for Cael's services in the last few days, and they devoured the chance to watch him -- their newest young superstar -- slam the door on their sworn rivals. The speakers ripped into deep and heavy guitar chords as Cael paced quickly toward the mound. He kept his eyes on the opponent's dugout, staring at each and every person there with a look that suggested You are mine.

He walked past his teammates as they took the field and snagged the baseball an umpire had tossed to him. He pulled off his glove and held it under his arm so that he could knead the seams with both hands. The stadium announcer rejoiced Cael's arrival as Cael stepped onto the dirt mound and tapped the strip of white rubber with his foot.

"Now pitching for your Neeeeeeew York Yankees, number forty, Caaaaaaaael Kellewiiiiiiiing!"

Cael merely rocked back on his right leg, then rocked forward to lift his knee high, locking both hands together in his glove with the ball in hand. In a split second, he rocked forward and planted his right foot, pulled his left arm back to throw and slung it forward to unleash a powerful fastball to his catcher. Even from sixty and a half feet away and above the cacaphony of noise, Cael could hear a clear "pop" as the ball found its intended target. He received the ball again and went through the process nine more times, squatting after the last one to let his catcher throw past him to second base.

He sprung up and snorted, grabbing his baseball back while the announcer casually told the crowd of Boston's first hitter. The crowd rained down jeers, something Cael easily ignored. Instead, he dug into the dirt with his feet and leaned over to peer into his catcher's eyes. The batter fiddled around slightly, and Cael declined two signs before he got one he liked. Ohhh yeah, he thought, Let's see about this.

He rocked through his motions fluidly, but let the ball fly from his hand a moment too soon. What was supposed to be a curveball that broke down toward his opponent's knees instead snapped straight into his opponent's back. Cael swore and threw his arms in anger at the mistake as the batter jogged gingerly up the white chalk line to first base.

"God damn it," he muttered to himself, walking around slowly in a circle on the mound as the next batter walked in, "Don't do it again. . . don't do it!"

The umpire gave him another ball, which he quickly kneaded in his left hand while leaning down to get his next selection.

Give me the fastball. . . You give me the fastball, and I will blow this guy away. His catcher obliged him with the right sign, and Cael nodded slowly in approval. He stood up straight, his hands and legs together, then lifted his right knee and rocked forward to throw.

This time, the baseball went where Cael had wanted it to go. His opponent's bat also did, too, and the ball was hurtling over the short left field wall in a matter of seconds. The Red Sox dugout spilled onto the field, eager to greet and celebrate the hero of the day at the home plate. Eight Yankees filed toward their own dugout, eager simply to get off of the field. The ninth Yankee, Cael, gazed at the blue wall in disbelief.

"I don't believe it. . . I. . . just lost us the game. . ."

"Hey, Cael," a voice called out. Cael turned and recognized it as Gabriel Massey, his catcher, "Cael, don't sweat it, man! There's always tomorrow, right?"

Cael slumped as Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder, "Yeah, I know, Gabe. Just. . . I never. . ."

"There's a first time for everything, Cael. Even blown saves."

He nodded numbly, "That curve. . ."

"They get away sometimes. You can't help it. And besides, you're a rookie," Gabe lifted his hand to tap Cael's baseball cap loose on his head, which registed a grin in response, "You had twenty in a row to start with, and that's pretty damn good."

"Good point, you win," he pulled the cap back down to his forehead, "I won't feel so bad about it."

"Good. Just stick to saying those kinds of things to the reporters later. Let's get out of here."

"Yeah," the two walked together toward the fabled Yankee clubhouse, and were nearly to the steps when a young voice called for Cael's attention.

"Hey! Mr. Kellewing, can I get your autograph?"

Cael and Gabe paused in their tracks as a group of children formed against the railing. The two shot a glance at each other, then Cael nodded before parting ways toward the children.

"Sure, guys! You got a pen?"

A small wave of cheers let out as Cael took a pen from a little boy and the cap on his head to sign. After a few signatures, Cael sighed in relief and addressed the group.

"Hey. . . Thanks, guys, for pickin' me up. I'll remember this as the best part of my day. After all, helpin' fans is just as good as helpin' my team, in my book."

I haven't read it yet, but I will get around to it. I just thought I'd say it's a lot easier to follow if you put it all in the same thread.

Keep it coming, I'm getting into these characters. Also I agree you should combine the threads

Heh, thanks. I'll remember that, and try and get someone to put these first two threads together before anything else.

Looks pretty good so far. *nods*

Yeah, I know, it's been a while. But hey, better late than never, right? This is Chapter 3, so you know what to do. ;)

___________________________________

The last few hours of Danielle's workday seemed to pass faster than any other day she could remember. There was no doubt in her mind that the prospect of promotion had certainly helped the day along, and so she swung her leather purse over her shoulder and walked toward the elevator with an obvious air of confidence.

She managed to reach the doors while they were open, several unfamiliar co-workers shuffling into the cramped space ahead of her. There was enough room for her to stand comfortably during this trip down, or so it seemed before a familiar voice called out from some distance away.

"Hey, heeeeeey, hold the door, please!" It was a blustery and excitable voice that struck fear into Danielle's heart whenever she heard it, and this was no different.

Momentarily out of breath and numb in her extremities, she looked around for some diversion or escape. Crap, no dice, she thought. The other people in the elevator stared at their watches or the walls idly, and Danielle was left with no choice but to brush her hair over her shoulder and divert her eyes to the ground, at an empty carpet space between two pairs of shoes.

The elevator chimed softly to signify its departure, and Danielle snuck a glance at the reflective doors as they began to close. For a fleeting moment, she relieved. Oh, good, he didn't make it.

That relief was summarily crushed as four large white fingers found their way around the door, prompting the doors to open again automatically. Danielle was able to see her paled expression in the door for a moment before it was replaced by the equally large body attached to the fingers. In a flash, she threw her gaze back to the floor and let her hair fly into her face.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. . . oh, hey, Danielle!"

Damn it all, she thought to herself. She looked up at the greeting and flashed a nervous smile and mouthed the word "Hi."

With no hesitation, the man squeezed into the elevator, inadvertantly pushing several people slightly with his size and rousing some quiet grumblings. Danielle felt his waist against her own, and held her hands together timidly in front of her purse.

"Haven't seen you in a few days, Danni," he piped up, "How've you been?"

Danielle looked away hesitantly. He had to call me Danni. . .

"Oh, not bad, Dave, not bad," she replied flatly, "A lot of the same old stuff. You know. . ."

"Oop, yeah, I sure do!" he chuckled, which made his body rumble. It forced Danielle to shift her weight in hopes of creating a slight bit of distance.

She sighed quietly. Dave Bannion was a big man and was equally nice, but was also very awkward. He'd also made no secret of his interest in her, and while Danielle knew he'd be a perfect match for some lucky girl, she knew it wouldn't be her.

In her eyes, there was no physical attraction to be found in Dave. He was too weighty, in her opinion, and the playful and occassionally abrasive personality didn't do him any favors. She'd tried on numerous occassions to communicate the lack of mutual interest, but he had been too oblivious to truly understand.

"What are you going to be up to tonight? Any exciting parties on the town?"

She frowned slightly at the misconception of her being a party animal, but answered firmly, "No, not tonight. I think it's just Chinese food and Letterman for me, but that's fine."

"Oh, that's a shame," Dave lamented. It was clear he was trying too hard, "You know, if you ever wanted to go out, I could recommend a place or two."

Danielle nodded slowly and pursed her lips, "Okay, Dave. I'll keep that in mind."

She looked at the doors and noticed David fidgeting a little. Poor guy, she thought, too bad he doesn't know there's no chance for him. An awkward silence passed before Dave coughed loudly, soliciting a grimace from Danielle.

"I think I'm just gonna watch the replay of the Yankees game today," Dave eventually said aloud, although Danielle wasn't sure he was still talking to her before he turned to look at her, "I heard on the radio that Kellweing blew his first save of the year. Too bad for him, I guess?"

"Who? I, uh. . . I don't really follow sports."

"Cael Kellewing. He plays for the Yankees. Young guy, a real pretty boy."

She raised her eyebrow at the last comment, "Hm. I bet the Post and the Times love him."

"It'd seem that way, huh?" he chuckled and rumbled again, "He'll be a great one, for sure!"

The elevator slowed to a stop as he finished the sentence, and again chimed softly as the doors swung open. A couple of people herded themselves out, and Danielle took a deep breath before hastily pushing her way out. The ground floor bustled with activity as people wandered here and there, but Danielle managed to find a seam in the flow and forged her way toward the main doors.

A few steps before reaching the doors, Dave called out again. Danielle held her hand on the handle before pausing.

"Have a good night, Danielle. See you tomorrow, I hope!"

She lifted her hand and waved half-heartedly before thrusting the door open and stepping out into New York City. It was going to take a long time to get home, and Danielle didn't exactly look forward to it.

That's some qualitey writing. Why don't you name the story "<i>. . . As Of Yet</i>"? Just a suggestion

It's got a theme, pr00t. :p I just haven't had any kind of flashes of brilliance yet.

The hardest part is always the title.