(DWP) Hurricanes
Title: Hurricanes
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Author: jackiejlh
Rating: PG
Character(s): Miranda Priestly, Andrea Sachs
Pairing(s): None
Warning(s): None
Summary: Hurricanes + Miranda = Hell on Earth. | Written for the dvlwears_prada community ABC challenge prompt of 'Storm'.
Hurricanes were the bane of Andrea's existence, which seemed incredibly unfair, considering she'd lived in Ohio most of her life. This time she was with Miranda, stranded in Miami. Nothing was flying out, of course, and Miranda had balked at the idea of going to a shelter as soon as she realized that it’d be full of the citizens of Miami and not, as she'd have preferred, completely empty but for herself and maybe, just maybe, her staff. So as Andy sat on the sofa in Miranda's suite and watched the TV anchorman explain that the storm had increased in strength and, from the way he made it sound, would likely kill them all, Miranda stalked back and forth in a fit of rage. That is, until the cable went out, quickly followed by the electricity.
“Maybe we should go downstairs,” Andy said quietly as the wind howled outside. “I think it’ll be safer there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everyone is sitting on the floor down there. If you think for one moment that I’ll be joining them, you are an-”
But Andrea never found out what Miranda thought she was, because an airborne mailbox chose that moment to crash through the window. Glass flew everywhere, and the wind drove the rain into the room, instantly soaking the carpet.
“Perhaps downstairs would be better,” Miranda conceded, grabbing her bag and heading for the door, and Andrea gratefully hurried to follow.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Author: jackiejlh
Rating: PG
Character(s): Miranda Priestly, Andrea Sachs
Pairing(s): None
Warning(s): None
Summary: Hurricanes + Miranda = Hell on Earth. | Written for the dvlwears_prada community ABC challenge prompt of 'Storm'.
Hurricanes were the bane of Andrea's existence, which seemed incredibly unfair, considering she'd lived in Ohio most of her life. This time she was with Miranda, stranded in Miami. Nothing was flying out, of course, and Miranda had balked at the idea of going to a shelter as soon as she realized that it’d be full of the citizens of Miami and not, as she'd have preferred, completely empty but for herself and maybe, just maybe, her staff. So as Andy sat on the sofa in Miranda's suite and watched the TV anchorman explain that the storm had increased in strength and, from the way he made it sound, would likely kill them all, Miranda stalked back and forth in a fit of rage. That is, until the cable went out, quickly followed by the electricity.
“Maybe we should go downstairs,” Andy said quietly as the wind howled outside. “I think it’ll be safer there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everyone is sitting on the floor down there. If you think for one moment that I’ll be joining them, you are an-”
But Andrea never found out what Miranda thought she was, because an airborne mailbox chose that moment to crash through the window. Glass flew everywhere, and the wind drove the rain into the room, instantly soaking the carpet.
“Perhaps downstairs would be better,” Miranda conceded, grabbing her bag and heading for the door, and Andrea gratefully hurried to follow.