300/ d. day 6

The Subway was a time of forced solitude for Victoria. A chance to ignore the ping in her ear. The methodical rumble of the cars over the tracks always brought her just to the edge of Nirvana. But not today. Having one's bathroom wall explode tends to distract the mind a bit. She had to run despite the horrible mess and nagging question of what exactly happened. What could she do? She thought to herself as she grabbed her keys, twenty minutes earlier, from the hall table and skipped down the stairwell. After all, isn't that what Reggie was for?
"Reggie." Victoria mumbled to herself with a shudder.
Within the walls of the office at The Bugle, Victoria was on top of her game. Nothing, not even an imploded wall, could distract her from the tasks and excitement of her day. No sooner had the doors opened up at Bleeker Street than the tall brunette shot from the humming car, determined to have a normal day despite the abnormal start. With a fresh reinsertion, the blue light at her right ear was blinking happily, sending digital information and, probably carcinogenic, electromagnetic pulses into her right frontal lobe. She was talking rather loudly about lunchplans as she rounded the corner and nearly bowled over a bleery eyed stockbroker.
As she crossed the street to the mid sized building she felt the usual swell of exactly the opposite emotion Henry was currently dealing with wash over her. She was home.
The opposite emotion to what Henry was feeling at that exact moment would have been elation, excitement, anticipation and purpose all rolled into one. Henry was dealing more with revulsion and nausea. With a twinge of loathing, I must admit. Though it would be many years and many more therapy sessions before Henry would acknowledge those kinds of feelings.
Henry was helping himself up from the floor of his hallway in the studio apartment just below Victorias. His bathroom was still in perfect condition-- so far as Reggie could see.
Reggie was the current reason for Henry's, uh, uneasiness. Reggie, who epitomized everything Henry thought of as filth: sweaty, fat, hairy and odorous, was currently dripping God only knows what all over Henry's hall floor.
"Well, looky here, your bathroom's got nothin' wrong with it." Reggie finally exclaimed, gesturing over the tennent's shoulder. "There's not even a scuff on the wall! When you called this morning, I thought you had some major catastrophy, er sumthin'."
Henry was jolted out of the beginning stages of his nervous breakdown. "Catass--". He blinked at Reggie with indifference as the words sank in. "Catastrophy?"
"Yeah. You were nearly hysterical on the phone: 'come quickly, something awful has happened!'. For Pete's sakes, Henry, you could have at least made it look like something happened!" Reggie waved his hand in the air, sending bits of plaster and dust into the kitchenette. Henry fought back the urge to chase after it with the dustbuster.
"Not even a scuff?" Henry straightened. Reggie's face changed to that of a Septuagenarian first attempting to use the internet. After all, this wasn't exactly where he was trying to go with this conversation...