When Journalists Attack: Electioneering (Day 1)

[anonystu]

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i will stop
i will stop at nothing
say the right things
when electioneering
i trust i can rely on your vote
-- thom yorke

The life of a journalist: the thrill of chasing the story, the craft of writing the perfect sentence, the fulfillment from being able to touch and influence people's lives.

An entire force of heavily armed guards determined to see you dead, a job in which you're expect to commit crimes with a constancy to justify that city guard, and editors who are more likely to stick a knife in your back then appreciate your work.

They didn't really mention that in the perks when you signed up for The Daily Float, but they didn't really mention election season either. You've been on call for the last week now, working all seven days of the week, at day and night, on the whim of your editor. You're not allowed to split apart from the team for more than a hour on personal business, and with the last week coming up, it's only likely to get worse. Being the third-string metro journalists, behind stars like Helena Yossini, it means you only get the crap reports.

You find yourself on the floating rock in a room in the You Sleep Well Because The Ruling Party Watches Over You Inn, near the boundary between the current allocation of territory between the Ruling Party Blue mages, and the Opposition Party Red mages. Today, in a district right across the border, your story is simple, a little smash and question mission, to interview, willing or unwilling, Alyssa Carmichael, wife of Arthur Carmichael, current Opposition Party leader of the 19th District, and also candidate for city-wide mayor, a position that has no real responsibilities, but prestige and clout to make up for it.

But, that's to happen later: it's just sunrise, and the inn, rowdy, loud, and overflowing with drunken magical effects and their even more drunk creators, is quiet. All is peaceful.

"Wake up you lousy scumsucking plague infested excuses for employees!"

Till the shrill, shattering yell of your editor, or more precisely, the shrill yell reflected through the iron gate that is Justin's property. You've never seen your editor, although you're almost certain that he's a male gnome. He communicates with you through this gate to his undisclosed location, offering criticisms, encouragement (ha!), and the more than occasional threats on your life. In exchange, you send him articles, by throwing them through the gate. He claims that he's installed a mechanical guillotine on the other end of his gate to cut off anything live that comes through: you've never tested.

He gave you a few hours off last night after successfully finding two low-ranking councilmen, their wives, and the spirits of several dead party ancestors in a compromising position, and seemed almost happy. All of that happiness seems to be long gone.

"I swear, if you don't wake up this minute, I'm going to personally get the city guard to cut you to ribbons, resurrect each part of you, and then feed you alive to my bugbear one slice at a time."

The light is just starting to creep in the window.

It's going to be a long day.

 

[Argent Silvermage]

Bambi, having had the misfortune of falling unconcious next to the gate wakes with a start and lashes out at whomever is trying to kill her. After hitting Justin a few times she suddenly realises it's just the editor (whom she has come to call Hymie.)
Oh! I'm so sorry Justin. He scared me. She says tossing her long blond tresses back and giving Justin a pouty frown. What's up Hymie?

 

[Jarval]

Justin groans as he wakes, sitting up slowly, attempting to ward off Bambi's fists.

"Oww, it's too early to start fighting." He groans, only half conscious. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and peels a sheet of notepaper from the side of his face, leaving a slightly smudged inky impression of his latest story on his cheek.

"OK, boss, OK, we're awake. What the news?" Justin calls into the gate. His gaze drifts around the room, focusing on the bottle on the table beside him. He picks it up, studies the label, and groans again. "Please tell me I wasn't drinking this muck? Although, it would explain the feeling of having just had half-a-dozen sonic spells just go off inside my head..."

 

[Sixchan]

As Sel awakens to the sounds of a screaming and shouting editor, she almost collapses back onto her bed in dissapointment. "Aagh. I was having such a nice dream too. One where a certain person was kind and friendly." She yawns, rubs her eyes, and thinks to herself, Be happy. Be positive. Don't try and kill your boss. She stands up and gets dressed, putting on the only clothes she really has available at the inn. Stretching, she wals over to the bed a few feet away from her, and gently shakes the occupier. "Elias...Elias. It's time to get up. The shouting gate is talking again."

 

[Dark Eternal]

Opening his eyes, Elias scowls briefly. He focuses on Sel, standing over him, and his expression relaxes.

"I heard him, of course. I just didn't think he was talking to me."

Sitting up, Elias runs his fingers through his long golden hair, and sighs. He glances around for a few moments, trying to remember where he set his Hat. Finding it, he picks it up, and glances back at Sel.

"After all, everyone knows elves don't sleep."

He flashes her a smile, just to prove that his sense of humor still has a pulse (bedraggled and faint though it may be), and stands up. As he puts on the hat, his form stretches slightly and shifts, flowing into something completely different. When his body stops doing impossible things, he's no longer tall, blond, or elvish; rather, he's adopted the appearance of a slightly scruffy looking dirty brown-haired human with a skullcap and a gaunt, slightly starved look to him. He takes a deep breath, prepairing himself for the kind of day this is certainly going to be.

With a slight, devious grin he calls across the room to Justin, "And you weren't drinking that muck." He hesitates a second, then adds: "You were inhaling it. I'm sure I've got another bottle, if you want one - it's supposed to be great for getting rid of hangovers."

"What's on the agenda for today, sir?", he calls to the gate.

 

[Jarval]

Justin pulls the stopper out of the bottle, and gingerly sniffs it. He looks disgusted by the smell.

"Drinking, inhaling, either way, I don't think it's going to do me any good." He responds to Elias' comments, as he recorks the bottle, before dropping it into the waste paper basket beside him.

Placing his own misshapen felt hat on his head, Justin's form shimmers briefly, before settling into a new image. Rather than a studious looking man with dark brown hair in his late twenties, Justin now appears as a bulky man with bleached blonde hair in an ill-fitting suit. He scowls at himself in the mirror, and seemingly satisfied with this new look, settles back in his chair.

 

[Argent Silvermage]

So Boss, What's the score? Bambi says leading towards the gate.

 

[anonystu]

Your editor's voice breathes out a deep sigh, one expressing not only his immense distaste for all of you, but for every living and dead being on the planet for conspiring to associate you with him.

"If you want kind and friendly, there's a nursery right down the street, Ms. Snippety Girl. I gave you almost four hours off, you should be thankful for that miracle, because this god isn't handing out any more to you lazy reporters."

He pauses, clears his throat. "Good, all done waking up? Nobody wanted to give this to your group, but Helena is planetside tracking down a story, and we need this done now. Your story interviewing Alyssa Carmichael about the upcoming election and what it's like to be a wife of someone so important to the Opposition Party and blah blah blah. It's done. Off. Killed."

"I meant that in the literal sense. We have it pretty securely that Arthur Carmichael is dead. Not just, pay a cleric dead, but complete: body burned away, ashes nowhere to found. Obviously a professional. Which means we shouldn't be sending you, but we need this story now. All of it. Who did it, why, where, and what the party is going to do. Ten hours from now. No excuses, unless you want to go back to the sports page, although I'm certain that Bambi wouldn't mind 'covering' the team again."

"There are some city guard at Alyssa's house right now. Whether they're detaining her, or questioning her, or just protecting her, we don't know. Whatever it is, find out what she knows and figure this thing out. Now. Alright, now back to you my amusing dear, let see you twist th..."

The ring grows silent. The simple magic making it seem like it's dark outside slowly fades away, leaving the bright sunlight from the floating city that's always in the sun coming in through the second-story window.

 

[Dark Eternal]

Elias looks around at the rest of his group, gauging reactions. Jumping in before anyone else has a chance to speak, he says "Ok, you heard him. This could be a lucky break for us, people - guys as far down the ladder as us don't get to cover top stories like this. We've got to wrap this story up hard, fast and tight, and we've got to look good doing it. I, for one, want to get a promotion before my eulogy.

My suggestion is we split up into two teams and head for the scene - we're going to be in a hurry, and there's less chance of attracting the wrong kind of attention if we aren't in one big group. Also, if anything happens to one team, the Float'll still have someone on site to get something while there's still something to get. I hope.

Unless anyone has any objections, Sel, you'll come with me; Bambi, you'll go with Justin..." He pauses, as he finally gets a good look at the copy editor. "Shards, man - you look like drek. You going to be up to this?"

 

[Jarval]

Justin vaguely flaps his hands at Elias' concern.

"I'll live. I've felt worse than this." He runs his fingers back through his hair, and blinks at the bright daylight now flooding the room. "I thought the sports page crack was a little unfair. But you're right, this does sound like one hell of a story."

Justin opens his briefcase and double checks his gear. "Right, who wants to cover what? Elias, you need to get to the scene ASAP. We're going to want good photos, and the guards outside the house would be a start. Unfortunately, we're not going to be able to question the diseased, as we're sans corpse. The interview with Alyssa Carmichael will be tricky to obtain, but vital. Any suggestions for how we get that?" He finishes packing his eversorted case, and snaps it shut.