Slowly working my way through material until I am happy. Previous version lacked some detail, I think this does as well just not sure where to fit it in or to save for another story. In conjunction with the story working on the species of Stroud for the game.
That’s a wrap…
On screen, a pale, elderly human wearing a brown shirt staring at the viewers, “I don’t have a problem with criminals getting punished. In fact, I’m all for their punishment.”
“That is tonight’s final word. This is Talia Knox, signing off. See you tomorrow Stroud,” Talia, said to the camera.
“That’s a wrap,” her producer said her ear.
Pushing back from the news desk, Talia mentally disconnected her retina cam and internal microphone from the station’s systems. Dropping her on-air jacket on the chair, Talia grabbed the stack of research data-pads behind the evening news desk. Aria, her aide, handed her a cup of coffee. Taking a sip, Talia sighed with relief and summoned her pet.
Walking into her immaculately organized dressing room Talia greeted her waiting pet, “Have a good rest?”
Pet, dipped a bit; a sign she always took as yes.
“Access and collate the information on these pads,” Talia ordered Pet while she stripped off the evening news make-up. “I want a report ready for the meeting.”
An evening meeting…
Meetings always-bothered Talia, too many people telling her what she thought and what others thought about her. Wearing her sensationalist outfit, pocket lined pants, shirt, and vest, and carrying a cup of hot coffee Talia took her seat, center of the table opposite everyone else.
In a far corner a live holo of the late news played. Assistants handed producers and managers last second data pads or coffee for the meeting. Scrolling through her data-pad ignoring the growing stack in front of her, Talia formulated her plan of action.
“Everyone have the night’s information?” Senior Producer Tua’Li asked.
Before anyone could answer, “I need to get out into the city,” Talia announced.
Dead uncomfortable silence.
“Do you have a story to pitch?” A cymean producer whose name she did not know asked.
Another producer jumped in, “Your numbers are up. People like you.”
“People love you,” someone else interjected.
And another person and another person; each one louder and more insistent that behind the news desk was her future because people loved her now. Maddening. Emanating waves of frustration, Pet dipped, touching her shoulder in sympathy. Snatching her coffee of the table, Talia shoved the pile of data-pads to the ground. The noise cutting through the din.
Sipping her coffee slowly, eyeballing everyone opposite her until the dead silence reigned. “I need to investigate real stories, not read the news. I know people love me,” sarcasm lacing her words, “but anyone can be a talking head.”
“Yes, I do have stories to pitch. Starting with an series of investigative reports on the gangs of the city,” Talia started, holding up her hand stalling everyone from responding, “We have covered a lot of crime and gang news recently. I am positive the people who love me will love me reporting about gangs and criminal organizations.”
“Criminal organizations?” Someone voiced.
“Which gangs?” Another voice.
“Why not focus on something else, more…what’s the word I’m looking for?” an Senior Producer Tua’Li asked.
“The word you are looking for is safe,” Talia replied, edge to her voice, “I do not want safe,” enunciating each word.
“Talia,” her longtime producer began, “How much time will you need to bring me a proposal so we have a better idea what you have in mind?”
Pet perked up, hovering above her right ear. Sipping her coffee slowly, Talia replied, “Two weeks.”
Assistant producers conferred with producers who conferred with managers, in hushed tones, until the conversation centered on her producer.
“Two weeks,” she said.