kincaid_icon.gif russo_icon.gif

Scene Title Divas
Synopsis Media hosts are such divas.
Date November 24, 2010

Dorchester Towers — Russo's Apartment

"Stella," the beloved black SUV, "is toast. It's effing cold outside, and frankly, K, I'm not calling a cab." Russo had chuckled into the phone. "In short, I'm not coming in today; I've decided to hibernate for the winter. You'll see me when we film next." He'd been blunt, to the point, and avoidy, mostly because he doesn't feel like doing the promo shots scheduled for today. Of course, Kristen, in all of her ingenuity had insisted on sending someone to pick up the host; she had no intention of laying waste to their current resources. She'd warned Brad to be ready; he'd thought it an idle threat.

He hadn't bothered to put on one of his suits, shave, or even change into something remotely respectable. In fact, Russo, in all of his glory, is wearing flannel pyjama pants (no print though), a white v-neck t-shirt, and a green housecoat that he hasn't bothered to cinch at the waist. The glass of amber fluid grasped in his fingertips is swished around in a circle while he sits back in his easy chair, channel changing between three different news programs. At work or not, the man is a workaholic, and truly has no reason not to be.

Kincaid's knock at the door shouldn't have come as a surprise, yet the mysterious sound of a visitor has the host's eyebrows knitting together as he opens the door. "Heeeeey… so… she wasn't kidding…" His lips press together before he brings the glass to them again. "You're like the March Hare to her Mad Hatter, aren't you?"

"While she does seem to have a surprisingly jesting side, she doesn't joke about productivity," Kincaid says with a softening smile, amused at the unpresentable appearance on the host of the show. Then again… "You could do a show dressed like this one day. You'd certainly throw people off, make your viewers more at ease and think you're more like them— then again you'd lose the respectable shine, at the same time. Can't have both."

And respectable shine is one of the things that the other Producer would go more for, he's sure.

"I'm not a Hare, but she is more than a little mad. Not sure about the hats…" There's a glance at his watch. Even if he's not a hare, he's concerned about time— especially considering who is likely tapping her foot counting the minutes! "Do you think you can get ready to go?"

"Yeah, K is off her rocker," Russo opens the door a little further to let the Producer inside. He steps aside and offers a little shrug; the apartment is sparsely decorated, and Brad lends his silent apology as a result. Blank white walls make it seem more clinical than homey and cream coloured carpet only continues that blank feeling of nothingness the apartment brings. The walls are near-bear, the couch is too small for the living room, and the ridiculously tiny kitchen table only has two— too small for it chairs. All-in-all, the house appears more like transient housing than an expensive apartment.

His nose wrinkles as his chin drops to his chest. "What? This is unacceptable attire for work?" with a chuckle and a dimpled grin he meets Kincaid's gaze. "I don't think I can go anywhere until…" he traipses back into the kitchen with silent (old man) slippered steps. "…until I make breakfast. How do you like your eggs? I think fritadas. Have you ever had one? I'm tell you…" he opens the fridge and pulls out three eggs which he attempts to juggle in quick succession— one cracks on the floor, causing the host to wince.

"I think my apartment is better than yours and I know I don't get paid more than you," Kincaid says rather bluntly as he follows into the 'apartment'. Might as well be a shoe. A clean shoe, but still a shoe. "But I guess being single means you don't have a woman around to nag you about pictures on the wall, and all that other stuff women are good at. Instead you just get a nag at work…" And broken egg on the floor.

Without even thinking about it, he reaches for a towel, to help clean it up. "You should juggle something that doesn't break next time— but fritadas sounds reall good." Either he's had them, or he doesn't want to argue with the boss' pet anchorman over eggs and breakfast!

"Ha," Russo glances at the walls again with a shrug, "Just haven't had time to do anything with this place," four years later. The egg is cleaned up with a paper towel and the shell promptly put into the garbage. "Eggs are great for juggling though. I used to be able to juggle a bunch of them at once."

"Anything you're allergic to?" not that it seems to matter at this point as Russo reaches into the fridge again and takes out zucchini, onion, mushrooms, mozzarella cheese, and parmesan cheese— all to be chopped and built into a frittata.

"So how did you draw the short end of the stick on this task?" he asks while chopping the vegetables in turn.

"You got out of practice," Kincaid teases the boss, moving back into the doorway of the kitchen so that he's not in the way. There's not a lot of space for the two of them, after all. To the allergies, he shakes his head. Either he's not allergic, or he hasn't found anything yet, as he folds his arms across his body and tilts his head to the side to watch the cooking.

Single men have to know how to cook, unless they want to eat the same things over and over… Noodles are a single young man's friend.

"I'm the new kid in the studio, so I'm sure she'll toss me at all the jobs that she doesn't want to do herself. Though I did offer when I heard what the job was. It's better than some of the jobs she could give."

"Yeah… she has that tendency with newbies. Price of success or something I guess," Russo whisks the eggs. "Liking it at least?" Kincaid is shot a somewhat grim half-smile. "The first while is pretty intense. At least… from what I can tell. She's always been like that though, even when we were just grad students running a radio show."

Shortly thereafter, he's clucking his tongue. "You know the trick to a good frittata? Lots of whipped eggs. Makes them light and fluffy. Which just tastes better." Or something. "What kinds of jobs does she throw at your types anyways?"

"I always added a bit of milk," Kincaid offers as his special secret to making his eggs a little more fluffy. "Extra whipping is a definite, but milk always seemed to make it lighter, I guess." Yes, he definitely knows with frittatas are, and has possibly cooked them himself. Though he's definitely not going to offer. One cook, one kitchen. Just like Kristen is the cook of the kitchen known as the show.

"Just the normal stuff— watching shows to make sure that we're up to date on what others are doing, so we can get ratings jumps by doing unique things. That show with Varlane and the Mayor certainly was unique." And it's up there with one of their better shows. "Though I have to ask… how much did you have to drink that show?"

"Yeah, it's true. Light and fluffy~" Russo virtually sings as he opens the fridge again to pluck out a carton of milk which is promptly opened and then smelled. Deciding it's okay, it's abandoned to the counter while the host-turned-cook goes about his task of chopping.

"That was a good show! I'd wanted to get Lockheart on for awhile, but honestly, I couldn't have asked for a more perfect storm." The knife, like the milk, is abandoned to the counter, set down on it at the question. There's a slight curl of his lips at the question before he offers a slight shake of his head. Some lies don't hold up in courts let alone kitchens, but he'll dance around the issue like the expert alcoholic he is, "Didn't you get the official byline. Apparently I don't drink anymore." The smile turns a little more ironic as he plucks the knife from the counter again.

Rather than give him a disbelieving glance, Kincaid just shakes his head and smiles in response. It's less ironic, but similar. "And offically my eyes are blue," he speaks, as that smile creases his eyes— which are most certainly not blue in color. They're such a dark brown they could be confused with black, in fact.

"Either way, it may have made for a better show, but I need to learn more queues cause the last thing I want right now is to get fired. Having a job is important to me." After a moment, that smile fades a bit. "Especially in this market." Always about the market, right?

"I'm sure the world would be a different place if life matched the official byline. Probably a better place. But then, that would assume people always tell the truth," the knife is returned to the counter with all of the chopping finished.

"K isn't as hard-assed as she appears," Brad pours some milk into the bowl to be whisked with the eggs. Again, these are supremely whisked complete with that irritating scratching noise at the bottom of the bowl. "She's actually a hardcore softie at her core, she just needs to loosen up. Besides, I don't think you'll have much of a problem keeping the job. Have you seen our ratings lately?" He readies a pan on the stove for the frittatas. "Even the critics are suggesting I got my bite back," oddly these words are met with a small grimace. If the critics only knew his bite consisted of a glass of whiskey life would be so much different.

"Everyone lies about something," Kincaid agrees with that, showing that the world could never be all about the byline in truth. There's always a byline added on to everything. A truth hidden under the missconception.

"I've noticed there's more to her than the tough exterior, but I think she needs that. To feel in control. I like being in control myself, so I understand it." Who doesn't want to be in control? "Our ratings are up— I think we should do more stories on the Humanis First stuff, too, but I'm not sure how to pitch it to Kristen yet. Do you know anyone who's been affected by Humanis First that might be willing to talk about it?"

Egg is added to the frying pan along with the vegetables and cheese. "Humanis First, eh?" Russo turns from the pan to look at the producer with a smile creeping over his lips, "I'm sure Varlane would have something to say about it." The dimples in his cheeks crater deeper with an unspoken mischief. "I can't say I know anyone directly effected, but" he whistles, "seems like we could jack up the ratings if we built a panel around it. Three people affected by it and perhaps three public figures that sport anti-evolved sentiments. I wonder if Lockheart would ever feign to come back on…" He winks before turning back to his eggs. "You know much about Humanis First?"

"If you want to pitch something to K, make it as topical as possible. So something about the riots and Humanis First potential repercussions blah blah blah… make sense? And if you can tie in how Magnes Varlane might react well, you're probably gold. I swear that woman would make him host if I didn't have a contract," there's a teasing edge to the words as the pan is removed from the stovetop.

"I somehow doubt Varlane would survive his own show long," Kincaid says with a laugh, perhaps implying the young man would get himself assassinated for his views. "I know a little. I've never been attacked by them, but I knew people who were. I'll see if I can round up two people to join Varlane on the panel, or three in case Varlane gets smart and decides to keep his mouth shut."

But who could get brought in for publicly Human First sentiments?

"I kind of imagine this is how the people in the sixties felt, when they wanted to do shows about the Klan, but they couldn't get people. But at lest the Klan wore masks, so some people could anonymously talk. Do you think we could put out a request for someone in Humanis First to speak anonymously over streaming video with obscured voice?"

"We can probably put a call out. I can't see any terrorist organization in the country that wouldn't take that opportunity. Seriously, why wouldn't we try?" The question is directed to the eggs that Russo is plating rather than Kincaid. "Besides, I know K has some… questionable connections, goes with the territory and success in the business. I mean, we could put out a call or ad or whatever and ask through the grapevine. It could work." One of the plates it passed to Kincaid along with a fork in tow. "Just think of what a ratings dream that would be."

"It'd be a show for the decade, which is big since the decade has only just begun," Kincaid says with a smile, perhaps pleased with his idea being given a good reception by the face of the show. Now he just has to brace himself to present it to the brains of the show… The fork is used to section off a bite before he tastes it, nodding in approval at all the breakfast.

Once he finishes, he adds, "I figure there could even be a follow up radio show for it, too. Double the ratings."

"Yeah, I can imagine the spillover would be immense. Make it a call in show— anyone can call in and comment, giving rise to more controversy. Any uneducated Tom, Dick, and Harry with a television and a landline could call in." Russo forks a bit of egg and also nods at the breakfast.

After swallowing, his grin grows. "And if one of the panelists loses it on the air? You just might win an Emmy."

"The show would deserve it," Kincaid says with that same smile, though there's a hesitation in his eyes, as if he has more to say on it, but he covers that by eating. Can't talk and eat at the same time. Once he's done with a few mouthfulls, he says, "I'll have to run both ideas by Kristen— and see if Spencer will agree to do a follow up call in radio show. I'm sure he will, but you never know." Sometimes the face and the voice of shows can be divas. Or whatever the male version of the word is.

”We work hard for our money,” Russo agrees as he polishes off his eggs. “K will go for it. She’s a shark. I would know.” And so is he, although he’d rather the public at large and everyone around him believe otherwise. His plate is relegated to the sink. “You think they’d take these promo photos with me in my pyjama pants and housecoat? It’s the uber comfy look. I mean, obviously I should shave…”

"Maybe after we win the Emmy I can help talk her into letting you do a fire-side relaxed show all in your PJs and a robe," Kincaid says, still grinning before he finishes his breakfast and hands over the empty plate at the end. "But for now, you should shave and get into your usual clothes so I can get you to K before she starts calling my cellphone asking where you are."

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