Participants:
Also:
| Scene Title | Sensationalism of HAZMAT |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When Studio K's intern is called into the editing room, he finds the Producer to be a little under the weather. Maybe those HAZMAT suits aren't the sensation the show biz people claim them to be. |
| Date | May 12, 2011 |
«Devon Clendaniel to editing room A please.»
The loud speaker is barely ever used for summons but for some reason the phone at Bradley Russo's desk is unmanned, it's likely the poor boy is already being run ragged by errands. Or he could be getting a drink of water at the cooler. Either way, Dirk's voice sounds rather docile and polite as the request is put out, something not normal for the man.
«Devon Clendaniel to editing room A please.»
Of course it's repeated, just in case the boy didn't hear it right the first time. It's still fairly early in the afternoon, it's possible that his services might be needed for a coffee run. Usually that's Kincaid's job, mostly because the assistant producer has a professional coffee machine in his private office. It's been rumored around the studio that the barristas at Starbucks are jealous of the quality of the coffee that comes out of Kincaid's machine.
The editing room has been closed for almost a full day, no one has been seen going in or out but Dirk's been posted at a little station just outside which means that Kristen is probably inside. The blonde executive assistant has a laptop balanced on one knee and is lazily typing, the earpiece he's wearing is connected to it via Bluetooth, it's probably how he's calling out for the intern.
There's never time for a break at the water cooler, not for the intern-slash-gopher boy. He's usually seen rushing through the studio if he isn't on an errand or series of errands. Lucky for Dirk's summons, he's in the studio at the moment, actually just returned from a dry cleaning and bagel run. He suppresses a groan for the calling, instead muttering a 'Yeah, be right there,' as he continues into his mentor's office. The goods are delivered, bag of bagels left on the desk and dry cleaning hung on the back of the door before he goes to determine the next round of activities.
It isn't too long after the second announcement that Devon's finding his way through the halls to the editing room. A knock follows once the intern's reached the door, but only a couple of seconds are allowed to pass before he pushes open the door and steps inside. "You called, your excellency," he says quietly, pushing the door closed behind him.
Dirk didn't even stop the intern on his way past, a small wave toward the door is really the only acknowledgment the boy receives for his prompt appearance. Once it's closed, the glorified secretary goes back to whatever he was doing before he was given the directive to call for the intern. If the betting pool were to make a game of it, the likely choices would be a) surfing pornography b) pick up chatrooms c) both a and b d) tweeting and checking other tweets e) actually doing his job.
One of them would be correct.
Inside the editing room is like a furnace. Kristen, seemingly unbothered by the heat is sitting in a long sleeved tee and jeans, something a little unusual for the middle of her work week. Her hair is pulled into a simple messy ponytail, like she just tumbled out of bed, and her makeup seems to be missing completely. "Devon, good to see you. Take a seat." She points to the only other chair in the room, which seems to be right beside her. Coughing lightly into her arm, she straightens it again and studies the screens in front of her. The images on them are different views of a family with one member missing… the mother.
A wary look is passed at Kristen, one of Devon's brows arching upward. He can't recall the producer ever claiming it was nice to see him. But it's unquestioned, along with the state of the room. Unconsciously he tugs his tie loose at his neck, though. He begins to sit in the appointed chair, his eyes casting toward Kristen again with a definite frown coming to his expression.
Changing his mind, he remains standing, look passing away from the woman to the images on the screens. "You… you alright, Ms. Reynolds," Devon asks, a hint of nervousness touching his tone. "That is… You called. Is there something you needed?"
"Yes, I need an opinion," she says as she attempts to stifle another cough. The little snorts that come out of her nose and mouth would definitely be laughed at by the man outside the door, inside she has no worries. Once she's calmed, she keeps staring at the screens, pointing to one in particular. "Meet the Hewitt family. This is Justin and his three children; Colin, Christine, and Maryann. Can you tell me what's missing from that picture?"
It's only then that she turns to glance at the intern. It's hard to say what she usually looks like without a fully made up face, without makeup the olive bruises around her eyes betray weariness. It's likely attributed to the rest of her appearance, uncaring.
When the producer begins coughing again, Devon's attention returns to her, the frown deepening slightly. "The mother," he answers without giving it much thought. The answer was already in the description she'd given and he'd had a look at the images on the screen. "Ms. Reynolds…" The teenager hesitates, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth. A glance goes toward the door, considering calling Dirk in though what the assistant could do is beyond him.
"You… Did you sleep here or something," he asks, slanting another look toward Kristen. "If… if you need a place to sleep, you could ask anyone here to put you up, I'm sure."
"Don't be an idiot," the producer snaps back quickly, her voice taking on a tone that could very easily be taken as unfriendly. "I own the studio, of course I have a place to live." Shaking her head, she waves a hand dismissively to the young man before returning her attention back to the screen. The sneer of disgust on her face doesn't disappear but it's not aimed at him anymore. "Sorry, forget I said that… I'm just coming down with a little cold."
Picking up a pencil, she points to the picture of the man and three children whose ages may range from early to late teens. "Justin's wife works at the Arthur Kill Correctional Facility, I had an interview with her scheduled for the Advocate. By the time Dirk and I got there to go over some contractual items, she was gone." She turns to look at Devon again, the sneer turning to a nasty smirk. "Can you guess where she went?"
The teenager's eyes roll at the outburst. Unintentional, but perhaps forgivable given his age. "Doesn't hurt to ask for help outside of work things, if you need it," he murmurs, far more genially than his expression. "If you're sick, you should probably be home and resting, not here working. I'll ask Dirk to call you a car and order some soup— "
The rest, whatever else Devon had been about to say is cut off as he follows the pointing back to the picture. "She's missing, why would you need me," he asks the less obvious question. Then, "Wait, what? Where were you?" As his attention turns from the image to the producer, he shifts a half step back yet making it not a retreat. "…Where'd she go?"
“I’m not hungry,” Kristen replies with a wave of her hand. “Besides, soup is what you give to sick people, this is a little cold, nothing more.” Still, a glance is passed to the door where the man in question is probably behind right now, if he hasn’t found something else to occupy his time.
“Staten Island, at the Hewitt’s home,” she’s a little too nonchalant and for once since his arrival, she’s not bothered by the light cough that’s been plaguing her. “Justin wouldn’t say where she went, he looked a little scared though. Christine and Colin seemed to be as skittish as their daddy dearest…. Maryann was the most helpful. She watched mommy being taken away in a black van by people in masks. From everything she said, their suits fit a low level HAZMAT description. Then again, children are prone to exaggeration.”
“Yeah,” Devon says slowly, an um following. His eyes scout toward the walls, a look going over his shoulder behind him in search of a first aid kit. Those usually have masks, right? Something to put over one’s face usually to avoid blood spatter, but it would suffice in this situation. “Ms. Reynolds, I really think you should go home and rest. Or…” Something. He’s not really sure what the protocol is for dealing with sick people.
Taking a step back toward the door, not to escape but stick his head out to snark at Dirk in hopes he’ll go find a first aid kit, or something to be used as a mask, Devon continues to maintain a rather calm demeanor. “You… You’ve heard the news, right?” It’s a stupid question, he’s fairly certain the producer is up on local events. “You should just… see a doctor, then go home and sleep. For a week. And drink lots of fluids.”
Dirk doesn’t really respond to the impolite request of his time and effort. Giving Devon a couple of raised eyebrows, he shrugs and mutter, “You’re the intern, get it yourself.” Then it’s back to surfing the web or whatever it is that he’s doing.
Kristen just rolls her eyes at the question. “Kid, I don’t hear the news… I make it. This is a breaking news flash, if you’re going to have any success, you have to get the story. I got the story. It’s heart breaking, it’s got— “She’s interrupted by another long series of coughs, this time she manages to catch most of them in a tissue. When she finally manages to catch her breath again, she just stares at Devon for a long time before shaking her head. “Where was I again? Oh yeah… Heart breaking, terrifying, and dangerous.”
Devon cringes when that coughing picks up again, lips peeling back to expose teeth and eyes shooting another look toward Dirk. “Yeah, well I’m reporting to you now,” is said to Kristen as the intern’s attention returns to the producer, “you’re going home.” Usually timid around the woman, or at least more amenable to her presence, his tone now takes on more of an assertiveness. He steps back through the doorway to confront Dirk, holding a finger toward the woman to stay any further movement or talking.
“You,” the teenager says to the assistant, still in that take-control mindset, “are going to hold all of Ms. Reynolds’ calls and then spray down this room with as much Lysol as you can get your hands on. She’s got a cold or… the plague or something, but she’s going home.” Reaching over the man’s desk, Devon gathers up a wad of tissues which are offered to Kristen when he steps into the editing room again. “C’mon. I’ll call you a cab. And… you can email me the notes for your story. I’ll see that Mister Russo gets them.”
Dirk lets loose a snort of a laugh and just shakes his head. He doesn’t move from his spot to follow any of the teenager’s orders. “Kid… You have soooooooooo much to learn about how things are done here.” He folds the screen of his laptop down and sets it aside for the moment, finally stretching to his full height of five feet and a few inches. “You should get out of that room though, you wouldn’t want to catch her cold. She’s been coughing most of the night and all morning.”
Meaning, Kristen probably did spend the night in the editing room.
While Dirk maintained his post outside the door.
Taking the offered tissues, Kristen wipes her nose with one of them and lays the rest of them to the side. “You’re over reacting, it’s a cold, I’ve worked with worse before. Now— I need to get back to this story. I need to pop some danger into it…” With the open door, she has a clear line of sight to her assistant and she snaps her fingers. “Dirk, I need you to come up with a good conspiracy theory involving men in HAZMAT suits kidnapping mothers. Devon, if Russo has the time, see if he can track down some of his contacts, I want another angle on this. While you’re at it, get Kincaid too… He might have a few good ideas.”
Dirk isn’t given the satisfaction of a verbal response. No, Devon stoops to giving him a salute, with one finger. And without turning away from Kristen.
To the producer, the intern’s brow furrows as she continues speaking and denying that anything is possibly wrong. “The conspiracy is easy, Ms. Reynolds. They reported the flu at that facility a few days ago.” He keeps his tone even, still meant to brook no argument though he’s refraining from pushing the woman. He’d rather direct her thinking and deciding she should go home than have to resort to carrying her out or worse. If anything could be said to be worse.
“It’s… Are you…” Bringing up one’s evolutionary status is never an easy thing. And while it seems at least some of those in the studio do have the expressive gene that gives them powers beyond normal human ability it’s still one of those things. Devon sighs and folds his arms over his chest. “Maybe I should just call an ambulance. Better safe than sorry. It could be pneumonia.” Safer to err on the side of caution, both regarding the producer’s SLC expressiveness and whatever plague she’s got.
“Zombie Christ on a popscicle stick, Clendaniel, overreact much? She’s got a cough, not even any congestion.” Dirk’s hand rises in the air and he swipes it down as he turns his back on the teen. The assistant rounds the corner and out of sight, it’s apparent that he’s still around simply by the sound of his shuffling as he tries to get comfortable again.
Right after Devon suggests the ambulance there’s a cough. A large wet cough that echoes through the little room.
It’s not coming from the producer, rather, someone just outside the door did a spittake.
“You call an ambulance for this and you can find yourself a new mentor,” Kristen states as she turns back to the monitors. Not that she can fire the kid as Russo’s assistant but she can make it quite difficult for him to get into the building if he wishes to report for work in the morning. “Anyway, that flu story is old news, which is why I’m not following that trend. We’re going for human interest here. So the CDC quarantined a jail… Nobody’s going to care about the death of some prison inmates. But…” she pauses to give the teen a smirk and lifts her chin up at him, “…if those three kids were to kick the bucket or something like that— “
The rest is left unfinished.
“Ew.” Devon glances over his shoulder, nose wrinkled and one side of his mouth drawn back in a look of mild disgust. “I think…” But it’s not said what he thinks, instead he looks back at Kristen and listens to what she’s saying. Not for the newsworthy information but something to use as a counterargument.
“Ms. Reynolds. What if you were to die?” It’s a morbid thought, and Devon can only hope the implications and concern for that possibility are present in his voice. “They’re saying this flu is like the H5N10 that affects the Evolved. It was really bad this last winter and if this is anything like that… Plus, listen to what you’re saying. Those in HAZMAT suits took this woman away, and quarentined the prison. Just… stop thinking about the story and consider the facts. Please.”
“Well, the HAZMAT suit thing was more sensationalism but she was taken,” she counters lifting one of her legs up to cross over the other at the knee. Her foot is clad in nothing more glamorous than a two dollar flip flop from a chain supermarket.
Her dark brown eyes slide to give Devon a narrow eyed sidelong glance and she sucks at her teeth in a noisy squeak. “I am never going to die. It doesn’t fit into my production or viewing schedule… Now if you’re going to spend the afternoon being a mother hen, why don’t you make yourself useful and fetch me another latte. I want an extra large non fat, no foam, soy caramel flavored one from that place down the street.” Never mind the fact that there’s something fitting that same description on the upper corner of the console. Judging from the ribbons of cream that have separated from the rest of the coffee, it probably went cold hours ago.
“I have my doubts about that,” Devon says quietly. Though it’s unclear whether he means Kristen’s perceived immortality or the sensationalism of HAZMAT suits. “Yeah, you’ll get your latte,” he continues as he moves backward through the door. It’s pulled shut after he’s back in the hall, leaving the woman to her privacy and the intern to wonder. After staring at the door for a moment he steps over to the desk that Dirk had inhabited just a few moments before. Some searching rewards him with paper and a magic marker. Several strokes of ink on the blank sheet and a piece of tape later and he’s got a sign sticking to the door.
Abandon Hope All Who Enter Here - Producer Inside
Leaving it at that, and hoping people will heed the warning despite its intended humor, Devon moves away from the editing room. He needs to find someone, someone with the power to actually do something. Even if it isn’t a flu, Kristen shouldn’t be here working and risking infecting everyone else. Maybe he will call the paramedics, if he can’t locate one of the other studio employees.