A car door being slammed startles me back to full consciousness, my eyes darting around for a moment before I settle. I must have started to nod off. Glancing around to see if it was noticed, I feel immense relief when I see it wasn't.
The only real relief I've felt for the last several days.
Since the messages got worse anyway.
I flip through my note book, double checking my notes again as well as more local news clippings. Nothing new. Still the same "pranks". A few people from the families had been hospitalized. Some worse than others. But at the moment it didn't seem like permanent removal was the goal.
Moving on to my questions, double checking and triple checking to make certain they seem decent, yet thought provoking enough to ask. My eyes burn from a lack of good sleep and I close them for a moment or two to ease the sting.
"Interesting place for a nap."
Opening my eyes I see Miss Kitty, flanked by Garm and Widow. I try to give the usual warm smile, but it must be strained enough for them to notice.
"Although it's looking like you could use one," she continues, her voice a bit softer, tinged with concern as she takes a seat across from me, the other two moving to stand behind either of us as a buffer to the rest of the guests.
A sigh is all I can manage since denial feels like it'd take way too much energy, especially when the evidence against me is so blatantly obvious.
"Is um .... is everything ok? Talk to me, fam." Her hand rests on mine I had sitting on the table, giving a reassuring squeeze. I feel that relief again, though briefly.
I glance back at my note book and her eyes follow, "ah." She's been mostly keeping up, asking me about the growing situation as I moniter it. Maybe so I can have someone to talk to. Maybe to see if her and her boys can find some way to take advantage of the situation. I'd like to think it's the former.
"Yeah. Same chaos. Same calling card. Same targets." I flip through a few pages before pinching the bridge of my nose.
A door opens a ways away, one I'd been waiting for. I grab three small envelopes, signal her to wait a moment, and walk over to the man that just exited. He's not one of the attendants, so much as he's one on the ones responsible for setting up the palor.
Her brow quirks in confusion as she watches me hand him the envelopes, speak with him briefly, to which he nods and we part ways, the gentleman heading into the parlor.
A quiet sigh leaves me as I retake my seat, eyes closed. Well, at least thats done. I feel fur brush my hand and I open my eyes to see her swatting her tail at me, giving me a pointed look, urging me to explain.
"Oh. About that, it's nothing serious. Just wanting to clear the air on something."
Her eyes narrow as she looks from me, then down to my questions. Realization dawns on her and she groans, "girly pop, please don't tell me you still feel bad about the way the questions went last week. Look, I'm sure it wasn't perceived in any way, shape, or form."
She studies me for a moment before asking, "asking a repeat question happens. Misphrasing a question is no big deal either. The first is forgotten quickly, the second you can correct the next time, which you can today."
My eyes meet her's, as if to say 'theres the third issue too. The more pressing one. The full reason I'm feeling uneasy. That one, damn, question.'
"And as has been established, uncomfotable questions will always end up popping up from time to time. Anyone in their position is used to it. I don't know why your beating yourself up for-" "because I'm being congradulated for it and heckled if I don't accept the praise." "I'm sorry, the fuck?"
A beat or two, deep breath in, deep breath out. "The troll. They're still popping up. It's got to be one person responding. It's just, to particular to be otherwise. They ..... sent me a long message congratulating me on 'striking a nerve' and 'making Taipan squirm'... You know me. I avoid certain things. Poking and prodding, sure. But theres a limit. And crossing it feels bad enough, let alone the rookie mistakes to go with it. But then being praised for doing it? ..... No thanks."
"Jeeze ...," her hand gives another gentle squeeze.
"Sadly, it seems the troll doesn't like me rejecting their praise. I'm getting spam messages, emails, requests for pms. All spewing mockery and hate. Normally it wouldn't bother me, this job requires a thick skin after all... If the messages weren't getting downright vile. And ..... unnerving. It's got me .... paranoid. I guess."
My last few words getting quieter as talking seems to have taken some of my energy. Things are silent for a moment, besides the sounds of other guests milling about and chatting.
Then, "hey. You're not in this alone. We got you."
Looking between her and the other two, I can tell she means it, and that they agree with her.
"And I get it. Why you wanna appologize, kinda. Your a very considerate person. I'm happy this job hasn't taken your empathy from you. And, though I think it's not a big deal, I won't judge. I hope it eases your mind and makes your intentions clear. I do gotta say though, anyone thinking you're trying to start stuff or be crude is either blind, deaf, or dumb."
That gets a chuckle from me, and a genuine smile for the first time this evening. "Thank you. Really."
"Hey, you know me. Can't be lettin anyone mess with anyone I care about."
The parlor doors open a few moments later, drawing everyone's attention.
We file in, same seating as before. Scanning the interviewees area I notice three specific chairs with the small envelopes, one each, on them. One stressor off my chest.
Checking out the other seats, I start to notice a few others with small letters too. If I had to guess, fan mail of sorts.
It takes a few moments more than usual for them to join us. Miss Kitty offers to let me rest my head on her shoulder, that she'll wake me when they show up. I entertain the idea briefly for a moment before turning it down. I'd rather try to keep up a professional air if I can and being out cold when the they arrive, doesn't strike me as that.
When they start to fill in, I glance over my questions once more, my nerves easing further as things seem to be, thankfully, going as I'd hoped.
If at any point during the seating, the letters are read, I pretend not to notice, glancing back through more clippings, wanting to seem like everything is as usual, casual and at ease. Although, possibly glancing up and making eye contact may occur, to which Ive reminded myself to nod politely before going back to note checking.
The letters in question, reading as follows:
I've written this to try and set something right, however minor or majorly I've erred. To put it more bluntly, I would like to apologize.
It doesn't take a skilled journalist to notice when something that's been asked has a negative reaction. I try to pride myself on not dredging into topic that the person I'm questioning would not feel to comfortable answering just to get a story.
Ironic given the settings of these interviews and whatever occupations of the interviewees may be. Infact a small amount of discomfort is almost expected, depending on the topic.
But the other week ... that wasn't what I'd been expecting. And it didn't sit right with me.
So as odd as it seems, as ironic as this is, the empathetic side of me wanted to at least apologize for the taboo subject of one of my questions last week. Any unfavorable reactions was never my intent.
I apologize. Truly. I don't ask for anything by saying this besides the hope that the question didn't leave a bitter taste in your mouth or tarnish my reputation towards you in these interviews. Given everything thats been publisized lately, the last thing I wanted to add was more stress of any sort.
Hoping you have a lovely day,
Questioning begins, nothing amiss, no ensuing drama, besides whatever fuss is caused by the questions that is. Until once more, my turn.
I'm not sure how, but I manage a bit of an energy boost to hopefully help things flow like normal, "good afternoon, gentlemen, Boss. I wanted to start by saying thank you once again for another invite to such an informative occasion."
"It should come as no surprise at this point that my questions will be for The King, Nightshade, and Taipan. What can I say, the readers adore you."
A soft chuckle from a few around me as I continue, "My first question is a repeat from my last visit, the reason being that I'd not been very clear that it'd been meant for all three of you, not just Taipan. And so, to The King and Nightshade, have you ever considered role play? If so, what would be, or is, your go-to scenario? It can be lewd or wholesome."
A bit of murmuring, a few giggles. Seems the other didn't mind it being asked again.
"For my next question, this will be for all three of you. We all tend to dream big or fantastical as a kid. When you were a kid, was there something you wanted to do later in life either as a job or a hobby? No answer is too crazy."
A few more murmurs, a bit more of a buzz going around before it settles and I continue, "my last question is once again, for all three of you, gentlemen. We can gain inspiration or be influenced by any number of things in the media. Was there ever a moment that something in some form of media, be it a book, a movie, a play, or any other form, left a lasting impression on you or affected your way of thinking? If so what was it, and how and why did it do so?"
A few ohs and whispered guessing follows. Heres hoping the answers would be as interwsting as the subjects answering them.
Vil closed his letter with grace. “Apology accepted, though not needed.” he said with that elegant smile of his. “Being touchy on some sort of topics is only natural, for someone who’s not used to the spotlight. The moment we sit here, in this parlor, it’s like a game of tell-not- show. Your questions don’t do any harm to us and neither our answers do to you. It’s all fun and games in the end…well, for me at least.”
Both Jamil and Leona burned the man with a glare but didn’t add anything to the fire already sparked.
Leona took the word first, grinning playfully. “You’re safe this time, erycine,” he commented with a head tilt towards Jamil. “I did consider it a couple of times, but it needs the right people to be enjoyable. Simple hookups won’t do, and first-timers might be too rigid or scared to go all the way in. Paying a call girl for certain activities isn’t ideal either—they bill you quite salty these days.”
The small joke he made raised a few chuckles from the male audience.
“I’d say my go-to would probably be the secretary/boss scenario. It’s classic, doesn’t involve weird age gaps that could get one potentially arrested, and the power dynamic can swing both ways if one would want to spice things up a bit.”
“It was to be expected that an egomaniacal caveman like you would prefer settings from an R-rated B-movie,” commented Vil, face scrunching in displeasure.
“You lack originality and real class. My answer includes two types of roleplay, both can be either carnal or not. The mysterious elegant masquerade, anonymity allows to become entirely different people, flirting and seducing as if meeting for the first time; and the Dance Instructor, providing close guidance on rhythm, positioning, and the importance of feeling the music.”
Leona scoffed at the blond’s answers, letting a whispered ‘pathetic’ to slip past his lips, unheard by most.
The second question made them ponder on it longer than usual.
This time Vil answered first. “I could say the dream little me had, has already become reality. Like my father I yearned to be in the spotlight, be on covers and products that sell for entire salaries. Like all dreams it required sacrifice and time and effort. I’d say I accomplished that.”
“Little girly pop always dreamed of being a plastic barbie doll: fake. Just like the beauty standards it engraved and demolished so many little girls.” spat Leona with a grin shifting more toward cruelty than jest.
“And what was yours, mangy stray? Being the absolute king of brainless monkeys that play in the mud all day?”
“Being the head of the family was not a dream, it was a certainty. I knew I would be sitting on that chair one way…or the other.” replied Leona, leaving purposely an ominous pause in between his words. “What I dreamed of as a child was to be a bursar. Silly, I know. But you can’t grow a plant if the soil is devastated by pests and drought. You need to work on the soil first if you want to harvest something edible.”
Lilac and emerald clashed, burning the other with glares and studied glances. This evening more than others they seemed to be at loggerheads, for some reason.
Jamil was the one to speak last. His eyes had that tinge of sadness, like he was remembering something he couldn’t grasp anymore.
“I wanted to be an artist. You know, painting, sculptures…giving life to something with my own hands. But those kinds of things are expensive and time-consuming. Not worth it in the long run.” he answered, his voice so quiet and laced with something grievous, that your heart squeezed for a moment.
“Last one I’d like not answering it, if you don’t mind.” he said again, referring to your last question. “It’s not a touchy subject, it’s just…very personal. But if you want something still, yes, it did shape the way I think and it’s pretty recent too.”
A warm half-smile lifted the side of his lips, a gesture that made a few women in the public swoon as it was so natural yet rare for the young man.
“The Usual Suspects.” said both Leona and Vil in perfect sync—thing they seemed disgusted about once they realized it.
“I love that movie. Truly a directorial masterpiece,” spoke Boss, chiming in uninvited in the conversation. “A mastermind criminal that not only masterfully deceives and terminates the people who wronged him, but also manipulates an entire police station with improvisation and details that are almost minuscule at first glance. A superb master of deception.”
The silence provoked by Boss’ unprompted response left the audience in a stunned silence, enough for them to speak again.
“The veiled concept of "appearances can be deceiving," translated into the classic moral that the worst criminal can hide in whoever you least expect, even a slightly silly-looking cripple.” Boss giggled mirthfully. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to steal your spotlight, gentlemen.”
“No need,” replied Leona. “You perfectly conveyed what, I believe, we were both thinking.”
“Indeed.” added Vil, eyeing the black clothed person with furrowed brows.
You suspected they were, much like you and all the crowd of journalists, a bit creeped out by Boss and their sudden vocalization of their favourite movie.
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