Introductions (Part 1)
Posted: Wed Mar 29, 2006 12:34 pm
The scene was no more than semi-organized chaos, as if a tribe of ants were rushing to find, consume, and carry bits of food back to the hive. Except there was no hive, thankfully, because the Queen Ant would have died long ago from starvation while her selfish army of children engorged themselves.
There were, however, entirely too many doughnuts, bagels (for the more health-conscious), soy bagels (for the even more health conscious) and coffee brewed from organic beans (because, after all, you have to splurge somewhere). Etiquette thrown out the window along with the use of napkins instead of sleeves to wipe one’s face, there were mad scrambles for remnants of soy-bagel and, ironically, the last of the whole cream. Half and half was so passé, after all.
Those who had thought ahead were sipping from plastic bottles of mineral water to wash down the acidic coffee remains from their teeth. Others spoke in earnest conversation with nobody really wanting to tell anyone else just what awful things soy-bagel and coffee could do to one’s breath. Just about the time the natives were beginning to become restless and the bottles of bubbly water lower to dangerous levels, they were all called to order (though nobody could say just who called them) and rapidly took their seats.
Wires crisscrossed the floor; the floodgates were open and data ready to burst forth down the rivers of fiber-optic cable. To the sides of the chair-rows were remote hover cameras and photographers, fingers twitching, ready to take rapid-fire pictures. While some of those in the chairs fumbled for pencils in their purses (the smart ones had their trusty No. 2’s at the ready long ago), and others whipped out arcane tape recorders, those with larger budgets at their disposal flicked shiny silver switches on the latest direct-feed digital uplinks, sat back, and let the machine do the work for them.
Soon, all eyes were trained forward at the stage’s backdrop. Logos of various size and presumably importance were emblazoned on long banners. The emblem of the IFL dotted the background of the banners while, at the forefront of the one in the middle, a large insignia with a balled fist threatening to burst forth and rocket into the sky, was most prominent. The banner on its right displayed a wooden keg with the words Red Orc Brewery (if only they were serving beer!, thought more than one of the chairbound, without thinking of the potential deadly breath-consequences of soy-bagel, coffee, and fermented grains) while the one to the left held two more logos, insignias for The Munro Deli and the Rhydin Public Library.
A young lady, clearly uncomfortable and completely self-conscious of the badge on her chest that spelled INTERN in bold black letters (which meant that her importance level was zero, and if she did her job well the credit would go to someone 5 rungs higher on the ladder) tried to gather everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the microphone squeaked just as an overeager photographer depressed the button on his camera. The quickfire flash nearly triggered an onslaught of photos and only the cool calm collective brought about by training and the cost of processing one’s own film prevented a rash of overzealous photographs littering the processing room floor.
“we’re about to get started.” There. That wasn’t so bad. Even if she was nearly blinded by the too-eager photographer.
“I…I’ve just been told that the Commissioner won’t be making an appearan…”
The rest of the sentence was lost in the loud murmuring and shaking of heads from the crowd. Some of them shot glares her way. Surely, this INTERN (some of them could hardly say the word…they’d blocked out the horrid memories of their own days in the thankless world of coffee-fetching and mindless Xeroxing) was at fault for this outrage. Blame the girl! Storm the stage!, said their looks and their eye-rolls.
The girl tried to regain control of the mob.
“But…BUT!”
They all looked up when her voice raised. Only a few noticed her wince while her cheeks turned crimson.
“But,” in a more normal tone, “he does want to speak with you all soon”. The girl said it as if she believed it, and she probably did. “Anyway…there’s, well, you all know why you’re here,” (the girl clearly wasn’t used to re-iterating the obvious for the press corps even though that’s what the press did best and what they were paid to do) “so without further delay, I…we” (INTERNS, she quickly remembered, correcting herself, could take credit for nothing) want to welcome you and introduce one of the inaugural members of the Iron Fists League, also a charter member of the Team Dueling League, Team Fist!”
The last few words she said with genuine excitement; she’d been a fan of the team for several seasons and, despite their mediocrity, was completely happy to be this close, even if most of the roster had been overhauled for this latest endeavor. She’d even caught a glimpse of that Tarl. Word had it, she knew, Tarl was a real ladies’ man. And he looked younger in person than on TV, too.
Realizing she was still standing on stage when, really, nobody out there in the audience cared if she ever breathed again, the girl scooted away so the stars of the show could make their entrance.
((Thread cross-posted at RoH))
There were, however, entirely too many doughnuts, bagels (for the more health-conscious), soy bagels (for the even more health conscious) and coffee brewed from organic beans (because, after all, you have to splurge somewhere). Etiquette thrown out the window along with the use of napkins instead of sleeves to wipe one’s face, there were mad scrambles for remnants of soy-bagel and, ironically, the last of the whole cream. Half and half was so passé, after all.
Those who had thought ahead were sipping from plastic bottles of mineral water to wash down the acidic coffee remains from their teeth. Others spoke in earnest conversation with nobody really wanting to tell anyone else just what awful things soy-bagel and coffee could do to one’s breath. Just about the time the natives were beginning to become restless and the bottles of bubbly water lower to dangerous levels, they were all called to order (though nobody could say just who called them) and rapidly took their seats.
Wires crisscrossed the floor; the floodgates were open and data ready to burst forth down the rivers of fiber-optic cable. To the sides of the chair-rows were remote hover cameras and photographers, fingers twitching, ready to take rapid-fire pictures. While some of those in the chairs fumbled for pencils in their purses (the smart ones had their trusty No. 2’s at the ready long ago), and others whipped out arcane tape recorders, those with larger budgets at their disposal flicked shiny silver switches on the latest direct-feed digital uplinks, sat back, and let the machine do the work for them.
Soon, all eyes were trained forward at the stage’s backdrop. Logos of various size and presumably importance were emblazoned on long banners. The emblem of the IFL dotted the background of the banners while, at the forefront of the one in the middle, a large insignia with a balled fist threatening to burst forth and rocket into the sky, was most prominent. The banner on its right displayed a wooden keg with the words Red Orc Brewery (if only they were serving beer!, thought more than one of the chairbound, without thinking of the potential deadly breath-consequences of soy-bagel, coffee, and fermented grains) while the one to the left held two more logos, insignias for The Munro Deli and the Rhydin Public Library.
A young lady, clearly uncomfortable and completely self-conscious of the badge on her chest that spelled INTERN in bold black letters (which meant that her importance level was zero, and if she did her job well the credit would go to someone 5 rungs higher on the ladder) tried to gather everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the microphone squeaked just as an overeager photographer depressed the button on his camera. The quickfire flash nearly triggered an onslaught of photos and only the cool calm collective brought about by training and the cost of processing one’s own film prevented a rash of overzealous photographs littering the processing room floor.
“we’re about to get started.” There. That wasn’t so bad. Even if she was nearly blinded by the too-eager photographer.
“I…I’ve just been told that the Commissioner won’t be making an appearan…”
The rest of the sentence was lost in the loud murmuring and shaking of heads from the crowd. Some of them shot glares her way. Surely, this INTERN (some of them could hardly say the word…they’d blocked out the horrid memories of their own days in the thankless world of coffee-fetching and mindless Xeroxing) was at fault for this outrage. Blame the girl! Storm the stage!, said their looks and their eye-rolls.
The girl tried to regain control of the mob.
“But…BUT!”
They all looked up when her voice raised. Only a few noticed her wince while her cheeks turned crimson.
“But,” in a more normal tone, “he does want to speak with you all soon”. The girl said it as if she believed it, and she probably did. “Anyway…there’s, well, you all know why you’re here,” (the girl clearly wasn’t used to re-iterating the obvious for the press corps even though that’s what the press did best and what they were paid to do) “so without further delay, I…we” (INTERNS, she quickly remembered, correcting herself, could take credit for nothing) want to welcome you and introduce one of the inaugural members of the Iron Fists League, also a charter member of the Team Dueling League, Team Fist!”
The last few words she said with genuine excitement; she’d been a fan of the team for several seasons and, despite their mediocrity, was completely happy to be this close, even if most of the roster had been overhauled for this latest endeavor. She’d even caught a glimpse of that Tarl. Word had it, she knew, Tarl was a real ladies’ man. And he looked younger in person than on TV, too.
Realizing she was still standing on stage when, really, nobody out there in the audience cared if she ever breathed again, the girl scooted away so the stars of the show could make their entrance.
((Thread cross-posted at RoH))