Report. Relive. Repeat.

Finally updated my mun page to include the jump to my last year of radiology, my new position as pharmacy technician, and a disclaimer that i will probably post about some of the weird cases I get (and the weird patients).

“Excuse me, Miss,” Maverick attempted to wave down the bartender. The tender before her took his order and quickly filled it. As he didn’t intend to drink until the interview was over, the reporter’s neat whisky remained untouched. Light from the bar’s ambiance caught in the grooves of the rocks glass. Maverick knew it wasn’t crystal, but the facet-like cuts were expertly designed to catch the light and hold it in the drink.

◌ Mother/Father

⌘ Guardian

▶ Sibling(s)

▣ Relatives

🔲 Best Friend

❥ Crush

◉ Dream(s)

◖ Ideal Partner

¡ Pet Peeves

☰ Occupation

✯ Perfect day

☂ Preferred weather

☢ Personality Flaw(s)

          What did you experience? God, what a loaded fucking question. I had two choices here, I could tell him the truth–the way I’d wanted to tell Arnie–or I could just shake him off. I knew what the smart choice was, for sure. Hightailing it out of there was the most logical choice, but it wasn’t really what I wanted to do and I knew it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted my time talking to that living hallucination for a day, I wouldn’t have started blogging about it. I needed other people to know what had happened to me, it was pretty much my only salvation.

         Because if I didn’t tell him my side of it, the only thing the world would have would be the other side. The way it had for years. And look at where that had gotten me. It’s not like telling him could make my life any fucking worse, right? “You wanna know what happened? Let’s take a ride to the mall.”

Maverick watched the young man struggle, likely caught between running and telling the truth. Or lying. He hoped the other saw that there was no point in lying to him, and gave a thin smile at the final result. Maverick’s smile always looked a little thin, as though he were annoyed. Of course, he wasn’t annoyed. Not usually. 

“All right.” Reasonable enough. Better than David trying to run or tell an outright lie. Maverick gestured for the other to follow him to his car, some early 2000s Toyota Corolla. He didn’t play the same games that so many men did. The little Toyota was fuel efficient, and was lasting long enough to work. “I’m going to need directions to the mall,” he added, as he slipped to the driver’s seat.

“You a wha–?” 

The warm brown of her eyes flew open wider, the moment his introduction drew to a close. She’d heard him clearly, and now was overcome with childish wonderment. Camille’s disbelief cut her off mid-sentence, glowing on her face and swelling its excitement in her question, “You a… no you ain’. Tu mens… don’tchu lie, neidda..!” 

Slowly, her giddiness drew her face into a delighted and girlish pinch, scrunching her nose and bringing a smile bright enough to expose her teeth, including the singular gap in their top corner. By now, any hopes of composed discussion were wiped clean. At least for the moment. Camille was far too caught up in this excitement, in having stumbled upon a man of such preeminence… or, at least what she deemed as such.

“Beb,” she asked slowly, keeping his eyes, “You serious? You b–” a laugh broke her speech, now lifting and rattling the rest of her words, “You bed’not be lyin’..! You on t.v. forreal? You be tellin’ folks news in a chair like I be seein’?”

Maverick shook his head. It was a common misconception, to be mistaken for some big man in a chair. No, he was the one getting the story. The story that in a day, the men in a chair would have written up on their prompter and reported on. “No, sorry, I’m not the one on T.V. I’m the one that writes what might get put on T.V., if they decide they want to give it time. I try to get them to see what you’re seeing, but they don’t always want that. No, the people above them tell them what they can and cannot say. They’re all just pawns.”

Someone who wasn’t in the business couldn’t possibly know the level of corruption and bias that poisoned the media industry. They could see it only if they hunted. Only if they paused and scanned frame-for-frame. Only if they bought seven different newspapers. Only if they were observant beyond reason. 

“Bonsoir, monsieur!” was the happy reply. Belle reshuffled the arrangement of two books on the shelf according to their numbers, and then retreated back down the ladder to hold her hand out to him politely. “Bien sûr, quelle est–ahem. What is your question?”

Maverick shook her extended hand, grip firm and brief. “I’m with the American press, and I wanted your opinion on,” the reporter looked to the notebook in hand, “I wanted your opinion on the misconception that French people automatically hate other people on basis of language.” As he read the line, his voice had just the slightest hint of boredom.

“Indeed, Mr. Strata.” And indeed, he recalled a recent traffic collision not far from Mr. Wooster’s residence of which they were both among the people on the scene.

“I would endeavour to provide my best eyewitness statement, sir, however, Mr. Wooster is currently not at home. Would you like to wait for him inside, or would you prefer to schedule a meeting some other time, sir?”

“I would prefer to speak with you while we wait for him inside.” Maverick gave a tense smile and bowed his head. The collision in question was not his usual investigative beat, but it was something that could pay the bills for the time being. If he could investigate the cause, perhaps he could satisfy his own curiosity.

Send a symbol to hear my muse talk about their: ✯ Perfect day

“My perfect day is getting to be more and more along the lines of a good drink, a good book, and a good atmosphere. Some of this investigating–covering miniature Watergates–is just not as appealing anymore. It’s dangerous, and stupid. I’d rather not risk my life to get put in the Lifestyle section, or D Block, or page 134 with barely a page of copy.” 

Thank you!

You’re not the first who is happy to see a Liam Neeson FC!