Post by Linden H. Mouche on Mar 10, 2020 20:06:13 GMT -5
Who would've thought a fucking pineapple could be his next big meal ticket?
No, not the fruit.
The little note attached to it, and the name, Holly Hock.
What good fortune! Now that is a marketable damn name! And her story, it was so damn compelling- a real tearjerker. Poor kid's not even from the big M, gets sucked in through the Huntsman school, boom badabing, she's fighting for her life in some shitty backwater nowheresville, and what's she do? She gives up? Calls it quits, runs back home to wherever the fuck she's from? No! She fuckin goes into politics.
He couldn't have spun a better story if he'd tried, and damn, had he tried.
He had to meet her.
He'd gone ahead and gotten his press pass for the day at the Academy, and anyone who was paying attention on that fateful Wednesday morning would see Linden H. Mouche rolling onto campus in a too-clean suit- navy jacket, black tie, grey pants. Professional, and very sharp, but a little too clean. His hair made up for it- slicked back with so much gel that it had a shine to it. Beneath his deceptive contacts, only a shred of deep crimson peeked through his "irises," making him look downright human, just as he had for over three decades now.
Trailing behind him were a handful of camera men and a handful of unpaid interns- students from some business school in Argus, pretty sure. Unfortunately, Paisley, his new assistant, was off on other business that day, but he couldn't wait on her- this scoop was too damn hot.
He had it on good authority from a little digging he'd done that this Holly Hock character could be found near the cafeteria in the mornings, so hopefully he could catch her there. He'd gone ahead and told the headmaster to let her know he was coming, but he hadn't mentioned when, so hopefully she was ready for an interview right then, whenever he managed to find her.
Entering the dining hall, he scanned the room in search of the girl. He wasn't actually sure what she looked like to be honest, all he knew was her name, and her story. But he was damn determined to find her.
His eyes fell on some goofy looking redhead shoveling what looked like a disgusting pile of shredded parmesan into her mouth. Fuckin hell. That was a scoop for another day: "BREAKING NEWS- HAVEN ACADEMY MALNUTRITION PROBLEM. "Hey you, kid- you know where I could find a Holly Hock, eh?" She looked up at him, as she attempted to quickly swallow the wad of parmesan. It was kind of grossing him out, honestly, and he really wasn't sure if he cared enough to deal with her any further.
"Holly? She is in t'e back room over t'ere, dropping off today's produce. Wh-"
"Much appreciated, kid, but gotta run. Enjoy your eh... breakfast, I guess." Simply horrific.
At any rate, he knew where he was going now.
The door to the food storage space flung wide open, and the dirty-blonde man stepped into the room with a cheshire grin and a mic in his hand, swiftly approaching the lone pinkette standing by a pile of cabbages or some shit. Lettuce? Fuck it, he wasn't a chef. "If it ain't the infamous Holly Hock. Hope I ain't intrudin' here, kid, the name's Linden Mouche, I'm with the Fly On the Wall news journal. See, I saw your flyers, about Rochdale, the PP, Acosta, et cetera, et cetera, and I'm thinkin' to myself, 'Damn. What. An. Inspiration.' That's why I knew I just had to get your thoughts, kid, your real, gen-u-ine thoughts on the election, on the horrible, terrible, tragedy what happened in Rochdale- things the people need to know! Deserve to know!"
It was a pretty well-practiced trick of his, but Holly would have been pretty unlikely to catch it, unless she was especially perceptive, or expecting it- the whole time he fired off his lengthy stream of words at her, his camera crew was setting up at a few different angles, all centered on him and her, as the suited man extended a wiry-thin, long-fingered, hand for Holly to shake, and a toothy grin that was about as plastic as his comb, on the inside, but looked damn near genuine on the outside.
Get her hooked and on the air before any chance to object, and as an added bonus, get her hyped up to talk about some real controversial shit.
"So the first question I got for you, Miss Holly, from Harley, in the Ground District- 'what the hell was Theloria Shadecloak doing while you were fighting for your lives in Rochdale?' What do you got to say on that matter, Holly?"
His excitement was tangible, and electric, as he awaited her answer with a burning fervor. In reality, he couldn't give a shit less about what some washed up faunus huntress had to do with anything, and frankly, he didn't care much about Rochdale either. But it was a hot topic, and so far, news about it had been limited to official statements only, which was just plain dishonest.
Not nearly as integrity-bearing as cold-asking a traumatized student a number of inflammatory questions, intended to provoke controversial responses for his viewers! That was good, honest, work.
And so, eagerly, he extended the microphone in his hand to Holly. awaiting her response. Hopefully, she wasn't a slow talker- gods, he hated those.
WC: 933 ■ TWC: 933 ■ Acosta? More like accosted!