S4, E3 | A Change of Pace to Keep Afloat

\ Thursday, December 20th, 2007 /
\ 8:55 pm est. - 5:55 pm pst. /

“No, he’s endorsing Romney” Grant responds, adjusting his blazer accordingly as he joins his girlfriend in approaching the news desk, speaking through the mic of his in-ear. “Who cares, he’s a member of the house from Colorado. I’d hardly call that a Republican stronghold” Shane responds, glancing at the bullet point rundown sitting at the base of a wall of monitors, “you did watch the debates, right? The guy doesn’t even believe in the theory of evolution.”

“So? There are still people thinking the earth is flat, we just don’t care to give them a reason to think we take them seriously” the primetime anchor continues, climbing into the seat beside the one his girlfriend already occupies, “nothing is universally believed anymore... and in fairness, it shouldn’t be.”

With a slight squint in his eyes, Shane pulls his head up from the stacks of papers and stares at the monitor feeding him a live shot of the hard camera, a genuine intrigue carried in his mind. “Do you believe in the theory of evolution, Grant?” the executive producer questions aloud, only raising the question to his pair of anchors, though the rest of the control room looks on with wonder.

“How about we just stick to getting ready to hit the air?” Grant queries, openly evading the question in a way that prompts even his girlfriend’s head to slightly pop up, pulling away from the paper copy of the script she takes the point of a pen to. “We have five minutes until airtime, I’m in no rush at all” Shane doubles down, wearing a smirk and slightly-widened eyes at holding the anchor’s feet to the fire, “I want to hear you tell me you believe in the theory of evolution.”

“I’d like to focus on preparing for tonight’s broadcast, thank you” Grant instead retorts, lowering his head toward the script at his fingertips whilst his girlfriend turns to look toward him. “Do you not believe in the theory of evolution?” Taylor wonders aloud, wearing a half-smile at the idea that such a stance could be the case.

“I’m not sure what to believe on the matter” Grant scoffs, crossing a few words on the paper script out with his ballpoint pen. “How do you not know what to believe? How do you think we got here?” Taylor questions, asking the same question that the executive producer in their headset wanted to ask.

“Aliens” Grant replies, immediately being struck with silence that he’d not intended for, quickly putting him in a position of defence. “I don’t believe it was aliens, I was being facetious” he corrects, looking at the wild expression on his girlfriend’s face as it falls, her concern having been that he’d meant every bit of his reply.

“I was raised in a semi-religious household and science class always told me a different thing than the creation story” the male anchor explains, shaking his head at a loss for further importance, “I didn’t want to upset either side, so I chose not to take a side. I didn’t find it important either since we’re here now... What would learning how we started change?”

“I’m pretty sure people at the MET would argue that science class would be a lot more redundant... As would a chunk of their jobs” Shane replies as he reaches for a ringing phone in the room, a squint carried in his eyes as he greets the caller.

“I found a way to avoid pissing my mother or my teacher off. To me, that was a win-win” Grant explains, satisfying Taylor enough with her response to send her smiling face back toward the paper script before them. “As long as you know I’ll continue to pick on you about this for a very long time, that’s what counts” the female broadcaster responds, fixing the hair that falls in front of her face as her boyfriend allows a sigh to leave his lungs.

“...the most accurate and efficient delivery of news that the nation can provide” a man’s voice explains, his voice fluttering into the newsroom through the speakers that surround the bureau. Lifting their faces from the documents that they quietly work on, the nine o’clock anchors put their finishing touches for tonight’s broadcast on hold, looking toward the crowd of producers at a loss before taking a quick glance around the room.

“I think we’re getting a feed from one of the other networks in the newsroom, Shane” Taylor quips, continuing to look around the panopticon as she searches for the specific broadcast responsible for the monologue. “Vickers just told me to feed Finley’s audio through the speakers” the executive producer replies, looking toward a video feed of the rival network that one of his subordinates pulls onto the main monitor, “the guy that does the eight o’clock news is announcing something.”

“What is it?” Grant questions back, only to receive the grumbles of his executive producer as they serve to explain his uncertainty. “Unfortunately, my contract with the Finley Network expires at the start of February. My employers and I have decided that it is not within our best interest to negotiate another contract” the black man in the suit explains, staring directly into the camera as he addresses his audience, “in addition to this, I have been informed that my show at eight o’clock will be ended.”

Feigning an insincere smile toward the audience, the clean-shaven gentleman remains sitting upright at his desk, taking a pause for his audience to grapple with the latest string of insight before moving onto the next. “My employers feel that it would be best to move forward with expanding the nine o’clock news to two hours, starting at eight instead” the anchor continues, watched on now by each member of the LMC newsroom that redirects their sights toward his show.

“In the wake of success that other networks have had with the format, the nine o’clock news will be anchored by not one- but two broadcasters. A fitting change of pace that Finley sees as the future of primetime newscasting” he carries forward, earning a confused look from the LMC anchors he’s likely providing soft reference to. “This comes as a great disappointment to me, but it is what I feel is within the best interest of-” Finley’s eight o’clock anchor speaks, only for his voice to be cut off from the speaker that refuses it any further airtime.

“Vickers told me ‘not to give the fucker more attention than he deserves’ now that he’d said his part” Shane explains, the information that he passes on being exclusive to the anchors, leaving the rest of the newsroom in confusion. “And we shouldn’t. Fuck him and fuck their network. Let’s get back to the show” Taylor replies, passing a disgusted look toward the Finley Network broadcast as she returns her eyes toward the paper at her person, placing the finishing touches on tonight’s script.

“Are you alright?” Grant whispers, watching his girlfriend’s eyes take toward him in silence for a moment before she glances at the transparent desk. “If Russo thinks expanding his primetime show to two hours is going to put a damper in our ratings, that’s his mistake to make” Taylor responds after a brief silence, shaking her head with dismissal, “he can’t wage a war with nobody anchors on a nothing show at a nothing network that no one watches... No matter where he airs it.”

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Friday, December 21st, 2007 /
\ 8:01 am est. - 5:01 am pst. /

“That just means Grant, Taylor, and I are going up against nine o’clock” Carly explains, entering the LMC building alongside her executive producer, each holding a cup of coffee in their hands. “It doesn’t matter” Aiden replies, flashing his badge toward Nola as she lifts a thumb up from behind the welcome desk they pass, paying the man little mind as she remains deep within her search on the computer monitor at her disposal.

“We’ve stabilised the ratings and we’re getting more traction with Doug’s online project. Interaction is good, and it’s driving viewers toward the product” Aiden explains. “Finley could go find a pair of hot blondes with even bigger tits than mine to open the eight o’clock half and that traction goes down the drain” Carly retorts, watching the shake of the man’s head react to her.

“Unless those whores do the news naked, I doubt they come close to touching your numbers” Aiden replies, continuing to step in the direction of the lifts whilst he speaks. “We’re not looking to win the overall, we’re looking to win the demo. Doug’s ‘new media think’ is getting us an ‘in’ with them that Finley stands no chance of touching” the executive producer continues on, “we could have half of their two-hour rating, but if seventy percent of our audience is that target demo... Our broadcast is the undisputed king of value and the race isn’t even close.”

“What is their plan supposed to be anyway? Get two new people on board and hope for the best? Take a shot in the dark and hope the two hour format holds firm?” Carly queries, finally reaching an inquiry her producer cannot make as clear of a prediction on as he’d please. “Two hours should- at least, in theory- keep people watching through the show” Aiden explains, finally reaching the lift and pressing his thumb against the call button, “advertisers will love the consistency, but that’s it. That doesn’t mean the format will work.”

“Sure, but how can we know that for sure?” Carly wonders aloud, earning an amused chuckle out of the man she accompanies. “Because breaking news doesn’t happen every single day” he answers, turning to look her in the eyes as the elevator reaches their floor, “we only run a one hour show and we already get to a ‘D Block’.”

With the gentle ring of a bell, the lift’s doors part to reveal a single man standing at its centre, his face taking itself away from the screen that counted the digits of each passing floor and falling upon the pair that now enter. “It’s fancy seeing you here” Shane remarks, watching Carly enter the lift as Aiden follows her in, their mutual acquaintance doing the part they’d intended to in pressing the button of their floor.

“We come here often. It’s sort of a habit of ours” Aiden replies, earning a nod from the executive producer of nine o’clock. “Hmm... Ours.” Shane repeats, watching his friend bow his head with a shy smile, aware of what his pal is hinting at, “you never came back to the apartment last night. Should I assume you two are patching things up romantically?”

“No. Not at all” the eight o’clock producer responds, pointing his finger toward the well-built figurehead of the controls at nine o’clock with adamant refusal. “We were at a meeting on the other side of town and it just made sense for us to crash at her place” Aiden clarifies, continuing to receive a repetitive bowing of “Tonight at 9’s” executive producer. “Whatever you say, champ” Shane responds, pointing his finger at the state of his friend’s attire, “just be ready to explain to your colleagues why you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

Glancing down at his wardrobe, Aiden listens to the lift’s bell ring as it finally reaches his floor, coming to the same realisation that Shane had taken on the moment he saw his friend through the parted doors. “Shit” the eight o’clock producer remarks, unable to say anything further before Carly playfully shoves him forward, setting him on a path that allows both of them to exit toward their floor, passing a friendly wave toward the nine o’clock showrunner as they depart.

|

\ Friday, December 28th, 2007 /
\ 10:13 pm est. - 7:13 pm pst. /

“Send her in” Vickers replies, granting his secretary permission to depart toward her duties after a quick chat whilst he removes his cheaters and places them beside his computer’s screen. For a few seconds, the room remains quiet only changing accordingly when the sounds of heels tapping against the ground in the distance grow close. “Yet another good night of programming. Well done” Robin explains, stepping through the doorway and approaching the president’s desk.

“We have three talented anchors and incompetent competition, that should be the expectation” Vickers responds, coupling his hands atop his lap as his elbows rest against each side of his chair. “Those are the expectations and your anchors continue to meet them” Robin replies, offering a brief shrug as she adds emphasis, “I’d still like to see improvement out of the eight o’clock numbers, but I’ll take the modest growth they’re starting to show.”

“It’s amazing to see what happens when the anchor who needs the pretty lady in that chair to make the show work gets the pretty lady in that chair, isn’t it?” Vickers queries with a confident smile. “I don’t need your cocky smile. You know we never really had a choice” Robin responds, begrudgingly accepting the lesser chair at the front of her subordinate’s desk, “he still needs to play catchup faster than he is, but I’ll take steady growth over nothing.”

“You’re not concerned with what Finley is doing, are you?” Vickers wonders aloud, receiving a sour expression as if anything other than such could be true. “They’re in the business of pushing a narrative and I’m in the news business” Robin replies, crossing one of her legs over the other with dignity and folding her hands atop them, “no matter what some morally bankrupt organisations may want you to believe... there’s still a difference between the two.”

“Well, that’s only as long as the shareholders allow there to be” Vickers remarks, receiving a roll of the woman’s eyes in return for his claims. “If I could purchase the company outright and take it private- I would” the chairwoman explains, shaking her head with a visual disgust, “one of the worst moves this company ever did was take itself public.”

“It had no other choice besides bankruptcy” Vickers retorts, watching his guest’s hand wave toward him as she scoffs. “Money is fake. The only thing that’s real is me” Robin replies, wearing a grin as she presses her back against the chair, “if you look hard enough, you’ll find a way to turn one dollar into five, ten dollars into twenty, and student debt into a declaration of bankruptcy on credit card debut.”

“If only the younger generation had the credit scores of us old fogies” the company’s president jokes, sharing a simple laugh with the woman opposite him as their line of dialogue ceases in favour of something different. “Speaking of buying out the company, how’s the process of taking on Ross’ shares going?” Vickers inquires, gliding his chair in the direction of the room’s entrance with the rest of his body, but keeping his eyes firmly upon the woman’s visage.

“That’s why I’m here. The final kinks have been ironed out and the twenty percent is officially mine” the woman explains, prompting the president’s lips to pucker with his nodding head. “Regardless of what he thinks he’s changing, we are free from Burt Russo at last” Vickers proclaims, reaching for his drawer before the chairwoman’s voice can prevent him from making any advancement toward his stored-away liquor.

“We are, and that’s why I am not drinking your stash liquor!” Robin declares, freeing her hands from being locked within each other’s own in order to pat her lap and stand back upon both feet, “we’re going to the lounge and celebrating at the bar.”

Given little say in the matter, Vickers turns out the lamp on his desk and exits his office, not expecting to return to it until the weekend has passed. In the dark and with only the computer monitor’s light bathing the room, some time passes before the machine’s speaker goes off, reciting a cheerful, automated message into the empty office.

“You’ve got mail!’

|

\ Friday, December 28th, 2007 /
\ 10:46 pm est. - 7:46 pm pst. /

“Whatcha doing?” Carly wonders aloud, ducking her head into her EP’s office to find him knee-deep in work and moving from one document to the next. “Preparing us for Wednesday since we’ve got a long weekend” Aiden replies, spinning his chair away from a stack of papers at the centre of his desk and toward the computer monitor at its left-most side.

“Hmph. I figured you would’ve tried to do that on Monday instead” the beautiful anchor replies, watching the man shake his head in refusal. “I’ve got to find the time to not drive myself crazy. New Year’s Eve seems like a pretty fitting day to take off” Aiden rebukes, swiping his cursor across the machine’s screen before clicking the mouse and advancing back toward the opposite side of his desk, ‘why are you still here? Taylor and Grant went off the air almost an hour ago.”

“I’m not really sure” Carly replies, granting herself permission to enter the man’s workspace whilst he continues to slave over the labour at his disposal, “I got on the phone with my lawyer once they started covering Somalia and just kept hanging around after it was done, I guess.”

“Why were you on the phone with your lawyer? You didn’t run someone off the road in traffic, did you?” Aiden wonders aloud, receiving confirmation that such is not the case with little wait, “whatever it was, you better not be going to jail over it. I’ve finally got you in that chair every night... I’m not going back to the era of middle-aged fill-ins.”

“It’s just contract stuff. My current deal runs out just after the election, remember?” Carly queries back, “the network wants to negotiate now while the ratings are stable-but-underwhelming just in case your plan works out and I become the face of the most valuable show in the nation.”

“Keep putting that pretty face of yours in that chair and we’ll be waving that headline around by the time our next commander in chief is appointed by the public” Aiden assures, scrawling his pencil across the sheets of paper his attention is taken by, “negotiate like the anchor you’ll be in a year’s time.”

“I should be offering you the exact same advice” Carly retorts, leaning against the wall just beside the man’s desk as he continues to set his sights upon one interest after another, “it’s not long after mine that your deal comes up, right?”

“April of ‘09. I have an early-out six months prior in the event that the network doesn’t want to pay me or I want to land a job somewhere else” Aiden answers, closing the cover of a notebook after jotting down a brief set of numbers. “If I get this show where I’m hoping to take it, I’ll have companies all over the place throwing blank cheques at me” the executive producer doubles down, “that’s pretty good leverage to have with LMC... they’ll pay you what you’re actually worth, but they’ll make you fight like hell to get there.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. It might’ve been one of the only reasons I chose to take the LMC offer instead of the one out west” Carly replies, shaking her head not long after finishing her thought, preferring to redirect her attention to other matters. After a brief pause, the woman inspects the rapid move from one chore after another that her executive producer carries on with, working at a break-neck speed like a man on a mission as he prepares himself for a weekend free of concern.

“We can still hangout like friends even though we’re not together anymore, right?” the primetime anchor wonders aloud, earning the man’s full focus for the first time since poking her head in the room. “What do you mean?” Aiden questions back, unsure of what’s insinuated by the inquiry. “Well, we’re exes and everything- but we’re also coworkers” Carly reiterates, watching as the man’s hands take their first opportunity all night to settle down and lay upon his desk.

“I’d like to think we’re back to a place where we can just be friends without it being weird” she continues to explain, shrugging as she continues along the line of thought she hasn’t fully thought out internally, “would it be weird if we went out for dinner or something? Not as a date, but something just totally platonic?”

With a pause, the task-littered executive producer turns his sights toward the door that the anchor had entered through, deep within thought of consideration toward the question raised. “I don’t know that friends go out to dinner with each other unless it’s man-to-man or woman-to-woman” Aiden explains with a gentle shake of his head, “and I’m not sure friends that used to date works any better than at that.”

Lowering her eyes, Carly nods with acceptance as her producer raises wonder toward the purpose of her asking. “I just figured that I’d ask” the woman explains, shrugging off any notion that she had deeper intentions than wondering out of curiosity, “I’ve never actually stayed friends with someone that I’d dated. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to before.”

Feeling like she’s made their brief interaction odd, the anchor feels a responsibility to try and provide emphasis to her quandary. “I do miss being with you romantically, but I miss actually getting to just hang out with you and do friendly things” Carly continues, watching her acquaintance internally attempt to understand her point, “I want to respect the boundaries you’ve set up, but I also wanted to know if we could get the non-romantic parts of what we used to have back in a healthy way.”

Nodding his head, Aiden appears to better register the purpose of the wonderment, “alright” he replies with, providing a small amount of comfort that his anchor can carry herself away with. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you at the party on Monday” she proceeds, walking toward the room’s exit with her producer’s best wishes extended, putting a conclusion to the progressively-strange line of dialogue they both prepare to leave in the past.

|

\ Friday, December 28th, 2007 /
\ 10:57 pm est. - 7:57 pm pst. /

“It looks like we’ve finally found your home in the city” Grant proclaims, following Taylor past the point in which their inherited mansion’s lawn ends and their private beach begins. “If you would’ve married me, we wouldn’t have ever needed this place” the female anchor replies, earning a roll of the eyes from the man who has taken on the responsibility of getting their relationship to that point.

“If you would’ve accepted every time that I’ve asked you, we’d be engaged by now” Grant counters, not needing to wait for his lover to turn around and face him with a smile and a playful shake of the head. “I’m going to say ‘yes’ eventually” Taylor responds, watching her boyfriend playfully roll his eyes and throw his hands out at either side.

“Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Will you marry me?” Grant questions in succession, watching as his lover’s hand lifts to count each reply with her fingers. “No, no, yes, no” she replies, taking humour in the lack of belief that the man across from her takes in the response.

“Was that third one legitimate?” he questions without an ounce of enthusiasm, seeing through the mirage without difficulty. “Of course not” Taylor answers with a joy-filling smile and a shake of the head, “but you’re getting there!”

“It’s progress and that counts for something” Grant concludes, accepting the continued refusal with the ability to take a brighter light at the end of the tunnel over it. Giggling, Taylor turns her back to the man and continues approaching the sea, refusing to stop until she’s approached the edge of the frozen-over, icy waters.

Catching up to his significant other, the less-tenured nine o’clock anchor wraps his arms around the woman and presses his nose to the side of her head, freeing his lips to passionately kiss at her neck repeatedly. Through laughter, Taylor endures the embrace of the man she’s come to love before spinning in his arms and returning the gesture, her lips pressing against the man’s own.

“My lips aren’t as ticklish as my neck is, huh?” the blonde queries, watching the man’s face shake with the rest of his head as he rests his warm palm against the side of her face. “It doesn’t matter to me” he whispers with a smile, pulling her in for an even deeper kiss than the ones they’d shared before a ball of light fires down upon them from the side of the home, bringing their passionate coupling to a quick halt.

Shielding their face from the light, the couple stare back toward the source of the illumination with their hands covering their face, looking toward the home before Taylor’s mouth opens. “Oh, it’s the fuckin’ motion sensors!” she proclaims, taking relief from the concern that they’d left rooms within the home unaccounted for the likes of squatters or thieves.

“As much sense as that makes, we should probably get better ones. We made it all the way out to the water- err, ice- before they caught us” the man proceeds, taking the woman by the hand in an attempt to lead her back to the home, only for her playful reluctance to pull him back in. “Come back here” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around the man’s neck and pressing her lips to his own once more.

Refusing to put up a fight against the display of affection, Grant gives into the woman’s desires before their faces naturally pull apart, their kissing put on pause as their eyes lock with each other’s. “We’re almost done with the year” Taylor whispers, running her hands over each side of the man’s face, “the next time we step foot in the office will be to sing Auld Lang Syne with everyone.”

“Are you kidding me? The next time we step foot in the office will be to celebrate welcoming in another election year!” Grant enthusiastically remarks, earning a playful swat on the chest as the woman’s lips press against his own once more. “I’m ready to say goodbye to 2007 as long as it’s with you” Taylor replies, pulling away from the man’s face for just a moment before returning to their kiss, celebrating the final days of a year set to enter history for good.

== Tonight at 9 ==