S4, E8 | White as a Ghost, Dark as the Skin of Her Assailant

\ Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 /
\ 8:17 am est. - 5:17 am pst. /

“He might even win Virginia tonight” Vickers remarks, walking through the frosty, snow-covered streets of New York City dressed in a long, heavy trench coat with a coffee in hand. “That would have him leading past Clinton” Taylor responds, dressed in a similar manner and carrying her coffee in a similar way, with the only difference being a fuzzy, grey hat she wears atop her head, “I’m not saying he’ll win the presidency, but it seems more likely than ever that he’ll win the nomination.”

“I’ve been calling it since late December. I don’t think she’s got the charisma that he does... It connects with people” Vickers doubles down, approaching their company’s home base and opening the door for the young woman walking alongside him. Continuing their conversation all the way into the lifts and onto the level in which the president’s office resides, their casual stroll into a much warmer climate brings their journey to the destination they’d wished to arrive at sooner when struck by the northeastern winter.

“That’s why you’ve been focusing on the main trio” Vickers comments, assisting the younger anchor in shedding her trench coat before freeing his shoulders from that of his own. “No, we’ve been focusing on the main trio because no one else stands a chance” Taylor corrects, setting her beverage atop the wooden desktop that her father figure soon steps behind, “since Romney suspended his campaign last Thursday, the only guy on the right to concern ourselves with is McCain.”

“I would argue that Romney never really stood a chance since, to put it bluntly, he’s not within eight hundred delegates of McCain” Vickers doubles down, lowering himself into the swivel chair whilst his guest crosses one leg over the other. “Romney and Paul are only being focused on because it feels like they’d be the ones bred to run for a meaningful nomination in 2012” Taylor replies, leaving a pink stain of lipgloss on the lid of her coffee, “we all know that no Republican is winning the presidency after the last eight years of Bush.”

“How does our fellow Republican upstairs feel about that?” Vickers queries, only to be immediately met with a slight squint. “Who says I’m a Republican?” Taylor questions aloud, playfully tightening the crossing of her arms and the downward-lean of her chin. “I never said you were, I just alluded to your fiance being one” the president retorts, taking a gradual lean to the side of his seat before switching the conversation in the woman’s favour, “are you a Republican?”

“People who like to consider non-traditional conservatives as not ‘fully-Republican’ would certainly argue that I’m not” Taylor rebuttals, earning a smile that quickly takes from one side of Vickers’ face to the other. “That doesn’t answer my question, it just takes one option off the table” the president carries on, the reply doing enough to earn a stretching grin across the anchor’s visage.

“I’m a libertarian” Taylor concedes, tucking one hand into her inner elbow whilst the other holds her coffee a short distance from her chin, “I believe in smaller government, fewer taxes, more responsible use of taxpayer money, and accountability in Washington.” Staying quiet, Vickers continues to look the woman in the eyes despite saying nothing, drawing the interest of the lady across from him.

“What?” the female anchor queries, waiting for the zinger that she knows the man opposite her awaits permission to throw out. “You’re a libertarian?” Vickers questions aloud, seeing the humoured nod of his good friend’s head respond to him without a word, “isn’t that just a synonym for ‘loser’?”

“How original” Taylor jokes, nodding along from a place of amusement as Vickers returns his cup to his face, “I take it you’re a genuine Republican?” Licking his lips, “close...” the man replies, lifting the lid of his beverage before sliding a tiny bottle of bourbon from the inside of his suit jacket and pouring it in, “...I’m a Democrat.”

“That’s not close at all” Taylor corrects, only to see the man opposite her scoff, pulling back in his seat as he re-attaches the lid to his foam cup. “Is it not? We both support the death penalty, we both agree that the government’s ineptitude is the reason our programs don’t work- we just disagree on what those programs are” Vickers carries on, “we both support military spending, we both support stronger border defence, and neither of us want independents or other parties playing in our sandbox... I mean, our congress.”

“And they disagree on more things than they agree on” Taylor rejoinders, only receiving a modest shrug from the man in response. “Yeah, but the more crucial elements that we have the power to change through legislation are universal, even if some candidates say they’re not” Vickers responds, turning his face toward the door as he leans in his seat, “we’re the same party where it counts, though.”

“I take it that means you’re voting for whoever leaves the primaries as the nominee?” Taylor wonders aloud, lifting the cup to her lips once more. “As I stated earlier, I have my suspicions that there will be people over the moon about voting for a Republican in the wake of Bush’s terms” Vickers answers, extending his hand toward the woman, “what about you, Madam Loser? I take it you’re filling your ballot in favour of Bob Barr?”

“I said I’m a Libertarian, not that I vote for the Libertarian Party” Taylor replies, resting the bottom of her drink against her thigh, “in order, my most-preferred candidate is Obama, then McCain, then Clinton.”

“I’m going to assume Grant doesn’t agree with you?” Vickers questions, watching as the woman opposite him stretches her hand to the back of her head, leaning in her seat with as relaxed of a position as she can muster in the chair she resides in. “He’ll consider Obama if the man wins the nomination” Taylor responds, lifting the cup back toward her face, “if Clinton gets it, he’s voting for McCain without reservation.”

Wearing his grin, the president nods along with the conversation as it brings itself to a natural close, staring into the distance for a few seconds as his mind wanders toward a less-boring line of dialogue. “I’m very happy to see you two together” the man speaks aloud, watching the warm look of pleasure that spreads across his anchor’s face like a welcomed infection, “how’s he been?”

“He’s coming into work, isn’t he?” Taylor responds, allowing the question to answer that of her legal superior’s own, “he ran Nalty out of this building, he called our shot on the Finley Network, and he’s not missing a beat when the camera’s on.”

“That is correct, but I’m not around him all day long like you are” Vickers reiterates, lifting his elbow onto the desk that he leans against, “there’s a better chance of you catching him not acting like himself than I do.” Shaking her head before the man can even finish his point, Taylor denies anything of the sort, staying adamant by the side of her fiance.

“If he’s not as alright as he lets on, then he’s even got me fooled” the anchor replies, bouncing her leg atop the one it’s crossed over, “he genuinely believes we’re going to throttle them in the ratings, and I believe we will too.” Nodding, the president allows the conversation to go quiet again, taking a sip of his spiked beverage.

“I’m proud of you, kid” Vickers remarks, again bringing about a warm expression over the anchor opposite him, “you’ve faced a long road and you’ve made the most of it. You’ve found someone who makes you happy and that... That makes me happy.”

Smiling even deeper than at any point in their discourse prior, Taylor holds off her ‘thanks’ in favour of keeping the gesture of silence, aware that the display of her white teeth is all that the man needs to see her appreciation. Carrying on with silence, the professionals remain in each other’s company, appreciating the presence of each other as the day carries on, counting down to showtime just as every other one.

= 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 =

\ Wednesday, February 20th, 2008 /
\ 10:16 am est. - 7:16 am pst. /

“...So start pinching pennies, because shit is going to get much better from here” Carly remarks, seated in front of a camera without a desk in front of her. Dressed in a dark blue blouse and a pair of navy blue jeans, the woman sits casually in her seat with one leg over the other, one free arm resting over the back of her chair whilst the other sits atop her lap.

“This isn’t something that was impossible to predict. The market cratered and I think we’ve quietly- and with our fingers crossed- been expecting this to come” the attractive anchor continues, watched on by her boyfriend as he assumes his usual place beside the camera. “Nevertheless, Washington will hand over bailouts and further economic aid will be presented by the president as per usual” Carly carries forward with a grin, “if there’s anything D.C hates, it’s the ‘a’ word... accountability.”

Slapping her thighs with both hands as her relaxed posture shifts to something more prepared to depart the stage, the anchor lets out a sigh and regains her fixed smile. “I’m on the air properly at eight o’clock, so tune into LMC if you want something more in-depth than the surface level you get here” Carly concludes whilst Aiden begins stepping away from the hard camera, “until then, thanks for continuing to watch and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Casually ending the recording, the primetime anchor receives a subdued applause from her executive producer, his desire to keep the clapping from interrupting those at work made clear. “Are we any closer to being able to just release the show at a fixed time?” she wonders aloud, standing out from her seat before joining alongside her significant other, marching toward their offices at the other end of the panopticon.

“Not that I know of, but that’s alright. Our crew needs a bit more time to really gauge the feel of the show and get it properly set in the first place” Aiden replies, taking immediate notice of the disappointment that’s provided from his girlfriend at this comment. “Relax. We’re still in the early stages and working through our growing pains” the executive producer assures with a smile, “at the end of the day, what’s important is that our audience is watching.”

“I know that’s really all that matters, but I’d still like some consistency. It’s the easiest way to maximise our potential audience” Carly confesses, entering her workspace with a hand placed upon her hip. “It’d be nice to have a scheduled recording time, a clear type of broadcast, and a backup plan in case you or I aren’t here some days” the woman furthers, bringing collectively valid points to the forefront.

“Scheduled time and a backup plan are fine, but specify what you mean by ‘type of broadcast’” Aiden requests, confidently taking a seat in the chair his lover would frequently occupy. “We do domestic and international stories that the American people need to hear at eight and nine o’clock” the woman carries on, “aside from shows where we bring in people via satellite or have guests in the studio, the only variety in either hour is when Grant and Taylor cover stories of economic interest upstairs.”

“And you want our show to differentiate a little bit more from theirs?” Aiden queries, not understanding what the lady that leans over the front of her own desk is getting at. “No, I want our online show to differentiate a little bit more from our primetime one” Carly explains, the lone button undone at the top of her shirt affording her producer with a pleasant view of her cleavage, “I want a structure that we can consistently rely on like the eight o’clock hour, but a different focus on the actual type of news we produce.”

“So you want to cover stories that teenagers and young adults are interested in?” Aiden questions, earning his answer through the woman’s nod before following up, “wouldn’t that just be celebrity gossip and paparazzi shots?”

“No, it’d be stories that- since we need the online show to tie into the eight o’clock hour- we can cover from a more youth-specific point of view” Carly responds, lowering herself into one of the chairs opposite her desk upon noticing her boyfriend’s continued glances beyond her shirt. “For example, if the governor of some state signs a bill that proposes private educational institutions are no longer allowed to adhere to their own curriculum and must follow their state’s own, we’d cover it from two different sets of eyes” the anchor furthers.

“At eight o’clock, we’d go into detail about how the curriculum would change, what adverse effects this would have comparative to public school such as a possible drop in graduation or literacy rates, and the possible shift in what this would financially leave these private educations to deal with” she compares, “with our online version, we’d explain how this would change scheduling, what classes would now be deemed mandatory, what their expected passing grade would be considered and so on.”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong. You’re suggesting we cover the same stories, but use the eight o’clock hour to cover the news for adults and the online show to cover it for high schoolers?” Aiden queries, making some sort of in-roads with the woman. “Not just high schoolers, but anyone up to their mid-thirties or so” Carly clarifies, “those people don’t want this drawn-out information with big words. They want to be told how this will affect them and their ability to afford basic necessities.”

“I see your point, but how are we supposed to cover the news from the perspective of a broke, paycheck-to-paycheck college undergraduate?” Aiden questions back with narrowed eyelids, “we’re wealthy figureheads of a primetime newsroom at a publicly-traded company. I just so happened to keep living in my stingy, starter apartment after I started making good money. That’s about as much of an understanding as I have to them, and it’s far more of one than you have. No offence.”

“None taken, but we don’t need to know what they’re going through in order to know how these changes are going to affect them” Carly doubles down, “I think they’d be much more receptive if someone bypassed the legal-speak gobbledy-gook and just said, ‘look, your rent is going to go up and you’re going to fucking hate this’ without holding back.”

“You do realise you’d be turning everyone under the age of thirty five against the Democratic Party, right?” Aiden quips back, only to receive a sarcastic frown from the woman. “If we’re doing the news for a younger audience, we can’t do it half-assedly” Carly assures, firm in her stance as she pulls back in her chair, “we have to let them know what they need to know. We have to earn their respect and treat them like adults, but do so from a place that doesn’t try to pretend like it understands them, but it understands what they should know.”

Pressing the back of his head against the woman’s chair, Aiden groggily turns his head toward the frosted glass wall of the woman’s office before letting free a deep sigh. “We’ll see what we can do in that case” he concedes, tapping the surface of the desk with the palms of his hands, “if worse comes to worse, we can hire someone younger to write the scripts and break them down in a way we can better present.”

|

\ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 /
\ 11:11 am est. - 8:11 am pst. /

“It’s Serbia and Kosovo... Canada is nowhere near Europe” Keith corrects, looking across the table at Abby, who rolls her eyes in an amused manner. “Actually, it is on technicality” Vince interjects, re-earning the eyes that line the table from top to bottom, “Denmark owns Greenland, which is directly to the Atlantic coast of Canada. Which means that technically Canada borders Denmark, which is a European country.”

“If we can get back to the Serbian’s breaking into and lighting the American embassy on fire part of this, that would be great” Taylor interrupts, returning the conversation to their original point. “I’m more interested in the United States shooting its own satellite out of orbit” Olivia responds, bringing a chuckle out of Marcus, who sets his own writing pad upon the conference table.

“We can get to that in a second, I want the numbers on the Serbia riots first” Taylor redirects, pointing the cap of her pen toward the man who’d initially brought the point forward. “Well, the British, German, Croatian, Belgian and Turkish embassies were also attacked, but more specifically- they’re not calling them riots” Vince corrects, “some national media is referring to them as ‘protests’ to spare the Serbians from being considered aggressors and getting singled out as the issues here.”

“Which national media? Or should I even bother asking?” Taylor queries whilst her fiance keeps to himself one seat beside her, more interested in playing spectator to the back and forth unfolding before him. “Russian and Chinese media” Vince answers, earning an eye roll from the female anchor that proceeds to fall back into the restraint of her chair.

“So I shouldn’t have bothered asking... good to know” Taylor replies, waving her hand in the man’s direction as a gesture for his continuation. “In all, about half a million Serbs protested in the capital, Belgrade, against the Kosovo declaration” Vince explains, pulling back in his chair as his eyes wander to the rest of the crew that surrounds him, “the only real discovery of note is that a protestor’s remains were found burned inside the American embassy.”

“Not necessarily. The Russian president essentially used the declaration as a masqueraded threat to the west” Keith interjects, “he said it’s a terrible precedent that breaks up the entire system of international relations, which has taken centuries to evolve and that undoubtedly, it may entail a whole chain of unpredictable consequences to other regions in the world, and that will come back to hit the West in the face.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t-” Taylor begins to reply, only for the sound of knocking at the transparent room’s entrance to catch her attention, cutting her off before she can offer her sarcastic reply. “I’d like to see the two of you in private now” Vickers remarks, poking his head inside the conference room before pulling it free just as quickly. Beckoned for, the primetime anchors take a glance toward each other before climbing out of their seats, quietly gesturing for Shane to continue the meeting.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t make us wait an entire walk to your office to tell us something?” Grant questions aloud, following the lead of the mostly-silent president as they venture toward a far-lower level than their newsroom. Begrudgingly accepting the lack of a response he continues to receive, one half of the anchors falls silent in favour of waiting out their journey’s conclusion, its finale being brought into the man’s office.

“Finley’s thrown everything they were doing out the window. They’re debuting their new anchors tonight” Robin remarks, having awaited the trio’s arrival from the comfort of her immediate subordinate’s desk. Unsure of why they’re meant to care, the recent arrivals turn their focus toward each other without uttering a word. “Okay?” Taylor queries back, watching her father figure step toward his desk and retrieve his cheaters.

“From the desk of Alburt Russo” Vickers begins to read, staring at the email that his computer screen allows him a clear picture of. “When I said I would make your lives a living hell, this is what I meant” the next line carries forward, both anchors crossing their arms and quietly bypassing the voice of their superior who reads along, trying to picture Russo’s voice speaking each read-through word aloud instead.

“This is war for all of you. Your company has a past, and all of your employees are no different. Grant Haste and Taylor English will bear the biggest brunt of this war. And from what it sounds like, Mr. Haste is more than welcoming of it” Russo’s letter carries forward, leaving a sour expression across the male anchor’s visage.

“I had initially intended to move one of my weekend anchors into the slot beside Howard Nalty, but I have no made an executive decision to go after an even bigger fish than that” Russo’s declaration proceeds to explain, “I hadn’t set my eye out for this bigger fish until Grant’s expletive-filled rant on your show a few weeks prior. So, I just wanted to you know that- when I introduce the new team of my nightly broadcast- one half of them is on air once more strictly because of Mr. Haste’s comments.”

Unmoved by the threats levied toward him, Grant’s unenthused face is carried toward the seat that he begins to occupy, feeling no emotion to what he supposes was meant to concern him. “At eight o’clock- on the dot- Thompson and Olbermann will officially depart their roles at Finley and allow my new anchors to begin their first show under the new format” Russo continues to divulge, “I wanted to surprise all of you with a blast from the past that will leave no room for misunderstanding.”

“Stop reading” Grant remarks, scoffing at the comments being made with a roll of his eyes, “I’m tired of these idle threats and cheap little potshots. If the fat cunt wants to spark some kind of worry, he’s not going to.”

“That was the end of the email anyway” Vickers confesses, guiding his face away from the screen and toward his visitors, “all he said after that was ‘this is a war’ and signed off on it.”

“Are we supposed to be concerned by this? So we’ll get a good look at who’s manning the second hour that we’ll be competing with. No big deal” Taylor carries onward, her arms falling from their cross as she steps past her fiance, approaching the president’s desk. “I just wanted the two of you to know what’s going on. I don’t put it past Russo to try and fuck with our show somehow” Vickers explains, tucking his hands into each pocket, “I just wanted to let you know about the change in plans.”

|

\ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 /
\ 7:58 pm est. - 4:58 pm pst. /

Preparing her makeup for tonight’s broadcast whilst her fiance stands by watching, Taylor pats her face with a brush and a pad whilst eying the mirror. “Most of the show’s going to be on Serbia anyway, we won’t need to worry about Olivia’s satellite” Grant assures, approaching his significant other with outstretched arms, taking her gently by the waist and kissing the back of her neck.

A few levels below, Carly- dressed for the air- taps her pen on the table twice at the behest of her executive producer in the same moment, seated behind the news desk and ready for a similar broadcast from the quicker version she’d filmed earlier in the day. “Do we have the Finley feed on any of the screens?” she wonders aloud, staring at her script with a red pen in tow.

“On your right, it’ll be- fittingly enough- the farthest screen to the right” Aiden giggles, playing with the buttons at his disposal for a quick moment before stepping back, inspecting the live feeds that he receives of his modernising anchor. “I’m looking into the camera and giving you a level check” Carly mutters in response, staring directly into the lens ahead of her to ensure the control centre has an adequate reading to sync her audio with.

“Should we get to the bureau with the others?” Grant whispers, cradling his smiling fiance in his arms as she nods, looking into his eyes before meeting him with a kiss. With a hand in each other’s own, the pair embark upon a journey away from their office, guiding themselves into the sea of desks that sit near the base of their news desk’s platform.

“They’ll be opening the show with the usual guys and then leaving the rest of it to the replacements, right?” Vince wonders aloud, looking toward the couple that approach in real time. “That’s what we were told, so we’ll go with that... sure” Taylor replies, staring at the pair of monitors purposefully set to rival networks, the final commercials that either Finley or LMC air prior to the top of the hour concluding.

“And we’re on air in five, four, three, two...” Aiden remarks, counting down with his fingers as he watches the broadcast’s intro roll on, passing glances toward the same opening credit package that the Finley Network broadcasts. “Good evening, this is On-Air with Carly Carpenter. Thank you for joining us” the brunette host remarks, her introduction seen in passing by those in the studio above, though the speaker system that operates within their walls voices the audio of her rival network.

“Thank you for joining us” the young, clean-shaven black anchor on the adversarial broadcast greets before throwing it to his co-anchor, who begins his service to the network an hour earlier than usual. “Tonight is a big step for this network as we introduce primetime, national news to a super-sized format” Olbermann explains, coupling his hands together atop the black desk he anchors from behind.

“Any predictions?” Grant whispers, waiting out the time between the show’s greeting and the introduction of the new hosts by watching the screen his colleague at eight o’clock takes up. “Some preppy blonde chick from the Giuliani campaign. Someone that reminds you of Kelsi or something along those lines” Taylor answers, shrugging her shoulders at a loss for anything further, “I literally don’t know anyone else that he’d legally be able to bring on with this quick turnaround.”

“If he can’t get the real girl, he’ll get one of her fellow staffers. Not a bad pick” Grant admits, conceding the point to his co-anchor, “I was going to assume it’d be someone that worked the eight o’clock show from when I was at CSN.”

“It doesn’t matter, we’re going to take them to the cleaners any-” Taylor mutters, squinting at the sound of a third voice from the rival broadcast. Having been interrupted from off to the camera shot’s side, both Thompson and Olbermann take a modest amusement from the unintelligible quip their successors had made from offscreen. “That didn’t sound like Nalty” the female anchor of LMC’s nine o’clock hour murmurs, unable to fully get a register of the muffled voice from afar.

“As you can tell, we have the new anchors of the two-hour nightly broadcast here, in studio, and ready to bring us into a new era at the Finley Network” Thompson comments, placing his hands against the desk in preparation to wheel his chair out of the camera shot. “Without further adieu, we bid you farewell and wish you comfort as we transition over to the hands of your new hosts” the younger-appearing anchor comments, pushing himself to the side with a nod, “take it away, fellas.”

“With feet on the ground in Serbia, we now send it over to-” Carly explains, preparing to send the broadcast’s feed over to their European field reporter before falling silent, her eyes glued to the rival broadcast over to the side. Completely missing his girlfriend’s pause amidst one of his own shock, Aiden stares at the Finley Network display just as the rest of his colleagues in the control room do, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

With audible silence, Carly stares to the side of the stage with chills running down her spine, seeing the pair of smiling faces that take over the show opposite of her own. “Aiden! Where do we go!?” a member of the crew calls out from behind the eight o’clock producer, amongst the few to take notice of the show they’re still at the helm of producing as he forces the man to snap out of his trance.

“Cut to- cut-” Aiden stammers, trying to pull his attention back to his job at hand without success, forcingly his face to send itself back toward the direction of the rival network, “just send it to Serbia!” Without the assistance of the still-aghast eight o’clock anchor, the crew clues their field reporter into the troubles at home and sends the shot toward him, cutting the picture of Carly’s awe-stricken face in favour of the man with a mic in his hand and little clue what’s unfolding.

Collectively in awe to the sound of brief fits of gasps, the nine o’clock newsroom stands in complete silence, staring at the screen of the rival network as all but one on-duty colleagues look with utter stupor. “Mr. Thompson, I can say with absolute certainty that it is an honour and a privilege to take over for you” Nalty remarks, smiling toward the clean-shaven man that sits beside him, his light-skinned figure presenting equal joy to be back behind the desk.

Frozen in peril, Taylor stares at the man beside Grant’s ghost from her past with widened eyes and viciously trembling hands, unable to move from the night terror-like paralysation that grips her. “Good evening from the first-ever edition of National News Tonight. I’m Howard Nalty” the publicly disgraced anchor greets, turning to the right as he looks toward his privately-disgraced colleague.

“...and I’m Arnold Barry” the minority replies, prompting his direct replacement at LMC to stumble backward, unable to function with the breath that had been stolen from her lungs. Retreating from his daze, Grant quickly hurries to his fiance’s side as her legs begin to shake, struggling to keep her small body upright as he redirects his concerns away from the ghost of his own past in favour of the one from his fiance’s, catching his lover before she can hit the floor, supporting her as the only thing preventing the successful anchor from outright collapsing.

“It’s been almost a decade since I’ve been able to say these words, so let’s see if I’ve still got it...” Barry speaks aloud, looking directly into the camera with his television presenter-fitting grin, passing it a nod as he carries out his return to the national audience, “...this is the news.”

== Tonight at 9 ==