The young journalist thought she would follow DeMarcus's advice. In this political climate, the thought of a fourteen-year-old having any kind of job, even a paper route, was most likely anathema to anyone, but if anyone asked, that's what Isaacarine would say.
Isaacarine heard an unearthly squeal. She glanced at it, and saw in innocent rodent being slaughtered. Yep. But wait. Those people in the red robes were chanting "Yum"? More Stanic than Satanic.
The waiter in drag gave Isaacarine her quesadilla and the British two-finger salute. Isaacarine only knew what that was from her days in the circus. The quesadilla seemed suspiciously normal. Isaacarine stared at her quesadilla. The quesadilla stared back. Isaacarine looked away, and... the quesadilla moved! Yes, it did! Isaacarine poked the quesadilla with a fork, and she thought she heard a squeal.
In the sweetest, most politest, little-girl voice, Isaacarine said, "May I be excused, please? I think I need to barf." Without even waiting for a response, Isaacarine tried to get up from her seat, but she was stuck. Isaacarine began to grok something she had only conceptually understood before.
"Oh dear oh fudge oh sugersticks."
Posted: Mon Jul 13, 2020 12:01 am
by Main Nation Ministry
Francis Smith and Jean-Marc Consommer
"Uhhh, this meat doesn't seem like raccoon meat. Plus, I think raccoon is edible, as long as you cook it?" Francis wasn't an animal person to know what types of animals were edible and what were not. Consommer appeared to be enjoying the tacos that he ordered, unlike Smith's case. "I find the chicken taco to be better than the sushi one. The pork blood taco isn't really good than I anticapited, but I hadn't tried the salad yet." Consommer continued, as Smith took a glance at Jean-Marc's salad. It was practically just pine needles and baby shampoo poured over it.
Smith didn't want to back out. Despite the fact that his fellow workers have refused to take a bite of anything in this restaurant, Smith was hungry. Maybe the bite of this mystery meat taco will help. With anxiety filling his body, Smith went for it. He took a large bite of the taco, despite being able to refuse to eat. The moment he took the bite, he knew something was immediately wrong, as it was in his mouth. There would be no way he can shallow this, since Smith knew whatever animal or probably creature died for this taco isn't edible.
"Ughhh!! ARRGHGHHH!H!" Smith gagged, as he spat out the food that was still in his mouth into his napkin. "Ok, I think I'm going to reschedule a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning..." It was then that Consommer tried the salad and practically reacted in the same way. "GahhH!! Bon dieu de toutes choses puissantes!" "The salad clearly looked inedible! Why did you try to eat it?!" "I've been to establishments that had served objects not meant to be food, and this is not one of these establishments! The salad cost 30 dollars!" "We need to get out of here! I think whatever I tried a bite of, didn't have a rabies shot.." Smith said, until he noticed something odd with both DeMarcus and Isaacarine. Both of them were about to leave, but they appeared to be struggling to get up from their chairs.
Smith tried to get up, only to feel something smily and sticky glueing him down on his ass. "The hell?" Smith struggled, but he cannot properly stand up. He would have to bend over and lift the chair with his rear, since it was glued. "I can't rip these pants! I brought them from Nordstrom! Jean-Marc, do something!" Smith yelled, as Consommer stood up, where Smith realized that Consommer didn't have any crud on this chair to pin him down. "You all appear to be in a sticky situation, my colleagues." "Help us out of these chairs, you moron!" "I shall see if the staff is willing to help you. I will also complain about the over priced salad!" Consommer said, as he started to head to the "Staff Only" door. Knowing that some of the journalists may already know what's deep in the restaurant, they didn't want to know. "Try to move the chairs away from the table! We gotta get out of here! Jean-Marc isn't going to do jack!" Smith yelled, as he tried to do a mini hop on his chair to scoot away from the table to give himself some more room.
Posted: Sat Jul 18, 2020 5:32 am
by Talchyon
Of all the cheap joints in the world, I get stuck in this one DeMarcus Clark
Main Nation Ministry wrote:Francis Smith and Jean-Marc Consommer "We need to get out of here! I think whatever I tried a bite of, didn't have a rabies shot.." Smith said, until he noticed something odd with both DeMarcus and Isaacarine. Both of them were about to leave, but they appeared to be struggling to get up from their chairs.
Smith tried to get up, only to feel something smily and sticky glueing him down on his ass. "The hell?" Smith struggled, but he cannot properly stand up. He would have to bend over and lift the chair with his rear, since it was glued. "I can't rip these pants! I brought them from Nordstrom! Jean-Marc, do something!" Smith yelled, as Consommer stood up, where Smith realized that Consommer didn't have any crud on this chair to pin him down. "You all appear to be in a sticky situation, my colleagues." "Help us out of these chairs, you moron!" "I shall see if the staff is willing to help you. I will also complain about the over priced salad!" Consommer said, as he started to head to the "Staff Only" door. Knowing that some of the journalists may already know what's deep in the restaurant, they didn't want to know. "Try to move the chairs away from the table! We gotta get out of here! Jean-Marc isn't going to do jack!" Smith yelled, as he tried to do a mini hop on his chair to scoot away from the table to give himself some more room.
Whatever the crud was that kept them in their chairs was in one sense a very effective business strategy. If people are going to just get up and leave because your restaurant is supplying the local hospitals with patients, why not keep your customers there a lot longer by never cleaning the chairs? DeMarcus began to wonder if this restaurant had some back door shady deal with one of the local junior med schools around.
But at the same time, it was also one of the most annoying things he had ever dealt with, and DeMarcus Clark had seen a lot of annoying things in his life, such as when he had to cover at least 4 Patriots' Super Bowl victories. So when their feckless leader, the new editor Mr. Francis Smith himself, started trying to scoot-hop his way out of the restaurant, DeMarcus joined in.
He made it a few inches, each time. "I don't think this is workin', man. We might just have to try to stand up. Won't be easy. And it will probably screw up our backs and we'll need chiropractor assistance, but, hoppin' and scootin' isn't doin' it."
DeMarcus breathed a heavy breath out, and tried to stand. He could get it, kind of, only he was bent over with the chair stuck to him. But at least this gave more movement than he would have otherwise. So with his head down and not being able to see much, the Carrot's sports reporter stumbled his way into tables, other customers, the guy in the corner who had just finished urinating on the wall, and eventually towards the door.
Only before he could leave, there was a slight problem. The extremely overweight waitress who had tried to stare into his soul with hostility because he didn't order anything was right there, blocking the way. And as he said, "Hey, I'm done. Uh, can you move?" She just said with a low voice, "You're not goin' anywhere, bud."
DeMarcus looked back at his table (well, in the direction that he thought his table was). "A little help guys?"
Posted: Sat Jul 18, 2020 7:09 am
by Voxija
Isaacarine Rosenberg
Isaacarine tried to pull herself off the chair. She regretted wearing her jean shorts today. Now it wasn't just her pants stuck to the chair, it was her legs too. Isaacarine had a strange vision of herself in the hospital getting a chair surgically removed from her legs. Isaacarine wished she had worn her skirt.
It was probably the crud on the chair that prevented Isaacarine from getting up. Isaacarine wondered if she should've tried to clean the chair with a napkin, but that probably wouldn't have done a thing.
Isaacarine tried to stand up, but the chair bent Isaacarine's back and made her look a bit like the circus strongman when he was trying to carry a ton of lumber. Isaacarine was more practiced in walking in this position, and instead of scoot-hopping like her coworkers, she ran around the restaurant like a headless chicken.
DeMarcus called for help. Isaacarine ran toward his voice, but one of the other customers grabbed Isaacarine on the upper arm. Because Isaacarine doesn't follow clichéd action hero tropes, she broke out of the hold and ran. When she reached DeMarcus, Isaacarine paused. Either she could grab DeMarcus's chair and try to pull it off him, or she could help DeMarcus fight off the waitress. Isaacarine barfed on DeMarcus's shoes instead. Hey, it's hard to aim with a chair on your back.
Posted: Sun Jul 19, 2020 12:57 pm
by Main Nation Ministry
Francis Smith and Jean-Marc Consommer
"Come on! Shit!" Francis did a few hops, until he tried to bend over, so that he can get some movement with the chair not dragging against the floor, while trying to get to the door. Francis felt his two feet touch the floor, where he used his strength to manage to get the chair off the floor. It was easy, but it was going to be difficult and uncomfortable to get to the door, since you have a chair stuck to your rear. But it looked like the waitress isn't going to let them leave.
At the "Staff Only" door, Jean-Marc has gone to see the manager over the overpriced salad that he has ordered. "I don't mind to be intrude into his kitchen, but I like to speak with the manager of this establishment over the service that I have been served with my colleagues!" Jean-Marc said, when he opened the door, ignoring the ash-covered doorframe. However, he adjusted his glasses for a moment to see what has been on everyone's mind about what the hell has been cooking in that kitchen.
After I adjusted the glasses upon opening the door, I was met with a rather grisly sight. A bit strange that I didn't smell any smoke earlier, but they must have disabled the fire alarms, which itself can be a major violation from the health department. There were dozens of hooded figures crowding around....something. The staff appeared to be in the middle of summoning some sort of eldritch abomination in the form of a blob composed of waste, leftovers, and some rancid looking rotten compost. A man wearing red robes was speaking in long tongue, where his eyes were rolled back to show the whites in his eyes. I can see what appears to be the Necronomicon in his hands, and at one corner of the kitchen, someone is letting many unidentifiable animals be burned to the crisp. It wasn't until one of the hooded figures noticed him was when I had to excuse me for being rude on disturbing private affairs.
Jean-Marc closed the door with a puzzled and concerned look on his face, needing to do a double check. He opened the door again, where he saw the exact same thing. This time, it looked like the hooded figures, or sanatic cultists rather were getting sharp weapons and heading towards Consommer. Consommer closed the door again, where he started to head towards the door, where 3 of his colleagues were still stuck in their chairs and struggling to get past the waitress. "I hate to be rude, but we must leave for tonight to whisk some of my friends towards a medical facility. Surely, since we're well known in Anywhere City, you can let us leave without paying-" "You shall not leave! The ritual has only just begun!" the waitress said, pulling out a sacrificial dagger and pointing it directly at Smith, who was struggling to turn around. "Consommer! These people are out of their goddamn minds!" Smith screamed, where Consommer got out his cane, ready to take a swing. "Leave my fellow co-workers be, this once!" "Wait, where's Digby!? We need to save her, also!" Smith yelled at Jean-Marc, as he forgotten that Digby may or may not be in danger.
Posted: Sun Jul 19, 2020 1:04 pm
by Mediama
Caroline Digby
Well... things were certainly going to hell fast. Did I remember to pack my anti-adhesive solvent today? Caroline thought to herself. She opened up her purse to try to look for it. Let's see, anti-sodium calcium chloride tablets, anti-pro-anti sodium calcium chloride tablets, pro-hydro-dioxide tablets, cyanide pills (still not sure how I'm supposed to poison the enemy with these, they seem too conspicuous.) Palette phone, mirror phone, my car keys... heck...
Just as she was about to look up to try to find a way to remedy the situation, she saw that the girl and Clark trying to make a run for it, the chairs still attached to them, with said girl projectile vomiting onto Clark's shoes. Carol grimaced, then quickly fumbled for one of her many hidden phones, she reached for her mirror phone, before in the panic she dropped it, causing it to smash into a million pieces as a little bell from one of those rotary phones were heard in the destruction. Talk about seven years bad luck.
She then quickly reached for her palette phone, opened it, and used the brush to press on the correct color combination.
"Chief... this is 73 again... things went horribly wrong..."
"Carol, what did you do!?"
"Nothing! I swear! Things just happened!"
An exasperated sigh permeated from the palette phone, "Right, I'll send Agents 109 and 87 to go down and back you up or clean up the mess depending on what you do, just be sure your co-workers don't find out what you do for a living."
"Right, thanks chief." She slammed the palette phone shut, causing it to ring. She grabbed her shattered mirror phone, and replaced it in its place in her purse before she turned towards her boss.
She looked up to try to talk to Smith... only to find that all of her Co-workers had already left. With nothing else to do, Carol decided to get up to chase after Consumer to the staff door, drawing out her detective special in preparation for whatever she would find behind the secretive staff door... only for Consumer to back out with a dazed expression on his face, he checked twice, only to walk back to the group to suggest they should all leave.
As Carol moved to try to find out what Consumer discovered, what she found was worse than a KAOS listening post... or a McDonalds... And so she quickly poked her head out of the door before they noticed her. As she tried to formulate a plan and assess the situation, some screaming about a sacrifice was heard from where she came from.
That can't be good. She quickly turned to find that some of the staff had become homicidal. Thinking on both reflexes and training, she raised her detective special and fired off a few shots at the knife-wielding waitress threatening Smith and the gang.
Posted: Sun Jul 19, 2020 4:55 pm
by Talchyon
Heading out? DeMarcus Clark
Bent over with chair legs sticking out behind him, and joined at the door by a few of his colleagues, there was only one thing blocking the way out of this hellhole of a restaurant. The rotund psychotic waitress with the weird knife, who was barring the way out. DeMarcus had called for help from the others who worked at The Daily Carrot... only to get his shoes puked on. And he was wearing flip flops, of all things!
He was pissed. "Oh no, you didn't. No you did not. You did not just toss your cookies on my flip flops, girl! Oh! Oh! I see what's goin' on here. Girl can't keep it in until we get outside, huh!" But after he did this, the heavy waitress began to threaten them all with a weird curved knife. Not to mention, gunshots went off behind them in their general direction!
He was NOT having a good day.
The gunshots missed. The waitress ignored the shots. It seemed like it wasn't the first time people had broken their pieces out during a lunch run at this restaurant. Judging from the many bullet holes in the walls, it was a wonder the restaurant was still standing anyway. Not only was it a health code violation. It was also a building code violation.
But DeMarcus had other things on his mind. Almost getting shot didn't do anything to defuse his temper. So DeMarcus glared at the waitress. "Uh uh, girlfriend. Here's how this is goin' down. It's called making a deal. We got something you can use. We are reporters for a magazine, girl. And we'll give your restaurant a good review in our next issue if you let us go."
The waitress snarled at them in some sort of arcane language that nobody got but everyone could easily understand they didn't care about publicity.
DeMarcus glared at her again. "Oh, so you don't care about that. Fine. Well, I got something even better. Something you can definitely use." And when the hardened eyes of the waitress tried to stare into his soul to find out what, DeMarcus just pointed down at his puke-covered flip-flops. "Those. You can have my socks and sandals. And everything else covering them. Look, let's be real. We all know what that 'mystery meat' really was, and how it was cooked. Seems to me like you got yourself more product you can sell here. It's all yours."
The waitress looked down with a surprised expression. Then up at DeMarcus, trying to see if he was being for real. Then down again with glee. "That would make a great special for tonight..." she began to say.
DeMarcus gladly got out of his flip-flops and yacked on socks. "You can have it. Just let us go."
The waitress responded, "But what about payment?"
DeMarcus nodded matter-of-factly. "I want to start a tab here. Great place like this? You just got yourself some repeat customers. So, put the charge under my tab. My name is Antonio Brown? Yeah. Charge it all to Antonio Brown. Chairs included."
Glancing again at the nasty socks and flip-flops, then up again, then down again, the waitress nodded. "Deal." Then she put the knife away, took the socks and flip-flops covered in Isaacarine's vomit, and moved aside to let them all out.
DeMarcus smiled. As they began to stumble out with their chairs stuck to the backs of them, he said to his group, "More than one way to get what you want," he said with a grin - though not like anyone could see it, having to stare down with bent backs at the ground.
Posted: Mon Jul 20, 2020 3:56 am
by Barapam
TACOGATE: TENTACLES OF TERROR Written by Conn Spirou
"Hi guys, sorry I'm late", Conn said as he caught up with his work buddies outside the new restaurant. He looked more presentable than usual, as he was wearing a hat and a coat to match his trousers, was clean-shaven and relaxed, unlike his usual revved up, five-o'clock-shade, loose tie kinda guy he was at the office most of the time. Instead, he looked like a respectable journalist of a by gone era, going out for some after work dinner and drinks with his colleagues.
"It's just that I got completely engrossed when I did some research about the sinister gay cabal that secretly ran Sweden in the 1950s. It went way deeper than I thought! Up to the royal family even, which then led me to the infidelity scandals they tried to cover up, which then led me to how Sweden nearly joined the first world war on Germany's side because of it... You see, the king had an affair with a homosexual criminal, and the queen, who was a Prussian princess, had an affair with her personal physician. The personal physician sexually harassed the wife of one of the princes, a Russian princess. I think that might be the real reason why a certain Russian admiral was very close to attacking Sweden in 1914...
But you probably knew this already! And don't let me bore you with work talk! What are you doing? Some kind of chair conga? It looks fun! Where can I get a chair?"
Posted: Mon Jul 20, 2020 8:10 am
by Pax Nerdvana
Daniel "Dutch" Van Dyke Daniel was working late, typing away on an article. He wanted to get it done as quick as he could, so he was free to travel to Kentucky to see his parents, and his brother. He liked this job and all, but it was nice to be able to get away from the city, which he wished he could do more often. He reached for his coffee, and took a sip. He shifted his weight in the chair, and felt a twinge as his sidearm poked his spine. He thought to himself,"I really should try an appendix carry one of these days. He continued tapping away at the keyboard. He was almost done, just a paragraph to go. He couldn't wait to go to Kentucky.
Most of the lights in the building were off, and it was pretty quiet, so he heard the distinctive sound of the door being opened. He instinctively dropped from his chair, and crouched behind the desk. He began reaching for his M1911, feeling the familiar well worn wood of the scales and the cold steel of the grip in his hand. He wouldn't draw unless he needed to. He said,"Who's there? Identify yourself!"
A female voice called out through the semi-darkness, "It's just me, Sarah, the security guard. I saw the light through the window and came to investigate. Who are you?"
Daniel let out a laugh and said,"It's me, Van Dyke. I was working late on an article, and thought you were a burglar." He stood up, keeping his hands visible.
Sarah said,"Figures. Just turn the lights off when you're done, ok?"
Daniel replied,"Of course. Have a good evening!"
"You too!" With that, Sarah left, and Daniel sat down to finish his article.
Posted: Mon Jul 20, 2020 10:53 am
by Main Nation Ministry
Francis Smith and Jean-Marc Consommer
As Consommer was about to swing the cane at the waitress, Digby actually pulled out a gun and fired several shots at the woman. Smith didn't see who fired the shots, but Jean-Marc saw Consommer, where he was too surprised to react at first. Though, for some reason, Digby was a bad shot. The bullets didn't hit the crazed waitress, but she looked more pissed at being shot at. Then, it looked like Clark had an idea.
"Uh uh, girlfriend. Here's how this is goin' down. It's called making a deal. We got something you can use. We are reporters for a magazine, girl. And we'll give your restaurant a good review in our next issue if you let us go."
This didn't convince the woman, especially since Smith knew that he was going to write up a harsh expose on the restaurant. Then, Clark appeared to have another idea.
"Oh, so you don't care about that. Fine. Well, I got something even better. Something you can definitely use." And when the hardened eyes of the waitress tried to stare into his soul to find out what, DeMarcus just pointed down at his puke-covered flip-flops. "Those. You can have my socks and sandals. And everything else covering them. Look, let's be real. We all know what that 'mystery meat' really was, and how it was cooked. Seems to me like you got yourself more product you can sell here. It's all yours."
"That would make a great special for tonight..." she began to say.
DeMarcus gladly got out of his flip-flops and yacked on socks. "You can have it. Just let us go."
The waitress responded, "But what about payment?"
DeMarcus nodded matter-of-factly. "I want to start a tab here. Great place like this? You just got yourself some repeat customers. So, put the charge under my tab. My name is Antonio Brown? Yeah. Charge it all to Antonio Brown. Chairs included."
Surprisingly, this deal and fake tab worked. The waitress let them pass, where Smith immediately ran towards the doors, slamming into them and tumbling out onto the ground outside. "I could have opened the door." Consommer said, as Smith was now on the ground, where it was going to be hard for him to get back up, when you have a chair glued to your rear. "Just help me out of here. We need to get to a hospital, then I can try to convince the authorities." Francis Smith said, as a new worker Conn Spirou appeared to have arrived for dinner late. "Late you are. We just finished dinner! The review for Rosario's House would be heavily mixed." Jean-Marc told Conn, as Conn was going off of some work-related talk, which Smith didn't really take notice. He just wanted to get out of this chair.
"What are you doing? Some kind of chair conga? It looks fun! Where can I get a chair?
"Just get this damn chair off my ass, without ripping my pants!" Smith yelled, as there appeared to be some commotion from inside the restaurant. Probably because the cultists from the kitchen had ran out into the main dining area.
Posted: Mon Jul 20, 2020 2:01 pm
by Voxija
Isaacarine Rosenberg
Talchyon wrote:DeMarcus glared at her again. "Oh, so you don't care about that. Fine. Well, I got something even better. Something you can definitely use." And when the hardened eyes of the waitress tried to stare into his soul to find out what, DeMarcus just pointed down at his puke-covered flip-flops. "Those. You can have my socks and sandals. And everything else covering them. Look, let's be real. We all know what that 'mystery meat' really was, and how it was cooked. Seems to me like you got yourself more product you can sell here. It's all yours."
The waitress looked down with a surprised expression. Then up at DeMarcus, trying to see if he was being for real. Then down again with glee. "That would make a great special for tonight..." she began to say.
DeMarcus gladly got out of his flip-flops and yacked on socks. "You can have it. Just let us go."
The waitress responded, "But what about payment?"
DeMarcus nodded matter-of-factly. "I want to start a tab here. Great place like this? You just got yourself some repeat customers. So, put the charge under my tab. My name is Antonio Brown? Yeah. Charge it all to Antonio Brown. Chairs included."
Glancing again at the nasty socks and flip-flops, then up again, then down again, the waitress nodded. "Deal." Then she put the knife away, took the socks and flip-flops covered in Isaacarine's vomit, and moved aside to let them all out.
DeMarcus smiled. As they began to stumble out with their chairs stuck to the backs of them, he said to his group, "More than one way to get what you want," he said with a grin - though not like anyone could see it, having to stare down with bent backs at the ground.
Isaacarine was impressed at DeMarcus's quick thinking, and that the plan actually worked. She began to respect him even more than someone should respect his coworker. Isaacarine slipped out of the restaurant, following behind Smith in the space that he created.
Barapam wrote:But you probably knew this already! And don't let me bore you with work talk! What are you doing? Some kind of chair conga? It looks fun! Where can I get a chair?"
That was Conn. Rosenberg didn't like Conn much. It was all in the name: a con. Besides that, Isaacarine was worried that Conn Spirou would invoke the second rule of conspiracy: Blame the Jews. Conn had already insulted ID's Voxijan heritage, by saying that the former president Bixenta Agirre was assigned male at birth. Not that being trans was wrong, saying that the president was trans was just untrue.
"Uh, Mister Clark?" said Isaacarine. "Uh... sorry for barfing on your shoes." But who wears flip-flops and socks together, anyway? "You did good back there, stopping that waitress."
"Just get this damn chair off my ass, without ripping my pants!" Smith yelled, as there appeared to be some commotion from inside the restaurant. Probably because the cultists from the kitchen had ran out into the main dining area.
"Umm... Okay, I'll try..." Conn said, now confused about how they all had gotten stuck on chairs and why, if it wasn't voluntarily as part of a game. He went behind his new boss, grabbed a chair leg in each hand, and pulled as hard as he could.
It didn't help. He pulled again and took a step backwards too, but that just caused Smith to be dragged along with him, in rather comical fashion. "You need to push yourself forward at the same time, otherwise this is never gonna work!" Conn told the editor as he kept on pulling the legs. "Can somebody grab his arms and pull from the other side?" he asked his colleagues, still pulling.
That was Conn. Rosenberg didn't like Conn much. It was all in the name: a con. Besides that, Isaacarine was worried that Conn Spirou would invoke the second rule of conspiracy: Blame the Jews. Conn had already insulted ID's Voxijan heritage, by saying that the former president Bixenta Agirre was assigned male at birth. Not that being trans was wrong, saying that the president was trans was just untrue.
Isaacarine had no need to fear any antisemitism from Conn, despite his collection of Nazi artefacts (although he had of course never showed them to her, since he was way too paranoid to invite but a very select few to his house). On the contrary, he was fully convinced that the theory of a Jewish world conspiracy had been planted by those who really where in charge, weather that was a diverse group of international oligarchs or even squirrels (Conn wasn't sure yet, but he had, at least for now, more or less ruled out the idea of it being a subterranean race of mole people).
He wasn't aware that she didn't like him, or at least not in that sense. Conn just assumed it was teenage hormones going haywire at random times with potential to cause drama, and that was something Conn neither wanted nor knew how to deal with, so he mostly left the Voxijan girl alone, but not in the sense that he avoided her at all costs either. Right now, for example, he interacted with her by misunderstanding the reason for her apology to DeMarcus and began to accuse everybody.
"You got ID drunk!? You irresponsible bastards!"
Posted: Sat Aug 01, 2020 8:07 am
by Talchyon
Outside the 1/2 star restaurant, with a chair stuck to his butt DeMarcus Clark
Isaacarine was impressed at DeMarcus's quick thinking, and that the plan actually worked. She began to respect him even more than someone should respect his coworker. Isaacarine slipped out of the restaurant, following behind Smith in the space that he created.
Barapam wrote:But you probably knew this already! And don't let me bore you with work talk! What are you doing? Some kind of chair conga? It looks fun! Where can I get a chair?"
That was Conn. Rosenberg didn't like Conn much. It was all in the name: a con. Besides that, Isaacarine was worried that Conn Spirou would invoke the second rule of conspiracy: Blame the Jews. Conn had already insulted ID's Voxijan heritage, by saying that the former president Bixenta Agirre was assigned male at birth. Not that being trans was wrong, saying that the president was trans was just untrue.
"Uh, Mister Clark?" said Isaacarine. "Uh... sorry for barfing on your shoes." But who wears flip-flops and socks together, anyway? "You did good back there, stopping that waitress."
When Isaacarine apologized, DeMarcus was still pretty upset at the whole lunch break that had somehow turned into an excruciating 7 or so hours because now it was dark. So it was just one more thing to be annoyed at that his designer flip flops and fly socks with undigested Isaacarine food on them now were now going to be part of tomorrow's noon special. He growled. But then, realizing he was talking to a kid, he forced himself to reign in his temper.
"Yeah, that's s'alright, Shorty. I got others. As for that move with the waitress, I tell you, always impersonate Antonio Brown and it works out great."
Their colleague, Conn, had somehow appeared. At that very moment! He had missed what the restaurant tried to pass off as a meal. Lucky bastard. DeMarcus knew it was him, despite being bent over attached to the chair stuck to his butt, because no one was more of a tinfoil hat believer in conspiracy theories than Conn. Only, Conn was now accusing DeMarcus of getting Isaacarine drunk.
Fortunately, DeMarcus knew how to handle this. Speaking to Conn, he said, "Look, man, you got it all wrong. There was an antidote in that beer. She was suffering from the secret poison you get from wearing shoes. Look, the CIA is all over this, but the only way out is by either drinking a beer or taking off your shoes, like I did. See? See my bare feet? It's an antidote, man."
There. That was loopy enough to make Conn back off.
But glancing back in the restaurant, the cultists had come out into the main room. Great. Just, great.
"Guys, I don' know about you, but we gotta move! Feet, do your duty." And DeMarcus tried to shuffle off with the chair stuck to him, forcing him to bend over and moving at a very suboptimal speed. About as fast as John Elway used to run.
Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2020 12:59 am
by Mediama
Seeing that her shots missed, she lowered her revolver and spoke to her self, putting her pointer and thumb close together, “Missed it by that much...” She looked up to find that somehow, through the power of diplomacy, the sports journalist had been able to diplomatically evade getting shanked into a shush kebab... only for the waitress to willingly take the sandals for the next main course.... causing her to gag as the gang made their getaway.
None of the reporters realized that Carol was missing from their group. Or the fact that two strange 1960’s black sedans screeched up in front of the taco stand and suddenly ten men and women dressed in suits and dresses appeared, until they rushed into the fray, getting into fist and gun fights with the cultists and pushing them back into the dining area.
Seeing that her fellow agents were keeping the cultists occupied, Carol rushed back to the kitchen door, opened it slightly, and quickly took out her pair of camera glasses, quickly taking a few pictures, and forgetting she left the flash on as she dazed several surprised cultists before they could do anything, and then pulled herself out from the door.
She then took out her explosive mentos, and took two tablets out to chew, keeping them separate in her mouth. She spit them out, and stuck them on the door frame, one on each side.
She then took out two glass bottles of Pepsi, and placed one on each side of the aforementioned frame. She twisted each of their caps, and quickly put in three explosive mentos tablets in each bottle, before she bolted out to join the fray, finding a certain blonde girl in a gogo dress punching one of the waitresses in the jaw, “Nice seeing you here 111!” She said as she jumped in and decked another waiter.
“Likewise, 73, what did you get yourself into this time, KAOS?”
“Nah, just some sort of weird cultist stuff, but hey, if it threatens democratic values and all that jazz.”
111 nodded, “Anything I should know about?”
“I maaay have set some explosive gum to explode in about, oh I don’t know, thirty seconds or so?”
“You did what!?” 111 yelled, inadvertently stopping her mauling of another cultist before she decked him before he could make the move. “Carol, how much did you use?”
“I-maaaaybe a small amount?” Carol paused to look in her purse, narrowly missing a cultist’s dagger that was aiming for her neck, only for their response to be a gunshot to the gut from one of the CONTROL agents. She took out her mentos case, and opened it, finding it completely bare. She flipped it upside down to see if there was any left, to no avail, and to 111’s horror.
“Carol you’re going to kill us all!” She yelled, she turned to the other agents and yelled, “Fall back! Get as many of the civilians and as much evidence out as possible! Let’s get the hell out of here!”
And so the small cadre of agents desperately tried to evacuate the establishment while they made a fighting retreat back into the main lobby, 111 turned back to Carol, “Go back to your reporter friends, they’ll probably notice your absence pretty quickly, and whatever you do, don’t try to raise any suspicion on your day job, you know the drill, plan 22 is in effect.”
“Plan 22? But 111, you know that’s a paradoxical order, right?”
“We’re not here to talk about philosophy Digby, it’s the ultimate coverup! Honestly I wanted to at least seize this place to see how horrific it is, but blowing it up is fine, too, who knows what they have here. Now get going!”
“Right 111!” And so Digby rushed out of the restaurant, crashing into the doors in the rush, before she pushed them open and ran straight out into the main lobby, revolver still in hand, as patrons and agents ran out as if the entire thing was being looted.
“Heya Chief, like to talk now but we’ve got to get the heck out of here. I’ve heard something about some sort of gas leak or something? And last I checked, there were a lot of smokers in there.” She said as she tried to push the group to get as far away from the restaurant as possible.
Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2020 12:08 pm
by Voxija
Isaacarine Rosenberg
Talchyon wrote:When Isaacarine apologized, DeMarcus was still pretty upset at the whole lunch break that had somehow turned into an excruciating 7 or so hours because now it was dark. So it was just one more thing to be annoyed at that his designer flip flops and fly socks with undigested Isaacarine food on them now were now going to be part of tomorrow's noon special. He growled. But then, realizing he was talking to a kid, he forced himself to reign in his temper.
"Yeah, that's s'alright, Shorty. I got others. As for that move with the waitress, I tell you, always impersonate Antonio Brown and it works out great."
The young reporter got the feeling that DeMarcus's response wasn't genuine, but she smiled anyway. Isaacarine would've run as quickly as she could've with a chair on her back, if not for Conn Spirou's remark.
Barapam wrote:"You got ID drunk!? You irresponsible bastards!"
That made ID angry. He didn't even know what she drank! And even if she did, one sip of beer wasn't going to get anyone drunk. Isaacarine opened her mouth to tear that Vasco Kraut a new one, but her response came out as a mumble.
"Drudk? I'b not drudk..."
Isaacarine tried to run away from the restaurant, but after a few steps, Isaacarine tripped over her own shoes and fell on her back like a downed turtle. Isaacarine was used to this, she could get up, but it was friggin hard with a chair on her back.
"Stupid gangly teenage puberty!" Isaacarine kicked her legs in the air like someone trying to exercise but it didn't work.
The young journalist saw Caroline Digby out of the corner of her eye. Isaacarine stuck her hand out in Carol's vague direction, and Rosenberg's Jewish half would have been horrified to know what it looked like from her colleague's angle.
"Hey, Carol! Please help me up, please?"
Posted: Mon Aug 03, 2020 12:06 am
by Main Nation Ministry
Francis Smith and Jean-Marc Consommer
"Umm... Okay, I'll try..." Conn said, now confused about how they all had gotten stuck on chairs and why, if it wasn't voluntarily as part of a game. He went behind his new boss, grabbed a chair leg in each hand, and pulled as hard as he could.
It didn't help. He pulled again and took a step backwards too, but that just caused Smith to be dragged along with him, in rather comical fashion. "You need to push yourself forward at the same time, otherwise this is never gonna work!" Conn told the editor as he kept on pulling the legs. "Can somebody grab his arms and pull from the other side?" he asked his colleagues, still pulling.
"Come on! Just pull! Damnit, I'm trying to move forward!" Smith said to Conn, as he tried to move forward, but it was difficult to get the chair off his rear, as Smith ended up getting dragged back. "And we didn't get her drunk! She managed to get food poisoning without even consuming the food!" Smith continued, as no one seemed to notice the suspicious men and women coming out of the black sedans into the restaurant. Jean-Marc seemed to know something was up, but he was trying to help his fellow coworkers. When Caroline arrived out of the restaurant, as people were starting to flee, it was a matter of time before the restaurant would explode from a dangerous explosive disguised as mentos.
“Heya Chief, like to talk now but we’ve got to get the heck out of here. I’ve heard something about some sort of gas leak or something? And last I checked, there were a lot of smokers in there.” She said as she tried to push the group to get as far away from the restaurant as possible.
"Gas leak? I didn't smoke any gas in the kitchen, when peeking in-" Jean-Marc said, until Francis and eventually the whole group was moving away from the front of the restaurant. "Come on! The whole place was a violation in health regulations, so I don't think they would be good at safety regulations, also!" Smith said, as he tried to squat walk away from the scene.
"Oh come on, this is preposterous, really.." Consommer said, until...
BOOM!!!
A large explosion can be heard from the inside of the restaurant, that oddly smelt of cola after the first explosion finished. However, Caroline's lie was a bit of a half truth. The explosion from her explosive mentos caused major damage to the building's gas line, which due to damage from the first explosion, easily found another ignition source and suddenly the whole building exploded violently into flames. What was left of the Rosario's House was now nothing more than just a burning husk, as it was most likely that a small or large majority of the cultists from inside the main dining area had died horribly from the explosion. As the group was away from the explosion at a safe distance, Consommer could only stood there in shock and awe, as what was supposed to be a normal night of dining, had gone horribly wrong. Though it served as a remarkable bonding process for the new editor in-chief which Consommer believed.
While I wasn't no arsonist, the sight of a nasty pop-up restaurant going up to flames was practically a reviewer's best dream come true. While I could have sworn I heard the painful screams of those who couldn't exit the building in time, I wondered if the establishment was perhaps cursed. Francis Smith, the editor in-chief of The Daily Carrot requested that we avoid the attention of any law enforcement who would ask us questions on the explosion that had occurred. Then again, we have all left without paying, so I guess what we committed was illegal. But on the bright side, it was still lucky for us to survive that gas leak.
Now, I must leave a review on the Rosario's House. Out of all the expensive inedible food, rude service, unsanitary conditions, and possible cases of food poisonings... I shall grant the now-former Roasario's House 2 and a half stars. I can't really recommend it, due to it being possibly out of commission due to said events described in this article, however I strive to be more lucky next time. Somewhere out in Anywhere City, there will be a restaurant that I can recommend.
Editor's Note: After being taken to the hospital and having my trousers ripped, I asked to have my stomach pumped, not wanting to contract any illnesses or poisoning from whatever the hell that mystery meat was. When the results came in, I was told by my doctor that the animal that I had ate doesn't belong to any known researched species in the world.
One more better-executed jump cut and some McDonalds later..
Francis Smith was at his desk, as he was sipping from a glass of fine whiskey. While Rosario's House was a total disaster from a somewhat non-suspicious gas leak that reportably happened, among other reasons, the latest issue of the Daily Carrot was average, though many readers would want some more interesting content in the issue, rather than an eulogy edition. Of his late father, mind you. "Ughh..Where's Consommer? He knows what to do for another issue." Francis said, as he peeked outside of his office to see Jean-Marc, typing away at another review for a more friendlier, but still crappy restaurant. "Jean-Marc? You're busy?" Smith said, as he called Consommer into his office.
"Is there a problem, Francis?" Consommer said, as he approached Smith's desk. "We need to do something for the next issue. There's got to be something that the readers would read about.. Like an event that's happening in Anywhere City. Trying to think.." Smith said, where Consommer tried to think about something. "Hang on? Isn't the Anywhere Art Expo supposed to happen in a few hours?" "Anywhere Art Expo?" "It's at the art gallery. A bunch of new artwork and sculptures are being previewed. There's some other events happening nearby, but I know the art gallery is a favorite for all the higher-ups in Anywhere City."
"My god, Consommer! You're a genius! Hang on, I make the announcement." Smith said, after he finished his drink, as he went outside his office.
Posted: Mon Aug 03, 2020 12:40 am
by Mediama
Voxija wrote:That made ID angry. He didn't even know what she drank! And even if she did, one sip of beer wasn't going to get anyone drunk. Isaacarine opened her mouth to tear that Vasco Kraut a new one, but her response came out as a mumble.
"Drudk? I'b not drudk..."
Isaacarine tried to run away from the restaurant, but after a few steps, Isaacarine tripped over her own shoes and fell on her back like a downed turtle. Isaacarine was used to this, she could get up, but it was friggin hard with a chair on her back.
"Stupid gangly teenage puberty!" Isaacarine kicked her legs in the air like someone trying to exercise but it didn't work.
The young journalist saw Caroline Digby out of the corner of her eye. Isaacarine stuck her hand out in Carol's vague direction, and Rosenberg's Jewish half would have been horrified to know what it looked like from her colleague's angle.
"Hey, Carol! Please help me up, please?"
Carol turned to find the young girl had been in quite a predicament. There she was, laid down like a hapless sea turtle, getting ready for... well, you know... the thing...
Anyway, Carol helped as she quickly hid the revolver behind her, trying to sneak it back into her leg holster as she rushed over to the girl. “Isaacarine right? Hold on I’ve got something for that.” She opened her purse and dug around for a bit muttering to herself before she exclaimed, “Aha! Here it is, anti-adhesive.”
She opened up the bottle and poured it around the areas in which the hapless girl was stuck to, The stench unbearable as it resembled burnt rubber, mystery meatloaf, and god knows what else, and then tried to wedge her off the chair... to no avail... “That’s odd, that was supposed to work.” She dug around her purse once more, and pulled out another bottle, “Let’s see if this works, anti-pro-anti-adhesive.”
She repeated the process again, the stench coming of this mixture even worse than the last one, again to no avail. “Rats, I thought that would work... hold on, let me try to at least get you back in a better position.”
She took the back of the girl’s chair, and tried to lift it narrowly missing a thrown knife as she bent down to lift her up, just as she was about to set the chair up a fleeing patron bumped into Carol, causing her to drop the chair and Isaacarine with it, the resulting impact shattering the chair into splinters.
“Ah... s-sorry about that.” She pulled the teenager up, and awkwardly dusted her off.
Well, at least she was free.
Eventually, the group had left... thirty seconds had passed, but nothing...
That’s odd, I could’ve sworn I-
An explosion roared through the block, followed by another one.
Carol sighed in relief, Ah, there it is. One Jump Cut Later...
“...and that’s the report, Chief.” Carol finished as she was being debriefed.
The Chief could only rub his temples in annoyance. “Carol, despite my frustration at your actions last night... especially since the ATF and the FBI were hounding me, and the press got involved... I can’t say that you didn’t make up a good cover story.”
“I did?”
The Chief nodded, “Turns out the arson report suggested that there in fact was a gas leak at Rosario’s, and now we’re just pressuring the ACPD to close the case as an accident, federal business and all that.”
“Right Chief, and the photos?”
“Still being developed in the lab as we speak, those photos, and some of the documents we were able to confiscate from the restaurant before it went up might help us get a lead and tie up loose ends, we’ll hand it over to the ATF when we’re ready.”
The Chief looked up from the after-action report. “Now Carol, are you sure your co-workers don’t suspect a thing?”
“I’m positive Chief, they didn’t see anything.”
The Chief sighed, “In that case, you’re dismissed Digby, standby for further instructions, and make sure to keep your cover.”
“Got it Chief, I’ll see you later.” Carol then walked back through the entrance labyrinth, out the door of the front company, and across the hallway to the Daily Carrot, she greeted everyone, and after several cases of mistaken cubicles, managed to find her own, occupied with a drawing desk, and a type writer, as well as several ink pens, ready to begin another day at work.
Posted: Mon Aug 03, 2020 4:59 am
by Talchyon
Before... DeMarcus Clark
So, having successfully stumbled his way down the sidewalk about 20 ft. or so and hoping the rest of his colleagues were following him away from that scar on the face of the earth that was supposed to be a restaurant, all of a sudden, a few really nice cars drove up. DeMarcus looked at them and whistled. Dang. Those were classy. Tinted windows too. Full luxury. DeMarcus wondered if they all might have captain's chairs in the back instead of a bench seat. He wouldn't have doubted it.
And sure enough, some well dressed businessmen and women got out of the cars and started to go into the restaurant. DeMarcus said out loud to himself, "What is it with this place that is attracting business dinners this evening?" Whoever these guys were, they were probably executives from some upper Anytown corporation. Why did they choose this restaurant of all things?
So, being the friendly all-around good guy that he was, DeMarcus tried to warn the sunglassed people who he thought were corporate executives away from trying the cuisine at Rosario's.
First guy: "Hey! Don't..." Too late. Went in. 2nd person, a woman: "Hey lady, you don't want to..." Too late. Went in. 3rd person, another woman: "Look that restaurant isn't worth..." Too late. Went in. 4th person, a man: "Don't go in there because..." Too late. Went in. 5th person, another man: "You're going to regret..." Too late. Went in. 6th person, another man: "That's not a good rest..." Too late. Went in. 7th person, another woman: "If you go in there you won't..." Too late. Went in. 8th person, another man: "Lookguythat'snotwhereyouwantto..." Too late. Went in. 9th person, another woman: "Heyyoureallydon'twanttoeat..." Too late. Went in. Last person, another man: "THATRESTAURANTCAUSESCANCERYOUDON'TWANTTOEATTHERELEAVELEAVE..." Too late. Went in.
DeMarcus shrugged. Well, as much as one can shrug with a chair stuck to his butt and himself all stooped over. He tried. Guess they were going to have to learn the hard way. They went in. And it was strange, because other than the typical sounds one might expect of new patrons going into Rosario's (retching, for example), the way it sounded now was quite different. DeMarcus could have sworn it sounded like... but nah, surely not. Must be his imagination.
But it wasn't his imagination when Carol left. Good. Carol's out. He thought she might have left earlier. Good to know. Only she was crazy talking. Like, not only should they leave because the place was a hellhole of a restaurant. Instead, it was like they should leave because the place was going to explode into flames. He was about to say something, when suddenly a flood of people started leaving the building! Like, they all caught some common sense or something. DeMarcus felt somewhat glad that the execs he tried to warn also left... until the whole thing went sky high in explosions, flames, and he thought he even saw a small mushroom cloud forming...
"..." DeMarcus was speechless. "..."
After, the One Jump Cut Later...
The chair had come off with the weirdest bathtub experience DeMarcus had ever had. Who knew that you could lie down in a tub with all your clothes on, and a restaurant chair stuck to your butt, and still fit in a tub? But it had taken some major soaking to get the stickiness off. Like, we're talking that DeMarcus spent the whole night, asleep in the water as it slowly began to separate the chair from his pants. Took the whole night, too. But in the morning, despite the fact that he now had shriveled pruny skin all over, at least he was free.
That day at work was starting. He had gotten there early this time. He was only 10 minutes late this morning. Only 10 minutes! For no real reason that he could think of, other than it was better than staying in a tub! Must be a new record or something. They should probably not expect this to become a regular thing.
Saying hi to the newbie Carol as she came in, DeMarcus just shrugged at the new girl. He couldn't quite figure her out. It must be an awful job market out there for someone British and with her credentials to stoop so low as to work for the Daily Carrot. Who knew. Maybe she liked trashy journalism and wanted to help the cause out. She might be an idealist. Regardless, DeMarcus had work to do. Like, he hadn't gotten to update his starting lineup for his fantasy Korean baseball league team. In a world where covid had shut down most of the sports in the world, the Korean baseball league was still going at it. Out of all the teams he had only just become aware of, DeMarcus liked the Kiwoom Heroes. No reason.
And then... there was a public service announcement. DeMarcus listened in, with a scowl. "Art expo? They're making us go to an art expo? Ah, man."
Posted: Mon Aug 03, 2020 4:21 pm
by Voxija
Isaacarine Rosenberg
Mediama wrote:Carol turned to find the young girl had been in quite a predicament. There she was, laid down like a hapless sea turtle, getting ready for... well, you know... the thing...
Anyway, Carol helped as she quickly hid the revolver behind her, trying to sneak it back into her leg holster as she rushed over to the girl. “Isaacarine right? Hold on I’ve got something for that.” She opened her purse and dug around for a bit muttering to herself before she exclaimed, “Aha! Here it is, anti-adhesive.”
She opened up the bottle and poured it around the areas in which the hapless girl was stuck to, The stench unbearable as it resembled burnt rubber, mystery meatloaf, and god knows what else, and then tried to wedge her off the chair... to no avail... “That’s odd, that was supposed to work.” She dug around her purse once more, and pulled out another bottle, “Let’s see if this works, anti-pro-anti-adhesive.”
She repeated the process again, the stench coming of this mixture even worse than the last one, again to no avail. “Rats, I thought that would work... hold on, let me try to at least get you back in a better position.”
She took the back of the girl’s chair, and tried to lift it narrowly missing a thrown knife as she bent down to lift her up, just as she was about to set the chair up a fleeing patron bumped into Carol, causing her to drop the chair and Isaacarine with it, the resulting impact shattering the chair into splinters.
“Ah... s-sorry about that.” She pulled the teenager up, and awkwardly dusted her off.
Well, at least she was free.
As soon as Carol had got the chair off of Isaacarine, the girl ran as far away from the restaurant as possible. Isaacarine ran like she was being chased by zombies, and for all she knew, she probably was.
It was when Isaacarine had ran at least two blocks away from Rosario's House that she heard the explosion behind her. A part of her wished she had walked away from the explosion like an action movie star, but the biggest part of her was glad that accursed restaurant was destroyed.
"Good riddance," muttered Isaacarine.
Jump cut
Isaacarine Rosenberg had walked all the way to her apartment. It was a grotty place, the only place that would accept a teenage girl, and it was on the opposite end of Anywhere City from the Daily Carrot, but at least Isaacarine thought rats were cute.
The teenage girl spent half an hour chatting on the phone with Gianni Bondier, the boy she had met in the park. They didn't talk about the restaurant; they just talked about Isaacarine's old life in the circus.
The next day, Isaacarine took an Uber to the Daily Carrot offices. Isaacarine said "Gluten tahrg" to Maximillian and chased Carol out of ID's rightful cubicle. Isaacarine was staring at her drinking bird, feeling an urge to snap it in two, when she got pinged.
"An art expo? Sweet." Isaacarine Rosenberg wanted to do literary criticism, a profession she understood as "rip into terrible books", but at an art expo, she could rip into terrible artwork.
Posted: Tue Aug 04, 2020 12:03 am
by Main Nation Ministry
Francis Smith
"Alright..Ahem." Smith said, as he managed to find a chair and stand on it to address his staff. "Everyone! I have some work-related news that I want to address for today. For our next issue of the Daily Carrot, we need to delve into the art world of Anywhere City. Now, I want to have you all not be put in any state of danger, where most of you who were present at that crappy restaurant from several nights ago, were nearly killed. However!" Smith nearly fell from the chair, while making sure some people were paying attention.
"I figure a major event in the city like the art expo would be good for the Daily Carrot. One of the basises of the magazine is focusing on the arts. I know not a lot of you are art geeks like Maximillian, however I figured it would be a nice step down from attending the reviews of pyschotic pop-up establishments with food that can give you possible arsenic poisoning." Smith was still uneasy from his experience, but not in the realms of PTSD. "It's most likely going to be a peaceful and enjoyable experience to see the least. We go in, act natural, talk and see some new paintings or some random stuff, then we can enjoy the day without anything blowing up." Smith said, where suddenly...
"W-woo-Woah!!" the chair that Smith was standing on had one of it's legs snapped, where Smith ended up falling off of it and hitting the floor. "I'm ok!"
After Consommer helped with doing some research, Smith helped laid out a bit of a timetable of some sort overlapping a map of Anywhere City. Not that the map of Anywhere City would make sense, since there were a lot of long streets leading to dead ends and roundabouts that connected to nowhere, but it was to still show some events of the day. Smith managed to put all of this on a bulletin board that nearly leaned forward, but it was balanced with some nails bolted to the wall. "Here's something I was thinking of doing that would be helpful in situations like this. It's a combination of an assessment report and a recommended to-go list." Smith explained as he was jolting stuff down with the information he had.
"Now, we are not going to be attending reviews of any suspicious and somewhat shoddy pop-up restaurants. That's Consommer's job. He's most likely going to be responsible for that task, though I doubt anyone would want to come with him. Now, for the main event. The Anywhere City Art Expo! I checked the website and some other information and there seemed to be some interesting exhibitions and retrospectives. You have modern art, which there seems to be a whole bunch of it in this expo. Luckily, it looks like there's some standard stuff like expressionism, impressionism, romanticism, etc. But there appears to be two exhibits at the expo that is attracting a lot of social media buzz."
"Case number 1. 'The Tree' as it's called. It's appears to be a sculpture made out of metal spikes, but I only read the description on the website, not the actual Wikipedia page for it. A lot of security presence is going to be near it, since there was stories of people trying to 'contribute' to the Tree. It's best to check it to see if it's worth the buzz. Just try to not get impaled by that thing. I seen the pictures. I don't know why a lot of crazy people want to be near it."
"Case number 2. There's going to be an art auction at the art expo, selling works by the elusive artist Locksley. There is going to be a protest by some Locksley fans, since a lot of them are accusing the owners that the artwork was copied and being sold for money. Very controversial thing in the art world. It's best to see who happens in this auction. We can see whoever gets the sold artwork."
"These two things are what's really driving up the crowds at the art expo. So gather tons of information as you could, so we can do some juicy stories to drum up sales for the issue. Now, I been reading feedback and checking emails and letters from viewers, so here's what I can gather. Rosenburg, your story covering the higher-ups of Anywhere City has gotten favorable response from the upper class. The Mayor, as mentioned in your story, is supposed to be at the auction, but seeing as we're getting some good flake from our rich readers, let's try to make sure we don't do anything that would annoy them."
"Now, while everyone isn't an art fan, there are some minor events that look like something to check out. The Trictobothnia Building has been in local news over homicide rates increasing. If someone would cover a human interest story and examine conditions at the Trictobothnia, we might help the city a bit. Another event appears to be a sporting event that's up DeMarcus's alley. I hadn't looked into what kind of sports they doing, but I got the address to where it is on the board. Lately, it looks like something is happening at the Bank and Trust Savings building. A new experimential financial model, but I'm not into economics."
"Huh. It looks like I had covered everything. I don't think we should worry about anyone, since there is the chance that whoever owned Rosario's House is dead from that gas leak. So today is going to be a normal and busy day!"
"Any questions before we all get to work?" Smith asked his fellow workers.
Posted: Fri Aug 21, 2020 10:04 am
by Barapam
Conn Spirou
"An art expo. Great..." Conn thought sarcastically. He wasn't particularily interested in writing about cultural happenings, unless they involved some juicy scandals or similar oddities. Oddities, as in not the art itself, even though that too often was odd nowadays, but mysteries, corruption, conspiracies... the things that Conn liked. Granted, the mayor would be there, so maybe he could try to pressure him again about Anywhere's neglected infrastructure, and his ties to the freemasons. Yeah, that was an idea, but Smith had told them to play nice, which wasn't an option in that case. Unless he somehow could confront the mayor in an non-confrontative way somehow...
Still though. Modern art wasn't exactly Conn's cup of tea. Ancient cursed artifacts on the other hand, now that was something entirely different. If the expo had been about that, then he wouldn't hesitate at all. Now however, except for the already described reasons, the art expo clashed with other ideas Conn had. Such as DeMarcus' tip about the CIA poisoning people through their shoes. It was worth looking into. Granted, not even Conn had heard about such a conspiracy before, but it totally sounded like something the CIA were capable of doing. Then of course the bigger project that he needed Smith's green light for, namely going back to the Bermuda triangle to find out what really and actually had happened to Smith's father. But before he did that, it would be necessary to root out the mole that Conn suspected had infiltrated the Carrot (in a figurative sense of course. According to his research, the literal mole people seemed to be a surprisingly peaceful race). Even just thinking about it made Conn shift his eyes between his colleagues. They stopped at Carol.
Then he looked at Maximillian. Of course! Conn knew that Max's Nazi noble title was fake, and why would he lie about such a thing unless the truth was worse? And what could be worse than spying on the Daily Carrot? The logic was flawless! And he had obviously already sprung into action by sabotaging the chair Smith had used to stand on!
"Well, if we can't annoy the mayor, then I guess I'll go for the homocide thing..." Conn stood with his arms crossed, looking over the map laid out in front of them. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, as if he had just gotten an idea. "Oh! I just got an idea! Maybe it's all connected? The Locksley scandal, the murders, the economic experiment, and the mayor! And also the sports somehow..?"
"By the way, on an unrelated note, there's a couple things I need to talk to you about, boss, but we can do that after I finish this article about the Trictobothnia murders. Is there anything else before I go?"
Posted: Fri Aug 21, 2020 4:42 pm
by Voxija
Isaacarine Rosenberg
Isaacarine really wanted to go to this art expo. She was glad Conn Spirou was covering the Trictobothnia murders, as Isaacarine felt a little guilty at not investigating them when shewalked past the building.
When she heard that the head honchos of Anywhere City liked the story she write about them, she laughed. Rosenberg knew she should've included the pictures of the poobahs wearing their ugly bathing suits. Isaacarine was a circus lass. She had no respect for those whose who didn't earn their money honestly, and as far as she was concerned, that included most of the rich. Isaacarine wanted to see rich people, and just people in general, pretend to appreciate post-postmodern art.
Isaacarine raised her hand like a schoolgirl. "I would like to help report on the art expo. May I do so?" Isaacarine grinned evily. She would lambast terrible art, but she would also find a way to sneak Gianni Bondier in with her. The teenage girl wanted to spend some time with, hopefully, her new boyfriend.
Posted: Fri Aug 21, 2020 6:36 pm
by Talchyon
Assignments and Stuff DeMarcus Clark
The meeting was as DeMarcus had expected. To hear the latest and greatest idea of their new leadership was as inspiring as watching paint ferment. His mind zoned out, thinking of the latest Covid-reactioned sports that had popped up. Pictures of cardboard cutouts in the seats. Recordings of applause. It was almost like being on the set of certain sitcoms. Some of the teams were about as bad too.
Just as he was trying to chart out how the St. Louis Cardinals could actually play all the games in their season without having to push the season weeks in the future, someone said something and he directed his wandering thoughts back to the meeting.
Main Nation Ministry wrote:Francis Smith "...sports they doing, but I got the address to where it is on the board. Lately, it looks like something is happening at the Bank and Trust Savings building. A new experimential financial model, but I'm not into economics."
"Huh. It looks like I had covered everything. I don't think we should worry about anyone, since there is the chance that whoever owned Rosario's House is dead from that gas leak. So today is going to be a normal and busy day! Any questions before we all get to work?" Smith asked his fellow workers.
DeMarcus tried to puzzle out what had actually been said. It sounded like there was some sport or something going on at the Bank and Trust Savings building? Somebody had set up a board there? Like, a floorboard maybe? Were these bank geeks playing some hoops? He had no clue what had been said, but, considering (wrongly) that he had the street smarts to figure out what this was about, DeMarcus just responded when Francis asked for questions, "Nah, man. I'm cool with that. I'll get you that sports story."
So that was his plan then. Go to the bank and figure out where they were playing basketball. Maybe join in. Then do what he always did to get a great sports story: A) Get the skinny on the inside workings and dealings, B) learn about the people involved and especially their sob stories; C) talk to the guy who came up with the idea of shooting hoops in the bank; D) write it all down somewhere and remember the parts you don't write down; E) then lose the notes and just make everything else up and call it good. Hadn't been a problem so far. That's how they do it at ESPN, after all.
When Conn said he'd cover the homicides, DeMarcus laughed. The Carrot was going to send that conspiracy nut into cover a real news story? He'd just have to give him a few tips to watch for. So DeMarcus leaned over to Conn and whispered, "Hey man, about that homicide story, I heard some inside intel from one of my secret unnamed sources that said the Illuminati and their good twins, the Illuminice, are involved. You got to make sure you make that your leading question to every witness - Are you with the Illuminati? 'Cause if they say no, then you know for sure they're on the other side. The Illuminice side."
That should do it. DeMarcus wanted to hear all about Conn's investigations after the nutcase was done "researching" it.
Posted: Fri Aug 21, 2020 11:03 pm
by Main Nation Ministry
Francis Smith
"Well, if we can't annoy the mayor, then I guess I'll go for the homocide thing..." Conn stood with his arms crossed, looking over the map laid out in front of them. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, as if he had just gotten an idea. "Oh! I just got an idea! Maybe it's all connected? The Locksley scandal, the murders, the economic experiment, and the mayor! And also the sports somehow..?"
"By the way, on an unrelated note, there's a couple things I need to talk to you about, boss, but we can do that after I finish this article about the Trictobothnia murders. Is there anything else before I go?"
"You can tell me anything after you're done with the assigment at the Trictobothnia Building. Though there isn't anything else I have uncovered, unless you discovered something of interest that could be good for the current issue." Smith said, though he did dismiss Spirou's claim that all of the current events happening across Anywhere City were connected. "I'm sure that all of these events happening at once are not connected, Spirou." Smith said.
Isaacarine raised her hand like a schoolgirl. "I would like to help report on the art expo. May I do so?" Isaacarine grinned evily. She would lambast terrible art, but she would also find a way to sneak Gianni Bondier in with her. The teenage girl wanted to spend some time with, hopefully, her new boyfriend.
"Fine by me, Rosenburg. With the more journalists present at the expo, we have more information to cover."
"I recommend we should starting getting things ready, before we head out?"
Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2020 12:43 pm
by Barapam
Conn Spirou
Talchyon wrote:When Conn said he'd cover the homicides, DeMarcus laughed. The Carrot was going to send that conspiracy nut into cover a real news story? He'd just have to give him a few tips to watch for. So DeMarcus leaned over to Conn and whispered, "Hey man, about that homicide story, I heard some inside intel from one of my secret unnamed sources that said the Illuminati and their good twins, the Illuminice, are involved. You got to make sure you make that your leading question to every witness - Are you with the Illuminati? 'Cause if they say no, then you know for sure they're on the other side. The Illuminice side."
That should do it. DeMarcus wanted to hear all about Conn's investigations after the nutcase was done "researching" it.
Conn snickered and patted DeMarcus on the shoulder. "Look, I appreciate that you're trying to help, but that's not going to work. It's a classic rookie mistake, but they're smart enough not to fall for that. I learned that several years ago, way back when I wrote for the school newspaper, but I can see why it's news to you... heh, news! Anyway, thanks bud, but I got this. Don't worry. You just focus on the Belarusian and Faroese soccer leagues, or whatever other sports there are left during these times..." The "nutcase" smiled. Perhaps even worse, he was naively sincere in what he said, and not out to belittle DeMarcus.
"You can tell me anything after you're done with the assigment at the Trictobothnia Building. Though there isn't anything else I have uncovered, unless you discovered something of interest that could be good for the current issue." Smith said, though he did dismiss Spirou's claim that all of the current events happening across Anywhere City were connected. "I'm sure that all of these events happening at once are not connected, Spirou." Smith said.
Isaacarine raised her hand like a schoolgirl. "I would like to help report on the art expo. May I do so?" Isaacarine grinned evily. She would lambast terrible art, but she would also find a way to sneak Gianni Bondier in with her. The teenage girl wanted to spend some time with, hopefully, her new boyfriend.
"Fine by me, Rosenburg. With the more journalists present at the expo, we have more information to cover."
"I recommend we should starting getting things ready, before we head out?"
"Well... nah, I think it can wait until next issue. And I rather talk to you about in private anyway", the new crime reporter replied Smith. "And I'm not saying that all these events are connected either..." Conn put his hands up in front of him in a sort of defensive gesture, "... but just in case that they are, we should have an open mind. That's all I'm saying. Our readers deserve to know!"
Akward silence followed.
"Ok, I've got no further questions, I'm good to go."
Little did Conn knew that the connection he was talking about was in the very same room. Isaacarine Rosenberg, murder witness. And since he didn't know, he didn't ask.
Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2020 3:33 pm