The New Amsterdam Daily (Politcal Satire/Comedy RP) IC

[Caliland]

"New York's Finest Newspaper"

The OOC Page

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The offices of The New Amsterdam Daily
Tuesday, 9:30 AM
Editor-in-chief/Publisher, James Solomon

"GRAAAAAAANT!" bellowed the less-than-calm publisher. The reason for his distress? He had just read a story about sharks sightings in New York Harbor. Although he was willing to print less-than-accurate sensationalist stories, he stayed away from reputation-eroding fabricated stories. The shark story was just that. As Tim Grant walked in James' office, Solomon exclaimed; "Isn't it your job to look for things like this!? This is bull, the only sharks in New York Harbor are loan sharks!" Just as Grant was about to explain that the story never crossed his desk, a young intern rushed in and said: "Umm, Mr. Solomon, I-" "Can't you see I'm busy here Roger?, or what ever your name is!" interrupted James Solomon. "Yes sir, sorry" responded the intern, whose real name was Liam. By now Solomon had forgotten what he was going to say, because he had a staff meeting at 9:45. He had to assign each reporter a part of the election to cover. "The staff meeting!" blurted Solomon. "I gotta get the assignments together!" he continued. Luckily his old friend had remembered James' forgetfulness. "I've got those for you right here James" said Tim in his thick Scottish accent that made the 's' sound like 'sh'. "Thanks, pal. Now, go check some facts or something." said Solomon.

Fact-checker, Tim Grant
His office

"Sharks in New York Harbor, what ever will they come up with next?" said Tim Grant to himself. Meanwhile Liam the intern went up to Tim's office, and said: "Ok, someone's got to hear this. You know Roy Greenfield, the candidate?" Tim nodded. "Well, his campaign just sent an e-mail asking about who we would endorse for the election. I mean, that's practically asking for an endorsement." Liam said. "This paper must remain unbiased. We shouldn't endorse any candidate." (of course to Liam it sounded like he said: "Thish paper mush't remain unbiash'd, we shouldn't endorsh any candidate"). "That's Mr. Solomon's call though, right?" responded the young intern. "Yes, it is. I can only hope he makes the right decision." Tim said. With that, Liam went off to make some coffee. Tim then sorted through all the other stories that were on his desk that morning. None of them met his strict standards. After check his watch, he marched off to the staff meeting. "Liam, tell everyone coming in this morning that James Solomon wants them in the boardroom". Liam nodded, and ran off downstairs to the bullpen, where the motley band of writers, and reporters would come in.

[Meretica]

Victoria Oliver Sr. sat down neatly in her usual chair with a drink tumbler in her hand. She could pretend it was cold raspberry tea all she liked, but there was nothing wrong with a little wine in the morning, especially at her age... 45... though some would claim otherwise. (Once, a fellow reporter had called her "middle-aged"; that person had been fired and suddenly found a very interesting job at a newsstand in New Jersey.) As she sipped her Cabernet Sauvignon, she wondered what the meeting would be about. Not anything important, she was sure, unless it was about politics or her... unless it was about both, in which case this would be the most important meeting of her life.

[Voxija]

Arusha Washington

The relatively green columnist prepared an editorial totally endorsing a particular candidate. As far as Arusha could tell, Anna Harper was the lesser of all the evils in the mayoral election. That's what was depressing about politics. Everyone was a jerk in politics. Arusha buried those thoughts where she would never ever find them. She still wanted to discuss politics. She liked discussing politics. Arusha would just ignore how terrible politicians were.

Arusha was very nice to people, although she was going to start working on that. Automatically being friendly to everyone was not very good for trying to convert them to your specific brand of politics. Maybe if more politicians agreed with her, they would be better people. She hated it when people were jerks.

Arusha Washington figured she knew exactly what the meeting would be about. Pitching articles, preparing tomorrow's edition of the newspaper, and deciding what candidate to support. That was important. She would be presenting her op-ed there. It would be important! She hoped.

Our reporter gathered her manuscript of the article and headed down to the meeting. She was ready.

[Hopal]

Martha McDow

Martha rushed into the office, she was late, her hair was messy and undone, and she was hastily dressed with first things she saw in her drawer, some khaki pants and a white t shirt and a black suit, not the most formal or fashionable outfit, but she was in a rush and it worked. She had pressed the snooze button one too many times and now she was late. It had become something of a regular occurrence now, and her bosses had, for the most gotten used to it. She was always a late-nighter, what she did any given night rather depended on her mood, but on most nights you could find out in a nightclub or partying, and was she never a morning person. But last night she had actually been staying up late working, finishing on article on the influence the outgoing mayor could have on this upcoming election. As always she was late, she only finished tweaking and revising the article three hours after Solomon had been expecting it. But compared to some other times she rather finished this article quickly. She remembered one time she was a week late on finishing an article on the new garbage trucks she thought Solomon's head was going to blow up when she was called into his office the next day, miraculously she kept her job due to the fact Solomon couldn't find anyone who could replace her.

So here she was today, she checked her watch, it was 9:34, just in time to run up to her office to get some coffee before the important staff meeting. She needed coffee to run in the morning, after such short sleep and rough wake up. Thankfully she had a coffee machine on her desk, where she could make as much coffee as she could wish, and fast too. This election season was important for her, and by extension the meeting was too, she wished she could prove herself this election season and prime herself as the senior City Hall Correspondent at the New Amsterdam Daily and with that a raise.

[Novyy Stristia]

Brady Biggs

Brady Biggs woke up as he did every morning, to the sounds of the trumpets blaring from Chicago’s “Wake Up Sunshine”. He greeted the day bright and early with a smile at six o’clock, as always, and mimed the drums as he went about his regular routine of making coffee and reading the newspaper. Well, not just any old newspaper, but the one he wrote for! After recalling some sensationally stellar story about sharks swimming in the New York Harbor a coworker had told him about, Biggs suited up in his classic white button down, crisp black suit, and black tie before hitting the streets, “Today is going to be great day.” Biggs liked to walk his way to work even though it was some distance away from his apartment, because it gave him a chance to catch the not so fresh air in New York City, and freeze in the concrete jungle. It also enabled him to save himself the trouble of cutting into his [REDACTED] more than passable salary that he so dearly loved. So it was that with a big grin and a bounce in his step that Biggs began his trek. Along the way he thought about the elections coming up, and how much buzz it had already generated in the press. He also knew how boring politics could be to the average person, as most people weren’t exactly enthralled about about taxes and government expenditure. “If only a shark could be mayor,” he thought, “…I should look into that.”

Biggs swaggered into the office a little early and enjoyed munching on one of the free donuts he had scored from a local pastry shop for being their “most consistent customer.” He laid the box of sweets down on his desk, which was just adjacent to Martha McDow’s. As common as Biggs was early, she was late, which was to say every single day. Just as he had finally readied up for another riveting writing/reporting day, the intern Lucas, (or was it Leon) informed him that a staff meeting would be taking place soon. He offered the young man a donut before walking upstairs to the conference room. There were some of the most senior members of the company, James Solomon, Tim Grant, and Victoria Oliver Sr. “Good morning!” Biggs delivered after finishing off his delicious pastry. He sat more towards the end of the table as there were other, more senior staff to come. “Mrs. Oliver, it’s always a pleasure,” he said, giving her a small nod before settling in.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Throughout last week, Amazon stock soared in value again as the company crushed a strike in one of their warehouses with brutal efficiency we have to come to expect of the late-capital bourgeoisie, in collusion with the decentralised state which is merely another expression of bourgeouis power, and a purveyor (in this sense: analogous to the capital owner of the means of production) of false conciousness that has rendered the American proletariat unable to further its own goals without the approval of those picked by capital election cycles, and in whose interest it is to galvanise and protect their own position within a system and thus, protect the system which is rendered through, by, and in service of law and capital, those two being intertwined and in mutual agreeement, though one more serves the other than likewise reversed. Though the dialectic-material approach forces us to consider that the union in question, too, has violated core principles of syndicalist organisation through its over-bureaucratisation of the process of strike and parole instead of allowing it to naturally come about from the emotional tide of the proletariat who, when socio-economic conditions…

Erich Grünefeld-Walendau was rudely awoken from a particularly productive bout of hyper-concentration which he had enjoyed since coming in. His office had at one time been a storage closet, but in the years he had made it his own: applying wood panneling to the walls, laying in oak flooring, and placing his large wooden desk in a corner. He did not have bookshelves, but volumes upon volumes of economic and Marxist theory were stacked high against every length of the room, they themselves providing the structural support notto fall over. Erich Grünfeld-Walendau always managed to know where the books he needed were, and despite the stacks reaching towards the ceiling, the structure had been so well-engineered that every book could still be accessed, if you knew how exactly to twist it out of the superstructure. His bookshelf had actually been studied by NASA in the development of super-strength nano-materials, but the computers at Cape Canaveral had been unable to simulate the fluid dynamics necessary to understand it.

There was a knock on the door, which opened just far enough to let Liam pop his head and torso through.

“Shir, mishter Sholomon wants everyone in the boardroom, shtat” the intern squeeked, his chest compressed between the door and its frame. Erich nodded, and Liam quickly left again to further spread the call. Liam intrigued Erich, if only because his accent was almost 1:1 that of a young Sean Connery. This was strange, partially because most of Connery’s particular way of speaking was due to his lisp, not his accent, and so it was odd that Liam spoke in exactly the same way. Not strange, though, since the western world had commodified even accents, to the point that… Erich shook his head. There was no time to drift off, there was work to be done.

The former RAF-operative squeezed himself through the crevices of his office. The fact that he had is own office had come down to a shouting match between him and Solomon. Neither had understood what the other had said; Solomon’s ADHD delivery and constant distractions had left his stance unclear, while Erich had called Solomon a ‘kulak dog to be shot’ in such a roundabout way that Solomon hadn’t caught on. In the end, Erich had gotten his office, and that had been that. Erich just managed to squeeze his somewhat rotund circumfrence through the door, and waggeled up to the conference room. There, he sat down between Arusha Washington, who had a nervous air about her, and whose hard work was betraying her fellow workers by worsening the conditions of their exploitation, and Martha McDow, whose false conciousness was so severe that not religion, but her own self-image had become her opium, which was a condition that not even Marx had predicted.

“Brady, could you pass the coffee and four sugars please” Erich asked of his colleague, who was sitting next to the cart with the coffee pot.

“And one of those chocolate biscuits, please”

[Maugrym]

"Yes," Victoria said quietly before taking another long sip of wine from her disguised cup. "Good morning."

She set her cup down and reached for her personal laptop in front of her. She opened it and quickly typed in her 19-character-long password before opening Microsoft Word. She selected the very first article, labeled "Personal Opinion," and then... deleted it. As simple as that, it was gone, and no one would be the wiser about why. She selected the second article, marked "Playing Politics with People's Bodies." The article was complete, but she needed to reread it, watch for errors, and then submit it as an op-ed.

Angela Barrett operates the only abortion clinic in Wichita, Kansas. For many of her patients, she is their last hope. A woman showed up on our doorstep recently in wrinkled clothes that she had been wearing for days. She told Angela she had traveled across three states, spending $100 on gas alone, before finally reaching her destination. After she was unable to get the care she needed at the clinic closest to her, she left her small town in the Texas panhandle and went to Oklahoma, where she was told that her pregnancy was too far along to receive an abortion there. So she came to Kansas.

Unfortunately for the patient, and millions of women like her, anti-choice extremists in states across the country have instituted politically motivated and medically unnecessary red tape to limit their access to basic– and potentially lifesaving– health care. The reality that these extremists fail to acknowledge is that abortion is one of the safest – and most common – medical procedures. In fact, colonoscopies are far more dangerous than abortions.

When I hear about new proposals to further restrict access to safe and legal abortions, I see in my mind the faces of patients like ours. These women are forced to leave their children and jobs behind for days while they seek out a safe and legal medical procedure.

In Kansas, the law mandates that women receive biased information that is designed to persuade them not to have an abortion. Among other things, patients are required to read a statement telling them they are about to “terminate the life of a whole, separate, unique, living human being.” Then they are required to wait 24 hours before their abortion. For our patient, her three-day journey turned into four.

In recent years, many states made the process even more challenging for women seeking abortions. Mississippi joined a growing list of states that ban abortions after 20 weeks, well before fetal viability. Both Alabama and Missouri expanded their state’s waiting periods. And in Texas, medically unnecessary legislation all but killed Roe v. Wade, the Supreme Court case that protects abortion.

Unfortunately, it’s already clear that the next few years are going to be years of long legislative battles for pro-choice advocates. Before the year even began, a lawmaker in Missouri proposed legislation that would require women to receive legal consent from the man who impregnated them before getting an abortion. When asked if the legislation would make allowances for victims of rape and incest, the bill’s author insisted that there would be an exception for victims of “legitimate rape.” Echoing Todd Akin’s infamous words makes it clear that this bill intends to further strip away women’s rights in Missouri.

While lawmakers across the country appear poised to continue this trend, what makes me hopeful is that champions of reproductive justice have taken notice and forced decision-makers to protect the rights of women. Last month, Virginia’s governor took steps to roll back politically motivated, unpopular abortion regulations that his predecessor initiated. In Mississippi, a judge blocked medically unnecessary legislation that would have forced the state’s last remaining abortion clinic to close. And in Colorado and North Dakota, voters soundly rejected personhood measures that would have given fetuses more rights than the women carrying them.

All these victories have one thing in common: Someone stood up and said “enough.”Enough playing politics with women’s bodies. Enough pretending that politicians in state capitals are doctors. Enough telling women when and how to have children. Enough letting where a woman lives dictate her access to abortion services. The fight is not over for women who simply want the right to make their own medical decisions. This year, I implore you to be one of the voices that says “enough.’”

[Talchyon]

His "office"
DeMarcus Clark, NFL reporter

Ah, December! What a great month! Especially for one fly NFL reporter at the New Amsterdam Daily, and others who had similar positions at more prestigious sports networks. Because December meant playoffs are around the corner. December means that NFL reporters like him get to basically watch bunches of football games and just talk about them. December means going to ESPN's playoff calculator and messing around with it for hours, determining what unlikely possibility remains for the Denver Broncos or Philadelphia Eagles to somehow sneak in! And he gets paid for it!

DeMarcus Clark had been in his office since 8. Right now, he was watching his 15th show online of sports commentary on his phone. Earbuds in, so no one else could hear in the small cubicle that he had been relegated to since he had come, every so often the other employees nearby would hear shouts of "YES! GO PATRICK MAHOMES GO!" or "The HELL was that, Baker Mayfield?" or "I still don't know why people think TOM BRADY OF ALL PEOPLE is the G.O.A.T.! Gramps plays like he's on METAMUCIL!" DeMarcus had been told multiple times that morning to shut up, and was trying to give respect because, yeah, these other people in nearby cubicles also had jobs to do too. But! Playoffs! December football! He couldn't contain himself!

So when Liam the intern who had some serious speech issues came in and told DeMarcus about the meeting, at first the sports reporter didn't hear. He was heavily engaged in the comments of Good Morning Football on his phone. Right now, the topic was the Arizona Cardinals. Who would have thought that the loss of just one wide receiver would make them lose twice in a row? Liam, getting flustered however, came and tapped on DeMarcus' shoulder. Gently, after all, because as an intern he didn't want to make waves.

"Uh, shir? Mishter Clark? Mishter Sholomon wantsh everyone in the boardroom. We got a meeting." His squeaky voice annoyed DeMarcus. No matter how much college training the boy had, he still looked like a boy and tried to talk like 70's James Bond. Plus, he had no style, unless you count "Wal-Mart clearance" as a style. DeMarcus was firmly of the opinion that interns should never have names. They come and go, and they should be known just as "you" or "lackey" or something else like that. Unless, of course, they got into conversations about what modern NFL players resembled greats of old! And then, lo and behold, the intern became more than an intern. He became a real person. This guy, what'shisbucket, however, hadn't risen to the occasion. So he didn't deserve a name. Kind of like the Washington Football Team.

DeMarcus just waved him off and grunted something unintelligible, that the intern took as an affirmative that the sports reporter had heard him. He left. DeMarcus watched the podcast to the end, which was only a few minutes later, and then grudgingly turned his phone off and sauntered down to the boardroom, making sure to get coffee on the way. The boardroom was filling up. The boss was there and his assistant. Some of the other editors. That fanatical Victoria Oliver, Sr. (seriously? What woman ever calls herself a senior?), who thought politics actually mattered and bored DeMarcus to death every time she spoke. Also, Brady Biggs. That guy was funny. He made DeMarcus laugh, and that was good enough. DeMarcus had never read anything the guy had ever written, but who cared? He was fun.

Coming in, DeMarcus thought he'd make some small talk just to pass the time. " 'Sup, guys. Anyone check out the Jets this weekend? You know, on that one play at 4th and short at the 30, I think the coach should have gone for it and not kicked the field goal. Tough loss."

[Nova Catania]

Phil Goldman

As Phil walked to work that morning, he became distracted by a passing pigeon. He studied the pigeon for minutes, since he believed that genetically-altered pigeons were being used to spy on people. After the pigeon took a dump, he left it alone.

Just as he crossed the street, he head tires screeching and an infuriated cabbie yell:

“Hey! Watch it!”

“I’m walking here!” said Phil in classic New York style.

He rushed in the building, showed his ID to a receptionist. He did this even though she could see it was him. Just in case an impostor with a Mission: Impossible-style face mask impersonated him.

Louie, or. maybe Logan, the intern told him to go to the boardroom for a staff meeting. He went there, and immediately broke put his bug-sweeper. The beeping, handheld device was used to scan for hidden cameras and microphones. He waved it methodically all over the room, rather annoying his co-workers.

[Caliland]

Just outside the boardroom
James Solomon

“Luke, why are you talking like you’ve got a mouthful of bubble gum?” asked the editor. “Shorry shir, I mean, sorry sir” responded Liam, who had been copying Grant’s accent all morning. “And it’s Liam, sir.” “Yeah, whatever, Landon, anyways, is everyone in the boardroom?” continued Solomon. “We’re missing one or two people, but everyone else in in” replied Liam. “Alright, good work Larry, now go do interning things, I’ve got a meeting” said James Solomon. “And quit talking like Grant” he added, entering the boardroom.

Tim Grant, in the boardroom

“Jamesh” said Tim, pulling Solomon aside. “Candidatesh are already ashking for endorshement’sh” said Tim. “Who have the other papers endorsed?” asked James. “The Tribune hash endorshed John Martinshon” said Grant. “And Harold at the Herald?” asked Solomon. Tim replied: “Roy Greenfield. Now Jamesh, it’sh important to remain unbiashed, to provide accurate reporting on the election.” James replied: “You’re right, we need to stay unaliged. That way we can sell papers to the Democrats and Republicans!” And with that Tim put his hand on his head and sat down.

James Solomon (again)

“All right, everybody, listen up. This is a very important time of year. It’s election season. I want you to cover every angle. As you know, I’ve reassigned all of you to the election beat, so shadow the candidates, interview staffers, get the word on the street. Here are your assignments: DeMarcus: Find out who roots for which team, this is important, people love sports. Gerard: Hey, wait a minute, where is he? Oh, well, moving on. Bart: where’s Bart?” “He quit” interjected Tim. “Well, I need a medical correspondent to cover the outgoing mayor’s health, I’ll figure something out I guess. Next up, Phil: A- What the hell are doing under the table? I need you to look for scandals, this big, beat the Informer to it. Remember four years ago when we got the video of the drunk candidate singing the Friends theme song in front of a fountain. Aw, dammit, now I’ve got it stuck in my head!” Before he could break into a rendition of “I’ll Be There For You”, James Solomon was reminded of his job by Tim: “Ahem”

“Right, anyways, Brady: You are going to be getting street interviews, find out how the average New Yorker plans to vote. Martha: find Mayor Wilson and see how he’s doing after the two heart attacks in a row that are forcing him to step down.” “And a stroke” added Tim. “The rest of you, write like you’re running out of time, write day and night like you’re running out of time. Write like it’s going out of style, write day and night like it’s going out of style. Write like tomorrow won’t arrive. Write like you need it to survive. Write every second you’re alive!” he continued, quoting Hamilton. “Now go make some news!” He said enthusiastically.

[Constaniana]

Gerard barely noticed when the garçon Guillame poked his head in his cubicle to say that there was a staff meeting. He was much more invested in slowly snacking on some red grapes and reading the latest edition of Europe Échecs. Surely there was nothing important to be done at this hour, while the Americans were still groggy and tired thanks to their breakfasts of inferior coffee water and le greasy breakfast burgers, no? And yet, it was too quiet in the bullpen after a few minutes. Such lack of frivolity and inanity was uncharacteristic of them. Monsieur Orgueilleux arose from his fine leather armchair, straightened the portraits of Napoleon and Charles De Gaulle that hung on his wall, picked up his bowl of grapes, and went looking for his coworkers. Having years of experience pursuing targets much better at hiding their tracks, the retired French soldier quickly found the boardroom and sauntered in.

"Bonjour," he said dismissively. Then he sat down at the nearest chair, and plucked another grape off the bunch.

[Hopal]

Martha McDow

By the time Martha had made it up to her office it was 6:38, she could she it on the clock on the far side of the room when she stepped out of the elevator. She saw the intern, Liam? or was it Leon? walk away from her desk as he continued to inform people of the impending staff meeting, she passed by Brady Biggs on her way to her desk, who she assumed was heading down was for the staff meeting. He wasn't a bad person in her mind, or at least not as bad as some of the others, but she hated how smug, upbeat, and lucky he was, and how he always seemed to have his life in order. He was the same age as her, and he almost seemed perfect to her, taking care of his family, while she struggled to take care of herself, always finishing his work on time, while she almost never did. Any shrugged off those thoughts, she didn't have time to think right now. As she loaded the coffee machine, she thought of the nice hot coffee she would be drinking from soon enough, and which would finally wake her up. All of the ingredients were on her desk, which was quite messy, but she made it work, she hadn't organized it since she got it and she was used to the way things were now. By the time her coffee was ready and she had taken in a sip of it, in a white mug with the logo of the The Amsterdam Daily on it, she saw her watch said it was 9:43. She was going to be late, she rushed to the elevator and down to the boardroom, mug in hand, passing by Solomon and the intern she sat at the first chair she saw near the end of the table.

She listened intently as Solomon read the assignments, quietly waiting for a turn to speak. As soon as she heard Solomon talk of the need of a correspondent to cover the outgoing mayor's health, she knew this was her chance to step up, and perhaps prove herself.

"Mr. Solomon, with Bart gone, and with me finding Mayor Wilson and being at City Hall regularly, perhaps I could take over for Bart and cover the mayor's health, at least until to find a proper solution anyway."

[Voxija]

Arusha Washington

Arusha was kind of disappointed that ...Solomon! was going to be unbiased towards Democrat or Republican. After all, at least half of those bozos were wrong. She set upon editing her column supporting Anna Harper. There was always some editing to be done, just a bit more editing.

At least Arusha was going to be doing some more writing and reporting and writing and interviewing and recovering. Arusha would have preferred writing about Broadway musicals, but politics was good enough. She had the idea of a piece comparing the mayoral election to a Broadway musical (not Hamilton).

Tim quoting Hamilton was kind of cringe. Not only had he misinterpreted the lyrics' meaning, but Hamilton supported an unfairly idealistic view of the Founding Fathers. At least, that's what Arusha's roommate, Jody Collier, had said. Jody was one of Arusha's friends from college. She was the only reason why Arusha could make a pittance from the New Amsterdam Daily and still sent some of it to her parents. Jody hated it when Arusha didn't pay the rent. They took turns sleeping on the bed and the couch.

Arusha raised her hand, a habit from college. "...Solomon!? Can I write biased editorials if my fellow journalists write articles that are biased from the other side?" Arusha mentally slapped herself. She was too young to ask things like this.

[Deblar]

Frank "Footlong" Davidson

Frank had finally arrived at the office, having been late; not exactly his fault, as he'd been up until around 2 o'clock in the morning taking care of an assignment from yesterday, and as a result slept past his alarm, which he completely ignored for almost 30 minutes. With bags under his eyes, a cup of Starbucks in his left hand, and a Chinese takeout container in his right hand- who says you can't have Chinese for breakfast? - he'd walk past the receptionist with a tired and salutationary grunt. Little did he know there was currently a staff meeting ongoing in the conference room.

He stepped into his cubby, sat in his chair, placed the coffee on his desk, and began eating orange chicken out of his container. It was around 2 minutes before he noticed that the rest of the office was rather empty, and he spent another 2 minutes looking for everyone before finding the conference room. As he stepped in, he took a brief look around the room, seeing DeMarcus, the beat sportswriter, or as he liked to call him, the deadbeat sportswriter (not to his face, of course), Phil, the delusional conspiracy theorist, Gerard the food critic, who reminded Frank of that one guy from Ratatouille , Martha, the girl who seemed to hate him for whatever reason, Victoria, Erich, the guy who's political positions was hard for even Frank to decipher, Tim, the fact checker with the strong Scottish accent, and James Solomon. He mumbled "no one told me there was a staff meeting..." as he went to take his seat next to Phil. As he did, he continued mumbling, going "I ought to file a complaint about this..."

[Maugrym]

"If you had more brains than a five-dollar-footlong, you'd've heard me when I told you to be here five minutes early for the staff meeting," Victoria snapped at Frank before taking another swig of wine. What does a woman have to do to get some decent help around here? At least everything's shifting to politics, that'll stir up some business.

[Deblar]

Frank "Footlong" Davidson

Victoria's outburst caught him quite off-guard, but before he started cursing her out, he calmed himself down. "Someone hasn't had their coffee yet", he mumbled, just loud enough for Phil to hear.

[Talchyon]

The boardroom
DeMarcus Clark

As the other writers piled into the room for the meeting, DeMarcus was not surprised but kind of annoyed that no one wanted to talk about the Jets that he had brought up. That was the problem at work. People just didn't care about the important things in life. Like a coach who decides to kick a field goal, and they never get the ball back to drive down for another score. He sighed, and took another sip of his coffee.

James Solomon (again)

“All right, everybody, listen up. This is a very important time of year. It’s election season. I want you to cover every angle. As you know, I’ve reassigned all of you to the election beat, so shadow the candidates, interview staffers, get the word on the street. Here are your assignments: DeMarcus: Find out who roots for which team, this is important, people love sports...

DeMarcus, thankfully, was done with the drink of his coffee, or he would have spilled it, or threw the cup across the room. The elections beat? Who cares about a buncha guys who only give speeches about things like the economy? The only thing the economy mattered for was determining how high the salary cap limit was going to be in the NFL the following season. But it's not like anyone cares about that. Politicians were basically the same no matter what they said. They just get together and pass a bunch of boring laws that most people could care less about.

He just shook his head, "Ah, man. I was hoping to begin our playoffs coverage." It was a horrible time for the boss to pull this stunt. Solomon didn't quite understand the nuances of the league schedule - especially that things heat up in December so teams can whittle down the remaining competitors among the best of both conferences. Now, DeMarcus had to stop discussing any of this, so he could talk to some of the more boring people in the world. He didn't even know - or care - who was running for office.

As it was, there was nothing that could be done. Elections was the new assignment. At least in theory. DeMarcus made a silent vow to himself that he would still write about the upcoming teams in the playoffs, though somehow giving his articles a political title. And maybe a paragraph, or at least a line, about the elections.

The other reporters were reacting to the new assignments, too. Some - like Arusha - were holding all their emotions in, though he could easily see the same kind of dismay on her face that he knew was on his. Maybe there was hope for her too. Maybe she was a closet football fan and hated to have to miss covering the important topics in life, like whether the new playoff seeding was more fair or unfair than what it had been, or how many interceptions Peyton Manning had thrown in his first season. Some - also like Arusha, as well as Martha, were asking follow-up questions. Some - like the French snob food critic, whose name DeMarcus always mispronounced so never tried to call him by name, were just eating their food and taking it all in. Phil, the conspiracy theorist, was still scanning for potential electronic listening devices. DeMarcus knew he could always have fun with Phil, but it was low-hanging fruit and he wasn't of the mind right now. Footlong Frank, who was way too cranked up on politics, was doing what people do when they get too cranked up on politics. He had started an argument, this time with Victoria.

Yep. Typical staff meeting after all. DeMarcus calmed down, and drank some more of his coffee.

[Maugrym]

Victoria ignored Davidson. She loathed coffee; it was absolutely abhorrent. No, her disguised Cabernet Sauvignon was more than enough to start her day. "If there's any juicy gossip, corruption, illegal things, ect that comes out against anyone I want it run by me first so we can get some comments from the campaigns," she said. It was a half-truth, of course, but no one here had to know that, and no one would so long as she timed the requests for comment perfectly with the timing of the releases of each paper. Some would call it dishonest journalism. She called it doing her job.

[Madrinpoor]

The New Amsterdam Daily
After whenever the boardroom meeting was
Marlon Yates

Marlon Yates marched up to the New Amsterdam Daily's front doors with a sense of purpose and a camera slung around his neck. It was to be his first day. He wore a half-buttoned flannel overtop a tacky t-shirt he bought from a tourist trap with a cat scaling the Empire State building, and a weird beret that everyone thought looked stupid but he thought looked "jaunty."

Marlon threw open the doors, to make an entrance and took a long sniff. "Ah. The smell of printers and ink."

The receptionist gave him a glance.

---

He rapped on the door of Mr. Solomon's office.

[Caliland]

"Bonjour," he said dismissively. Then he sat down at the nearest chair, and plucked another grape off the bunch.

James Solomon

"Gerald!" snapped Solomon, after his inspirational speech. "You're late! No time for that though, I need you to find out where the election candidate eat. You can start with Anna Harper, she was spotted at a vegan-eco,plant-based crappy café. So cancel that review you were going to do of that 5-star, critically acclaimed restaurant." he ordered.

"Mr. Solomon, with Bart gone, and with me finding Mayor Wilson and being at City Hall regularly, perhaps I could take over for Bart and cover the mayor's health, at least until to find a proper solution anyway."

"Perfect! I want to know how old Mayor Wilson is doing after the 2 heart attacks and the stroke."

Arusha raised her hand, a habit from college. "...Solomon!? Can I write biased editorials if my fellow journalists write articles that are biased from the other side?" Arusha mentally slapped herself. She was too young to ask things like this.

"GENIUS!" exclaimed Solomon. "This way we can sell twice as many papers! But don't expect a raise!" he said. With that the meeting was over, and Solomon went back to his office.

Solomon's Office

He rapped on the door of Mr. Solomon's office.

"What!" yelled James, visibly annoyed that his important tossing-a-peanut-in-the-air-and-trying-to-catch-it-with-your-mouth game was interrupted. "Come in!" he said. He waved his hand towards a chair, indicating him to pull one up.

[Caliland]

Tim Grant
The bullpen, politics division

"Now, now you lot really ought to calm down" said Tim, strolling through the office, it was his job to make sure all the writing was spot-on. He was James Solomon's eyes and ears.

Victoria ignored Davidson. She loathed coffee; it was absolutely abhorrent. No, her disguised Cabernet Sauvignon was more than enough to start her day. "If there's any juicy gossip, corruption, illegal things, ect that comes out against anyone I want it run by me first so we can get some comments from the campaigns," she said. It was a half-truth, of course, but no one here had to know that, and no one would so long as she timed the requests for comment perfectly with the timing of the releases of each paper. Some would call it dishonest journalism. She called it doing her job.

"Ah, jusht be sure to check that it's true, we cannae print mishinformation." added Tim, exercising his authority as James Solomon's second-in-command.

[Hopal]

Martha McDow

Martha McDow had made it back up to her office, with her new assignment she had some messages to send off, but not before she got a refill of her precious coffee. She refilled her coffee machine as she did so she checked her watch, it was 10:13. She got out her phone, and she took a sip of her coffee as she searched for Mayor Wilson on Twitter, there was nothing new. She opened to her emails, there was nothing new, she sent an email to the Mayor's Press Secretary, she didn't expect much out of it, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

Hi, it's Martha McDow from the New Amsterdam Daily. Care to comment on Mayor Wilson's current health condition?

She then sent a text message to one of her most trusted sources, Charlie O'Connell, a staffer in the Mayor's inner circle.

Hey, want to go for lunch at O'Hara's at 12

O'Hara's was an Irish pub within walking distance of City Hall. Charlie, a Irishman himself had introduced Martha to the pub and restaurant, and it had their go to place to hang out and share information, and Martha had rather to enjoy the joint.
Then finally Martha went to her contacts and called the Mayor's physician, she had gotten the physician's number after some digging after the Mayor's first heart attack a while back, and she was usually able to fish out some information out of them.

[Deblar]

Frank “Footlong” Davidson

When Frank heard that the Daily was shifting its focus on the election, and therefore politics, his very reason for waking up in the morning, the tired and grumpy look on his face was quickly replaced with a still tired but smiling look. “We-he-hell, that’s all you had to say and that’s all I needed to hear,” he said as he exited and returned to his cubby. As he took his seat, he took a sip of his coffee and ate two pieces of orange chicken, accidentally discovering that coffee and orange chicken was a surprisingly delicious combo, then took to his computer, beginning his research of the local mayoral elections.

In only 20 minutes, he had learned all there was to know about the mayoral candidates. His thoughts? Greenfield was basically the Monopoly Man and had little to no business tainting the city with his Reaganomics, Martinson was decent but too close to the establishment, Harper would also make a decent candidate but was a tad too “woke”, and Dawson…well, he didn’t have much against him, but celebrities running for public office almost never ends well, and four years of (notDonald Trump) left a bad taste in his mouth.

About 15 more minutes later, he knew all there was to know about the city council elections too, and almost immediately chose his favorite: Danny Miller. The fact that he was running simply because he was tired of the BS of politics and wanted to drive real progress was just too B A S E D for Frank to ignore.

As for the gubernatorial race, Frank was frankly uninterested (pun intended), as all he saw was an establishment guy against another Reaganomic Monopoly Man. Now that he had gathered his information, he got to work, opening a notepad he had on his desk, grabbing a pen, taking another sip of his coffee, and writing another one of his famous political columns.

Ah yes, it’s election season in the concrete jungle that we call New York. As we look towards the election to decide the immediate future of our city, I, the one and only Frank Davidson, have studied the elections so you don’t have to, and my opinions on the various elections are to be shown here for your reading pleasure

Not a bad start, but this was only the beginning…

[Caliland]

New York City Hospital
Mayor Jeff Wilson

The elderly mayor was in a bad shape, he had had yet another heart attack. "It's miracle the man isn't dead. His 3rd heart attack" said the doctor to the mayor's secretary. Outside a very nervous press secretary was pacing back and forth. She had just received an e-mail from a reporter asking about the mayor's health. Did the news already leak? Would people think the mayor was dying? She was one more press inquiry away from a nervous breakdown.

Tim Grant

Ah yes, it’s election season in the concrete jungle that we call New York. As we look towards the election to decide the immediate future of our city, I, the one and only Frank Davidson, have studied the elections so you don’t have to, and my opinions on the various elections are to be shown here for your reading pleasure

Tim was observing the progress of the writing. He looked at Frank's writing so far. "Not bad, but jusht be sure not to let your opinionsh get in the way." To Tim letting the reader make their own decision based on impartial facts was the most important thing.
Next up, Martha. "How are the phone callsh coming?" he asked.

[Madrinpoor]

He rapped on the door of Mr. Solomon's office.

"What!" yelled James, visibly annoyed that his important tossing-a-peanut-in-the-air-and-trying-to-catch-it-with-your-mouth game was interrupted. "Come in!" he said. He waved his hand towards a chair, indicating him to pull one up.

Marlon swaggered into the office and pulled up a chair. "Marlon Yates," he said, "My first day is today. I already received my ID card in the mail."

He pulled out of his shoulder bag a thin cardboard box, and out of the box a glossy photo of a police officer smashing an AIDS protestor in the balls, the photo that got him acclaim and a job at Time Magazine.

"This is my most favorite photo," he said, "I have it framed on my bedside table. I'm thinking of having it made into a big flag and hanging it outside my apartment window. What's my first assignment?"