Disclaimer: I am neither a Journalist nor the daughter of a Journalist. Any utter stupidities about how that business works can be blamed on ignorance alone. I throw myself on the mercy of your willing suspension of disbelief.
The cane twisted obediently under fingers, silver cap catching the dull illumination from the overhead lights and grudgingly throwing it back. Time was standing still, leaving her eons to examine her surroundings and catalog anything of interest.
Not that there /was/ anything of interest. Familiarity had dulled any spark that might have been inclined to appear, even though she had never been in this room before. By some quirk of providence or twist of fate, all waiting rooms were essentially the same. From those for doctors offices, to lawyers, to bankers… She'd spend enough time in each of the above, especially of late, to know. The same background hum of white noise, the same faint chill of overactive air conditioning. From the carefully chosen art on the wall to the carelessly indifferent receptionist... All were essentially the same.
She tilted her head, taking a second look. This receptionist happened to be blonde, and her configuration was presently and happily defying gravity.
...Had to be by art rather than nature. No one's chest muscles were /that/ good.
A sigh escaped her lips, and her gaze roamed to the contents of the woman's desktop. Not much there, only a lonely holo-picture of a young man. Friend? Lover? Brother? He was dressed rather poorly, and there was the hint of a field behind him. Maybe he was a childhood sweetheart, left behind in the Blonde's relentless pursuit of her career. Maybe she was racked by guilt for abandoning her rural upbringings, conforming to popular ideas of beauty and never writing home to her mother. Maybe she kept the picture as a sober reminder of…
The blonde's light blue eyes, rimmed by dark eyeliner, cut through musings with a distinctly unfriendly glare.
Oh. Maybe not. She smiled apologetically to the receptionist, admonishing herself on the subject of staring and getting carried away.
Then again. Curiosity should be satisfied. There was nothing else pressing and she would never know the story if she didn't ask. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and then a greeting.
"Dae'sa! Dae'sa Jones, what a pleasant surprise."
She stood, smoothing out her long skirt and then resting her hands lightly on the cane. "Professor Wilmington."
The aging, graying, balding man chuckled. "Haven't heard that in a few months."
"Really?" She smiled.
He gestured for her to proceed him into the office. As she walked, his eyes fell to her cane, and then her legs. The dark skirt shifted in such a way as to underplay the limp, but it was still obvious. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well…for some reason the others in the office don't seem inclined to call me Doctor like you students did. The informality of the corporate world, I guess." He sat down behind his desk, and she carefully took the seat across from him.
It took her a moment to decide what to do with the unwieldy cane, still getting used to its presence, not to mention her need for it. She settled for resting it across her knees this time. "Do you like it here, then? I know you spoke endlessly about being in the field and your love of the actual reporting, but is this..?" Dae'sa looked around the office significantly, question friendly.
"It is very different, I admit." Wilmington said off-handedly. "But there is a lot to be said for a desk job. A whole new set of challenges in managing, and of course, dealing with people was always my first love."
Dae'sa took her eyes away from the framed CBN poster and the emblazoned Journalistic Compass it proclaimed. She nodded agreement, "It is a very nice office."
"Why thank you. I enjoy it. Got to love the view." There was a slight awkward silence, which he did not allow to linger. "So, I hear you finally graduated. Congratulations."
Jones smiled. "You doubted?"
"Never. I knew you'd … over come and make your way back." His tone was pleasant, but Dae'sa noticed he wouldn't meet her eyes. Naturally, her head tilted to the side at this response, her attention fully focused.
Wilmington picked his pen up and set it a few inches to the side for no apparent reason. "So, what brings you here?"
Her smile became slightly rueful. "Why else would your favorite Journalism student visit you after you have gotten in a job for CBN and she's just graduated? I have a favor to ask."
He chuckled. "Well, Dae'sa. I am not in the Human Resources department, or in Staffing, but I do know of a few positions open. The mail room, data
control…putting in a good word for my 'favorite' student…"
"That actually wasn't the favor I was wanting." She interrupted gently.
He was surprised enough to forget his discomfort with her depthless eyes, eyes that in his opinion had lost something undefinable even though the surgeries had saved her sight, and met her gaze directly. "Then what do you want?"
She wordlessly opened up the plain briefcase by her side and pulled out a data pad. She handed it to Wilmington and waited as he scanned it.
He looked up after a moment, finger stabbing down to the pad, "You have verified this?"
"Of course. You know me better than that. Verified, double checked and on the record."
Wilmington began to smile. "We can have a crew out there in..."
"Professor?"
"Hmm?"
"Of course, you'll want to get some people out there, but you have a story written up on it now." She said, "A very good one. Why not run this?"
"Dae'sa, CBN is a professional broadcasting network. There are certain rules about what we publish and…"
"There is such a thing as Free-lance reporting."
"Of course, but there are formalities to go through." He paused, "Weren't you paying any attention in class?"
She grinned. "I always paid attention. There was that class about using your contacts well…"
He was speechless for a moment, "So you want me to get CBN to buy this from you?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any idea the red tape, number of procedures and polices you are asking me to ignore?"
"Yes."
"And you think that I can do this? That I even have the authority or influence here, much less the desire to take the work of an unknown like yourself.."
She continued to smile, biting her lip to keep from all out grinning. "Of course you do, Professor."
He snorted, "Get out."
She blinked.
"I'll see what I can do, Dae'sa. Now get out, I have calls to make. Leave your number with Mitze and I'll get in touch." Wilmington tried to sound stern.
Dae'sa stood, "I'll leave a forwarding number." She said, "I am headed out of town tonight, actually."
"Ah. Going to visit your mother?" He asked.
It was the wrong assumption. "No. Headed to the Citadel actually."
"The military base? Why?"
"I heard they had giant rats up there." She said, overly mild.
"That is old news, Dae'sa."
"Well, yes. But any place that has giant alien killer rats, isn't going to stay calm for long." She pointed out logically.
"You'll be tossed off within a day." He predicted.
"Then I have a military brutality story. Look on the bright side, Professor." Her cheery tone was infernally infectious. She walked to the door and gently shut it behind her as she left.
"I'll be damned." Wilmington said quietly. Through the glass paneling of his door, he watched Dae'sa make her way awkward way to the elevator, cane glittering every step. Maybe she hadn't lost something after all. Wilmington grinned and began making some phone calls.