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Post by Deleted on Dec 9, 2016 19:03:03 GMT
 the past is behind me there's a longing inside me, big as the ocean come to carry me away & wash me over clean; i see it in my dreams & i know that it's coming, but when? West is tired. He's had little sleep after a long night of watching game tape and he wrote notes on each play until his hand ached. The notes are carefully tucked into the folder he carries under his left arm. It's Wednesday, which means that the football week begins tomorrow night - and that means West has to know everything today. Armed with the week's schedule of matchups, team records, injury reports and a vague idea of what other analysts are predicting, he will present his carefully prepared report tonight.
It's his first 'real' analysis slot on primetime and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't just a little nervous. Of course he's no stranger to analysing game tape: it's what he's done all his life. He cut his teeth reviewing tape of the games he watched on TV as a little boy, then scrutinised tape of his own games through school and college. By the time he made it to the lofty heights of pro league practice squads, he didn't even have to think about what he was seeing on the film. He understood the game, his college coach had called his vision innate and he couldn't disagree. Every play was second nature, as though he'd written it himself, and even through the shadow of the heavy helmet on his head, he saw every twitch each of the twenty one other players on the field made.
But he fell out of favour, leaving the field for the much warmer offices and television stages of sports broadcast, and as the clock hands reach midday, West rolls his shoulders, takes a breath and pushes through a heavy double door into the large, open office shared by the newswriters, analysts and broadcasters.
It's quiet, and for a moment he lets down his guard, dropping his shoulders and puffing out his cheeks with a sigh. It's not until he rounds the corner to the sports news cluster he's been assigned to share with another handful of broadcasters that he notices a head barely visible over a computer screen. He's not alone, and he's slightly disappointed. He stands taller, presses his lips together and marches forward, his stride as long and confident as his days at Eastern Illinois when he was a Very Big Fish in a pretty small pond. These days, the pond is more of an ocean and he's barely a minnow.
The head is tucked behind a desk in the general news cluster and he's relieved to pass the collection of desks undetected. He slips into the large office chair at 'his' own desk and spins around once, unable to deny himself a childish whim, and jabs a finger at the power button on the monitor. He opens his folder and lays it out on the desk, just as his computer's start up jingle blasts through the speakers. He never noticed they were still switched on, and somehow, his day is now ruined. He's no longer anonymous. He peers over the top of screen, desperately hoping that his quiet company hasn't noticed.
tag: Amelia | wearing | words: 540 | template by eliza @ tb & thq |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 9, 2016 19:43:39 GMT
| ❝ | Wake up wake up, open up your eyes and wake up. Don’t try to hide it, You’re already wrapped around my little finger, My radar. Mine, mine. You’re mine despite of what others say. I’m prettier than anyone else. We the B.E.S.T SISTAR | ❞ |
Amelia was buried in a mountain of papers, literally. It was already past noon and she was still not finished with her write up. She hated being bogged down like this, when work catches her off guard. And most importantly she hated going on an empty stomach. She was prepared for the airing later that evening thank god, but she was nowhere near finished with the report her boss wanted by the end of the day. One of the few reasons she hated the guy. The black-haired Asian tapped fervently on her computer keyboard, a musical sound against the quietness of the office. Most people were out to lunch while most were preparing for their segments later that night or that week.
She gave a little sigh and a stretch as her eyes wandered to the clock hanging on the wall to her right. Oh great...12:30... she got up from her chair, taking her now empty coffee cup with her to the station pantry. It just passed midday and she already lost count of how many cups of coffee she managed to consume. If she ended up with caffeine poisoning or something she would sue her boss. That old git, she thought to herself. Amelia rummaged through the pantty cabinets and took out her poison--hazelnut and vanilla coffee. She loved the smell of vanilla. The girl had just pressed the button on the coffee machine to brew a single cup when she heard the sound of a computer being turned on through the speakers above.
Weston...
She was referring to the sports guy, the baseball (or something) dude who often reported the sports segment during the evening news with her. She couldn't care for sports, as she wasn't a big fan of watching sports games. Nor did she have time either, with work and booze taking up 120% of her day. Amelia smiled and pulled a coffee mug out of the drawers the people in her office for guests and pressed the machine again to make a second cup of coffee.
As the coffee made itself, she took out her boxed lunch from the fridge. For some reason she had anticipated working past lunch hour today and had prepared herself a homemade blt sandwich. She was all about being able to inhale food without having to use utensils, the trademark of a hard working office person. She put the sandwich on her desk and took the two cups of coffee to Weston's office, peeking in and not at all surprised to find him embarassed looking. "Thought you might need a coffee." she said as she set the cup on his table and held onto her own. These days everyone was messing up some way or another and lack of sleep was the main culprit.
"Way to make your presence known, Weston" she smiled at the young man jokingly. WARDROBE ● TAGGED: @westonjames ● NOTES: excuse any typos, typing from my phone |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 11, 2016 17:40:34 GMT
the past is behind me there's a longing inside me, big as the ocean come to carry me away & wash me over clean; i see it in my dreams & i know that it's coming, but when? The office fills with the smell of hazelnut and coffee. West wrinkles his nose as he jabs at the buttons on the computer speakers with an outstretched finger. There's no way he's still anonymous. Whoever else is in the office has surely noticed - and is now making coffee, he sighs, relieved; hopefully that coffee will keep the other person busy enough not to come over and chat. He's not really in a chatty mood.
Faint sounds of clinking echo across the office from the small kitchenette and West tries to block them out. He has work to do. He turns his attention fully to the screen in front of him, now illuminated with the football league's own website and stats pages. He needs to fill a few gaps with some last-minute research before he can prepare his piece for tonight's sports segment.
With each week that passes, West finds himself working a little harder. Every Thursday, he watches the tape of his short piece just like he used to watch game tape, desperate for something to work on and improve. His five minute portion of the sports segment isn't enough. He has too many things to say, far too much insight to share, and the more game tape he watches, the more of a challenge it becomes to condense it.
He grabs a pen and scrawls on the torn notepad beside the keyboard. He's staring intently at the paper when he sees the bottom of a mug appear behind it. The hand holding the mug is attached to a woman he only vaguely knows from the news broadcasts and the office, but she shares a smile beautiful enough to knock a little wind from his chest and he can't quite bring himself to admit that he doesn't even like coffee. He swallows hard, pushing away his pride, and flashes a smile in return. He hopes it's not as tight as his face feels.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he offers gratitude; he's surprised to find it feels genuine. "Always gotta make a grand entrance, of course."
tag: Amelia | wearing | words: 363 | template by eliza @ tb & thq |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 12, 2016 0:45:52 GMT
| ❝ | Wake up wake up, open up your eyes and wake up. Don’t try to hide it, You’re already wrapped around my little finger, My radar. Mine, mine. You’re mine despite of what others say. I’m prettier than anyone else. We the B.E.S.T SISTAR | ❞ |
The girl definitely noticed the tense smile Weston gave her as he took the cup of coffee. Although she hadn’t yet done a segment with him on air before, she had heard that he used to be some sort of sports player before landing a job here at USBC and that he seemed to be a hard worker. Amelia often found herself chatting with other news anchors and reporters, which is what happens when someone spends way too much of her time holed away in her office. Maybe he was getting a little too stressed out, something that often happens with people new to the job. She planted herself on a chair opposite him, watching quietly as he scratched on the notepad in front of him, slightly amused at seeing another person work. Her coffee felt warm in her hands, the smell of hazelnut ever so relaxing.
"Has nobody bothered to cut you some slack?" She snatched his notepad from the desk, looked at it briefly and got up from her chair, putting down her cup of coffee of his desk. She would proceed to take him by the arm, steering him in the direction out of his personal space. The guy needed a breather, whether he was going to willingly take it or not. Although the girl longed for her cup of poison, she felt that it was necessary for the young man to get away from the tapes, just momentarily. “Let’s go have lunch. I’m hungry” It came out more like an order than a suggestion. It’ll give her a bit of time to get to know the guy, as well as teach him a few tricks of the trade, as they call it.
It was also an excuse for her to get out of the office too. WARDROBE ● TAGGED: @westonjames ● NOTES: short post, my apologies! |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 14, 2016 12:56:14 GMT
the past is behind me there's a longing inside me, big as the ocean come to carry me away & wash me over clean; i see it in my dreams & i know that it's coming, but when? The woman sits down in the chair opposite his. West feels his brows raise involuntarily and hopes it's not as noticable as it felt. He glances at her slyly as he continues to scrawl on the paper, noting down facts, interesting plays and as many obscure statistics as he could get hold of - the league loves those obscure stats, after all.
Before long, her voice cuts into his work-haze. "Has nobody cut you some slack?" He opens his mouth to protest as she snatches the notepad from beneath his pen, leaving a long scratch of indigo ink rolling off the edge of the page. His mouth still hasn't caught up when she grabs his arm and insists on taking him to lunch. Wait, is she taking me to lunch?
"I don't need slack," he insists as she pulls him from his desk space. "What I really need is to finish my prep for tonight's segment." He grabs his white baseball cap from the edge of the desk as he follows her through the office, her small hand still wrapped around his arm. In truth, sometimes, he thinks he'd love someone to cut him a little slack. He'd love for someone to offer him a full segment on a national sports broadcast - or, better yet, a spot as a pundit on one of the sports networks. If he can't get a break on the field, he needs to be as close as possible to the field, and analysing the game is the next best thing.
He pulls the cap onto his head, tugging the peak down over his eyes as they cross the threshold to the building. It's cooler outside now than it was when he had arrived that morning. He tugs his arm free of his colleague's grip and wraps both arms around his chest to press the remaining warmth back into his body.
"Oh, and you know my name, obviously, but who the hell are you?"
He winces internally. He hadn't meant to snap - or had he? He'd been working quietly, preparing for the evening's broadcast and suddenly someone he barely knows is dragging him forcibly out of the building. No, he decides, I definitely did mean to snap.
tag: Amelia | wearing | words: 401 | template by eliza @ tb & thq |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 14, 2016 13:23:59 GMT
| ❝ | Wake up wake up, open up your eyes and wake up. Don’t try to hide it, You’re already wrapped around my little finger, My radar. Mine, mine. You’re mine despite of what others say. I’m prettier than anyone else. We the B.E.S.T SISTAR | ❞ |
Perhaps she had been a little too rough on him, or perhaps she hadn't meant to actually put the poor guy out of the office by force. But whatever it was that brought on the sudden urge was not subsiding one bit. Amelia wasn't a violent person and especially not towards new people like Weston. And yet she had definitely just dragged him from his desk involuntarily, without so much a care for his feelings ir consent. It came with always getting her way. It was her way or the highway. To ve fair she never meant for it to be that way but it just naturally became so as she rose to the spotlight of the newsroom. Ever since being put intk the primetime news slots, her opinion was veng valued more.
It was her boss's fault.
Amelia suddenly recalled her days as an intern, as a junior. They were not particularly pleasant days as very few anchormen took note of her existence. She had simply been a part of the wall or the lights or something. But that all changed when she met Jung woo, her senior anchorman who later became her best friend and then more than a friend. He took care of her, showed her the ropes, taught her tricks to be a successful anchorwomam and hold her ground at USBC. Because of him she got to where she was now, respected and valued. The woman wanted to do the same for Weston. She wanted to help him, not out of any reason other than hsving been in his shoes before. And it was because of that that she took particular offense at him snapping at her.
He had let go of her grasp, a little violently. Although she understood his annoyance and/or anger, she couldn't mask the irritation that she felt, especially when he rudely asked who she was. How can this guy claim to work here but not know her?! It was unbelievable and ridiculous. By now the two had left the USBC building, standing in the cold outside its entrance. To any passerby they would look like a bickering couple. She stared at him coldly, her tone just as chilling as she replied "I'm Amelia." That was all she said as she would turn to walk away.
She'd been hoping for a lunch buddy. But if things weren't going to go that way she didn't mind. The black haired girl was used to not being liked, for one reason or another, and swore she'd never let such petty things get to her. The cold air made her shiver slightly as she realized she had forgotten her coat at her desk. Ah, just great! This day was starting to get worse by the minute. It was definitely time for it to end and she hoped it would be soon. |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2016 20:00:10 GMT
the past is behind me there's a longing inside me, big as the ocean come to carry me away & wash me over clean; i see it in my dreams & i know that it's coming, but when? He is met with a cold stare. It stings like the slap of skin on skin and he has to look away just as she responds.
"I'm Amelia" is all she says before the turns on a heel and begins to stalk away. It takes West half a second to process before he lunges in the same direction.
"Hey, I'm sorry, okay?" he calls. He knows people are looking now - maybe some of them even recognise the quarreling faces. Maybe they'll be trending on Vine later. "I didn't-- okay, maybe I did mean to snap, but you know, we've never even had so much as half a conversation and you didn't even ask before dragging me out of my chair and out of the office."
He feels like a petulant child. His excuses are pathetic even to his own ears. He has work to do and he's itching to get it done, but would an hour for lunch with a colleague really hurt that much?
He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes. He's still chasing Amelia, almost breaking into a jog to keep up with her. This is ridiculous. They're not far from the USBC building: he has followed his colleague around the side, away from the gawping public and into the alley where the back entrances to the live show stages are.
West sighs again, quietly this time. How has he managed to screw something up before it's even begun? How has the day gone from nondescript to downright shitty before he's even ready for lunch? He pulls his cap from his head and pushes a hand through his hair. He makes a mental note to book a haircut before it gets too floppy.
The hand with the cap drops to his side and he lets his eyes fall too. He traces the blue 'EIU' with his gaze.
How did everything go so wrong?
tag: Amelia | wearing | words: 345 | template by eliza @ tb & thq |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2016 21:04:48 GMT
| ❝ | Wake up wake up, open up your eyes and wake up. Don’t try to hide it, You’re already wrapped around my little finger, My radar. Mine, mine. You’re mine despite of what others say. I’m prettier than anyone else. We the B.E.S.T SISTAR | ❞ |
The Asian girl kept walking as she heard Weston's voice from behind her. At first she had been truly angry...well somewhat irritated at her colleague for snapping at her and turning away her good intentions. But as she walked and listened, she couldn't help but smile. Amelia enjoyed toying with people's emotions especially with pretending to be angry. She loved to see people flustered. She was a little bit of a sadist and yet she wouldn't admit it. There was no harm in having some fun at times, right?
By now the two of them had walked to the side of the building, away from the bustling main streets where people could hear. What she didn't like about New York was the fact that people just couldn't mind their own business. They would stare as they walked by, as though an argument was a spectators sport. She knew it couldn't be helped since it was out in public but she did wish at times where they could give her some space and learn the word privacy. Amelia stopped in the middle of the alleyway, having heard enough of Weston's excuses. She thought of a proper response before she turned around to face him.
"So, do you still want lunch? I'm starving." she would completely ignore his excuses. She had long passed being angry with him, now simply a bit amused at his attempt to fix things. Her stomach grumbled and she looked at her watch, realizing it was already fifteen past the hour. Amelia knew that if she wanted she could take a longer lunch break since there wasn't much left for her to do in the office before the news segment tonight. But Weston was obviously nervous and wanted to prepare so he had no such luxury. "and you do want to go back and finish working right?"
Amelia smiled a little at him, trying to loosen up the tension that filled the air. She didn't admit that she was partly to blame because in her mind it was all out of good intention. But she did feel a little awkward if the man before him continued to feel bad for his earlier actions. She thought to herself of places she wanted to go and eat. She wondered what foods he disliked. Although they hadn't had much conversation since Weston joined the team, somehow she felt like she would get the chance to know him a lot better after today. It was going to be all good.
"Any preferences on food? We might as well grab a bite since we're already out here." she added, trying harder to break the silence that had fallen over the two. It was hard to believe that this was the way Amelia would choose to try to form a friendship with her colleague. Usually they were a little bit more civil...civil meaning that they'd just go with what she wanted. This was a new experience for her and she couldn't help but feel a little happy about it. There's nothing better for her than when things went off course or were out of the ordinary. |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 28, 2016 20:27:30 GMT
the past is behind me there's a longing inside me, big as the ocean come to carry me away & wash me over clean; i see it in my dreams & i know that it's coming, but when? There's a bite in the air, and not just from the frost that has settled over West and Amelia. He can't see the woman's face, but he imagines it to be just as cold as when she had stalked away and a shiver makes its way down his spine. He hunches his shoulders a little to ward off the chill as he pushes back the cuff of his grey shirt. The familiar watch face stares back at him, solemn as ever: it's been the one constant in his life for the last five years, the one thing that has always remained certain. A 'congratulations on your football scholarship' gift from his parents, the watch had seen him through countless classes, training camps and game days, and even when he thought about giving up when the world seemed to fall down around him, that same watch remained a comforting weight around his wrist.
It's definitely lunch time now, and West feels a little guilty for his harshness. He could do with a bite to eat, after all. And that's when Amelia spins around on her heel to face him. He is surprised; he takes a step back as his eyes target hers.
"So do you still want lunch?" she asks. West's stomach answers for him, quietly gurgling as he nods slowly.
"I could definitely eat something," he admits. "And yes, I do need to get back to work soon."
Amelia is smiling now, and West feels slightly unnerved at the sudden turnaround in her mood. But he doesn't know the woman, perhaps this is her way of making amends - so he goes along with it. Maybe it's time to at least try to make a friend in the city.
"There's a great little sandwich place about two blocks away, right on the edge of the park," he offers. "They have great cookies, too." tag: Amelia | wearing | words: | template by eliza @ tb & thq |
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