The man legally known as "Keaton J. Fox" made his way down a road in RhyDin he hadn't walked in over a year. Conspicuously bourgeois, he thought with a sigh; but he was going to a new job, and for the first time in the now four years he'd lived in RhyDin City, he wouldn't be working for a hare-brained investor or a blue-blooded entrepeneur. He'd be working instead with a very old friend...
Keaton stood out in most crowds, though a little less so on the same block as Mr. Franco's famous Den of Gossip. The studio headphones hooked to the music player somewhere in his jacket thumped noisily into his very chilly neck, which was not very well insulated by an absurdly long thin scarf in the Dr. Who style. His t-shirt was red and black, like a Che t-shirt but with a rough silhouette of a dragon in the center (plus a communist star), half-revealed by his unzipped black hoodie. Old-fashioned sneakers pounded the cobblestones through a layer of slush.
For the first time since Hands Over Hollywood had shut down, the 'shifter fox felt in his element. Cool. He was headed somewhere that he belonged, as much as his kind could belong anywhere... That thought alone made him chuckle. Plenty 'a trouble we made back then, huh, Keats... but there's a fresh lot to brew now. The masses need their news, an' all the better if it makes a stir.
He dialed down his music three notches as he pushed in through the Den's door, right past an intern scrambling by with her arms full of paper, raised his arms and declared, "Attention, y'all -- Blogger Keaton's arrived!"
One pair of eyes after another stared at him in silence, and an eerie stillness fell over the Den. So unusual for there to be a single second someone wasn't at least jogging from one end of the place to the other. But three seconds later he cracked a grin, and others laughed and shook their heads -- a few gave the announcement a smattering of pointedly half-hearted applause.
"You know you'll only be holding us back starting off," snapped a female voice; Keaton looked over and saw there was a mischievious smile in her eyes.
"Intern Beast, good to see ya." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and had a good look around. A few things had changed since his last visit... "If I'm gonna be dead weight, just as well we get right to it. Where's my desk?"
Intern Beast was already thrusting a laptop into his arms, and pointed over his shoulder. "Right over there. The one with the ball, chain, and ten stacks of 'evidence.' " Then she winked at him: "Do us proud, Keats."
Keaton's shoulders sagged. He was more than mortefied by consistent work, he was allergic to it. But this... this would help him scratch the itch he direly needed to, and he trudged over to have a seat and cracked open the laptop.
"Right, then... Let's see what the spies dug up for Day 1."
Keaton stood out in most crowds, though a little less so on the same block as Mr. Franco's famous Den of Gossip. The studio headphones hooked to the music player somewhere in his jacket thumped noisily into his very chilly neck, which was not very well insulated by an absurdly long thin scarf in the Dr. Who style. His t-shirt was red and black, like a Che t-shirt but with a rough silhouette of a dragon in the center (plus a communist star), half-revealed by his unzipped black hoodie. Old-fashioned sneakers pounded the cobblestones through a layer of slush.
For the first time since Hands Over Hollywood had shut down, the 'shifter fox felt in his element. Cool. He was headed somewhere that he belonged, as much as his kind could belong anywhere... That thought alone made him chuckle. Plenty 'a trouble we made back then, huh, Keats... but there's a fresh lot to brew now. The masses need their news, an' all the better if it makes a stir.
He dialed down his music three notches as he pushed in through the Den's door, right past an intern scrambling by with her arms full of paper, raised his arms and declared, "Attention, y'all -- Blogger Keaton's arrived!"
One pair of eyes after another stared at him in silence, and an eerie stillness fell over the Den. So unusual for there to be a single second someone wasn't at least jogging from one end of the place to the other. But three seconds later he cracked a grin, and others laughed and shook their heads -- a few gave the announcement a smattering of pointedly half-hearted applause.
"You know you'll only be holding us back starting off," snapped a female voice; Keaton looked over and saw there was a mischievious smile in her eyes.
"Intern Beast, good to see ya." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and had a good look around. A few things had changed since his last visit... "If I'm gonna be dead weight, just as well we get right to it. Where's my desk?"
Intern Beast was already thrusting a laptop into his arms, and pointed over his shoulder. "Right over there. The one with the ball, chain, and ten stacks of 'evidence.' " Then she winked at him: "Do us proud, Keats."
Keaton's shoulders sagged. He was more than mortefied by consistent work, he was allergic to it. But this... this would help him scratch the itch he direly needed to, and he trudged over to have a seat and cracked open the laptop.
"Right, then... Let's see what the spies dug up for Day 1."