"Horrrrrible, A half sssstarved jackal and a gnat with a learning disssorder could write a better newsssspaper!" Isabel the invisible Naga tossed the latest issue of the Oracle in a bin marked to be bleached, boiled, burned, and buried as not even fit for recycling. "Bob we have to do ssssomething about thissss."


The man in the feathered hat shook his head, looking at the empty seeming space where Isabel sat. "And what do you suggest Isa?"

Isabel hissed and slithered off to her office. Bob was never any help in a pinch. She reached for the phone and dialed a number waiting while it rang.

"Tropicana Sands, how may I direct your call?"

"I'd like to ssspeak to Misssss Twisssst pleassse."

Martingale's office girl over at the Sands shuddered at the hissing on the other end of the line."One moment please." She transfered the call as quickly as she could.

Candace Twist answered the phone with her usual cheerfulness. "You've reached the Twist, how can I help you?"

"Candaccce thisss iss Isssabel Bobivich. I need your help with ssomething. I wass reading the local paper today.. it's utter nonsssensse. RUDE would like to purchassse a paper of our own. I'd like your adviccce." Isa hoped Candace would know of someone or something.

Rob Mitchell fell on hard times with the mass exodus out of Rhy'Din; he also fell on hard times when the Oracle came out. He had run the Rhy'Din Vindicator Chronicle for quite some time, and enjoyed the job even though it was just him and Dawn running it. But he figured, when there was no one really left around to make the news or read it, and when there was another popular paper in town, that there just wasn't room anymore for his little rag.

The Oracle, however, wasn't what he would call entirely newsworthy; the fact that some of the staff were actually the main subjects of articles made it moreso. The Dockside News report, a little newsletter that was fairly new, was more impartial and followed proper standards; the Tropicana Twist was entirely used to cover the racing circuit.

He had made his living by printing business cards and envelopes and whatever else he could scrape by on. His offices had become a room in the back of his old colonial, which he hadn't had much time to fix up, let alone the money to do so.

His Linotype and presses, though, he refused to give up. And even though it meant working odd jobs on the side, he managed to hang onto the printing warehouse where those were stored.

He missed printing the paper. He missed tapping on the Linotype's keyboard all hours of the night to get the news out; the sound of the belts and the motor and the elevator... the sounds of the mats falling into the magazine after a line was cast into hot type.

Hope came in a strange manner... in a letter from an old friend, and a business card for an interested party. He raised his eyebrows at the letter, but in the end, he had to try to call -- there was no harm in it. So he picked up his old phone. "Operator? Yes, can you connect me to the RUDE offices?"

--

In the end, Isa was very nice. She was also very intently interested in the Rhy'Din Vindicator. Rob was a little uncertain about where things were going to go, but he felt a spark and his mind was already working on how to resurrect his little rag from the dust.

Time to give the Oracle a run for its money.