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Thread: The Gotham Globe

  1. #21
    "Ray."

    The introduction provided with a lot to unpack. Thus far, he'd only had the fortune - misfortune? - of dealing with the likes of his uncle, and whatever proxies and subordinates Uncle Bill had seen fit to use as avoidance tactics. The Board of Directors for his father's company were, currently at least, a mystery to him, beyond the mental version of them that he had been able to construct from their public personas, financial records, and gossip columns. With Morgan Edge, he'd known to expect shrewd, opportunistic, and the greasy kind of charismatic that left you feeling the need to wash immediately after a conversation. You could learn all that from the kinds of politicians he helped finance, the way his charitable giving focused on whatever causes would earn the most positive PR for a given year, and the content of his occasional op-ed contributions to the Gotham Globe.

    In person, Oliver was able to learn more. You could see it in his eyes, and hear it in his voice. It was not some persona, an outward visage adopted to maximise profits, concealing the true reality beneath. Spend enough time around the Bruce Waynes, Barry Allens, and Clark Kents of the world, and you got a feel for those sorts of things. Oliver had grown up around people who'd grown up to become Morgan Edges of their own. Needy. Greedy. Insecure. Ambitious. Arrogant. They were the fake it until you make it types, the people who believed that the first step in convincing others of your bullshit was to wholeheartedly believe it yourself. There were people who were superficial, people who lacked commitment to the persona they portrayed; and then there were people like Edge, the method actor approach to public perception. Morgan Edge was not a disguise that was shrugged off behind closed doors, the way that Oliver Queen was. Edge was the real deal, and every second that the offered handshake lasted was a second too long for Oliver's tastes.

    Despite all that, the name was what offended him most. It was a subtle difference, an o for an a. It was a mistake that Oliver would probably make himself from time to time, particularly given the significance of a particular Roy in his own life. But when Oliver made a mistake like that, it would be an accident. Edge making it was something worse, because of why he had attempted to use Ray's name in the first place. Edge was CEO of a company that employed thousands. There was no way he could possibly know the name of an employee working IT for one of those constituent parts. No one would ever have expected him to know that; it was not possible to be that sort of employer. Yet, Morgan Edge pretended to be. He'd put effort into trying to portray himself in that manner, learning the name of whomever the Editor had asked to show Oliver around; and despite that effort, he still got it wrong. He still didn't care enough to truly commit to that effort; and, even though Oliver had called him out on it, he knew that Edge would simply shrug it off. At least he had tried, that would be the mindset.

    Part of him wanted to respond in kind, to refer to Edge as Megan, or Michael, some cutting retribution for Edge's own arrogant error. That was the Green Arrow thing to do, but not the Oliver Queen thing. While Oliver Queen was charitable, personable, and far more attentive than the stereotype that Morgan Edge embodied so well, he was also diplomatic enough and tolerant enough to hold his tongue in situations like this.

    "He hasn't steered me wrong so far," was what Oliver settled upon, keeping his voice polite, but to the point. He allowed a brief pause to follow, mustering enough inner strength and control of his gag reflex to muscle through the next sentence. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Edge? Something I can help you with?"

  2. #22
    Edge had danced this dance enough times to know when he was being politely handled. He supposed he couldn't blame Queen for it: Edge had chosen this ambush deliberately, there to catch Queen off balance before he had the opportunity to find his feet and settle in. It was no wonder then that the trust fund heir apparent should feel intimidated.

    At the same time, it was less deference and reverence than Edge had hoped for or expected. True, everyone knew the reputation that Oliver Queen had, both before and after his island sabbatical, but Edge had entertained a quiet hope that his own status, his own reputation, his own celebrity would be enough to earn some genuine respect from his usurper, beyond the obligatory bottled version that Queen was required to provide. Edge was not deluded enough to have expected starstruck, but was it too much to expect a little bit of overt surprise, rather than a greeting as benign as if they'd just been introduced as a fundraiser?

    Edge considered his options, looking for ways that he could continue to control a situation that didn't seem to want to be urged in any direction at a particular pace. It was like trying to herd cattle, except that the cows were more interested in disinterestedly chewing grass than in stampeding away from the oncoming horses.

    His gaze settled on Roy, Ray, whatever, standing helpfully and patiently as a silent witness to the exchange. Edge fought against a small smile at the recognition of someone vulnerable, someone he could assert dominance over even if Queen wasn't willing to grant him the satisfaction of that feeling.

    "Would you mind giving us a moment? Mr Queen and I have important things to discuss."

    * * *

  3. #23
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    She checked the mirror once more and laughed as her father came around the corner. “I can't help it, Oli... Mr. Queen is not just some guy. He's the owner of the company, Daddy. And about to be my new boss. I have to look my best.”

    Her father shook his head. "I didn't say anything. But if you keep looking in the mirror, you are never gonna finish your breakfast. And I made it just for you.”

    Jesse shook her head and moved from the mirror in the livingroom to the kitchen bar. Sitting down, she cocked her head at her dad. "Chocolate chip pancakes, Dad? Really? It's not the first day of preschool, ya know.”

    Her dad reached over to take the plate. "All right, all right, I'll eat them. You grab a cheap coffee and stale bagel like the rest of those runners downtown.” He let out a overly dramatic sigh and grinned as she grabbed the plate back. “Thought you didn't want them.”

    "I didn't say that.”
    She batted her eyelashes and he let go of the plate then reached over and handed her the syrup.
    __
    An hour later, she grabbed up her purse and turned as her dad stood in the hall with her. “Do I look ok? I mean, I want to be professional but not slutty.” She smoothed down the blue and black blouse and ran her hand over the hip of her deep black slacks. Boots of deep sapphire blue that matched the blouse finished the outfit. The small heels on them making them practical for running around the office.

    Her father stepped up and took her fidgetting hands in her his own. “You are beautiful, Princess. Now, get going. I can't wait to hear about your day when you get home.” He kissed her forehead and shooed her out the door.

    Making sure she was out on the street getting into the waiting car to take her to work, he went back inside and pulled out his phone. “Yeah... she's gone. She'll do what needs doing. I'm sure of it.” A pause as someone spoke on the other end. “No, she has no idea we set this up. She thinks her application to the internship program placed her there. And it's gonna stay that way. I doubt she would appreciate being set up.” A few more grunts and he hung up.

    __
    Jesse's car pulled up in front of the Globe and she glanced up at it with the giddiness of the first day of school. Her driver opened the door and helped her out. “See you tonight, Marcus,” she said with a smile. A tipped hat and nod of agreement were her reward as she turned and strode up the steps.

    After a moment with the front desk, she was given her badge and sent to the elevators. She opened the door and was assailed by the sights and sounds of the office atmosphere. Folks scurried about with their fact checking and find printing, all hoping to make the afternoon press. And others ran around doing the bidding of those above them.

    Eyes of sapphire blue, framed with ebon hair, gazed around the room and paused on the small cluster across the expanse of half walled cubicles. Oliver Queen was there! Her heart almost skipped a beat. And Mr. Edge. She had met him briefly at some function last year her father had taken her to. In the absence of her mother, Jesse had accompanied him to several functions that didn't require the obligatory 'eye candy' style date that only the best money could buy for the evening. She bit her lip realizing she had no idea if she was supposed to go straight to Mr. Queen, himself, or look for someone further down the food chain to help put her in her place.

  4. #24
    It was an unspoken rule that when a man like Morgan Edge makes a request, he's really issuing an order. There was no wiggle room for consideration or compromise, no matter how jealously Ray coveted his time with Oliver Queen; in the grand scheme of things, he was a nobody. It was the illusion of equality, and his concession in turn, the humble retreat, the polite smile, was just another part of the performance. The thin-lipped smile stretched with genuine warmth when he met eyes with Mr. Queen one last time, coupled with an almost imperceptible nod of gratitude. Ray, he had asserted to Mr. Edge, like it was something important. It was enough to dispel any sense of dejection he might have felt, staring at a closed door, and put a shameless spring in his step as started weaving his way around people and desks, back towards his office.

    That was when he saw her, the girl by the elevator. Well, woman, he supposed. She sure was a looker, by anyone's standards. Raven-haired, and with the bluest eyes. Anywhere else, and she'd be sure to turn heads, but inside the newsroom, there was only distinguishing feature that people recognised: she was new. It was all in the look, attempting to scope out a new place to see where you might belong, while at the same time trying to not look like a little lost lamb, to look instead like you belonged, and that one day you may indeed run the place. He saw that same fresh determination in the new girl's face. And, while the Gotham Globe wasn't the most prestigious of publications, it was still very much a part of that cutthroat world of journalism, and in that world, a newbie was worthless. Worse still, a newbie was a hindrance. After all, what use was dead weight on a deadline? That was where Ray stepped in:

    "I recognise that look." He paused to assess the damage, to determine if he was dealing with a bold tigress or a quavering kitten. With a knowing smile, he offered her a hand, "Hi, I'm Ray. Welcome to the Globe."

  5. #25
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    She had seen Oliver disappear into the fish bowl office and changed her focus. Looking around the room she tried to suss out the various sections. She wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't easy to where one section of the paper ended and one began. Was that man writing for sports and that one for economics? Or was that one of the social writers and that one a restaurant guide? While part of her mentally sighed at the inability to make heads or tails of the clusters of desks and tables, another part of her thought it was a good thing. Perhaps the hubbub of the room and the jumbling of personnel made production more cross threaded and less cliquish. Maybe that was the secret of the paper... making everyone set on equal footing so no one rose above the bottom line... the stories.

    Her eyes caught the man coming towards her and for once, someone other than Oliver, caught her interest in the room. Everyone else had merely been a writer, reporter or info checker. But this man, she wasn't sure what roll he played, but she had seen his look at Oliver. Since he seemed to hold the man in such high esteem, he obviously wasn't all bad.

    Her own smiled retort was equally genuine. "The look that says I'm helpless and lost, someone help me... yet trying to be invisible at the same time? Yeah... I know that is such an obvious look that it's hard to miss." She took his hand and shook it. While it wasn't a the practiced handshake of a man of power, for a woman, it was pretty confident and firm without being overbearing like the was compensating for something. "Jesse, Garrick. I'm supposed to be starting today with Oli..Mr. Queen as his assistant, today. But I see my first day timing is horrible." She nodded towards the men cloistered in the glass encircled office. "Makes me wonder if I shouldn't have stopped for coffee." She laughed and it was as genuine as the handshake.

  6. #26
    Ray shrugged, "No reason we can't go for coffee, now. I know a place, just around the corner. My treat."

    Leaving no room for objection, he backed off, and gestured with a nod in the direction they were to go. The elevator was ignored, the stairwell bypassed, instead Ray turned a corner and led Jesse to a remote pocket of the newsroom where there was a lonely table populated with a stack of styrofoam cups, an assortment of creams and sugars, and a half-full jug of hour-old filter coffee. He was greeted by the rich bitter aroma of overbrewed coffee beans the moment he lifted the jug from the hotplate. Sure, it was no artisan blend from a hipster's paradise, but it was better than nothing. He poured them each a cup.

    "You're in luck, Jesse. It's Mr. Queen's first day at the Globe, too. Looks like you'll be able to figure things out, together. Once you tear him away from Mr. Edge, that is."

    And me.

    It wasn't that Ray resented her position as the newly-appointed assistant of Oliver Queen. He liked his job. It was fine. Nevertheless, her sudden and unexpected arrival had significant implications for his own allocated quality time with their new publisher. From Morgan Edge all the way down to Jesse Garrick, competition was everywhere. He frowned then.

    "Garrick," he said, with some consideration, "That name sounds familiar. Have you worked for the company, before?"

  7. #27
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    Jesse followed him around the corner, her mind trying to map the floor wondering about back exits and such. When he entered the small alcove where the smell of the coffee was unable to escape, and therefore was strongest, she smiled. "Oh, this is wonderful, Ray. My first day and already privy to the poshest place for coffee on the floor. You flatter me." She laughed and set her bag down on the back of one of the chairs and lifted the semi biodegradable cup in her hands like the finest china. "I hear drinking from these enhances the flavor." She wriggled her eyebrows teasing, then patted his arm affectionately. "You sure know how to flatter a girl on a first date." She laughed and held her cup for him to fill.

    As he mentioned her and Oliver finding their way together, she shook her head. "Somehow I doubt that is how it will be. In light of things, I had hoped you would, possibly, be able to help in that arena. My guess is you were showing Mr. Queen around when he was absconded by that man in the suit." The wordy description hinting at distaste though respect. "My guess is you are better suited to help Mr. Queen settle in. I will just tag along, if you have no objections, that is." She smiled and sat in one of the chairs. "If I'll be in the way, I'm certain I can do something relatively close to occupational, while you help him. Then afterwards, I can entice you with delectable coffee so you will then impart such wisdom on me." She wasn't condescending. In fact it was just the opposite. She knew that her place at Oliver's side this early was probably more of a hindrance than a help. Having Ray there would certainly help matters go much smoother.

    His question about the company made her shake her head and her smile faltered a moment. "No, I haven't. My father is a Quality Assurance Officer with Queen Consolidated, though. But he travels so much I doubt anyone around knows him well." She mentally shook herself again. Leave it to her dad to once more place her in 'his' shadow so it always came back to him. At this point, she was used to it. She smiled once more and looked at him. "So tell me what you do here." The last thing she wanted to do was talk to someone about her father. This was her chance to be out on her own and not in his shadow. She just hoped Ray wasn't a fan who would drive her insane with questions about her sole parent.

  8. #28
    "I am Mr. Digital Media." He took a seat on the table, it was clean, after all, and it meant he could snap upright at a moment's notice, "I coordinate with each of the various teams to ensure the Globe's website is kept up to date, and running smooth."

    The coffee was too strong, but warm enough to drink and be a part of civilised society. One day he'll switch to cream, that's what he kept telling himself. He watched Jesse take a sip, and wondered how it might sit on her sophisticated palate. She was making a striking first impression: a confident woman, it seemed, to whom wit came quickly, and words, in abundance. He sensed there was more than a little tongue in cheek when she spoke of tempting the wisdom from him with coffee. Flirty, too. That was always fun. However, the way she negotiated the tenuous line between her new role as Mr. Queen's assistant and his temporary role as the welcoming committee was impressive. It was well-played. Shrewd. Inwardly, he grinned. Miss Garrick was one to watch out for.

    "So don't go getting the wrong impression of me, now," he said, with some amusement, "It's not everyday I play tour guide to the stars. I'm just the IT guy."

    After a moment, he conceded, "Although, if you happen to have Bruce Wayne's number, hook me up."

  9. #29
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    She laughed and nodded her head, "Bruce? Oh yeah, me and Bruce go way back," she then winked at him, "as in the only time I met him was on his way back to the bar at some gala my father took me to." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs at the ankles like a proper lady. It was habit and she made it look grateful and almost flawless. But chances are, no one else in the office sat that way. "To be honest, I've danced with him once and all he talked about was this great new car he had with all the latest gadgets and upgrades. When it was over, it was over." She shrugged, "He got a drink and another girl. But if you're serious about wanting to meet him, I'd be happy to make you my plus one at the next boring get together of stuffed shirts."

    Might be nice having someone by her side not talking business all the time, she thought. "And as for 'just the IT guy', I'm sure you aren't giving yourself enough credit. I don't they'd hand Mr. Queen over just anyone. I would think The Globe had better sense than that. But I'm also betting your skills are more than just hooking up desktops and interlinking fiber-optics into mainframes." She finished her coffee and set the cup down. "I give it a 5... Fairly decent taste, but lousy to dance to." She smiled again just for him.

  10. #30
    "Dancing with Bruce Wayne." Ray was impressed, and his eyebrows did the talking, "You're a dark horse, girl."

    He raised his syrofoam cup in a toast. Under any other circumstances, he might have doubted the validity of such a claim, but there was something about Jesse that suggested she wasn't the sort to fabricate stories for attention. She had an effortless kind of class about her that was typically the byproduct of having a privileged upbringing. Coupled with her talk of attending galas and the like, he could certainly picture a woman like her rubbing shoulders with the great and the good of Gotham.

    Garrick, he repeated to himself. She said her father worked for the company but neglected to mention his name. Ray couldn't make out what it was about that name that bothered him, like he'd heard it somewhere before, but upon reflection, he recalled that the number of quality assurance officers he knew was precisely zero. It wouldn't do to dwell on it, anyway. He saw the way her smile faltered at the mention of her father. No surprises, there. In Gotham City, daddy issues were a dime a dozen. Well, whoever he was, he sounded like the kind of guy to move in some exclusive circles.

    Ray nursed his drink, and considered the woman across from him, "I think he's going to like you. Mr. Queen. He seems to be a good judge of character."

    Satisfied with his assessment, he gave Jesse a nod, and glanced back to the office where both Mr. Queen and Mr. Edge were sat in conversation. It looked like he and Miss Garrick had some time to kill.

    "Hey, Jesse. Want to check out my place?"

  11. #31
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    "I don't know about dark horse, Ray," Jesse laughed. "To be honest, I wasn't impressed. He seems more caught up in himself and anyone who is the same." She winked and whispered like she didn't want anyone to hear. "I think the fact I didn't feint in his arms at getting to dance with him turned him off." She nodded like it was a big inside secret.

    "I'm sure you're a better dancer, anyway."

    As he mentioned Oliver being a good judge of character, she glanced back where the mentioned new boss of hers was. "I hope so. I've seen him at a couple galas as well, but never danced with him." She glanced back at Ray and laughed. "Don't even know if he 'owns' a car"

    "Your place, huh?" She smiled once more and nodded. "I'd love to. Doesn't seem either of us are needed, presently, anyway." She rose up and offered to toss his coffee cup as well. She's then pick up her coat and bag and motion for him to lead the way. "After you, my dear IT man," she smiled and inclined her head on deference to him.

  12. #32
    Ray led the way from one corner of the expansive office space to the other, weaving between people and desks; he went largely unnoticed by his colleagues at the Globe, but there were friendly faces to be found, a nod here, and polite smile there, but give it time, he thought. Time and experience had a way of robbing the kindness from people, draining them of their unique vibrancy until they blended into a background of washed-out shades of grey. He would not be that person, he'd promised himself, even if it meant a lifetime of unremarkable mediocrity, he'd never sell his soul for a byline.

    "This is me," he said, turning on his heel outside a door marked Digital edia. The M fell off long ago, but Ray didn't mind, because it gave him the opportunity to say, "This is where I get all my great edias."

    The door swung open, and like a gentleman, Ray allowed his new lady friend to step inside first. They found themselves in a small, but crowded office that had the warm static smell of overworked servers. With a snap, the stark glare of fluorescent lights chased away the gloom, revealing nests of treacherous cables that snaked in black rivers around the outskirts of the room. There was one desk, upon which there sat a keyboard, a monitor, a laptop, and an unpleasant angular lamp. Everything in there was designed to be unpleasant and angular. He brightened up the place with a small potted cactus plant that boasted red and violet flowers, and a single framed picture of his parents looking handsome and sun-kissed.

    "Make yourself at home," he gestured to one of two chairs, and fell into his own, drifting lazily on tired wheels behind his desk, "So, Miss Garrick, why the Globe?"

  13. #33
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    Jesse followed behind Ray, her own ability to worm between the desks a bit less graceful and fluid as her counterpart. At least she didn't bump anything over or knock into a desk or person. As they arrived at the room, a genuine smile lit up her face. "Corner office... very nice, Mr. Terrill." She smiled and nodded gracefully as he offered to let her enter first.

    Her smile actually grew brighter as she was illuminated along with the small alcove of an office. The cables seemed right at home and she couldn't have imagined him behind some mahogany desk with a cushy chair behind it. This was exactly as she imagined his office would be. Chaos in motion. She set her bag on the floor by the door and rested her coat over the top of it. Moving to the offered chair, she looked around and saw that despite the lack of personal items, this had Ray written all over it. The precision of the cables, the neatness of the desk, even the cactus spoke of a man who liked his environment to be efficient and neat. "I'm impressed. So is all this," she gestured to the snaking cables and computer monitors, "simply an intranet set up for the Globe, or can you also access outside systems as well?" It was an innocent enough question, and she tried to keep her face neutral and smiling. But as she awaited his answer, her lips murmured as she figured out the end of each cable's origin and destination. "Monitor... mainframe... power cable..."

  14. #34
    "Oh," With some surprise, Ray followed Jesse's gaze to the myriad cables on the floor, "Internal and external. Gotta stay connected, after all. It's a big small world."

    When his attention returned to his companion, there was a playful suspicion in his eyes; it had not escaped his attention how she neglected to answer his question, and instead changed the subject to something decidedly less probing. Jesse Garrick was a puzzle to be solved, then. With a flurry of keystrokes, the computer was unlocked, and a double-click later, the Daily Planet's website appeared: a utopia of sophisticated web design, with smart interactive widgets, seamless video integration, crisp navigation menus, a robust customer relationship management system, and outrageously fast loading times.

    "Plus it allows me to keep tabs on the competition. The Gotham Gazette has a team of six working on their site, and the Daily Planet has ten!" He shrugged, not caring to point out the obvious nature of their surroundings, "We still got some work to do."

    Again, he spotted Jesse eyeing up his hardware, and with studious fascination. His eyebrow's climbed with reserved interest.

    "You got a thing for tech, Jesse?"

  15. #35
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    As he punched up the computer, Jesse got up from her seat and moved behind his desk. Pulling her hair behind her ear to keep it from brushing against him, she leaned over to his left and propped one arm on the desk as she eyed the Globe's page. "The Gazette has four. The other two are figureheads because their parents make huge grants and that is a job for their college resumes. And The Planet, well," she tilted her head to smile at him, "I wouldn't worry about them. They are too busy fighting for accolades amongst themselves to even bother with anything resembling real news."

    She stood back up and crossed her arms. "So are you one of those straight as an arrow boys who simply does his job?" She turned to lean on the edge of his desk, her arms still crossed over her chest. "Or are you one of those who likes to see what he can get into when no one's looking?" She nodded to the wiring bundles around the room. "Something tells me some of these aren't technically necessary. Are they?" She cocked her head and grinned. "And as to 'why The Globe?'... because Daddy wants me here. So there has to be a reason." She broke eye contact and looked past him out the window. "Jay Garrick doesn't do things for no reason." She lost herself a moment as, once more, she tried to try and figure out why her dad had been so adamant about her working here.

  16. #36
    "Jay Garrick," he repeated, brow creased, "I swear I've heard that name before. Maybe he has visited this place..."

    The thought trailed off and was dismissed. Ray sat in ponderous silence for as long as he politely could, considering his next move. It seemed it was Jesse's turn to dig; her brazen question left no room for ambiguity, or at least not in a way that was hideously disingenuous. There was a part of him that was cautious; she knew just what to say, to appeal to his ego by disregarding the work of his more prestigious contemporaries, to tease him with the romanticism of being a rebellious outsider, to delicately corner him by pointing out the excess of hardware. She was good. Dangerously astute. He knew her kind: if he denied her now, she'd dig deeper. His only recourse was to yield something to her hunt.

    "Okay. So, you know how I said I'm the I.T. guy?" He rose from his chair, and slowly circled the room, "What I really want to be is a reporter. The next Lois Lane... Perry White... Vicki Vale. And to do that I need a story. A great story."

    He was standing beside a large detailed map of Gotham City that was suspended from a metal housing on the wall. With a tug of the drawstring at the bottom of the map, the whole thing retreated, rolling itself up into the housing and out of sight. Where there was once an unremarkable street map, an entire wall, busy with pictures of masked and hooded vigilantes, clipping of news articles, police reports, annotated floor plans, hastily sketches drawings, sticky notes of every colour. And to finish off the effect, to give it that authentic paranoid conspiracy theory flair, there were even lengths of red string, connecting various items in a fledgling web of ideas.

    "Superheroes. Vigilantes. Big boy scouts, dark knights, scarlet speedsters... and Robin Hood." He smirked, despite himself, as his gaze landed on a grainy CCTV image of a hooded man with a bow and arrow in his hands. "Yes, they are the good guys, but they are also part of something dangerous. There is another world out there, of secrets and lies, designed to protect us from the truth. And the truth is... something very weird is going on in Gotham City. Am I right?"

  17. #37
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    "Wouldn't surprise me if he had," she sounded non plussed as she responded his comment about her father.

    Jesse stood back as Ray moved past her towards the board while taking of wanting to be a reporter. "I can see that," she smiled thinking he was off to a good start.

    Good start because GREAT start in her mind as he revealed his map of activities and pictures. "Yes..." She answered his question without even thinking.

    As her eyes scanned the board, her hand moved to follow each that just over the surface. Her lips murmuring as she recognized various locations. When he pointed out the CCTV still of the Arrow, Jesse's breath hitched. She moved closer and her hand rose to touch the corner of the printed still as if checking it was real. Her bottom lip slid between her teeth and she shook her head slightly. "That was taken at the Queen Gala last month, wasn't it?"

    She looked at him then looked back. "See this," she pointed to the upper corner of the picture. It had been taken in a hallway and the room in the upper corner was barely in view but one could see legs and bodies gathered. Women's legs were bare fancy shoes and dresses. Men were in tuxedos and black shoes. One couldn't tell who was who, just that a large gathering of bodies want but fifteen feet from where the hooded figure was rushing from. "That's me..." One of the dresses was ankle length and dark with a light viney pattern that was hard to discern in the picture. But there was a gold leg band winding from ankle to calf of the wearer.

    Her breathing was shallow and hitched like she had been startled. He had been right there... So close...

    She moved back till her backside hit the desk and she rested on the edge of it. "I was there... That close to him." She frowned and looked at him. "Wasn't that the night of the Commerce Bank robbery?"

  18. #38
    "You have a sharp memory, Miss Garrick."

    Ray was watching her closely, his gaze alight with admiration, and quiet amusement. True to her word, there was Jesse on his wall, mingling with Gotham's most influential and well-to-do. She didn't seem put out by the prestigious circles in which she often found herself. And it seemed she was unafraid of a little bling, too. Good for her. In fact, the only thing that appeared to give her pause was the image of the Green Arrow himself, who had been so close to her that night. He recognised that flutter of exhilaration anywhere, and decided it was clear duty to tease:

    "Shortly after this picture was taken, the Green Arrow intercepted a high-speed chase, and single-handedly brought each of the thieves to justice. No casualties. No fuss. Just plain skill. And to think you had been so close!"

    He seasoned his words with a sympathetic tsk, and perched himself on his desk behind Jesse, arms folded, enjoying himself far too much.

    "The Green Arrow in Gotham. But why? What business does he have here? Is he working with the Batman? Who is looking after Star City in his absence? And... the most important question of all: what does he look like under that hood?"

  19. #39
    A rhythmic rap of knuckles sounded against the open door, as Oliver Queen poked his head into the room. His eyes settled on Ray, and offered him a flash of a smile, one that took on a slight mischievous hint of innuendo as his attention took account of the female companion Ray had apparently snuck into his office.

    "So this is where you ran off to."

    Oliver lingered in the doorway for a moment, organising his thoughts into something to say. Something nice to say, specifically, about the dark and gloomy tech-filled box that was apparently Ray Terrill's office. Were it not for the sign on the door - and perhaps more importantly, the fact that the door was open and the person he'd been looking for was clearly visible inside - he might have walked past, dismissing it as nothing more than a broom closet. Apparently, this was the kind of respect and importance that the Gotham Globe placed upon its digital media program, and on the radiant personality of the individual that comprised its entirety.

    Digital edia, he noted, the hand that had knocked lingering beside the cheap vinyl letters that, despite looking extremely tacky, apparently weren't quite tacky enough to remain properly affixed to the door. Words formed in Oliver's mind, and for a split second, he felt a pang of disappointment that his daughter wasn't here to groan in dismay at them.

    "So this is where you get all your bright edias, huh, Ray?"

    Oliver chuckled to himself as he invited himself inside, though not far enough to seem like an overt intrusion. It was intrigue that pulled him in, an interest in the kind of details he could discern about the man that the Globe had assigned as his tour guide. He took note of the somewhat antiquated tools that Ray had available to him. Oliver was no expert on technology - no stranger either; his modest wealth and fondness for gadgets and gizmos made sure of that - but much of what he saw in Ray's workspace, keyboards, monitors, and the like, was comfortably familiar to him. That was usually a bad sign: if Mr Desert Island was familiar with things, odds were they were embarrassingly out of date.

    It was the board that drew Oliver's attention most of all, though. It was like something straight out of a TV drama, a wall of weirdness, photographs and news clippings pinned to a street map and connected by strings into a web of conspiracy that, the more Oliver's attention lingered, the more inadvertent truth he managed to recognise in the patterns and implied conclusions. With as much disinterest as he could muster, he tore his eyes away, choosing to focus instead on the more personable mystery in the room: Ray's apparent lady-friend.

    "Hi there, I'm Oliver Queen."

    Oliver's smile resumed, his eyes offering her his undivided attention. Without his gaze deviating, he indicated to their surroundings with a tilt of his head and shift of his eyebrows.

    "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

  20. #40
    TheHolo.Net Poster
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    Jesse had been about to make a remark to Ray that included warts and boils being the reason the Arrow covered his face, when suddenly Oliver knocked. Realizing her slip into unprofessionalism was almost seen by her new boss, she bit her lip and thanked her stars for her hesitation.

    As the man made a corny comment to Ray, she almost felt bad. Those letters on his door were probably the butt of many jokes. And here it was, repeated again by someone they were both to look up to. It almost made her giggle.

    Then suddenly those eyes were on her and the corny line was directed at her. Unfortunately, Jesse's foot went straight into her mouth anyway. "Looking for Mr. Right. But till then, I'm your new assistant, Mr. Queen." Her hand went towards him as she turned to him and grinned with a smile halfway between charming and mischievous. "Jesse Garrick, Sir. Ray was kind enough to show me around while you were busy." She shifted her stance so his body would have to turn away from the picture wall to keep looking at her. No point in Ray's hobby becoming the scrutiny of the man before them.

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