fandomhigh | Newspaper Staff Meeting, 4 pm, Journalism Room

CRANKY! YOU HAVE NO DONUTS! GRAR SMASH!

Cal Stephanides

Liz Sherman

T.R. Wexler

Warren Peace

Don't worry, there really are donuts. The sign-in thread was just a joke.

"I had an article about how no one should be surprised that those clowns had nefarious intentions," Cal stated, "but I got, uh, distracted." By, you know, breaking up with his girlfriend.

"I've got my fingers crossed for this week. If not, I've got something in mind about ice cream."

He'd eaten a lot of it a few nights ago, shut up.

"That's okay," Rikku said. "Things get crazy around here. Even when they're not crazy. It's a regular thing. What about the ice cream? Is it attacking people?"

Look, it was Fandom.

"Uh, no," Cal said. "It's just really tasty."

He patted his stomach for a very deadpanned emphasis.

"That's hardly weird," she laughed. "Unless the weird bit is how ice cream is one of the few things that hasn't ever been weird around here. That's pretty interesting."

She'd probably jinxed it, right there.

Cal shrugged a little. "The weird angle's losing some punch. I was just thinking of a 'hey, in case you didn't know, ice cream? Is tasty.' I wouldn't be surprised if some people around here didn't realize that. If anything, it would be a good PSA."

"PSAs, with your host, Cal," Rikku grinned. "I like it."

"Maybe," Cal nodded, grinning back because he was kind of liking it, too, "if this whole weird thing continues to offer me nothing but fail, I'll have to switch gears to that."

Especially since he totally had the ice cream one half-written in his head now.

"You could rotate between the two," she grinned. "Or do a few and then find something else. Whatever works. Heck, I once made up a holiday for a column of mine, last year."

"I met with Miss Doolittle at the flower shop today for her interview," Turtle informed the group, "so I'm all set for my article next week."

"Oh, awesome," Rikku grinned. "You're, like, ahead. I always write my articles at the last minute. That's why they kinda ramble."

"I," Warren announced, "need something to complain about."

This shouldn't be difficult. After all, this was Warren.

"You ... don't have anything to complain about?" Rikku asked. Staring. Sort of. "You're just ... having a great week, loving everything, high on life? Seriously?"

Warren considered for a moment. And then he shrugged.

"It's been a good week. Still happy about the election, we had a sub in the class with the teacher I hate, nobody's made me want to burn their faces off yet. Unless you're offering."

"To ... tick you off? No," she said. "So the election-whatever went well? People seemed all excited about it. Like it wasn't even the government."

"Actually," Warren replied with a shrug, "the big deal is that it is the government. And the people voted for the different guy."

Rikku lifted a shoulder. "Different, like, less of a crazy power-hungry sleazebag? It's still the government, isn't it? I mean ..." She hesitated. "They actually count your votes? For real?"

"Either they count votes, or the government pulled a hell of a lot of strings in order to get a man from an ethnic minority into office," Warren replied, shrugging again. "And I doubt that. The new president- Uh." He frowned a little. "You don't know much about American history, do you?"

Rikku frowned. "Ethnic minority?" She shook her head. "No, I ... don't, exactly. Okay, everyone here says the government isn't scary and bad and horrible, but I kinda ... don't trust it anyway."

"People have come a long way in the past century and some," Warren stated, pausing to chew on what he was going to say, next. "A hundred and some years ago, the man who America just voted for... wouldn't have been able to vote, himself. Stupid, stupid habit of humanity to hate people who are different. And for the stupidest reasons. Language, religion, the color of someone's skin. So... It's really a big deal. This guy's the first president of the United States who doesn't have white skin."

"Are you serious?" Rikku said. She was going to stare at Warren for a few moments. "I ... so him being dark-skinned was ... they were the group that everybody ... blamed things on?"

"... So why did the government let him get in charge? Isn't this where they make up some trumped-up charge to have him arrested and thrown in jail for a few decades and invalidate all his votes and declare the other guy the winner?"

Warren shifted his weight uneasily.

"Not even blamed things on. They used to use dark-skinned people as slaves. Property. Nobody ever accused American history of being squeaky clean and without huge black-marks on it." Deep breath. He was going to have to get this girl a book on American history, wasn't he? ... Damn, he'd probably break her head. "The government let him get in charge because that's what democracy is about. The people choose the leader. This is... huge. I mean, it shows that people have grown enough to look past what color someone's skin is, or what somebody's name sounds like. And he didn't just win by a little bit. This was a big deal. He promised change. America trusts him to deliver."

Rikku brought one of her feet up onto the edge of the chair, so she could hug her knee tightly against her chest. She was trying not to shudder, and not doing such a great job of it, either.

"That ... I mean, that's worse than we had it," Rikku said, slowly. She couldn't imagine the Yevonites just keeping the Al Bhed around as slaves. There had been fighting, and casualties, but mostly the two agreed to stay far, far away from each other whenever possible. "So ... you mean it's better? Like, people aren't ... hating each other as much any more? The groups and the whole ... tensions, with people fighting each other and ... you know. But --"

She shook her head again. "I don't get it. The government, I mean, 'cause ... how are they gonna stay in control if they don't ... play that whole mess up? Us-against-them."

Edited 2008-11-08 05:59 (UTC)

"Slavery is something that's long behind us, now," Warren said, firmly. "We're not in any danger of that happening again. And... I mean, it's in the Declaration of Independence. 'All men are created equal.' It's been... tense, I guess. And there are still bigots and racists out there. There probably always will be. But... I mean, parents used to tell their children, 'You could grow up to be the next president of the United States,' and now anyone can say it and mean it."

Her eyes were tearing up, and she felt stupid for that, so she was going to blink them back and nod. "Y-yeah," she said. "That's ... incredible. So people are learning. They really are. That's ... inspiring, yeah? That you can ... I mean, a hundred years, that's not so long. It is, but ..."

But it was hope, anyway, and when you thought 'never' was the real answer, 'a hundred years' didn't seem half so bad.

"I read about people who cried," Warren said after a moment. "Because they thought they wouldn't live to see the day. They believed that it would come, sure. But... Not in their lifetime. Maybe not in their grandkids' lifetimes. And it came. Two days ago."

He crossed his arms and tilted his head for a moment, considering.

"You have a computer? Look up his acceptance speech on Youtube. I mean that. I think maybe listening to our president-elect speak will help you understand exactly what that election meant to everyone. Inspiring is one word for it, sure."

Warren might have gotten a little misty-eyed while he was watching it.

Shut up.

"I ... can understand that," she said, softly. "Crying. Because you never think things are going to get any better. We --"

She bit her lip. "It's bad, where I'm from. Not nearly as bad as those people had it. Not even close. But ... people call names and hate because of who you are, if you're someone like me. And the government was ... using it, to cover up every bad thing they were doing. It's only been different for a couple of years now, and ... it's still there. All the hate and misunderstanding and ugliness. It's getting better but sometimes I feel like ... it's never gonna change. You know?"

She totally needed to look up this acceptance speech thingy, now. Possibly with tissues handy.

"Yeah. I think I can piece together a bit of an idea as to what it's like." Warren stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned thoughtfully. "You know, if a place like America can do it, anyone can. Hate... doesn't just go away. It's not that easy. Takes time. Takes a lot of work. We had movements, we had protests, there was a nasty war that pitted brother against brother. But... looking at where we are now...?"

Warren wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"That's it. I'm getting you a book on American history. It's official."

Books were so much more eloquently verbose than Warren could ever be.

"Really?" Rikku asked. "You mean it? That's --"

She blushed. "I'd hug you, but that's only good for thanking people if they like it when they hug you. Seems kinda mean to say thanks with it, otherwise."

"Just saying 'thanks' works, too. Stop by Fina on Sunday if you get the chance. I'll have the book for you then."

He'd find one, dammit.

"If not, I'll just give it to you next meeting."

"You betcha," she nodded. "Oooh, Fina, you work there? It's a nice place. I miss the candle-guy, he rocked."

"It's a restaurant," Warren said with a shrug. "I used to work at the Chinese restaurant back in Maxville, but I figured I'd go for a change of pace and work at the cafe, instead of applying at Ching Tai. It's... interesting. I never did meet the candle-guy. The napkins assure me that the only resemblance I hold to him is that they're afraid to get near my hands, too."

"He was awesome," she laughed. "He had this outrageous accent and he flirted with everybody. But in this really polite, suave kinda way. And he loved putting on a good show."

"Sounds like the perfect sort of boss for that bunch. The dishes were always inclined to join kick-lines, huh?"

Near the donuts. With the donuts. Of the donuts.

Even all the baklava he'd had at work earlier couldn't keep Cal away from the donuts.

You may have to bribe her, with some of the aforementioned pastries.

Ghanima was there, and open to bribery.

I have no idea what happened here. Let's just all walk away slowly .....

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