fandomhigh | Journalism 101/201 (Friday, January 13

"Good afternoon, children. Sign in as you enter, thank you."

"The title or caption of a newspaper article, usually set in large type," Rita said with a smirk. "That would be a headline, boys and girls. Headlines, as one might imagine, are a tad important. They inform your reader of the content of the article, and thus have to be a smidge...attention-grabbing."

She held up a slightly yellowed newspaper, which read, DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE in distinct, bold letters. Underneath the headline was a moving photograph of a large, uncomfortable-looking bearded man.

"This is a fine example. This headline not only catches the attention of the reader, but given that it is an exposé covering an error in judgement made by the headmaster of another school, the title is quite clever, if I say so myself," she said smugly. "You're more than welcome to read the article if you wish. It'll be up here on my desk for the duration of the period.

"Your assignment: I would like you all to write a headline - not a full article, just a headline - about something that happened to another student. You must get the full details of the story, because if your headline is interesting enough, I'll ask for elaboration.

"This must be turned in the next time we meet at the latest. Any questions?"

[ooc: ~~Wait for OCD threads!~~ They're up, have at it!]

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"Oh, I'm sure Ray and Egon have some master plan that'll involve something reasonably humane. I mean, we don't kill ghosts, you see. You can't, since they're dead already." Venkman gives his best lady-killer smile. "We just store them in a place where they really are harmless and can commune with each other in their ghost-ness. Very nice, very human, and everyone goes home happy."

Rita rolled her eyes. "Well, of course you can't kill ghosts. That's absurd. But why trap them? I don't think it's inhumane or wrong or anything of that nature - I'm a journalist, you see," she explained, smiling smugly. "I ask questions."

The bright green quill on her desk jerked up, along with a sheet of parchment, and sat poised mid-air.

"Oh, you're with the press?" Venkman smiles again. "Mind if I take a seat? I can answer any amount of questions you'd like. As for trapping them, well, we don't go around doing it as charity work, you see? We get called in when people are having trouble with ghosts, and we trap them for a substantial fee. So we only get the nasty ones, for the most part. None of the dearly departed family members or anything."

Rita waved at the desks, indicating it was fine for him to sit. "I see. Where are you all from? You're not wizards, are you? Because I've never heard of exactly this being done, but I believe there are similar magical practices."

The quill began to scribble.

Dr. Peter Venkman, presumably qualified scholar of the paranormal, earnestly discusses his somewhat endearingly primitive methods of spectre control and rehabillitation. While this practice of capture is somewhat barbaric when one considers the sentient nature of ghosts, Dr. Venkman's charm and obvious interest in this journalist make up for his clear inability to meet with reality.

Venkman sits down, careful not to bump the proton pack.

"We're not wizards, ma'am. We're just a bunch of humble scientists from New York. Some of us more humble than others." He smiles again. "About our only experience with magic was when we hosed Vigo the Carpathian a few years back. Real ugly sucker, too."

"Fascinating. So you use muggle technology to manage the paranormal? And it works" Rita asked, tapping one long nail to her chin.

"Muggle?" Venkman actually manages to stop being all swarthy and confident for a moment and puts on a puzzled face. "We only use the ~~eighties-ist~~ latest and greatest in cutting edge technology. We're scientists, not showmen."

He quickly regains his composure. "Now here I've gone on all about me and I've not even heard your name yet."

"A muggle is a non-magic person," Rita replied for seemingly the hundredth time since she'd arrived in Fandom. "And forgive me - Rita Skeeter, most lately of London, England. It's a pleasure."

Venkman snaps his fingers. "I shoulda known, a classy accent like that. It's a pleasure meeting you too, Miss Skeeter." He stands up and quickly cups her hand in his and kisses it. "It is Miss, isn't it?"

"Yes," Rita replied, looking only slightly skeptically at the display of chivalry. "Though technically I suppose it's Professor, these days."

"Professor? I used to be one-"

"VENKMAN!" shouts over the walkie-talkie clipped to Venkman's belt. He smiles awkwardly.

"One moment." He then picks up the walkie-talkie and takes a step back from Rita. "What is it, Ray?"

"Venkman! We've got ourselves a problem down here!"

"That's nice, Ray, but I've got myself a definite non-problem over here."

"We need you! We found the motherlode, and boy is this mother putting up one heckuva fight!" Ray's voice echoes from the walkie-talkie.

"Fine. I'm coming. But you owe me a beautiful blonde when we get back to New York." Venkman grumbles and reattaches the walkie-talkie to his belt.

"Sorry, Professor Skeeter, ma'am." Venkman shrugs. "Looks like duty calls." He starts backing up towards the door and gives that ridiculous gesture of raising his thumb to his ear and outstretching his pinky to his mouth. "Call me?" He says, right before booking it out the door.

Journalism 101/201 (Friday, January 13 - 7th period)

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