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Post by lola clementine fairbairn on Feb 14, 2018 10:06:29 GMT -5
  Lola worked hard to snipe those front page spots. She lost out plenty of times, but she had her fair share of eye catching articles that earned her that first place award for reporters. She wasn’t afraid to dig deep for a meaty story that could rock the very core of New York. She wanted those gritty headlines that shocked people and brought people crashing down under their own egos. Lola wanted to see their corruption thrown back at them, their lies and secrets used to bury them. She was better than some cheap gossip columnist who slandered celebrities for simply living their lives, printing pictures of them being less than Hollywood perfect. She didn’t care about their scandals or their drama. She wanted the real world excitement. The real things that had a lasting ripple on everyone who lived in the city she called home. Lola wanted to make a difference through her words, even if it was giving a voice to people who had been forgotten or silenced. She could do that through her articles and stories, through reminding people that not everyone in power was worthy of it, and that other people out there were left to be forgotten.
Her latest piece was hot of press, and the shining glory of the New York Times’ front page. It was a long expose on the drug trafficking gangs in New York City. She had her informants just like the police had theirs. Names had been changed for their own safety, though a few had left the city by the time Lola had pieced the article together. A few big named businessmen were hinted at being involved, both professionally and personally, within the trade, and she questioned what other illegal habits these men might have. The piece was scathing, blasting both the political players and the law enforcement for letting such a thing continue under their noses while the rate of deaths by drugs was on the rise. She had researched the statistics well, completing her print with a few small charts and numbers regarding the steadily rising number of deaths, violent crimes, and homelessness induced by drug addiction. Lola accused the NYPD of contributing to this epidemic rather than stepping up to stop it. They might consider it a long play to find the source, but in the meantime how many people were becoming needless sacrifices for their game?
It was a good piece, and already calls had been coming in with the kind of attention a journalist likes; that was both good and bad. Lola figured she deserved to treat herself, so as soon as work was done and she had finished a small piece on a local man recovering from a mugging that might be a serial offender, she turned off her desk lamp and headed out to hail a taxi. She gave the man directions to one of her favourite spots and then paid him before she smiled at the guy on the door and slipped inside, feeling the warm air conditioning enveloping her in a welcoming hug. She glanced around, recognising no one – there was time to call for company later – and then made her way to the bar. “Scotch and soda, please.” She ordered in the quiet lull between songs. She perched on a high stool, shrugging her jacket off to rest at her ankles.
• • •
TAGGED! Granger Dallas Nylander
WORDS! 564!
OUTFIT! Rebel Reporter!
LYRICS! Rusty James - - - Green Day
NOTES!
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