TYWE News - An Original Fiction
Aug. 27th, 2012 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tyrrorTitle: TYWE News
Series: Things You Weren't Expecting to Hear
Rating: PG13
Summary: This is a story pieced together from a nightlong conversation between myself and my housemates in which we attempted to determine what roles each of our animals would play should they all be members of a news station.
Warning: This is my crack...
Note: It may help to read THIS before continuing
The screen is dark, but not dark enough, little lights and sharp glimmers glinting in the background of vague shapes and awkward movements that are the beginning of something everyone knows far too well. With a bright flash and a screech of opening music, the logo of everyone’s favorite news show springs across your vision and as it fades a single desk comes into view, it’s occupants by no means normal but by everyone expected.
Two cats sit as people should, forepaws grasping lightly at the papers before them on which today’s news rests. The darker of the two looks out at the world with disdain, an all-piercing uncaring that you think should melt the camera but obviously doesn’t. Perhaps it is offset by his co-anchor, a bright and cheerful face, eyes squished shut by full cheeks which are pull ever higher as he smiles at the world.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the black one begins, “Welcome once again to the 23 and 5/4ths o’clock news here at TYWE, the only network that constantly brings you what we stand for - Things You Weren’t Expecting. I’m your head anchor, Bob the Cat...
“And I’M the KITTEN!” the other one spouts excitedly, oblivious to the glare he receives from his partner.
“Today,” Bob takes over once again, “I am saddened to inform you that 9 United States soldiers were taken home by God when two transport caravans were misdirected into a field of mines...”
As Bob continues his long winded and ultimately sad tale, the camera slowly zooms in on the Kitten, whose eyes have spread wide and whose head has turned to look at his senior anchor. Ever so slowly, a single white paw reaches up before, with an unexpected speed, the paw bats at the older cat’s head.
“God Damnit Kitten!” Bob yells in annoyance, turning to find the other cat off at a gallop.
“It’s the dot!” the Kitten replies, chasing a barely visible red dot off screen.
Bob’s bad ear twitches slightly as a crash is heard elsewhere before he straightens his papers and clears his throat.
“And with that, we hand it over to Rowyn for your daily traffic report.”
-------
The sound of a helicopter's blades blare through the speakers as the scene shifts suddenly and you find yourself looking out of the slightly less hi-def lense of and in-air camera. A burst of static fills your ears before the microphone filters out the white noise and the dog’s voice can be heard above the whir.
“As you can see, the traffic today is rather minimal with the exception of interstate 101. A number of collisions all caused by a several car pile-up have blocked most lanes between Bethany Road and...SQUIRREL!”
With that the sound goes back to distant helicopter blades cutting through air and dim static as the camera is jerked to one side and ultimately the screen cuts to black.
-----
“Thank you Rowen,” Bob comments as the desk comes back into view.
Next to him, the Kitten is still nowhere to be found but has been replaced by a small Chihuahua that tries to sit tall despite its short stature. It’s eyes shine with excitement and it visibly shakes while Bob continues.
“As you can see, my co-anchor has been...called away on more pertinent business so he has temporarily been replaced by our beloved sports broadcaster, Mr. T...”
Hearing his name, the Chihuahua’s ears perk and he tears off into a seemingly never ending stream of spanish. The speed of his words are uncanny and you are uncertain as to when he has time to breath none-the-less what he might be saying.
There are no subtitles. Not that you are certain they would help. You try turning them on at one point only to be given the message ‘Hell if I know’ followed by a series of emoticons that are best left to the imagination.
Neverending, the torrent of spanish washes over you as Bob’s face flattens even more into his apathetic hatred of everything. Slowly, he reaches under the desk and retrieves a controller of some sort, punching a button that brings up the mini-window next to the Chihuahua’s head. It blinks through several scenes before stopping, seemingly randomly, on an image of a man at the gallow’s rope.
Again it blinks through several images before stopping at a somber scene of a graveyard with a recently covered grave...a table covered in armaments...a brutal murder scene spilt with blood and gore...the skull and cross bones...
As the images flicker on, the Chihuahua suddenly jumps up in his rant and tosses his papers into the air, his small mouth splitting wide as a an ear-drum shattering noise launched from it.
“
With only a second to his advantage, Bob leaps back into the conversation, butting the Chihuahua’s continued rant away.
“Which reminds me, I believe it’s time for the weather with the man himself, Mr. President.”
And, as if on cue, the screen goes dark.
-----
When light returns, a large boxer takes up the majority of the screen, his enormous jowls hanging just out of screen and his big, googley eyes staring into the soul of the camera.
Lurching back, the camera takes a moment to come back into focus, showing the traditional weather background for the 5-day forecast, the entire board wearing a bright yellow raincoat and matching hat. Oddly enough, everything in sight seemed to be following the same dress code. The desk. the camera’s where they slipped into each other’s line of sight, even the weather-dog himself.
Well...it was odd for a few moments at least.
As Mr. President, or ‘P’ as he was called by his fellow newscasters, opened his mouth to speak, strings of drool and other things you’d rather not think of flew from the hidden corners of his mouth-flaps to splatter on anything in sight.
“It looks like,” P started, the words mildly confused and gurgled at the left his mouth, “that this board would indicate sunny skies for the next few days...”
He takes a moment to wipe something out of his eyes.
“But it seems pretty wet to me...maybe we got something wrong.”
His eyes roll around in his skull in way that you’re pretty sure isn’t physiologically possible before returning back in the general direction of the camera.
“Back to you, Bob.”
-----
“Indeed,” Bob agrees, the screen a close up of his face and shoulders as he obviously pushes at the source of a muffled racket just off camera.
“And now on to the sports with Mr. T.”
----
The speakers let loose a dull crash as the scene switches to a dim room in which the Chihuahua stands gripping a microphone to the point that you’re certain it should break. There is a quick burst of spanish before, as you’re certain you should have expected...
“
-----
With an unexpected suddenness, the scene shifts back to the main newsroom where Bob sits alone at his desk, taking a moment to collect his notes and his thoughts before looking at the camera once again.
“We have breaking news,” he begins, “of a new battle taking place at this very moment overseas and we just happen to have our own live-action news correspondent, Miss Gypsy, in the thick of it. Over to you, Gypsy...”
-----
The screen pans in on a terrified dog face, the microphone held close to her muzzle as she pants and stares wide eyed at the camera.
“They’re coming to get me!” She whispers frantically.
“Who are?” Bob’s voice crackles in several seconds later.
“Them!” she screeches, tossing her paws in the air and, in the process, managing to lose both her microphone and the helmet she was wearing and for which she goes scrambling.
As the camera pans out to take in her efforts, the scene behind her reveals a peaceful park filled with laughing children and happy parent. She would appear to be nowhere near the war she is supposed to be reporting on.
Out of nowhere, a biplane flies past carrying a streamer that bears a message. The first half seems to simply read, “Yo Quiero Taco Bell” after which a small, stuffed replica of the famous television personality Mr. T is tied to the banner and from his tail flies a second banner that simply reads...
“
-----
The screen jumps back to the newsroom where Bob is looking non-too pleased with...well...anything...but that’s normal.
“As we had a...feeling something like this may happen,” he shuffles about in his seat, “we have prepared a special feature involving my...beloved co-anchor, Kitten, as he surveys the newly formed tornado descending several miles outside of town at this very moment. Kitten?”
The small window next to Bob’s head flickers into life, the scene of a very close tornado clear to the naked eye but Kitten is nowhere to be seen. As Bob moves to ask again for audio conformation of Kitten’s whereabouts the screen next to his head is filled with fur as the Kitten blows by.
“This is...” he starts before he is swept around the tornado again, reemerging moments later, “brilliant!”
“Bob!” he blusters on his next round, “You should totally try this!”
Suddenly the box next to his head goes blank, Bob’s paw mysteriously on top of the controller from earlier.
“I’m sorry Kitten, it would appear we’re having some technical problems so we’ll have to get back to that point later. In other news, today in England, the Queen...”
The monitor next to him flickers to life again only to show the scene of Kitten whipping around the tornado.
“God save the Queen!” he shouts and, annoyed, Bob shoves the monitor off the side of the stage to the sound of breaking glass and rushing wind.
“Well folks,” he says, his voice full of fake cheer and mostly disdain, “it would appear we’re all out of time but we hope to see you here on TYWE News every night and any night and just remember what we all say: It may not be what you wanted, but it’s sure as hell what you get. Thank you and goodnight!”
Series: Things You Weren't Expecting to Hear
Rating: PG13
Summary: This is a story pieced together from a nightlong conversation between myself and my housemates in which we attempted to determine what roles each of our animals would play should they all be members of a news station.
Warning: This is my crack...
Note: It may help to read THIS before continuing
The screen is dark, but not dark enough, little lights and sharp glimmers glinting in the background of vague shapes and awkward movements that are the beginning of something everyone knows far too well. With a bright flash and a screech of opening music, the logo of everyone’s favorite news show springs across your vision and as it fades a single desk comes into view, it’s occupants by no means normal but by everyone expected.
Two cats sit as people should, forepaws grasping lightly at the papers before them on which today’s news rests. The darker of the two looks out at the world with disdain, an all-piercing uncaring that you think should melt the camera but obviously doesn’t. Perhaps it is offset by his co-anchor, a bright and cheerful face, eyes squished shut by full cheeks which are pull ever higher as he smiles at the world.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the black one begins, “Welcome once again to the 23 and 5/4ths o’clock news here at TYWE, the only network that constantly brings you what we stand for - Things You Weren’t Expecting. I’m your head anchor, Bob the Cat...
“And I’M the KITTEN!” the other one spouts excitedly, oblivious to the glare he receives from his partner.
“Today,” Bob takes over once again, “I am saddened to inform you that 9 United States soldiers were taken home by God when two transport caravans were misdirected into a field of mines...”
As Bob continues his long winded and ultimately sad tale, the camera slowly zooms in on the Kitten, whose eyes have spread wide and whose head has turned to look at his senior anchor. Ever so slowly, a single white paw reaches up before, with an unexpected speed, the paw bats at the older cat’s head.
“God Damnit Kitten!” Bob yells in annoyance, turning to find the other cat off at a gallop.
“It’s the dot!” the Kitten replies, chasing a barely visible red dot off screen.
Bob’s bad ear twitches slightly as a crash is heard elsewhere before he straightens his papers and clears his throat.
“And with that, we hand it over to Rowyn for your daily traffic report.”
-------
The sound of a helicopter's blades blare through the speakers as the scene shifts suddenly and you find yourself looking out of the slightly less hi-def lense of and in-air camera. A burst of static fills your ears before the microphone filters out the white noise and the dog’s voice can be heard above the whir.
“As you can see, the traffic today is rather minimal with the exception of interstate 101. A number of collisions all caused by a several car pile-up have blocked most lanes between Bethany Road and...SQUIRREL!”
With that the sound goes back to distant helicopter blades cutting through air and dim static as the camera is jerked to one side and ultimately the screen cuts to black.
-----
“Thank you Rowen,” Bob comments as the desk comes back into view.
Next to him, the Kitten is still nowhere to be found but has been replaced by a small Chihuahua that tries to sit tall despite its short stature. It’s eyes shine with excitement and it visibly shakes while Bob continues.
“As you can see, my co-anchor has been...called away on more pertinent business so he has temporarily been replaced by our beloved sports broadcaster, Mr. T...”
Hearing his name, the Chihuahua’s ears perk and he tears off into a seemingly never ending stream of spanish. The speed of his words are uncanny and you are uncertain as to when he has time to breath none-the-less what he might be saying.
There are no subtitles. Not that you are certain they would help. You try turning them on at one point only to be given the message ‘Hell if I know’ followed by a series of emoticons that are best left to the imagination.
Neverending, the torrent of spanish washes over you as Bob’s face flattens even more into his apathetic hatred of everything. Slowly, he reaches under the desk and retrieves a controller of some sort, punching a button that brings up the mini-window next to the Chihuahua’s head. It blinks through several scenes before stopping, seemingly randomly, on an image of a man at the gallow’s rope.
Again it blinks through several images before stopping at a somber scene of a graveyard with a recently covered grave...a table covered in armaments...a brutal murder scene spilt with blood and gore...the skull and cross bones...
As the images flicker on, the Chihuahua suddenly jumps up in his rant and tosses his papers into the air, his small mouth splitting wide as a an ear-drum shattering noise launched from it.
“
With only a second to his advantage, Bob leaps back into the conversation, butting the Chihuahua’s continued rant away.
“Which reminds me, I believe it’s time for the weather with the man himself, Mr. President.”
And, as if on cue, the screen goes dark.
-----
When light returns, a large boxer takes up the majority of the screen, his enormous jowls hanging just out of screen and his big, googley eyes staring into the soul of the camera.
Lurching back, the camera takes a moment to come back into focus, showing the traditional weather background for the 5-day forecast, the entire board wearing a bright yellow raincoat and matching hat. Oddly enough, everything in sight seemed to be following the same dress code. The desk. the camera’s where they slipped into each other’s line of sight, even the weather-dog himself.
Well...it was odd for a few moments at least.
As Mr. President, or ‘P’ as he was called by his fellow newscasters, opened his mouth to speak, strings of drool and other things you’d rather not think of flew from the hidden corners of his mouth-flaps to splatter on anything in sight.
“It looks like,” P started, the words mildly confused and gurgled at the left his mouth, “that this board would indicate sunny skies for the next few days...”
He takes a moment to wipe something out of his eyes.
“But it seems pretty wet to me...maybe we got something wrong.”
His eyes roll around in his skull in way that you’re pretty sure isn’t physiologically possible before returning back in the general direction of the camera.
“Back to you, Bob.”
-----
“Indeed,” Bob agrees, the screen a close up of his face and shoulders as he obviously pushes at the source of a muffled racket just off camera.
“And now on to the sports with Mr. T.”
----
The speakers let loose a dull crash as the scene switches to a dim room in which the Chihuahua stands gripping a microphone to the point that you’re certain it should break. There is a quick burst of spanish before, as you’re certain you should have expected...
“
-----
With an unexpected suddenness, the scene shifts back to the main newsroom where Bob sits alone at his desk, taking a moment to collect his notes and his thoughts before looking at the camera once again.
“We have breaking news,” he begins, “of a new battle taking place at this very moment overseas and we just happen to have our own live-action news correspondent, Miss Gypsy, in the thick of it. Over to you, Gypsy...”
-----
The screen pans in on a terrified dog face, the microphone held close to her muzzle as she pants and stares wide eyed at the camera.
“They’re coming to get me!” She whispers frantically.
“Who are?” Bob’s voice crackles in several seconds later.
“Them!” she screeches, tossing her paws in the air and, in the process, managing to lose both her microphone and the helmet she was wearing and for which she goes scrambling.
As the camera pans out to take in her efforts, the scene behind her reveals a peaceful park filled with laughing children and happy parent. She would appear to be nowhere near the war she is supposed to be reporting on.
Out of nowhere, a biplane flies past carrying a streamer that bears a message. The first half seems to simply read, “Yo Quiero Taco Bell” after which a small, stuffed replica of the famous television personality Mr. T is tied to the banner and from his tail flies a second banner that simply reads...
“
-----
The screen jumps back to the newsroom where Bob is looking non-too pleased with...well...anything...but that’s normal.
“As we had a...feeling something like this may happen,” he shuffles about in his seat, “we have prepared a special feature involving my...beloved co-anchor, Kitten, as he surveys the newly formed tornado descending several miles outside of town at this very moment. Kitten?”
The small window next to Bob’s head flickers into life, the scene of a very close tornado clear to the naked eye but Kitten is nowhere to be seen. As Bob moves to ask again for audio conformation of Kitten’s whereabouts the screen next to his head is filled with fur as the Kitten blows by.
“This is...” he starts before he is swept around the tornado again, reemerging moments later, “brilliant!”
“Bob!” he blusters on his next round, “You should totally try this!”
Suddenly the box next to his head goes blank, Bob’s paw mysteriously on top of the controller from earlier.
“I’m sorry Kitten, it would appear we’re having some technical problems so we’ll have to get back to that point later. In other news, today in England, the Queen...”
The monitor next to him flickers to life again only to show the scene of Kitten whipping around the tornado.
“God save the Queen!” he shouts and, annoyed, Bob shoves the monitor off the side of the stage to the sound of breaking glass and rushing wind.
“Well folks,” he says, his voice full of fake cheer and mostly disdain, “it would appear we’re all out of time but we hope to see you here on TYWE News every night and any night and just remember what we all say: It may not be what you wanted, but it’s sure as hell what you get. Thank you and goodnight!”
no subject
on 2012-08-28 08:05 pm (UTC)