SnitchSeeker.com - View Single Post - The Ballad of Baby Jane

TeafortheSoul · 09-16-2009, 05:33 AM

Made by Ama

December 5th 2069

Interviews: 4
New jobs: 1.
Pencils thrown: 1
Current Article: Does the Wand Make the Wizard?

Rearranged desk today. Jane Holland wrote name over and over alongside Hot Quidditch Player’s name instead of researching wands. Discovered the troublesome nature of pencils. Self spent valuable minutes of life learning this. Mr. Cole spent valuable minutes examining Self’s rear. Jane Holland is not a world class pencil thrower but still manages to get self noticed. Mrs. Elliot is right about pencil philosophy. Self must think on this and publish world recognized self help book and retire on profits.

~

It wasn’t until after Jane had spent a good few minutes crawling under her desk that she realized that she could have just accio’d the pencil that she’d dropped instead of squeezing under the desk and letting her derriere wave around for all and sundry to see. A bit short of breath, Jane dragged herself into her chair and leaned back against the high wooden back. She let out a sigh and looked around the office at her co-workers, not one of them younger than fifty. Mr. Cole was watching her, staring owlishly through his thick lenses and Jane had the distinct impression that he’d been watching her crawl about a moment before. Dirty old coot.

She sighed again and looked down at the notepad in front of her where she was planning out her article which was due at the end of the day. She’d not had any interviews since Monday, and not having to go in to face tarty secretaries before even getting to the interview part was quite relaxing. Jane was less relaxed when she thought about the interviews she hadn’t yet heard anything back about. When she let herself think of those, she found her guts clenching up and her heart thumping out of her chest.

She was going nowhere fast in this job, writing dry and boring articles and trying her best to add a bit of pizzazz to proceedings. What Jane wanted was to be a jet setting world famous reporter; renowned to the Nth degree. Whether with a magazine or a newspaper, Jane didn’t care. She wanted her name on a pretty byline, she wanted respect and she wanted acceptance. Sure the old dried husks working here accepted her, but just as Mrs. Elliot said, Jane was too young to be hiding away in a dusty periodicals office. Here they wrote filler articles for Witch Housekeeping, Wizards’ Choice and The Warlock at Home as well as some of the academic journals like Challenges in Charming and Transfiguration Today.

She did not get to go out there and find a story, talk to people and hear their version of whatever exciting event had occurred, or write interesting articles about life and society, and she certainly did not get to spend all that much time socializing with witches and wizards her own age. Her colleagues, Mrs. Charmaine Elliot age fifty-nine and Mr. David Spinks age sixty-four, were really Jane’s only friends. At not quite twenty-three, this was a dilemma of epic proportions.

She sighed again and started making little doodles in the margins of her notepad, the pressure lines on the paper that were not being filled in by grey, suddenly revealed that the dropped pencil had, at some point during its brief foray into the silent and dust-bunny filled world of under-the-desk, lost its lead. Letting out a little noise of frustration, Jane hurled her pencil, half turning as she tossed it. The pencil whirled end over end until it hit the forehead of a matronly woman with an audible clack. Jane’s eyes widened at the exclamation of surprise and pain that Mrs. Elliot let out, and she clapped her hand over her mouth for a moment before practically flying out of her seat and over to the woman’s side.

“Oh Mrs. Elliot, I’m dreadfully sorry! Are you alright? Let me help you sit down!” Jane took her friend’s arm and fussed, feeling quite embarrassed and showing it with the blush that drenched her cheeks.

“What in Merlin’s name did that poor pencil do to you?” Mrs. Elliot allowed herself to be led to a chair and rubbed at her head. Mr. Cole who had been watching owlishly, noted in an oddly tinny sounding voice.
“A pencil is much more aerodynamic than a quill I think, that’s why I use ‘em myself.” He shook his desk drawer, which remained in a permanent half-open state, and it rattled with the sound of at least a hundred wooden pencils knocking together.

“Oh! I- it broke.” Jane explained apologetically, “Or at least the lead did, after I had to crawl around on my knees for it, it wouldn’t do what I needed it to, so I threw it.” She glanced over at Mr. Cole and nodded absently, “I use pencils because I’m muggleborn.”

“Well no harm done dear! It woke me up, it did!” Mrs. Elliot said, “and you should keep your pencil philosophy in mind when it comes to men, dear.” The woman waggled her finger at Jane and suddenly a look of consternation crossed her face. “Oh! And I was coming over to talk to you anyway; I just got an owl that was for you.” She patted herself down and pulled a piece of parchment marked with Jane’s name from her pocket, offering it to Jane with a mischievous old-lady smile.

“An owl?” Jane eyed the piece of parchment nervously, not even daring to hope that it was a response to one of the interviews she’d been on, let alone hope that it would be an acceptance letter.

“Well, read it! Go on!” Mrs. Elliot shoved it into Jane’s hands and Jane had to make a wild grab for it to stop it from dropping to the floor. It had to be good news, right?

Right?

She broke open the seal and looked up at Mrs. Elliot for reassurance. When the older woman nodded kindly, Jane unfolded the parchment and read it hurriedly. Then she read it again. “I got it.” She murmured quietly. “I got the job! I got it! The Daily Prophet! A SERIOUS publication!” She bounced up and down in a way that a bigger girl probably should not. Jane read the letter again. “Lifestyle writer!

09-16-2009, 05:33 AM	#10 (permalink)
TeafortheSoul Formerly: Tegz DERP & DMT Demiguise Join Date: May 2008 Location: Hobbiton Posts: 24,244 Hogwarts RPG Name: ??? Ravenclaw Hogwarts RPG Name: Ronnie Thurkell Gryffindor Seventh Year Ministry RPG Name: Stella Jarsdel Transportation Ministry RPG Name: Calyx Morgan-Bott Ecological Protection x12 x12	Two lives in a hobbit hole \|\| Ern and Touz's Nuzzle \|\| roflysst \|\| looking at a seed packet Made by Ama December 5th 2069 Interviews: 4 New jobs: 1. Pencils thrown: 1 Current Article: Does the Wand Make the Wizard? Rearranged desk today. Jane Holland wrote name over and over alongside Hot Quidditch Player’s name instead of researching wands. Discovered the troublesome nature of pencils. Self spent valuable minutes of life learning this. Mr. Cole spent valuable minutes examining Self’s rear. Jane Holland is not a world class pencil thrower but still manages to get self noticed. Mrs. Elliot is right about pencil philosophy. Self must think on this and publish world recognized self help book and retire on profits. ~ It wasn’t until after Jane had spent a good few minutes crawling under her desk that she realized that she could have just accio’d the pencil that she’d dropped instead of squeezing under the desk and letting her derriere wave around for all and sundry to see. A bit short of breath, Jane dragged herself into her chair and leaned back against the high wooden back. She let out a sigh and looked around the office at her co-workers, not one of them younger than fifty. Mr. Cole was watching her, staring owlishly through his thick lenses and Jane had the distinct impression that he’d been watching her crawl about a moment before. Dirty old coot. She sighed again and looked down at the notepad in front of her where she was planning out her article which was due at the end of the day. She’d not had any interviews since Monday, and not having to go in to face tarty secretaries before even getting to the interview part was quite relaxing. Jane was less relaxed when she thought about the interviews she hadn’t yet heard anything back about. When she let herself think of those, she found her guts clenching up and her heart thumping out of her chest. She was going nowhere fast in this job, writing dry and boring articles and trying her best to add a bit of pizzazz to proceedings. What Jane wanted was to be a jet setting world famous reporter; renowned to the Nth degree. Whether with a magazine or a newspaper, Jane didn’t care. She wanted her name on a pretty byline, she wanted respect and she wanted acceptance. Sure the old dried husks working here accepted her, but just as Mrs. Elliot said, Jane was too young to be hiding away in a dusty periodicals office. Here they wrote filler articles for Witch Housekeeping, Wizards’ Choice and The Warlock at Home as well as some of the academic journals like Challenges in Charming and Transfiguration Today. She did not get to go out there and find a story, talk to people and hear their version of whatever exciting event had occurred, or write interesting articles about life and society, and she certainly did not get to spend all that much time socializing with witches and wizards her own age. Her colleagues, Mrs. Charmaine Elliot age fifty-nine and Mr. David Spinks age sixty-four, were really Jane’s only friends. At not quite twenty-three, this was a dilemma of epic proportions. She sighed again and started making little doodles in the margins of her notepad, the pressure lines on the paper that were not being filled in by grey, suddenly revealed that the dropped pencil had, at some point during its brief foray into the silent and dust-bunny filled world of under-the-desk, lost its lead. Letting out a little noise of frustration, Jane hurled her pencil, half turning as she tossed it. The pencil whirled end over end until it hit the forehead of a matronly woman with an audible clack. Jane’s eyes widened at the exclamation of surprise and pain that Mrs. Elliot let out, and she clapped her hand over her mouth for a moment before practically flying out of her seat and over to the woman’s side. “Oh Mrs. Elliot, I’m dreadfully sorry! Are you alright? Let me help you sit down!” Jane took her friend’s arm and fussed, feeling quite embarrassed and showing it with the blush that drenched her cheeks. “What in Merlin’s name did that poor pencil do to you?” Mrs. Elliot allowed herself to be led to a chair and rubbed at her head. Mr. Cole who had been watching owlishly, noted in an oddly tinny sounding voice. “A pencil is much more aerodynamic than a quill I think, that’s why I use ‘em myself.” He shook his desk drawer, which remained in a permanent half-open state, and it rattled with the sound of at least a hundred wooden pencils knocking together. “Oh! I- it broke.” Jane explained apologetically, “Or at least the lead did, after I had to crawl around on my knees for it, it wouldn’t do what I needed it to, so I threw it.” She glanced over at Mr. Cole and nodded absently, “I use pencils because I’m muggleborn.” “Well no harm done dear! It woke me up, it did!” Mrs. Elliot said, “and you should keep your pencil philosophy in mind when it comes to men, dear.” The woman waggled her finger at Jane and suddenly a look of consternation crossed her face. “Oh! And I was coming over to talk to you anyway; I just got an owl that was for you.” She patted herself down and pulled a piece of parchment marked with Jane’s name from her pocket, offering it to Jane with a mischievous old-lady smile. “An owl?” Jane eyed the piece of parchment nervously, not even daring to hope that it was a response to one of the interviews she’d been on, let alone hope that it would be an acceptance letter. “Well, read it! Go on!” Mrs. Elliot shoved it into Jane’s hands and Jane had to make a wild grab for it to stop it from dropping to the floor. It had to be good news, right? Right? She broke open the seal and looked up at Mrs. Elliot for reassurance. When the older woman nodded kindly, Jane unfolded the parchment and read it hurriedly. Then she read it again. “I got it.” She murmured quietly. “I got the job! I got it! The Daily Prophet! A SERIOUS publication!” She bounced up and down in a way that a bigger girl probably should not. Jane read the letter again. “Lifestyle writer! __________________ love is like a letter wrote :: and life is like an envelope be careful who you give it to :: they might not give it back to you Last edited by TeafortheSoul; 02-27-2010 at 11:37 AM.