Marlene Lupin is plotting her revenge (on_the_wall) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-10-03 15:59:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! [1979-10] october, jeremiah smith, marlene lupin (née mckinnon) |
Who: Marlene McKinnon & Jeremiah Smith
What: Marlene goes undercover trying to fish information out of Smith for the Order.
When: 3 October 1979.
Where: The Daily Prophet Offices
Status: Complete
Rating: PG probably!
Marlene was finding this whole "being covert" thing to be a lot more nerve-racking than she'd initially thought it would be. Oh, she'd bullshitted her way out of a plethora of situations, and made up fake names and faked accents dozens of times before, but this was different. She could quite possibly get arrested for this if it got found out, and Marlene had no desire to get tossed off into Azkaban, or the holding cells at the Ministry, or whatever it was they did to people who faked papers and resumes and aliases.
She glanced up nervously from her chair through the black framed glasses she'd borrowed from Remus -- which were frankly giving her a headache -- watching the secretary fiddle with papers, not even flinching at the memos that went flying past her head, landing in a wire basket on her desk. Could she tell she wasn't really Cassandra Miller? Is that why Smith had been in his office with her papers for almost twenty minutes now? Could he tell? Marlene nervously spun the ends of her hair (which she'd charmed a lighter brown (and not dark blonde, thank you very much) for the afternoon) between her fingertips, hoping that Smith would call her into his office before anyone she knew walked by. Oh Merlin, what if bloody Grady came by? Lighter hair and glasses or not, if he came by and recognised her, it was over.
Another glance up at the clock. Another sideways look towards the door of Smith's office. What was taking so long?
For the last twenty minutes, Smith had split his time between half-working on an assignment he had due the next day, and half-skimming through the resume and portfolio that 'Cassandra Miller' had brought along for her interview. It usually didn't take him longer than ten minutes to look through everything thoroughly enough to get a rough idea of an applicant's experience and abilities, as well as devise a few appropriate specific questions to ask, but it was never a promise or guarantee. Well, that and he was hoping that the long waiting time might be enough to deter someone from wanting to take up an internship with him -- it had worked well enough so far for the last several weeks.
Thankfully for Marlene, it only took a few seconds after her latest glance at the clock for Smith to open his office door, notice that she was sitting there, scowl (of course), and motion for her to get up and follow him.
'If you're Cassandra Miller, come in right now so that both of us can get this over with as soon as possible,' he said, not even bothering to introduce himself or shake hands before turning back to return to his desk. 'And close the door before you sit down.'
Marlene had popped out of her chair, hand extended and ready to shake Smith's the second his door cracked open. And there her hand remained, hovering untaken and unshaken in the air as Smith returned to his chair. Marlene swept her hand back to push her hair behind her ears -- really, that's what she'd intended on doing all along -- and, after a deep breath to calm her nerves, followed him inside.
After shutting the door behind her, Marlene hovered behind a chair in front of Smith's desk, torn between sitting down and wanting to wait until he told her to sit. "I want to thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I know you must be awfully busy, Mr. Smith, sir."
The first thing Smith wanted to say upon realising that the girl had followed him in after all was something along the lines of, 'You're still here?', but he bit his tongue back for once and replied with a disgruntled, 'You can sit down, you know' before easing into his own chair and setting up his papers and quills for the interview.
'Just in case you didn't know already,' he said, not bothering to wait until Marlene was comfortable before starting (the sooner he scared her off, the better), 'you, Cassandra Miller, are currently being interviewed for a Daily Prophet internship under me, Jeremiah Smith, a full-time journalist. This interview is being conducted according to the hiring policy of the Daily Prophet and will be recorded word-for-word using a Dictaquill for our records. If you have any questions, concerns, or complaints about the process, you can send an owl to human resources.'
Before Marlene had a chance to respond with any comments or questions of her own, he jumped straight into the first interview question. 'First, why would you like to work as an intern at the Daily Prophet, and why under me specifically?'
All right. This is what Marlene was here for. She'd practised this. And hopefully the answers she'd pieced together for the interview wouldn't strike Smith as completely rehearsed crap.
Well, first things first. Marlene sat down in the chair, smoothing down her skirt and making sure to sit up straight. No one would want to hire a slouchy intern. "I've wanted to write my whole life, and I think that this would be a good place to start. I think I could get the skills here that I would need to become a better, stronger writer. And I'd like to work under you because I think you're one of the Prophet's strongest writers. You sometimes know the full story even before the Ministry does, which is brilliant because if it got to the Ministry first, the public would never hear about it. And you're straightforward. You don't just tell people what they want to hear, and you don't put up with people's..." Marlene paused, figuring 'shit' would be a bad word to use when the dictaquill was scribbling away. "ineptitude. I'm never going to get anywhere with people holding my hand my whole life, and I don't think you'll do it."
'I hear the "I've wanted to do this for my entire life" motivation all the time, for the record,' Smith muttered in a mostly matter-of-fact tone, though there was a slight snide edge as if to not-so-subtly suggest that he wasn't in the mood to hear it again. Otherwise, he didn't say anything more for the few seconds it took him to think about how to present the next question. It seemed as if the comments about him being one of the Prophet's strongest writers, his sort-of foreknowledge, and his lack of warmth in supporting his interns were of little interest to him. It wasn't quite the sort of over-the-top flattery that made him despise these interviews so much, but it was close enough for him to feel annoyed and not bother to read further into what Marlene had said.
'Second,' he said as the sheet of parchment flipped itself over and the Dictaquill continued scribbling away, 'what, in your opinion, should the role of the press be, especially in today's political climate? Technically, there are no right and wrong opinions, but some will be more intelligent than others. And don't try to brown-nose by saying everything you think I want to hear while keeping your actual thoughts to yourself.'
Right. Marlene should have expected that (and had expected it, to a point). Smith didn't seem like the sort of person who'd be "wooed" into giving a person a job if the person he was interviewing only gave the answers that most employers wanted to hear. Then again, maybe it was good that she'd given the book answer to the first one, so that it didn't seem like too pre-crafted of an interview before he told her to knock it off with the sucking up.
"Alright then," Marlene noted quietly, pulling her chair in a little closer to Smith's desk before she began her answer. If she (or, well, if Cassandra) was going to be straight with him, she was going to at least try to do so acting as if she was confident in her answers. "I think that the press should be telling people what's really going on, not smoothing things over and dumbing the stories down to make it "easier" for them to hear, or leaving out details to try to "protect" them," Marlene replied, glancing over at the Dictaquill. At least if they didn't like her answers, they wouldn't know to come after her. "We all have to live in this world, and we deserve to know what's going on, or how is anyone going to know how to protect themselves? The public'll either be unprepared should they come in contact with a dangerous situation, or angry that they've been sheltered "for their own good," and the people have a right to know what we're dealing with."
'This is sort of a situational follow-up,' said Smith, not letting on that he approved of her answer, but was still mildly skeptical as to whether it was her honest opinion, a memorised spiel, or another case of brown-nosing, 'but what would you do in a situation where the Daily Prophet required you to write a story that, if told truthfully, would go against your own beliefs completely? For example, a story that puts purist society in a good light if you disapprove of them, or one that makes these reported vigilantes seem more effective than the Ministry if you're a staunch DMLE supporter?'
"Well, I would hope that the Prophet wouldn't ask me to write a story that painted any group in a particular light. I want to present the facts, not a slant, because I think that gives people a chance to form their own reasoning. We're the news, not propaganda," Marlene explained, keeping her mouth shut regarding the fact that sometimes the vigilantes were more effective than the Ministry, thank you very much. She paused, then added on to her answer. "Although I suppose if the facts themselves were something that showcased a group in a particular light, then that would be that. Unless I was doing an editorial, then my own opinions don't really belong in there, you know?"
'They don't, and I also wouldn't be so optimistic about the first thing you mentioned, seeing as the Prophet is still a business.' Smith scowled for a brief second, then looked down at his list of questions and Marlene's portfolio. 'I'm going to change the direction of this interview for a moment to ask about several items you submitted earlier ...'
About half an hour to forty-five minutes later, Smith was just about finished with the interview. The standard questions have been exhausted, as had more specific inquiries about Marlene's portfolio (with pointed remarks about her bartending experience and its relevance to journalism), and now there was just one more thing he had to ask before he could get a cup of coffee. Hopefully this particular applicant wasn't one of those annoyingly eager idiots who would ask too many post-interview questions they already knew all the answers to just to 'impress' him with supposedly deep research into the internship.
'And that's all from me.' Smith paused for a moment to brace himself for what he hoped wasn't the inevitable. 'Do you have any questions for me, or are you going to leave right now?'
Marlene's head was in a bit of a whirl by time Smith had turned it over to her, giving her a chance finally to ask the questions she'd come on this bloody interview to ask. She had not been expecting things to go on for so long -- when she'd interviewed at the Apothecary, she'd been in and out with a job in eight minutes. She'd supposed this was a bit different, given that the Prophet was such a huge entity, but still. After all that, her answers had better've been satisfactory. "Um, no, I've got questions," Marlene replied. As if she was going to go through all that and not find out what she'd come in for. "Well, I guess my main question is how do you find your stories? Do you just manage to be in the right (or wrong) place at the right time, or do people write in as sources for you specifically?"
Smith raised an eyebrow, having expected a more standard and tired question about salaries, working hours, and the like. 'I go to the scene as soon as I can after getting an assignment first, and I have my sources for certain kinds of information and stories.' For a moment, the Dictaquill that had been recording the interview for the last while finally stopped briefly, the only sound coming from the ink softly dripping onto the parchment. 'You're not asking that because you're actually from a rival newspaper, are you?'
"Of course not!" Marlene laughed, honestly surprised by the question. She supposed it made sense, and she almost didn't blame him for being suspicious. But if he was, then it was definitely time to backtrack. "I guess that's a stupid question to ask anyway, since I doubt I'll be out in the middle of battles reporting live or anything anytime soon. I guess my only other real questions would be where is the coffee pot located, and when do you think I'll be hearing back from you?"
'You'll find out about the coffee if you're hired, which you will know by the middle of next week.' Just in case Marlene didn't understand that the interview was definitely over at this point, Smith stood up, neatly stacked her portfolio together so that the edges were all lined up exactly, and slammed them down onto the desk so that it was within her reach. 'Take this back when you leave right now if you want them, or I'll throw it into the rubbish bin anyway.' And with that, he preoccupied himself with shuffling several of the other papers on his desk. He didn't say anything further, but from his spiel and the silent treatment he was giving her, now seemed like as good a time any to leave.
"Righto! So... I'll just be heading off then..." Marlene faltered, rising to her feet and grabbing the papers off of Smith's desk, hugging them to herself. She started to hold her hand out to shake Smith's, but on second thought decided against the movement as he seemed very annoyedishly preoccupied with his paper shuffling. "Have a good day, Mr. Smith," she said instead, turning to exit the office, closing the door behind her. The secretary looked up at Marlene and then at the clock, looking moderately surprised that she'd lasted as long as she had. Marlene barely paid attention to this, or anyone else in the office. She had no idea whether she'd wind up with a job out of this, and either way, Marlene couldn't shake the feeling that the interview had gone very very badly, even though she'd known what kind of person Smith was going in. She likely didn't have much time left before the glamour charms she'd used on her hair started fading, anyway, and needed to get out of the office before she started looking like herself again.