#deadwent shrimpling, mocker of sacred robes (derwents) wrote in cultureic, @ 2016-02-24 23:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! media: wizvis, derwent shimpling |
DS: The other day, I found out that one of our interns failed Broom Flight Class back in Hogwarts, and never actually learned how to fly properly. Clearly, this is a problem that we need to deal with, so I decided to personally help her with her lessons. [The filmed bit features him standing outside with an unflappable 20-something intern, who projects an air of We’re really doing this? Okay then. Meanwhile, he's cheerful and wearing a dramatically bright red cape—his Christmas present from Asher.] DS: Why did you fail flying class, Gladys? INTERN: Look, it’s not that big a deal. I can Apparate or Floo everywhere I need to go, or Portkey for longer trips. Brooms are cold and windy and tiresome, it takes ages to fly anywhere, and my mum’s always dropping her groceries because the bag tips while she’s flying. I really just don’t see the point. DS: Yes, but we’ve committed to this bit now. So help me Merlin, I will get you your flying license. INTERN: Sigh. [They get on separate brooms and lurch up into the sky. The cameraman follows on a third broom. Gladys careens wildly back and forth, with Derwent shouting various ineffectual tips like “DON’T BE SO WOBBLY” and “THINK MIND OVER MATTER” and “SOAR LIKE AN EAGLE” and “BE A LEAF ON THE WIND” and “WHY ARE YOU SO TERRIBLE AT THIS”. After a while, they’re both distracted by someone else on a broom speeding past above.] DS: Wait. Look. Who’s that? [A figure dressed all in black whizzes by.] DS: AFTER THAT SUSPICIOUS FIGURE! [A ‘high-speed’ broom chase ensues while his intern follows, occasionally nearly getting entangled with power lines. By the time he catches up to the black-clad figure, they’ve pulled their hood down to reveal… Darque, Derwent’s fake vampire girlfriend from the Incendio skit.] DARQUE: Derwent! How are you? I’m afraid I was in such a hurry I didn’t recognise you. [...] Is she okay? [They glance back, and just see the small dot of his intern colliding with a tree.] DS: Er, sorry, I think I’ve got to take care of this… [Back in the studio, the two of them sit wind-ruffled at the desk, Gladys looking especially annoyed and rumpled.] DS: The studio will compensate you for that broom. I will pay for it out of my own pocket. How much did it cost? INTERN: No, you don’t have to, don’t worry about it. DS: No, really, I want to do this to make it up to you. How much did it cost? INTERN: 500 galleo— DS: —nevermind. Nope. No. Sorry. I don’t have that sort of money. [It’s all an act, of course, but they play through it with deadpan seriousness. The message NO INTERNS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS EPISODE flashes on-screen. After some further chatter about flying technique...] DS: After the commercial break, we’ll be staging a broom-race with all of our station interns, but first, in the interests of promoting community events, here are the results from a local children’s broom-racing competition. Congratulations to the winners in the primary school age bracket: Daryl Etherton, Arthur Thimblesbury, Hannah Everett, Abigail Thiem, Erin Roche. And in the secondary school age bracket: Sam Akiyama, Robert Edison, Sri Chowdhury, and in last place, Ulric Madsen. [The segment continues with a broom-race, with Derwent brandishing a megaphone and bellowing motivational shouts at the interns while they careen down the hallways of WizVis.] |
Later that night, he was still cooped up in his office long after everyone else had gone home, poring through the scripts submitted for later that week. A knock at the door made Derwent glance up, realising it was one of his producers. “Emilia! Come on in. Still burning the midnight oil?” “I could ask you the same thing. You really should get some more sleep.” Her gaze drifted to the empty glass at the corner of his desk, but he looked back at her unflinchingly. At a wave of his hand, Emilia Callaghan came in—already wearing her coat and scarf—and settled temporarily in the guest chair. They talked a little about the collateral damage sustained in the hallways by the broom race, but he got the distinct impression she was working up to mention something else. When it came, he was hardly surprised. “You know,” she started. “Yes?” Another pause, the woman’s expression turning a little harder at the edges. When she was concerned, she tended to look stern instead. “Derwent. You got it past the censors and Quentin, but I noticed what you did.” “Oh?” he said, all innocence. Rummaging in his drawer, Derwent pulled out a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey and refilled his glass. He raised it to her with a wordless question, but Emilia shook her head. “No, thanks, I’m meeting someone for dinner. But I’m serious about this, Derwent. Don’t slip in anything like that again.” He snorted, taking a sip of the drink. “If the day ever comes that I’m too afraid to joke, Emilia, then I’m fucking finished as a comedian, an employee of this station, and as a citizen of this community. I can’t be a coward about this. Not anymore.” She watched him for a minute, taking in that stubborn set of his jaw, as if he had something to prove. Finally, she sighed. “I changed my mind. Pour me a glass.” |