Summary:Bruce Wayne drops in to complain to JJJ and is intercepted by Betty Brant. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Things are generally loud and obnoxiously so in the Daily Bugle. Phones ring, keyboards clack, the televisions drone on with the DBC news feed. When the doors open to the newsroom, however, a silence starts near the door - soon, murmured and hushed whispers cast across the room, bringing it to a near silence as a few heads rise from the cubicle farm, much like meerkats on the savannah to see who's on the prowl.
The gentle clack of a cane announces his presence. Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprise, and well-known from his time in the social pages of the various newspapers makes his way in. Though he's crossed the forty year old threshold, he's still has handsome as ever. He doesn't show up in public as often as he used to - there was a buzz at his appearance at the Botanical Gardens a few days ago to dedicate a new breed of rose to his mother.
But since going /directly/ against JJJ and supporting heavy anti-registration candidates in 2016, he's not been about as much.
Walking up to Betty's desk, right outside of JJJ's, he sets down his phone and beams the woman a warm smile. "Is he in?" he asks congenially. Though there's a certain steeliness to his blue eyes that say this isn't a social visit. A glance to his phone tells the real reason for his appearance here.
Across the top of the webpage for the Daily Bugle is an obvious clickbait article. 'The SECRET CHILDREN of this New York Billionaire Will Shock You!'.
This was her arena. She all but grew up in this building, around these people and the chaos it created. She was the 'soil of the earth' or some such like that to most here, regardless of their age gaps. There had always been a Brant within the walls of the Bugle, and so far, that didn't seem to change. Those that knew this building, this paper, knew that Brant had her feet stuck here from the time she was 17, and now in her 30s, she hadn't moved an inch. Well, she had in way of respect. If there was anyone that could talke Jameson down into anything like a pup, it was her or Robbie. Mostly her.
Sipping from her coffee, she hears the odd hush fall over the room and then perks up. "Are we out of cake?" Alarming as it was, she moves to stand only to notice the reason for said hush was heading straight for her. A brush back of her blonde locks, she offers the man a considerate smile with her cherry lips. "Oh, Mr. Wayne. I'm sorry, I didn't have you penciled in for today. I'm sorry, Mr. Jameson is still out to lunch for now, but you're welcome to have a seat until he gets back." A look at her watch, she mouths in silence before answering. "10 minutes. Joey's down the block will be out of rye by then. He'll be fuming." She muses with a smirk.
"May I take your coat? Would you like a coffee, Mr. Wayne?" Glancing at her screen, she chuckles gently and shrugs. "Hey, even billionaires need love, don't they?"
"When isn't he fuming, Miss…" he glances towards the name tag on the desk. "…Brant." Bruce's smile returns with that same understated, if warm smile, as he removes his overcoat to set it to the side. "Thank you. Black, please." At least for the coffee. The coat is offered to her - it's warm and luxe, as is his suit, a tailored number, like every suit in his arsenal as he moves to settle down into the chair.
"I'll apologize in advance for the very loud words that will be coming out of his office in short order." There's a mild gesture about him. "I've never been a fan of the sensationalism in press. And your boss is not a fan of mine." There's a small chuckle from the man as he folds his hands over his knee.
"But I supposed you have me all to yourself in the newsroom at the moment." The invitation to her is gently offered - he knows people want to ask questions. He doesn't shy away from it.
"Brant. Betty if you'd like." She greets, offering him a hand to shake should he like. Accepting his jacket, she carries it away carefully, hanging it on a hook near by. "Just a moment." She requests, clicking off and away toward the coffee machine. In short order, she returns, handing him a styrofoam cup and resting a couple packets of sugar on the edge of her desk. "That stuff is like tar. Fair warning. If you'd like, I can run down the street and get you something better."
Brushing down her skirt and reclaiming her seat, she offers an apologetic face while glancing back toward the office behind herself. "He's a man with spirit, that much can't be denied. As angry as he is, he's a good man at that." Facing Bruce, her smile lingers all the while. "Bah," she waves it off, "No need to apologize to me. I could write a dictionary with all the words I hear coming out of there on a daily basis. It doesn't concern me, sometimes you have to be able to yell to survive in that lion's den."
Reaching for her coffee now, she takes a soft, cautious sip before setting it away, leaving the print of her mouth on its brim. "All to myself? I wish, Mr. Wayne. Everyone is still staring at you." Pause. "I'd love to do an interview with you someday, Mr. Wayne, but in a better place than this. Giving away my scoop so easily to everyone dropping eaves? That's cruel of you."
"Bruce, please, Betty. It's the least I can do for someone that's offered me coffee that could double as sealant." It's said in good humor as he takes a sip from the styrofoam cup. "There's no need to inconvience yourself, I am the one intruding on your time while waiting for your boss to return." The sugar is declined, the cup set back down upon the edge of the desk.
"I'd expect more of a Pulitzer Prize essay - the ravings of J. Jonah Jameson, and what they really mean." When in the press room, turn the press upon itself. At the comment that everyone is staring at him, he arches a brow. "Are they?" He asks as he lifts from his chair to look back out at the cubicle farm and the heads peeking at him. After returning his attention back to her, he leans in as if confiding to her. "Here I thought they were staring at you. I know I would." A wink is given to her, before he settles back with a chuckle.
Then he glances at his watch. "Ten minutes you said?" he asks her. "Find us a private conference room, and you can ask me as many questions as you think I can answer in that time." His blue eyes twinkle with amusement as he tests the woman, to see exactly how eager she is on this idea.
"Only the best." She beams, cheeks pink and thumb up. "Inconvience? Please, this is my job, Mr…Bruce. If I'm not doing it right, I don't belong here." At the idea of such a paper, she chuckles and nods. "You know, that's a brilliant idea. I think I might steal that, if that's alright with you. Perhaps you can help me publish it." Smirking, she watches him stands up, reaching out for her drink and nursing from it smoothly. Where his was pitch, her own was a pale, tan hue, smelling richly of vanilla. A wink returned, she holds her cup up as if in a toast.
"Yes, Mr….Bruce. You've been here for two." At the offer, she considers it, lips pursing and warm, hazel eyes rolling to the side in thought. "Hmm, I would, Bruce. I really would love to if we had such places like that in this office. It's mostly storage and shared offices. Look at me, I'm in a cube missing two walls. How about…dinner? For business reasons, of course. I know a few people and pull a few strings, get us a private area as requested. Made all the better with food and drinks. In wine there's truth, they say."
"A lot could be done in eight minutes." Bruce muses, but he chuckles, full of mirth at her daring. "If I didn't know better, I swear that sounds less like an interview and more like a date." he responds with a lift of a brow as he laughs. "Apparently you haven't read everything your boss has written about me in the press." The part about a woman in every city, or a different woman on his arm every night. Though that's not been seen in a while either. "But, of course, business reasons. Would he allow you to be remibursed?"
"If not, especially if I'm allowing you to pick the venue, I must insist that I handle the tab - I am not an inexpensive interview." he responds with levity as he laces his fingers back around his knee. "But I promise I will let you ask what you want. And I'll answer it as much as I can for you. Not that I have that many secrets. After all, who doesn't know of the deeds and dates of Bruce Wayne?"
Then he considers. "However. As part of this, I ask that you allow me to rebutt.. this." he gestures towards the phone with a dismissive wave. "I have no problems with the mudslinging that comes in my direction in my life. That is part of what comes from being who I am. However, articles like this discredit the parents - who are no longer around to dismiss these claims - and insult what these extraoridnary children have done in their lives."
"You said it, I didn't, Bruce." She teases, finishing off her drink and setting the cup away, leaning back to cross her legs smoothly, one over the other. "Would it be horrible if I said I only read select articles we publish?" Whatever was said, regardless of who, doesn't seem to phase the bright-eyed woman. "He would, but it would be amazing if he didn't have to pay for anything at all. I'll have to accept that part of the agreement, Bruce."
"Bruce, I actually know little about you. I know good things. I've read about your past, so we don't have to worry about bringing that up. I'd rather focus on the person, you, as you are now, and your plans for the future. If so much has already been written about you, I don't want a rehash of someone else's press."
Eyeing the article, she nods. "I can talk with Jonah about this. I didn't write it, and I don't agree with it, but sometimes it's about what sells. Prints dying out, Bruce. It's not like it use to be." Eyeing her watch, she looks his way. "Eight." She then says. "How does eight sound?"
Tipping his cup towards Betty in response to her toast - and in agreement with her acceptance, Bruce chuckles. "Then that would be a first? A 'where are they now' type of thing?" he gives her a warm smile at that, though he's considering her timeline, and the presented to him. He'll have to get someone to fill in on the first part of his patrol. But that's something that he could cover.
"Eight it is, then." Taking his phone, he swipes away the article to input the information for meeting with her. And then he swipes a bit more, and then pushes an alert to Betty's phone. It shows up on her screen with his contact information. "Should talk to him about the unsecured wi-fi in this building." he points out with a grin as he takes one more sip from his mug, then frowns as he hears the doors open, and the hush over the floor is for a different reason.
"They ran out of pastrami! Who runs out of pastrami?! It's criminal! It's un-American! A Ruben should be everyone's right!" comes the call of the editor as Jameson storms down the aisle of the cubicle farm and towards his office, before he notices Bruce sitting with Betty. "Betty! Why didn't you call me to tell me I had company?! I should be told about these things immediately!" Then he changes his demeanor to greet Bruce. "Come in to my office, we'll have a talk.. Brant! Get Mr. Wayne a real coffee!" he barks as Bruce rises smoothly from his seat.
"I guess we'll talk later, Ms. Brant?" he asks, saving her scoop so that she doesn't exactly have to tell Jameson about it yet. Offering a finger-wave to Betty, Bruce slips into Jameson's office for 'Words with Frenemies'.