Charitable Getting: Draft 2, Chapter 5

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

CHAPTER FIVE

On Friday, Cee arrived to the sound of crashing from the kitchen.

Ian, normally to be found imperturbably brewing the coffee, was standing at the kitchen sink looking frustrated and swearing under his breath. He was wearing his favorite "It's Friday and nobody will notice I'm not in dress code" outfit -- khakis, boots, and a white Oxford shirt. The shirt had the left sleeve rolled up almost to the shoulder, where it had been neatly pressed into Ian's usual crisp creases. On his left arm, where the sleeve ought to be, was a fiberglass cast extending from just above the elbow to just short of the knuckles, bending the arm at a permanent ninety-degree angle.

"I can't wash the coffee pots with one hand," he announced when he saw her.

"I thought you washed them last night. What happened to you?" she asked.

"Ninjas," Ian retorted. "And I did wash the pots last night, but then everyone worked late and made more coffee."

"You broke your arm falling over when you were moving the sofa, huh?" Cee asked, trying to hide her amusement.

"Wrist, in three places. I got it looked at when it swelled up and wouldn't stop hurting," Ian admitted. "They said I needed to immobilize the whole arm because of my thumb. Which is stupid."

"Well, I'm sure they know what they're doing," she said, her voice grave.

"And now I can't rinse the coffee pots," Ian continued wrathfully. "People want coffee!"

"Sarah wants coffee," Cee corrected.

"Sarah has to read contracts all day. She needs coffee," Ian said. He put the coffee pot in the sink, filled it with water, and tried to swab the sponge around in it, one-handed. It spun around the sponge. He gave up, rinsed it out, and poured fresh water in. Cee watched in amusement as he filled the machine, clumsily fixed the lid on the carafe, shoved it under the percolator, and flipped the switch on.

"If people want clean coffee pots they are going to have to wash them themselves," he said. "It's not hard."

"I'll send out a memo," Cee said, because disagreeing seemed perilous at best. "Can you type?"

"Mostly," Ian replied. "I didn't notice I always hit the spacebar with my left thumb."

"You don't alternate?"

"Nope, and I bet you don't either. Check next time you're at your desk and you can spend ten minutes staring at your hands in puzzlement like I did," Ian replied. "So how did damage control go?"

"Everything's waiting on Sparks' signature," she said. Ian took a can of soda out of the fridge and then looked at it sadly. Cee took mercy on him and popped it open.

"I smell coffee," Sarah announced, appearing in the doorway. "Mother of God, Ian, what did you do?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Ian sulked. "Were you here very late?"

"Just long enough to get in an email fight with our lawyer, then save his ass when everything fell apart," Sarah replied. "Did you see Non posted about it?" she asked Cee, who shook her head. "It's reasonably funny. Hey, Ian, can I sign your badge of shame?"

"I don't think dress code allows that." Ian tucked his arm against his stomach protectively. "I saw the updates to the website, all the new stuff looks good."

"It should," Cee said. "John and Roxy were up for hours getting it written and coded."

"You can't make me feel guilty!" came a voice from the Creative pod across from the kitchen. Anna's head appeared over the edge of her cubicle, brown eyes narrow and suspicious.

"Whereas some of us were up late with Mr. Union Arms?" Cee guessed. Anna's eyes shifted back and forth.

"He's double-jointed," she whispered loudly, and disappeared again.

Cee contemplated the fact that most people probably didn't work in an office where they covered ninjas, webinars, and advanced sexual positions before nine in the morning. She was considering the wisdom of observing this aloud when there was a noise from the elevator lobby -- a voice, which sounded like it might be singing.

"...knooooows, anything goes," drifted out from the reception area, as the door from the elevator lobby opened. Everyone exchanged glances.

"Good authors too who once knew better words
Now only use four letter words, writing prose
Anything goes..."

"Himself is here," Cee announced, and regretfully left the administrative coffee klatch to go see if Sparks needed anything. He greeted her in the lobby with jazz hands.

"When charities who should know better
Are posting sockpuppet letters on sites that blow
Anything goes!"

"Do the sites blow, or the letters?" she asked, following him into his office.

"From what I read? Both," he said, seating himself. "Did you see Non mention it? I'm glad we're on top of this. How the hell does he get his intel so fast?"

"I don't know," Cee said. "He's got a good grapevine, I guess."

"Must be it," Sparks mused, then shook himself back to reality as Cee presented him with a pile of paperwork. "Okay. I'm signing things. Which one of these is my very sincere open letter to our clients?"

"Top sheet," Cee said. "Underneath is a statement from legal affirming and avowing that we don't practice sockpuppetry."

"We should do a flash animation for the website," he suggested, signing with a flourish. "Sockpuppet theatre. Some kind of weekly thing."

Cee was certain that, wherever Roxy was, she'd just felt an all-body twitch. Zoe was probably having spasms at the thought of designing it all. "That might send the wrong message."

"Really?" Sparks was crestfallen.

"I think so. Irreverence, you know," she said.

"Hm. You're full of good opinions!" Sparks told her. "No flash animation. Can you send Erin -- " he stopped and glanced up as John knocked on the open door, leaning through, still in his coat. Cee loved the coat on him. The tendency to raggedy t-shirts and frayed jeans not so much, but she couldn't expect everyone to look as professional as she did, especially in Creative.

"Can I steal Cee for a minute?" John asked.

"Is the copier broken again?" Sparks said, looking annoyed.

"It's the toner conversion packet. Cee's the only one who knows how to fix it," John said. He eyed Sparks carefully. John was always worried Sparks would catch on; Cee, who spent most of her daylight hours with her boss, was not so concerned.

"Oh, the toner conversion packet," Cee said vaguely. "You have to lock the door when you're doing that. People can't burst in, it's very delicate."

"Can't Ian do that?" Sparks demanded. "Ian!"

"Yes boss!" Ian called, coming down the hallway with a mug of coffee in his good hand.

"Can you fix the toner conversion packet?" Sparks asked."I'm using Cee right now and John wants her."

Cee blushed a little, but only John noticed; Sparks was reshuffling papers, and Ian was leaning past her through the door to pass Sparks his coffee.

"Uh, I don't know how, and also..." Ian held up his other arm and waggled his fingers in the cast.

"Why do you have a cast on?" Sparks demanded.

"I'm going to go take care of the packet," Cee said hastily, sensing an opportunity for an exit.

"Because I broke my wrist," Ian explained, as Cee followed John down the hall.

"Well, what did you do that for?" Sparks's voice faded away, because John had shut the door and locked it.

***

Vicky was worried.

Not that this was unusual. She'd lived in a perpetual state of nervous excitement since taking the internship at SparkVISION. Sparks and his ebullience were at least partly to blame -- he tended to startle her, especially when he was suddenly Interested In What She Was Doing. She knew he liked to show an interest in the progress of his company's interns, but it was difficult to do something while your boss was showing an interest in it, and Vicky harbored Ambitions.

She hoped, for example, that one day someone would pay her for working there. She aspired to learn the secret language of fundraising and the effortless confidence that would allow her, too, to ask total strangers for enormous sums of money. She dreamed of a day she would never have to staple things.

Sparks had decreed that everyone should bring warm clothes and be on time to work on Friday, and he would take them all up Michigan Avenue to do their Secret Definitely-Not-Santa shopping. Vicky was worried about the logistics of how everyone would get to wherever they were going, not to mention whether they could really afford to take a day off during the busy giving season and with a not-for-profit internet scandal barely hours old. The local charities they served tended to panic and call them with obscure and bizarre questions at the best of times, at least according to Ian, who'd given her a list of where to transfer people if they had questions that were utterly out of the blue.

"Who's staying here?" she asked nervously, as Ian searched the desk for his mittens. Well, mitten, really.

"If all else fails, I can," he said serenely.

"But then when do you get to go shopping?"

"Oh, I've been already," Ian replied. "The benefit of being the only person actually able to leave at quitting time every day. Who'd you get in the draw?"

"I got Cee," Vicky said in a hushed whisper. "You?"

"Can't tell," Ian replied smugly. "What are you going to get her?"

This was an angle she hadn't considered, and a whole new wave of anxiety washed over her. "I don't know! What does she want?"

"Breathe," Ian advised. "That's why we go shopping in a group, so you can visibly admire something you like and your Secret Not Santa will notice."

"Ohhh."

"IAN!" Sarah yelled down the hallway.

"YES MA'AM?"

"ARE YOU STAYING?"

"Ian always stays," Sparks said, emerging from his office. Vicky moved swiftly behind Ian. "Don't we have interns for things like this? Ian needs to come. He's suffered enough."

"I don't mind," Ian protested, at the same time Sarah arrived in the lobby, pulling on a pair of black kidskin gloves and adjusting the faux-sable collar of her coat.

"We can't let the interns run the place. Besides, Friday's their day off," Sarah said.

"Vicky's here," Sparks pointed out.

"She needs to go shopping," Sarah said firmly, quelling Vicky's frantic look with a slight shake of her head.

"Well, I'll stay. I hate shopping," John put in, arriving from the Creative pod.

"I can stay to answer phones," Cee volunteered.

Sparks shrugged. "If you want to miss out on steamed buns for lunch, go ahead. But," he added sternly, "both of you have to announce what you want so your Not Santas know what to get you."

Vicky searched her pockets for a pen, trying to be subtle. If she hadn't known to look for Cee's reaction, she might have missed the split-second exchange of hopeful glances between Cee and John.

"I like...chocolate and earrings," Cee said hesitantly. "And things…that…smell good."

"Me too," John said. Vicky caught Sarah giving him an amused grin. "The chocolate, I mean. And not earrings or the things that smell good. Well. Sort of, but that's -- weird for the holidays, yeah? So. Chocolate and...t-shirts. I like t-shirts."

Vicky was about to write CHOCOLATE - ERRNGS - SMELLY on her hand, but there was an apocalyptic crash behind her and she almost jumped out of her skin. Sparks was ringing the gong vigorously, calling all latecomers out to the lobby.

"Okay, Cee and John stay here, Ian and Vicky both get to come," Sparks announced.

Vicky heard a newly-arrived Roxy mumble "So do Cee and John," and had to stifle a laugh.

"Any other business before we go?" Sparks asked, as Anna ran down the hall, arms half-in her coat, gloves clenched in her teeth.

"Can someone help me put my hat on?" Ian said plaintively, holding up a knit cap with a bobble on top. "I can't reach my head with my left hand."

"How do you do it to go to work in the morning?" Erin asked, as Vicky pulled it tightly over his head, hoping she wasn't putting his hair into too much disarray.

"Mrrmdst," Ian muttered, hurrying to open the door to the elevator lobby.

"What?" Sparks asked, passing through.

"Myrrmtdosit," Ian said, no louder and not much clearer.

"SPEAK UP," Zoe yelled. Anna tugged on his bobble and he ducked away. "Anna, stop that. IAN, WE CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER YOUR HAT."

"My roommate does it, okay?" Ian retorted. "When I leave for the train in the morning he puts my hat on for me. Usually by the time I go home it's a little warmer and I don't need it."

"That's adorable," Naomi told him, holding the elevator for the others as they filed inside. Vicky ended up squeezed between Erin and Sparks, trying to make herself take up less space through sheer force of will.

"So, first we're going to the big place with the Lego store, then to the mall with the steamed buns, then to the chocolate store across from it, then if there's time we'll come back to the office and do some work," Sparks decided, as the elevator began to descend. "Roxy, what's my status like for the Monday webinar?"

"Uh...do you have your slides?" Roxy said. Vicky held her breath. She'd been sending him clip art every time he asked for it, but some of the requests had been...peculiar.

"Almost!" Sparks said cheerily. "I just have to put in some fancy fade-ins."

"I got Cee in the Secret Not Santas," Vicky heard someone say, and was horrified to find it was her. "I don't know what to get her," the voice, still hers, added desperately. "She says she likes chocolate."

"The boutique place in the mall has chocolate-bacon bars," Naomi suggested, as they piled out of the elevator. Sparks waved cheerfully to the security guard at the front desk as they left the building. They were immediately attacked by the biting wind of mid-December Chicago. Everyone hunched a little deeper into their coats, and Anna swore.

"Also I don't know what to put on the card," Vicky continued, deciding that if her original complaint hadn't earned her a thunderbolt from heaven, perhaps she could bring up this delicate issue as well. "I mean, do I just address it 'to Cee'? That's not her real name, right?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Celia," Naomi said.

"No, she's Clarissa. Isn't she?" Zoe asked.

"She's just the letter C in my phone," Sparks said, flipping it open to check.

"Clarissa sounds -- almost right." Ian considered it. "Corinna, maybe?"

"Just address it to C," Sparks advised, hurrying forward to the front so he could properly lead the way down the street to the mall. "And say it's from V! Problem solved."

"I'm not sure if this Connie in my contacts is her or my aunt Connie," Zoe admitted, checking her own phone.

"HR will know," Sarah said.

"Gah, HR," Ian replied. "You call. They hate me, and they don't know who Vicky is."

"They're outsourced. I'll show you how to call them," Sarah told Vicky. Perhaps just a little too sweetly.

"This isn't going to involve more yelling, is it?" Vicky asked cautiously.

"Not at you," Sarah assured her. "If you haven't cracked by now, there's no point wasting further energy on trying."

"LEGO STORE," Sparks yelled from the front, and they fell to sorting out who went through the revolving door first, removing hats and gloves and scarves, stamping boots and unzipping coats. By the time Vicky had shed her winter accessories, Sparks was in the Lego store, eagerly building something at one of the play-tables with a random pair of small children.

"Every time I decide I need some perspective, I look at Sparks and remind myself: that's the man who employs me," Roxy said, contemplating the sight.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Vicky asked hesitantly.

"Sometimes both," Roxy sighed. "Okay, I need to buy John a t-shirt. And some earrings, as a joke. I'll be in Hot Topic if anyone needs me, weeping for our culture."

***

"I have an event almost every night next week," Erin said to Naomi, holding up a red sweater for size. Naomi, scouring the accessories for something shiny and pretty for Vicky, made a hmph! of agreement.

"We're all attending the Nations In Need event. I should get a new dress," Naomi said.

"What I mean is, I really don't have the spare time today to go shopping," Erin continued.

"But?" Naomi prompted.

"But this is a great sale," Erin sighed. Naomi patted her arm consolingly. "Sparks is impossible to shop for anyway, so I might as well find something sexy and fashionable to wear while I hand out free SparkVISION branded handwarmers and pens and make nice with everyone."

"You could get him a new gong hammer," Naomi suggested, and saw Erin cringe. "Or an air horn!"

"Don't even suggest that!" Erin hissed. "He might hear you!"

"Well, I think the gong adds class to the office," Naomi said. "There you go, get Sparks a feng-shui consultation."

"I think we put a ten-dollar limit on presents," Erin replied. "Ten dollars' worth of feng shui is pointless. Yet one more reason to shop for sweaters instead. There is no price cap on a nice sweater."

"So fake one up. I bet Sarah knows feng shui, she's into that kind of thing. Also, not sweaters, not for the events anyway. They're so passé," Naomi said. "Sweaters went out months ago."

"Sweaters can't be out. It's twenty degrees outside! What are we supposed to wear to keep our limbs from freezing off?"

Naomi beamed. "I thought you'd never ask."

Erin gave her a panicked look, but Naomi draped an arm over her shoulders, gently, firmly.

"You have a lovely little black dress," she said, guiding Erin past the winter-wear and into the dresses. "And we all know you have to have the little black dress for events. You even accessorize well. But I have...an idea."

"I'm afraid," Erin said.

"Don't be afraid. My idea is this: color," Naomi said, taking an elegant turquoise dress with a long drape off the rack. "Now, you pair this with a wrap -- one that's just slightly off-shade, darker, or even a long black wrap...see, you still look like someone the donors and clients want to be seen with, and you stand out from the crowd."

"I like the crowd!" Erin replied.

"And some costume jewelry, maybe something in your hair...very couture," Naomi said approvingly. "Grey shoes and some pearls...lovely."

"How do you know all this?" Erin asked. She looked confused, as if the possibility of wearing color to a charitable event was beyond the pale.

"You don't think I'm doing the budget all day back there, do you?" Naomi laughed. "There's so much fashion and so little time."

"So little time for what?" Sparks asked, appearing as if from nowhere. Perhaps, Naomi thought, he'd been hiding behind the lingerie. She had a theory that Sparks was not nearly as insane as he seemed, and that most of his more...intense moments were well-planned ahead of time.

Sometimes, admittedly, she felt she might be overestimating him.

"Fashion," she replied, holding the dress up against Erin. "What do you think?"

"What's wrong with your black dress?" Sparks asked. "I like that one."

"I have six," Erin replied.

"Really?" Sparks opened his mouth to say something else, probably they all look alike, and Naomi saw the wheels grind to a halt before he could actually say it. She smiled approvingly at him.

"I want you to think United Colors of Benetton," she said to him, still holding the dress against Erin. "Think fierce, bold logo designs."

Erin was glaring at her, probably well-aware that Naomi was giving their boss ideas. Naomi sometimes enjoyed giving Sparks ideas; she rarely had to suffer the consequences when he pulled one off, unless there was a mad scramble for budget reallocation. Sparks looked entranced by the thought of a party full of bold logos.

"By the way," Naomi asked, "what do you think of feng shui?"

"I love rearranging furniture!" Sparks declared. "Come on. Erin, buy that and help me find everyone. It's time to go to the buns place!"

***

Tanya Montray leaned back in her desk chair and rubbed her eyes.

The presses didn't sleep or take weekend breaks, and neither did the internet; Weekly City's new edition went out every Wednesday, but Tanya had been put on the web content team as well, and her columns went up on Monday and Saturday in addition to her normal work for the print edition. She dreamed of someday sleeping in on a weekend.

Mike, a sports columnist and a fellow inmate of the Web Content team, looked up from his desk next to hers.

"Writer's block?" he asked.

"Road rage," she replied, then considered it. "No, news rage. Maybe just rage."

"What happened?" He threw a wad of paper across the gap between their desks, but he also gave her a sympathetic look. She leaned forward and tilted the monitor around so he could see it.

"Bloggers," he snorted.

"That's the second time this guy's stolen my story," she said. "I was working on a piece about The Home Fund for tomorrow's column. He liveblogged that charity event, too, the one I was going to use for a feature on declining giving during recessions."

"So?"

"So normally I wouldn't care, but he has a readership that's almost a quarter of our print circulation. He doesn't have to verify anything he says, he doesn't even have to pretend to be objective, and he doesn't have to get anyone's approval before he just throws something out there. Plus, he's always taking shots at us." She tapped her fingers on the desk in frustration. "Blogging is just blogging, it's not journalism. These people, you know, they want all the respect a journalist gets without any of the training."

"You don't know that," Mike pointed out. "He might be a journalist."

"You can't be a blogger and be a journalist," she declared. "You can be a blogger with a journalism degree, or a journalist who blogs, but blogging doesn't confer that prestige."

"Isn't blogging kind of what Web Content means?"

"I write columns," she said. "There's a difference. I research my stories, I have editors holding me accountable. I represent something -- "

"Hey, easy," Mike held up his hands defensively. "I just give the baseball scores, I'm not looking to debate identity or something."

"Sorry," she sighed. "I told you. News rage."

"Well, is his story solid?"

She looked at it, rubbed her eyes again, and nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. If you can call it a story. It's more op-ed."

"Look, it's a niche blog," he told her. "Not everyone's going to read it. You can still do a good, solid column on it."

"I hate not being first."

"And that's why you work for the Weekly City while he's just a blogger," he said. Tanya scowled. "Let it go, Montray."

"Yeah, whatever," she replied. Mike made a face. "Really, Mike, it bothers me. It gnaws at me."

"Oh nooo, not that," Mike drawled. "He might really be a trained journalist, you know. A blogger with a journalism degree."

"I think he'd be more careful with his commas. I don't think he's even a trained writer," she replied, tapping out the first few lines of the story almost on autopilot. "Just some guy writing to the internet in his boxer shorts."

"Well, expose him then," Mike said, apparently unwilling to continue the debate. "We've been after him for like a year, right? If you actually get the dirt, you'll make your name around here."

Tanya grumbled a reply, and Mike rolled his eyes and left her to her thoughts. She tried to focus on the article, but the fact that it had essentially already been written and published, and by someone who had more freedom to speak than she did, kept interfering. She knew the rule of law on the internet; outing someone was verboten, but at the same time it could have its uses. If the mods of PoliScreen could out Bertram Connors for sockpuppetry, shouldn't someone be looking into why Non Prophet was such an acclaimed expert?

He probably worked for one of the companies in the area. That was a conflict of interest. And what were his qualifications? What was his education? Didn't people deserve to know who he was? Her editors thought so.

He was, after all, just a person. He worked in the charitable sector, lived in Chicago, and had been present at the SparkVISION dinner, or else he was very good at lying about it. That narrowed the field. Bo Sparks wasn't likely to provide her with a guest list, but they did have a client list on their website...

Chapter Six

Comments

[kallaneboi.livejournal.com]

Coding glitch here:
“"You can't make me feel guilty!" came a voice from the Creative pod across from the kitchen. 
Anna's head appeared over the edge of her cubicle, brown eyes narrow and suspicious.“

It's either a random line break or a missed double space between paragraphs.

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that's a line break, probably wasn't visible in the doc file. Thanks! I've fixed it. :)

[revieloutionne.livejournal.com]

Oooooh, Tanya's more human! I like. Still not really tipped over into likable, which is also good, but more human nonetheless.

Nice to see R's cameo here remains. (Between the tote bag in Nameless and R here, I feel like your next novel should get the Irish Super.)

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

LOL, Irish Super would make an awesome character for a book!

[aramina.livejournal.com]

I'm slightly confused by the timeline here, the astroturfing happened Thursday Night, the Non blog is dated Friday, but happens before this chapter starts and this one starts Friday morning, so did the blog just happen reaallly late Thursday night/Friday morning? I kinda wish there was a time stamp on the blog post.

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

The blog was very very early Friday morning -- I really should go through and timestamp them. Either way I'll try to make that more clear.

[jonaht.livejournal.com]

"Look, it's a niche blog," he told her.

Is that niche or nice?

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

Niche -- in this sense, the term "niche blog" refers to a blog that appeals to a very specific audience (foodie blogs, for example, are considered somewhat niche; so is mommy blogging).

[eponymousanon.livejournal.com]

I have to say, "Anything Goes" has firmly cemented John Barrowman in my head as being cast in the role of Bo Sparks so I hope that was your intention :D

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

LOL! I didn't write it with him in mind but the casting is, I have to say, spot on.

[keeperofqkeys.livejournal.com]

Oh, poor Ian, I feel your pain with being stuck doing everything one-handed. And I know exactly what he means about the hitting the space bar thing! Except I always hit it with my right thumb, so when my right arm was splinted from shoulder to wrist.... Yeah.... And while I don't wear hats, I didn't have a roommate to put my hair up for me, so it all got chopped off.

I love that there are so many parts of this story that make me laugh, and that it just feels like something that could really happen, and it incorporates a lot of things that happen in the new world of the internet.

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

Yeah, Ian was written from experience, back when I broke my arm two years ago :D I had to have my roommate put my hat on for me in the morning.

[keeperofqkeys.livejournal.com]

I gathered you were writing from experience ;-). We all know how frequently and creatively you injure yourself and all. As you said while almost-passing-out the other day, makes for good writing!

[bad-angle.livejournal.com]

I think that the flash animation sockpuppet theatre was brought up a few chapters ago. Like, Cee told Roxy that Sparks wanted to talk to her about flash animation, but Roxy was busy helping Erin with the webinar. And Cee was sort of relieved because if they distract him enough times, he'll forget about it entirely.

Now, in this chapter, Sparks brings up sockpuppet theatre for what seems like the first time, judging by Cee's reaction. I might be wrong of course, but it seems like an artefact from the great rewrite.

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

You are absolutely correct, and it is indeed an artefact from the rewrite :D There are a few of those, apparently. Well-caught! I'll fix that.

[tree00faery.livejournal.com]

I still think Cee's "You have to lock the door when you're doing that. People can't burst in, it's very delicate" line sounds kinda awkward. I remember thinking that the first time, too. But maybe it's supposed to sound awkward? Also, I think the comma should be a semicolon.

The part where Ian says his roommate usually helps him with his hat - I don't think that makes as much sense as it probably did before, because isn't the shopping trip the day after he broke his arm? So this should be the first day he's had that problem, so Erin should ask how he did it that morning, not how he does it, etc. Or maybe I missed something?

I really like the stuff with Tanya at the end. Yay, character depth!

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

I'm fumbling a little with the door-lock line because it doesn't sound awkward to me, but how does this look?

"You have to lock the door when you're fixing that. It's very delicate, and you can't just have people bursting in."

As for the hat issue, not a huge problem; I've just made it so that now they're talking about that morning in specific :)

[tree00faery.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that's a decent fix.

Yay, hats!

[spiderine.livejournal.com]

a newly-arrived Roxy

--> *weeps*

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

*fixes sheepishly*

[trinity_clare]

Oh my god, Vicky is Hanna! I knew I'd liked the intern better in the first draft. (Totally a name preference thing -- Hanna is a much warmer and fuzzier name than Vicky; she reminded me of myself a little bit in the first draft.)

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

LOL! Sorry! :D I like Hanna too, but we already had a Sarah and an Anna...

[corbistheca.livejournal.com]

...ninjas, webinars, and advanced sexual positions before nine in the morning. is still an awesome line, but I don't think webinars actually appear in the preceding conversation anymore.

In a similar vein, "Myrrmtdosit," is one of my favorite words of all time, but since this now seems to be Ian's first day in the cast the morning hat routine can't have become routine yet, so perhaps it should change to "Myrrmtdidit," and omit the follow-up about "usually by the time I go home"?

~ c.

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

I have changed webinars to Touch Typing, and yeah, went with did-it instead of does-it for the Ian Hat conversation :) Good suggestions, thanks!

[insixeighttime.livejournal.com]

1. That was a really quick turn-around for Ian's cast, though you would definitely know that better than I. But it seems like it might merit an ER comment?y
2. I love the spacebar discussion and as I type this I am noticing that yes, I always use my right hand for spacebar. This is weird to try to switch it.
3. As much as I love the ninjas, webinars, and sexual positions line... do they still discuss webinars?
3a. YEAAAA THE SONG STAYED IN!!!
4. Why would Sparks be confused that Non saw an NYT article? That appears to be how Erin got the link, so wouldn't Non know it too?
5. Vicky heard a newly-arrived Roxy mumble "So do Cee and John," and had to stifle a laugh.
Awkward? Definitely firmly establishes that everyone knows about their relationship, but... It seems startlingly out of place?
6. I do like the earlier mention of the Lego store! Helps establish Sparks, as, well, Sparks!
7. Out of curiosity, why the name Vicky?
8. I like the little more insight into Tanya, and it flushes out her quest more. I don't like /her/ any more, but I don't know if I'm supposed to. But I do feel like I understand her a little more.

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

You'd actually be shocked at how fast a doctor will throw you in a cast, tbh. The process requires a specially trained tech but only takes about half an hour; it costs a ridiculous amount of money, but it gets done very quickly. Stupid casts! :D

I always use my left hand for the spacebar. Funnily enough, this was so ingrained that when my thumb was immobilised, instead of switching to my right thumb, I started using my right index finger to hit the spacebar.

Re your #4, it's mostly the speed with which Non reacted which surprises Sparks, but I'll look into that.

As for why Vicky...IDK, I just liked the name :) Plus they get to call her Vic, and I love it when girls have androgynous or masculine nicknames.