cottoncandypink | (no subject)

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tess mercer

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Sometimes Wilford isn't really sure why he makes some of the decisions he does. There's the obvious answer, of course, which is that there is something fundamentally wrong with him. But he's already responsible for a couple of aliens squatting on his planet. He threw a party with a whole bunch of them. He's indirectly got another one killed right outside his restaurant. He might as well just go all in and consider hiring one.

Wait, no. He's done that already too. By that logic, there's absolutely nothing wrong with hanging around the bar, waiting to open the door back to the studio. In the mean time, he's enjoying a few child-free moments outside the workplace with his first cigarette in days.

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A tall, dark haired kid walks up to him - Wilford's not hard to notice - and holds a hand out.

"Hey. I'm Conner."

He gets Wilford's attention in a hurry. He's confident. Both good signs. Wilford nods, shaking the kid's hand.

"Wilford," he says. "I hear you're looking for job."

Or having one foisted on him. Either way.

He nods.

"It's been suggested to me that it might be a good idea."

Wilford can probably appreciate Tess' subtly in it all.

"She tell you anything about it? What we do. The position?"

If not, that's fine. He'd probably wind up explaining half of it anyway.

"Just that it's a restaurant."

And he'll take what he's offered.

"There is a restaurant. There's also a production company." Wilford realises he may not have been as clear in his offer as he could have been. It's also possible he may have forgotten to mention that he also owns the production company.

"If the restaurant's more your speed, we can head down there. It's the off-season, but we're always a little short."

"A production company?"

That sounds interesting. More interesting than bussing tables.

"Like, movies and stuff?"

"TV. Weekly news magazine, some web-based programming. There's a show for cable in the works."

Much more interesting than bussing tables.

"Pretty cool. What kind of positions are open?"

He's genuinely curious now.

"We're always looking for gophers," Wilford says. "Someone to do the running around, last-minute orders and things. If you've got any special skills, we can usually find a place for it."

He snuffs out his cigarette and stands up. "You wanna go check it out?"

Edited 2019-02-05 00:13 (UTC)

"I'm faster than anyone you know."

He's fairly confident in that.

"Sure. I'd like to see it."

"I wouldn't count your chickens," Wilford says. He does know the Flash, after all.

He opens the door into his dressing room on the other side. Warm colours, vintage posters for movies Conner's probably never heard of. Toys over by the leather sofa on the far side of the room give away the occasional presence of at least one small child. A large silver bowl by the desk suggests at least one dog spends time here as well. It would not be an unreasonable assumption to say that Wilford probably spends most of his time here.

"We're the biggest weekly news program in the country," he says. "By viewership, anyway. There are outlets that spend more money on getting less done."

Indeed, as he opens the door out to the hall, what lies beyond does not give any kind of hint at being a big deal. Stained carpets, weird holes in the exposed drywall. A screaming argument happening somewhere in the distance.

"We've got about fifty people on staff. Your job will not be to make all of them happy. Actually, if you tell them to fuck off, it'll probably be good for 'em. You'll have five people you answer to. Me, Nick and Christine - producers, Mandy - the other host, and the guy fronting the cable program. And Bill, my second in command. Anyone else asks you for something, it's your call if you help them or not."

A spindly red and white dog wearing a small, wireless camera on his chest zooms over to say hello. He doesn't jump up on anybody, even if it's obvious that he reeeeeeally wants to.

Conner's pretty sure his chickens are okay.

The office looks so... lived in. It reminds him of Lois' contained chaos and nothing like how Tess operates.

He nods as Wilford explains - six people is doable - and then, suddenly, there's a dog. That gets a grin.

"Hey buddy!"

Then Wilford gets his attention again.

"That sounds cool. So, like getting coffee and extra pens, stuff like that?"

Once he's acknowledged, the dog goes nuts, spinning around and trying to be petted everywhere at once. It must be a common thing, because Wilford continues on like it's nothing.

"Extra pens, lunch, wrangling guests. Do you drive?"

"Yeah, but it's faster if I don't."

He takes a chance and crouches down, giving the pup a few good pats.

Buster goes nuts. It's not long before all four feet are in the air, and not in the correct order.

"I don't recommend that," Wilford says plainly. "Not unless you feel like registering."

Did Tess tell Conner much about this world? A crash course in that might be in order.

"Uh, registering?"

Nothing about that was mentioned. And registering doesn't sound like a good thing in any context.

"You're gonna do Cape shit, you gotta register as a Cape. Insurance bullshit or something."

He says this about as boredly as one might expect someone to be talking about insurance, rather than some sinister government roundup plot.

That's... sadly not unexpected.

"I don't wear a cape."

"I'm not paying the bill if you run over someone's cat," Wilford says. Because this is clearly the important point to be made.

"Trust me, I'm not running over anyone's anything."

He's got his speed down better than that.

"But that's fair. I'll pay anything that comes up."

Wilford nods, watching his dog act like a damn fool.

"Which brings up another point. You're not supposed to be here. Nobody's going to notice if you don't say anything. It'll probably get out around here, but people know not to talk. Morons out on the street are probably gonna fuck with you, but I've been told you can handle yourself."

He sure hopes Tess mentioned this part.

"I am the darkness. Got it."

Tess lectured him about a lot, it's hard to keep track.

"I'm guessing in handling myself I shouldn't break anything."

Like buildings.

Wilford seriously thinks about this. "Nothing bigger than like, a drive-thru," he says finally.

Is that a sane, rational thing for a human being to say?

It is in Conner's life.

"I'll try to keep it to nothing."

He has Tess' lectures to worry about, too.

Wilford nods. That's good enough for him.

"Hey, dingbat. We're walking here," he says. Buster looks up and suddenly scoots out of the way, though he doesn't seem very happy about it. With the way clear of any potential tripping hazards, Wilford continues to lead the way down the hall. He points out various recording booths, dressing rooms, and offices, before pausing in front of another closed door. "Nick's office. If the door's closed, bring it to me or Bill. You do not want to piss that woman off."

He leads Conner into the bullpen — a huge, open room cluttered with desks and noisy staff all at various degrees of productive. "You'll want to spend a lot of time in here. These folks will help you get around town, tell you what you need to do. All that stuff."

Conner follows, nodding as Wilford points things out.

"I'm good at not pissing women off."

It was a struggle to get there.

The bullpen atmosphere is somewhat familiar. He's been at the Daily Planet a few times, but it's not something he's overly used to.

"Right. Bullpen is key."

"We're not the six o'clock news here," Wilford says. "You will hear some shit that you won't want to hear. You'll see some shit that will make your blood boil. We have guests that deserve the fucking chair. If you can't handle that, you don't come to work that day. As long as you're available, I don't care what you do in your down time. If you want to go down to the beach and do a bunch of blow with some lot lizards, you just better be able to get back quickly if someone needs something."

He looks over his kingdom of chaos. It's not much, but it's his.

"You got any questions for me?"

That's going to be hard. Seeing people not get what they deserve. Exposure is all well and good, but he's the maintainer of Truth, Justice and other stuff.

"I think I'm good."

Though lot lizards? That one went over his head.

"I'll ask questions as I go, that okay?"

"You better ask questions," Wilford says.

There are few things worse than someone who fucks up because they didn't bother to ask how not to fuck up.

"You want to go sign some papers?"

Oh, he knows how to ask questions.

"Yeah, about that. I don't really have any ID I can use."

"We'll get you set up," Wilford says, leading the way back to his dressing room. "We'll get you a phone as well, since yours won't work here. You'll probably want to spend a day or two getting to know the city."

It may not be Los Angeles, but it's definitely like Los Angeles in all the important ways. Particularly the part where you can drive for two hours and still be in the city.

"That'd be great."

A couple of days in a new city sounds pretty good. Metropolis was nice and all, when Tess wasn't keeping him in a lab, and San Francisco's cool. But new places can be awesome to run around in.

Wilford takes them back to his dressing room, motioning toward the empty seat in front of his desk. He shoves the over-sized monitor whose main purpose is to act as a barrier when he doesn't want to talk to people, and pulls out some papers from a filing cabinet.

"We start at sixteen, plus mileage. You're responsible for tracking your hours. You're an adult, so nobody's going to be checking all your sheets, but it will be noticed if you're making shit up."

He thumbs through the small packet he pulls out, making sure it's the right set of forms. It looks like everything's in order, so he hands them over, along with a pen from a cup on his desk.

"Things are different here. I'm sure Tess told you that much, but you'll figure out the rest on your own pretty quickly."

"Sounds fair."

He won't be making shit up. The Kent part of his make-up won't let him. He takes the pen and the forms and starts to write.

"Right. Name."

This is going to take a moment.

"Don't steal my pen," Wilford says, probably jokingly, as he heads out the door. He leaves Conner alone for the few minutes it takes him to hunt down the studio's tech dungeon troll. Since Wilford personally handles the majority of the hiring, there's nothing at all out of the ordinary about him coming in to pick up a fresh ID card and a phone. They've always got extra phones and SIM cards on hand, and it's quick work for the tech troll to get everything set up for him.

When he comes back, it's with an RFID card and a phone. It's not exactly the most recent iPhone, only because it's a couple versions behind. But as long as it can text, call, and load a few key apps, it's good enough.

"This gets you in the building," he says, putting the card down on the desk. "You lose it, you're fired. No warnings."

He puts the phone down as well. That probably doesn't need an explanation, unless Tess keeps the kid locked in a box.

The forms filled out to the best of his ability, Conner smiles up at Wilford when he returns. He listens carefully and puts the badge in his jacket pocket.

"I won't lose it."

The phone he knows. Of course he has one at home, because how else is Tess going to keep track of him?

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