A/n- So this is the culmination of not enough work and too much practicing over the summer waiting for the new semester. I own all characters, and events. I do not own the alluded to company.
The very young junior executive peered through the blinds before he entered the conference room, as if the young woman within it were likely to snap and become wildly dangerous at any time. She was faced away from him, staring out the window into the smoggy murk that covered much of the city.
"Are you finally going to tell me why you interrupted my rehearsal, Stephens?" she asked without turning around when he stepped through the door. "I would much rather be cajoling a bunch of kids with dangerous objects around than be here in this dump you call a city. Please just tell me what a horrible person I am and that the company is rethinking my unnecessary place in it. This isn't any more pleasant for you than it is for me, Stephens. Say what you have to, so we may both get back to our lives."
Stephens nodded nervously before realizing that she was still facing away from him. Clearing his throat, "Please, Miss," he tried to begin. "It's not that you are unnecessary at all. Quite the contrary, actually…" he trailed off as she spun around with an icily bemused expression.
"You can't possibly tell me that they intend to keep me further in their pitiful grasp? They got their use out of me long ago, and I've paid my reconcilement."
Stephens dabbed edgily at his face with a hankie, damning both the broken air conditioning and the mid-senior executive for pushing this, this female onto his plate, as if it wasn't full enough already. Why did she have to be so… dominant? Too many years hanging around with the wrong crowd; overly competitive, single-minded people that they were. No proper company for a young lady of her talents, not at all.
"Actually," he tried pleasantly, "actually, corporate wants to give you the opportunity to, er, cancel out the rest of your contract with us. You see," he went on hurriedly as she went very still and red blotches started to come out on her face, "we seem to be on a downward slump right now. Broadcastings are getting lower and lower ratings, features are being marked as repetitive, and merchandise can't be sold, even at the slashed pricings stores are forced to carry." He paused for a moment to make sure his person was not in immediate danger before continuing. "Upper Management seems to think that something has been lost in recent years…" again he trailed off. She laughed hollowly.
"Something lost?" she repeated mockingly. "They want to know what it is they have lost? Only the sincerity the company was founded on, the truth that has been so obliterated by the enslavement of pop-culture that Upper Management couldn't produce a decent storyline even if it crept up behind them and bit them—"
"Yes, yes," Stephens broke in. "That is exactly what they are saying. No proper storyline, connections to audiences alienated, all things that need to be fixed! Which is where your, um, particular area of expertise comes in." She eyed him narrowly.
"What does getting rid of their saccharine coating have to do with me being a—"
"Upper Management feels that your specific skills and experiences could be used to reconnect with target audiences and attract new viewers with a fresh outtake on life, one that won't seem so far away and, um," he hesitated.
"Fake?" she supplied pointedly. He nodded. She sighed. "What exactly is it they want me to do?" she asked. Stephens was very glad for the momentary submission.
"They want you to write a screenplay. A movie, something our audiences can relate to. As you so shrewdly pointed out, the, erm, preppy-perfect take only got so far before they all realized that life doesn't happen in quite that way. We need you to give us something real." She stared at him in disbelief.
"Stephens, they want me to write a movie? Where, when, do they think that I'm going to be able to this? Season is coming up faster than you can say paradiddle, and you want me to sit around on my rear end and write a story?" He tried to say something, but she went on, "I won't do it! Even if I did feel like writing a story around life, I would have to base it on my life, and then I would have to forfeit it to their greedy clutches. Can you imagine what all they would think they'd have to change to make it 'viewer friendly?' They would suck the soul out of it as soon as look at it, before they even read the casting list." She paused, breathing heavier than before. Stephens ran with it.
"Well, first off, you won't have to worry about your upcoming, uh, Season." The term "glaring daggers" didn't quite cover it.
"What do you mean, I won't have to worry?"
"Upper Management has come up with a viable compromise; you take a year's leave of absence to work here, and the company will forgive all of your debt. As to your rights to the story, you'll have more input than Rowling had. You should feel honored, it's very gracious of them to come up with such a win-win…" for the third time that conversation, Stephens left his sentence unfinished as he quailed slightly under her murderous glare.
"YOU ARE ASKING ME TO ABANDON MY CHILDREN FOR A WHOLE YEAR TO SOME NUMBSKULL TO MESS THEM UP WHILE I PUTTER AROUND THIS DUMP WRITING STORIES?"
He winced. He had forgotten how bloody loud she was. "Yes," he said, looking at her sadly. "I'm afraid I am. And it gets worse." He gulped, and blotted again. "You really don't have any choice in the matter, otherwise they have threatened to take it legally." She sank into the chair she had previously ignored. "Lynn. Lynn. That is the best offer I could get you." He looked at her, worried.
"How long do I have? To find someone to take over for me at the school?" She stared again out the window at the smog.
He came around the table to sit by her. "You have to be completely moved in here in three weeks. I've already sent some emails to some people; Brody, Evans, Tyson. I'm sure one of them will be willing to help you out." She laughed bitterly.
"I didn't know you even kept contacts for any of the old guys… you were so eager to get out of it, almost as eager as I was to leave here. Except…"
"Except I didn't evade contract policy." He looked down at the remains of calluses on his hands. "Lynn, I'm sorry it has to be this way." She nodded.
"Me too." A single tear trekked down her cheek. "Tom, thanks for getting me this much."
A/N- I know that the beginning does not strictly envolve marching band. It is coming, I promise. This story has the scary possiblity of turning into a novel. o.O And most of it is still in my HEAD. O.O