A/N: toby isn't even on the character list? i dedicate this mess to my daddy, alex hirsch. sorr.
The former dancer was going to be late. He'd spent half the morning trying to find his long lost press ticket before finally giving up and sticking the old napkin with "HAT" scribbled on it back into his cap.
He'd also been unable to find a pen (or his reporter's notebook), so he'd rummaged out back for some scraps of cardboard and a twig. Looks like he'd have to write his notes in spit-mud. Again.
One look at the run-down newsroom left the viewer in despair. The antiquated printing press was always days away from breaking down, but as Gravity Falls' sole Gossiper employee, he couldn't really afford to build a website, or even update to computers at all. His office was a pigsty, empty bottles littering the desk and months-old fast food wrappers covering the floor. Without the Society of the Blind-Eye, he'd taken to more traditional methods of memory repression.
The sole sign of anything resembling joy came from the framed photograph on the desk. Sure, it was basically a restraining order, but at least Shandra had taken the time to write him a note instead of just another impersonal autograph. Part of the reason he wanted her so much was her success—how does one climb back up from rock bottom?
He hadn't had a breakthrough in weeks. Toby thought back to his last article, about the supernatural happenings that had been revealed to the town and the young boy who'd taken up the mantle of protector of their fair town.
"PINES PROCLAIMED PARANORMAL PHENOMENA PARAGON"
The journalist had been delighted with himself... until he realized "phenomena" didn't really fit in with his clever, alliterative headline. Then he'd sunk into a depression for weeks, sulking in front of his typewriter (which may or may not have been two bricks stacked on top of each other with a piece of paper wedged in between), and hadn't even printed the story until last night.
His hat drifted to the ground, and Toby blinked. He hadn't even realized he'd slammed his fist into his desk until he'd knocked its contents to the floor.
After glaring contemptuously at the offender, Toby picked up his fedora and placed it gently on his balding head, then looked at his reflection and sighed heavily.
"You can do this, Toby. You've still got the moves. You still got the juice... Make it happen." He donned his glasses, fixed his tie, and shuffle footed his way out the door.
A/N: (not sorr)