"How many years do you have of experience?" I want to be a writer screamed the young man internally as a crisp looking woman smiled sharply cross her table at him. The woman made feeble attempts to hit on him while remaining staunch professional airs. The screams of telephones and typewriters haunted the air, floating like a ghastly melody that only teased him. Madara wasn't new to writing, nor was he fresh out of college with hopes and aspirations that only shot people down. When he told his father that he wanted to be a journalist the old war veteran of world war two scoffed at him.
Madara was flung in to the marines at the tender age of eighteen by his loving father; after all writing was for pussies. Or so said the grizzly old man who sat in front of the boob tube drinking a beer and watching a baseball game or two. He didn't regret the decision or hate his father for it, after all almost everyone in the family was a cop or a banker. His baby brother became the banker, somehow. Lucky bitch.
"I have four years college experience, school paper and outstanding military service." He fluidly replied. The woman with severe cheek bones and cheap makeup look surprised. What? Was it bad to be young and already a 'veteran'?. His hands were tucked in to his lap politely, though thoughts of strangling the editor ran through his mind. Lucky her. Little did the military boy knew he would meet his future wife in that possibly asbestos ridden building.
"Sorry to say but we are not looking for writers. We will keep you on the lists." It was a fast reply for an hour of sitting in that dingy office. Madara thought she was just stalling so she could oogle.
"Thank you for your time then." Thick words hummed, they felt like they were congealing in the back of his throat. Rising up and shaking her hand before briskly flying through the room of reporters and etc to the elevator. Girls, coffee runners and the like sighed and swooned like they always did for any member of his family. Their Italian genetics must have been fucking wonderful to turn out handsome men that degenerate in to slouchy assholes.
Once in the elevator a string of curses flew out from his chapped lips, not even noticing a small oddly pink haired girl in the corner. That was until he noticed and felt embarrassed enough to flush red in the face.
"Hard day?" She asked. She was cute though not a show stopper like most men that he knew liked it. "Yes" those words came out so gruffly before shoving a button with the garage floor number partially printed on it. Nothing really went on between them after that, Madara was glad. The wheels screeched and horrible music played. There was nothing really more to it before a jolt and lights flashing on and off signaled they had stopped and not intentionally.
Scratchily over a half broken intercom a robotic voice spoke 'do not worry the elevator has had a malfunction we will repair it in three hours.'
When he looked over at the woman, she didn't look afraid or use the opportunity of them being stuck to cling to him. Instead her bottle green eyes were staring at her wrist watch and lips upturned in an annoyed scowl. "This place is such a piece of shit." He blinked once or twice; usually the people who worked for this newspaper were so proud and reverent of the building and the link that he had to ask. "do you work here?" She stared at him before bursting out in to laughter. "no. I am the lawyer that is bringing this place out of business for their dirty business." It was surreal, so that was the reason why he wasn't hired or why people looked frantic or homeless behind their computers and the like. Madara felt like he should be pissed off at the girl since her actions led him to not having a job he ultimately desired.
But she went on it was almost as if she had a personal grudge against the entire thing. "That editor is the most banal woman I have ever met, couldn't even write her way out of a paper bag." Mentally he agreed with the last sentence flying from her lips. When he did read a few articles that this woman wrote, they were all dry and over done topics.
He observed that she lived well from those expensive pumps on her pedicured feet. Or how her jewelry was obviously real and her almost skin tight pencil skirt and black button up were all custom. Everything complimented her, and that was an understatement. Madara internally groaned and wished that this woman though high powered and crazy successful wasn't pretty. After all he could say things despite his military training that would be completely regretful and shaming to the Uchiha name.
"So we are in for a long haul here, might as well introduce ourselves to pass the time."