Rebecca stood, clearly in a state of shock. It wasn’t a good shock of processing answers before giving follow up questions. On the contrary, this was a shock of horrible revelations. Eddy did in fact find a notable and exploitable chink in the journalist’s metaphorical armor.

With her legs trembling she barely muttered out, “O-oh Rayquaza.” And so played like a damn glass flute, one of those colored kinds, Reporter Pierce fell down on her knees and palms and began sobbing. The Whismur, for whatever reason ran up in an attempt to comfort her.

“I m-must lo-oo-ook like a damn amateur hour now!” She said between tears and mucus. “I don’t mean it! I r-really don’t!” She slowly rose and wiped the unwanted substances from her face with her hand. Rebecca took a moment to regain composure.

“It’s just that, that I’ve been under a lot of stress due to the mistake of that Crybaby on top of the declining clicks to the site a-and that the studio is threatening to give my time slot to the in home Poffin Mixer ad that comes before it!” 

“I just thought, maybe, maybe if I got some real quick stories I could drive up traffic...” Rebecca breathed out as she brushed some locks of hair with her hand.

“But you’re right, I need to be on my best foot.”

She glanced between the two, “Neither of you would mind waiting until I clean up would you?”