Quistis pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and organized the papers in front of her, trying to avoid Seifer's expanding presence. A big man, with an ego to match, Seifer had immediately claimed the anchor desk as his territory when he arrived six months ago. He fanned his notes and script out before him, spread his arms and shoulders wide, and forced Quistis farther from the center with every broadcast, until she was sitting nearly hip-to-hip with the weatherwoman.
His lips curled in a perpetual sneer, and he spoke in the same loud, aggressive manner no matter the story he was reporting. A car accident, a bank robbery, a dog that found its way home three years after being lost – he delivered all of them the same way. Quistis sometimes wondered whether he even registered the words that came across the teleprompter. He might be literate, but he definitely seemed to struggle with comprehension.
After her last co-anchor had quit to start an event-planning business, Quistis had staffed the news desk by herself during the evening and late broadcasts. It was hectic, but she enjoyed the challenge, and she'd be lying if she claimed that the responsibility hadn't gone to her head a little bit. She liked being a source of information, a familiar face that absolute strangers could trust. She'd been disappointed when she heard Cid had hired a new anchor, and utterly dismayed when Seifer swaggered in on his first day, brushing past the crew and immediately starting a war of words with the sportscaster.
"That's what authority looks like," Cid said when Quistis had voiced her concerns over Seifer's behavior. "Strong. Confident. Trustworthy. You've done well enough on your own, Quistis, but a news desk needs a leader, and you simply lack the necessary skills."
"Perhaps in your estimation, Mr. Kramer," Quistis responded, "but I have staffed the desk here at BalambNine for almost five years. I know the station. I know the community. I know what I'm doing."
"Seifer is no greenhorn, either. He worked at DC15 in Deling City for two years before they let him go. I can't imagine why they'd do that."
"No, I can't imagine why, either," Quistis murmured, watching Seifer steal the sportscaster's notes and hold them above his head.
"Well, DC15's loss is our gain. I want you to be nice to him, Quistis. Work together. The fate of this station is in your hands!"
Quistis frowned. She'd had a mind to quit right then and there, to turn in her credentials like Wimbly had, and chase down another, more rewarding career. But this is what she'd trained for, what she'd wanted to be since, as a child, she'd watched Remiva Hardlaw cover the Galbadian war protests. Quistis had been too young to understand the story, but she understood very well what she saw in Remiva: here was a competent woman, a confident woman, one who exuded authority and intelligence and pulled back the curtain on the truth. The kind of woman Quistis hoped to become.
Reporting on the fishing trade and local hotel renovations for BalambNine wasn't in quite the same vein, but Quistis saw it as a step in the right direction. At least, until she was edged out of her position – figuratively and literally – by Seifer. Now, the bulk of the stories that came her way were fluff pieces – human interest, social events – and even appealing to the news director did no good. Xu was sympathetic to her frustration, but was far more loyal to Cid.
"Don't worry about it," Xu told her. "You're still getting paid, right? It's not like any of us are destined for the international markets, anyway."
"Maybe not, but I didn't study to become a news anchor to not report the real news," Quistis said. "Why does Seifer get all the serious stories?"
"Cid's orders. He says they come off better being told by a man." Xu shrugged. "You're a pretty face, Quistis, and nobody wants to hear the ugly truth from a pretty face."
So, there Quistis sat, glancing awkwardly at the weatherwoman as she tried to keep her notes from mingling with the weather report. She heard Xu in her earpiece counting down to the start of the broadcast. She straightened her shoulders, looked into the camera, and smiled.
"Good even—" she began.
"Good evening!" Seifer boomed over her. "Welcome to the six o'clock edition of BalambNine news. I'm Seifer Almasy."
"And I'm Quistis Trepe. Our top story tonight –"
"A collision between a fishing boat and a ferry leaves dozens injured and nearly twenty cars at the bottom of Balamb Harbor. Fishermen are claiming negligence on the part of the ferry operator, who counters low visibility due to morning fog. Legal representatives of both parties will be speaking …"
Quistis set her jaw and flipped to the next story in her script. The annual Balamb Midsummer Festival.
Great.
"In lighter news," she said after Seifer finished, "thousands of revelers from Balamb and beyond have converged on the Alcauld Plains for the Balamb Midsummer Festival, which began this afternoon and runs through the weekend. Featuring over fifty food vendors, art installations, a carnival and a total of thirty musical acts, the festival has something for everyone. Our roving reporter Selphie Tilmitt is live from the festival grounds with a taste of what you can expect. How is it going out there, Selphie?"
Quistis waited for several seconds, watching Selphie on one of the monitors. She saw Selphie smile, then face the camera.
"Super-duper awesome, Quisty!" she said. "I'm here in the carnival area of the Balamb Midsummer Festival, where the fun is just starting to heat up! Earlier today, the band MogMog Moogles kicked off the festivities, and the music's been going strong ever since. And speaking of Moogles, Arathea Moogle took first place – again – in the annual bake-off over in the culinary tent. That's nine years running for her! Congrats, Ms. Moogle!
"The carnival is all lit up with rides and games and even a giant bouncy castle! Right now, I'm gonna try my hand at knocking down those cans there –" the camera panned over to show tin cans stacked in short pyramids – "to win a sweet prize. Okay. Here goes. Wish me luck!"
Selphie wound up to pitch the ball toward the cans, but the camera didn't follow. Instead, the cameraman seemed to have found another interest: a group of young women in tank tops and shorts headed toward the bouncy castle. A clattering sound came from off-screen, followed by Selphie's cheer.
"Whoo-hoo! I did it! Did you all see? Wait, Irvy, you didn't get that?"
The camera swooped back to a scowling Selphie, clutching a stuffed blue alien to her chest. "Don't tell me you missed it!" she cried. "How could you miss …"
The camera moved toward the bouncy castle again.
"Irvy, stop gawking! You're supposed to be working. Irvy, I'm warning you – Irvine!"
Blue plush flew toward the camera, which tumbled to the ground. Then, static.
"Well," Quistis said, still trying to figure out what she'd just witnessed, "the festival seems to be a very … energetic event. It continues through Sunday evening, and gates open at noon each day. Be sure to stop by Saturday for the hot dog eating contest, to cheer on our very own sportscaster, Zell Dincht! Good luck, Zell!"
Zell chuckled from his side of the desk, then exchanged sneers with Seifer.
The broadcast continued, Seifer and Quistis alternating stories and Quistis struggling to stay within the camera frame.
"… and that's the kind of fare you can expect at next week's Balamb fish cook-off," Quistis finished. "Hopefully the weather will be agreeable. To find out, we turn to our trusted weather forecaster, Rinoa Heartilly. So, Rinoa, will it be sunglasses or umbrellas for the event?"
"Sunglasses, but keep that umbrella handy," Rinoa said, smiling and standing in front of a green screen, "because a low-pressure system will be arriving in Balamb by the middle of next week. Though the strongest storms will occur Wednesday and Thursday, there's still an outside chance for showers through next weekend. But right now, let's check the current conditions." She clicked on her remote, brought up a map, and continued her forecast.
"Tomorrow, we can expect a repeat of today, a cloudy morning giving way to a sunny afternoon. But as the low-pressure system makes its way into the area, temperatures will drop and winds will pick up. Our radar forecast indicates the strongest storms along the squall line –" she giggled – "which will impact the southern part of the island. The storms will leave cooler temperatures in their wake, so you might want to pack a sweater along with your sunglasses and umbrellas." Another giggle. "Back to you, Quistis."
Quistis thanked Rinoa and segued into a commercial break. She watched Rinoa resume her seat and organize her notes.
"You still can't say his name with a straight face, can you?" she asked.
Rinoa looked up. "I can't help it that he's named after a weather term. It makes my job a lot more fun, though."
Quistis smiled and shook her head, wondering how badly Squall Leonhart was blushing in the control room right now. A technician at the station for the past four years, Squall found himself in Rinoa's metaphorical crosshairs the moment she arrived. She promptly declared him the "best-looking guy here" and made it her mission to get him to speak more than a sentence or two at a time. Over the years, he seemed to warm to her, and to relax in her presence, even cracking a smile now and then. The jury was still out, however, on whether he and Rinoa were an official item.
Quistis doubted even Squall knew the answer to that.
She heard Xu count down the end of the commercial break and readied herself for the final segment of the broadcast.
"Welcome back," Seifer said. "Hoops enthusiasts are descending on Deling City this week for the annual international basketball championships, which promises to pit some of the toughest teams against each other, even in the early rounds. For more on this story, we turn it over to Zell Dincht." Seifer's sneer morphed into a smile dripping with sugar, which Zell mimicked.
"Thank you, Seifer. Like you said, the International Basketball Association is holding its championship tournament at Deling City's Galbadia Arena. First-round action kicked off today, with a surprisingly brutal match-up between the Galbadia Bears and the Trabia Mach Chocobos." Zell recapped the tournament results, then swiftly moved on to other sports.
"And finally, this year's Tour of Dollet bicycle race will be starting on Sunday. This year's field includes numerous top cyclists, and it is difficult to predict who will come out on top after the weeklong ev –"
"Finally," Seifer said, interrupting him, "we wrap up tonight with a story of cour—"
"Hey, I wasn't done!"
"Near enough, Dincht. As I was saying, a story of –"
"Almasy! Let me finish! The weeklong event. Odds in Deling City are set at—"
"—courage and resilience. Moira Greaves has owned her flower shop –"
"—seven to one for Bertram Bickerstaff –"
Quistis looked from Seifer to Zell, eyebrows raised, listening to them talk over each other and to Xu shouting though her earpiece.
"Dammit, shut up, both of you!" Xu shouted. "I'll kick both your sorry asses. Zell, give your odds; Quistis, you take the last story."
The broadcast wrapped up and Quistis exhaled slowly, grateful to have gotten through another one. Beside her, Seifer removed his earpiece and stood up. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the rest of them.
"Another successful show," he said, "thanks to my on-air charm. It's been fun. Whaddaya say we do it again? Like, in four hours?" He laughed, then sauntered off to his dressing room.
"Oh, man," Zell groaned. "There goes Mr. Ego. Who does he think he is?"
"Cid's golden boy, apparently," Rinoa answered. "DC15 might've fired him, but I'm worried he's here to stay."
"Don't say that, Rin! I don't know how much longer I can stand him." Zell cracked his knuckles. "Someone ought to teach him a lesson …"
"A lesson that will get you both fired and arrested," Quistis said. "Don't do anything rash, Zell. He's not worth it."
"Like hell he isn't! How can you say that, especially with him shoving you out of the way?"
"Zell's right," Rinoa said. "Of all of us here, you should be the angriest."
"Believe me, I am," said Quistis, frustration and helplessness knotting in her chest. "But I don't know what to do."
"Hang in there. Balamb's a pretty quiet town, and Seifer seems to like action, so maybe he'll get bored soon and quit on his own."
"A beautiful thought." Quistis grinned.
She was on her way back to her dressing room when she heard squabbling coming from the conference room. Peeking through the window, she saw Selphie, Irvine, and Xu arguing, and the mangled remains of Irvine's high-end camera on the table.
"He uses his job as an excuse to look at girls," Selphie cried. "He can't even focus for a couple seconds."
"Oh, I focus, all right," Irvine fired back, "when there's something to focus on."
"Work! The story! This adorable and intrepid reporter!" Selphie pointed to her face. "That's what there is to focus on!"
Xu pounded the table. "I don't care who's focusing on what," she said. "I care about this camera. Do you know how much it'll set the station back to replace it? We might even need to let someone go."
"Seifer," Quistis muttered to herself, entering her dressing room and shutting out the drama for a little while.
* * *
The arguments might have differed, but the routine remained the same, broadcast after broadcast, week after week, stretching toward a full year. Quistis kept her resentment of Seifer concealed under forced courtesy, though she continued to look for a way to prove herself to the station beyond a doubt, and reclaim her place at the desk – and her share of newsworthy stories.
She found her opening late one morning, when a news alert flashed in the bottom corner of her computer screen:
Timber Declares Independence from Galbadia; Galbadia Retaliates
The headline itself came as no surprise; tensions had been simmering between Timber and Galbadia for decades. But what caught Quistis' eye as she read through the article was the halting of all transportation into and out of Timber, effective immediately.
Connected as they were by an intercontinental railway, Balamb residents frequently visited Timber, and vice versa. Families who had planned to sit down to dinner together tonight were suddenly separated, tourists and businessmen were stranded, and trade was instantly shut down.
Here was a story.
Though BalambNine had neither the access nor credentials to cover the political situation as it unfolded on the Galbadian continent, they had access to something just as important: regular individuals whose lives were upended by a historic decision. They were the faces and voices that were lost amid all the political maneuvering.
Quistis immediately called Xu.
"Of course I know," Xu snapped. "It's a madhouse here at the station, everyone trying to get info. As far as we've heard, the Timber TV station is on lockdown, but still on the air, reporting accounts that are called in. DC15 is in full war-machine mode, supporting Galbadia's actions. The only impartial source we have is Dollet, and their reporters are having a hard time getting anywhere."
"While we wait for that information to become available," Quistis said, "would you consider running a story on the situation here?"
"What situation?"
"Stranded travelers. Those from Timber who can't go home, those from Balamb who can't come back."
"Quistis, this is no time for a fluff piece."
"It isn't a fluff piece! These are the people who are truly affected by what's going on. Their stories are valuable."
"Hmm, I suppose they could provide some context to the political situation. I'll call Selphie and –"
"No, I'd like to handle this."
"You?"
"And I'd like to report it. Please, Xu. This is my job. Let me do it."
Xu sighed. Quistis could hear a flurry of shouting and movement in the background. "Fine. But this is only in lieu of real information, got it? Now, get out there!"
Quistis agreed, then grabbed a notepad, recorder, and camera and headed into the streets of Balamb. It didn't take her long to find people affected by the turn of events. One woman worried about her husband, who had gone to Timber to purchase medication, because it was cheaper there than in Balamb. An elderly couple tried to console a crying boy, whose mother was in Timber on business. A group of young people held signs in support of Timber's independence, and handed out bottles of water and prepackaged snacks to travelers from Timber, who wandered the streets in shock.
A crowd had formed at the train station, barely restrained by station staff and police officers. They clamored and surged, waiting for the last train into Balamb, hoping aloud that their loved ones had made it aboard. The hotel opened its doors to stranded Timberians, offering free rooms, and regular Balamb residents followed suit. Zell's mother was among them, and waved Quistis over when she saw her.
"You're looking for the story behind all this, right?" she asked.
"As much as I can find out," Quistis replied.
"Come in, then, and have a talk with some of these travelers. I had no idea the situation in Timber was so bad."
Quistis entered the Dinchts' home, and found a group of travelers crowded in the living room. She addressed them as a group, then listened as, one by one, they told stories of how Galbadia had maintained a financial stranglehold on Timber for years; how they had increased their military presence there; how those soldiers had abused their positions, and average Timberians, alike. With no standing army of its own, Timber's declaration had seemed like a suicidal move, but these travelers assured Quistis that the coming war would be fought by rebel groups, and a branch of a paramilitary group they had managed to hire.
They were concerned for family and friends left behind, but also, Quistis was surprised to discover, proud of their countrymen and confident they could regain their independence.
Quistis arrived at the TV station in the mid-afternoon, and wrote up a story from the information she had gathered. She ran it by Xu, got her approval, and prepared to share what she'd found with the rest of Balamb.
The evening broadcast jumped straight into the situation in Timber, and Seifer read the top story with the same arrogant tone as any other, earning him a withering scowl from Rinoa. That story having exhausted all currently available information, the broadcast moved on to Quistis' story. Glancing at the script, Seifer shrugged.
"Seems like we're light on light news," he quipped. "Sorry, Trepe, looks like it's my show tonight. Our next story is –"
"One of human nature," Quistis said, talking over him and reclaiming her story. "About fear and hope and resilience, and about the kindness of strangers." She listened for a second to see if Xu would try to stop her; hearing nothing, she continued, emotion rising in her chest and hitching in her voice at the memory of what she had encountered that afternoon. As she wrapped up her story, she felt a gentle weight on her arm. She looked up.
Rinoa smiled and patted her arm softly; then, with tears in her eyes, she mouthed, "Thank you."
* * *
"My friends are part of the resistance," Rinoa explained between broadcasts. "They're the leaders of the Forest Owls, one of many groups fighting in Timber right now. I'm really worried about them, but I know they're doing what they have to do, what's right for Timber's future." She looked into her coffee cup and blinked back tears.
"That's why it made me so mad to hear the way Seifer delivered the story," she went on. "Of course, I know it doesn't affect him, but would it kill him to be a little sensitive about it? And to think he was going to take your story, too. I'm glad you took it back. I'm glad … for you, and for everyone who has somebody they're worried about tonight."
"I'm glad I could help," Quistis said, "though I know it's not much."
"It's more than you think. Their stories are being told. It's taken way too long to get this kind of attention for Timber, but it's still not too late." She sighed and rose from the table. "Thank you, Quistis."
Quistis nodded. She watched Rinoa leave, then tensed as Seifer entered the conference room, fresh from hair and makeup, tissues still stuck in his collar to protect his shirt.
"What was the deal with the six o'clock broadcast, Trepe?" he asked. "Don't you remember? I get the serious stories; I've got the voice for 'em. You get what's left."
Quistis shook her head. "I can't believe you. You're going to stand by that silly 'rule', even at a time like this? For the foreseeable future, most stories will be serious, and I will be delivering my share of them, whether you like it or not."
"Fine, go ahead. It's not like anyone actually listens to you, anyway. You're just here to attract the male demographic, something for them to look at instead of their frumpy wives. You could recite the alphabet and they'd still watch you, but nothing sticks. Face it, giving the real news takes more than batting your eyelashes and smiling."
"Yes, it does," Quistis said slowly, trying to keep her anger down. "It takes research and dedication and a passion for the truth. It takes empathy and the ability to recognize when your ego is getting in the way. It takes a lot more than you'll ever have, Seifer."
Seifer snorted. "I don't need that stuff. I've got presence."
"Tell me one thing. Why did you get into television news in the first place?"
"Why else? The attention. When you give the news, the serious news, people listen to you. They have to."
"So, it's always been all about you."
"Yeah. Oh, spare me your naïve babble about helping people and telling the truth. If that was the case, you'd be in the writers' room. You love the attention, too."
Quistis took a deep breath and clenched her fists. Relaxing them, she rose and headed toward the door. "We're never going to understand each other," she told Seifer as she passed him, "but we're stuck here, so let's just do our jobs and try to stay out of each other's way."
"Hey, you crossed the line first, lady," he called after her, and her skin crawled as his chuckle echoed down the hall.
* * *
Seifer was unhappy. Cid was furious. But, Xu, for once, apparently didn't give a damn how Cid felt. With reports flooding the newsroom from Timber and Galbadia, as well as rising tensions in Balamb due to food and supply shortages and stranded travelers, she didn't have time to rearrange the stories in Seifer's favor. There were too many stories for that, anyway.
So, Quistis finally resumed her role as a serious anchor, moving closer to the center of the news desk with each broadcast, forcing Seifer to rein in his sprawl or risk revealing himself for the discourteous person he was. Even as lighter stories began to filter in as the weeks passed, she held her ground, taking them only if they fairly came up on her turn.
Three weeks after declaring its independence, Timber, with aid from Dollet and contracted paramilitary organizations, reclaimed control over the railways, and reopened transportation to and from the area. Their fight was far from over, and Galbadia immediately seized control of the continental lines again, but travel and trade between Balamb and Timber resumed. Families were reunited, goods were exchanged, and news was shared.
The conflict simmered in the background for months, always threatening to flare up. Galbadia refused to make any drastic moves, likely preferring to wait out Timber's patience and resolve, and it became clear that Timber was in for a long struggle.
By the time summer arrived, the situation in Timber had become background noise once more, but the dynamics at BalambNine News had permanently shifted. Seifer continued to smirk his way through each newscast, but reduced his interaction with his coworkers considerably, even stepping down his bullying of Zell to once or twice a week. Selphie still threw herself into all sorts of events and situations as a roving reporter, Irvine took full advantage of the second chance Cid had given him and committed to his role as cameraman – with only a glance or two toward particularly stunning specimens of femininity now and then – and Rinoa still couldn't give a complete weather forecast without giggling over her (presumed) boyfriend's name.
BalambNine would never be perfect; even professionalism was a stretch goal for the station. And Quistis might never reach the fame and scope of Remiva Hardlaw, but she was doing work she believed in again. Her belief must have translated to her on-air performance, because viewers responded, contacting the station to praise her handling of certain stories, or her bearing in general. There were still comments about her looks, but those were becoming more frequently lost among those regarding her professional duties.
Quistis pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and organized the papers in front of her. Then, settling in for the evening broadcast, she rested her arms on the desk, elbows out, securing her place in the station, her place in life, refusing to give so much as an inch to the Seifers of the world.