Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-06-16 04:12 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2009-06-16 04:12 pm
Fake News: Stay (1/4)
Title: Stay (1/4)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Yelling, Googlebombs.
Characters/pairings: Jon, "Stephen", Rob R., Sam/Jason, Scarborough, Aasif
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: Senateverse. The blogosphere loves how Jon carried himself in that hearing against CNBC. Stephen is less approving. But when Jon reacts by accusing him of not caring about anyone but himself, he'll have to take drastic measures to prove otherwise.
Carries on the Emmy Rossum song naming theme. (The lyrics don't match very well this time, but the title will keep coming up.)
Stay - Part I
§
"Good choice," declared Stephen, sliding into the chair across from Jon. "Classy decorations. Soft candlelight. No jeans allowed. This is my kind of place."
"Glad you like it, my—" began Jon, then paused.
The comment from Stephen's recent interview was still weighing on him. He didn't mind so much about the 'pinker than an Indian river grapefruit' part; relative to Stephen, every Democrat left of Lieberman as good as had secret yearnings for communism. Besides, the small part of Jon's soul that still idolized Eugene Debs took the phrase as a compliment.
But the fact was that he and Stephen did talk. And when Stephen denied facts, it usually meant he didn't want them to be true.
"They better have something fried, here, though," continued Stephen, oblivious, as he flipped through the menu.
"Uh, Stephen..."
"It isn't real American cuisine if there's no deep-frying."
"Stephen!"
"What, Jon?"
"Are you my friend?"
Stephen looked up from the menu with an expression of innocence so pure it was downright kittenish. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"On Larry King, you said..."
"Don't be so sensitive. I'm still willing to come eat with you after what you did to those poor executives this morning; doesn't that count for something?"
A grim cloud settled over Jon's head. The hearing on CNBC's practices was one he had pushed for, but that didn't make the debate any less exhausting. "I don't want to argue about this right now."
"Then you wouldn't be sitting across from me," countered Stephen.
While Jon gaped at him, he turned and flagged down a waiter. "Let's get some wine over here!"
§
"It's just a routine hearing, anyway," remarked Jon. "No reason for you to yell any more than usual."
Stephen eyed him suspiciously. Jon, now occupied with blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it, didn't seem to notice. As if he didn't think there was anything odd about what he had just said.
"Have you really not Googled yourself in the past eight hours?" blurted Stephen.
Jon frowned. "Why? Have you?"
"Stupid question," snapped Stephen, pulling out his iPhone and stabbing at the web application. "Don't need to. I already have a Google alert set up for every possible variation on my name." As well as a few aliases, but nobody needed to know those were connected to him. "I definitely do not have one set up for you, but if I did, which I don't, it would have been going haywire."
He thrust out the phone. Jon put down his soup spoon and took it, eyebrows jumping as he caught sight of the screen, though he betrayed no other sign of surprise.
"It's all over the blogosphere," Stephen continued, stabbing at his own poached halibut. "Huge on YouTube. Everyone's wondering what The Daily Show's going to do with it tomorrow."
"Don't watch that show," said Jon absently as he scrolled. "I think it's crass."
"It's left-wing hackery, of course, but it has its moments," allowed Stephen. "Like, back during the writers' strike, when I was running for Senate and President, all the late-night comics tried to take credit for my amazing success. So there was a big three-way fight between the host, and Conan, and that other guy with the Daily Show spinoff — you know, Huckabee? — over who 'made' me. It was silly, obviously, and the publicity had nothing to do with my getting elected, but it was still pretty fun."
"Mm," agreed Jon, handing back the iPhone. "Did you see the actual hearing, or just read what conservative bloggers are saying about it?"
"Jon!" cried Stephen, affronted. "Of course I watched the original footage! I made up my mind to be shocked and appalled all by myself! How dare you torment those poor executives by using their own words in context against them?"
It wasn't just the words that had gotten under Stephen's skin, either. Jon had been using that something of his again. Stephen was getting better at resisting his friend's mysterious outpourings of force, but it was entirely unfair for Jon to turn that ability on people who didn't know him. People who were defenseless. People who weren't Stephen.
"It's not like it's the financial news networks' fault, anyway," he continued. "They didn't build the Titanic. All they did was stand on the deck and not report on the iceberg."
"They share some culpability in creating the system," retorted Jon. "We have the video to prove it. And even if they didn't, they had no business trading on their reputations as iceberg experts."
"Sure they do. If people will buy it, they can sell it."
"And what about truth in advertising?"
"You and your big-government regulations! Shouldn't even be an issue. If the marketers want to slap a 'low-calorie' label on their Twinkies, that's their right, and it's up to the consumer to be smart enough not to buy it. It's how the free market works, Jon. You don't like it, fine, but there was no reason for you to bring your mother into it."
From the Look Jon gave him, Stephen thought he might be swept away without a word being spoken.
Be strong, Col-bert, he urged himself. Don't let him get the best of you. Not this time.
§
Jon struggled to stay calm. He knew he needed to put extra effort into being reasonable when Mom was involved. Besides, he had begun to learn that Stephen usually believed things for a reason, no matter how warped the logic behind it.
"There was every reason," he replied, holding his voice even. "She lost her life's savings, in part because she believed the financial networks' terrible advice."
"And she has a son with the salary of a United States Senator," answered Stephen. "It's not like she has nothing to fall back on."
Okay, that was actually kind of a fair point. "Still—"
"That's the whole reason women have sons. To support them, so they don't have to work."
And that was kind of an insane one. But Jon was not up for dismantling Stephen's entire concept of gender roles tonight. "Yes, she has me to fall back on. But most people who were affected by the economic crisis in exactly the same way don't have rich relatives on tap."
"And whose fault is that?"
"What?"
Stephen speared a chunk of halibut with his fork and pointed it at him. "Jon, if they aren't smart enough to buy the right stocks, listen to the right experts, or be related to the right millionaires, they deserve what they get."
Jon stared in amazement as Stephen munched defiantly on the fish. This by-your-own-bootstraps philosophy had to have a limit somewhere. Didn't it?
(You underestimate the obtuseness of Stephen Colbert at your peril....)
"What about the military?" he said abruptly.
"What about them?"
"Soldiers' homes are being foreclosed on at four times the national rate. While some of these troops are stuck in Iraq or Afghanistan on their third or fourth stay of duty, where there's nothing they can do about it."
Stephen paused mid-chew, eyebrows swooping in confusion. "Izzah schill gowann?" When Jon coughed politely, he swallowed, then tried again: "Is that still going on? I thought we were out of there by now."
Jon groaned. "So much for supporting the troops."
"Hey!" protested Stephen. "I support the troops plenty! Have you seen my Hummer? The whole back end is covered with yellow ribbons! Not my limo, though. That would be tacky."
Pushing back his chair, Jon got to his feet.
"Hang on. Where are you going?"
"Back to the office," said Jon briskly. "You may not care about anyone who isn't you — not the people over there fighting, not the people getting shafted by the economy, not even the people doing both — but I have another hearing tomorrow morning, and I need to make sure I'm prepared."
He had turned from the table and taken a few steps away when a soft voice behind him said, "Jon, please. Stay."
The gentleness in the words caught Jon off-guard. He paused, wondering if he had heard correctly.
Just as softly, Stephen continued: "At least until the check gets here."
"Send my office half the bill," replied Jon, and headed for the door.
§
Stephen was still at the table an hour later, putting his iPhone through its paces and finishing off his bacon waffle. (Along with Jon's key lime pie. If Jon was going to pay for a three-course meal and then walk out during the appetizer, Stephen wasn't going to let the food go to waste.)
Apparently there were still soldiers in Iraq. And Afghanistan. And a whole bunch of other countries Stephen couldn't find on a map. You could even read articles about them, if you knew where to look.
"Like it's my fault the news doesn't talk about them any more," grumbled Stephen, sucking a bit of white chocolate ice cream off the tip of his spoon.
Holding down the shift key with one finger (Stephen was of the opinion that using the Caps Lock button was cheating), he hunt-and-pecked an email to his wardrobe coordinator with the other: GOING ON A TRIP. PREPARE A SUITCASE FOR FOUR DAYS.
And, as a postscript: PACK MY BROWN PANTS.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Yelling, Googlebombs.
Characters/pairings: Jon, "Stephen", Rob R., Sam/Jason, Scarborough, Aasif
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: Senateverse. The blogosphere loves how Jon carried himself in that hearing against CNBC. Stephen is less approving. But when Jon reacts by accusing him of not caring about anyone but himself, he'll have to take drastic measures to prove otherwise.
Carries on the Emmy Rossum song naming theme. (The lyrics don't match very well this time, but the title will keep coming up.)
Stay - Part I
| From: Senator Stephen T. Colbert, R-SC <senator@colbert.senate.gov> To: Jon Stewart, D-NY <senator@stewart.senate.gov> Date: June 8, 9:37 AM Subject: LUNCH, AND HOW YOU HAVE NOT MET ME FOR IT YOU HAVE NOT MET ME FOR LUNCH LATELY. THIS DISPLEASES ME. YOU DO NOT WANT TO DISPLEASE ME, STEWART. I KNOW PEOPLE. LIVE UP TO THAT SPIRIT OF BIPARTISANSHIP YOU'RE ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT. OTHERWISE YOU MIGHT NOT BE LIVING UP TO ANYTHING AT ALL. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. |
| From: Jon Stewart, D-NY <senator@stewart.senate.gov> To: Senator Stephen T. Colbert, R-SC <senator@colbert.senate.gov> Date: June 8, 10:41 AM Subject: Re: LUNCH, AND HOW YOU HAVE NOT MET ME FOR IT Did you just threaten to put a hit on me because we haven't eaten together in a while? Besides, last week you told Larry King that we "don't talk." I figured that meant you weren't interested in my company. |
| From: Senator Stephen T. Colbert, R-SC <senator@colbert.senate.gov> To: Jon Stewart, D-NY <senator@stewart.senate.gov> Date: June 8, 10:57 AM Subject: OF COURSE I WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT BUT DO YOU REALLY WANT TO TAKE THAT CHANCE? THIS IS ABOUT EATING, NOT TALKING. DON'T CHANGE THE SUBJECT. |
| From: Jon Stewart, D-NY <senator@stewart.senate.gov> To: Senator Stephen T. Colbert, R-SC <senator@colbert.senate.gov> Date: June 8, 12:12 AM Subject: Re: OF COURSE I WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT All right, all right. The hearing ran late this morning, but if you call my staff, they'll set up a reservation for dinner. (Geez, you respond quick. You do pay some attention to committees, right?) |
| From: Senator Stephen T. Colbert, R-SC <senator@colbert.senate.gov> To: Jon Stewart, D-NY <senator@stewart.senate.gov> Date: June 8, 12:19 AM Subject: ARE YOU BEING FLIP? BECAUSE IF YOU SOUND FLIP TONIGHT, I WILL MOBILIZE THE COLBERT NATION TO GOOGLEBOMB YOUR OFFICIAL SENATE BIOGRAPHY SO THAT IT IS THE FIRST SEARCH RESULT FOR "MEAN, MEAN MAN." SEE YOU SOON. |
"Good choice," declared Stephen, sliding into the chair across from Jon. "Classy decorations. Soft candlelight. No jeans allowed. This is my kind of place."
"Glad you like it, my—" began Jon, then paused.
The comment from Stephen's recent interview was still weighing on him. He didn't mind so much about the 'pinker than an Indian river grapefruit' part; relative to Stephen, every Democrat left of Lieberman as good as had secret yearnings for communism. Besides, the small part of Jon's soul that still idolized Eugene Debs took the phrase as a compliment.
But the fact was that he and Stephen did talk. And when Stephen denied facts, it usually meant he didn't want them to be true.
"They better have something fried, here, though," continued Stephen, oblivious, as he flipped through the menu.
"Uh, Stephen..."
"It isn't real American cuisine if there's no deep-frying."
"Stephen!"
"What, Jon?"
"Are you my friend?"
Stephen looked up from the menu with an expression of innocence so pure it was downright kittenish. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"On Larry King, you said..."
"Don't be so sensitive. I'm still willing to come eat with you after what you did to those poor executives this morning; doesn't that count for something?"
A grim cloud settled over Jon's head. The hearing on CNBC's practices was one he had pushed for, but that didn't make the debate any less exhausting. "I don't want to argue about this right now."
"Then you wouldn't be sitting across from me," countered Stephen.
While Jon gaped at him, he turned and flagged down a waiter. "Let's get some wine over here!"
"It's just a routine hearing, anyway," remarked Jon. "No reason for you to yell any more than usual."
Stephen eyed him suspiciously. Jon, now occupied with blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it, didn't seem to notice. As if he didn't think there was anything odd about what he had just said.
"Have you really not Googled yourself in the past eight hours?" blurted Stephen.
Jon frowned. "Why? Have you?"
"Stupid question," snapped Stephen, pulling out his iPhone and stabbing at the web application. "Don't need to. I already have a Google alert set up for every possible variation on my name." As well as a few aliases, but nobody needed to know those were connected to him. "I definitely do not have one set up for you, but if I did, which I don't, it would have been going haywire."
He thrust out the phone. Jon put down his soup spoon and took it, eyebrows jumping as he caught sight of the screen, though he betrayed no other sign of surprise.
"It's all over the blogosphere," Stephen continued, stabbing at his own poached halibut. "Huge on YouTube. Everyone's wondering what The Daily Show's going to do with it tomorrow."
"Don't watch that show," said Jon absently as he scrolled. "I think it's crass."
"It's left-wing hackery, of course, but it has its moments," allowed Stephen. "Like, back during the writers' strike, when I was running for Senate and President, all the late-night comics tried to take credit for my amazing success. So there was a big three-way fight between the host, and Conan, and that other guy with the Daily Show spinoff — you know, Huckabee? — over who 'made' me. It was silly, obviously, and the publicity had nothing to do with my getting elected, but it was still pretty fun."
"Mm," agreed Jon, handing back the iPhone. "Did you see the actual hearing, or just read what conservative bloggers are saying about it?"
"Jon!" cried Stephen, affronted. "Of course I watched the original footage! I made up my mind to be shocked and appalled all by myself! How dare you torment those poor executives by using their own words in context against them?"
It wasn't just the words that had gotten under Stephen's skin, either. Jon had been using that something of his again. Stephen was getting better at resisting his friend's mysterious outpourings of force, but it was entirely unfair for Jon to turn that ability on people who didn't know him. People who were defenseless. People who weren't Stephen.
"It's not like it's the financial news networks' fault, anyway," he continued. "They didn't build the Titanic. All they did was stand on the deck and not report on the iceberg."
"They share some culpability in creating the system," retorted Jon. "We have the video to prove it. And even if they didn't, they had no business trading on their reputations as iceberg experts."
"Sure they do. If people will buy it, they can sell it."
"And what about truth in advertising?"
"You and your big-government regulations! Shouldn't even be an issue. If the marketers want to slap a 'low-calorie' label on their Twinkies, that's their right, and it's up to the consumer to be smart enough not to buy it. It's how the free market works, Jon. You don't like it, fine, but there was no reason for you to bring your mother into it."
From the Look Jon gave him, Stephen thought he might be swept away without a word being spoken.
Be strong, Col-bert, he urged himself. Don't let him get the best of you. Not this time.
Jon struggled to stay calm. He knew he needed to put extra effort into being reasonable when Mom was involved. Besides, he had begun to learn that Stephen usually believed things for a reason, no matter how warped the logic behind it.
"There was every reason," he replied, holding his voice even. "She lost her life's savings, in part because she believed the financial networks' terrible advice."
"And she has a son with the salary of a United States Senator," answered Stephen. "It's not like she has nothing to fall back on."
Okay, that was actually kind of a fair point. "Still—"
"That's the whole reason women have sons. To support them, so they don't have to work."
And that was kind of an insane one. But Jon was not up for dismantling Stephen's entire concept of gender roles tonight. "Yes, she has me to fall back on. But most people who were affected by the economic crisis in exactly the same way don't have rich relatives on tap."
"And whose fault is that?"
"What?"
Stephen speared a chunk of halibut with his fork and pointed it at him. "Jon, if they aren't smart enough to buy the right stocks, listen to the right experts, or be related to the right millionaires, they deserve what they get."
Jon stared in amazement as Stephen munched defiantly on the fish. This by-your-own-bootstraps philosophy had to have a limit somewhere. Didn't it?
(You underestimate the obtuseness of Stephen Colbert at your peril....)
"What about the military?" he said abruptly.
"What about them?"
"Soldiers' homes are being foreclosed on at four times the national rate. While some of these troops are stuck in Iraq or Afghanistan on their third or fourth stay of duty, where there's nothing they can do about it."
Stephen paused mid-chew, eyebrows swooping in confusion. "Izzah schill gowann?" When Jon coughed politely, he swallowed, then tried again: "Is that still going on? I thought we were out of there by now."
Jon groaned. "So much for supporting the troops."
"Hey!" protested Stephen. "I support the troops plenty! Have you seen my Hummer? The whole back end is covered with yellow ribbons! Not my limo, though. That would be tacky."
Pushing back his chair, Jon got to his feet.
"Hang on. Where are you going?"
"Back to the office," said Jon briskly. "You may not care about anyone who isn't you — not the people over there fighting, not the people getting shafted by the economy, not even the people doing both — but I have another hearing tomorrow morning, and I need to make sure I'm prepared."
He had turned from the table and taken a few steps away when a soft voice behind him said, "Jon, please. Stay."
The gentleness in the words caught Jon off-guard. He paused, wondering if he had heard correctly.
Just as softly, Stephen continued: "At least until the check gets here."
"Send my office half the bill," replied Jon, and headed for the door.
Stephen was still at the table an hour later, putting his iPhone through its paces and finishing off his bacon waffle. (Along with Jon's key lime pie. If Jon was going to pay for a three-course meal and then walk out during the appetizer, Stephen wasn't going to let the food go to waste.)
Apparently there were still soldiers in Iraq. And Afghanistan. And a whole bunch of other countries Stephen couldn't find on a map. You could even read articles about them, if you knew where to look.
"Like it's my fault the news doesn't talk about them any more," grumbled Stephen, sucking a bit of white chocolate ice cream off the tip of his spoon.
Holding down the shift key with one finger (Stephen was of the opinion that using the Caps Lock button was cheating), he hunt-and-pecked an email to his wardrobe coordinator with the other: GOING ON A TRIP. PREPARE A SUITCASE FOR FOUR DAYS.
And, as a postscript: PACK MY BROWN PANTS.
no subject
This... is the Huckabee Report!
no subject
So far the peanut gallery seems to be in favor of The Huckabee Decree. And who am I to defy the will of the people...?