#local man whose entire job is to be the public face of this institution hates it when he has to be the public face of this institution

[captainofthetidesbreath]

Jonas Spahr: darling of the media, foremost public agent of the Trust

Jonas Spahr, every time he has to directly deal with the public: 😠

[fataldrum]

Ficlet: gotta catch ‘em all (Pokėmon AU)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Summary: Martin's unusually clever spider Pokėmon catch the eye of the Magnus Institute, which "acquires" unusual subjects for study. Jon is sent to investigate.

Based on a prompt by @cuttoothed

Jon wasn’t proud of his job, but Dr. Robinson paid him well enough, and she was a harsh but fair employer. She decided which Pokėmon they would “acquire” for study, and Jon, well, acquired them. Most of the Pokėmon didn’t seem to mind as long as they were fed and treated well. Jon knew all too well how difficult it was to find a legitimate job as a Pokėmon behavioral researcher. The Magnus Institute had been his last resort.

Usually Gertrude made her requests by email, but occasionally she delivered them in person, as she did one day over tea.

“I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors, Jon,” she said.

“What sort of rumors?” he asked. Hopefully no more gossip about Tim’s love life. He wasn’t prepared for a repeat of the Nurse Joy incident.

“There is a trainer in Tundra City whose Pokėmon are displaying signs of above-average intelligence. Making decisions for themselves. Winning matches despite being smaller and weaker than their opponents.”

“Interesting,” was all Jon said. Inwardly, his mind was racing with possible explanations, each more tantalizing than the last. A genetic mutation? Nutrients? Or perhaps some sort of trickery? He very much wanted to know.

“I’d like you to follow Mr. Blackwood and secure at least one of his Pokėmon for study.”

“Of course, Dr. Robinson.” He bent to collect her empty teacup and saucer, placing it on the silver serving tray.

“The dossier is on your desk. And Jon?” she said, stopping him.

“Yes?”

“Prepare for trouble.”

He smiled. “Of course, Dr. Robinson.”

Martin Blackwood was possibly the dullest man Jon had ever met. Or, well, not met. Stalking was probably a better word. Stalking for professional purposes. Professional stalking.

So far he knew Martin was an awkward, soft-spoken man who lived with his mother in a dreary little flat. He wore ghastly, eye-searing jumpers and seemed to spend most of his time at home. The reason for this became apparent when he saw Martin escorting his mother to a doctor’s appointment: she was painfully thin and usually needed help walking the few steps to the car. He was patient and solicitous with her, but she did her best not to look directly at him. Jon filed that bit of knowledge away for later consideration.

When Martin wasn’t at home with his mother, he worked at the local library, where he was cheerful but fairly inept. Jon witnessed him misfiling several books while chatting with patrons, and on one memorable occasion, watched him trip and topple over an entire shelf of paperbacks, laughing awkwardly as a co-worker helped him up.

Other than that, it was mostly lonely trips to the grocery store. He was friendly enough at work, but he didn’t seem to socialize much. Jon never saw him with one of his Pokėmon in public, and he was beginning to think he had the wrong man when he saw Martin stumble upon a spinarak being chased by a flock of spearows.

“Go away! Shoo!” Martin shouted, flapping his arms at the spearows. He was a rather tall man, and while the spearows cawed at him, none were willing to approach.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Martin asked the creature.

Jon watched him kneel to address the spinarak, carefully inspecting it for wounds. His stomach churned as Martin ran his hands along each chitinous joint, cooing and telling the creature what a darling it was. The final straw was when he kissed the top of its head, making it chitter happily, and Jon whimpered.

Martin’s head whipped around, the spinarak momentarily forgotten.

“You’re the man who’s been following me,” he said softly.

“No, I’m not,” Jon blurted out.

“You’re not very convincing," Martin said, smiling. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "But if you need something, all you have to do is ask.”

“Why spiders?” Jon asked impulsively.

“Because people are afraid of them,” Martin said, stroking the spinarak’s head. “It’s not even their fault, but people hate them. I know what that’s like.”

“Why are yours so clever? What do you do?”

Martin’s face shone with pride. “So you’ve heard of my darlings? You can meet them, if you like.”

Jon very much did not like, but he did have a job to do, after all, even if it was an appalling one, and he still wanted to know.

Martin turned to the spinarak again. “D’you want to come home with me, little guy? I’ve got just enough space for a friend like you.”

The spinarak chittered eagerly, and Martin collected it into a red and white pokėball.

The Blackwoods’ apartment seemed perfectly normal at first glance: a frilly sitting room, a cramped kitchen, and two small bedrooms.

“Mum’s not feeling well today,” Martin said, glancing at one of the closed doors, “but they tend to stay in my room.”

Then Martin released the spinarak and opened a portal into Jon’s worst nightmares.

Martin’s bedroom was crawling with spider Pokėmon: an ariados, a galvantula, and another, larger spinarak. They all chittered as Martin approached, scurrying up to greet him like dogs. Jon retreated instinctively, clutching the door frame.

“Hello, lovelies,” Martin greeted. “Did you miss me?”

Martin’s face lit up as he petted each one, allowing them to crawl over his body. Jon gripped the door frame so hard the wood creaked.

“Are you ready for story time?” Martin asked, sitting down on the bed. The creatures gathered around him. One even crawled to the bookshelf, carrying a small volume in its fangs and depositing it in Martin’s lap in exchange for scritches.

Looking around, Jon noticed more details. The room was covered in brightly covered posters, littered with toys and puzzles seemingly designed for spider limbs. Martin had all but constructed a spider kindergarten.

“Good lord,” he murmured.

There wasn’t anything special about the creatures: it was the disarmingly innocent man before him, reading to them as if they were his children.

“How would you like a job?” Jon asked.

[flauntpage]

We’ve Devolved To Being Dopes

Just like fucking clockwork!

Just like fucking clockwork we’re back to inhabiting a world where dipshits hate the Eagles because the notion of serenity in their lives* doesn’t exist.

Angelo Cataldi:

The coach must know by now that there is nothing more important to fans than the daily updates on the health of the stars, and especially Wentz. If the media asked Pederson 10 different ways to assess the availability of the young quarterback, he owed it to the fans to answer every variation of the same question.

Instead, he lashed out on two separate occasions at perfectly legitimate inquiries, actually parroting agent Drew Rosenhaus on Sunday by snapping “Next question,” over and over to reporters who were trying to find out whether Wentz had been cleared to play. This is not the understanding coach of the first two seasons – not even close.

Over that period, I had to ask Pederson countless tough questions during his weekly visits on my show, and he handled every one with a respect for the fans that he had demonstrated throughout his entire career, both as a player, assistant and head coach. What has changed? The only obvious answer is that success may be spoiling one of the class acts in sports.

After seven months of pure adulation – including the parade, national talk-show appearances, and even a book tour – Pederson may have lost his appreciation for the passion of this city. Wentz will not play the season opener. Everybody knows that. Heck, the first opponent, Atlanta, put the report of Nick Foles starting Thursday’s game on the home page of its website.

Pederson was delusional if he thought he could keep Wentz’s status a secret for an entire week leading up to the game. If Pederson needs a reminder of how things work in Philadelphia sports, here it is: The fans always come first. The media is doing its job. Now do yours. Answer the questions.

We’re, if I’m not mistaken, still more than a day away from the Eagles kicking off their SUPER BOWL DEFENSE on a night where they’re going to raise a big fucking banner and celebrate something the team and city has never enjoyed before. They’ll probably lose. For starters, the -2 line sucks, and defending champions typically lay an egg in these emotion-filled openers– see the Fat Man’s drubbing of the Patriots last year as a recent example. But an 18-point output and season-opening loss hasn’t even happened yet and we’re already, collectively, shitting on the champs.

Make no mistake, our media has no clue how to cover sports without pandering to the lowest common denominator by fomenting fear and outrage. Cataldi is, obviously, one of the biggest offenders. But then there’s also fellow dipshit, Poop Head Marcus Hayes, whose whiny piss drivel posited that Pederson has already reached his breaking point.

The beat writers – who oh so badly want to be Woodward but would struggle to comb Bernstein’s hair (or their own, for that matter) – treat covering the Eagles like a life mission rather than the job of entertainment reporter, which is actually what every sports reporter, writer, host, pundit, blogger, and podcaster is. And while it’s commendable to have that sort of dedication to the craft, in most instances it represents a chasmic disconnect from the audience, which cares little-to-none about the intrigue surrounding the painfully obvious starting quarterback decision, out of which the local media expectedly got more than a month of mileage from. I was there on the day training camp opened and watched in AWE as more than 30 writers sat around for three hours, including a literal tent of NBC Sports personalities and pundits (I know because I was in it), watching 10-10-10 drills, just waiting to try out their new refrain on Doug Pederson: When will Carson be cleared? And then they’d all go on to write the same article, or produce the same live shot, every day, for the next 40 days. Even Jesus would’ve gotten bored with this rote monotony of sameness.

They’d remix the verse 50 times over that stretch until its beat was so familiar that you’d just turn off the radio when you heard it. As expected, they lost sight of the forest through gorgeous redwood that is the franchise quarterback, while the fan base yearned for something… better.

But no, we’re not better. This town doesn’t know how to cover a winner. Celebrate it, sure, but cover it, no. Our media appeals to its worst negative instincts and finds news ways to invent controversy where none exists. It’s all part of the big circle-jerk of sports, which is undoubtedly well chronicled in Mark Leibovich’s new book, Big Game, which shines light on NFL owners and the ecosphere of the league.** Cataldi can systematically shred Pederson over… things… and then welcome him on his radio show, on the flagship network of the team, built around the institution of the franchise itself, without even thinking twice about how disingenuous the whole charade is.

Make no mistake, I was the biggest hater of Doug Pederson prior to, oh, say, last December. But his balls grew on me, and eventually swelled to a Lombardi Trophy. He won’t be above criticism, and perhaps was a little out of line the other day, but can you blame him when faced with the same nonsense day after day?

The Eagles haven’t even started the season yet and, right on schedule, the media has already reverted to their natural state: shit-stirring. They don’t know how to be better.

*Public-facing, as even our resident chuckleheads can’t feign true outrage anymore.

**Leibovich’s book This Town, which goes deep inside Washington to dismantle the incestuous nature of the nation’s capital, is one of the best, most insightful and funny books I’ve read. His ability to cut to the heart of absurd characters is unmatched, and he undoubtedly does this to NFL owners in this new book. I’d recommend you go read this.

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