- Pronoun
- they or she
If one were to ask for the definition of “organized chaos”, they would have to look no further than the offices of the Frontier Gazette.
A single desk sat at the front of the room to greet visitors when they entered, neat and orderly with not a sheet of paper out of place. At it perched a near-motionless Glimmet secretary; the only blip of calm against a backdrop of frenetic energy. Behind her, the news floor of the Gazette was a whirlwind of activity and sound, dominated by the clacking of typewriters and less-than-hushed chattering conversations between staff – meek 'mon would have to speak up to be heard!
The printing press’s noise was dulled to a loud whir – punctuated by mechanical clunks – from where it ran in a back room framed by picture windows, so visitors to their headquarters could see that newspaper production was a full-time process. An ink-stained Malamar wearing a green-tinted visor could usually be seen through the glass, operating as much machinery with their many appendages as two or three ordinary 'mon might be able to handle.
In the foreground, a frantic Inkay rushed hither and thither across the cramped news floor, carrying stacks of paper, folders, files – they darted between desks with practiced ease, all crammed into a room far too small to contain the activity therein. Some desks were occupied with pokémon furiously generating staccato bursts of klak-klak-klak-TING on their typewriters, others scribbled away with pen and paper, and some desks were empty – perhaps their occupants were out gathering news straight from the source out on the frontier, or were simply part-timers.
Along the left-hand wall of the room hung a massive tackboard holding polaroid photos and scraps of handwritten news pinned haphazardly along its entire length. It was a minor miracle the journalists working here could make heads or tails of the information. Often, when not at their desks, a Sableye and a Shiftry in dapper neckties could be seen stood in front of it, chattering excitedly while pointing and gesticulating. Over to one side, a cheaply-framed photo of an unphotogenic Lampent limply holding a plaque hung next to that same plaque – which declared him to be the reporter of the year.
The right-hand wall was host to several enclosed rooms. Cloudy glass on one door backlit blocky lettering that revealed one ‘mon lucky enough to have some semblance of privacy: [~Shiftry Nathaniel — Editor-in-Chief~]. The other rooms appeared to be the paper's archives and storage, and an interview room for guests not used to hearing themselves think over so much clamour.
Many thanks to @Panoramic_Vacuum for assisting with the writeup.
A single desk sat at the front of the room to greet visitors when they entered, neat and orderly with not a sheet of paper out of place. At it perched a near-motionless Glimmet secretary; the only blip of calm against a backdrop of frenetic energy. Behind her, the news floor of the Gazette was a whirlwind of activity and sound, dominated by the clacking of typewriters and less-than-hushed chattering conversations between staff – meek 'mon would have to speak up to be heard!
The printing press’s noise was dulled to a loud whir – punctuated by mechanical clunks – from where it ran in a back room framed by picture windows, so visitors to their headquarters could see that newspaper production was a full-time process. An ink-stained Malamar wearing a green-tinted visor could usually be seen through the glass, operating as much machinery with their many appendages as two or three ordinary 'mon might be able to handle.
In the foreground, a frantic Inkay rushed hither and thither across the cramped news floor, carrying stacks of paper, folders, files – they darted between desks with practiced ease, all crammed into a room far too small to contain the activity therein. Some desks were occupied with pokémon furiously generating staccato bursts of klak-klak-klak-TING on their typewriters, others scribbled away with pen and paper, and some desks were empty – perhaps their occupants were out gathering news straight from the source out on the frontier, or were simply part-timers.
Along the left-hand wall of the room hung a massive tackboard holding polaroid photos and scraps of handwritten news pinned haphazardly along its entire length. It was a minor miracle the journalists working here could make heads or tails of the information. Often, when not at their desks, a Sableye and a Shiftry in dapper neckties could be seen stood in front of it, chattering excitedly while pointing and gesticulating. Over to one side, a cheaply-framed photo of an unphotogenic Lampent limply holding a plaque hung next to that same plaque – which declared him to be the reporter of the year.
The right-hand wall was host to several enclosed rooms. Cloudy glass on one door backlit blocky lettering that revealed one ‘mon lucky enough to have some semblance of privacy: [~Shiftry Nathaniel — Editor-in-Chief~]. The other rooms appeared to be the paper's archives and storage, and an interview room for guests not used to hearing themselves think over so much clamour.
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Many thanks to @Panoramic_Vacuum for assisting with the writeup.
