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“This Channel 1, your local news station! It’s now 11:35, time for sports!”
The channel’s regal, symphonious fanfare blared joyfully as two anchors, a male and female, waved at the camera in preparation for the day’s summaries of top matches. The male dressed in what one could only assume was a jersey-framed left over from a golf tournament, visor and all, with mute pastels for colors. His co-anchor, dressed professionally in suit and tie, shook her head in jovial dismay as she sighed serenely at his choice of wardrobe.
“Looks like Morland’s very own local legend Pat Baxter is making headlines this week,” said the male anchor, with a broad, toothy smile. “In his final match against brand favorite Jay McElron, Baxter faced massive odds in favor of the giant of an opponent.”
“However, this story became a tale of the underdog as Baxter landed a critical leg drop against McElron in round 3,” said the female anchor, as an image of Baxter posing in victory emerged on the screen. He looked decently buff, but based on how average people considered buff. Nevertheless, he looked bruised, but content. “The upset victory puts him in the running for the Warriors of Olympus event later this year, edging out a man most people expected would’ve easily turned him flat.”
Off to the side, a woman with long, flowing black hair in a red blouse and black skirt stood quietly, if nervously, as a make-up artist put on the last bit of blush on her face. The sports report from the anchor desk became nothing more than happy ramblings, illegible to the duo as they chatted anxiously to one other. They stood rather overtly in front of a giant green screen, with a cameraman behind a camera facing them, seated at enjoying a small cup of coffee during this small break.
The woman getting her make-up done was decently endowed, no older than her late 20s and sporting J-cup breasts, which the make-up artist, also female, couldn’t help but look at. The woman politely and playfully swatted her gaze back up to her face, with the final touches being added.
“Eyes here, please,” said the woman, smiling gently and letting out a brief chuckle. “I know those two ramble on like puppies, but I rather make sure I look my part before I present the weather.”
“Sorry, Elisa,” said the make-up artist, blushing a deep red than the blush she was applying. With a few more strokes of her brush, she smiled and closed her case, cheerfully giving Elisa a thumb’s up of approval. “And we are done! Break a leg! I mean, have fun! Um, I mean - !”
“Don’t make me nervous now,” said Elisa as she waved off her assistant; the assistant moved off to Elisa’s right, jumping nervously next to a huge fan that would be, as far as the camera’s concerned, off-screen. Both Elisa and the make-up artist exchanged thumb’s up gestures as the cameraman put his coffee down, peering into his camera.
“It is now 11:40, so you know what that means,” said the female anchor, giving a contrived smile as she nodded towards Elisa. Elisa nervously smiled in return, waving just as anxiously as she anticipated the switch to her segment. “We are now handing it over to our popular Elisa with the weather!”
“Yay!” laughed Elisa nervously, clapping mostly to calm the awkwardness in the situation. She shortly stood up straight and gave the audience a V-for-victory sign, smiling sincerely this time. “TGIF, Morland! It looks like we’ll be expecting sunny skies in the three day forecast, so anyone with spring in their step ought to take advantage of the good weather we’re heading into!”
From the camera’s (and thus the television’s) point of view, the green screen was replaced with a map of the general Morland area, a section of eastern Virginia where it was the largest city within a small radius. Elisa moved her hand across the green screen to pantomime what the weather map showed, with a three-day forecast of sunshine, clear skies, and no rain. A mild heatwave was indicated on the map, heading north, with Elisa following it with her hands.
Off to the side, her make-up artist jumped gently and clapped as she smiled broadly, watching Elisa nonchalantly progress through her report, awkwardness since passed and replaced with professionalism. She laughed with giddiness as she saw Elisa pantomime various aspects of the forecast, ranging from a broad sweep of her arms for the heatwave leaving north to jazz hands to indicate sun predicted for the next seven days. The make-up artist’s arm almost hit the switch for the fan, which she noticed and almost squeaked out of caution.
“So be sure to prepare for a hotter-than-average weekend before venturing out into the open sun,” said Elisa, tapping on the heatwave’s line. “Of course, this wouldn’t be Morland without a schizophrenic weather system! If there will be any respite from the upcoming heatwave, you can always rely on Morland’s notable spring winds to cool you off!”
The studio laughed heartily at her joke, an in-joke of considerable (if lukewarm) proportions, as the weather data updated to show a blob indicating wind patterns. The make-up artist laughed alongside the rest, enough that she didn’t exactly keep track of where her limbs rested. As she let the last of her chuckles escape her system, she leaned with a sigh of relief upon the closest thing to her – the fan’s on switch.
Without missing a beat, her elbow landed squarely upon it, with enough force to not only turn it on, but to actually break it free of its restraints and fall gingerly to the floor thanks to gravity. The artist lost her balance momentarily, though it allowed her time to regain situational awareness – with frantic hand gestures, she waved her arms in the air in a vain attempt to catch the switch before it collided with the floor. Failure assured, she nervously smiled and crossed her arms in embarrassment, trying hard (and failing) to not hum suspiciously.
The fan roared to life, gently at first, wafting a delicate breeze towards Elisa as she progressed through her report. The wind generated by the fan did little more than ruffle the skirt and blouse, causing them to sway gingerly against the current. If anything, it brought a smile to Elisa’s face as she felt a gentle tickle shiver down her spine, laughing briefly before regaining her composure.
“Looks like we have a little wind blowing through our studio,” said Elisa, brushing it off easily as she brought a smile to everyone’s face. “Any case, expect winds to reach highs of 80 miles per hour this season, a record we haven’t seen since the Coolidge administration. That’s right, we are expecting wind patterns we haven’t seen since the roaring ‘20s!”
As if on cue, the fan turned faster, its roaring blades becoming louder and more ominous against the weather report’s mentions of faster winds. This caused Elisa to briefly lose her footing in a Marilyn Monroe-style skirt pose, before the wind belted against her with increasing force. Her clothes wafted in the faster wind like sails trapped on their masts.
“Okay, we get it,” said Elisa, nervously chuckling as she felt the increasing force of the fan’s might. Her clothes fluttered quite forcefully against her body, the wind foisting itself stronger and stronger against Elisa’s shivering body. “This is starting to feel like how the winds would be should we experience them. You can turn it down now!”
The make-up artist franticly searched for the switch, which disappeared after rolling around the room thanks to the power of wind. The fan roared even louder, breathing a stronger force of wind into the room ahead. On-screen, it looked like Elisa struggled against the might of a hurricane, her long hair flowing powerfully in the air as her jacket slide back down her arms, as if tempting to break free from her body’s embrace.
The howling wind became nigh-deafening, with Elisa struggling against the current’s rising speed. Her arms attempted to brace her body against her jacket acting as a makeshift sail, which naturally did all it could to send Elisa further back. Her feet felt like they were wading through quicksand, each step labored and losing ground as she is kept on her toes. Her shoes squeaked against the tile floor, unable to gain a grip on anything before she lost both to the wind’s punch.
Elisa groaned and gritted her teeth as she pounded her feet against the floor with each passing second, her hair whipping around like a windsock. Her eyes teared up against the fury of the wind, her hands unable to shield them as the jacket pulled them back. The jacket itself finally won its battle of tug-of-war and pulled back on Elisa, taking her blouse with it and exposing her mid riff.
Nothing was stopping the fan from functioning it seemed. Elisa looked up painfully at the bellowing machine, its wind power capable of moving equipment and sending paper weights flying through the air. A few collided (fortunately without much in the way of pain) against Elisa’s body, now missing a blouse, a jacket, and both shoes. Her grimacing mouth bared her teeth to the world, her moans showing no doubt she was in quite deep against the wind.
And then it happened. One bellowing blow from the fan caused her to collide against the wall behind her, causing the fan to knock her and itself out. A major collision rocked through the air, leaving Elisa unconscious and the fan in serious need of repair. As it squealed to a halt, all that was left was a mess that could’ve been caused by a hurricane.
Elisa came to a minute later, much to the satisfaction of her co-workers. The cameras were off, with a few colleagues standing over her chattering incoherently. The female anchor helped Elisa come to her feet, as Elisa kept a hand next to her head to see if anything hurt. Nothing did.
“What was that?” said Elisa, her eyes widened in shock.
“Your lucky day, I think,” said the female anchor.
The channel’s regal, symphonious fanfare blared joyfully as two anchors, a male and female, waved at the camera in preparation for the day’s summaries of top matches. The male dressed in what one could only assume was a jersey-framed left over from a golf tournament, visor and all, with mute pastels for colors. His co-anchor, dressed professionally in suit and tie, shook her head in jovial dismay as she sighed serenely at his choice of wardrobe.
“Looks like Morland’s very own local legend Pat Baxter is making headlines this week,” said the male anchor, with a broad, toothy smile. “In his final match against brand favorite Jay McElron, Baxter faced massive odds in favor of the giant of an opponent.”
“However, this story became a tale of the underdog as Baxter landed a critical leg drop against McElron in round 3,” said the female anchor, as an image of Baxter posing in victory emerged on the screen. He looked decently buff, but based on how average people considered buff. Nevertheless, he looked bruised, but content. “The upset victory puts him in the running for the Warriors of Olympus event later this year, edging out a man most people expected would’ve easily turned him flat.”
Off to the side, a woman with long, flowing black hair in a red blouse and black skirt stood quietly, if nervously, as a make-up artist put on the last bit of blush on her face. The sports report from the anchor desk became nothing more than happy ramblings, illegible to the duo as they chatted anxiously to one other. They stood rather overtly in front of a giant green screen, with a cameraman behind a camera facing them, seated at enjoying a small cup of coffee during this small break.
The woman getting her make-up done was decently endowed, no older than her late 20s and sporting J-cup breasts, which the make-up artist, also female, couldn’t help but look at. The woman politely and playfully swatted her gaze back up to her face, with the final touches being added.
“Eyes here, please,” said the woman, smiling gently and letting out a brief chuckle. “I know those two ramble on like puppies, but I rather make sure I look my part before I present the weather.”
“Sorry, Elisa,” said the make-up artist, blushing a deep red than the blush she was applying. With a few more strokes of her brush, she smiled and closed her case, cheerfully giving Elisa a thumb’s up of approval. “And we are done! Break a leg! I mean, have fun! Um, I mean - !”
“Don’t make me nervous now,” said Elisa as she waved off her assistant; the assistant moved off to Elisa’s right, jumping nervously next to a huge fan that would be, as far as the camera’s concerned, off-screen. Both Elisa and the make-up artist exchanged thumb’s up gestures as the cameraman put his coffee down, peering into his camera.
“It is now 11:40, so you know what that means,” said the female anchor, giving a contrived smile as she nodded towards Elisa. Elisa nervously smiled in return, waving just as anxiously as she anticipated the switch to her segment. “We are now handing it over to our popular Elisa with the weather!”
“Yay!” laughed Elisa nervously, clapping mostly to calm the awkwardness in the situation. She shortly stood up straight and gave the audience a V-for-victory sign, smiling sincerely this time. “TGIF, Morland! It looks like we’ll be expecting sunny skies in the three day forecast, so anyone with spring in their step ought to take advantage of the good weather we’re heading into!”
From the camera’s (and thus the television’s) point of view, the green screen was replaced with a map of the general Morland area, a section of eastern Virginia where it was the largest city within a small radius. Elisa moved her hand across the green screen to pantomime what the weather map showed, with a three-day forecast of sunshine, clear skies, and no rain. A mild heatwave was indicated on the map, heading north, with Elisa following it with her hands.
Off to the side, her make-up artist jumped gently and clapped as she smiled broadly, watching Elisa nonchalantly progress through her report, awkwardness since passed and replaced with professionalism. She laughed with giddiness as she saw Elisa pantomime various aspects of the forecast, ranging from a broad sweep of her arms for the heatwave leaving north to jazz hands to indicate sun predicted for the next seven days. The make-up artist’s arm almost hit the switch for the fan, which she noticed and almost squeaked out of caution.
“So be sure to prepare for a hotter-than-average weekend before venturing out into the open sun,” said Elisa, tapping on the heatwave’s line. “Of course, this wouldn’t be Morland without a schizophrenic weather system! If there will be any respite from the upcoming heatwave, you can always rely on Morland’s notable spring winds to cool you off!”
The studio laughed heartily at her joke, an in-joke of considerable (if lukewarm) proportions, as the weather data updated to show a blob indicating wind patterns. The make-up artist laughed alongside the rest, enough that she didn’t exactly keep track of where her limbs rested. As she let the last of her chuckles escape her system, she leaned with a sigh of relief upon the closest thing to her – the fan’s on switch.
Without missing a beat, her elbow landed squarely upon it, with enough force to not only turn it on, but to actually break it free of its restraints and fall gingerly to the floor thanks to gravity. The artist lost her balance momentarily, though it allowed her time to regain situational awareness – with frantic hand gestures, she waved her arms in the air in a vain attempt to catch the switch before it collided with the floor. Failure assured, she nervously smiled and crossed her arms in embarrassment, trying hard (and failing) to not hum suspiciously.
The fan roared to life, gently at first, wafting a delicate breeze towards Elisa as she progressed through her report. The wind generated by the fan did little more than ruffle the skirt and blouse, causing them to sway gingerly against the current. If anything, it brought a smile to Elisa’s face as she felt a gentle tickle shiver down her spine, laughing briefly before regaining her composure.
“Looks like we have a little wind blowing through our studio,” said Elisa, brushing it off easily as she brought a smile to everyone’s face. “Any case, expect winds to reach highs of 80 miles per hour this season, a record we haven’t seen since the Coolidge administration. That’s right, we are expecting wind patterns we haven’t seen since the roaring ‘20s!”
As if on cue, the fan turned faster, its roaring blades becoming louder and more ominous against the weather report’s mentions of faster winds. This caused Elisa to briefly lose her footing in a Marilyn Monroe-style skirt pose, before the wind belted against her with increasing force. Her clothes wafted in the faster wind like sails trapped on their masts.
“Okay, we get it,” said Elisa, nervously chuckling as she felt the increasing force of the fan’s might. Her clothes fluttered quite forcefully against her body, the wind foisting itself stronger and stronger against Elisa’s shivering body. “This is starting to feel like how the winds would be should we experience them. You can turn it down now!”
The make-up artist franticly searched for the switch, which disappeared after rolling around the room thanks to the power of wind. The fan roared even louder, breathing a stronger force of wind into the room ahead. On-screen, it looked like Elisa struggled against the might of a hurricane, her long hair flowing powerfully in the air as her jacket slide back down her arms, as if tempting to break free from her body’s embrace.
The howling wind became nigh-deafening, with Elisa struggling against the current’s rising speed. Her arms attempted to brace her body against her jacket acting as a makeshift sail, which naturally did all it could to send Elisa further back. Her feet felt like they were wading through quicksand, each step labored and losing ground as she is kept on her toes. Her shoes squeaked against the tile floor, unable to gain a grip on anything before she lost both to the wind’s punch.
Elisa groaned and gritted her teeth as she pounded her feet against the floor with each passing second, her hair whipping around like a windsock. Her eyes teared up against the fury of the wind, her hands unable to shield them as the jacket pulled them back. The jacket itself finally won its battle of tug-of-war and pulled back on Elisa, taking her blouse with it and exposing her mid riff.
Nothing was stopping the fan from functioning it seemed. Elisa looked up painfully at the bellowing machine, its wind power capable of moving equipment and sending paper weights flying through the air. A few collided (fortunately without much in the way of pain) against Elisa’s body, now missing a blouse, a jacket, and both shoes. Her grimacing mouth bared her teeth to the world, her moans showing no doubt she was in quite deep against the wind.
And then it happened. One bellowing blow from the fan caused her to collide against the wall behind her, causing the fan to knock her and itself out. A major collision rocked through the air, leaving Elisa unconscious and the fan in serious need of repair. As it squealed to a halt, all that was left was a mess that could’ve been caused by a hurricane.
Elisa came to a minute later, much to the satisfaction of her co-workers. The cameras were off, with a few colleagues standing over her chattering incoherently. The female anchor helped Elisa come to her feet, as Elisa kept a hand next to her head to see if anything hurt. Nothing did.
“What was that?” said Elisa, her eyes widened in shock.
“Your lucky day, I think,” said the female anchor.
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Hi I'm back. I definitely love the story, I'll work on your request soon