DEADLINE #1 (GWEN STACY #12)
FOUR O' CLOCK IN THE MORNING, THE DAILY BUGLE - Gwen Stacy was not an early riser, but here she was. The office was quiet.
The Bugle had fallen on hard times - a restricted budget and a cantankerous shareholder notwithstanding, The Bugle just didn't have the energy it did when she'd been hired.
Maybe it was the fact that it lost it's chief editor J. Jonah Jameson to an early retirement. Maybe it was that all of the top reporters she'd looked up to working with had been fired, let go, you know.
Some of them never even got an official notice.
This early in the morning, there were empty desks. Gwen had arrived before Robbie's secretary had, too. She needed a word with the Editor in Chief and this was the time to do.
In the back of her head, she applauded herself for stopping at the corner store and grabbing two coffees.
Robbie's door was a deep green. Painted mahogany that stood out against the sterile office. Somewhere she could hear Ned Lee's mechanical keyboard clattering away.
Anyway, the door, she'd been told, was the only thing that the original Editor In Chief had been able to keep during the remodel. She knocked, she heard Robbie tell her to come on in.
Robbie's expression was a not-often seen one of surprise. "You're here early." Robbie was hunched over a pile of papers and photographs. The Bugle had mostly gone digital, but Robbie worked
analog when he knew the shareholders weren't snooping around. While the office had primarily become a t-shirt and Khaki's sort of place, Robbie wore a suit that matched the color of the door to his office.
"Well, the early bird strikes first." -"Catches the worm." Robbie corrected her. "Is that the saying? I brought you a coffee."
Leaning back in his chair, he put his hands behind his head. "Bringing coffee to your boss who's been here all night? Risky move. Now I'll be standing over your shoulder all morning."
Gwen set the cup of milk foam and espresso on the desk, still piping hot. It was a cold morning in New York. A sickly orange snow, illuminated by street lamps clung to the outside of the office window.
"I'm just trying to wake you up before Jameson shows up."
"I consider myself lucky knowing he goes to Florida every year right around the time it snows."
Gwen smirked. Robbie had worked under Jameson for over 25 years. He'd mentored a dozen famous Bugle reporters through the years. Everyone in the office knew he wasn't exactly happy about taking on
the full workload when Jameson turned from Editor-In-Chief to Chief Executive Officer. "So maybe I bought it to bribe you and you already saw through it."
"A good bribe would have included an Omelette from that little place down the street." Robbie hunched over his desk, making some room.
Gwen had been working for the paper for just short of a few years. It still startled her when Robbie would go from Grandpa mode to Editor mode. Hands together, "What's the pitch, Stacy?"
"Well. About a dozen things I didn't want changed on the last piece I wrote."
Robbie smiled, a little chuckle infusing his words. He really had been here all night. "Write a fluff piece to help Osborne's re-election campaign. It was a good article, except for all of the parts I had to cut out where you brought up about a decades worth of controversies." Gwen was a little hurt about that one. "It was fluff. Just fluff with a little...stuff behind it."
"This is about wanting to take a beat again, isn't it?"
Ouch. Robbie had her figured out before the conversation even started. "Coming in first thing is a good look. You know the answer is still No."
"Let me convince you." Gwen blurted out. Her voice hit a pitch when she got excited.
"We've got all of our beats covered. I had a good chance to hire a fantastic reporter when we took you in. That's not what I want you on."
That was a new piece of information. "I always thought you hired the daughter of the ex-chief of police for her insight into criminal justice."
Robbie laughed, back to grandpa mode. Somewhere in the office, more lights started to turn on. "I hired you because your dad and I played golf since college. Consider it a personal win that you're a damn good writer too."
Gwen, of course, knew. Being the daughter of George Stacy came with a pedigree she'd spent three years putting her nose to paper to undo. Sniping spots from other writers, pulling sick-all nighters and
even a very somber year doing Death on The Force (the page six feature about missing Officers that Ben Urich had done before she was born) "The girl you didn't hire ended up in LA didn't she?"
"Doing P.R. Her loss, your gain." Gwen slightly rolled her eyes, "I bet her bank account is happy." "Well, reporters do it for justice. Not money. Or something."
"Lot of justice writing for the mayor, Robbie."
"Alright, patience is starting to run out and people are starting to show up. Do you have something more than 'Put me on the street, gramps." Robbie tightened his hands together and started at Gwen.
The office wasn't brightly lit, just a few old lamps and the morning sun poking through the blinds. Gwen took a sip from her coffee - maybe it'd add to the dramatic effect if there was a little quiet time.
"The Devil in Hell's Kitchen. Put me on it."
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
DEEP_HELL
DEEP_HELL GWEN STACY has had a lot of bad ideas in her life. Dating the nerdy kid from photography club. Introducing her dad to that girl in her criminal psychology class. Going to Chicago in August. DOING IT ALL FOR FREE may just be the worst one yet. FIND OUT IN GWEN STACY #13 (Deadline #3)
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone