Benjamin is tall, lanky and extremely nerdy-like, armed with a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses and a stutter. His hair is a nice brown, pushed upwards with a combination of his own oils in his hair and a dab of wax. His eyes are also brown, making him feel a little boring, especially with the dullness of his glasses. His complexion is fairly good, the odd pimple coming through every so often, but not often enough to be called a pizza face. His skin is pale from underuse of the sun but he thinks tans are kinda gross and would never try to get one. He has a few visible moles; one under his left eye (usually hidden by his frames) and one under his chin.
His clothes during the weekends are as lazy as he is; t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, volleys; cheap clothes that work like clothes do. No piercings, no jewellery, no visible tattoos (he does have ONE from an accidental drunken accident; a star which sits just below the neck of his t-shirt) and no weird quirks like broken teeth. During his work week though, Benjamin switches to collared polo shirts and business shirts. Maybe a tie. Shined shoes, tight belt, pressed pants; Benjamin likes to look his best in the eyes of his co-workers and boss. His hair usually stays the same 99% of the time (the only other time it looks different is when he sleeps).
'... because of the witness' heavy involvement in the case, his statement was withdrawn and the defendant was released this afternoon. Meanwhile, his Houndoom, nicknamed 'Skulls', remains in custody after he tried to escape. Fortunately, Law Enforcement's Growlithe Squad...'
"What are you doing, Whistler?"
Benjamin quickly whipped his head around, like he did when he heard his name. He went by a few names around here; Ben, Benny, Benji, Benny-Boy, Boner Ben, Butt-face... the list went on. And on. Benjamin never paid much attention to it. He wasn't sure if it was a sign of friendship or it was degrading.
"Wr-writing an article," Benjamin looked at his computer then back to Gregory Dawson. Though, everybody called him Greg. When he didn't interrupt or respond, Benjamin tried to explain himself with hand gestures, "f-for the Skulls case. Y'know, th-the robber with the H-Houndoom."
"I know what you're talking about, Whistler. But, what are you doing?" The emphasis on the what made Benjamin confused. Didn't he just say?
"Writing the, the p--"
"Whistler," Gregory slapped a hand on the desk. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"No sir, no sir," Benjamin shook his head violently.
"Why are you letting the editor boss you around?"
"What do you mean?"
"Ugh, don't worry," Gregory threw his hands in the air and started to walk off. "You know, you could write the entire paper if everyone asked you to write their articles too. Do you even get paid?"
"Benny-Boy!" The editor boomed across the cubicles, his arms spread like he was expecting a hug and a cigar firmly gripped in his teeth. He was a fat man, no one could deny it. He was also very smelly, very lazy and sometimes, acted like he was very rich. He might have been, but he certainly didn't dress like it. "Benjamin Whistler, just the boy who I want to see."
"Good luck," Gregory skulked off, slapping Benjamin quite hard on the back. He fell forward, his face hittng the keyboard.
'...he tried to escape. Fortunately, Law Enforcement's Growlithe Squad quickly aprehended the subject anskfnsdkfsldkfdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa eeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
"You right, Benny?" The editor also slapped Benjamin on the back but thanks to the last attack, he was a little more prepared.
"Yes sir, yes sir. F-fine sir," Benjamin pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked up at the ugly face of his editor. The cigar wasn't even lit, the editor was just sucking on it.
"Good! Good boy," The editor grinned, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. "Now, Benny, listen, how long have you been working here?"
"Uh," it had been two years, three months and six days. He hadn't been counting, he had just done the math. That's all, "ab-about two years, s-sir."
"And in all of that time," the editor's voice was unusually loud, like he was annoucing something to the entire team. Nobody really bothered to listen; it wasn't unnatural for the editor to try and pull everyone's attention away from whatever they were doing. Benjamin had seen it as well, only last week had he almost shouted that Joseph was getting a payrise for the great front-page article he had written. Benjamin wasn't sure whether he was boasting or trying to encourage people to work. Whatever it was, Benjamin knew something good was going to follow. If it was bad news, the editor would have pulled him into his office to yell at him or that toothy grin wouldn't have been painted across his face, "have you ever had an oppourtunity to really, really shine?"
"W-well sir, I did write your fr-front page article l-last w-we--"
"No, I didn't think so! Benjamin Whistle, I'd to give you something you can really sink your teeth in, how does that sound?"
"What d-do you mean, s-sir?"
The editor pulled up a seat next to Benjamin, his stench becoming far more pronouced, and lowered his voice to the usual speaking level. Was this whispering for the editor?
"Benny, have you heard... of Pandora?"
"Yes-yes-yes sir," who hadn't? Pandora was the Santa Claus of mysteries. As a child, you wanted to believe in it all. That this place had been rebuilt by Pokémon, that there was enough gold there to let you live as a trillionaire forever. And, of course, Benjamin had also heard of Dr. Stone's death and his annoucement. It had been everywhere. It was a dumb question really. "What about it?"
"Well, Benny-Boy, on the other side of that door," the editor nodded towards his office door, "is a great man and a very, very old friend of mine. The great explorer, Jude Laughner. Heard of him?"
"Yes s-sir," also a dumb question. Jude Laughner was the most famous explorer in the world. That was like asking if Benjamin knew what a Pikachu was. He worked in journalism and reading and writing was what Benjamin did.
"Well, Jude has offered me an oppourtunity. A fantastic oppourtunity, in fact. He wants me, legendary reporter, journalist, editor and writer, Harry Johnson, to record the events going on in Pandora while he sends a team of variously skilled people to find this 'treasure'," the editor seemed pretty excited about it. Too excited. Fake excited. "Unfortunately, Benny, I have a wife. Two darling sons. A family. As much as I would want to wisk myself away to an adventure island, I just can't. So, Benny, I want you to go."
"M-me?" The idea was a little confusing to Benjamin. He wasn't his best writer but the editor often had him writing stories that he was meant to write. Of course, Benjamin had always thought he did this because he was intern. Like, it was his moral obligation to kiss the editor's ass. Benjamin didn't question it though; oppourtunities are what kept interns alive.
"Yes, Benny. Right now, I need you to go talk to Jude," the editor pulled Benjamin out of his chair and pushed him along the hall. "He's a nice guy, just don't get on his bad side." The editor pushed him again, this time Benjamin hit the wall directly next to the editor's office. He could feel his heart starting to beat rapidly. "You can't disappoint me, Benji. If you get this, you could write a book. Hell, you could even find the treasure. Then we'd-- you'd be rich!" Another thrust of the editor and Benjamin was flat against the door. Man, he had no physical strength at all.
"Get in there!"
Rubbing his neck, Benjamin opened the door, went inside and closed it behind him. He exhaled then turned around to see a Mr. Jude Laughner sitting behind the editor's desk, typing on his computer. Laughner looked up, looking a little confused but didn't object to Benjamin's presence.
"Please, sit," he said, motioning to the guest chair in front of the desk. Benjamin complied and sat, his eyes darting everywhere but Laughner's eyes. He felt too scared to talk. Too scared to breathe. Was this what it felt like to be star struck? "Now, uh, who are you?"
"B-Benj-jamin Whis-Whistler," Benjamin felt a lot more stuttery than usual. Well, not stuttery. Benjamin usually referred to his stutter as 'repeating words'. "B-Benjamin Whistler, s-sir."
"Right, so where is the editor?"
"U-uh?" Laughner laughed at Benjamin's response.
"Rat bastard," when Benjamin's face grew more confused, Laughner waved his hand. "No, don't worry about it. Anyways, Benjamin, as you may know, I'm looking for a writer for this expedition. I'm sending a bunch of people to Pandora to try and find this treasure. You know the one I'm talking about?"
"Y-y-yes, yes, yes sir."
"That makes things easier. Good. And don't sir me, you're making me feel old. Call me Jude, alright?" he chuckled again. "I need a writer to write about everything they see. Clues, funny symbols, historical monuments; I need this all. This person is expected to keep a journal on them at all times, take pictures, y'know. The whole shebang."
"Yes sir- Uh, Jude sir."
"Right. Do you think you could do that for me, Benjamin? I guess because you're in here, ol' Harry thinks you're prime material. That's a good sign, he knows a good writer when he sees one. And you're young too, you can get around on this island. You need to be ready for everything. You understand?"
"Yes, of c-c-course, Mr. J-Jude, sir."
"Good," Laughner took a swig of his bottle of water. Was it water? "You could become very rich and famous at the end of this. A book? A documentary? You'd certainly be out of a small newspaper like this. Would you like that?"
"V-very much s-s-s-so, sir. Yes, yes sir."
"Very good, Benjamin. And, as a gift or something," Laughner tossed a backpack over at Benjamin as he stood up to leave. Benjamin peered inside. There seemed to be the bare essentials in here, plus a very nice camera, a leather bound notebook and some pens. And... was that? Was that a full PokéBall? No way, "here is a bag with what you need. I suspect you may need to do some planning and prior reading, Benjamin. It's going to be a long trip!"
Benjamin stood up as Laughner opened the door. His mouth had finally found confidence.
"Thank y-you so much, s-sir for giving, giving me this oppourt-tunity. I, I promise not, not to let y-you down," Laughner put a hand up to silence the boy.
"You are most welcome. I'm sure you deserve this. Good luck," and with that, Laughner exited and walked down the hall. The editor was there almost the very second that Laughner's footsteps could not be heard any longer.
"You did it!! You did it, boy!! We're gonna be rich!!!"
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