Chapter Fifty-Four - Burned/Scarred/Butch, Scary, and Notorious
Chapter Fifty-Four - Burned/Scarred/Butch, Scary, and Notorious
"As with most careers, the modern journalist has their own codified look. Journo fashion is usually marked by plate carriers and bulletproof vests, often in bright, faction-neutral colours. Occasionally a journo will be wearing a flak helmet as well, oftentimes with several electronic upgrades attached to it to allow them to capture the world around them in high fidelity.
The modern microphone, with sound dampening, vocal-tuned pick ups, and at-range-listening is another must-have for any fashionable journalist."
--Fashion Careers, 2049
***
"You good?" I muttered once I was right next to Gros Baton.
The kid nodded once, his face set and serious, brows drawn into a scowl. "J'pense que ça va. Mais ces journalistes-là n'arrêtent pas de me harceler." I think I'm alright. These journalists won't stop hounding me, though. He gestured to the journalists who were kind of crowding us in.
I was pretty sure I could beat a path to my bike with no problem. I only saw a few guns in the lot. Plenty more body-armour though. Plate-carriers were the order of the day, and a few of them had army-style helmets repainted with the logo of their stations on the sides. Not all, mind, a lot of them were trying to look friendly and personable, all corpo-smiles and artificially friendly faces.
There were two ways out of here, I figured. That mostly came from the limited experience I had seeing celebrities and samurai dealing with the media, so it was all third or fourth hand experience. Still, I'd seen some meme-able fuckups and knew what not to do.