Chapter Text
Vincent Whittman had never been one to force himself to do something he never wanted to do; it was always his mother who made him do things, save for this singular expedition completely and utterly decided upon by himself, to move to the east cost of the United States.
After hearing how he grew up in the north-western part of the country, it may sound perplexing as to why he decided to move to the east coast to begin with. It was all because he had a dream. A dream to be recognized, to be adored. Deep down, it was what made him tick.
And to achieve that dream, he chose to become a television personality - not that he would be a star immediately. No, he knew that it would take time, skill, and most difficult of all; patience, to achieve this goal of his. Only problem was... his opportunity was on the complete other side of the country.
Hence how he ended up there, in a fresh home full of boxes, and a degree in meteorology to become a weatherman on the local news channel. But the last thing he would have ever expected when moving there was for things to go very, very wrong, and for the course of his life be changed in many facets.
-
“Ugh, why are there so.. many.. boxes!” Huffing as he hoisted a stack of three mid-sized boxes up a flight of stairs to his room, Vincent dropped them unceremoniously onto the floor and shut the door sharply with his hip.
“This is the last time I am moving, ever again...” He mumbled, bending down to pick up a box that had fallen from the stack.
-
The following morning, Vincent had done nothing relating to his house and everything that would soon lead him to trouble - starting with leaving his bed mere moments after he’d awoken because somebody had knocked on his door.
The soon-to-be weatherman drug himself to the door whilst tying a dark blue robe loosely around his waist, and opened it. On the other side, was a little redhead boy with a frighteningly large tooth gap who held a thick stack of newspaper in his hands.
“Hello sir!”
Oh lord, Vincent thought. The child has a lisp.
“I’m Peter Anderson! Would you like a newspaper? They’re free!” The boy held out the stack with hopeful, shining eyes. “Uh... sure, I guess? Thanks, kid.” Vincent replied gravelly, accepting the paper.
“No problem, sir! Thank you!” Peter chirped as he skipped away down the sidewalk, presumably to the next house.
Vincent wondered how that kid even made any money by “selling” them for free. Perhaps people tipped the boy out of pity for his very prominent lisp.
The man shut the door, trekking to the kitchen, where he forced his coffee maker to brew a cup that he desperately needed to start the day. It would be a long one, with the frankly anxiety job interview he had.
While he waited, he started to read the newspaper he'd just been given - the headline was rather bold, reading “BREAKING: THREE MISSING THIS WEEK; ZERO FOUND.”
Captivated and unnerved simultaneously, he read on, though the thought of moving to a disappearance-prone town was not a fun one.
The paper proceeded to mention (much to Vincent’s dismay) the sheer amount of disappearances that had been going on in the past three months, with twenty-one people, and only two found - though only as bodies, that is. And strangely, all men.
He swallowed heavily, looking even paler and vampire-esque than normal. Who the fuck is doing this?!
Then, he remembered his coffee pot he'd been brewing - which was done, now.
Pale and sweaty, he poured himself some of the contents into a plain mug, sitting down once more and reading over the newspaper’s entry - twice, three more times, and another time after that.
Vincent scrolled through the rest of it mindlessly while drinking his coffee, and there were only two more tidbits of information that he found relevant to himself - the bodies that had been found were recovered in a river on the far side of town, and the network he was trying to work for had apparently recently purchased a small radio broadcasting company in town.
After scowering the entire paper a good three more times, Vincent peeled himself away and forced himself upstairs for a much needed outfit change - he did have a job interview today, after all. And it was one he could not afford to fuck up whatsoever.
-
An hour later, Vincent was sweating bullets and looking just as vampire-esque as earlier, if not paler, whilst being interviewed by Channel Six News’ owner, Robert Sinclair, who kept insisting profusely that Vincent call him Bob instead.
“So, Vincent, ignoring the fact that we would love to have you on our team.. what makes you think we should hire you?” Robe- Bob asked, leaning over the desk that separated them in an all-too-casual way.
Vincent was trying his hardest to keep himself from absolutely imploding in the very chair he sat in, being asked a question he felt that he could possibly fuck up. And he couldn’t afford to fuck up. He would NOT fuck this up.
Swallowing the urge to stutter or hesitate, Vincent managed to speak.
“I'm one of the most qualified people in this whole town for this position, I assure you. And I’ll be one of the most excellent employees you’ll have.” Maybe a little overly narcissistic, He thought. But eh, long as it-
“Well then, you’ll be happy to hear you’ve got the job, Whittman.” Bob replied, reaching a hand out to shake Vincent’s sweaty one. He then groaned quietly in mild disgust as he wiped the sweat from Vincent’s hand on his pants. Vincent pretended not to hear.
“Thank you, sir- Bob! I promise, you’ll never regret hiring me.” Vincent leaned back, the window in the office suddenly looking eighty times less appealing to jump out as color returned to his skin. “I sure hope not...” Bob murmured to himself.
“Anyways, I think you should introduce yourself to the others. Ooh, and before I forget...”
Vincent raised an eyebrow in silent curiosity, as Bob started flipping through a stapled group of papers.
“I think you’d like to be invited to the celebration party we’re hosting for the network’s success of buying Station 3 out - the local radio broadcasting company. It’ll be a good opportunity to get better acquainted with anybody you might not be able meet today, and the employees from the other company we’ll soon be working with. It’s on..” Bob glanced at the papers. “June 13th. So, tomorrow.”
Vincent’s eyes widened slightly in a feigned intrigue. “A party? Well, of course I’m interested. There’s no point in missing it, especially if it means meeting practically everyone!” I do not want to go to a party for my work before I even get a chance to DO MY JOB.
“Oh, excellent! Anywho, head on and go introduce yourself and what-not. See ya soon!”
He’s trying to dismiss me rather quickly. Vincent thought. “Talk to you later!” Vincent waved good-bye as he exited the room, though his mind was racing with indignance.
And when you’re distracted by your thoughts, the last thing you’d be thinking of is looking out for wayward gingers who don’t know their place - which is obviously beneath you.. although not necessarily literally.
Occupied with being utterly offended at how easily dismissed he just was, Vincent collided directly into... someone he didn’t know, who possessed the same ridiculous bright red hair as that newspaper kid.
The ginger then proceeded to take a very sharp intake of air after hitting the floor with Vincent on top of him - in which the latter very quickly extracted himself from the other man and stood up, about to walk away..
When he held a hand out to the ginger and feigned an apology.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I was far too distracted- I’m Vincent.” He introduced himself as he pulled the ginger up.
“Oh, no worries! It happens more often to me than you’d think,” The other laughed softly. “I’m Robbie - good to meet you!”
Robbie... well, there goes another name I’ll be forgetting soon. Vincent rolled his eyes mentally, though the snarkiness was quickly replaced by the unsettling strange feeling of Robbie’s bright eyes practically boring into his skull.
“Are you one of the guys from Station 3?” Robbie asked, looking him up and down curiously. “I haven’t seen you around before.”
Of course he'd think I’m from some lousy nobody radio station. “Oh, no, no, I’m the new weatherman!”
“Oh! Welcome to the team!” Robbie smiled and suddenly shook his hand. Oh my god, he has a tooth gap too. Who the fuck is this guy, that kid’s brother or something?
“Ah- yes, thank you!” Vincent forced a polite smile. “Do you think you could help me find everybody else? Bob asked me to introduce myself to them.” The disgust that pooled in him internally after asking for help was almost unbearable.
“Yes, actually! I think some of the guys you’ll need to know are in the lounge, right now, but I doubt you know where that is- here, follow me.” Robbie gestured for Vincent to follow as he walked down the hallway with a hip sway that had to be exaggerated.
-
Robbie held the lounge door open for Vincent, loudly announcing “I’ve brought our new weatherman!”
The shorter man stiffened imperceptibly.
Robbie then slung an unwelcomed arm around Vincent’s shoulders and walked him into the room like some kind of woman, which made Vincent scowl internally at this redheaded BASTARD and the absolute audacity of him.
“Alright, Vinny - can I call you that?” No, you fucking cannot. “This is Tom, he’s our lead producer, alongside Chuck, here.”
Okay, gotta mentally note those ones. Tom wears glasses, Chuck is a ginger, and- why the fuck are they looking at me like that. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Vincent.” He introduced himself polietly, although he internally recoiled at the way Tom was practically undressing him with his eyes. Which, introduction or not, was not a comfortable feeling.
Tom murmured something along the lines of “nice”, although, lip-reading wasn’t Vincent's strong-suit. And then he looked at Chuck, which was likely a mistake because that guy was somehow looking at him in an even more sexual way than the other guy, and consistantly glancing at his crotch.
Creeps, he thought, bristling internally but smiling pleasantly regardless.
Robbie noticed their looks and awkwardly laughed, ushering Vincent over to a different man. “Joe, hey! Wanna meet the new weatherman?” Vincent scowled outwardly for the first time as Robbie hid him behind his back despite the slight gratefulness of Robbie removing him from that situation.
“Of course I’d wanna meet the new guy,” Joe replied, looking at the spunky ginger with slightly squinted eyes and glancing around momentarily. “..where is he?”
Robbie moved to “grandly unveil” Vincent, whose scowl turned back into a grin as he realized Robbie was moving. “Hi-“
“Has Robbie taken you in as his guy already?” Joe interupted as he turned to Robbie. “That was quick of you.”
“Oh, c’mon, I had my mind set on this! You always get to show the new people around, and...”
Vincent tuned out the ginger’s frankly dorky ramblings and looked at Joe briefly - at least this guy didn’t seem to be as creepy as the other ones, who’d set the bar catastrophically low very quickly.
After about a minute had passed of Robbie and Joe talking, Vincent realized they likely weren’t stopping soon, given how they were now discussing Joe’s aunt and her newborn baby.
Which gave him a chance to explore for himself.
As he slid out of the room, he felt two vaguely familiar pairs of eyes on him and heard a shared, suggestive laugh as he began wandering around.
-
Somehow, Vincent had found himself by the studio rooms, where segments were actively being rehearsed. Standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, he watched the people inside - a gameshow of some sort, given that-
“Hello.”
Vincent jumped, eyes widening behind his thick-framed glasses as he turned around. It wasn’t that the man behind him was black, no, it was the fact that despite that, he was gorgeou- No. Wait, what the fuck?! What am I, some queer??
“A-ah, hello.” Vincent glanced to the side and then back at the man, blinking several times. “..who’re you?”
The man pretended to contemplate the question for a moment. “Mmm.. Alastor Hartfelt, dear. You’re the new hire that the front men are talking about, yes?”
Vincent bit his lip to stop himself from frowning. Way to scare me AND steal my thunder, bud. “That’d be me. Name’s Vincent Whittman.”
A beat.
And then laughter.
Vincent stared, refraining from letting his eyes twitch or well up at the same time. His smile was very visibly forced now as he asked through clenched teeth, “What’s so funny?”
Alastor wiped a fake tear from his eye. “I’m sorry, did you just say your last name is Whittman?”
“..Yes?”
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hold composure before bursting out laughing again. Once he finally got over cackling about it, he asked “How come- Whittman, really? Truly? Oh, my god-“ Alastor took a sharp inhale. “You- you really don’t see the hilarity? A white man named Whittman?”
“It’s really not that funny.” Vincent deadpanned. “And you’re one to talk, yours is practically the word heartfelt - which is dreadfully ironic, isn’t it?”
“Mayhaps.” Alastor gave a final chuckle as one of the office girls passed by. “Ah, hello, Laura!”
“Allie! Ooh, it’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it? How have you and Sean been?”
“Perfectly divine, dear. What about you and Molly?”
Vincent didn’t stay to understand who Molly and Sean were, but he could only assume those two were some kind of queers, which you should know he disliked greatly.
"It’s not supposed to be man loving man and woman loving woman," he mumbled under his breath as he led himself to the exit - on his way, he'd seen Robbie again, who’d given him a big wave.
-
Once Vincent had returned to his new home, he'd made up his mind on that man. He would never find himself liking Alastor even a sliver for the rest of his days. Not because he was black, not because he was supposedly a queer - with looks like that, he could have made an exception - but because he made fun of his name.
Mind you, Vincent’s mother had not taken his father’s last name, but in a remarkable display of dominance, especially for the time, had it the other way around. That asshole had made fun of his sweet, loving mother’s name!
His fist hit the wall with a dull thud - even just the thought of him made Vincent’s blood boil, and his heart race. He was worse than the ginger. He didn’t just not know his place, he believed it was above Vincent. Which it absolutely was NOT.
And he would make sure of it.
First, by tarnishing his reputation.
Vincent cackled aloud as he slipped his shoes and suit jacket off and pacing the home. It was too perfect of an idea - spread some nasty, not easily disprovable rumors about the popular radio host, tug a few strings, and BAM! Off the air for good.
He roughly grabbed the newspaper from that morning off the kitchen table. “Mmm, yes... ooh, he won’t see this one coming...”