'The people deserve to know-we deserve to know.' Tory Rangner claimed with one hand put up to her heart and the other pounding on the desk of her boss.
To her surprise, he agreed, without referring to any of the letters Tory just handed to him. A huge pile of them from the beloved readers of their little Paparazzi magazine.
He did not need to read the letters to know the content. He knew their readers. He bet the most popular question was about the color of the Heichou's underwear. The second, brief or boxer, which one did Eren prefer.
Other popular questions included but were not exclusive to, how did the Heichou and Eren carry on their secret affair? Who was the top and who was the bottom? Any BDSM? Role playing? How about the rumor that the Heichou loved cross-dressing, and Eren prefered him in pink panties with laces? Or was it the vice versa?
Eren's marriage and kids, who cares? That poor woman was obviously just a sham. A beard. Necessary to protect Eren's political career and to prevent the stupid mass from boycotting the mega manufacture comglomerate-Hange-Rivaille Group.
'Go! Interview them. Get them to talk. Get as much details as possible. The more horrid the better!' Tory did not need to do any persuading. All her homework was wasted. Her boss just handed her a 3-inch notebook and a new box of pencils, and was more than happy to send her on her way with a big swat on her back.
Well. Convincing her boss was definitely the easiest part. Things turned quickly down south afterwards. The problem is that-she was not able to get through and talk with anyone.
The security guys at the Hange-Rivaille headquarters threw her out before she could sneak in. She staked out across the street for two weeks and was still not able to solicit one casual comment from any employee. Come on! What world is this? Nobody gossips about their bosses any more?
Her luck with the congress was not any better. She could not even get a Press' pass. 'I am sincerely sorry but Paparazzi does not fit the definition of "press" ', the press liaison, a beautiful petite blonde lady in her early 30s, turned Tory away before she could even hand in her application for press pass. 'We are only giving out passes to journalists who are interested in the social reform and Congressman Yeager's upcoming campaign for re-election.' The woman said in her angelic voice.
Her attempts to get into the headquarters to the Scouting Legion did fare slightly better. At least she managed to make through the front gate. All thanks to the fact that as a living relative of a fallen colleague, she had access to the ears of a ranking officer at any time.
The nice lady at the reception desk was surely eager to help her. But she joined the Legion less than 3 months ago, and had never met any of the legendary heroes. All the surviving members who were part of the Final Titans War had either retired or started new careers somewhere. Some joined Eren Yeager on his political campaigns. Some went to help Hange and Rivaille with their forever growing business empire.
'Sssee, if you were here a biiit early, you could have meeet General Aleerrt. Heee quuuiiitt four monthie agooo' The nice lady told her with lots of sympathy, while munching on a piece of freshly baked potato.
Well, she should not say it was all bad luck. She did manage to talk to one of them. General Jean Kirsten. The new commander of the Military Police. His secretary was shoving her out of the door when he heard all the commotion and came out for a look.
'Are you kidding me？I always have time for a distressed young lady as beautiful as you. I am all yours. Talk as long as you want'.
After apologizing to her, he escorted her into his extravagant office. His secretary refused to give in, and shouted behind them in a very loud voice, 'Sir, you have a meeting with the Generalismo NOW!'
'I am almost 35 and I need a wife. The Generalismo is going nowhere and he can wait!' Commander Kirsten shouted back in a even louder voice and shut the door right into his secretary's face.
That was not a very promising start and neither did it go well afterwards. The problem was that unlike all the others who refused to talk, Commander Kirsten just talked too much.
She had a list. A list of questions that she carefully compiled from the letters of their readers. But she was not able to go through any of them because the Commander just went on and on about his great deeds and heroic battles. Things that everybody already knew and nobody was interested in. The Military had already made him the commander of the Military Police. Wasn't that enough? She did not need him to tell her. Her readers did not need him to tell them.
What they wanted to know was the important questions. Like the ones on her list. But she could not even squeeze in the simplest one, Question #351, the one about his boxer-her readers had already decided that Jean had to be all about boxers.
But stripes or checkers, which one was his favorite?
That was the question her readers could not decide upon. There had been several serious fights among the fans and some pretty gruesome casualties-35 missing faux nails, 27 strands of pulled hair and 13 torn skirts. And 13? What a terrible number! It felt like doomsday for all the Jean/Marco fans when the news came out.
Well, that reminded her of the question she was afraid to ask. Question #17. The question that made her heart bleed. But every cell of her body just screamed that they wanted to know. How did he survived all these years without Marco? How could he ever satisfy himself without Marco's hot body thrusting against his? Did he wank himself to sleep with Marco's image in his mind every night?
But she did not get any of her questions answered.
The day was getting darker, and there was only a dim light from a desk in a far corner. The air in the room got weird. Very weird when the commander's face moved closer and closer. So close that she could feel his breath on her lips. She had to stand up just to avoid their lips touch and left as soon as she could, but not before the Commander could get her home address and her office number.
The afternoon was a complete waste. All she got out of it was a semi marriage proposal and dozens of red roses delivered to her place every day. It was not that she did not want to be his sham wife. In person, the commander was even more handsome than his fans claimed.
But not Jean Kirsten. The forever mourning widower was absolutely taboo material. Ever since the death of Marco Bott, he, though still alive, was pretty much wrapped around in a shroud and put on a shrine, a shrine sacred to Marco and all the Jean/Marco fans. Were she ever to marry him, they would storm their little publishing house and tear her into pieces.
But even without anything real, the next issue of their magazine did soar up in sales like in 10 times with her little article about the personal encounter with the Commander, and a couple of twists to the anecdotes he dropped here and there about his adventures with Eren, Armin, and the old Commander of the Scout Legion, Erwin Smith.
It was not much, and she used very vague words and mostly just innuendos. But it did help with the sales. A Lot.
The roses did stop coming.