The BOAC Scoop
The following takes place following: The Tower of Walgoth Episode 7
The Waldopolis Chronicle — Newsroom, 12 September 2024, 09:42
The newsroom hummed with its usual frenetic energy. Editor-in-Chief Harris Travers sat in his office, savouring a morning cigar as he admired the newly revamped page 7 of the Chronicle. The page bore the bold headline:
“BOOBS AND BRAINS… Bare Facts & Hot Takes with Ermintrude Maine-Anjou, WC’s Newest Political Commentator.”
Beneath it, a full-page topless photo of Ermie accompanied her political column. Travers nodded approvingly, his gaze fixed firmly on Ermie's smile and massive jugs, while the article on the CNT party’s latest NIMBY gaffe went entirely ignored.
Just then, Wally Walchak burst into the office clutching a thick stack of papers.
wF: “Bossman! Bossman! You’re not gonna believe this. We’ve got a gigantic government screw-up... It’s a total disaster. Ha ha. Mmmhmm, that's right!”
Startled, Travers dropped his cigar straight into his coffee. He looked up with a mix of curiosity and frustration. Deputy Editor Master Devlin, lounging on the other side of Travers' desk with his feet up, peered over his Fabergé egg catalogue without a word.
Travers: “This better be good, Wally…”
wF: “It sure is, sir! A real scoop!”
Travers: “Well, go on then. What is it?”
wF: “The government’s BOAC. department’s messed up the allocation of taxpayer funds. Moneys meant for healthcare, infrastructure and such, has instead gone towards a lavish renovation of the Masters Council headquarters. Now they're trying to cover it up!”
Travers: “‘BOAC.’? What the hell is that?”
wF: “Ummm…. The department of uh…”
(Wally checks his notes)
wF: “Bureaucratic Oversight and Administrative Constraint! It's a new department designed to reduce bloated bureaucracy. Instead, they’ve made a dog’s breakfast of it.”
Travers: “How embarrassing... Who’s the minister?”
wF: “Some scouse broad. Fiona Malone, MP for Wexley. Wifform Party.”
Wally slapped a pile of leaked documents on the desk—money trails, panicked emails, the whole mess laid bare.
Travers chuckled as he absorbed the gravity of the situation.
Travers: “So let me get this straight. In an attempt to reduce waste… a Reform minister’s department has just paid to renovate the Masters Council headquarters?”
wF: “Precisely! Specifically, they just paid for a fancy new bathroom.”
Travers: “Ha ha ha... Excellent work, Wally! Now that’s what I’m talking about. You see, Master Devlin, this is why I got into this business—real muck-raking journalism… Well, that and the tits. Anyway, let’s dig into this. I want all the details, and start making inquiries for official comment. This could be our biggest story since I took over this place.”
wF: “On it, Boss!”
Master Devlin set his catalogue aside, examining the leaked pages with a smirk.
Master Devlin: “Where did you get these, Widdle Frunkut?”
wF: “We gots an anonymous source inside Reform. Very reliable, uh huh! That’s right.”
Master Devlin: “Of course you do... Well, I admit this could be very amusing. Though of course it will hurt our friend, Prime Minister Konrad, too, no doubt.”
Travers: “Kyle’s made his bed. He’ll just have to live with the consequences of leading a coalition government. Besides, this newspaper must be impartial! We can’t allow such personal connections to interfere with our duty to bring the public factual and honest news…”
Master Devlin: “Right.”
Travers: “Plus, we need to hurry and get this out before anyone else catches wind. We’re gonna sell a lot of papers with this doozy.”
Master Devlin: “Of course. That’s more like it. Well then, a brand-new government and already a major scandal drops into your lap. Must be your lucky day, Travers.”
Travers: (nodding) “It’s like the Waldoverse is handing me a gift. Thank you, Ed… See? I told you that pilgrimage to the tower would pay off.”
****
The Citadel — B.O.A.C. Department, 12 September 2024, 11:16
The BOAC. Department was buzzing with a sense of cautious relief. Senior Special Adviser to the Minister, Clive Weatherby, leant back in his chair with a self-satisfied grin as he watched his fellow civil servants begin to relax, believing they’d successfully averted the crisis.
Clive Weatherby: “Well, well, well, look at us — the undisputed champions of cover-ups. Seems like we’ve managed to keep this little ‘oopsie’ under wraps. Should be smooth sailing from here.”
Imogen Carter: (nervously) “I still think we should’ve come clean. It’s a brand-new government — people might have understood…”
Clive: (mocking) “Oh sure, because Waldonians are known for their calm, rational responses. Especially when they find out millions of their tax money went to refurbish the ivory towers of a bunch of toffee-nosed, elitist wankers. Yeah, I’m sure they’d just say, ‘Yeah, no worries, mate, better luck next time.’”
Derek Flint: (checking his blood pressure) “I’m just relieved it’s over. Why does this always seem to happen on my watch?”
The Rt Hon Fiona Malone, Minister for BOAC., strode into the office and gestured for Sheila Parkin, Administrative Co-ordinator, to join her for a quiet word.
Fiona Malone: “Is it all taken care of then?”
Sheila Parkin: “Yes, Minister. We’ve adjusted the numbers. Everything’s sorted.”
Fiona: (sighing with relief) “Oh, thank goodness. You all had me worried for a moment there. The last thing I want is to be remembered for shelling out to refurbish those Masters Council bastards.”
Clive: “Maybe we should start a ‘Crisis Averted’ club. Membership: exclusive to those who can make a multi-million-pound cock-up disappear.”
Imogen: (half-listening, trying to concentrate) “Oh please, Clive. You wouldn’t even get past the initiation. You’d probably—”
As Imogen turned, still talking, she nearly collided with Jamie McDonald, the government’s Director of Communications, who had silently entered the room and was now standing inches away from her. She gasped and stepped back, her face flushing with surprise.
Imogen: (nervously) “Oh! Uh, Mr McDonald… Sorry, I didn’t see you there…”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as everyone suddenly became aware of Jamie’s presence. He stood there with an unsettlingly calm smile, his eyes slowly scanning the room.
Jamie McDonald: (coolly, with an icy smile) “Ah, what a charming little scene we have here. You lot look very relaxed for a government department. You must tell me your secret.”
Everyone froze; the tension thickened. Fiona Malone, sensing something was off, tried to keep things cordial.
Fiona: (nervously) “Jamie… To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”
Jamie: (casually, in a mock-friendly tone) “Oh, I was just dropping by to see how my favourite department is getting on. It’s always interesting here. What were you calling it, Clive? The ‘Crisis Averted’ club? And what kind of crisis would that be? Do tell…”
Fiona: “Um… well, the thing is we had a glitch with the system — a minor miscommunication with the allocations, but it’s all been sorted now.”
Jamie: “Oh, right? Well, that’s good to hear…”
Jamie paced slowly around the room, taking his time, watching them squirm. Then he stopped, turning to face them with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Jamie: “Funny thing, though. On the way in here, a little birdie told me there’s been a rather juicy story floating around BOAC.. And wouldn’t you know it, that story has found its way to the Waldopolis Chronicle.”
Clive’s smirk dropped. Imogen’s face went pale, and Derek’s hands trembled. Fiona looked as if she were about to be sick.
Fiona: (visibly shaken) “Oh God… What do they know?”
Jamie: “Oh, not much… Only that the Ministry of Bureaucratic Oversight has gone and gifted £30 million of taxpayer money to the Masters fucking Council to build a new bumming sauna and is now trying to fudge the numbers to cover it up!”
Fiona: “Oh fuck…”
Jamie’s calm demeanour shattered as he suddenly erupted, his voice booming with fury.
Jamie: “Oh fuck? ‘Oh fuck’ is right! ‘Crisis Averted’ club? More like the Ministry of half-arsed cover-ups run by a bunch of useless fucking cunts!”
Sheila: “We thought we had it under control…”
Jamie: “Under control?! You clueless fuckwits have about as much control over this as Marty McFly with a fucking hand grenade! You’ve single-handedly handed the opposition a fucking goldmine!”
Clive: “Well… I guess the cat’s out of the bag then…”
Jamie: “Are you trying to be funny, Weatherby? Open your mouth again and I will take your entrails, string them up like Christmas lights, and use them to decorate the Citadel courtyard.”
Derek: (trembling) “We… we’re trying our best, Jamie. Really.”
Jamie: (grinning maniacally) “’Trying your best’? Trying your fucking best?! Your best isn’t worth a steaming pile of shite if it’s going to put this government in the shitter! Maybe try your best without your head up your arse next time, eh? This is a fuck-up of the highest order, and now the whole fucking country is watching us!”
He turned to Fiona, his tone dripping with contempt.
Jamie: “And you, Minister… Misallocating funds and then covering it up like some dodgy back-alley deal? Brilliant move, really. I should’ve known a two-bit Scouser tart who’s used to swindling her way through life would turn BOAC into a fucking disaster zone. You, Missy… you’re about to become the poster child for every government fuck-up from here to the next election. You’ll be known as the queen of cock-ups so far and wide that the only time you’ll get to play politician again is in a fucking porno.”
Fiona: “Jamie, please. Your anger is understandable, but this isn’t helping. The question is, what are we going to do about it?”
Jamie: “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do… You lot are going to draft the most grovelling apology of your lives — the ‘Sorry I shagged your dog and burned your house down while wearing blackface’ kind of apology. Meanwhile, I’m going to deal with those bastards at the Chronicle. Maybe see if I can still minimise the damage. After that, I’m going to find the traitorous little shit who leaked this to the press and eviscerate them with a rusty spoon.”
Jamie glared around the room, daring anyone to speak. When no one did, he stormed out, leaving the team in stunned silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Fiona swallowed hard, trying to steady herself before snapping into action.
Fiona: “You heard him. Get to work.”
The Waldoverse continues in A Friendly Visit