“Greetings, members of the press corpse. I mean corps,” Pamela began, hastily correcting herself. She paused to gather herself and then continued speaking, breezing through the press conferences with no further mishaps. One ambulance arrival and three dead reporters later, she retained her full comfort. This was, after all, what she did best.

He continued until he reached the end of the song, humming the fading melody of the outro. When he finished, the broadcasting room of the station was completely silent. The Weatherman blinked in surprise. The room-shaking lightning bolts weren’t supposed to have stopped for another twenty minutes or so, but by all appearances, the storm had based early. He rushed out of the station to see if he could catch Pamela giving her press conference.

By that point, Pamela was still in what she intended to be the middle of her press conference. “...And that was how I taught a librarian the power of friendship with my fists. Or I called it friendship, but the librarian...” She trailed off as the storm ceased. “Oh! I have stopped the storm!” she declared with a booming laugh despite having no reason to believe that the calm weather was her doing. “And that concludes today’s emergency press conference. It’s great to be back. If you need anything, don’t bother me with it.”

Steven Universe AU (Closed)

The shouting caused Cecil to cower even more. “This isn’t working,” Pamela muttered before shouting as well. “And if we were here to kill you, your pitiful desk would not be able to stop us!”

After a moment, a whimper could be heard before the radio host crawled out from beneath the desk.

“YOU’VE COME OUT. NOW YOU CAN SEE HOW WE ARE NOT HERE TO JOIN YOU.” They shouted out waiting for Cecil to come closer so that the shouting could have the best effect

Cecil crept closer to the window, still keeping his distance. “So, um...what’s your name?” he asked, trying (and failing) to sound casual.

“We are Bloodstone!” Pamela boomed before stopping to wonder where that name had come from. Bloodstone? What? “Er, I mean Zircon and...no, that isn’t it. Pamela! Pamela and the Glow Cloud!”

Steven Universe AU (Closed)

“They are strange ones,” Pamela agreed, trying to look in through the window as Nebula took over with speaking. After a few moments, she took the turn to talk. “I don’t think he’s paying attention.” She tried to take a closer look. “No, wait…he’s hiding under his desk.”

“WE ARE NOT HERE TO KILL YOU.” Nebula shouted, maybe a tab buy to loud, but the point had to be made and people always seemed to understand what was happening when shouting was involved

The shouting caused Cecil to cower even more. “This isn’t working,” Pamela muttered before shouting as well. “And if we were here to kill you, your pitiful desk would not be able to stop us!”

After a moment, a whimper could be heard before the radio host crawled out from beneath the desk.

Meanwhile, Pamela rushed outside, ignoring the danger of the storm. She could only assume that the gazebo had to have been struck down by that point. Once outside of the station, she began to chant in an ancient language, as she usually did when she had to manually summon reporters. Often, there was also a blood sacrifice, but that was a formality she didn’t have time for.

As though in a trance, the reporters and reporters’ interns began to shamble toward her, their eyes blank until they stood in front of her. They then, collectively, blinked as though confused as to their new location. She smiled to herself as they neared her. Who knew she would have missed giving emergency press conferences so much?

The Weatherman always found the sensation of singing strange at first, the acidic taste of his coffee-bean flavored voice competing with the blooming colors of the melody. He warned the town about the storm, not with his words but with rhythms and arpeggios, with flowing crescendos and key changes. The longer he sang, the further his thoughts drifted from the fact that he was being broadcast across town, and soon his nervousness was completely forgotten.

“Greetings, members of the press corpse. I mean corps,” Pamela began, hastily correcting herself. She paused to gather herself and then continued speaking, breezing through the press conferences with no further mishaps. One ambulance arrival and three dead reporters later, she retained her full comfort. This was, after all, what she did best.