(no subject)
Deep down beneath the quiet reserve and the sweet smile, Sacharissa was thrilled. True, it was terrible that people were having hallucinations (and she really didn't see the need for a post office on an island roughly ten miles square), but this was news. They were good stories, both of them, worth the writing. She missed the rush a daily paper brought with it, but there was no doubting that something interesting managed to turn up in time for every edition here.
Armed with two freshly sharpened pencils and a notebook, she made her way down the hall toward the offices. Vimes would be less than keen to see her, but that was nothing new. Talking to Annie, she reasoned, would be more productive, although she would still want to find some of the people in question. As for Sam Tyler, he was still an unknown quantity. She could only hope that, given his own history with that sort of thing, he would provide an interesting angle to the story - even if that wasn't something she was technically supposed to know about. Sacharissa had never much bothered about what she was and wasn't supposed to know.
[You don't have to find her. She'll find you. Locked to interviewees, set to Sunday afternoon.]