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Description
I've been watching noir movies (from the 30s-50s) recently, made me want to write. Bogart and Grant fans, rise up. In my game, there's a fictional detective book series called Detective Owen. I guess this is an excerpt from that. Warning: very cringy. Ok? Ok. This part's between Owen and the reporter girl.

"Mr. Owen, everyone knows that you and your secretary were close. What do you feel about her marriage?"

Owen looked over at the reporter, his eyes captivated with an emotion that she couldn't quite identify. "How everyone else feels. Happy. I'm glad she invited me, too. It's a wonderful thing, getting hitched like this."

The reporter still held her microphone up to his face, not quite satisfied with his answer. "Is that really the truth, Mr. Owen? The word was that you and-"

Owen grabbed the microphone suddenly, pushing it away from his face. "Now you listen here, paper woman. What are you doing asking me questions, huh? The ones you should be asking are up there, saying their vows. Compared to those two, I'm a nobody. Sure, I know her; so does everyone else in this ceremony. I'm not special, so beat it."

The reporter looked at him for a while, then nodded her head somberly. "Okay. Thank you for your time."

After a few more glances in his direction, the reporter turned and began to walk away. But she only took a few steps before a voice caught her attention. "Hey."

The reporter turned around, seeing Owen's steely gaze line up with hers. He nodded her head in her direction. "I'll tell you what you want to hear."

She smiled widely, excited for her next big story. "Okay, tell me!" she exclaimed, walking back briskly to her interviewee. But when she held the mic up to his face, he shook his head and placed his palm over the recorder.

"Listen, this is off the record, you understand? I don't want this to be in any of the papers, but if I keep it to myself I'm going to go nuts. So I'll tell you the truth, and you don't tell anyone else. All right?"

The reporter looked at him with slight disappointment, but nodded in reply. "I won't tell anyone."

Owen leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Great. That's real nice... So, that woman up there. My secretary, Linda Smith. We were real close, me and her. I loved her, yeah, and I still do. For a while, I thought she felt the same, talking silly to me, giving me those feminine eyelash bats... Then she announces it to me, that she's gettin' married. Was a big shock for sure. But here we are, with her married to the man of her dreams, some sap I don't even know the name of. Apparently, she'd been dating him the whole time I knew 'er, she just never told me. But it's none of my business, anyhow. I didn't have the right to know."

"You're still not telling me the full story. What else? Are you sad?"

"Sad? No... I'm not sad. I'm content. I love her, sure, but I respect her decision. If you truly love someone, you can let them go. Why dwell on something you can't have? That's what the detective life has taught me." He gave the reporter a side glance, her eyebrows still contracted in that questioning expression. "What else do you want? My account numbers?"

"Tell me more about what you're feeling. You've got to be feeling something more than what you said."

"I already told you, I'm content. But I'm guessing you want to know if I'm sore. Am I sore at her for dancing around with me when she knew from the beginning that she loved another man, that she couldn't possibly have been together with me? The undisciplined man would reply, "Yes." But I'm a civilized individual, and there's no sense in holding anything against anyone, whomever that may be. Do I wish that it was me kissing up on her face instead of that schmuck up there? Absolutely. But will I complain about it? No. Who am I to ruin her day and make a mess of things where I'm not wanted? It's a happy occasion, finding the right person, and I'll support her every step of the way." He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke through his nose. "If she's happy, I'm happy. That's all there is to it."

Owen looked over to the reporter again, and that quizzical expression had faded into a somewhat compassionate smile. "I'm sure you'll find someone else," she said softly, putting her hand on his arm reassuringly. But he shook his head in reply.

"It's not fit for me, this whole romance thing. I've always hated relying on other people, because it always causes problems that you wouldn't have by yourself. This is no different." Owen took the nearly-extinguished cigarette out of his mouth, and ground the ashes on the wall. "My heart was born when I fell in love with Linda, it lived while I deluded myself that she felt the same, and it died when she kissed that man up there. I don't feel like giving it CPR." Pocketing the cigarette stub, he gave the reporter a small nod. "I suggest that you give those two love-birds an interview before the rest of the press gets to 'em. Give them my regards, too. I'm leaving."

"Okay, I will."

The reporter watched as Owen walked away, his form becoming smaller and smaller as the distance between them increased until she couldn't see him anymore. Then, she turned and walked towards the newlywed couple, eager to get the first interview before anyone else.

Description
I've been watching noir movies (from the 30s-50s) recently, made me want to write. Bogart and Grant fans, rise up. In my game, there's a fictional detective book series called Detective Owen. I guess this is an excerpt from that. Warning: very cringy. Ok? Ok. This part's between Owen and the reporter girl.

"Mr. Owen, everyone knows that you and your secretary were close. What do you feel about her marriage?"

Owen looked over at the reporter, his eyes captivated with an emotion that she couldn't quite identify. "How everyone else feels. Happy. I'm glad she invited me, too. It's a wonderful thing, getting hitched like this."

The reporter still held her microphone up to his face, not quite satisfied with his answer. "Is that really the truth, Mr. Owen? The word was that you and-"

Owen grabbed the microphone suddenly, pushing it away from his face. "Now you listen here, paper woman. What are you doing asking me questions, huh? The ones you should be asking are up there, saying their vows. Compared to those two, I'm a nobody. Sure, I know her; so does everyone else in this ceremony. I'm not special, so beat it."

The reporter looked at him for a while, then nodded her head somberly. "Okay. Thank you for your time."

After a few more glances in his direction, the reporter turned and began to walk away. But she only took a few steps before a voice caught her attention. "Hey."

The reporter turned around, seeing Owen's steely gaze line up with hers. He nodded her head in her direction. "I'll tell you what you want to hear."

She smiled widely, excited for her next big story. "Okay, tell me!" she exclaimed, walking back briskly to her interviewee. But when she held the mic up to his face, he shook his head and placed his palm over the recorder.

"Listen, this is off the record, you understand? I don't want this to be in any of the papers, but if I keep it to myself I'm going to go nuts. So I'll tell you the truth, and you don't tell anyone else. All right?"

The reporter looked at him with slight disappointment, but nodded in reply. "I won't tell anyone."

Owen leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Great. That's real nice... So, that woman up there. My secretary, Linda Smith. We were real close, me and her. I loved her, yeah, and I still do. For a while, I thought she felt the same, talking silly to me, giving me those feminine eyelash bats... Then she announces it to me, that she's gettin' married. Was a big shock for sure. But here we are, with her married to the man of her dreams, some sap I don't even know the name of. Apparently, she'd been dating him the whole time I knew 'er, she just never told me. But it's none of my business, anyhow. I didn't have the right to know."

"You're still not telling me the full story. What else? Are you sad?"

"Sad? No... I'm not sad. I'm content. I love her, sure, but I respect her decision. If you truly love someone, you can let them go. Why dwell on something you can't have? That's what the detective life has taught me." He gave the reporter a side glance, her eyebrows still contracted in that questioning expression. "What else do you want? My account numbers?"

"Tell me more about what you're feeling. You've got to be feeling something more than what you said."

"I already told you, I'm content. But I'm guessing you want to know if I'm sore. Am I sore at her for dancing around with me when she knew from the beginning that she loved another man, that she couldn't possibly have been together with me? The undisciplined man would reply, "Yes." But I'm a civilized individual, and there's no sense in holding anything against anyone, whomever that may be. Do I wish that it was me kissing up on her face instead of that schmuck up there? Absolutely. But will I complain about it? No. Who am I to ruin her day and make a mess of things where I'm not wanted? It's a happy occasion, finding the right person, and I'll support her every step of the way." He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke through his nose. "If she's happy, I'm happy. That's all there is to it."

Owen looked over to the reporter again, and that quizzical expression had faded into a somewhat compassionate smile. "I'm sure you'll find someone else," she said softly, putting her hand on his arm reassuringly. But he shook his head in reply.

"It's not fit for me, this whole romance thing. I've always hated relying on other people, because it always causes problems that you wouldn't have by yourself. This is no different." Owen took the nearly-extinguished cigarette out of his mouth, and ground the ashes on the wall. "My heart was born when I fell in love with Linda, it lived while I deluded myself that she felt the same, and it died when she kissed that man up there. I don't feel like giving it CPR." Pocketing the cigarette stub, he gave the reporter a small nod. "I suggest that you give those two love-birds an interview before the rest of the press gets to 'em. Give them my regards, too. I'm leaving."

"Okay, I will."

The reporter watched as Owen walked away, his form becoming smaller and smaller as the distance between them increased until she couldn't see him anymore. Then, she turned and walked towards the newlywed couple, eager to get the first interview before anyone else.