ArchivedLogs:Bury The Lead

Bury The Lead
Dramatis Personae Micah, Mirror, Tess	9 December 2013 Mirror gets the scoop on Prometheus. (Part of Infected TP and Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. December has been earning its wages as a winter month quite well this year, with frigid temperatures well below the average and some form of wintry precipitation nearly every day thus far. Today proves no different, the sky spitting a wintry mix down on a slushy city with only intermittent breaks from new additions to the cold-damp. Micah is taking advantage of one such lull currently, sneaking Obie over to the park for some outdoor time before it goes full-dark out and the temperatures plunge further yet. He is dressed rather like the Southerner in winter that he is: olive green puffy coat, green gradient-striped gloves, flap-eared orange Jayne hat, and candy-corn striped knit scarf wrapped around his neck in an attempt to retain what little heat his body creates. The beagle doesn't seem much worse for wear with the weather, though it is already apparent that his paws are going to take some wiping before going inside again is a good idea. Just across the street outside the Lofts there are still newsvans, still reporters haranguing some of the residents, but the woman strolling through the slushy park is approaching from the opposite direction where the subway is. She's dressed warmly as are most people, thick grey tights under her skirt and tall black boots and a long black coat. Dark skinned, dark eyed, dark haired, rather Middle Eastern in her features which themselves are rather androgynous, her attire more feminine than her build. She has been heading straight through but the sight of the beagle and Micah makes her veer off, approaching with a small smile. "Mr. Zedner," she greets in a warm contralto. "-- And friend. Goodness, but he's adorable." Tess is doing well, walking through the park, ball under her arms and basically looking to be in a fairly good mood. A smile on her face as she glances around, unlike others she isn't dressed particularly warmly. She notices Micah, and kneels down to make a snowball, aiming it carefully for the back of Micah's head. Mirror addresses Micah just after Tess has thrown the snowball, possibly resulting in snowball to face, oops. Obie is the first to be aware of the woman's presence, already dancing on the end of his leash for New Person attention before Micah so much as turns. "I'm gonna assume you're with the press, seein' as you're misterin' at me. Micah's fine, please. This is Obie. Adorable's kinda his specialty, particularly if he thinks it's gonna get 'im pet or fed." With a warm smile, he reins the pup in a little, not certain how much barrelling beagle the woman is prepared to handle. Switching the leash over to his left hand, he turns to offer his right in greeting. "Didn't get a chance t'catch your name y--" The rest of the statement is cut off as his turning is straight into the snowball, which smacks wetly into one of his earflaps and takes the hat with it to the ground, leaving auburn hair sticking out at all angles and hazel eyes wide in surprise. "Naseemah Chaudhry." Mirror takes accept the handshake firmly before she crouches down, offering a gloved hand outward and then scruffling at the beagle behind his ears. "With the Daily Bugle. I hope you don't mind if I steal a few minutes of your --" She glances up with a faint look of surprise as well at the sudden shower of snow that results after a snowball-collision, looking from Micah to Tess with a thin press of lips. She reaches over, picking the hat off the ground and shaking it free of snow. "Mmm. Winter." She offers the hat back to Micah, draped over a hand. Tess watches that plan misfire, and heads closer. "Oops, sorry Micah, I didn't mean to hit your face." She glances between the two, "Did I disturb something? I didn't mean to." Guiltyfacemode engage. Micah accepts the hat with a quiet thanks, expression turned a little sheepish as he pulls it back onto his head. “Winter'n,” his eyes take on a look of greater understanding as they recognise Tess, “kids. Hey, Tess, honey. I'm fine, but y'do wanna be careful y'don't accidentally catch a body in the eye sometime. Y'got quite the /arm/ on ya.” He bats a last bit of snow from the side of his face with a gloved hand. Meanwhile, Obie seems to have made a new best friend; pettings earn eager-excited tail-waggings! “Nice t'meet you Ms. Chaudhry. Heard your name about here an' there. Hard t'forget, kinda...lyrical.” He nods in reply to the reporter, pompom on his hat quaking slightly. “I can talk for a bit, yeah. If you're needin' a longer interview sometime, I'll offer t'chat where the elements ain't so busy remindin' it's wintertime at a later date, too.” "I think your friend is doing as well as the elements are, reminding it is wintertime." Mirror sounds quietly amused. She returns to her crouch, rubbing happily at Obie's head. "Oh, yes," she answers Tess lightly, "disturb, yes, you certainly did. Except that's what /I/ was doing to begin with so I'm hardly in a position to fault. Disturbance is my middle name. Less lyrical, unfortunately." She tips a quick smile back up to Micah, and retrieves a small recorder from her pocket. "Will it bother you, if I record this? I'm just looking to get your perspective on recent events." Tess kind of has this alarmed face when the topic of 'recording' comes up. She takes a few steps back, looking at the recorder warily before realizing it's just a voice recorder. "I'll be more careful in the future, Micah." Still kind of giving the recorder a wary glance, but nothing too terrible. “Ha, well, I mostly meant how it's gonna get colder now the sun's on 'is way out. Wouldn't want y'catchin' a chill.” Micah chuckles at the reporter's jokes. “Oh, not disturbin' so much. Obie's in heaven, at least. An'...yeah, I can't say that part quite fits the /flow/ s'far as names're concerned.” The dog certainly seems pleased, nuzzling his head into the woman's petting, his tail going full-force. “Y'gonna be okay with this, sugar? She /is/ a reporter.” This last is directed to Tess when he notes her distress. "I can always arrange an interview another time, if this is uncomfortable," Naseemah agrees with a tip of her head towards Tess. "Is there a time that works better for you? I did kind of just --" Her lips twitch upwards. "Disturb." Her hand smooths down along Obie's side, patting at him firmly. She glances up at the evening sky, shaking her head. "We have a lot of winter on its way yet. I don't think it's near so cold as it's going to be." Tess glances between the reporter and Micah, and sighs a bit. "It's fine, just... don't record me if you can, okay? Or cut it out. Something." She kind of seems uncomfortable with the idea regardless, "Don't let me stop you from interviewing Micah." Obie runs little circles around the reporter's legs, standing still only while actively receiving petting. “'Fraid you're right on that one. Shapin' up t'be a horrid season.” Micah pauses to let Tess answer the question of whether the interview will be too problematic or not. He nods at her reply. “We can keep from sayin' your name or anythin', hon. An' no pictures or whatnot. Okay?” He arches a questioning brow slightly in the woman's direction. "No cameras," Mirror assures lightly, "don't even know your name, couldn't use it if I wanted to." She does switch the recorder on after this, though she stays crouched down to pet Obie. /Priorities/. "It's certainly shaping up to be something, alright." She looks back upwards, only now standing. "Mr. Zedner. I have heard from a number of people the contributions your -- partner," there's a faintly questioning inflection to this word, not entirely decided on it, "-- made over the past month. Can you tell me what it was like for you, and your children? With him so busy and such horror all around?" Tess nods and kind of moves to half-hide behind Micah, not particularly because she's scared, but because she doesn't know who she's dealing with. She's quiet, letting the reporter ask her questions without the tape catching Tess's voice. Micah gestures the group forward to continue Obie's walk once Mirror has righted herself. She may have earned herself one dog-shaped shadow for the duration, however. “Partner's fine. Husband, also accurate.” He steers Obie gently back toward the path and out from underfoot. “Jax is always kinda on the busy side of things...got a lot on his plate most of the time. S'in art school, works a couple of jobs besides, volunteers feedin' people in need, an' pretty much always has a hand in helpin' folks as need it. Never seems t'be a shortage there, either.” Micah's description sounds fond, with no complaint about it. “This particular mess was a little rough in that all of us was sick with that infection. Jax was helpin' figure a cure an' round up the folks who'd gone...hostile. By the end, I was gettin' tested on by the team at the Mendel Clinic, m'self. We been blessed with some good boys, though. Two of 'em teenagers who are quite helpful in their own right. One younger. Got a lot of friends who pitch in, too. S'kinda a community in our buildin', an' then some.” "Husband," Mirror corrects easily. "Goodness. Feeding the poor -- you make him sound like a saint. Though maybe it's a common trait in your family, looking into your /own/ background and it seems like helping those in need is a frequent habit of yours, too. Your company -- that's what you do too, yes? In a more medical capacity." Her brows lift, studying Micah for a moment. "Your whole family -- so he was doing all this while sick himself." It seems to be a passing note more than a comment. "Tested on. That sounds risky. How was that, for you?" Her eyes skip off to Tess -- insofar as they /can/ with the girl hiding behind Micah. "And then some." There's an odd warmth to this comment, as she glances off back to the Lofts. Then back to Tess. "A community you are part of?" Tess shakes her head shyly when a question is asked, but doesn't verbally reply to it. Maybe she's scared of the recorder picking up her voice, she just kind of keeps standing there behind Micah. “He is an immensely /good/ person,” Micah replies to the saint commentary. “One of the best I've met, for certain. An' I've seen a fair number of folks doin' a lotta good, I'll tell ya.” He blushes slightly when that comment is turned on him more directly. “Ohgosh, ain't /saintly/ t'be workin' in medicine. S'my job...makin' orthoses and prostheses, primarily. Bracing and limb replacement. Some general medical adaptive equipment work, too. I do most of my work with kids an' military veterans. Kinda...got into the work naturally on account of how I grew up.” A nod confirms the question of Jax's illness. “Yes'm, Jax took ill pretty early on. I was a bit later. The tests were...uncomfortable, but necessary. Saved my life an' the lives of my family an' so many others, so it weren't a /question/ of doin' it or not, though. Was easier for me t'stay an' be prodded at than most. I got a real thorough medical history an' I'm kinda used t'hospitals an' doctors since forever. I been fortunate enough t'receive compassionate care most always. Same can't be said for many of the others.” Micah shakes his head as well, speaking up for Tess so that she won't have to. His voice lowers to a whisper that is intended not to record well. “She ain't a part of the things you're wantin' t'know, hon. Just a girl who's down on her luck that Jax'n I've given a helpin' hand from time t'time.” "So you work helping people with disabilities have fuller lives," Mirror states. "Children. And soldiers who fought for this country. -- On account of how you grew up?" The flick of her eyes down to Micah's leg briefly implies she already knows this answer, despite the question. She looks over Tess after this, with a quick smile and a quick nod. "Just another person that you and your husband are helping. It /is/ a habit." Though after this her brows furrow, faintly. "So you were in the clinic through the cure process. What can you tell me about the team who was working on it? I think the world owes them a large debt. You, too, if you volunteered yourself to help. -- I don't imagine medical testing is ever comfortable. How do you mean, the others?" Tess glances between the two again, still a bit nervous seeming, but she softly adds. "They're really nice people." Then she shuts up again, letting Micah and the reporter do their talking. Micah's blush ramps up a few notches at the compliments, particularly when Tess chimes in just to add one. “Was born missin' most of my left leg. S'called a transfemoral amputation, for those who like the fancy words. Small vascular accident early in gestation. So I been 'round the medical side a lot. Particularly prosthetics. But I also meant that I kinda grew up in m'pop's auto shop, too. So I been kinda up t'my elbows in mechanical things since I could hold a wrench.” Another nod confirms the reporter's question on the Clinic. “Yes'm. Some good folks workin' there. Drs. Saavedro and Toure...I can't overstate their levels of compassion /or/ skill. I knew 'em both from before this. Dr. Saavedro from settin' up the Clinic for persons with special abilities, an' for consultations helpin' folks with special abilities who /also/ needed my services. Dr. Toure primarily from volunteer ventures, includin' his nonprofit clinic, Common Ground. I do some volunteerin' there...wish I had more time for it, honestly, they do much-needed work providin' medical care for folks as otherwise wouldn't have it. Regan Wynarde's still an MD-PhD student, but sometimes those folks can be helpful just for their /fresh/ view of things. Lucien Tessier is also a good friend, who was involved in a great deal of the testin' process.” He pauses for a moment, deliberately not mentioning Parley after the discomfiture he had expressed over the media using his name. “The others, I meant, other folks I know as were infected. A fair number of 'em are folks with special abilities. Like any other minority group, they don't always get the kind of care that all /people/ deserve from the medical community. Just look at the story of that poor boy who got turned away from the ER an' /died/ because of it. Things like that happen all the time; that's just the story that the news got their teeth in.” Micah bites at his lip. “An' lack of care's the least of it. These folks often get treated like lab rats an' worse by scientists. Gives 'em an understandable discomfort with medical facilities.” "They sound like more than just nice people," Mirror agrees with Tess, her head nodding slightly. "Mmm. Both doctors already heavily invested in charity work. Perhaps you just had a whole /team/ of saints." There's a brief lapse into quiet, head tipping thoughtfully to one side at Micah's mention of poor medical treatment. "If you were there through the whole process -- what did you hear about the /origin/ of this disease? There've been people who point to a mutant as its source." Tess smiles a bit and just softly tells Micah, "I'll see you again. I can see this is gonna take a while." And with that, she starts to walk away, picking up her ball and kind of kicking it up. Micah smiles at Tess in turn, giving her a little wave as she heads off. "Sure thing, hon. Be safe out there, okay?" Once the girl is a bit further away, he turns back to Mirror. "S'probably for the best she doesn't have t'hear all this right now, anyhow, it's...got some unpleasantness about it. Prob'ly you're gonna accuse me of buryin' the lead here in a second." He draws a ponderous breath, sighing a bit of it back out before he starts. "The folks as say that a...mutant was the origin ain't takin' the time t'trace it back far /enough/. The young man they're referencin' was /involved/ but more like a...vessel containin' a manufactured biological weapon that got broke durin' transport due to mishandlin', more than anythin' else. People been phrasin' it like malice on his part. Or that he was this inherently world-threatenin' danger from accident of birth, but that ain't true. Y'don't blame the vial. Y'blame the folks as made the contagion inside an' the ones as broke it." Again, Micah pauses, his teeth finding his lip before he continues. "He is a person with the unfortunate special ability of takin' in pathogens, changin' 'em, sendin' 'em back out. But he wouldn't never've been more dangerous than what he'd run into day-to-day if it weren't for him bein' kidnapped, locked up, an' experimented on against his will. Government-funded military facilities workin' t'exploit the powers of people with special abilities have been doin' this for years. /Are/ doin' it now. One such took this young man an' exposed 'im t'all kind of horrible pathogens, tryin' t'see how they /could/ use 'im as a weapon. An' when he finally got away from 'em, from the horrible things they were doin' t'him an' wanted t'use 'im for, they came after 'im with soldiers an' guns. An' in his /panic/ at this, he accidentally released one of the things that /they/ had created." His fingers clench tight around the handle of Obie's leash, his voice lower and rougher when he speaks again. "So if you're lookin' for a source...it wasn't him. It was what those people /did/ to him." Mirror listens to this in quiet. Around her small recorder, her fingers tighten with a slow quiet creak of leather. Even after Micah has finished, for a moment she does not respond, her eyes lowering and her breath drawn in slowly. Pushed back out slowly, in a soft plume of white. "That sounds," she eventually says, "like the real horror of all this. The zombies are mindless. The people who did that to another --" She shakes her head quickly. "These facilities -- you make it sound like this wasn't an isolated incident. May I ask, Mr. Zedner, how you came by this information?" "It is," Micah replies simply. He is quiet for some time before answering her follow-up question, again requiring a deep breath to steady himself. The breath itself is shaky. "A person with my particular skill set is useful when there are folks out there who've been cut on, beaten, shot, stabbed, burned, maimed, mutilated, an' tortured in every imaginable way. I've met these folks, some of 'em only children. Some of 'em kept in captivity from the time they /were/ children, an' no longer are. I've heard their stories. I've done what little I can t'help just...providin' first aid when they couldn't set foot in an E.R. or hope t'be seen by a care provider. T'direct care an' manufacture prosthetic devices when whole limbs were lost or...worse, taken from them /on purpose/. I've heard so many of these stories, but there's always /another/. An' every time seems t'be some fresh new horror." Obie whimpers, nosing at Micah's foot. He stops walking, reaching down to offer reassurance in the form of headscritches. "An' they've got no one t'go to. Still no one t'go to. Knowin' that there are others just like them, still bein' tortured." Mirror stops walking when Obie does, looking down at the beagle when he whimpers, her expression a little more pinched. "Still more out there," she echoes softly. She looks back towards the Lofts, towards the news vans around it. "If you know people who have gotten out -- do you think," she asks, still quiet, "that any of them would be willing to share their stories?" Micah looks up from the dog, nodding again. "There are a lot of 'em as are pretty traumatised an' reasonably scared. Some so much that they might not be willin' t'talk about it, even. But there are some that would. If y'put the call out for 'em an' they knew they could talk safely. There's a fair number of 'em who just...want someone t'hear their stories. So folks'll know. So maybe they'll even /help/. 'Cause what else are they t'do? Who are they t'go to? Their neighbours, who more often than not look on 'em with fear an' contempt? The police who kidnap 'em an' put 'em in fightin' rings or the judges who just buy the tickets t'/watch/? The military whose superiors are runnin' these facilities or the government that funds 'em?" He looks a little misty-eyed as he shakes his head, stopping himself from continuing down that path. "The best we could hope for is for the public t'hear. T'really /listen/ an' be willin' t'/do/ somethin' t'stop it." Mirror reaches into her her bag, pulling out a small case and then extracting from it a small /stack/ of business cards. Her business cards, from the Daily Bugle, with contact information by phone and email. "Here. If you know anyone who is willing to share their story, I'll listen. And people will hear." Her lips press together as she looks at Micah's eyes, then back down to the beagle. "And thank you, Mr. Zedner. For your time." Fallen silent again, Micah retrieves the stack of business cards and places them carefully into the messenger bag at his side. Reaching into his back pocket, he withdraws one of his own and hands this to her. Along with his name (followed by a whole string of acronyms) and contact information, the card bears the heading 'Gorilla AT'. "I suspect that y'have my information already, but it's nice t'have it all in one place an' accessible sometimes." Her thanks is answered with another nod. "Thank you, as well. For listening. An' in advance, if you actually tell their story. I'll pass these around an' have Jax do the same." With another look down at the now cold-wet dog, he turns back in the direction of the Lofts. "Have a good night, Ms. Chaudhry. Be safe." "And you, Mr. Zedner." Mirror stoops to pet the dog one last time. "You and all your family." She doesn't turn. Just switches off her recorder, putting it back in her pocket. Her arms fold across her chest, and for a while she watches Micah head off before lifting her eyes to just study the darkened sky above.