Baron Moreau
Baron nodded to Deborah in acknowledgement as she left the table to take her call. Her previous expression didn't escape his notice – an exclamation, as if reminded of a fact. She did not let on that she once knew and has forgotten since then, and on top of that, a meager laugh to pass that off as a casual misunderstanding. In most circumstances, there was less a laugh, and more likely an expression of positive exasperation. There wasn't much that was funny about not remembering, after all... which meant Deborah likely knew who he was before hand. Baron didn't let on that he was unconvinced – he allowed the appearance of being played into her hands and had engaged in soft laughter to join with her.
But now she was leaving – it was probably best not to ask questions. They did, after all, just meet. Literally. Baron nodded to Holly as, once again, an acknowledgement of her thanks and praise.
“Hm? Oh, I'm afraid I'm not interested in psychology, doctor.” Holly answered. Strange. That was quite a contrast to her previous statement. “Not as a major or anything. A fascinating subject, but I don't think it's for me.”
Ah, that explains it.
“Well now,” Baron started, “don't be afraid to explore subjects. Don't let fear or insecurity rule your decisions, nor the judgment of your friends or family. You don't want to waste half your life trying to please somebody else, do you? Most likely, they'll die, and then there you are: half your life left and with a job you don't even like.”
He took a moment to sip from his coffee. He looked back at Holly. “At the very least, look into it a little more just to see if it catches your fancy. Then, later, you can decide. You look very smart and sociable, so I bet you'd be a natural at it.”
By then, Deborah had finished her call and walked up to the table. “Heeeeeey you two.” Uh oh. That's not a typical notification. Was something up? Baron looked to her with a curious gaze, and, mingled in, suspicion. Not necessarily of her, but of whatever situation had arisen."I'm gonna have to step out, I have to go handle my business - but I'm sure we can meet up again at the fair, right?"
Holly didn't seem too concerned about whatever turned up, but she was probably less finely tuned to social nuances, even if the two of them were friends. Regardless, she seemed to have a grasp on what was happening: family. Siblings, actually. Young siblings. Likely energetic, ran into problems, hence the phone call. Why not contact the parents? Unless it was a parent that phoned her. But what was odd, was that it wasn't just a problem for the police, but NEST as well. Now, why would they be a problem for an organization with a specialization in handling meta-humans? Holly stopped for a moment, stunned as she caught her tongue. The suspicions were adding up.
Naturally, Holly was embarrassed by that blurt-out. It made sense – especially in a neighborhood in which metas appeared to be consistently prosecuted.
“Of course, my lips are sealed.” Baron agreed. “I have a question to ask, though. You are from around here, right? The meta-human condition... is it inherited? Passed down through bloodline? I've researched it myself a bit, and that theory seems to hold water, but it appears sporadic enough to give reason for doubt. ”
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Max said
There's already a healer, but a nullifier might be difficult to work with in the long run. If I were you I'd take a look at the characters already in place and ask myself, "What can I make that the rest of these crumb shitters won't expect?"
This.
The problem with active power nullification is that it can be easily abused and might inspire arguments to sprout out of a complicated scenario that can be difficult to presume what may necessarily happen in reality. Those situations leave a lot up to conjecture. It wouldn't necessarily bother me, since I'm constantly poised to bitch-slap a mother fucker aimed at "winning" in a roleplay, but I don't really have the energy to manage that or even watch it occur. Another issue is that it can be abused. It is hard to say.
Building off what Maxwell had said, an out of the box idea, 9 times out of 10, turns out to be fairly fascinating and makes me eager to see how it plays out.
Hallelujah, we're back.
Baron Moreau
“Absolutely,” Baron assured with a reciprocating smile, “I ought to be saying the same for that boy you helped.”
The boy, whom, he had noticed stopped by to give a thank-you note or something similar and had absconded before he had arrived to the table. He heard some curious exclamations about meta-humans. Was the boy perhaps one of them? From the looks of him, he certainly had some problems of his own. Some problems that Baron could probably aid him in... but his services weren't totally free. But if worst comes to worst, it might have to come to that. He'd at least some insight into the meta-human psyche, then.
Deborah's hesitation didn't escape Baron's notice. He glanced over and met her introduction with a similar smile. “It is nice to meet you Deborah. Please, go ahead and take one. They're for all of us.”
As if to demonstrate, the doctor picked up a croissant of his own and took a small bite of the dainty, buttery pastry.
“Mmm!” Holly had chimed. “Deb, why didn't we get get croissants? These are delicious. Thank you!”
Baron nodded his head in reply. “It is my pleasure."
"I swear I've seen you on TV somewhere...." Deborah said to Baron.
“You may have seen him on a... oh, what are they called... crime scene investigation?" She glanced at Baron to make sure she was speaking correctly. Baron nodded to her in approval. "At least, I think that's where I recognize you! You were doing a forensic analysis of a killer a while back. I think psychology must be so interesting. Helping people through their problems and fears and such. Probably lots of good stories."
“My, my!” Baron laughed. “I should probably be keeping a lower profile! Fame isn't really my thing. At least, not until I'm on my deathbed, you know?”
He sat in his chair straighter and taller and straightened his tie, in order for a proper introduction. “My name is Baron,” he said, “or Barry, whichever you would prefer. Most people know me by Dr. Moreau.”
Baron relaxed in his chair once again and look at Deborah and then back to Holly. “If I am hearing this right, I am supposing you are interested in psychology, miss...?”
“Absolutely,” Baron assured with a reciprocating smile, “I ought to be saying the same for that boy you helped.”
The boy, whom, he had noticed stopped by to give a thank-you note or something similar and had absconded before he had arrived to the table. He heard some curious exclamations about meta-humans. Was the boy perhaps one of them? From the looks of him, he certainly had some problems of his own. Some problems that Baron could probably aid him in... but his services weren't totally free. But if worst comes to worst, it might have to come to that. He'd at least some insight into the meta-human psyche, then.
Deborah's hesitation didn't escape Baron's notice. He glanced over and met her introduction with a similar smile. “It is nice to meet you Deborah. Please, go ahead and take one. They're for all of us.”
As if to demonstrate, the doctor picked up a croissant of his own and took a small bite of the dainty, buttery pastry.
“Mmm!” Holly had chimed. “Deb, why didn't we get get croissants? These are delicious. Thank you!”
Baron nodded his head in reply. “It is my pleasure."
"I swear I've seen you on TV somewhere...." Deborah said to Baron.
“You may have seen him on a... oh, what are they called... crime scene investigation?" She glanced at Baron to make sure she was speaking correctly. Baron nodded to her in approval. "At least, I think that's where I recognize you! You were doing a forensic analysis of a killer a while back. I think psychology must be so interesting. Helping people through their problems and fears and such. Probably lots of good stories."
“My, my!” Baron laughed. “I should probably be keeping a lower profile! Fame isn't really my thing. At least, not until I'm on my deathbed, you know?”
He sat in his chair straighter and taller and straightened his tie, in order for a proper introduction. “My name is Baron,” he said, “or Barry, whichever you would prefer. Most people know me by Dr. Moreau.”
Baron relaxed in his chair once again and look at Deborah and then back to Holly. “If I am hearing this right, I am supposing you are interested in psychology, miss...?”
I am calling shenanigans, Creed has the same power as Baron.
She will only be accepted if she is the hero that Gotham deserves, but not the one that it needs.
It didn't take long for the barista to fulfill Baron's order. It was a simple ice in the cup, pour the Joe, and shake it up before adding the cream and sugar and pouring it all into a cup. The transaction was made, and Baron soon found himself leaning against the pick-up counter sipping away at his cold beverage. He watched behind the counter where a young woman came in from around the back. The two exchanged a high-five and the man walked into the room where the woman had come from. Ha, tap-out. Perhaps there was an out-of-work relationship? Not necessarily romantic, there was nothing to imply that as of yet, but they looked to be a good team. His eyes were drawn to the door where a bell had rung, and two teenagers had strolled in. One had a matching black outfit – kid probably would've loved the 'Naughts – the other was mismatching and more lanky. These two, unlike the couple of girls he had saw before, definitely bore a resemblance. Brothers, perhaps?
He had payed attention to one of the boy's exchange with the female barista without giving anything away that might suggest he was anything but disinterested. A straight, droll expression. Let the eyes drift out of focus so as to dilate. Suddenly he had a brilliant recipe for remaining inconspicuous. The boy was counting out his change aloud – probably had poor monetary habits, as expected of most teenagers, and was short of change. Didn't have a job. He didn't seem to have a card, so no bank account. If he had, then there must've been a reason he wasn't resorting to debit, so again, lack of a job. Poor boy. Was he either lazy, or was it just he couldn't find one? Whatever the reason, the problem was alleviated when the modest girl he had noticed earlier had donated a small amount of funds to the boy's pocket. It had brought on the faintest, amused smile on Baron's face. Less so in the stretching of his lips, and more was it in the reddening his cheeks and softening of his eyes.
It was heart-warming, to say the least. It was nice to see selfless acts being given to one another around here, and as strained as the politics were around here, there did seem to be a sense of community among the Black Fall citizens. But at the same time, the deed was moderately detrimental. It didn't teach or condition the boy to anything other than to continue relying on the charity of others. Such kindness only intoxicates others from the more... sober reality.
Still, he could be looking at this wrong. It is just as reasonable to think that this taught charity. Maybe the boy would remember the girl's deed when he finds somebody that needs help.
When Holly had absconded away back to her table, Baron raised his cup and gave a simple, curt nod before taking a sip from his drink. Ah, coffee. Oh, wait, coffee. Coffee shop. It was getting a little warm in here, wasn't it? Baron loosened the scarf from around his neck and folded it neatly before storing it into one of his dress coat pockets. Hoo boy, that was better. It was a lot less stuffy now. America del Sur and Arabia can get pretty bad – this wasn't anything compared to that. Anywho, that girl with the gift. Baron decided it was best to encourage that behavior. Reciprocation was often the best reward. While boy worked out his order with the woman behind the counter, Baron caught the attention of the man in the back. When he came around, Baron smiled.
“Three croissants, if you would?”
“Absolutely, sir, give me one second.”
Baron nodded in acknowledgement, watching him take three croissants and placing them in a box. The order was payed for with the swiping of a black debit card and Baron turned on his heel and sauntered over to the table where the two young women had sat, including the girl who had donated money to the boy. He was aware of what it looked like, and heavens no. Baron wasn't quite old enough to be their father, but he was certainly out of range. 'I am more interested in... maturity. This is more out of “Christmas spirit”, shall we say...'
“Hello ladies.” Baron said smoothly with a gentle smile. He set the box down on the table and pulled a chair up closer to the table. “I just wanted to express my thanks – as an extension of your friend's over there, I've never actually been acquainted with him.”
When Baron opened it, the smell of three buttered croissants wafted through the air. He looked at Holly. “In the spirit of Christmas, right?”
Modest dress-ware, a chain around her neck, clearly weighed down by the bottom. Religious? It was likely, she was beaming wherever she walked. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she was a breath of fresh air in a bustling, irritable city. The woman on his right, was dressed fashionably. Baron felt a little old sitting at this table, even at the age of thirty-one. The only thing that kept him feeling out-of-touch with this generation's style while wearing his dress suit and tie combo was this woman putting about as much effort into her appearance, although it appeared less formal.
Regardless, maybe he could learn a couple things about the town from these locals. Figure out where a good place to be is. He still needed to find somebody he could work with.
He had payed attention to one of the boy's exchange with the female barista without giving anything away that might suggest he was anything but disinterested. A straight, droll expression. Let the eyes drift out of focus so as to dilate. Suddenly he had a brilliant recipe for remaining inconspicuous. The boy was counting out his change aloud – probably had poor monetary habits, as expected of most teenagers, and was short of change. Didn't have a job. He didn't seem to have a card, so no bank account. If he had, then there must've been a reason he wasn't resorting to debit, so again, lack of a job. Poor boy. Was he either lazy, or was it just he couldn't find one? Whatever the reason, the problem was alleviated when the modest girl he had noticed earlier had donated a small amount of funds to the boy's pocket. It had brought on the faintest, amused smile on Baron's face. Less so in the stretching of his lips, and more was it in the reddening his cheeks and softening of his eyes.
It was heart-warming, to say the least. It was nice to see selfless acts being given to one another around here, and as strained as the politics were around here, there did seem to be a sense of community among the Black Fall citizens. But at the same time, the deed was moderately detrimental. It didn't teach or condition the boy to anything other than to continue relying on the charity of others. Such kindness only intoxicates others from the more... sober reality.
Still, he could be looking at this wrong. It is just as reasonable to think that this taught charity. Maybe the boy would remember the girl's deed when he finds somebody that needs help.
When Holly had absconded away back to her table, Baron raised his cup and gave a simple, curt nod before taking a sip from his drink. Ah, coffee. Oh, wait, coffee. Coffee shop. It was getting a little warm in here, wasn't it? Baron loosened the scarf from around his neck and folded it neatly before storing it into one of his dress coat pockets. Hoo boy, that was better. It was a lot less stuffy now. America del Sur and Arabia can get pretty bad – this wasn't anything compared to that. Anywho, that girl with the gift. Baron decided it was best to encourage that behavior. Reciprocation was often the best reward. While boy worked out his order with the woman behind the counter, Baron caught the attention of the man in the back. When he came around, Baron smiled.
“Three croissants, if you would?”
“Absolutely, sir, give me one second.”
Baron nodded in acknowledgement, watching him take three croissants and placing them in a box. The order was payed for with the swiping of a black debit card and Baron turned on his heel and sauntered over to the table where the two young women had sat, including the girl who had donated money to the boy. He was aware of what it looked like, and heavens no. Baron wasn't quite old enough to be their father, but he was certainly out of range. 'I am more interested in... maturity. This is more out of “Christmas spirit”, shall we say...'
“Hello ladies.” Baron said smoothly with a gentle smile. He set the box down on the table and pulled a chair up closer to the table. “I just wanted to express my thanks – as an extension of your friend's over there, I've never actually been acquainted with him.”
When Baron opened it, the smell of three buttered croissants wafted through the air. He looked at Holly. “In the spirit of Christmas, right?”
Modest dress-ware, a chain around her neck, clearly weighed down by the bottom. Religious? It was likely, she was beaming wherever she walked. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she was a breath of fresh air in a bustling, irritable city. The woman on his right, was dressed fashionably. Baron felt a little old sitting at this table, even at the age of thirty-one. The only thing that kept him feeling out-of-touch with this generation's style while wearing his dress suit and tie combo was this woman putting about as much effort into her appearance, although it appeared less formal.
Regardless, maybe he could learn a couple things about the town from these locals. Figure out where a good place to be is. He still needed to find somebody he could work with.
Also, Nick is a terrible example. Terrible. Terribad, even. Nick can't write. At all. And his character sucks. Go to hell, Nick. Douche.
Going by the chart, I would say at level 2 or 3. That is under the assumption that his body and capabilities are enhanced greatly enough he can out-maneuver most/all ordinary people. Don't let it discourage you, even a simple power or underwhelming power can excel in proper conditions. This is also not a fighting roleplay, so there really is no need to worry about it. I think it adds an interesting dynamic.
Baron Moreau
“...so, Dr. Moreau, following up on your explanation of environmental conditioning, might you have any further insight on what might have influenced the Frost Beast's crime spree? Why does he want to commit interstate bank heists? ”
“Well, miss Schuler, there are a lot of factors to take into consideration – and you make the mistake by operating under the assumption that Erik Wall is stealing because he wants to.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“Of course.” Baron cooed. “Psychology is a science. In science, we cannot afford to make assumptions without evidence and a strong theory to support it. Without a testimony or without the proper analysis of his behavior, and evidence to reinforce an educated hypothesis, we can't assume this is something he wants.”
“Then why would this meta-human be committing felonies if he did not want to?” The reporter insisted.
“That is why we must look into his history so that we can deduce the reasons.” Baron explained. “Yes, he must pay the price for his crimes... we must also account for the possible reasons and factors that led up to the initial crime. A man's hand may be forced into a situation in order to survive or support some aspect of his life, and almost always involves some form of desperation. While it is possible that Mr. Wall might have felt powerful and therefore felt assured he could get away with greed, that analysis has not been made yet.”
“Is there a reason you mean to sympathize with meta-human criminals?”
Baron sighed ruefully and leaned on his good leg. “I do not appreciate the leading questions, dear Molly. I am saying that I do not believe in the dehumanization of individuals because of their special traits, nor do I discredit the factors that may lead an otherwise ordinary individual into a life of crime. Accounting any person as a monster or less than deserving of sympathy without proper review is, by my code of conduct, immoral and a violation of my work ethic.”
“That's all the questions for today.” The reporter grumbled. She turned around and flashed a hand sign to the camera man, and the lights on the device subsequently died down. Baron rubbed his brows in frustration as he aimed his head down. Looking around the scene of the crime, where spires of ice had erupted around an ornate building, and buzzing around it were first respondents and news teams. Flashes of light spotted here and there, and lines of yellow tape were stretched across the scene to and fro. He couldn't help but feel somewhat in awe of the meta-humans he had recently started working with. Though he was mostly curious and highly wary, there has to be admiration found for all of the enviable powers those people were granted. But his attention was brought back to the reporter who had interviewed him.
“Uh – hey, excuse me, Molly,” Baron stumbled as he fought his way through the crowd of reporters; it was only when he could break through the wall of press could he tap his interviewer's shoulder and get her attention, “may I ask what that was all about? It feels like the questions were cut short.”
“Yeah, well...” She started, stiffening her shoulders and puckering her lips in a “I don't know” sort of fashion. “I wasn't left with much of a choice if you're going to try to embarrass the station on television.”
“Try to embarrass?” Baron repeated incredulously. “I haven't tried to do anything aside from answering your questions and communicating as clearly as possible. What you were doing is what doctors would call malpractice.”
“Oh please.” Schuler drawled.
“Honey,” Baron said in a soft tone, “you're a news reporter. Leave those nature of questions to attorneys and lawyers.”
“How about you worry about your business and I'll worry about mine?” She retorted back. “I work for my news station, and I go by the book and by what the public wants. Our interview won't be aired and that's that.”
Baron stared blankly at her for a moment or two, as if trying to get a read on her. He finally resigned with a huff, “okay, fair enough, my apologies. I'll be on my way.”
With a step and click, the doctor did hobble his way from the crime scene and back into one of the finer sections of the city, where it smelled of bread from the bakery and coffee from the local coffee shop. That reporter he was just talking to – dear God, what was it she said? She goes by the book and by what the public wants? She wasn't a reporter, she was an entertainer! It's the same sort of garbage that Fox network feeds its viewers. The fact that the interview with a doctor that concerns that mental well-being of the convict wouldn't be aired because it contradicted what the network valued was ridiculous to him! Sensationalist headlines and racism – it was the whole package. Even going to referring the criminal by a stage name to further dehumanize NEST's latest target, and even further NEST praise. Baron himself didn't necessarily have anything against the NEST organization, but he did oppose news networks with a clear political bias.
His own feelings on the matter were simple: he approached the subject with the equal treatment of meta-humans in mind. That they were of the same class and mental health as the common man. While it is true that some people, when granted power, may abuse that power. It suggests that power corrupts, whereas Baron was a believer in power and wealth as a magnifier of a person's attitude. If this was indeed the case with Erik Wall, that he was simply an opportunistic criminal, then whether or not he had a power wouldn't matter. However, Erik was granted power, and thought he could get away with it. That makes it less of a problem with meta-humans, and more of a problem with mankind altogether. This was, of course, working under the assumption that Erik was in fact that kind of person... and scientists don't deal in assumptions.
All of that being taken into consideration, Baron was worried about a growing anti-meta-human sentiment building up in town due to a group polarization mentality. He still sought to sit down and perform his own social experiments with metas. A PET scan would be fantastic, but he was somewhat skeptical of this town and any of its clinics being in possession of such a machine So for now, he was stuck with simple observation techniques.
The man was adorned in a typical dress suit outfit, with the coat, slacks, and the whole shebang. A simple scarf had wrapped around his neck, which had hidden the mint green Oxford shirt beneath. There was nary a wrinkle nor hair astray that littered his attire, and his black hair was gelled and combed backward. He didn't need a head-piece very much – this was spring weather compared to the northern wastes that was Canada. He felt so spruced up today, he probably could've flirted his way through that confrontation, but alas, Baron conscience got in the way. At times, he thought be might be better ridden of that moral compass of his, but it had at least guided him this far in life. While Venezuela might have knocked it off its balance a bit, the compass was generally intact.
And then there was that smell of coffee. God, it was tempting. The thought of giving in to such an indulgence had reminded him of another; he reached into his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Smacking one side of the pack a couple times – a technique to help pack the tobacco tighter – he pulled out a stick and lit it with a chrome zippo lighter. The first few puffs of smoke eased the tension in Baron's body. He knew it was bad, and he knew it was in the mind... but man, placebo faux cigs did nothing like the real deal. Now... coffee. Because nothing relaxed a man's nerves like caffeine. So, he just had to hitch a ride on one of these trolleys and – oh, no, they were buses. So, he just had to hitch a ride on one of these buses and make his way to the coffee shop. Sure, he'd use his car, but he wanted to get to know the town. What better way than by bus? So what was this shop called? The Mean Bean Machine or something?
It didn't sound very classy at all, but it was a local store. The rustic charm had its appeal. It didn't take very long to find public transport and pay its fare before finding his seat. The crowd on the bus was very small, and only a few others were on it. This was the nicer part of town, wasn't it? People around here didn't use the bus very often because everyone could afford their own cars. The few he saw looked to be the standard middle-class couple, one with cropped brown hair, and the other, a blonde woman with a bob cut. Baron watched them carefully. He spotted a small diamond rind on the woman's right ring finger, and a tan line on her left ring finger. Middle class, definitely. It wasn't uncommon to reuse the engagement ring as the wedding ring, and the ring looked fairly valuable. So there was enough middle ground for him to derive that conclusion. Her eyes were unresponsive to the man's movements as he talked – the man was expressive, and likely passionate – but she was smiling and nodded. The woman was blind. She lacked the glasses and cane that would typically signify that, and the tone of her skin was even. Very little, if any blemish. She must not like feeling old, but wouldn't be able to apply it herself. The man had very good hygiene and was expertly groomed. He must have helped her with it. Overall, they appear to be a fairly loving couple, even if it is unexpected.
The bus weaved its way through town, and Baron learned that the Mean Bean Machine was just a block or two off from where he was. He bid his farewell and thanks to the bus driver (his breath smells of booze, slight shine of oil in his hair [must've not showered this morning], reddened, however, not blood-shot eyes; swollen finger on his right hand – a divorcee?) and stepped off the bus in front of the coffee shop. What to get? The usual sounded pretty good. Iced coffee. Even back in Canada they looked at him strange for drinking iced coffee during the winter. There was something about a cold drink that brought out its flavor better. Regardless, Baron pushed open the glass door, which rang a bell as he entered. He looked up and saw a mistletoe hanging in the doorway. He smiled to himself and walked away from the doorway and looked around the coffee shop. It seemed pretty lively. A lot of couples. Only one or two tables seemed to have a group of friends, and one table had a family sitting around it. One of them had two ladies sitting around a table top, one younger (easily a teenager), the other older (early twenties). They could be mistaken for as sisters if they didn't look so different. Step-siblings perhaps? Anyways, this shop may have not been top-tier, but the locals seem to enjoy coming here.
Baron scooted over to the ordering table and met the barista with a smile. “An iced coffee please.”
He looked back around the cafe' as he unwrapped his scarf from around his neck. This might be a pretty good place to meet some locals and learn about the town. This might be a good place to get in touch with a meta-human or two. He hasn't as of yet to meet one on a personable level. Most people tend to shy away when they hear about a doctor looking for a meta-human to work with.
“...so, Dr. Moreau, following up on your explanation of environmental conditioning, might you have any further insight on what might have influenced the Frost Beast's crime spree? Why does he want to commit interstate bank heists? ”
“Well, miss Schuler, there are a lot of factors to take into consideration – and you make the mistake by operating under the assumption that Erik Wall is stealing because he wants to.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“Of course.” Baron cooed. “Psychology is a science. In science, we cannot afford to make assumptions without evidence and a strong theory to support it. Without a testimony or without the proper analysis of his behavior, and evidence to reinforce an educated hypothesis, we can't assume this is something he wants.”
“Then why would this meta-human be committing felonies if he did not want to?” The reporter insisted.
“That is why we must look into his history so that we can deduce the reasons.” Baron explained. “Yes, he must pay the price for his crimes... we must also account for the possible reasons and factors that led up to the initial crime. A man's hand may be forced into a situation in order to survive or support some aspect of his life, and almost always involves some form of desperation. While it is possible that Mr. Wall might have felt powerful and therefore felt assured he could get away with greed, that analysis has not been made yet.”
“Is there a reason you mean to sympathize with meta-human criminals?”
Baron sighed ruefully and leaned on his good leg. “I do not appreciate the leading questions, dear Molly. I am saying that I do not believe in the dehumanization of individuals because of their special traits, nor do I discredit the factors that may lead an otherwise ordinary individual into a life of crime. Accounting any person as a monster or less than deserving of sympathy without proper review is, by my code of conduct, immoral and a violation of my work ethic.”
“That's all the questions for today.” The reporter grumbled. She turned around and flashed a hand sign to the camera man, and the lights on the device subsequently died down. Baron rubbed his brows in frustration as he aimed his head down. Looking around the scene of the crime, where spires of ice had erupted around an ornate building, and buzzing around it were first respondents and news teams. Flashes of light spotted here and there, and lines of yellow tape were stretched across the scene to and fro. He couldn't help but feel somewhat in awe of the meta-humans he had recently started working with. Though he was mostly curious and highly wary, there has to be admiration found for all of the enviable powers those people were granted. But his attention was brought back to the reporter who had interviewed him.
“Uh – hey, excuse me, Molly,” Baron stumbled as he fought his way through the crowd of reporters; it was only when he could break through the wall of press could he tap his interviewer's shoulder and get her attention, “may I ask what that was all about? It feels like the questions were cut short.”
“Yeah, well...” She started, stiffening her shoulders and puckering her lips in a “I don't know” sort of fashion. “I wasn't left with much of a choice if you're going to try to embarrass the station on television.”
“Try to embarrass?” Baron repeated incredulously. “I haven't tried to do anything aside from answering your questions and communicating as clearly as possible. What you were doing is what doctors would call malpractice.”
“Oh please.” Schuler drawled.
“Honey,” Baron said in a soft tone, “you're a news reporter. Leave those nature of questions to attorneys and lawyers.”
“How about you worry about your business and I'll worry about mine?” She retorted back. “I work for my news station, and I go by the book and by what the public wants. Our interview won't be aired and that's that.”
Baron stared blankly at her for a moment or two, as if trying to get a read on her. He finally resigned with a huff, “okay, fair enough, my apologies. I'll be on my way.”
With a step and click, the doctor did hobble his way from the crime scene and back into one of the finer sections of the city, where it smelled of bread from the bakery and coffee from the local coffee shop. That reporter he was just talking to – dear God, what was it she said? She goes by the book and by what the public wants? She wasn't a reporter, she was an entertainer! It's the same sort of garbage that Fox network feeds its viewers. The fact that the interview with a doctor that concerns that mental well-being of the convict wouldn't be aired because it contradicted what the network valued was ridiculous to him! Sensationalist headlines and racism – it was the whole package. Even going to referring the criminal by a stage name to further dehumanize NEST's latest target, and even further NEST praise. Baron himself didn't necessarily have anything against the NEST organization, but he did oppose news networks with a clear political bias.
His own feelings on the matter were simple: he approached the subject with the equal treatment of meta-humans in mind. That they were of the same class and mental health as the common man. While it is true that some people, when granted power, may abuse that power. It suggests that power corrupts, whereas Baron was a believer in power and wealth as a magnifier of a person's attitude. If this was indeed the case with Erik Wall, that he was simply an opportunistic criminal, then whether or not he had a power wouldn't matter. However, Erik was granted power, and thought he could get away with it. That makes it less of a problem with meta-humans, and more of a problem with mankind altogether. This was, of course, working under the assumption that Erik was in fact that kind of person... and scientists don't deal in assumptions.
All of that being taken into consideration, Baron was worried about a growing anti-meta-human sentiment building up in town due to a group polarization mentality. He still sought to sit down and perform his own social experiments with metas. A PET scan would be fantastic, but he was somewhat skeptical of this town and any of its clinics being in possession of such a machine So for now, he was stuck with simple observation techniques.
The man was adorned in a typical dress suit outfit, with the coat, slacks, and the whole shebang. A simple scarf had wrapped around his neck, which had hidden the mint green Oxford shirt beneath. There was nary a wrinkle nor hair astray that littered his attire, and his black hair was gelled and combed backward. He didn't need a head-piece very much – this was spring weather compared to the northern wastes that was Canada. He felt so spruced up today, he probably could've flirted his way through that confrontation, but alas, Baron conscience got in the way. At times, he thought be might be better ridden of that moral compass of his, but it had at least guided him this far in life. While Venezuela might have knocked it off its balance a bit, the compass was generally intact.
And then there was that smell of coffee. God, it was tempting. The thought of giving in to such an indulgence had reminded him of another; he reached into his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Smacking one side of the pack a couple times – a technique to help pack the tobacco tighter – he pulled out a stick and lit it with a chrome zippo lighter. The first few puffs of smoke eased the tension in Baron's body. He knew it was bad, and he knew it was in the mind... but man, placebo faux cigs did nothing like the real deal. Now... coffee. Because nothing relaxed a man's nerves like caffeine. So, he just had to hitch a ride on one of these trolleys and – oh, no, they were buses. So, he just had to hitch a ride on one of these buses and make his way to the coffee shop. Sure, he'd use his car, but he wanted to get to know the town. What better way than by bus? So what was this shop called? The Mean Bean Machine or something?
It didn't sound very classy at all, but it was a local store. The rustic charm had its appeal. It didn't take very long to find public transport and pay its fare before finding his seat. The crowd on the bus was very small, and only a few others were on it. This was the nicer part of town, wasn't it? People around here didn't use the bus very often because everyone could afford their own cars. The few he saw looked to be the standard middle-class couple, one with cropped brown hair, and the other, a blonde woman with a bob cut. Baron watched them carefully. He spotted a small diamond rind on the woman's right ring finger, and a tan line on her left ring finger. Middle class, definitely. It wasn't uncommon to reuse the engagement ring as the wedding ring, and the ring looked fairly valuable. So there was enough middle ground for him to derive that conclusion. Her eyes were unresponsive to the man's movements as he talked – the man was expressive, and likely passionate – but she was smiling and nodded. The woman was blind. She lacked the glasses and cane that would typically signify that, and the tone of her skin was even. Very little, if any blemish. She must not like feeling old, but wouldn't be able to apply it herself. The man had very good hygiene and was expertly groomed. He must have helped her with it. Overall, they appear to be a fairly loving couple, even if it is unexpected.
The bus weaved its way through town, and Baron learned that the Mean Bean Machine was just a block or two off from where he was. He bid his farewell and thanks to the bus driver (his breath smells of booze, slight shine of oil in his hair [must've not showered this morning], reddened, however, not blood-shot eyes; swollen finger on his right hand – a divorcee?) and stepped off the bus in front of the coffee shop. What to get? The usual sounded pretty good. Iced coffee. Even back in Canada they looked at him strange for drinking iced coffee during the winter. There was something about a cold drink that brought out its flavor better. Regardless, Baron pushed open the glass door, which rang a bell as he entered. He looked up and saw a mistletoe hanging in the doorway. He smiled to himself and walked away from the doorway and looked around the coffee shop. It seemed pretty lively. A lot of couples. Only one or two tables seemed to have a group of friends, and one table had a family sitting around it. One of them had two ladies sitting around a table top, one younger (easily a teenager), the other older (early twenties). They could be mistaken for as sisters if they didn't look so different. Step-siblings perhaps? Anyways, this shop may have not been top-tier, but the locals seem to enjoy coming here.
Baron scooted over to the ordering table and met the barista with a smile. “An iced coffee please.”
He looked back around the cafe' as he unwrapped his scarf from around his neck. This might be a pretty good place to meet some locals and learn about the town. This might be a good place to get in touch with a meta-human or two. He hasn't as of yet to meet one on a personable level. Most people tend to shy away when they hear about a doctor looking for a meta-human to work with.
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