a/n - Hey all--sorry it took a while to update, but I'm glad to see the increasing interest in this insanity! Thanks for the reviews! (keep'em coming! Heh...) I promise to try for faster updates now that I'm OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL! w00t! Anywho, here's the next bit.
------The Documentary (Part Two)------
Maureen was the first to see the limo pull up to the curb. This in itself was strange, because no idiot would drive a limo in Alphabet City. It screamed 'rob me blind!'. But that wasn't the strangest part.
No, the strangest part was the fact that Mark got out of the car first.
Or rather, he got out after the driver held the door open for him.
Maureen blinked and nudged Mimi. She wondered briefly if she was beginning to see things as Mimi turned to look out the window as well.
"Jeeesus," Mimi murmured, leaning across Maureen to get a better look at the guy in a suit who'd followed Mark out of the limo. Damn, he was pretty. "Roger, look!"
But Roger was too busy watching Collins, who was also looking out the window. In fact, it seemed like the whole Cafe was staring at the limousine. Except Roger, because he was watching Collins turning redder and redder, like a kettle about to boil over.
Outside, Warren carefully unfolded himself from the limo behind Mark, standing with his hand resting delicately on the door and adjusting the knee-length wool coat he had adopted. He couldn't help but smile a little at the row of squashed noses on the inside of the glass, but kept it to himself.
Nodding to Mark, he stepped up onto the curb and Arthur sat back in the driver's seat, keeping the limosine parked where it was so he could watch through the window for any need to barge in the relieve Warren of the ongoings. Warren nodded in appreciation and slipped his hands into the pockets of his black coat.
Waiting for Mark's move, he followed the film maker into the restaurant, considering how to best conduct himself to raise as little attention as possible without seeming immediately conspicuous. Keeping a low profile, however, looked like it would be difficult given the crowd already staring. Warren bit the inside of his cheek. He hated these situations. At least with the press, they'd all seen him before, and just wanted his answers and photograph. People staring at him like some poisonous, exotic animal in a zoo that they admired and detested always made him uncomfortable and exceptionally self-conscious about what he was hiding. He tucked his coat closer around himself, trying to straighten up as much as possible without the leather harness hidden by his shirt starting to pinch.
The second Mark walked in the door he could feel the heat of dozens of eyes staring at him. It made him uncomfortable to be the center of attention. His hand travelled subconsciously to his camera bag, and he slipped it inside to habitually rub the cool metal of the camera.
He moved forward through the mock waiting area, passed the 'Please Wait To Be Seated' sign and smirked to himself as the waiters eyed him suspiciously but didn't say anything. It appeared that even here, far away from Corporate America, people knew who was with him. Making his way over to his friends' table, he smiled sheepishly at Maureen and Mimi, who's attention had snapped from the window back to him.
"Hey guys," he said, trying to sound as normal as possible. He unwound his scarf and set it down on top of the pile of coats slung over the empty chair at the end which had been clearly placed for him to occupy. Turning to Worthington he gestured to the group.
"Mr. Worthington, these are my friends," he introduced with a wave of his hand. Warren was met with a lot of blank, shocked stares and silence. "Say hi guys," Mark stage whispered to the silent table. Warren nodded to the stock still group, forcing a half-smile.
"Hello," he offered when they stayed silent, his lilted British accent seeming to resoundingly scream that he wasn't in his element. He could feel a few people staring at his back as he stood behind Mark, and self-consciousness struck full force again. Glancing over his shoulder, the looks quickly dispersed amoung guilty people. Warren shifted on his feet, clearing his throat a little and scanning Mark's friends. There was quite an array of them, including a bubbly woman with long hair who was the only one grinning at him- and she did so widely and flirtily, it seemed. Warren tried to ignore it. He knew when someone was smiling at his reputation more than his person.
The silence growing uncomfortable, Warren looked at Mark questioningly.
"Are introductions in order?" He asked, trying to sound as nonchalant and at ease as possible. Being in such heavily watched situation set him on edge, especially when he knew that the slightest slip-up could result in his untimely public demise.
"I'm Maureen!" The woman who had been smiling at Warren jumped up from the table, nearly upsetting all the drinks in the process. Warren jumped slightly, but took her hand and shook it with a wary smile. Maureen continued to shake his hand, tucking her hair behind her eye and practically batting her eyelashes at him. Warren tried not to smile in amusement at the display, but froze when Maureen started stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. It was apparent everyone at the table was watching them, and Warren tried to politely pull his hand back without making a scene of it, but Maureen seemed latched on. A dark-haired woman cleared her throat beside them, and to Warren's relief Maureen dropped his hand immediately and plopped back down into her seat. She didn't look the slightest bit bashful, but she slid her arm around the woman next to her.
"This is Joanne, my girlfriend." She introduced, and moved her hand behind Joanne to play with her hair. Joanne, quite aware that her girlfriend was flirting again, got up abruptly and held out a hand to Worthington.
"Joanne Jefferson, Mark's...lawyer." she said. Warren took the more professional handshake gratefully, and gave her a polite nod. "This is Mimi," Joanne continued, and pointed at the younger girl who was still staring unabashedly at him. "Roger," she said, pointing to the rockstar who had tentatively moved a hand out to shake.
"And Collins," Joanne added hesitantly, eyeing the anarchist with suspicion. Collins, it seemed, had gone still and had decided the best course of action was to kill Worthington with his world famous 'Professor Glare'.
Thankful for the distraction of Joanne standing up, Warren nodded to each of the people introduced in turn, taking Roger's outstretched hand as he came to it. The last man was glaring at him with loathing, and Warren could practically see the steam coming out of his ears from under his hat. He was, undoubtedly, the one who had yelled at them over the phone. Warren could tell it was expected that he would balk under the intense glare directed at him. Instead he was abruptly reminded of Scott giving his students a similar glare from under a ruby visor, and a grin nearly cracked through his composure.
"Pleased to meet you all," he noted, nodding especially to Collins with a genuine reserved smile. He met Collins' death glare for a moment, and the table buzzed with uncomfortable silence as Warren unwittingly initiated a challenge between them by holding the stare-down for a few seconds. Plucking his gaze away, he turned to Joanne. Collins shifted in annoyance.
"So, was there something you wanted me to look over?" She asked Resting his breifcase on the table, Warren retrieved the documents for Joanne.
"Yes- This is Mark's employment contract, and this is a...disclaimer." He decided, for lack of a better word. The document outlined the conditions of secrecy Mark was expected to uphold, and the measures allowed to be taken should be break the vow. Warren knew the wording of it wasn't exactly friendly, but he had weeded out many potential dangers to himself and the Mansion this way. Extending them to the lawyer, Warren inclined his head slightly in hesitation.
"These are intended to be--confidential." He cast a quick glance at the table around them, reconsidering passing out possibly dangerous materials in a public restaurant.
"Oh, pookie's always been good about intimacy," Maureen said with a wink, although it was unclear which particular 'pookie' she was refering to.
There was a long silence and Joanne scanned through the contents of the disclaimer carefully. "This is all rather---harsh." she said hesitantly, looking over the paper at Worthington. "Is all this really nessacary?"
Collins snorted, which startled everyone at the table. "Of course it's necessary Joanne." he said, his deep baritone voice surprisingly level. "Wouldn't want the Yuppie Scum's image ruined by the poor Bohemian filmmaker..."
"Collins." Roger warned quietly.
"No, Roger, don't back down. He's scum. He treats people who've been dealt a bad card like shit, and then exploits them for it." Warren cleared his throat, although he wasn't sure whether he was doing it defensively or warningly.
"I know it seems over-the-top, but we'll be dealing with the personal lives of many people whose secrecy deserves to be kept." He answered Joanne calmly, then looked with equal calm at Collins. "I have no concerns about my image being ruined by Mark- he seems like a talented, inspired young man. This is simply a precaution I take with many of my employees to protect against the betrayl of trust you so often hear about in the corporate world." He adjusted again, clasping his hands in front of him, his amusement and anger at Collins' accusation of exploitation battling. He settled for silence momentarily, not wanting to emotionally let something slip in his own defense. He had bigger secrets and issues to uphold than his personal emotional pride when it came to the issue of mutants. Joanne nodded and refered back to the contract.
"It says here that Mark cannot reveal anything he learns to outside sources until after the documentary has aired, and then, only with approval from yourself and your legal team. Does that refer to anyone or just the pre---" she was cut off mid-sentence by Collins who'd abruptly stood up.
"Does it feel good," he asked, "being down here with the lower beings, pretending not to be so different than us? Is that why you're hiring him? Because he seems like a talented young man, while you're a yuppie scum who's never gonna have to do anything more than sit back and wait to inherit Daddy's business?"
"Collins." Joanne all but barked. "I'm sorry about him Mr. Worthington,"
Warren took a long breath, looking down at the floor for a second with a clenched jaw. Looking back up, eyes a little darker with anger, Warren addressed Joanne with a deadly calm, pointedly overlooking Collins. He decided it was probably for everyone's best if he tried to avoid engaging with Collins, lest they tear eachother apart.
"It refers to anyone, for security reasons. Obviously there are, however, others who have agreed to this contract that Mark will be free to discuss things with." Warren caught a glimpse of Collins out of the corner of his eye as he looked at Joanne, and he seemed to be fuming harder at his lack of response. Shifting on his feet once more, Warren bit the inside of his cheek to keep his urge to start a verbal war with Collins down. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fought for his views, and a yelling match of verbal insults and body language was surprisingly nothing new to Warren. He couldn't count the times he had nearly broken his end of a table smashing his fist down on it as he shouted at one or more members of a boardroom table. His authority was always challenged for being the result of nothing but his blood--or it was, until he had disintegrated any remaining opposition. And a few tables.
"We will assign Mark with a new legal lawyer should anything arise that he requires one--" he gave Joanne a small, warm smile, "nothing personal, of course. Unfortunatly this is a very sensitive topic that has many times fallen into the wrong hands." He cast a glance at Mark, thinking about the pictures in the film maker's bag. Reminded again of the close proximity of his surroundings, he shifted the turn his back a little farther from Collins defensively. Joanne nodded and then looked at Mark.
"Can I talk to you a second?" she asked, tilting her head towards the door that led to the alleyway behind the Cafe. "Privately?"
Mark nodded. "It'll just take a second," he said to Worthington, slipping the camera bag off his shoulder and placing it on the table. "Be nice," he said, turning to Collins who was fuming harder than Mark had ever seen him. Joanne too threw Collins a look as she and Mark weaved their way through the cafe and out the back to talk.
Warren nodded, watching Joanne and Mark slip into the alleyway. He looked back at the table, giving Maureen a small smile in hopes of starting a conversation that wouldn't focus on Collin's views on 'Yuppie scum' and the corporate world.
Maureen smiled back at Warren and patted the chair that Joanne had originally occupied. "Come and sit down," she said, with a dazzling smile. "I won't bite---unless you ask." She thought it was nice that there was someone new to talk to. Collins had been going on and on since Mark's call about the evils of society in general, particularily those outside the East Village, and no one had heard the end of it. Maureen had thought about doing a protest for a while, but then news of an animal rights violation within a big clothing company had redirected her attention.
"So, what exactly do you do for a living? I mean I know you're rich and awful famous, but what exactly do you do?" She asked, trying to sidle up to Warren even when he declined to sit down.
This was going to be a bad topic, he could tell.
"Well," Warren decided for the formal approach. "I'm head of the public relations department within Worthington Industires, and I deal with the press and anything to do with them. I also deal with the corporate image the company upholds, and a little more informally I'm a project manager. When my father retires," He looked pointedly at Collins before continuing, a hint of ire in his voice, "he has asked me to take over as head of the Corporation." Warren didn't fully intend to, not without hiring people to help, and he didn't really look forwards to spending every waking moment being a snide, cut-throat businessman, but his father had strictly informed him to keep his doubts entirely private. Just like he was supposed to do with his mutation.
"See Collins," Maureen chided, "none of that horrible exploitation and unfair treatment you were talking about is his fault."
Collins glared at her. "Maureen," he replied, his tone descending into one he rarely used outside his lecture halls. "Being the head of public relations means that he decides what the press see and hears about. So all the exploitation and unfair treatment may not be generated by him, but he's the scumbag that covers it all so only the chosen few of us who know to look past the corporate lies and trickery can find out the real truth. Those studies that he does," Collins continued, pretending to forget that Worthington was actually sitting there, "those are there to hide the truth. If they look like they're doing good, no one'll suspect that he's got a sweatshop full of mutant children working for him at some disclosed location."
Warren rounded on him, arms coming up from his pockets to rest his knuckles on the table in front of him.
"Mutant children?" He growled, taking a step forwards to loom over Collins. "And what exactly would they be doing for me? Signing my papers? For someone who seems to have his own claim to fame being anti-authority and pro-everyone, you certainly are quick to make assumptions and accusations. Do you really think mutant rights figures like Dr. Grey and Dr. McCoy would associate in the slightest with a company, let alone the person apparently responsible for keeping children locked up in factories? Or do you just choose to discredit people when it serves your purpose?" Worthington spat, eyes flaring. Collins had clearly struck a nerve. Images of the kids in the mansion who had come in from families that beat them, or kicked them onto the street after finding out who they were, and his own not-quite-so unfortunate but painful family dealings, surfaced in Warren's mind, and one fist clenched exceptionally, drawing back slightly. Thankfully, a small logical part of his business brain kicked back in, and the headline "Son of Worthington Industries in bar brawl with Bohemian Professor" flashed before his eyes. He recoiled his fist, although it remained tightly clenched, and Warren could feel his wings twitch in utter annoyance and anger, trying to reflect his emotions from under restraints. He shook himself off a little to cover it, adjusting his coat, jaw clenched.
Collins paused momentarily, but never the man to backdown he stood up and was eye level with Worthington. "Doctors Grey and McCoy?" he asked scathingly. "Do you even really know them? Or are they just names you toss around in order to cover up your real opinions about Homosapien Superiors." He leaned in closer to Worthington, a glint in his eye, continuing before Warren could respond.
"I'm only supportive of those who truly need support. Don't pretend to understand. You have never and will never understand what it's like to be someone like me, like those people your company exploits." Warren stiffened. He felt like he was seeing red. Well, this ignorant man certainly knew how to piss people off, and Warren couldn't believe how nearly incoherent with fury he was. Trying to pull himself back together and not do something drastic, he took a quick deep breath.
"Jean and Hank are both very close friends of mine, who I continue to work with despite the requests of my father and his business to terminate the relationships." He ground out. He leaned in equally to Collins, lips pulling back in something close to a snarl as he continued.
"I have done everything in my power to help where I can. The issues your 'in-depth analysis' of my morals is overlooking are the fact that I have no need to exploit children, of any sort, and that I willingly give millions yearly to whatever cause I can, so long as I'm assured it goes to good use." Warren managed to sound harsh and fierce even while talking about charity, the burning desire in his mind to take off his jacket and unfurl his wings looking annoyingly appealing. He would strip off the restraining straps and probably knock over the dishes on the bar with his wingspan that could easily encompass most of the restaurant. And he'd do it just to see the look of absolute shock on the man's smug face.
"Money doesn't do any good." Collins said, fuming. "Where was your fucking money when that girl died on the NYC campus because she couldn't control the gills that were sprouting out of her skin?" He looked like he was on the verge of tears for a second before he shook his head violently. "And where was your money when that poor kid with the snake tounge got pulled out of an alley way and taken off by some black-ops about a year ago." He was panting heavily and his face was tinged red.
Warren took a controlled breath.
"I would think you understand the dismay of not being able to everywhere at once." He had heard of the girl- they didn't know her. But he knew the boy was safe- the Professor had rescued Arty and he was now living safely at the mansion. A fact he could hardly disclose.
Roger got up abruptly and put a hand on Collins back. "Come on man, let's go back to the loft---" he said, trying to push Collins towards the door, "Mr. Worthington, it was nice meeting you---Mimi, tell Joanne I'm sorry we left her with the bill again and tell Mark---nevermind." Roger apparently knew how to take advantages of emotional parts in Collins' rants, and managed to drag him out the door with a few distracting comments.
A little hurt at Collin's accusation, and frustrated with his need to stay silent, Worthington silently pulled his wallet out from an inner pocket of his coat, pulling out what he assumed would be more than enough to cover their bill, placed it silently on the table and walked back out the front door to wait by the limo.
After waiting a moment, leaning against the car, Warren opened the door and sat down. Arthur looked questioningly back, one eyebrow raised.
"Things didn't go as planned?" He asked. Warren scoffed.
"Not exactly. Let's just say that Mark has some...opinionated friends." Arthur noticed the slightly weary tone in his voice, and hit the button half-hidden under the dashboard. The normally tinted windows of he back of the limo darkened completely. Warren sighed in relief, unbuttoning his coat and suit jacket and letting them drape over the seat beside him.
The air conditioning turned on in the back, and Warren leaned forwards on the seat, head in his hands, arms resting on his knees. A glance in the rear view mirror confirmed Arthur's suspicions that Warren was starting to get uncomfortably stiff under his restraints. The chauffeur grimaced as there was a noticeable ripple through Warren's folded wings, and the young man let out a small hiss.
"Back to your office, sir?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
"No, thank you Arthur. I think it's best if I just go home," Warren replied without taking his head from his hands. Arthur nodded and slowly pulled the car onto the road.
Mark and Joanne reentered the Life from the back a few minutes later, and immeadiatly noticed that Collins, Worthington and Roger were all gone.
"I didn't hear any ambulances..." Joanne said hesitantly. "I don't think they killed him."
But Mark really wasn't listening to her, he was staring at the the large pile of bills between Mimi and Maureen who were chatting softly.
"What happened?" he asked, crossing the rest of the space between them and the table. "Did he just leave?"
"Collins was---on his soapbox," Mimi said hesitantly, picking at the money, "and he was going on and on until Worthington looked like he was going to hit him."
"He was going to!" Maureen insisted. "And then Collins was talking about these poor kids who were taken away, and pookie, it sounds horrible!" She said, flustered. "I should do a protest about it!"
"Not now, Maureen," Joanne hissed as she joined them. "Where'd they all go?"
"Roger dragged Collins out and Worthington just---left." Mimi finished. "Look, the limo's gone."
"SHIT!" Mark said, and the girls all looked at him, taken aback that he'd sworn. "I really wanted this!" He insisted, pacing a little. "The chance to make a difference, and to make money!"
"Go after him." Mimi coaxed. "It's not your fault, you can't control Collins."
Mark furrowed his brow. "No, I'm not just going to go back there, crawling and apologizing, I've got a better idea..." He grabbed his scarf and camera bag and headed out the door without another word.
Arthur drove in silence back to Warren's house, gently stopping the car when they arrived. Formerly his parent's mansion, Warren had continued to live alone after his father had moved with Warren's mother to a place closer to the city. He had been told it was for business purposes, but after they moved Warren's mother hadn't seen him once. Arthur and a few other house staff had stayed with the young man, and unbeknownst to his father all of them knew of his mutation, as Warren frequently used the expansive property and isolation to his advantage.
As he left the limo, Warren slipped only his coat back on, keeping it closed with his hands in his pockets as he stepped out and strode up the marble steps. Arthur watched to make sure he didn't trip or pass out on his way up, then pulled the limousine around the side of the house.
Quickly making his way to his bedroom, Warren shed his oxford shirt and tie, draping them and his coat over the bed. Unhooking the black buckles around his ribs, Warren carefully removed his harness and hung it on the hooks on the wall. He couldn't help a low sigh of relief as his wings unfolded, draping around his shoulders.
After parking, Arthur made his way to where he knew Warren would be 'freeing' himself, and hovered in the hallway just outside the open door of the bedroom.
"Remind me to book the more comfortable board room next time I have an interview," Warren murmured, once again reminding Arthur of the additional keen senses that came with Warren's mutation. Chuckling, he stepped into the room.
"Yes, sir," he assured as Warren stretched his neck, rolling it on his shoulders. "Will you be back for dinner, sir?" Arthur asked as Warren straightened and stepped towards the bay window backing onto the acres of his family's property. Getting no more than a nod, Arthur gave a bow of his head and went to report to the kitchens as Warren unlocked the windows. With a half-step out onto the small balcony, Warren unfurled his wings and launched into the air with a single beat, toes barely touching the balcony railing as he dove off.