Hazel Beauvais was waiting for someone. The rest of her class had already left – the few classmates who’d been here, anyway. Students with a little more interest than the rest in the current Pittsburgh political scene. Just… maybe not quite enough interest to get a real scoop. The scoop that Hazel was willing to wait for, sitting in the waiting room in the foyer of Waters Pharmaceutical. At the very least, it was warmer than waiting outside, and while she knew that this might feel a little bit like corneringMs. Waters, it was the only chance she was going to get to ask her questions.
Metahuman politics were going to be touchy no matter what. Hazel, of all people, knew that. But they were only going to get touchier from here. She chewed on her pen, staring at her quickly scrawled shorthand notes from the conference. She’d found an angle of questioning that Ms. Waters would answer. Maybe that Ms. Waters would answer for her, personally – a little bit of true information about her open-secret powers, and she might be able to get the interview she wanted. It was all about framing.
Because, well. If this was framed the way Hazel was seeing it, there was absolutely no chance she’d get through. For Hazel, this was her big break – the bridge, maybe, between her moonlit blogging career for Vigilante Watch and a real shot at reporting. Her passion was still music, and might always be, but there were other things now. So much was growing and changing. There was so much happening in the world. The kinds of storms that even a young reporter would be happy to find herself in the eye of, because maybe she could ride the winds higher until her words could reach a wider audience than even the loudest bands.
She realized she was chewing the pen, and promptly started using it to tap the page. Her shorthand was the result of years of practice, a little code only she knew the secrets behind. While her questions had been recorded, she wanted to remember what it felt like to be here, what Ms. Waters and Sam Walsh had looked like and sounded like in person. Record your experiences, that was one of the most important things for her to remember. Record them. Review them after. Review them, rewrite them, and then share them with the world.
Maybe then, she’d reach the truth behind all the background noise.
But for right now, she sat in the lobby of Waters Pharmaceutical, and waited for Beatrice Waters to appear in the front camera’s view.
Beatrice could finally breathe again, now that the press conference was over. Between the reporters, Sam Walsh, and cameras...it had been a lot. She hadn't the knack for public speaking the way her father did, but she always attributed that to his medical training and soothing bedside manner.
She tucked her notes into her bag and heading back inside the office building, double checking that she had her ID as she made her way across the floor. Halfway through the foyer a very loud turquoise and purple plaid suit caught her attention. It was the tricky reporter. Beatrice couldn't help but be impressed. None of the other questions held a candle to Hazel's.
Beatrice was accosted by an employee who took a moment of her time to discuss a budget meeting later that week.
"Of course. I'll make sure legal takes a look." She assured him quickly, and continued walking.
Wait. She watched through the cameras, eyes still locked on the paper in front of her with its inscrutable symbols. Let the pen tapping communicate nerves as Beatrice came in through the front door, then paused to talk to an employee. She wasn’t quite in reach for Hazel to hear through her phone or anything – not that Hazel really wanted to, but she usually used that to judge real-life distance versus what a camera might be seeing.
She waited almost until Beatrice walked past her, then looked up suddenly, like she’d been distracted but just came back into the moment. She spoke hurriedly, but clearly. “Ms. Waters? Do you have a second?”
Pause, then nervous laugh. Timing was everything.
“More than a second, actually. Hazel Beauvais, Pittsburgh-Jonestown. You answered some of my questions out there? I was wondering if I could convince you to do an interview with me. For a project I’ve got coming up this semester.”
"An interview?" Beatrice repeated. She was immediately repulsed by the idea. An interview seemed to personal, something celebrities and attention seekers did.
However she couldn't say she had done overly well at the conference. In some ways it had been alright, but in others a mitigating disaster. A chance to expand and clarify what her company was researching might not be the worst idea, and Hazel had been...charitable in her questions.
"Please, call me Beatrice," Bea said, extending a hand out of habit. "I also go to Pittsburgh-Jonestown. Business major...You did well out there, asking questions. You're a natural reporter."
“Beatrice,”Hazel repeated, with a smile as she reached out to take the handshake [professional, not too firm, but firm enough to make an impact – quick]. “Thank you. I’ve had a lot of practice, though I’m mostly on the music scene. I’ve got kind of a personal interest in this one – hence the project. If you’re interested in helping me out, I’d really appreciate it.”
They looked to be about the same age, this close, and this close it was almost impossible not to notice the makeup. It was for the outdoor lighting of the interview stage, not the hard yellow fluorescents of the waiting room. And maybe Hazel was only noticing because of her experience with makeup and costuming herself, but there was definitely a bruise or two under there – a bruise or two with their own stories. Different stories than what she was here to find out, but maybe she’d be able to weasel them out along the way, if Beatrice was amenable.
Personal interest. Beatrice assumed Hazel meant she was a meta, or knew metas, or had a weird fascination with them. Unfortunately Beatrice knew all too well the struggle of trying to complete school projects. She was procrastinating a few of her own at the moment.
"I'm sure we can schedule something. I assume you want to hear more about our research for a cure?"
This was already going better than she’d planned – it wasn’t an outright refusal at all. Her notebook was closed around the finger of her free hand, though she now hugged it to her chest.
“Yes, if today didn’t put you off it at all.” Her smile was almost apologetic, but not quite. “I know it might’ve sounded like I was opposed to the project, but I think it might have a lot of good uses. Sometimes having powers makes our lives harder.”
It sounded like a slip of the tongue. It wasn’t, she said it on purpose – the moment of self-identification. Her expression didn’t change, though. Performing like she was on-camera; that was the name of the game. Because, in a way, she was, and nobody knew it better than Hazel.
“I’m interested in Waters Pharmaceutical’s plans to use your Cure for benefitting people with more difficult metahuman abilities, and it might help with some of your PR to get that side of things out in the open.”
Her other card that she probably could’ve saved, but wanted to get out up-front. Tit for tat. A fair exchange – Hazel got her story, and maybe Beatrice would get some more support than the press conference had gotten for her. She let that part be implied, though. She did, genuinely, think Beatrice had done well with the press all things considered. Her inexperience just… showed, a little. That was all.
"Did I fuck up that badly out there?" Beatrice asked sheepishly. Hazel had been sharp in her questions, and honest about her metahumanism. Bea had the feeling she'd be honest about this. "I...can't say being in the public eye comes naturally to me."
How could it? She'd been homeschooled since she was five, and strictly supervised by her parents or uncles watchful eyes. She spent most of her time reading or doing homework in a car or office building. No one exactly expected her to be heir to the company at eleven years old.
Beatrice set her own thoughts aside, focusing on what Hazel had said, "You're right. Having metahuman powers is...complicated for some people. We're hoping we can benefit those who decide they don't want their powers. In fact, I'd like to also hear more about your experiences, if you don't mind...consider it a bargain. You get your interview, and I get a meta's perspective on their relationship with their abilities."
Hazel laughed lightheartedly. “Public sentiment has nothing to do with whether you ‘fucked up’ or not, Beatrice. People are going to have their opinions. What I can do is sway those opinions to help out.”
For the first time since Beatrice had seen her, she flipped back the headphones so they rested around her neck instead of covering her ears. Her hair moved, showing off the little eye tattooed under her ear. She took a second to recalibrate, then smiled back at Bea.
“My experiences might not be worth much, though. While I’ll admit it’s a bit of a handicap, it’s one I’d rather live with than not. Though I could definitely spin it somewhere down the line, I’m sure. You can spin just about anything these days.”
She turned, and waved with one hand for Beatrice to follow her while she started to pack her notebook back up. She’d stop if Beatrice stopped her, but she explained her idea as they started to walk back toward the front exit.
“We could use an empty room on campus – I know about a few conference spaces in the library that normally need to be reserved, but since it’s break we can bend a few rules. It’s a long drive, though – want to grab something to eat first? I’d like to get to know the real Beatrice Waters before we get into things.”
The "real" Beatrice. she mildly laughed at that idea. "I'm nothing too interesting."
She adjusted her arm in the sling and took a deep breath. She might be able to set the record straight in a more private setting. "I think lunch sounds great. I can have a ride arranged if you'd like."
“Oh, I prefer to drive, thanks.” Another soft laugh, warm and high. “Helps clear my head. I find it’s a pretty good stress release. Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave my bike unattended downtown.”
They made it to the door, and Hazel fished her keys out of an inner pocket of her bag. There were a lot of reasons why she drove a motorcycle – but none of them were important, right now.
“If you want, you can ride with me. I know a place that has great Italian cream sodas. My treat.”
The bar was busy. It was late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, and everyone was out drinking. Business had been good for a while, but today was particularly wild for the small, classy Diamond. Even Obsidian was sitting at the bar, shadows off, enjoying drinks with some visiting members of Slate who were still there from the Christmas Party. There was an easy smile on his face, even after the broadcast that had almost ruined the day. Still, he could enjoy this.
Hematite and Onyx were behind the bar, swinging drinks out nonstop, while Rhody monitored the tunes over at her little station. When the bar was this packed, she tended to play DJ and accept requests from their patrons. Lapis and Sulphur were mingling in the crowd somewhere. It was times like these, though, where Obsidian really felt Malachite’s absence. The big guy would have been slinging back shots and starting the dancing. He was always the life of every party they had. Loud and free and in love with life– that’s what was missing.
He didn’t want to think about that right then, though. He wanted to just drink and have a good time. Drinking was one of the few social things that Obsidian could take part in, after all. What with his inability to swallow food or any liquids that were of more substance than coffee or alcohol, and all that. He took another drink of his whiskey, letting it warm his body through. It wasn’t quite as good as draining someone, but it was close.
Someone in the back called out for cheers to the whole bar, and even Obsidian raised his glass in response and cheered with the others. It was just after he said goodbye to the lingering Slate members that he saw it through the glass windows. The energy signature he knew. He hadn’t expected Hazel to be coming in today, but he was eager for a chance to start the process with her. He had been fairly manic the last time they had seen each other, but the last week or so had given him time to mellow out to a normal level again. He tipped the rest of his whiskey back and smiled, breaking into a grin.
Beatrice could say for certainty she disliked motorcycles and cars an equal amount. Hazel was a perfectly fine driver, but she found that perhaps without a sling or wearing a skirt, she might have enjoyed the experience better. She held on tightly as best she could, keeping her eyes shut. The wind whipped past them, and before long, Hazel had pulled up to a bar named The Diamond, parking along the street.
Beatrice slid off the motorcycle, doing her best to avoid the snow, as she was still wearing flats, and pulled her jacket around her tighter, "That was... exhilarating." She said politely.
The place seemed quite busy, but Beatrice supposed it was New Years. People normally celebrated this time of year. She followed Hazel inside, glad to be out of the cold, and removed her jacket. "My family is from Sicily, so I have high standards concerning what a 'good' Italian soda is." She said teasingly. "Where would you like to sit?"
The Diamond was even busier than Hazel had expected for the holiday – which was good, because she really didn’t want to run into any trouble with Beatrice here. She wasn’t quite sure when The Diamond had become her go-to spot, instead of just a place she was investigating. If it hadn’t been a holiday, she might’ve considered VULTURE. But maybe the Italian sodas were just too good to resist. Or maybe she was just trying to impress Beatrice, since The Diamond was definitely catered more to her social class than Hazel’s.
She left her helmet and jacket at her bike, as well as the spare she’d given Beatrice. She hadn’t been lying when she said driving was a relief. It gave her something to focus on, room to think. Learning to drive the bike had actually been one of the ways she’d learned to focus past ambient noise and traffic cameras. Now that they were here, though, she put her headphones back on to make a barrier between her and The Diamond’s playlist and cameras.
That didn’t make her blind, though. She saw just fine that Obsidian was at the bar. She pretended not to notice him in the crowd of bodies, waving a little to Raphael as she led Beatrice over to her booth, which was miraculously empty.
“I study here a lot. I’m just glad my spot is open. I know it’s a bar on New Year’s, but it looks like business is good.”
She slid into her usual spot, and gestured for her new friend to sit down across from her, pretending not to be hyperaware of every angle she could see from here. Maybe Obsidian would leave her alone, since she had someone with her.
It was… less of a good day. In fact, it was rapidly becoming a bad day. Because Hazel had just walked in the door with Ms. Beatrice Waters. For a moment, he was so stunned by this that all he could do was stare. Then he whipped back around. His mind was working a mile a second trying to piece together the best way to handle this. Getting Beatrice alone any other way would be difficult. This was a perfect chance. But Hazel was there, and that was the predicament. Hazel was a god damn problem, was what she was.
He’d read both of her blogs, after Sulphur had managed to connect her writing on her personal blog to that of Arcane Eye on Panopticon for the Vigilante Watch. She was too observant. She was too clever. She was too… everything. Everything that would make this a pain in his ass to deal with.
He looked at Sulphur as Sulphur pulled up next to him, uncalled for. His eyes were subtly locked on the two girls who had walked into the bar. Sulphur inclined his head slightly as he waited for directions. Obsidian paused for a moment, then under his breath gave the order: “Turn off the mics. Turn off the cameras. Close the bar. In that order.”
His younger brother nodded and took off at a casual pace for the stairs that led upstairs. Once up there, Obsidian knew he would turn left into the office outside the access door to the apartments. He would go into the security room and start to slowly disable all their surveillance. Obsidian took a deep breath as he thought. He nodded to Hematite, who gave a serious nod back before putting on a friendly smile and walking over to the table to get the girl’s order. While he did that, Obsidian would plan.
This was not when he wanted to do any of this. But it was the best time, the most opportune. So he threw back the last of the whiskey in his glass and took a centering breath as he thought.
Beatrice slid in the booth, smoothing her skirt with her good hand, glad for the chance to finally rest her leg. She set her jacket and purse in the seat beside her, taking in the atmosphere. Fun, but classy. Bea would have been a bit more comfortable with a less packed venue, but that was no matter.
"You're a regular here? You said this is your spot. I haven't been in Pittsburgh long, and I can't say I get out much." Beatrice tried to make polite small talk, reaching for the menu."I assume you're majoring in journalism?"
“Often as I can. It’s not normally this busy – it’s a neat study spot when I need to get off campus. I like the vibes.”
That wasn’t true, or, well, not entirely. Hazel didn’t just come here for the vibes, but she had gotten more comfortable, even with her last incident with Mr. Fielding. He hadn’t been waiting at her table this time, at least. So she tried to relax a little as she placed her order with Raphael – the same cheese platter as last time, and her usual soda with grenadine. Then she turned back to Beatrice to answer her question.
“Majoring in journalism with a focus on music theory, actually. I’ve wanted to be a part of the wider music scene for a while. I like to know what I’m talking about when I make reports. And you? Business?”
"Yes, business. But I'm also planning to minor in chemistry and biology." Beatrice said. Before her parents died, she had wanted to study medicine like they did, and become a pulmonologist. After they did, she didn't really think she was cut out for working with patients.
She ordered the same soda as Hazel, as well as an appetizer, asking for whatever was recommended.
