ArchivedLogs:Shrinking

Shrinking
Dramatis Personae Dr. Edward Leone, Matt
In Absentia	2014-07-13 '
Location Prometheus lab
Not being officially part of Prometheus' staff means that Dr. Edward Leone doesn't have an assigned office space within the Vermont complex. For this meeting, he has borrowed a /proper/ Prometheus' doctor's space, an office that is designed less for comfort and more for functionality. But there is a desk, a chair behind it and two in front, and there is a window that shares the same view as that enjoyed in the solarium, on a smaller scale. On the desk, there is a framed picture of a family, three beaming blonde girls arranged in a circle of arms created by an older balding man and his younger strawberry blonde wife. That man is not the man seated at the desk, scratching at paperwork. His hair is thick and brilliant white to match the snowy beard kept neatly clipped, framing his lower face. His eyes share a hue with the brilliant summer sky outside. His slacks are black, his tie red, and he wears a lab coat over his white button-up. Very much a doctor in appearance but very much not the man in the frame. This is Edward and he has left the door open, anticipating Matt's arrival. There is a soft knock on the doorframe despite it being open, perhaps long-ingrained politeness or perhaps a labrat's drilled-in reluctance to step out of line even in small ways. In the doorway, Matt is in typical inmate scrubs, washed-out blue today. He is looking a little tired -- slightly pale, slightly drawn, his lean against the lintel a bit more heavy than it should be. There is a careful reserve in his expression, green eyes focusing on Dr. Leone in quiet thoughtful study. The knock redirects those bright eyes to the young man in the doorway. When Edward smiles, he does so with his entire /face/, through the beard. He stands too, as if this were a room in a regular hospital, and he a regular doctor meeting with a regular patient. The hand still cradling the pen turns up and extends towards one of the chairs opposite. "Come in, come in, my boy. Have a seat. I'd offer you something but I'm not sure where Peters keeps things in here. But make yourself comfortable, please." So saying, the large man makes himself comfortable again. He settles in the chair and sets the pen aside. The paperwork before him is collected and tapped into neatness against the desk before that too is set aside. "Audrey said you had some concerns with the work she'll be doing." Matt doesn't smile; there is a small twitch at the corners of his mouth that suggests there is a reflex there, to return smile with smile, but it never fully forms. He moves into the room slowly, settling into the chair beside the one indicated and folding his hands in his lap. His brows just hike /up/ at this opening, eyes widening slightly. "Man," now a crooked smile does pull at his mouth, "I really can't imagine why." "Oh, I'm sure you can think of a few reasons. /I/ can think of more than a few and I'm not the one in scrubs." Buy Edward's half-smile allows he recognizes an opportunity taken for a quip. He leans forward, hands clasped and arms resting on the desk. "Would you like to talk about it?" At first here Matt is quiet, eyes drifting away towards the windows to study the view outside. "Why are you doing it?" he finally asks, eyes tracking back towards Edward. Edward's eyes become grave. "To salvage some good of terrible. There is good to be done. But..." This time it's his head that turns, so he can take in the office--and maybe the facility beyond as well. "It won't be done here." "Are you actually so full of shit that you believe that crap? There are people -- /good/ people, people who /actually/ give a fuck about humanity, out there right now /doing good/ in the world. In this field, in mutant medicine, people managing to do research and help patients /without/ torture. Kidnapping. Brainwashing. Straight-up murder." Matt sounds more incredulous than angry, brows still raised in blatant disbelief. "If you really wanted to salvage some good out of this hell you'd go to the cops and the media and get us out of here. Go work with doctors like Saavedro and MacTaggart who manage research just fine without violating the oaths you all take." Edward waits. Through the obscenity and the flurry of questions and accusations, he waits. Matt is watched with the same grave and unflinching regard throughout. When he's finished, the psychiatrist says, "People have gone to the police. People have gone to the media. Mutants and humans alike. And here we are." Edward sinks back in the chair. It huffs as he tilts it backwards. "You're afraid for your friend. That she's gone from frying pan to fire." "Freaks have gone to the police. Terrorists attacking the government -- and when they did, /even/ when they did, even when it was criminals from the most hated demographic on the entire planet, even then people got pissed and started paying attention. If someone like /you/ did? Respectable white-bread white boy doctor?" Matt exhales quickly, hands turning up in front of himself. "You could change things. Actually change things instead of helping participate in the torture." Again Edward waits. This time he shifts forward once more to rest his arms against the edge of the desk. His fingers slip through their opposites. "It might seem so. But I cannot do as you say, Matt." His lips purse. "I /can/ assure you that I will make certain of Audrey's safety. Prometheus has agreed to discharge her. Permanently. She...she has asked that I look into the possibility of doing the same for you, that I gauge your willingness to join this project." "Yeah, you can. You just won't. It's not profitable for you. Preying on vulnerable hurt scared people, that's profitable for you." Matt's eyebrows start to climb higher, and here he just /laughs/, short and sharp and a little breathless. "Fuck you," is his prompt reply to this. "You've messed with her head pretty well. It's going to take a lot more than these labs before I hate myself enough to sell out my own people. It's going to take a lot more than these labs before I hate myself enough to /hate/ myself. -- How are you going to make sure Nox is safe when you're the one hurting her?" His head shakes slowly, fingers lacing together in his lap. "I don't really see what benefit there is going from one prison to another. You /could/ also just give her her /freedom/. For real. Help her find a therapist out there who /actually/ cares about her, a home, a /life/. Instead of transferring her to another jail and /using/ her like they use all of us here." Edward's lips twitch but don't quite manage to resolve into another smile. He waits until the young man has finished before asking quietly, "Was there anything else you wanted to say to me, Matthieu?" "What did you do?" Matt wonders abruptly, glancing back out towards the windows. "Out there, in the real world, before you decided to get into torturing people instead?" "I am a psychiatrist." This time the smile does coalesce, tilted slightly and half-hidden in his beard. Edward reaches for the pen he'd set aside earlier. "I'll let Audrey know you've respectfully declined. If there's nothing else, I should return to this paperwork." "I didn't respectfully decline," Matt points out with a crooked twitch of a smile. "I told you to go fuck yourself. But you're not really in the habit of being honest with her anyway." He pushes out of his chair, eeling to his feet as he turns to head out. "If you prefer I share verbatim. She will, of course, be distressed." But Edward? He isn't. That stack of paperwork is tugged center on the blotter before him. But he waits to return to it, keeping a weather eye on the young man's retreating back. "Of course she will." This just comes with a small shake of Matt's head. He doesn't look back at Edward as he slips out the door.