ArchivedLogs:Up For Review

Up For Review
Dramatis Personae Alice, Parley, Rasheed
In Absentia	2013-03-02 Surprise inspections are the best.
Location ????
This hall could be one of any, in some generic residential facility in some generic medical establishment. Bland tile on the floors, identical doors with numbers beside them and plastic slots to hold folders of information for the orderlies to identify the people inside. The tiny rooms beyond are identical, too; matching twinned cots with matching white sheets, matching plain wood chairs by their matching end tables, not much personality to any of them. Each comes with a bathroom, small and bare, too. Toilet. Washbasin. Tiny cube of shower with plastic floor and plastic sheet of curtain to pull across. The rooms all lack in windows to the outside, though, and the doors are suspiciously heavy, the small slat of glass set into them bulletproof-hard. It's early. Early enough that the facility is down to a skeleton crew -- at least, as much as it ever is. There are guards in plenty. Orderlies checking in on the subjects. A few baggy-eyed doctors in the kitchen swapping notes over coffee. And here in one of the labs, Rasheed is tucked up onto a stool, white labcoat over his dress shirt and slacks, an untouched cheese-and-egg croissant sandwich in a Dunkin' Donuts wrapper beside him, inputting notes into a computer with large greyscale images of a brainscan pinned up in front of him. The sound of high heels clicking against the floor fills the hallway. The stride is brisk, confident, certain of its destination. It grows louder, echoing through the hall without pause--and then stopping abruptly outside of the door of the lab in which Rasheed is reviewing notes. The lock beeps and clicks open, the door swings open and Alice steps inside. She looks dressed for a state occasion in a crisp green suit, the white shirt beneath silk and the skirt tighter than is perhaps regulation. A briefcase dangles from one hand. "Doctor Toure." Her eyes flick over the sandwich, the computer screen, before settling back upon the man himself. "Am I interrupting?" Rasheed doesn't look up, at the sound of approaching footsteps, frowning at the scans and then tapping at a keyboard that is not actually a keyboard, just a glowing red laser projection of keys onto the flat counter surface in front of him. It's only when his name is spoken that he blinks, a bit owlishly, turning in some mild surprise towards Alice. And then straightening abruptly on his stool, fixing a small polite smile to his face. "Ah -- Ms. Lambton," he greets, sliding his hands away from the virtual keys. "Well, I --" he almost starts to answer, but then glances to his screen and back to Alice. "No, not at all," he says instead. "How can I help you?" Alice's smile doesn't appear until he makes the decision to answer in the negative. She comes closer, heels tick-ticking with slightly less volume. "You've come up for review, Doctor," she says without preamble, her accent making the statement almost a pleasant thing. "I'll be observing for the next several weeks before submitting a progress report. You're familiar with the process, I'm sure. You'll hardly notice I'm here." Except her smile, which has deepened enough for faint dimples, assures him that she knows just the opposite to be true. She dips to place the briefcase down on the floor, against the work station, then laces her hands together and rests them on the counter. "Would you like to have your breakfast before I begin with the questions?" Rasheed's smile thins in response, though not quite enough to vanish. /Fixed/. "I'm familiar, yes," he says, rather doggedly polite in tone, "I was on the committee that designed the original review process." Though perhaps the /faint/ emphasis given to 'original' is testament to the changes it has undergone over the years. With more bureaucrats. Less scientists. He shifts a quick glance to the unwrapped but untouched croissant, contemplative, and then shakes his head. "I'm fine. Thank you." "I know," Alice says with a tilt of her head, acknowledging both the spoken and unspoken. Her lack of scientistness does not fluster or phase the woman. She simply continues to gaze at him, pleasantly British. "Shall we begin then? Perhaps with how the facility is performing overall before we delve deeper into the specifics. Or would you rather brief your staff on my presence?" One eyebrow is lifted in a clean arch. Rasheed gazes back. Less pleasant. Kind of New Yorkish. His smile slips further before reasserting itself determinedly. "My staff is always prepared for these eventualities," he says, after a moment. "This facility is outperforming its quarterly goals. It has been enjoying the most success, of the three I administrate." "I am aware, Doctor Toure. It is standard to review the reports prior to a site visit. You understand, of course, that I am not here due to poor performance. Nor should you view this as a criticism on your administration," Alice says smoothly, soothingly. The lilt of her accent makes a lullaby of the words. "This is, simply, business as usual. Let's begin with a tour, shall we? I find a good walk in the morning does wonders for mind and body, both, and I have so been looking forward to seeing the work you've done." "I'm sure you have," Rasheed says mildly, turning back to his keyboard to tap at it for a moment. His files save, shut down; the monitor locks and turns off. He slips out of his chair, one hand absently smoothing down the labcoat. "A tour. Yes. Unfortunately most of the activity around here will not pick up for a good couple hours. I enjoy the dawn hours," he says, with a slightly wider curl of his smile, "it's so quiet. A good time to get things done without interruption. Shall we?" He gestures towards the door. Alice dips at the knees to retrieve her briefcase and turns to the door, pace somewhat more briskly than a morning stroll typically uses. "I find I often do some of my best work early in the morning. There is something about the quality of dawn the invigorates the mind, it is so nice to see I'm not the only one." She proceeds into the hallway but once there, allows Rasheed to take the lead. "Tell me, Doctor Toure, why do you believe this facility has enjoyed the most success? Outside of being gifted with your leadership, of course." "I have always enjoyed the dawn," Rasheed agrees, softer and somewhat more thoughtful than before. He turns down the hallway, heading for the elevators. He presses his thumb to a pad before pressing the button to call the elevator, arms crossing around his chest as he waits. "There are a number of factors that have aided our work recently. A few new hires in the past year who are proving exceptionally competent, even by our standards. Some technological advances by our partners that have been a boost to security, which lets us channel a little more funding into the research. And some of the specimens we have tracked down and collected have been an invaluable source of knowledge." Though his lips compress a little at this last statment, eyes fixing on the elevator instead. "I would be interested in seeing the files on these specimens," Alice says, the curiosity in her tone at odds with the firmness of the "request". She smiles, gaze sliding briefly to Rasheed's profile before she focuses again on the elevator door. The briefcase is held before her, dangling from both hands. "You seem displeased, Doctor. May I ask as to why?" Such an innocent inquiry, on the surface. Ms. Lambton isn't even watching him as she asks, choosing instead to raise her chin slightly to survey the corners where the walls come together, the cameras that are tucked there behind their black glass shields. "Of course." The elevator doors slide open quietly. Rasheed steps in; they are already on a basement level and the button he presses once Alice is inside is further down still. His hands fold behind his back as he watches the door slide closed, the numbers tick downwards. "There are a handful of recent acquisitions that I --" He hesitates, glancing sideways towards Alice. "Recommended be terminated straightaway, rather than retained for further study. I was overruled." Alice raises an eyebrow again, though she doesn't seem incredibly surprised. Her lips purse lightly. "Have these recent acquisitions been one and the same as the specimens who have proven to be an invaluable source of knowledge? If so, I cannot say that refusal was unexpected. However..." The pause here draws out half a second longer than it should. "If you share your concerns with me, Doctor, I can make certain recommendations of my own in my report. Your opinion should have weight, given your track record." "One of them, yes," Rasheed is forced to admit, "but all three of them had been thoroughly documented by us already and their records on file. We would have made the advances regardless, just, perhaps, not quite as expediently." There's a pause before he adds, "-- Thoroughly documented at our Gunnison facility," he says, with another compression of lips as the elevator comes to a halt. "Before its -- termination." Termination, lost all their test subjects to mutant TERRORISTS, whatever. "There are certain persons who prefer expediency above all else. It is easy to make demands of that sort from afar, I've found." Alice directs the full warmth of her smile towards him. "It is also why I do so enjoy these little visits. They provide a...more complete picture." When the doors slides open, she precedes him into the hall, heading turning to take in the sights. "You've observed nothing unusual lately? Nothing...similar to Gunnison, I hope." "Nothing like that," Rasheed assures Alice, "but the subjects in question were heavily involved in some of the subsequent troubles. They have associates on the outside who are likely to note their absence. It seems an imprudent risk to keep them, for the sake of a small increase in speed." They have come out into a large room, bland and institutional. Plain tile floors, generic round tables with plastic folding chairs at them. A few sofas, a television tuned to Lifetime. A shelf that holds a meagre selection of books, a few board games. Scrabble. Go. Checkers. A deck of cards. An orderly is leaning against a counter, chatting with the bored-looking nurse settled behind it. Clearly trying to flirt. Clearly not being successful. There is the smell of cheap coffee, slightly burned. "This is our lower-security floor," he tells Alice, with a gesture to the room. "The subjects have an allotment of time to spend here, we find it helps greatly with their performance if they have some stimulation." "Mm, a difficult situation all around. Whether they are missed or whether they are found, post-termination, it seems likely that their associates will come looking. It's only their purpose that would change. Perhaps the risk of rescue versus revenge was weighed...I can't claim to have been privy to the decision making process, unfortunately." Alice's smile shades briefly apologetic before she turns to study the room. Her briefcase is transferred to her left hand and left to hang as she makes the survey. "If it improves performance," she murmurs, her eyes settling--in piercing fashion--on the casual posture of the orderly and the expression worn by the nurse. Against a wall not far away, Parley is sitting up on the back of a chair, his legs crossed and balanced neatly. He has a dogeared copy of Watership Down pinned open on his lap, head tipped down towards its pages. His eyes, however, are tipped up. They follow Alice and Rasheed's progress into the room from beneath his lashes, and his empathy open like a parachute to channel whatever sentiments might roll through the words spoken between the two. Deep probing, not his forte. But in communication, it's difficult /not/ to speak between one's own lines. He turns a page. Doot doo. Don't mind me. Just reading about rabbits. Rabbits that KILL each other. If he still had his tail it would be casually pendulum swinging. "Their associates are only one part of the problem. The prudence of exposing a powerful techopath to, well, our technology --" Rasheed shakes his head, clearly displeased with this situation, a vague note of irritation underlacing the outwardly polite tone. The pair by the desk glance over at the new arrivals, straightening reflexively at the sight of Rasheed, and then even moreso at the sight of the suited woman with him. Maybe she just radiates Administration at them. "It helps a good deal, with both their health and their compliance. Unfortunately with the higher-security subjects the same allowances cannot be made. Still, we make what arrangements we can to keep them in good shape for their studies." He gestures at Parley, almost offhand. "This one has been in the system many years. Only recently returned to the regular research schedule; for a while he was being transferred between locations to assist with communication in subjects recalcitrant or unable to communicate in English." The course of Alice's emotions are simple to follow, due in no small part to their antiseptic nature. Her mind is /dry/, /orderly/, beyond the expected dryness and order of someone who speaks with a British boarding school accent. There is a sense of checks being applied to a column, tick, tick, tick, as she looks from one thing to the next. This is efficiency on the scale of organic machinery, with a healthy dose of reserve that keeps her separate from what is said and occurs before her. Save, of course, for the deep thread of disapproval for that damn orderly and nurse. They should spontaneously combust from the quiet look the woman is giving them. "It is something we'll have to discuss," she says on the previous topic. Then green eyes settle assessingly on Parley. She smiles; it doesn't reach either eyes or mind. "Curious, the combination of a feline aspect with an ability to translate. How does he operate?" The gesture in his direction doesn't result in the guilty quick-dive back into reading material; Parley makes a mild contact of eyes with Rasheed, and they move then to Alice; it's politely abstained, but not sullen, if weighted by smudges of shadows beneath his eyes - he even offers a very slight I-don't-know-you nod, roughly as attending as an exchange of glances between strangers on a train - and then drops back down to his book with a passing of tongue over his upper lip. Ohgod maybe one of the pair is a mutant whose power is spontaneously combusting when given dirty looks. Most fail mutation ever. Rasheed is largely ignoring the pair past small acknowledging nods when they straighten, focusing instead on Parley as he takes a few steps closer. "He acts as a passive empathic conduit with the people he is communicating with. He doesn't understand languages innately so much as the sentiments being expressed beneath. The fur seems to be an extension of a quirk of his abilities. He has a tendency to obscure himself -- fade into the background of people's notice. The rosettes would be a similar type of visual camoflauge but, ah." His lips quirk, slightly, clearly rather fascinated by the nuances of gene expression here, "more at home on a savannah than in an urban environment. Evolution is not always all that precise about the changes made." "So his genes intend him to be the small, still voice within us all, the one that always speaks truth? A living embodiment of conscience." Alice suffers a moment of mild amusement, hand in hand with a fascination to match Rasheed's. "With the same ability to inconveniently disappear. I would be interested in seeing his file," she adds, with a glance at the doctor. "A useful ability, to some interests." Her eyes shift back to Parley. Curiosity rises a full moment before she addresses him directly. "What is it that you're reading, young man?" The small, dead movement at the far edge of Parley's mouth doesn't form into a clear expression, and he tucks it back away again with a very brief /glance/ at Rasheed before directing to Alice quietly, "I think of it more as a passing moment of clarity, unclouded by ego." He says this while folding shut his book and almost shyly ducking his head to expose the title, scratching the back of his head, "Er... Watership Down. They made a movie of it, I've heard." Across the room, two mutants - one considerably /shaggier/ in body fur than Parley and a strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair, both in the scrubs of test subjects, are raising their voices slightly over a game of Go Fish, to the tune of, "Yes you /do/, come /on/." It causes a current of nervous energy to radiate through the room, heads turning towards it from the seats around the television and looking up from reading material. Some with jittery grins, some with hollow, wide-eyed anxiety. "They did make a movie of it," Rasheed agrees. "We could probably get it in, if you'd be interested in seeing it." There's still a lingering sense of irritation undercutting his words, less directed at Parley and more the entire situation. "I'm not sure genes have intentions," he adds, mildly, "only expressions." His shoulders stiffed at that wave of energy, and by the desk the orderly looks up with a frown. "Keep it calm," he says, crisp and a little wiry-edged from the wave of energy but obviously routine rather than alarmed. "An animated film, I believe. Rather grim material though I remember the book as excellent." Alice is looking at Rasheed while she says this but her attention is soon drawn away. She doesn't stiffen but she does stand taller, chin raised and lips thinning as she fixes on the pair at their table. "Mmm," she vocalizes, soft and thoughtful. In spite of every line about her screaming Authority, she knows how to step into the background when needed--she proves it now by sliding back to stand beside Parley's seat, attention divided between the source of the energy and the man handling it. The energy doesn't seem to affect Parley overly; his mannerisms don't shift, studying the cover of his book and quietly sidestepping the rise of tension. The wave washes out a few degrees of his personal presence in the process, weakening his blip on the perceptions radar. He pushes a quiet sheet of air through his nose and says thoughtfully downward, "They're both cheating, actually." It's like the /chair/ started talking. Though both of the card players duck down at the orderly's admonition, shaggier mutant twitches his head in that direction as well, his jaw tight. He slaps down his cards (erupting in another pulse of adrenal spiking) and pushes back his chair, "Fuck this. I want to go back to my room. Can I even do that? /Shit/." You could almost draw a line between the subjects that are new, and the subjects that have been around for a long enough time to know when to distance one's self. The latter look studiously back to whatever they were doing. The orderly pushes away from the desk, heading towards the card table with his hand reflexively dropping to the baton at his hip. "You're both going back to your rooms," he says, plainly, not angry but firm. "C'mon. Leave the cards." His head jerks towards one of the adjoining hallways. Rasheed is still tense, with the empath's influence, but even through this he nods towards Parley, speaking quietly with Alice. "You note how despite the clear psionic outburst he stays unaffected? It is immensely helpful when needing to communicate during certain tests." And then a blink and, a little bit louder though it seems more a puzzled question to the room at large: "-- Why would you cheat in Go Fish?" The spotty mutant has slipped Alice's mind. Her head hardly twitches when the chair speaks up, but Rasheed's remark causes a puzzled downwards glance. With this reminder, she doesn't startle so much as wake up again--her eyes widen slightly, she suffers a moment of rueful bemusement that is stronger than the influence in the room. "So it would seem. He is quite the resource. And those two?" Her eyes return to the pair of card-players being gathered up by the orderly. Her lips twitch, not quite smiling. "I have found, Doctor, that when left to their own devices, certain elements will do things only because they can." "/What/?" The girl still sitting cries out in a blank disbelief, "No, you can let me stay. I was being good. He's the one that's cheating, look." She reaches across the table and /thrusts/ forward the cards, suit-out, "He /does/ have the card. I don't want to go to my room yet!" The projection of spiked alarm turns into something more cloying, like tar, as if trying to fortify her grip on Staying Here by locking onto the minds nearby. "You were reading my mind! I knew it!" Shaggy yells back, backing away slightly and rounding the table to put distance between himself and the orderly, palms held out, "Lock her up!" He has a huge, excitable-nervous grin, Lock her up forever!" Parley's smile when Alice looks back at him is tired and embodied with something difficult to define; a gentle hardness that lowers his eyelids just slightly. The bombardment hammers, hammers -- and then blunts slightly. It's the feeling of yelling being quieted by a steady voice of reason. This voice, unspoken, nevertheless feels imperceptibly to be radiating from the spotty seated presence, though Parley has returned his eyes to the interior of his book. "No one likes to lose," he muses quietly. The orderly is actually drawing the baton, now, prodding the girl rather firmly with it. "/Move/, he says, harder, now, as another guard apears from down the hall, lured by the noise. "No, I suppose not," Rasheed says, though he still looks /puzzled/. The outburst seems wearying to him. He eyes the drawn baton; eyes the other guard who is approaching with a baton of his own, though his is of the shock prod variety. "Shall we continue with the tour?" Alice's softly indrawn breath is timed to the blunting of the tension. When she looks down at Parley again, taking her time in actually focusing on the young man, it is with both distant calculation. "That is probably best," she says to Rasheed without looking away. "Everyone needs an outlet and an audience just makes that need more pressing." Another breath is taken as she lifts her head and turns to reorient herself with the doorway. "After you, Doctor?" No follow-up questions are issued, Parley snuggling down onto a wave frequency a few levels beneath the room's otherwise rampant vicissitudes. Essentially: he's bailing. Without ever having to leave his chair! The prodding and approach of further authority figures elicits the predictable rise of volume and jolting telepathic explosions of dismay and disbelief, of which Shaggy wants no part. He already has his hands up and his mouth shut. There will likely be some volume to come, and shouts of, "That's not /fair/!" before the mess is resolved. Parley doesn't have a farewell to issue, any more than the two have well wishes to offer him. Quiet and seamless is the way to go, down here -- but his eyes follow them when their backs are turned, eavesdropping on whatever they might have to say. There's no such thing as 'boring' in news from the outside, and there's little doubt it shall be bandied from one telepathic mind to the next soon enough. But for now: someone Else is pulling on the room's attention. It's quiet. He'll take it. "Of course," Rasheed says, with a return to his default forcible politeness. "As I said, these are the low-security residences. You can see for yourself the precautions we take for our more hazardous subjects --" His voice trails off into the distance as he leads Alice down the hallway, to continue -- rather /grudgingly/ -- with this introduction to his review.