ArchivedLogs:Deceptive Appearances

Deceptive Appearances
Dramatis Personae Alice Lambton, Doom
In Absentia	2013-04-22 '
Location Doom Science Expo
The warehouse in which the exhibition can be found is unsurprisingly spacious. A great number of companies have decided to show up, and there's nary a square inch left unused. The largest eye-catching trait of the entrance to the show is a massive poster of the fair's logo - Earth is shown with latitudes and longitudes being revealed to be nothing more than fake tiles, which robotic workers are applying to the southern hemisphere; the lower half of the world is grid-like and mechanical on the inside. Ticket booths are empty. Instructions slapped on the windows tell visitors to order tickets as they would normally. Afterwards, the purchased tickets are printed and presented through a thin slit. Once inside, the very first thing visitors see, of course, is what Doom has for show - a reasonably sized elevated floor for a merry band of faceless robots. They are for the most part humanoid, playing a piano, a bass and a violin. They are surprisingly precise and fluent in their efforts. As visitors venture deeper into the innards of the expo, they will see a stupidly wide assortment of displays, from amputees stressing themselves physically with intricate prosthetics, to non-humanoid machines lifting heavy objects, to multiple mechanical hovering over a fake patient and performing surgery on it. There are no patrols and no security, just a poster that states that people are expected to behave, that every step of theirs is monitored and an intelligent artificial intelligence will pick out troublemakers and alert the appropriate authorities. Doctor Doom is standing at the very entrance to the exhibition grounds. The supreme monarch stands so still, a good deal of visitors confuse him for a surprisingly accurate representation of the real leader of Latveria. However, the moment those bloodshot eyes dart to regard whomever might be foolish enough to approach him, they know better than to lessen the distance further. In a way, it is an inverted scenario of when the diplomat met Victor van Doom. This time, it was the King of Latveria who was waiting on her - arms crossed, feet spread and his trademark dark green cape fluttering indecisively in the wind. At his left side is the attache Alice had appointed to him. The cool demeanour that he is attempting to preserve is something that Alice might penetrate with sufficient attention - the attache is nervous. On Doom's right side is a man who is ugly enough to suggest the reason why a Latverian monarch might wear a mask. This unknown man is ridiculously ugly, suggesting a multitude of fights that have left his visage worse for wear. Together, this trio awaits the arrival of Alice Lambton. A black limo pulls to the curb, the driver quickly exiting to round the vehicle and hold the door open for one Ms. Alice Lambton. Out of consideration for it being Sunday, she's opted for a less severely tailored dress suit combination in a gentle sage green, the blouse beneath floral. A small ivory silk clutch is carried in one hand. Otherwise, she looks much the same as she had upon greeting Victor van Doom to the country--cool, calm, and faintly smiling, as if expecting a pleasant outing in welcome company. Her heels click briskly as she crosses to meet the three who are so obviously there to greet her. "Victor, how lovely it is to see you again. And Mr. Billings. I hope you've found him to be a satisfactory assistant, sir." The greeting for the attache is cursory; her attention never strays from the massive figure looming over the two others. Her hand is offered, her smile deepens a tick. She is, to all appearances, happy to be here. But between the lines, between one breath and the next, a sharp, shrew glance flicks in the direction of the stranger. She's sized him up in that instant--before immediately focusing on her host again. Alice smiles again. "I'm so glad I found the time to attend, this has been the talk of the city all week." The manner of movement that turns Doom's scowl to face the attache is slow and deliberate. One could attribute it to his armour, even if the more likely truth is that the metal monarch fully realises such motions appear unnerving. The attache ponders on this as well, although not for very long - Doctor Doom exhales a heavily digitised, "Go." Mister Billings - a middle aged balding man in a fancy dark grey suit - rushes off into the exhibition before he event. He barely greets Alice beyond a quick glance. Odd. Victor van Doom has no layers when it comes to appearance. He literally has but one facial expression, so therefore his communication with his subordinates is not quite so different from the way he converses with Alice. The difference is, perhaps, that he is at least willing to shake the diplomat's hand. Just like last time, the precision in the monarch's movement avoids discomfort. For a moment, it looks like it's going to be rougher, but the hint fades away quickly. "He had a few kinks. I ironed them out." It's hard to say whether the pun is intentional, but he doesn't linger on it long enough to let others figure it out. He withdraws his hand and side-steps, gesturing to the sprawling exhibition. "The entrance is free of charge for one as you." It may very well be the closest thing Doom displays to politeness. Normally, attendees have to pass through turnstiles, although there is one odd-looking gate, one that is slightly larger than the King. The iron bars of the gate move like a spider's legs, creating space to walk through and into the expo. Dark eyebrows are arched--first at Billings' rapid departure and then at that hint of pressure. Alice's own grip is a delicate thing, all grace and little pressure. Quickly removed as well, when he releases her hand. "I do hope you haven't inflicted any /permanent/ damage," the woman says as she orients herself to the larger of the gates. "Mr. Billings is quite the accomplished gentleman. We /would/ like him back in working order." The tone she uses is light, a jest, the smile she offers up at him in a sidelong look so very soft. But those eyes? Those green eyes are briefly hard as jade and allow the man in the mask to see a brief spark of displeasure. It is impolite to damage other people's tools while borrowing them. For shame, your majesty. But! Moving on, Alice steps forward with ease and apparent eagerness to see the wonders of this event. "What would you recommend I see first?" That hard jade gaze, however brief, is met with Doom's own icy jab. He says nothing more on the matter of the assistant he's been granted, as if his gaze spoke of everything. Unfortunately, it didn't. Whatever his earlier words implied, they could mean a thousand things, and Doom was more than content to leave it that way. The steps that follow after Alice announce their every turn, landing heavily upon the hard concrete ground. "I have ensured that the most impressive exhibit is at the entrance." That would be the musicians. The music could be heard outside, as well, but it is much clearer here. The faceless white-plated android band is rather immersed into the calm musical piece they are playing. "Everything else is irrelevant. There are some entertaining toys you might find interesting, however. They will serve as a fitting enough background for our conversation." The indeterminably ugly-looking guy follows Victor and Alice inside. Like Billings, he is dressed in a fancy suit, but it does little to make him look more presentable; in fact, it just draws a sharper contrast to his shaven head. The spidery gates close behind the three. If Doom deems the musicians to be the most impressive, then Alice will stop before them. She knows the cues to follow, after all. With her clutch tucked beneath one arm and her head tilted slightly to one side, she could be a museum patron admiring the art--that being the limit of her appreciation for technological marvels such as these. Aesthetics over function, or so it would seem because after a moment of study, she turns to look for her host. "These /are/ most impressive," Alice stresses with genuine appreciate. However... "I assume there is more at work here than simple clockwork. The motor functions alone must have taken ages to program." Whatever the name of that inexcusably macabre-looking gentleman, he is not impressed neither by the exhibition or Doom himself. In fact, he looks terribly bored. Not that his boredom is passive; he looks itching to do something else. His gaze traverses the shifting crowd that makes way for this little delegation. "I have written the fundamental architecture years ago. Each unit is built with my personality, adapted to a specific purpose that they process in real-time." How humble of him. His explanation receives an addendum: "Their meaning of life is playing a musical instrument of my choice. With enough time, they can be adapted to other purposes." Even though he's mentioned this is the most impressive exhibit, Victor makes sure to also note, "What you see before you is an abysmal application of unprecedented technology." And then he begins to move again. Away from the band and further into the exhibition, seemingly expecting Alice to follow. Other purposes, yes. Alice lingers a moment longer, studying those mobile, artificial digits with a new appreciation. Then she is turning to take her place at Doom's elbow again, resuming that position as if strolling beside a reigning monarch were as natural to her as breathing. "It's understandable that you would want a more...aesthetically pleasing exhibition for the general public. The possibilities for other purposes seem endless, however. In medical technology alone, this sort of architecture would allow remote surgery to advance in leaps and bounds," she muses. "It's very impressive, Victor. One hopes you've drawn the attention you were hoping for by opening these doors to the public. And to the special guests you've arranged viewings for." Herself among those numbers, her small smile says. "I have no intention of sharing my technology." That is perhaps the closest thing his voice will come to a change of tone. Or perhaps it is simply up to the imagination of whomever it is he might be speaking to. Whichever it might be, Doctor Doom is not too eager to agree with the idea that his marvels might change the world. "You have Tony Stark. You have Norman Osborn." Looking straight ahead, Doctor Doom slows to a halt and turns to face another display. A firm is showcasing fairly advanced prosthetics - a man with a complicated-looking prosthetic leg is jogging on an exercise machine while a spokesman explains how it all works. He chokes a bit when he sees Doom, and his charismatic speech suffers from a bit of a dent, but the man tries his best to continue, nonetheless. "Tony Stark declined my invitation in the utmost rude manner. Norman Osborn claims he will be present." And there comes Mister Billings. With a faint shadow of anxiety on his wrinkled features, he wanders over to Alice holding a cup of hot tea. He says nothing. Doctor Doom speaks in his stead, "I assume you enjoy green tea, judging from our previous encounter." The look that Alice gives Doom is, in that moment when he names his local competitors, bemused. She seems far more interested in him than the presentation on prosthetics--but perhaps that's to be expected. "Mr. Stark is known, as many brilliant men are, for his eccentricities as much as for his genius. Unfortunately, his manners are a part of that reputation. Mr. Osborn..." Ah, but here she pauses and then finally opts simply to leave the rest unspoken. Better to focus on the pleasant things. The pleasantries. Mr. Billing's arrival with the tea is greeted with a deeper smile. "The most considerate of hosts...thank you, Victor. I do indeed," she says as she accepts the cup, cradling it in one hand and steadying it with the fingers of the other. Its steam is breathed in, savored, and then a small sip is taken--cautious of the heat but seeming to enjoy the taste. Her eyes drift briefly towards the speech-giver. "If you don't intend to share your technology, Victor, may I ask why you are showcasing it here?" Although one might be wary of anything edible that Doctor Doom might offer, the green tea that his assistant has brought is heavenly. It isn't to say it is the best tea in the world; that is by far not the monarch's specialty, but suffice to say he has ensured the drink is of high quality and prepared in a fittingly care-rich manner. If Doom approves of Alice's appreciation, it's impossible to see, as it is - as always - hidden beneath the steel mask of hatred, as though Alice enjoying that tea spurs the deepest hatred within. His booming voice is as ready as ever to support this notion. "Please, let us continue." Lambton's question remains unanswered, for the time being. Billings has departed from the two, while the Latverian man follows the two yet. Doctor Doom is strangely quiet as he leads Alice with quicker steps than before. It takes them less than a minute to arrive to a fairly sizeable glass chamber. It is impossible to look inside - the glass is pretty much a mirror. No entry signs are almost all over. Doctor Doom steps by the door leading inside, although he is yet to open it. "I require privacy. Will you indulge?" Consider Ms. Lambton intrigued. "Of course," she says, inclining her head to him. The corners of her lips draw in, her smile both deep and more deeply bemused--or perhaps that is pleasure. Damn her diplomat's mask, every bit as effective as a visage of steel. "If privacy will encourage conversation. I have to say that you've succeeded in rousing my curiosity." The door has no handle. There is but a circular omission of reflection. Doom faces the door and leans forward; there is but a second of delay before a light comes on, likely scanning one of Victor's eyes and confirming his identity. The door speedily opens inward. The crowd is every bit as curious, although Doctor Doom obstructs most of the view. He gestures for Alice to enter. The insides of this structure are every bit as spacious as its size suggests. It is fancily furbished with the art deco style. It has little touches such as a dressed and a coffee table. The carpet is intricate and ornate. Even the walls have warm sandy-coloured tapestries and some impressionist paintings. There are two guards here, dressed similarly to SWAT, although their armour is dark green - darker than Doom's green, verging on black. Their helmets have bulky tinted visors that obscure their faces. They are completely still. If Alice steps forward, so too does Doctor Doom, and the door will close shut. dresser, a couple of arm chairs and a coffee table.* It is not unlike being teleported to go from an immense warehouse filled with people to...a pleasant sitting room, staffed by guards. Alice stops once over the threshold, barely leaving room enough for Doom to fill the space behind her. Congratulations, Doctor, you have rendered the diplomat momentarily speechless as she looks around. And then? Then she laughs, a soft and cultured tinkling of voice. That will be five points to Latveria. "This is equally impressive," she comments. A strolling pace leads her along the outskirts of the room to study the paintings, the tapestry, to run a finger along the top of the sideboard. Her teacup is balanced carefully in her other hand. Finally she turns to face Doom, smile resplendent. "Is this your preferred method of decoration, Victor?" As the door shuts, the cacophony of the busy crowd outside stills to non-existence. It is not hard to imagine that outside this room, there is no exhibition. This room has been meticulously fashioned to invoke the most elaborate form of escapism. "I prefer appearances to deceive", he offers, his answer as ambiguous as it gets. "The room is completely soundproof. No communications enter or leave", he adds. It is perhaps the most ominous spot on Earth, save for a minefield. No matter how cosy the room might look, it is populated only by Doctor Doom and two his heavily armed lackeys. Both are holding an AK-47 and a hard-to-determine handgun in a holster. It is these goons that Doctor Doom walks up to. "Our conversation is completely private. I assure you. Allow me to prove this and demonstrate what competitors will see come Tuesday." The visor is flipped upward. Beneath it lies the dead stare of a machine. It has what could loosely be described a face. James Cameron himself could learn a thing or two from this construct. "I have had that impression about you." The way she murmurs this makes it almost an unconscious thought spoken aloud. But Alice does nothing without deliberation; she must have meant for him to hear it. Strolling over the lush carpets on a course to join the Doctor before his guards, she tips him a curious glance before focusing on the pair. What she sees when the visor is raised is enough to earn a second moment of speechlessness. Two times in as many minutes he's rendered her shocked. It must be a record. But once the surprise wears off, Alice is /fascinated/. "My god," she says softly, "this is the application you spoke of, with the musicians. You've created...what are they? Androids? Are they as functional as their counterparts?" This time, she is nothing like a museum patron. These questions are sharp, probing, and she is looking at the guards as if trying to memorize every aspect. Doctor Doom is in his element. Not only due to the decor he has chosen, but also because he is showcasing the pride of his country. Furthermore, Alice is exhibiting an emotion he had arrogantly predicted - amazement. "B-1, track target nineteen", his voice booms aloud. The machine that had its visor flipped up does not respond. In fact, neither of them do. But then Victor lifts his armoured hand up, and the bared machine visage snaps to pay attention to the designed object. As the hand moves, the mechanised eyes shift in their eerie sockets. If the hand moves too far, the neck ensures the target stays in view. "Androids, machines, robots. The English vocabulary possesses many words to describe these creations. They are each powered by a remote energy source. I have invented and perfected wireless energy transmission." The earlier question is also regarded: "I have no intention of sharing the inner workings of this technology. You of all people will know the value of proprietary riches of a country, the invaluable leverage it provides to its growth." "Indeed." What else is there for her to do but agree? Alice observes with rapt attention. The tracking mechanism might only be a small demonstration but it isn't difficult to extrapolate what else might be possible with the same--and with the other technology he's mentioned. Wireless energy transmission... After she's looked her fill, the woman draws a deep breath and turns towards him. Her smile is as it was before, small and precise, but the shimmer of her eyes carries with it an impression of excitement. Subtle, but there all the same. "If I might be bold, Victor, I'd like to ask you why you would be showing me this? I have no research contracts, no ties to the military." "Obligation." Pause. "For centuries, humankind has traded knowledge and items in exchange for knowledge or material gain of similar or identical value. You are obliged to answer my questions." "Cancel tracking." The voice-activated android shifts its gaze to stare ahead. It is dead still once more. Doctor Doom looks to Alice, lowering his hand to his steel side. "Your government hates mutants. Do you?" Alice might tilt her head and lift a brow at him but she doesn't argue--arguing is, perhaps, not the wisest of courses when locked in a room with a man in steel armor and two armed androids who answer to his voice. Her smile goes a tick deeper. "I have an innate dislike of the word "hatred". I have no hatred for anything. Some mutants are useless, some aren't, some are dangerous, some aren't. Why? Do you?" That deep, rumbling chuckle that Alice heard before surfaces once more. Well, 'surfaces' is a bit of a misnomer, considering it stays within the raspy confines of Doom's throat. "Mutants are a means to an end. I hate them no more than a hammer in the shed. It is when the hammer thinks they have the same right as I-- That is when I will break it down." The last three words are each followed by a dramatic pause. The next questions arrives almost immediately afterwards. "You hesitated to speak of Norman Osborn. Tell me about him." "Ah, the consummate scientist. I can imagine it would inconvenience you greatly if your tools were to begin speaking back." This is a jest. His chuckle might have emboldened Alice, led her to think she /could/ make a joke of that sort. "One supposes, however, that that is the advantage of constructs such as this," she adds with a nod towards the nearest of the pair of androids. The issue of Osborn is trickier. Alice turns away from him, raising her cup of tea to sip from it before it cools. "Mm...I am afraid I know little about him, beyond his efforts in weapons research. Anti-mutant research, if memory serves, though recently he's also made an announcement regarding the creation of a school for mutant youngsters." The diplomat's humorous remark is unfortunately not addressed by Doctor Doom, but that alone might be a sign of approval. "He wants to test his research. Interesting." The conclusion is arrived rather early on; it seems Victor van Doom is not prone to assume that one such as Norman Osborn would focus on such a school out of goodwill, especially if he focussed on anti-mutant research first. "I can only guess that even your government is competent enough to arrive to the same conclusion. My question is whether you condone or condemn his actions." "It isn't for me to condone or condemn, Victor. Surely you understand my role. If they condone, I do what I can to support. If they condemn, I make it known." Alice glances over her shoulder at him, her smile pleasant. Then she returns to looking up at one of the paintings. She admires it much as she had the android, though perhaps with slightly less intensity. After a moment, however, she does say, "Certainly Mr. Osborn's stated plans do have some...intriguing aspects. I find myself endlessly fascinated by what mankind is capable of producing, when left to its own devices." "Yes, I understand your role, as it is my own." Doctor Doom turns his neck to look at one of his creations. The visor is flipped downward. "To present the truth I want others to see and obscure that which they should /not/ see. Deceptive appearances. That was my trade for many years, long before even you saw the light of day." Is that a compliment regarding Alice's age? "I am in the process of building my alliances; a selection of a few will benefit from Latveria's unmatched might. You do not know it, but you have entered a race. A race you might lose." Doctor Doom steps away from the guards, then, wandering over to one of the cabinets. A drawer is opened and a phone is picked up from inside. "Oh?" It's such a useful syllable, that one. It gives little away, offers less and yet indicates Alice's continued interest. Her head turns again and she frames the Doctor, the phone he's plucked from the drawer, in the corner of her vision. "If I were a betting woman, Victor, I would say that that has the sound of an offer." The thunderous voice evades answering the question directly. "I have chosen you for a reason. Any imbecile in your place would have registered my words as a threat to your precious patriotic nation." One heavy step after another, the tall steel-clad monarch is approaching Alice, cell phone in tow. "Times have changed. The world is no longer shaped by threats and wars - it is moulded meticulously through subterfuge, sabotage and progress", he rumbles, offering the cell phone. It looks dated, considering it's an actual cell phone and not a smartphone. Still, it has no buttons save one. "In my world, the hammers belong in the shed. It would be most convenient if the United States shared this vision." "Mm..." Alice turns slowly to face him as he approaches. She looks from the phone in his hand to his face--though there's little enough to read there--while seeming to consider what he's said. Then, with a great deal of elegance, she lifts a hand to accept the offered phone. "What can I say? I do so hate to lose," she murmurs as she studies it. The pad of her finger is run over the lone button, without pushing it. Her eyes rise again to meet those framed by metal. "Thank you for taking me into your confidence, Victor. I do appreciate that. The vote of confidence." "You may yet change your mind." The spot before Alice is departed from, the gaze left unmet. Doctor Doom walks towards the door. "The phone will contact me personally any time of day and any time of night. I have no need for external communication devices. I expect you not to abuse the line and to use in great discretion." Once he stands at the door, he turns to face Alice. Behind him, a button is slammed against with his hand with just enough tenderness to not break it. "If your government loses, I may consider hiring you." Ever the arrogant bastard. The sounds of the exhibition begin to spill into the room. "Allow me to show you the rest of the exhibition. Deceptive appearances await."