ArchivedLogs:Doom Comes to Tea

Doom Comes to Tea
Dramatis Personae Alice Lambton, Doom
In Absentia	2013-04-13 The supreme monarch of Latveria arrives in the US.
Location US Embassy
The diplomatic machine runs non-stop, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. This is why one Alice Lambton is standing outside of the US Embassy on a Saturday afternoon. The building rises to the sky, reflecting its peers in the area and slices of steel-grey sky. The weather is /not/ shining kindly upon this momentous arrival but at least the rain has held off. For now. Ms. Lambton, resident diplomat for the entire state of New York, is wearing black today. Black suit jacket, black skirt, black pumps. Only a hint of color--a soft, minty green--is visible at her collar. Her aide stands beside her, a leather portfolio tucked in the crook of one arm and a closed umbrella held in the opposite hand. Just in case. Behind them, people enter and exit the gleaming glass doors of the embassy. Some of them cast curious glances at the NYC police officers who have barricaded off large sections of the sidewalk and street. Some do not--business as usual, for the diplomatic corp. "He is late," Alice says to her aide, without glancing at him. Her eyes are on the street. Giles checks his watch. "By two minutes." The woman's lips are pressed together, thinning in disapproval. The arrival of Doctor Doom is preceded by the roar of engine and the friction between wheels and road. It is unfortunately not followed by fanfare or an announcement of any kind. Rather than a fancy limousine, however, the new monarch of Latveria arrives in an oversized van with enough defence to render it a younger sibling of an armoured personnel carrier. Its heavy weight is even supported by four wheels at the back, and it seems Doctor Doom has placed enough confidence in this vehicle that no additional protection accompanies him. A flag is attached to either side-windows, flickering in the wind as it approaches the Embassy. The flag of Latveria. Once the van stops, there is a pause before anyone leaves it. The back doors open, and heavy feet of an indeterminable metal land heftily on the stone road. Thunk. Thud. Upon leaving the van, Doctor Doom closes the back doors, and a myriad of locks can be heard whirring and whizzing to a locked state behind him. In this windy weather, his cape swished and flicks behind him much like those small Latverian flags. The massive monarch approaches the diplomat and his aide, his eyes set on Lambton. When he draws sufficiently near, his booming digitised voice spills forth. "Due to last minute complications, the meeting was moved three minutes later. I apologise for arriving one minute early. Shall we move inside?" "Ma'am..." "I see it. Thank you, Giles." Game face /on/. Alice puts on her smile, an elegant affair that somehow manages to inject a note of warmth into her eyes, and steps towards the curb as the...vehicle arrives. Behind her, the unfortunate Giles has forgotten himself--he is /staring/ at the man who emerges. Staring at the armour, staring at the cape, staring at the mask and finally startling at the voice that comes from it. Not so Alice. Thankfully. She is even bold enough to extend her hand towards Doom, offering up a polite handshake as she greets him. "Think nothing of it, sir. On behalf of the United States government, I would like to welcome you to our country and to New York City. I am Alice Lambton," she says, her own voice crisply accented. "Please, yes. We have refreshments waiting inside. How was your trip?" Standing surprisingly still, Victor van Doom takes a short while before he responds to Alice boldly polite gesture. The circular shield on the side of his elbow joint begins to spin as his large metallic hand rises upward. Finger curl around the smaller, feminine hand. Unsurprisingly, the steel digits are unpleasantly cold and unwelcoming. However, there is barely any strength to them, which anyone would be a fool to take at face value. The wrist is tilted as the modest handshake is granted, and then his hand is imminently withdrawn. "Victor van Doom", he starts the eerie voice anew. "For the sake of communicative efficiency, I request that you refer to me as Victor." Once the trio set their course indoors, Doom would follow after the two, his heavy footsteps making every change in the surface he walks on clear. Where Doom walked, Doom would be heard. "My trip was longer than I anticipated", he replies. "But it was fitting reprieve from a long week of signing pieces of papers." Alice looks down at their joined hands before glancing up at Doom--from the tilt of one eyebrow and the bemused cant of her smile, she seems to be projecting that she is impressed with the hardware that makes such a delicate grip possible. "As you like, Victor. You may call me Alice or Ms. Lambton, as you prefer." She gestures Giles ahead when the greeting ritual is concluded. This leaves Alice to lead their visitor towards the doors, awash in the flash and flare of cameraphones being held aloft--New York is nothing if not predictable in the way tourists or curiosity-seekers will pop up like mushrooms at the smallest provocation. Doctor Doom is a very /large/ provocation. Many pictures are taken. Alice ignores them, provided they remain on their side of the barricades. Once inside, she raises her voice over the concussive fall of his footsteps. "Some would say that is the curse of the administrator, that papers must be signed, usually in triplicate. In here, please..." She leads him to a first-floor meeting room. The table and chairs have been cleared out, leaving one small armchair, one reinforced chair suitable to a man of his...dimensions, and a low table between them. Trays of edibles rest on the table, along with a teapot and silver coffee service. "I imagine there is a great deal of paper in your future still, but first, a break from responsibilities, mm? Would you care for something to drink, Victor?" The starving media hounds do not phase the Latverian monarch. The flashes of the cameras reflect off his armour much like their cries for attention reflect off of him. Not that it will stop them from using whatever pictures they gather. Once he follows Alice inside, Doctor Doom surveys his surroundings. He seems rather oblivious of any who might come in passing and he still pays little mind to Giles. If Doom was a third of height and had a pimpled face, one would think he was doing it on purpose to demonstratively display his lack of interest. However, Doom had a clear reason for this. The problem was, he was yet to voice it. When the end destination is finally reached, Victor correctly assumes which seat is meant for him, claiming the reinforced chair. Either the chair is really well constructed or... Well, there is no sign of pressure evident on the piece of furniture, despite Victor's apparently relaxed position. His hands rest on his widely spread knees. "The day I have a break from my responsibilities is the day my heart stops. Although that statement may prove erroneous if I devise a way to prolong my life expectancy." His chin dips downward somewhat and he looks to the selection of polite offerings. His eyes then lift to regard Alice again. "What do you see?" An odd question, but one that Doom has no intention of repeating, if his expectant gaze is to go by. She takes the seat opposite and neatly ticks one knee over the other, her hands clasped together in her lap. No move is made towards the refreshments. Perhaps Alice noticed his dismissal of them. Her smile curves just so. Pristine. "I see a man who has caught the eye of the world through his actions. No small feat," she begins. And then? Then she pauses, the cool, professional posture just adopted sliding into something more relaxed--she leans back into the chair, she lets an elbow rest on its arms and the tips of spread fingers touch lightly, thoughtfully, against the side of her face while she scrutinizes the steel-clad figure before her. Then, with an equally thoughtful tone of voice, she says, "I see someone who wishes to leave his mark and who has already gone far towards doing so. But there is a great dear more for you to do...that you /intend/ to do, I imagine. Men of your mettle have such drive. It's to be admired." There it comes. Laughter. Well, a chuckle really. Of all things menacing that Doctor Doom is capable, chuckling is pretty high on the list. Whatever it is that distorts his voice, mangles the light chuckle to the point that it's a heaved digitised breath with a distant chortle, as though there is a bottomless steel well hidden beneath that grated mouth opening. His eyes, of course, do not relay the same level of amusement. There is a minor pause between Victor speaks up again. "You know well what others want to hear. A talent of its own, in this ever-shifting basket of serpents that is diplomacy", his booming voice notes. "You are correct in your assessment. There is a great deal more that I yet intend to do." Another dramatic pause is inserted. "Latveria requires great care. I shall provide it. But I also aim to establish a firm position in the international community. I was told the President is currently too busy, and so I have to direct this request to you. When can I establish a Latverian Embassy here, in New York City?" "I would not be here meeting you, Victor, if I were not good at what I do." Alice uncrosses her legs and leans forward to lift the teapot. Its lid is held delicately beneath her fingers as she tilts the pot to fill one of the cups. "If I were not in fact the very /best/ at what I do." Her green eyes slide up towards him, carrying a spark of what might be amusement--or speculation--before lowering again to the tea-pouring ritual. "A suite has already been set aside for the Latverian Embassy at a nearby address. It is semi-furnished, with the understanding that you might wish to place more...personal touches. It comes with an office for yourself, of course, and ample room for whatever staff you may wish to appoint. You have been assigned an attache personally selected by me to see to whatever else you might need in the course of your stay here." The whisper of water-song from pouring tea is paused as the cup is filled. Alice shifts the pot to hover the spout over a second cup. "Would you care for tea?" The last remaining indication of his emotion and intentions, Victor's bloodshot blue eyes examine Alice's hand movements. It is hard to guess what is on his mind, considering his mask constantly signals utter disapproval. "Perfect", he decides. "Your resourcefulness will ensure I will remember your name for future use." The monotonously ominous voice hardly changes to convey emotion, at least for the time being. Even as he is offered tea, Doctor Doom presents the same tone, although the reply arrives somewhat late. "I would /love/ to." The tone remains the same, although undue emphasis is put on the second to last word. It was naturally meant to be a positive emphasis, although his voice renders the phonetic stress disdainful. He shifts in his chair and brings himself closer to the coffee table, although his hands remain planted on his powerful mechanical knee joints. His eyes stare at Alice- no, /into/ Alice. The second cup is filled as the first was and then Alice gently sets the teapot aside. There is, admittedly, a note of curiosity in the way she lifts the cup to present it to him. The handshake was a gentle thing--how will he handle such fine china? The twinkle in her eyes remains as she looks up to meet blue with green. Her smile lingers. "I cannot help but be flattered by such a vote of confidence. Thank you. I look forward to a long and fruitful association...to your health, sir." Though any /proper/ toast will have to wait until she has passed over the one cup and retrieved her own. The steam curling up is pale and fragrant. A rich Earl Grey, properly steeped. It leaves the woman breathing deeply as she settles into her chair again. The facade she presents, the long-practiced diplomat's mask, appears relaxed. "Is there anything else I might do to assist you, Victor?" The fragile cup is clamped by the imposing yet flexible metallic fingers. His pinky finger is extended as is expected by etiquette, his middle finger is placed beneath the cup to help it resist gravity, and three fingers delicately clamp onto the handle. So far, so good. The cup does not break even as it is carried to Victor's mask, but by then another problem arises. The brim of the cup is pressed against the 'lips' - an ornate protrusion around the fake mouth. The drink is poured inside as the cup is tipped, the degree at which it is tilted accelerated more quickly than one would expect. The hot beverage pours past the grate within less than two seconds. During those two seconds, Victor is the most hateful-looking tea drinker in the world. The empty cup is returned to the coffee table. As his hand retreats to rest on his knee again, Doctor Doom looks to Alice again. A single droplet of tea runs down his chin, before running beneath it to escape out of sight. "Passable", the King notes. Having displayed this bizarre human ritual with an inhuman shell, Doom turns his attention to the next question. "Yes. I want a list of companies set on technological innovation, and a warehouse-sized space I could temporarily claim. I want to run a science-themed exposition." The process of drinking is fascinating to Alice. At least, the process of /Doom/ drinking. She sips from her own tea in much smaller increments as she watches. When that drop traces its way down his chin, her eyes follow it briefly before lifting once more. Her smile reappears, as clear and polished as before. It is important that she maintain that smile because what she has to say to him is perhaps less satisfying than her first attempt at meeting his needs. "We can, of course, provide you with a list of spaces that would be suitable for those purposes. For rent. As for that list...certainly it is something we can also attempt to provide, though given the /range/ of innovation, perhaps you might be more specific?" Alice tilts her head the tiniest bit to one side, giving her a brightly curious look. "/Technological/ innovation." It was already said, yet Doom thinks it important to echo the classification. There is a pause almost big enough for Alice to reply, before the man's voice ripples with ubiquitous bass yet again. "Artificial intelligence. Information technology. Robotics. If possible, I want to invite your military contractors on the last day. No one else would be allowed. If you still fret for the secrecy of your country's true military might, I can omit that particular part of my plan. Even barring that, I want to provide an opportunity for companies to make themselves better known, while raising awareness of technological advancement and interest potential savants in the field." And yet the requests do not cease. "I also want you to recommend the most watched television channel in the western States. I want you to forward all this information to my socially acceptable e-mail address - d00m@latveria.gov." A shorter pause, then. "That is Doom with two zeroes." Surely Alice has received some interesting requests in her day. Surely this is not the strangest she's heard. And yet. And yet. Dark brows are arched as that metallic voice so plainly describes both requests and where the information should be forwarded. Two zeroes. Right. "Of course, Victor," she says, and to her credit her own voice is steady. Calm. Even understanding. "I'll be sure to forward those requests to your attache. He will do his utmost to see it delivered soon." The woman pauses. She takes a much-needed sip of tea. Her gaze wanders over the rim of the cup, lighting briefly on a a very tasteful framed still life hung on the wall. After the sip, a slow breath is taken in. "I'm certain that the contractors with representatives here in the city would be interested in attending. In fact, I have no doubt they have already been apprised of your arrival and your own...innovations. Your phone will be ringing off the hook," she says with a return of her pleasant smile. "Is there anything else? If not, I can have Giles inform your chauffeur of your new embassy. I'm certain you'll want to tour it." There is something incredibly off about the way Doom stands. The checklist of human-like motion is crossed off, yet the rise is stiff and awkward. It would remain an unpleasant riddle unless it's solved with sufficient attention - he does not push himself off the chair. His legs lift up their owner in a fashion closely similar to a human getting up from a seated position, almost enough to trick someone. But not enough. "I would like to tour the future embassy, correct. We are done here." The voice is almost demanding. It's a difficult case, perhaps, considering that his demeanour, appearance and choice of words are anything but pleasant, yet there is little to negatively judge beyond his lack of manners or genuinely human traits that many have learned to take for granted in a conversation. "Consider my gratitude tentatively expressed", he adds. "You are a satisfactory representative of the States. I will henceforth conclude all political matters involving this country with /you/." The elbow joint disc twirls again. This time, Doctor Doom initiates the handshake, inviting Alice's gentler hand. His goodbye is rather uniquely worded. "Thank you for the tea." If there is one man who will manage to make even the most trivial lines sound like the start of an ominous plot, it's Doctor Doom. "And consider me honored," Alice says in turn. She sets aside her teacup, stands in far more graceful a fashion and seems to slip her hand into his without hesitation. "Do please let me know if there's anything else you need, sir. And let me know if you find your assistant to your liking. They are very easily replaced, if you find him lacking in any way," she says with that same small smile. As if on cue, the door that had been closed behind them is opened and the young man who had attended Alice outside stands there. His smile? Far less practiced than hers. Giles is looking mildly apprehensive but so /strictly/ polite as he steps aside with a gesture and a murmur. "Sir? Your driver has been given the address Ms. Lambton provided. If you would follow me?" The same mild handshake that was given before is offered now, as well. Cold as it is, it is still a polite gesture. Or perhaps Doom enjoys sharing his cold with others. Whatever may be the case, his heavy steps can be heard anew as he steps towards the exit leading out of the meeting room, where is greeted by Giles. The murmur displeases Doom. The monarch leans forward to bring that impossibly frowning mask to the level of the other man's face. Silence may conceal Doom's distaste, but his eyes say everything. Previously void of emotion, they seem to judge Giles, constantly shifting and jumping as they appraise the man. A few uncomfortable moments later, Doom theatrically lifts up a hand besides Giles, and that booming voice breaks the silence, although at a marginally lower voice. "Enunciate", he rumbles. After that message is delivered, Doom straightens out to his full impressive height, either waiting for Giles to lead or to respond. It is honestly hard to tell. Giles blanches. Like that, in an instant, all of the color in his face disappears. And when Doom raises his hand? He /flinches/. In the room behind them, Alice observes with a great deal of interest--but says nothing to interrupt. "Y-your driver," Giles sputters out, loudly, for the second time, "has the address. Please. Follow me. Sir." And then he /does/ lead, practically fleeing the scene. Though...whether that is because Doom is behind him or because Alice's poison-green eyes are on him is impossible to tell. And so Doom follows. The towering steel man slows his pace in the doorway to look behind him towards Alice. Usually, in such scenarios one smiles or sends an unspoken message, but Doom's mask is one of solid metal. Saying nothing else, he walks out, following her poor assistant with thunderous steps that do well to match his voice. Poor Giles. As if working on Saturday wasn't bad enough.