ArchivedLogs:Press Conference - Quis custodiet...

Press Conference - Quis custodiet...
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Jackson, Mirror, Tony Stark
In Absentia	2013-06-18 (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location <NYC> Stark Tower - Midtown East
Stark Tower has all of the views. All of them. Which is why this conference room has been arranged with multiple rows of seats facing away from the floor to ceiling windows, and a dais erected at the back of the room. Those seats are occupied by a host of men and women in business attire, all of them weighed down with microphones, tape recorders and occasionally even an old fashioned notepad with pen. Lining the walls to either side of the conference room are even more cameras, both video and photographic, both on tripods and on the shoulders of more casually dressed men and women. The dais boasts a single podium, which has somehow managed to not collapse under the weight of a multitude of foam-capped microphones. They boast the logos of every major network in the country, and a slew of smaller ones. The hum of voices in the room is muted and excited. Those who are not speaking in hushed tones to their fellows are murmuring rapidly into cellphones. Frequent glances attend the large digital time display ticking down on the wall behind the podium. That thread of excitement goes taut as the time approaches for Mr. Stark's entrance. Phones are tucked away. Camera readied. Recorders are tested. A few overeager flashes go off, prompting a round of snickering amongst the camera operators. Tony Stark is -- a little bit late! Of course he is. But eventually he arrives, striding into the abrupt hail of cameraflashes and buzzy voices in a sharp dark suit, excellently tailored, and -- an odd black wristwatch-looking thing at his wrist. He isn't /alone/ here either, and waits for the other two to join him before he speaks. "This week," he begins, looking out at the audience, "has been a travesty. We've failed. This city has failed. Every day you turn on the news and see one more person shot dead is one more day you should look around and ask -- what the hell are we doing. "My advisors didn't really want me up here today. -- Actually, they don't usually want anyone putting a microphone in my hand at all. It's not the popular opinion, though, saying that this city's done wrong. It's not the polite opinion to tell people to get over themselves. "We're a little bit past polite, though. The people up here with me," Tony's microphone waves to Jackson and Iolaus, "well, if my people didn't want /me/ with a microphone they /definitely/ didn't want me to give one to these guys. But the truth is that right now, they're doing what needs to be done. It's not about human or mutant. It's not about politics. It's about stepping up and getting things done. It's about saving the douchebag who just made it illegal /to/ save him," Tony's advisors are /probably/ not over-pleased here either, "it's about stepping up to provide care that those other hospitals are -- are /law-bound/ to provide but instead they're letting people die in the streets." "And that is why I am pledging my support -- seven million dollars of my support -- to the Mendel Clinic. We don't need more violence right now. We don't need to add fuel to that fire. We're -- a little bit past polite. I don't care if you love mutants or hate 'em. I don't care if you love /humans/ or hate 'em. Right now what I care about is supporting those people who are reaching across those lines to put an end to the deaths." Iolaus' turn at the stand is certainly less interesting to many of the reporters, and the flashes of the cameras do decrease, though they certainly do not stop. When he starts speaking, his voice is soft, but it is full of passion. "Mistakes have been made. Crimes have been committed." Iolaus says, voice solid and firm, as he looks over the crowd. "Don't doubt it for a second. Horrible crimes, the kind that shock the imagination and cut us to the core. Murder. Rape. Assault. Abuses of all shapes and sizes. Those who committed them - on all sides - should be brought to justice. "But there is a time when the injustices have piled so high that we cannot see the trees for the forest. When we are so hungry, so pained, that our calls for justice turn to calls for /vengeance/. When one incident begs another, and invites a third. When one death becomes three, becomes five. When we become nothing more than mere dominos, waiting for our turn to fall. "Stop." Iolaus pauses, looking around the room of reporters, eyes matching each one in turn. "We need to /stop/, before this eats the City that we call our home alive, and we spin this spiral of destruction and hate ever higher. We need to take a step back from the battle lines, put down our weapons. Both of us - all of us. Before it consumes us all." "The Mendel Clinic is not yet open, and we are not yet fully staffed, but today I am making an offer to all of the physicians in this great city who remember their oaths to care for patients /first/: If you treat a mutant and are disciplined for it, we will stand behind you. And to all the hospitals out there who have forgotten their moral and legal obligations, we stand by ready to help when you are ready to make the right, just choice. Thank you." Jackson is not as polished as the other two up front with him. He looks neat enough (for him; a dark suit with an odd purple /sheen/ to it, even in formal clothes he can't stop being /colourful/) though his skull tattoo and wealth of piercings still put him firmly in Less Respectable territory than his companions. Even the gentle cadence of his quiet tenor is out of place, thick Southern drawl marking him very solidly Not A New Yorker. He is fidgety as he takes a mic, but it calms when he /speaks/; a soft quiet confidence in his distinctly nonnative tone. "There's not a whole lot I have to add to what's been said. This city is scared. This city's had reason to be scared. It'd be disingenuous to pretend that we can't be dangerous. But danger doesn't lie in having the /ability/ to do a thing. It's in the intentions -- in the hearts and minds of people. I've lived here long enough to know that New York's got a lot of heart. And if we all turned that to helping each other instead of being at each other's throats, the things we accomplish would be amazing." There's a wave of hubbub springing up as the men finish speaking; through the initial surge of voices it takes a moment before one springs to the foreground. A bright-eyed young man with a very intensely determined expression, he seems almost startled to be called on but is quick to jump in with his question: "Mr. Stark! Will your new focus on the pro-mutant agenda have an effect on the direction Stark Industries will be going?" "It's, uh, it's hardly a /new/ focus. Stark Industries has always worked to make lives better. I mean yes. If working to keep this country safe is in line with the pro-mutant agenda then, one hundred percent," Tony says, "Stark Industries is going to support anyone who supports this country." One of the reporters in the crowd bears a press pass from the Daily Bugle; a tall dark-skinned woman dressed in crisp neat spring-green skirt suit, gold bangles at her wrists. She waits for the three to finish their words, waits even through the initial clamour that inevitably springs up afterwards. When she eventually speaks her dusky contralto is clear and crisp, too. "You talk of this city failing. Crimes committed. Vengeance, war. Don't you think all that rhetoric is a little contentious, given that the city is even now still mourning the loss of an officer -- killed in the line of duty protecting this city from the very people you're choosing to stand with?" "The very people? The -- wow, guys," Tony looks to Jackson and Iolaus for this, "what have /you/ been up to in your spare time? -- That's an interesting question, actually," he looks back to the reporter to say, "because it's the failure of /authority/ here that really started out this spiral. People need to be able to trust those who have power over them and when that power's corrupted -- well, you see what happens." "Are you saying," the reporter presses, with a small crease between her brows, "that the /police/ are responsible for --" She hesitates, head shaking slightly as if the end of this sentence is too puzzling to even finish: "For Sergeant Whelan's death?" "Of course not," Tony answers brusquely, "The murderer is responsible for the murder. But these things don't happen in isolation. It's recently been brought to my attention that many members of the NYPD were involved in -- in the abduction of a number of mutants. Children among them. They took these people and locked them in cages and forced them to fight for entertainment. And when you take people -- when you brutalize them and force them to be brutal I don't think it's much surprise when that brutality continues." This, here, causes a rippling wash of noise around the room -- murmurs first, then a louder clamour. The reporter who asked the question to begin with does not join in this noise; she watches the three on stage, a continuing look of mild puzzlement on her features. "Mr. Stark, do you expect us to believe that -- that the /police/ kidnapped children for some sort of -- /fighting/ ring and not a word of this made it to the press before now? How could something like that have happened?" "I don't know, you tell me. How /could/ it have happened?" Tony's eyes sweep the clamouring reporters. "I don't expect you to believe anything. There's footage that we have of what went down. Maybe if you all had been doing your jobs -- maybe if the whole city had been doing its job, we wouldn't have failed these people. But a world where the children of the man who --" He gestures towards Jackson, "is currently being prosecuted for /saving/ the /mayor/ can be locked up and forced to fight like dogs that is failing. That is failing."