Logs:Tall Order
| Tall Order | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2019-03-23 "Who is it that you want to be?" |
| Location
<NYC> AirBnB - Red Hook | |
This is a one-room apartment crammed into the back of a labyrinthine red brick building, but its owner has furnished it with care, making the most of the limited light and space. The decorations and the books suggest an adventurous young professional with a fondness for history, art, and fashion, but there are surprisingly few specifically personal items on their shelves. The living room/kitchen is one continuous space, almost a third of which is consumed by an old but comfortable sectional sofa bracketing a coffee table and a flatscreen tv. The kitchen is tiny but well-organized, and bordered with a generous counter lined with stools that serves in place of a dining table. The bedroom is done up in soft earth tones, most up by the bed and a drafting table beneath the single window. Steve sits very straight on the narrower section of the sofa, dressed smartly in a pale blue button-up with a silver-blue striped tie and gray slacks. His shield leans against the sofa beside him, and he holds a glass of water in one hand. An old but serviceable laptop computer is open on the coffee table in front of him, displaying an outline. His frown deepens as he reads down the list. "But the viewers will also see information that I'm /not/ giving directly? Somehow?" He blushes. Tries to hide it behind a swig from his glass, taken like a man wishing he were drinking something stronger than water. "I apologize, its just...things have come a long way since news reels." The woman sitting in a sharply tailored red skirt suit opposite Steve looks a good deal more relaxed. She's been introduced to him as Naseemah Chaudhry, a reporter for the Daily Bugle newspaper. "We'll give them background information before the interview even begins and -- yes, a lot of annotations will be on screen during the interview itself. Some of it historical, some of it recent. You don't need to focus on anything right now except telling your story. In your own words." Leaning against a wall beside Mirror's side of the sofa, Lucien has one arm crossed against his chest, the other lifted right now to rub slowly at his jaw. "Given the sequence of recent events, some parts of the story almost tell themselves. I am sure many will wonder why you are coming forward now -- or why you had not before. We have a handle on supplying the evidence of your identity. Who /you/ are and why you are here, though, that question will be far more interesting coming from you yourself." Steve's lips press tightly together and nods solemnly. "I have the story down pretty well, I think -- just didn't want to end up saying anything that would be...redundant." He pauses to consider Lucien's prompts, eyes focusing past the two others in the room. "Well. It's the attempt on Ryan's life, basically, but there's definitely more than one angle I can take on that. I can truthfully say that shooting drove home a few things about America to me, but we've been talking long enough for me to know you probably don't think I should just." He makes an impatient 'keep rolling' gesture with his empty hand. "/Speak my mind/ on that." "My team is very skilled," Naseemah assures Steve lightly, "I just want you to be comfortable saying what you need to say. We can handle the errata so that it all flows smoothly." A small smile flits across her features. "I'm sure you will have /plenty/ of opportunity to speak your mind from here on out." "That is the goal." Lucien's head inclines to the reporter. "I do want you to speak your mind." The amusement in his voice is warm and audible enough, even if his neutral expression does not waver. "I just would rather you do it /after/ we have cemented your good and wholesome image back into America's collective consciousness. I think that this /terrible/ act of violence in your workplace -- after you had merely been trying to return to your civilian life -- highlighting that the country still needs you, well, that does speak volumes all in itself." "Thank you, Naseemah. I still can't quite wrap my head the fact that 'fighting fascism' isn't considered good and wholesome, but I accept it." Steve starts to run his hand through his hair -- then stops, probably remembering his grooming for the interview. "Alright, so I'm troubled by the shooting, that's why I'm coming forward now. I guess I should only address parts of 'who I am', too. A weak, sickly child of poor, Irish immigrants? A determined volunteer willing to submit to experimentation for a chance at righting a great wrong? An orphan, a friend, an artist, a brother, a --" He breaks off. Shakes his head once, sharply. "A remarkable product of science and technology -- a /weapon/? The last time around, they just erased me and replaced me with /Cap/. Nice and simple." Naseemah considers this quietly, a moment, then spreads her hands in front of her. "This is not the last time around. Who is it that you want to be?" Steve looks down at the glass of water in his hand, the furrow of his brows more thoughtful than troubled. "I want to be a /person/. I don't need to tell people everything about me, just enough to know that I'm a person determined to stand up and fight, not for nations or armies, but for what's /right./" He chuckles dryly. "Tall order, huh?" | |
