Fallout Part 1
Roleplaying Log: Fallout Part 1
IC Details

Ali and Vange work with Cam to contain the fallout of a devastating Op Ed painting Warren Worthington as Anti-Human

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: June 30, 2019
IC Location:
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 01 Jul 2019 03:38
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

"I swear to god he poses for these." This, Vange says of the tabloid she picked up when she decided to pick up a physical copy of the Times Op-Ed that was, of course, the natural trajectory of her worst fears when it came to that whole business with the gun factory. And the lay offs. And someone going behind Warren's back to try to ruin him. Which of course, is why both she and Ali were on a mission, one finger pushing her glasses up and onto her nose as her eyes narrow on the glorious abs and wing-spread that graces this cover of the Daily Global. Who even knows when these pictures were taken. Really, it isn't important. She didn't buy this except for the irony.

"Here hold this a minute."

She passes the Times to Ali, and begins rolling up the tabloid like you might any newspaper you intended to use to swat a fly. "I need something to hit things with so I don't break my hand."

Today Vange is dressed about how she usually is when she's stalking these halls, in pinstripes that have been altered by her very own hand. She might be wearing a shirt with ruffles underneath. Maybe she's supposed to go to a party dressed as a Lestat cross-play tonight, you don't know! But certainly she is very, very purple, not at all discouraged by a certain Clown's use of the color a few cities over.

She will not negotiate with fashion terrorists.

"You know the only reason I decided to take this job was because of you, Ali. You're the only thing that keeps him from flying into the proverbial window made of The Worst Decisions. Without you he'd be like.. another Tony Stark. So really, and I mean this with the utmost love and affection: This is your fault." She breaks out of her deadly serious tone, clearly joking as a way to not die of a blood pressure related stroke. "Oh hey, have you ever turned a dragon roar into a super-laser? As we go into this meeting I just want to make sure we have all of our options on the table."

I mean she is joking, right?


Alison Blaire finds that op-ed both infuriating and not the least bit surprising.

Reasons like those are why she had to delete all her own social media just weeks after being outed a mutant; even before she lost her own public image, and the Dazzler became the post-modern pariah, systemic, public attacks were part of the game. Things to endure, ignore, deal with, or spin into something advantageous, on the advice of well-paid publicists.

They gave her sleepless nights on the first few, fledging years of her career. And now?

She accepts the handed-over magazine, half-distracted, currently a few hundred miles away in her thoughts.

That compliment-but-maybe-not out of Vance turns her blue eyes. Despite her slow-burn temper, Alison can still smile, brief and wry. "I know they call me Buzzkill Blaire behind my back," she intones. "But I'm glad to be of service."

Her gaze lingers on the lawyer, silently weighing — a good, long look at all that upset. "Listen, we will get this fixed. Or, even better — forgotten. News expires in thirty second intervals, these days. What we need to do is be as calm as possible, and covert as possible. Warren doesn't need to be accused of sending the Witchfinder General after his faithful employees. We will dig out what happened, but we have to make sure to be as pleasant about all of this as possible. Show me your best This Is Fine smile."


Cameron Hodge, CEO of Worthington Industries, is audible even before the two women reach the conference room he's in, because he is Mad and not troubling to hide it. Still, the tower is built old and sturdy, and the soundproofing is pretty good, so the only snatch of conversation they will catch will come when they are just about on the threshold.

"…want to look in on everyone in the department. There is a leak somewhere — this was all strictly under NDA," he's saying, to someone who has no doubt had better days than this.

The door opens a moment later, if it is not already kicked down by then, allowing a harried-looking young man to slip past the two women with a nervous look in their direction. He turns the corner and disappears. Left behind, alone in the conference room, is the familiar form of Cameron, standing at the windows and looking over his own copy of the Times Op-Ed. He looks like he could use about several hours more sleep than he got.

He looks up as Ali and Vange make their entry, his disheveled brown curls drifting back from preoccupied features. The sight of them brings him to turn fully, discusing the op-ed away onto the conference table's surface.

"Good," he says. "Good, good. You're both here. I just got back from Germany yesterday — and I get back to THIS. I should have just taken over his PR department instead of letting him talk me into this. I'd do better."

His blue eyes narrow behind his glasses, and he peers a little warily beyond them. "He's not with you, is he? No, of course not, he would have come swanning in first if he were."


"You're my rock, Alison. But I'm going to eat them."

Vange replies as Alison talks about digging out what happened and being oh so pleasant about it. You see, this is exactly what she was talking about. Alison is the good influence. On everyone. Even Vange, who honestly is more bark than her bite unless someone splashes blood on her. Then she is all bite, fire, and destruction. Right now she's just getting it out of the way so she can be more calm and collected.

And yet, she still wants to take a swing at the young man who rushes by, and when Ali asks for a smile she stops, takes a steadying breath just outside those doors…

And then puts on her best and brightest smile and literally kicks the door in.


Eyes wide, one finger annoyingly reaching up to push her glasses up onto her nose, she points her rolled up newspaper at him as she weighs which end of the conference table to come charging around. But that table, Ali's far more even temper, and Cameron's words all keep her at bay. And worse, for all of here firebreathing, seeing the man's disheveled state makes him more like a kindred spirit that a target of her ire.

She stares at him for a beat.

Then looks to Alison.

She tosses her rolled up paper on top of the op-ed, and it pops open with a flourish, Warren-Abs and Warren-Wings springing into view.

"There, I swanned him in." The wind taken out of her sails, she pushes her glasses up on her nose as furiously as she can and crosses her arms. "Now tell me why these people didn't get paid.. again. Because I'm told this happened once before."


I'm going to eat them.

Alison sighs. There is no spirit left in her to object, not that she thinks it would even help. "Then try to do it quietly," she advises, with great suffering.

And then 'covert' goes right out the door, or right in, because Vance is kicking it right down to demand entry into the conference room. Somewhere behind the lawyer's shoulder stands the ex-Dazzler, one hand delicately pressed to her closed eyes, suffering this demonstration out with eternal forbearance. So much for keeping untoward gossip from escaping out into the lower echelons of WI.

She does what little crowd control she can, chasing out that employee's escape with an apologetic smile, and half a wink. All good, promise!

And she very earnestly closes the door the first moment she can.

Taking in Cameron Hodge in one, long look — sympathetic for the state of him — Alison runs cool to Vance's Balrog-hot temper, and lets herself down to sit with a deep sigh. Head in one hand, she knuckles her closest temple to keep the headache at bay. A headache that only worsens with the swanning-in picture of Warren's abs.

"No, no swanning anticipated in the flesh. I barely convinced Warren to keep up status quo. His best defence is to show it won't affect his current business."



It perhaps speaks to Cameron's longstanding friendship with Warren that having his door kicked in by an enthusiastic visitor doesn't really startle him that much. Warren has always needed a straight man in his life, and for many years that was Cameron Hodge. He has endured Warren's extremely extra nature for years now, and such things are just part of the job.

That doesn't make the headache any less keen, though. Cameron's eyes track first to Vange, and then to the paper as she tosses it down with a flourish. It springs open to a truly gratuitous picture of the troublesome Angel in question. Cameron's gaze freezes there a moment, staring, before with a sigh and a rub at the bridge of his nose, he looks away.

At Alison. The look on his face is, perhaps, the look of a man seeking a kindred spirit in the midst of this madness.

"Thank God you did," Cameron says, when Alison remarks that she only just barely convinced Warren not to crusade off immediately. "Were this years ago, he'd have already run off and given the press a show, the effects of which I'd have to work a week to undo."

His eyes turn back to Vange at her demand. "That's what we need to figure out," he says, addressing both women: one calm, one angry. "The issue with Alternative Air… we thought it was their people blocking the investigations — and all the assistance we were proposing to provide the employees — in some attempt to cover their asses. Likely, it was that — in part. The 'in part' bit is the problem. That our assistance programs are falling flat again suggests we've got an actual bad actor in the org somewhere. Someone's interfering with them — and someone's leaking information who shouldn't be, because in no way was any kind of press release on any of this authorized."

Cameron folds his arms, musing in that classic 'who could it be?' stance. "PR, payroll… both departments with people who'd know the full story."

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