76/Have you Heard about the Bird

Have you Heard about the Bird
Date of Scene:	23 February 2020
Location:	Downtown - New Troy
Synopsis:	Terry and Colette meet. Colette has a scoop for Terry - ALIENS HAVE LANDED! Well, Kian fell out of the sky anyway, which comes to the same thing.
Cast of Characters:	Colette O'Connail, Terry O'Neil

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Colette O'Connail has posed:
    The traffic is horrible. Cars backed up for blocks, horns hooting with annoyance and little purpose, a continual jam as drivers peel out of the northbound lanes and turn back south. Up ahead, the reason why is apparent. The Metropolis PD has closed off a major junction just by Chinatown.

    Up at the police lines, where drivers can see the cause of the blockage, police try to martial drivers into turning back in an orderly fashion, but it's chaos. Tape, and a line of police cars, blocks the street ahead, and beyond the street has been evacuated. Far up the block an arc of police cars surrounds a building , and flashing lights dance across empty windows. Whatever is happening up ahead, it seems to be happening slowly.

    At the barricade, a crowd of people pushes to see what's going on, and a sea of cellphones are held up trying to catch what little there is to see. A junior photographer from the Metropolis Star is there already, long lens focused on the half circle of police vehicles, but even the press don't seem to be allowed any closer.

    To one side of the barricade, a young woman is arguing energetically with one of the police officers, a small circle of space around the argument one of the few empty spots on the barricade line. "It's just there!" She insists with obvious frustration, pointing at a small black sports car parked just behind the barricade. "Literally just there! Like ten feet away. I can reverse it out, come on!"

    The officer is unmoved. "Sorry miss, I can't let you do that. You'll be able to recover your vehicle when we're given the all clear."

    "Come on! It's like a hundred feet away, whatever's going on. There's absolutely no reason to let me get just /ten/ feet closer."

    The police officer shakes his head. "Sorry miss. I'm going to have to ask you to move back now."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
It's been a day for Terry O'Neil, alright. Getting thrown into a press conference that turned out to be a political rally by a superhero wasn't exactly how he hoped his first day as an intern for the Planet would go. He was still a little dazed from the realization of what the announcement implied. He's still wearing his press Lanyard and his camera, so by the time he notices the congestion and the crowds, his first instinct is to grab his camera.

He frowns and wonders what, exactly, is the cause the commotion. From where he's standing, there's no getting any closer to see.

That is, if you restrict yourself to the ground. As a parkourist, he is not unfamiliar with urban exploring. He takes notice of some of the buildings, and quietly slips into an alleyway. A few minutes later, he has found enough purchase to sidle up to the second-floor fire escape of a nearby building, which has a good view. He is hoping that he will not be spotted due to all the commotion going on at street level, but he had better be quick and snap a few pictures. First, a quick one of the young woman arguing with the police. Hopefully, they won't taze her...

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    There is no tazing. Tommy's journalistic instincts are undeveloped if he hoped there was not - there's little of the actual action to be seen even from his raised vantage point, and at least that would give him something to photograph. Instead, said young woman quickly tired of the argument. It's clear there's no way she's getting through the police beauracracy.

    Colette briefly thinks of kicking the police officer, which would be immensely satisfying for several seconds before it became distinctly unpleasant. She turns to see if there are any alternative targets for kicking close at hand, but mostly there's a press of people and she was thinking of something inanimate if not the actual police officer. In annoyance she shoves her way rather impolitely through the crowd and makes her way into the alley Tommy had previously entered.

    The alleway contains various things suitable for frustratedly kicking. The first victim is a cardboard box, viciously dispatched. A trash can makes a satisfying second target. Finally she settles on kicking the ladder to the fire escape, which thrums with an almost bell-like sound, most satisfyingly of all. She decides to repeat the experiment, kicking the ladder three more times, setting the entire rickety structure vibrating in a fashion that while hardly threatening imminent collapse, could be annoying for anyone attempting a steady hand for high vantage photography.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Hey--HEY!" Terry grabs a hold of the railing, afraid he might be shaken loose, and turns around to look at the person responsible for the cacophony. With a rather indignant look, he shouts "You tryin' out for the STOMP revival? People are trying to-"

He looks over his shoulder, realizing he was raising his voice. One of the boys in blue, down on the street below, seems to be seraching for the location of the shouting. This particular vantage spot not only has a good view, it also has good acoustics.

"For crying out loud..."

Nimbly, he slides down and lands in the alleyway, looking rather put off.

Colette O'Connail has posed:
Colette holds her arms up, fingers spread, in a placating pose. "Fuck, sorry guy. Didn't see you. Whatcha doing up there anyway?" She doesn't seem particularly invested in the answer, because she immediately turns her attention to the trashcan and starts kicking it again.

    "Stupid police. Stupid f... whoever they are, bankrobbers or whatever. Stupid superheroes. It's like TEN FEET. Ten feet!" She stops kicking the trashcan, and turns back to Tommy. "Ten feet! What's the point? It makes no difference to anything. They could just let me reverse back out past the line, but noooooo. Now I have to wait until they decide it's 'safe'." The word gets a little sneer. "Like it wouldn't be perfectly safe anyway. But no. Gotta act like they're big and important and doing something worthwhile."

    The trashcan gets one more firm kick, and she steps back, regarding her handiwork. She's made a nice little dent. It's satisfying. She crosses her arms and smiles slightly, job done. That'll teach the trash can to not let her get to her car.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"So there /was/ a robbery? Did you get to see anything?" The redhead asks, interested, his fingers fishing for a little notebook, "I mean, if you know anything at all, I'd love to hear of it." He looks up, and smirks a littl, "I'm trying to stick this internship, and you never know when a scoop may help. You could help stick it to them and get the info out earlier than they'd make the statement."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
Colette gives an uninterested shrug. "A bank, I think. I dunno. There was a lot of speaking through megaphones earlier. Then some flying super type turned up and went in. Couldn't see anything. Know why? Because the stupid damn cops decided to seal off the entire block and not even let people get to their cars when they are parked /right there/, that's why!" She raises her foot to give the trashcan another kick.

    Slowly the foot lowers, as she thinks better of it. "Sorry," she says to Terry, as if he had been her target. "I'm just... it's frustrating. And you're wasting your time, nothing to see. Whatever. Maybe try flashing a press badge at them and see if they let you in." She starts to pace, but stops herself quite quickly. "I'm not normally this angry. Sorry."

    Colette turns her back, breathing heavily. "It's not even... this. Because this is bullshit." She turns back to him. "Sure, cover some stupid little bank robbery, mister Scoops. Nobody's mentioning..." she looks over her shoulder at him speculatively for a few moments. "Want a scoop? Real scoop? Story a hundred times bigger than this, not one single word in the news? Here." She pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket and starts rapidly flicking at the screen. "I got a scoop for you. An alien."

    Oh oh. One of those. Probably some conspiracy theory crackpot about to show him some badly CGI'd youtube video. Sure enough, in a moment she's holding her phone forwards for him to look at, video playing on the screen.

    The image is uninteresting at first. There's a lot of open sky, and something moving in it, a dark shape. Looks like a bird. It takes a few seconds before it gets interesting - the dark shape is falling at first, but then starts to recover, wings flapping as it tries to fight gravity pulling it down for a meeting with the sea. As it gets closer, the figure resolves itself into something distinctly human in shape, apart from the wings. The figure pulls out of its dive, but too late, crashing into the water in a flurry of limbs and wing.

    Colette pulls the phone away and jams it back into her pocket. "And don't tell me I'm some gullible idiot buying youtube hoaxes, I filmed that myself," she announces. "Go report on that. Find out what the authorities are doing with him."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry's eyes go wide, and he looks at Colette. "Whoa, whoa whoa... this is ... okay." He looks around, and then leans in, his voice is quiet. "There's the best pizza place about a block from here. Dinner's on me if you tell me what happened after this was shot.... where, and when. Deal?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette seems a little taken aback by Terry's enthusiasm, and her expression suggests she may be regretting her impulsiveness in showing that video to him. She takes a step back, arms folded again, and scuffs her foot on the ground. "Uh. I mean there's not much to tell..." she says, prevaricating obviously.

    The problem for Colette is that it has been bothering her. She can't put her finger on exactly why. It's not exactly her business, but she can't help but feel that she turned her back on the strange little alien. Maybe having some journalist poking around could help ensure he's treated properly.

    "Ah what the hell. Better than twiddling my thumbs while wait around until the cops get bored and let me have my car back" She shrugs her shoulders, unfolds her arms and slips them into her jacket pockets. "Sure. Lead on. " She blinks, and smiles impishly. "I'm sure you'll want to hear all about SHEILD protocol zero-eighty-four and the two supers who turned up, one of who is supposed to be missing or something..."

    Apparently she knows a good teaser.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Did I mention the place also has the best tiramisu this side of town?"

###################

Terry has been a regular here since he moved to Metropolis. His 'usual' is a booth in a corner, with some good privacy that allows him time to sift through what little evidence he has on his father's case. Today, it serves as a point of bribery and information exchange.

"Okay..." Terry says, leaning forward after their orders had been place. "Start at the beginning, go on through the middle, and when you reach the end, stop."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Tiramisu? Apparently that gets Colette's attention, because that's what she orders. Along with a coffee. She appears not to be in a pizza sort of mood.

    "Hmm. No," Colette says. "I don't think so. I think I'm gonna start at the end. Because that will make this all kind of more... credible." She has her phone out again, and after a moment's searching she slides it across the table top towards him. Another video is playing.

    The second video clip has a lot more context. It's taken from a distance, but the three figures in the middle of the frame are reasonably clear. It's a beach front, and in the background can be made out the distinctive shape of the old, now unused Titan's Tower, making it clear this is one of the St Martin Island beaches. Shouldn't be hard to figure out where exactly it took place, with a little footwork.

    The three figures standing together close to the waterline are a woman and a younger man, both dressed in unassuming civilian gear, and the same figure from before, now quite clearly visible as a winged humanoid. The alien and the woman are both faintly limned with glowing blue. Beside them is a rather large bonfire, blazing merrily in the thin light.

    "They guys was called Leonid something. Russian. Apparently he's a cape called Red Star. The woman is Captain Marvel. Keep watching, you'll see her fly in a minute. The alien is... Um. Apparently Captain Marvel took him to SHIELD. They have this... protocol. Zero-eighty-four. Which involves keeping aliens in glass boxes, and I dunno. Probably anal probes if they're lucky, dissection if they're not. You want a story, ask SHIELD to explain about protocol zero-eighty-four, and what they have done with the harmless alien they 'recovered' two days ago. I got the... there."

    Colette points in satisfaction at the screen as he figure she had named Captain Marvel lifts up into the air and hovers there. The alien flaps its wings and joins her in the air, its movements appearing a little sluggish and uncoordinated. As it steadies itself, the pair of them start to fly away. The camera follows them across the sky for a while, then quickly spins around to catch a red blur also leaving the beach. By the time it recenters on Captain Marvel and the Alien, they are indistinct dots.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry lets out a low whistle. "Ho-lee... so, any chance I could get you to give me those videos? Airdrop them onto my phone? This is hot stuff. Really hot stuff. And the dude didn't look like he was a threat at all. Somebody's clearly gonna have to look ito this..." he pauses, "You know, I could give this to Miss Lane. You know what she's like. If anyone could raise a stink about this... it's her."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    "Ahhh... I'm kind of uneasy about any chance this could be... well. Traced back to me, you know." Colette tilts her head from one side to the other in thought. "Film it, if you like. You know, point your camera at my phone and film it playing. "

    Colette leans back in her seat, sipping her coffee and peering over the froth at Terry. If the suggestion of Miss Lane impressed her any, it's not visible. Colette may not know what she is like. Not everyone pays attention to who's a star reporter and who isn't.

    "The way I heard it," Colette says slowly, "Captain Marvel wanted to... well, go easy on the alien guy. But maybe a little pressure from the press would help that. Ultimately she did decide to take him in. And. Well, I'm not sure I exactly trust superhero types. Seems to me a pretty... arrogant thing to be."

    It wouldn't take a seasoned reporter to question the discrepency between Colette's quoting names, protocols and attitudes of the parties involved and the distance that the footage is taken from. Either she, or someone she has spoken to, must have been closer to the action that she is admitting to at this point. An angle to explore, perhaps - though journalistic insticts should also suggest that an informant who's holding something back may be spooked by pressing too hard for more.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Sure, I can do that. Sources gotta be protected and all." He takes out his phone, ready to film when Colette is ready.

"There's super and then there' supers. Some I'm more ready to believe aren't totally on the up and up... Wonder Woman and Superman? Never." He pauses. "Well, Wonder Woman, now."

He writes a few notes on his notebook . He judges it unwise to press further about her involvement, and instead comments "I wonder how surprised he was to see this 'missing' super. Or if he knew she wasn't missing all along."

He leans back against the booth and sips his soda. "You don't like it when the little guy gets screwed over by someone with the bigger stick, huh?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    "He seemed... I mean." Colette stops herself, sipping her coffee. "I just don't like the idea that it's a matter of policy that if some alien appears on Earth, the government hides him away without any kind of oversight, or anyone knowing about it. Superman was an alien, right? Maybe if he'd turned up today, the government would have vanished him." She sucks her teeth and puts down the coffee. "I dunno. Maybe they'd have been right too.

    "It's not just about who's on the up and up, is it?" she asks. "I'm sure Captain Marvel's on the 'up and up' too. Doesn't mean she's doing the right thing. Think about it, the whole principle of superheroes relies on the idea that they are doing the right thing. You make a mistake? Big deal. Wonder Woman makes a mistake? Consequences.

    Colette leans back in her seat, one arm idly picking at the padding of the chair. She studies the wall intently. "Okay. Example. Tomorrow you wake up with powers. You're the next Superman. You stop someone committing a murder. Sounds good? Maybe. Suppose the guy who you saved from being murdered goes on to invent a plague that wipes out half of humanity. Congratulations, your actions just killed four billion people."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Unless omniscience is your superpower, you can't really lay blame there. And besides, SuperMe could save the next genocidal maniac, or it could be the EMT who saves him from a cardiac arrest." Terry shrugs and grins, "But this is very good, unknown person. The press exists, ideally, to keep accountability on the table. I'm just an intern and I don't know if this will be my gig afterwards, but while I'm at it, I'm not letting something like this slide by. So... what should I call you?"

He takes out a piece of paper and writes his name and phone number on it, and slides it to her. "This is where you can reach me, if you happen to remember any more deets...."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette takes the piece of paper, reads it quickly, and slips it in her pocket with a nod. "Colette," she replies simply. First names only at this point, obviously. "And you're missing the point, Tommy." She fiddles with her phone as she speaks. "We can't know the consequences of our actions, true. The arrogance comes in the assumption we don't need to."

    With a small push, she slides the phone across the table. The two videos are now playing on a loop, for him to film. "Let me put it this way, Mister Scoops. That alien guy has arrived on a planet full of people with powers coming out of their asses, who all /think they know best/. Who's to say his people aren't a million years ahead of human kind when it comes to moral philosophy? Maybe we should all shut the hell up and let him decide what happens next, but nobody is even considering that possibility."

    She returns to her coffee, watching him carefully as she drinks. "So SuperTerry saves some guy's life. SuperTerry is not omniscient, so he's not making his value judgements based on what future consequences may accrue, he's basing it on a simple, unchallenged moral point. It is good to save a life. Quiz time, Terry. Why is it good to save a life? Try answering that question without resorting to any variation on 'it's obvious', or 'because it is.'

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh geez," Terry says with a chuckle, "Are you really going to make me go back to Mrs. Badcrumble's class and talk about the foundations of a system of philosophy? I've got a deadline."

He smirks and their food finally comes. Terry's having a calzone, which he begins to devour with gusto. "Thing is, you're subtly still requiring omniscience. You're arguing that results are all that matter, regardless of the intention behind it. You're going Kant, and I literally Kant even in that regard." He smiles cheekily at the terrible pun. "I don't discard the notion that consequence are important, but not divorced from intetion. A 'greater good' done for the completely wrong reasons is still done for the wrong reasons, and it will eventually have poor consequences becuse it starts on a bad precedent. But..."

He shrugs. "Why save a life? Well, life is the source of all value, right? You're dead, you can't value. Can't hold anything as important or unimportant, can't care for yourself or others. So in general principle- that's why."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
"Not bad, Scoops." Colette says this with a faint smile. "Not bad at all." She finishes off her tiramisu and starts playing with the cutlery, trying to balance a spoon and a fork against each other in an upright inverted V. "Life is not simply the source of value, it's the numerator of value. Without life, there is no concept of value - it's an abstraction that exists because consciousness grants value. Thus whatever your moral view, whatever aspects of reality you chose to elect as morally valuable, you are depending on the existence of life because without it, your values are all multiplied by zero. It's the one unarguable numerator in any system of values. A thing may be viewed as positive or negative depending on your viewpoint, but without a viewpoint to regard it, it's always a zero. All we're really doing when we try to make a moral choice is to tilt the factors so the numerator is multiplying a postive, not a negative. Life is an equation."

    Colette leans back, looking at the cutlery with a smile. She has it perfectly balanced, at least until someone with heavy footsteps walks past. "Only problem is, we're still separated from an absolute answer because while life is the numerator of value, value is a product of life. It's a self-justification. Imagine a viewpoint outside consciousness, if such a thing makes sense. Life could be seen as a form of disorder, an anomalous disruption of the motion of the universe on its journey from chaos to order, imbuing matter with a greater disorder, multiplying itself. A self-sustaining brake on entropic normalcy. A cancer of reality, if you like. If you weren't so invested in the value of life, because that alternative viewpoint makes you basically evil for just existing, could you honestly say which of those viewpoints is correct?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"That is assuming that the ultimate destination of the universe is order. And, let's be frank, we already make enough assumptions as it is that we have all these blind watchmakers with nowhere to go. Instead of contending opposites, I hold that the Taoists were right and it's more like a complementary spectrum. Order and chaos are manifestations of the same process at different stages, but neither is objectively superior to the other, because then you are implying that stagnation or perpetual lack of stability, which would be the two extremes of it, are the preferred state. But the universe, and life, only thrive when order and chaos alternate- and create growth. The only reason my muscles grow when I work out is because it creates microsopic tears in the tissue- a chaotic disruption of its established order. Then the body does that thing where it sends satellite cells to fix the tears, and the muscle grows. Stable systems stagnate without chaos to uspet them and force them to adapt."

He takes a healthy bite out of his calzone. "So maybe your proposition is wrong, because it seems to me that the universe seems primed to create the conditions that bring about life and its growth, instead of it being an intruding anomaly. No?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette listens closely, a distinct glimmer in her eyes. She seems to be enjoying this discussion. "Everything ends," she counters. "All living things die, eventually. The universe will not last forever. The ultimate condition of the universe is stability, a... a soup of nothingness, of perfect equilibrium. That is inevitable with any self-contained system. The universe was born in chaos, and moves towards order. It is because it started out imperfect that life was able to arise. Had it started in its final state, there would never have been life. Death is inevitable, darkness is the ultimate truth, and life lies to itself that it is inherently good because the alternative is to know that we are just microscopic tears in reality, holding the universe back from its true course out of a selfish desire to self-justify."

    Colette takes a sip of her coffee, placing the cup back down carefully to not disturb her cutlery arrangement, and looks up again with a smile. "Or the universe is a dumb rock, a mute accident without value and the only worth preserving about it is the value granted it by that secondary accident, life. Everything I just said could be considered true, but irrelevant. Is there any value in the universe being on its true course? No. By definition, lifelessness is without value, a perfection in purely abstract terms. I don't have the answers. Once I thought I did. But I don't /pretend/ to have the answers. Or fool myself into thinking I do. Not any more."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Well, fretting about things we don't have an answer for is pointless when we have an objectively demonstrable, thoroughly delicious batch of food right here and now." Terry grins, and takes the last final bites of his calzone. "Or at last I hope yours is as good as mine. And if it is, just wait 'til the Tiramisu."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette looks down with a mock mournful expression at her cleaned plate. "I went past the tiramisu already. It was everything you promised, but now it is no more. It has reached a state of entropic neutrality" She leans back and laughs, retreiving her phone. "Finished with this?" she asks as she takes it and slips it back in her pocket.

    "You may have questions. If you're back here same time next week and I feel I have anything else to say, I may be here. Or not. No promises. I haven't decided yet." She fidgets slightly, perhaps a touch thrown by the change of pace. "I guess," she says slowly, "You may have resolved the dilemma. I'll grant you this much. Any superheroes who restrict themselves to quality catering get a pass from me on the whole arrogance question."

    Getting to her feet, Colette slides carefully out of the seat and checks her pockets and the seat, ensuring she isn't leaving anything behind. "Don't forget, SuperScoops. There's an alien relying on you. Make sure there's some accountability. He'll be dead and forgotten in a billion years, but for now I... I don't like it. That's all."

    Colette cups a hand over the table, and with a small gesture flicks something small and black at her cutlery construction, knocking it over. "Pow," she says. "You're not stupid, Scoops. Terry. Do something maybe good with this. Seeya next week, or not." She walks to the door, not looking back.

    Any attempt to locate the small black object she'd flicked at her cutlery pile will be fruitless.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"You bet. I'm not one to sit on something like this." The redhead nods and gives Colette a lazy salute with his right hand, "I'll be here next week. This is my weekend dine spot anyways."

He waits until she leaves before grabbing his phone and starts texing something:

'Miss Lane, there's something you might want to know...'