Owner	Pose
Barry Allen	Columbia University, a bastion of high mindedness and...yeah, whatever. It's a college like any other and that's all very much beside the point to Barry Allen, The Fastest(?) Man Alive. A few students sitting next to a fountain yelp as The Flash appears next to it followed by a quick but strong gust of wind. He 'hrmmms' softly to himself and rests his hands on his hips, blue eyes peering out from under his mask as he begins to scan the students for the one he's looking for. Managing to track Meggan Constantine down wasn't the hardest thing to do, given his public records access at the Metropolis PD, but all he was able to glean was her attendance at the school. That didn't narrow it down as much as he'd hoped it would.
Meggan Constantine	Columbia may be one of the country's oldest institutions, but it's practically a toddler for someone from across the Atlantic. Italians might laugh behind their hands and the British raise their eyebrows at the notion of an exalted ancient school. But for Meggan, even such a place would be dreadfully out of reach without a fantastic scholarship that covers a fair few of the expenses. Academic ones. The other matters are her business to worry about. Those thoughts remain on her mind as she comes walking out from the library on campus, her weekend spent profitably enough studying. A phone rests in her hand, the social media updates that are her lifeblood flowing by. An earbud in helps her conduct a conversation, one-sided. "Oh, six? Could we push it back to seven-thirty? Right, put me on til close. That gives Julian a break." Negotiations seem to be going well, though haphazardly. Finding the golden blonde may not be that hard. Not many classes happen on Saturday and crossing the quad at least means she's in the open. For someone well and truly used to zigzagging all over, Barry might have done four laps by the time she has committed to properly writing out a quick text and sending it into the digital void.
Barry Allen	Barry breathes a sigh and rolls his neck before stretching his arms out and popping his fingers. "Alright. Time to start looking," he says, small tracts of lightning beginning to crackle around him in an aura. Thankfully for all of the loose materials and papers around campus, Barry just spies the young woman he's looking for walking across the quad. "Oh. Perfect!" he says, disappearing from the entrance and reappearing a few yards in front of her, producing a gust of wind that no doubt gets his attention. "Hello, ma'am, do you...have time to answer a few questions for me?" he asks, mask shifting as his brows kick up.
Meggan Constantine	Meggan draws her fingers over the glass of the phone in rather quick fashion, a Millennial pretending to be a Zoomer in how adept she can be at writing a post. The spelling correction only needs to modify a few words, insistent -- loudly -- that neighbour is not spelled with a u. "And you're wrong," she tells the phone cheerfully in a low voice. Data points tick up on the missive, one after the other. Flipping screens to check her sources, one the UN, another a thinktank out of New Zealand, the third a report from the EPA, all get folded in while she moves past students occupying benches, flopped on the grass, or hurrying to get a $2 slice of pizza from that one cafe before it shuts for the night. Ample distraction probably keeps her rather clueless for what's around, the swirl of loose debris buffeting her when air blows wildly this way and that. Ironically the worst dust actually visibly diverts around her at the last moment, leaving her hair mostly only mildly ruffled. Barry does send her back when he halts, no trace of hot rubber or scraped plastic from the soles anywhere to be found. Probably because she levitates without thinking, a few centimeters up but enough. Then her phone's still in one hand, her face lifted to his through the skein of her loose sungold bangs. "Oh! I didn't see you there. Bloody hell, sorry if I got in the way." Questions might catch up with the apology, and she glances to make sure no one else is diverting around them. "Questions? Uh, probably. The movie night is being held over that way," she gestures to a brick building, "by the door with the chalked up folding sign."
Barry Allen	"What movie are they playing?" the Scarlet Speedster asks, momentarily distracted from the task at hand by his love for cinema. He shakes his head and moves a little closer to her. "Wait, no, I need to know if you have any idea what that Sharptooth guy was looking for the other night. His lawyer got him out on bail, but I did some digging around myself and found out that the shipment...the whole reason for that gunfight? It's bad news all around. Like real bad news," he explains, leaning in a bit and attempting to keep his voice low enough as to not draw too much attention. It's likely not working all that well, because he is, in fact, draped from head to toe in a very garish costume. It's hard to be discreet when you've got little wings on the sides of your head.
Meggan Constantine	"Space Vamps, Disappearing, and then something in Spanish. Entre tu ... I don't quite know what the last bit is. Done up by local filmmakers, though, and the School of the Arts sponsored it." Meggan wracks her brain just long enough to recall the poster, able to sift out a few details salient to the question. She isn't oblivious to Barry wearing red or where he last came from, which probably begs the question why being questioned by a member of the Justice League hasn't made her squeal in excitement or dash for cover. Clearly bravado or blase are in play. Still, she breaks into a curious chuckle and gestures. "Maybe we should walk away from the ten people pulling out their phones. Not that I mind the publicity but sometimes it causes headaches for others who want privacy." Next to him, she's never going to be fast, but the retreat is a direct, smooth one. Dark windows attest to vacant classrooms. "I swiped the case and dropped it over at the Hall in Metropolis. Couldn't think of anywhere else to take it. John oughta check it first, but seemed smart." Doubt casts a shadow on her usual bright visage. She then pauses, backtracking verbally. "That sharkman has a barrister? He from Atlantis or just -- no, maybe don't tell me. So he's out and wants his stuff back, does he?"
Barry Allen	"You love to see it. Sponsorships like that, I mean," Barry says, smiling a touch and nodding in the direction of the movie night goings on. He agrees, however, with her assessment and moves off to continue the conversation away from prying eyes and ears. "I think he's a former human. Maybe. It's hard to get any records on him at all," Barry explains. "Those cases, though, contain some wacky gene-editing mixture, so it's my thinking that he may be trying to alter some of his muscle to be a little more fearsome. I've got nothing against metahumans," he says, gesturing to himself as a clear example, "But I got a lot against a gang of supervillain sharks," he explains. "You said you dropped it at the Hall, though? I didn't hear anything about that..." he trails off, a touch of worry on his face.
Meggan Constantine	The movie night for the Columbia film school can wait for the time being, however enticing it may be for some. Popcorn flicks and Hollywood blockbusters those are not, but more intimate portraits into lives, revolutionary viewpoints, and brilliant jewels in need of a bit of polishing. Something for everyone. She hears Barry out, trying to piece the story together with the events of the past couple days. Two Flashes and an elf walk into a chemical factory... "You think he's transforming them into things like him?" Meggan raises her eyebrows. "Gene-editing would be permanent, right? They get a dose of that and become all toothy and all. That might make Atlantis kinda mad, have to imagine, being that it gets close to messing with them." Her lips part, troubled, though the thought kind of fades off for a moment. On the other hand, having possibly the most malleable genetics in a wide-open family of metahumans living on Earth gives her a weird perspective on things. "I called ahead, in case John happened to be by. I know he's usually not really there everyday or whatnot. But formalities? So I came by and dropped it off. Did it wander off?"
Barry Allen	After this conversation, Barry is absolutely going to stop by the movie night for a least a few minutes. His appointment book is pretty open, and there's other Flashes out there (so many Flashes) to handle whatever he might miss. "I don't know, I only ever studied Chemistry," he says, admitting his failings. "But that's neither here nor there. Yes, I think it may have 'wandered' off. I searched all over the Hall and the Watchtower and there's no record of it anywhere. The rest is locked up safe and sound, but there's no telling what kind of damage could be done with even just one vial of that stuff," he admits, chewing on his lip for a moment.
Meggan Constantine	So many Flashes indeed. Springing up like dandelions everywhere you look. The Speed Force is popular. "Chemistry is pretty important. I have to take a bit of it, but my studies are more climate sciences." Meg shrugs her shoulders lightly, still holding her phone in her hand and the other fingers slipping into her back pocket of her jeans. Casual enough, though it hides the uncomfortable reality of something she stole wandering off of its own accord. "Goes without sayin' that if you had it, you could fix it. No cameras showing me coming in or out? I swear I walked up there, not even hidden or anything. That was a metal briefcase. Anyone scan for, like, invisible stuff? Or maybe the CCTV in the streets? Metropolis must have a few. I don't really know how you look for it other ways. Like he probably wants it and could be asking on the black market, but I don't even know how you find that."
Barry Allen	"I believe you," Barry assured her with a nod. "The cameras were on the fritz that day. Good money says that someone's probably handling all of this tech stuff for Sharptooth. He doesn't seem like the planning type," Barry muses, hands dropping from his sides. "Well, I've taken enough of your time, ma'am. If you can think of anything, give me a call, alright?" Barry asks, his hand vibrating out of view for a moment before he's holding out a business card to her with his personal number. There's a lightning bolt motif on the card, of course.
Meggan Constantine	"Someone who wants to get their hands on a drug that turns a person into a super soldier, or super thug." Meggan repeats the obvious in a lowered tone, the soft volume fading into something very hard to hear. She accepts the card, frowning as she looks up to Barry and past him. "I can give you the time I came by. Cos the call, the trip on the Hyperloop, and my GPS stamps all line up. From the time I got there to the time it was missing, how big a window? Like, when did anyone look? Couldn't be that long?" Her thumb runs over her brow. "I'm sorry not to be more help, Mr. Flash. People who do the heavy detective work, the real smart ones, think in ways I just don't really know. But..." She pauses. Then she swivels, facing the quad. "Have you tried asking the city? You've got trees outside the building, don't you? Never mind birds, I know there's landscaping around the Hall. Why not just ask it?"
Barry Allen	"Knocked all of that out in about five minutes," Barry admits, chuckling. It's a touch nervously, of course. Things don't just up and disappear from the hall. Like ever. He clears his throat and nods to the young woman. "Thank you for your help, Meggan," he says, lifting his hand to offer her a small salute. "And good luck with your studies. Oh, and feel free to call if you ever need help with your Chemistry homework." He pauses, raising a finger. "Please don't, actually. I'm insanely busy," he clarifies, before he's charging up and disappearing in a streak of scarlet and gold.
Meggan Constantine	There's not much more to say, only to do. Meggan tilts her head slightly, the smile fading away to a bit of a frown. "He talks to trees?" The brief pause follows and then she's crossing the campus at a respectable speed, enough to get at least some distance away from Columbia proper. Only then is it safe to unravel herself from the flesh, the human shell falling away as she becomes little more than one with the breeze. Raising her fingers, she lifts into the air, carried against the current, where orienting southwest and streaking across the sky at reasonably madcap speeds is no trial at all. Toothy shark-men may have plenty to worry about, and certainly there are better magical and mundane detective routes, but tracking something by asking the very ground itself who walked out with a metal box isn't without its advantages. As long as Cyborg isn't in the way.