Owner	Pose
Vic Sage	Gotham University. Afternoon. Pamela Isley's classroom. Something stinks in Gotham, and it's not the garbage in the streets this time. Something is causing nigh-negligible tremors beneath the city, and while that may seem fairly normal in most any other major American city with tons of subterranean infrastructure, something feels out of place. The city speaks to Vic Sage, and Vic Sage listens closely. 'We'll all be dead soon' cries the city. Following a few leads, Charles "Charlie" Victor "Vic Sage" Zsasz, has made his way to Gotham University in search of Dr. Pamela Isley, Gotham's foremost expert on botany. Seemed as good a place to start as any. He sat through her class, picked up a few things he didn't know, and finds himself posted up at the back of the auditorium, watching the young students file out on their way to their next classes. He picked this time slot specifically. Office hours, and such. Hope she wasn't planning a late lunch.
Pamela Isley	"Ohhhhhh, -that's- where the ADP comes from," comes the voice of a relieved-sounding young man standing at the front of the class. He's just a hair taller than Dr. Isley herself, who stands just behind him with her arms folded delicately over her midsection. Dark and heavy black-rim glasses perch atop a delicate nose and ruby-red lips. She nods, and reaches out to gently manipulate the interactive diagram on her tablet to trigger the animation to play. "See? I told you that you'd get it," she says, a sappy and syrupy voice that's almost cloyingly sweet. A touch of smoke just beneath. Her lips curl into a smile and she watches the young man flick his eyes back and forth between the tablet and the screen. He bends his knees and slaps his forehead with his pen before stuffing his notebook and laptop back into his backpack and bolting for the side door that leads out to the front gardens. "I gotta go write this down before I forget it!" he declares triumphantly, and then he's gone. And Pamela Isley is alone again. Well, almost. There is someone else. Charles Zsasz. Pamela had scene him during the lecture. Not one of her students, to be sure, especially given how closely he seemed to be paying attention. She steps towards the central lecture podium and pulls the cable magnetically connecting her tablet to the projector, which switches back to a simple grey, black and white logo that reads: "Wayne Enterprises" "Did you enjoy the lecture?" she asks the man, who seems to be lingering behind after the rest of the students have left. She doesn't seem to be particularly intimidated or concerned, but she doesn't step foot from behind that podium either.
Vic Sage	Staring into space as the good doctor addresses him, Vic snaps to attention, eyes locking with hers. His tie is straightened and he moves to stand, smiling warmly at her. "I did. It was nice to be back in the old alma mater," he says, sliding out of the of seats and beginning to descend the shallow-leveled auditorium down to where she's standing. From closer up, he may be recognizable. Vic Sage, interim news anchor and erstwhile reporter for GNN. He is, as always, impeccably dressed. A brown suit tailored with movement in mind, a pressed white shirt, and a blue silk tie pinned with a silver bar. A man out of time, almost. As he steps down to her level, he extends a hand to her. "Victor Sage with GNN. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isley," he offers by way of introduction. "I don't want to catch you out of sorts," yes he does, "But I was hoping you might have time for a few Questions."
Pamela Isley	Pamela Isley offers back another warm smile and a tip of her head to the side. "I suppose that would be nice." It's a fairly non-committal remark that verges on dismissive. A polite nicety to nudge the conversation towards closing before that door were ever truly open. She slides her tablet into her bag and slings the pretty leather strap over her slender shoulders. Pamela is similarly-smartly dressed, though perhaps with a more vibrant palette. Still earth tones, though. A green, off the shoulder dress with a tapered waist and a pencil-skirt cut. White high heels and pretty oxidized-copper jewelry -- the kind you get from local crafters. Expensive and bespoke. Dr. Isley gives a warm little laugh at Victor's introduction, a moment of recollection in those mismatched eyes. One blue. One green. "Ahhh, I knew I recognized the face from somewhere. You're on a billboard just outside my apartment window," Pamela says, wagging the eraser end of her stylus towards Vic Sage before that is tucked into the bag as well. She seems to be on her way out, judging from the way she nearly breezes past the man. Like her jewelry, that perfume must be bespoke as well. Pretty and sweet and distinctly floral, but also... more than that. Something so difficult to place. "Questions? The Calvin Cycle -is- quite complicated, but I can assure you that you needn't be worried about passing Thursday's quiz."
Vic Sage	"An Eye on Crime with Vic Sage," he says, nodding, and still more than a little upset about how that billboard came out. They airbrushed him. Same way they airbrush the news he's allowed to report. "Calvin Cycle's introductory botany. Student's will latch on quick or drop the course for something easier like Biodiversity," Vic says, nostrils flaring a touch. "Did you know that Gotham was built over ancient a forest of ancient oaks?" he asks, brows ticking upwards. "Cut down to make way for progress. Giant things, too. California's redwoods look almost microscopic in comparison."
Pamela Isley	Pamela Isley gives a little giggle when Vic Sage announces his own byline, head tipping softly to the side to let some of that red hair spill over her slender, exposed shoulders. The delicate collarbone and the little notched bone just beneath her back shoulder. She turns her chin over it to look at the man with those mismatched eyes again and, for a moment, seems to have slowed to a stop. "Most of my students are looking for general education credit. The botany majors begin with 201, but the Calvin Cycle is a common area of... mmm... struggle," she articulates. The conversation seems to be mostly pleasant, really. Pamela is all smiles and silky hair, after all. But Victor's next words cause the woman's gaze to harden just a touch. As if he'd struck an irritation. "A great many thing of beauty has been destroyed in the name of progress. The artist mural on thirty-sixth and broadway, for example. Demolished for another high-rise and a -Subway- of all things. It's a shame I never got to see it before it was gone. Those trees, too."
Vic Sage	Touchy. But lots of people are touchy about the environment, so that's not exactly a revelation. Still, pieces are shifting around in Vic's mind. His hands slide into the pockets of his trousers and his eyes move to rest on the Cycle diagram on the whiteboard. It's in there forever, now. Likely not going to be overly useful in his line of work, but who knows? "A real shame," he offers, dryly. Just a touch drier than usual, but likely chocked up to the fact that he's absorbing some information at present. "Subways and mass transit are incredibly useful tools in the fight against pollution. Still, it's never good to see good graffiti go," he notes, blue eyes falling back on Pamela's face. She's really quite pretty. Reminds him of Myra a little around the cheeks and nose. Bummer that she might be a hardened killer. He regards her for another moment or two in silence before he's producing a pen and notepad from his pockets. They're flipped open. "Do you think that it might be possible for rapid plant growth on a big enough scale to lead to the shifting of a tectonic plate?"
Pamela Isley	"It is a shame. But humans are terribly short-sighted, are we not?" asks Dr. Isley. Her question is followed up with a soft sigh and a roll of her eyes. "But I suppose we trade some wonders for others. There is beauty to be found in this world, if one knows where to look." The toes of her high heeled shoes are angled towards Vic Sage now, and she's slung that bag off of her shoulder so that she can hold it with both hands. It rests just atop her legs, pinning her dress between its weight and her thighs. Vic's misunderstanding of which variety of Subway has replaced a once-beloved art mural draws a little laugh from Pamela, and she's about to politely agree and correct him all at once when he asks his second Question. Her mouth hangs open a moment, and a soft little 'ahh' rushes past her teeth. "A plant capable of doing that would be massive. Far more massive than even the trees that once grew in this very soil. Are you here to ask me about the... tremors, Mr. Sage?" She pauses, as if intuiting that, perhaps, this is knowledge she might not be expected to know. "The seismetology students will simply not stop talking about it. They all certainly have their little theories. Plant growth is certainly a novel one, however."
Vic Sage	"I've always found that beauty is most easily found in other people. Can find a real ugliness there, too," Vic says, scribbling down something in his notepad. It's largely unrelated. Just a thought he had about a different case. He pops his jaw softly as he listens to her, nodding softly once she's concluded. "It's a pet interest of mine, I guess you could call it. Seismologist are concerned, but not greatly so. They've pretty much settled on 'weird happenstance' as their verdict. I do love an oddity, though," he explains, a ghost of a smirk quirking up the left side of his mouth. "And that's only a theory. Strangers things have happened in this town, though, wouldn't you agree, Doctor Isley? Do you have any theories that might explain the tremors?"
Pamela Isley	"Gotham City is certainly odd. But not without it's charms," Dr. Isley says with a smile. Vic Sage is charming, after all. That sort of thing is a blade that cuts two ways. She reaches up to tuck a twist of red hair behind her ear. It's her left ear -- the ear nearer to her green eye. It's such a rich color, that green. Like a forest or an emerald. Contrast that to the deep, ocean blue eye just beside it? What's the genetic lottery on that? One in a million? "I suppose, if I had to theorize, it would be infrastructure. Digging, perhaps, or quarrying. Even excavations that are miles away can be felt beneath one's feet, should they hit a proper sort of... resonance. Or," she says, and smiles. She leans forward just a little bit, enough to breach herself within what most folks in Vic Sage's position might consider personal space. But she's pretty. And she smells nice. Pretty women can get away with murder, can't they? "If we think there is something growing beneath the city, hmmmh... I think I'd start with fungus." She straightens up again and rocks a touch forward on the tips of her toes. That little bounce pushes her bag away from her shins an inch or two, until it lightly taps back down against her thighs once more. "You certainly have some interesting hobbies, Mr. Sage. Maybe I should tune in more often. Are we on the record? Will I be reading about myself in some news headline?"
Pamela Isley	"Gotham City is certainly odd. But not without its charms," Dr. Isley says with a smile. Vic Sage is charming, after all. That sort of thing is a blade that cuts two ways. She reaches up to tuck a twist of red hair behind her ear. It's her left ear -- the ear nearer to her green eye. It's such a rich color, that green. Like a forest or an emerald. Contrast that to the deep, ocean blue eye just beside it? What's the genetic lottery on that? One in a million? "I suppose, if I had to theorize, it would be infrastructure. Digging, perhaps, or quarrying. Even excavations that are miles away can be felt beneath one's feet, should they hit a proper sort of... resonance. Or," she says, and smiles. She leans forward just a little bit, enough to breach herself within what most folks in Vic Sage's position might consider personal space. But she's pretty. And she smells nice. Pretty women can get away with murder, can't they? "If we think there is something growing beneath the city, hmmmh... I think I'd start with fungus." She straightens up again and rocks a touch forward on the tips of her toes. That little bounce pushes her bag away from her shins an inch or two, until it lightly taps back down against her thighs once more. "You certainly have some interesting hobbies, Mr. Sage. Maybe I should tune in more often. Are we on the record? Will I be reading about myself in some news headline?"
Vic Sage	"Digging, then. Or fungus. Not quite as romantic of a story as say...a revenge of the plants, is it?" he asks, back still straight as a board when she leans in towards him. He likes the smell. That reminds him of Myra, too. And a little of Helena. His notepad is flipped closed and tucked into his jacket pocket along with the pen. His hands tuck back into his pockets and he looks her over once more. "You don't know the half of it." In regards to his hobbies. "You should see my paintings." Nobody should see Vic's paintings. They border on Eldritch madness. "As far as whether or not you're on the record; no. Not yet. Still working on this story. Just felt like kicking rocks here."
Pamela Isley	"Reality is often far less romantic as we dream up in bed at night. Or on the Subway. Or in the shower," Pamela murmurs. Her wrist orients briefly up towards herself as she checks the time. A small window is closing where she -could- have run up to her lab between her next lecture, but it is swiftly coming to a close. Alas. Still, this has been stimulating. She rotates her wrist back and looks up towards Vic once again. She laughs a little at the mention of his paintings. Was it meant to be a joke? She seems to be amused enough. "Now that I am positively certain of. Is that an invitation? Because I'm free this afternoon. Botany 201 from three until four. There's a bench by the bus stop just outside with lovely arrangements of flowers on either side. I'll meet you there." Pamela Isley begins to leave, moving past Vic Sage and towards the long set of low stairs that lead out of the grand lecture hall and towards the front entrance of Gotham University's Biochemical Sciences building. Halfway up the stairs, she pauses to turn around and look back at the man she's left behind. "Plants do not seek revenge, Mr. Sage. They simply are what they are. It's why I'm a botanist and not a psychologist," Pamela says, and then offers a small smile. "That's all entirely too complicated."