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Brodie leaned back in his chair, putting an ankle up on top of his knee before he let a smile take to his features. It seemed that this girl didn't seem to know how to have a real conversation, given her constant sarcasm and inability to really answer a question. It was interesting, to say the least. He wondered how she got to this point in her life. "Well then, I'll consider this portion of the interview closed." He shrugged his shoulders, folding up his notebook and setting it in the leather shoulder bag he carried.
"I suppose we should go to the studio now, if you're still willing to let me photograph you dance." Technically, it was never part of the agreement arranged, but he did need something to publish before the show took stage, and he was curious to see how her personality reflected on the stage.
As Brodie continued to eat, he listened carefully to what the woman had to say. His eyebrows rose, surprised by the statement given about his character. He had honestly never considered it that way; a better way of thinking. It was just a way to think to get to the truth. Generalization could lead to a dangerous path, but he certainly didn't believe that he was better than anyone else.
"I just want to learn why people are the way they are." He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. Perhaps it was why he was so good at his job. "For example; you said you work in a bar for practice, but it's only alright to work as one." His fork circled in the air as he spoke, before diving down into another piece of pancake. "Do you feel the practice is worth working at a place you don't necessarily enjoy?"
Of course, this wasn't going to be just handed to him. Really, the reporter preferred it that way - it meant that the story was there. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs as he tapped the end of the pen to his notepad a couple of times. "Yes, of course." Though he wasn't moving. "I'm sorry to hear the culprit has yet to be caught, then." It was still an open case, after all.
"But this is your first case on a crime such as this, isn't it?" A thoughtful pause before he tilted his head a little. "In America, I should say. And this is what you came here for."
"It is." Brodie agreed, giving a small nod of his head. It was a shame that people had this preconceived notion of entire groups of people. He carved his knife through a piece of bacon, fork pressing into it and pulling it over to another bite of pancake. When he bit down into it, he let out an approving hum, his head bobbing up and down. "You know your breakfast foods." He commented, pressing the napkin to the corner of his mouth before resuming the meal.
He gave the question posed to him some thought. "No, I don't believe I would." Brodie answered finally. "I can't hold prejudices against people that I don't know. It's like a form of bullying." Something he was familiar with growing up. "Sure, if someone did something bad with an ability they have, I would hold them accountable, but they don't speak for everyone. Any person in this country can go and purchase a gun, but I do not hold someone who hunts responsible for a mass shooting."
Politeness was the trick here; he knew who had the power between the two of them. Not only did this woman carry status, she held the first decent story on a meta human since he had moved to the area. That was gold to him. He kept his own handshake light, matching the connection she had before settling down in the chair opposite of her.
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, noting the lack of formality his name versus how he had referred to her. A note to remember, but he didn't bring it up. "I'm here in hopes to gather some information on the hate crime committed at Frye's Auto against a Miss Emmett Coupland." He flipped open his notebook, glancing down at his notes while uncapping a pen. "You're representing her, am I correct?"
Brodie was quick to pick up on the hesitation of contact. He glanced down to his own hand, considering retracting it, but before he could he felt the gentle hold offered to him. Delicate in his own nature, he offered a light shake before retracting his hand and settling it against the table. "Alex Harper," he repeated. "It's a pleasure." He kept a warm smile as he slowly closed the lid of his laptop, offering the girl who saved it his full attention.
"You attend Bellefonte, then?" He asked, curious. Having only been in this town a short time, he had yet to hold a real conversation with one of the students of the school. Dozens of questions ran through his mind. "Do you enjoy it there?"
It hadn't taken long for her to get off the phone, and Brodie waited patiently outside until he was invited in. As he entered, he closed the door behind him, a professional smile plastered to his features as he approached her desk. His hands kept busy as he fastened the single button on his suit jacket. "Hello, Miss James," he started carefully. Formally, given her status in this industry. "My name is Brodie Grant. I represent the Stagfort Herald and the Washington Post."
He extended a hand across her desk, palm angled slightly upward. "It's a pleasure to meet a fellow former student of St. Bethany here in Stagfort."
"Two daughters." Brodie replied factually. It was awful, but not an entirely uncommon thought process. "Some people believe the same about the meta population, but only because they have such a narrow minded view on who meta humans are."
He raised his fork, taking a bite of the pancake. In combination with the maple syrup he had topped it with, the German let out a sigh of relief. This was exactly what he had needed to fill his complaining stomach. "This is wonderful."
Without stepping away to get her a drink, Brodie instead remained in his seat, watching her work. Or rather, stare silently at the computer like she was in some sort of daze. His eyebrows quirked upward when he realized that she must have been a meta - it seemed clear to the reporter who specialized in learning about people. Though he found it brave for her to showcase her ability in front of a complete stranger. Maybe she had yet to experience the hatred people could harbor. She was lucky, if so.
And suddenly, the machine was booting up. His eyes widened as the login screen appeared. "Thank you so much," he replied. The corner of his lip twitched upward. Leaning in a little closer, he let his accented voice drop a little. "Your secret is safe with me."
Then, he extended a hand. "My name is Brodie Grant. Reporter for Stagfort Herald. You just saved my latest article."
He almost looked like he belonged in the law firm. Almost. Brodie's suit might not have been as expensive as those that surrounded him, but he wore it well. A leather shoulder bag hug at his side, notebook and pen in his hands as he walked through the office with pure confidence. It was how to get past anyone. And at least this time, it worked. Probably falling somewhere between pure determination and dumb luck that he didn't catch someone's attention.
Better was that he could see her. There, at her desk. Bright blue eyes lingered on the woman. Theodora James. She hadn't been here long, but she's already made an impression. And she already caught the attention of the reporter. He did his research, too.
Pale knuckles tapped lightly against the glass door.
Usually the words socio-political put a glaze over eyes when Brodie described his work. It wasn't that what he wrote was boring - but a little hard to describe - and Brodie was much more eloquent with the written word over speaking. His eyebrows quirked up at the sound of interest in the subject, putting a small smile on his face, widening a little when the food was placed in front of him. "Thank you again for this."
"Not too many people here have, it seems." Brodie stuck out, or so it felt. Then again, that was normal for the boy who grew up as an outlier to the norm. He took a fork and knife, napkin resting on his legs before he cut into one of the fluffy pancakes.
"An example would be of n article I wrote on a woman who had voted for the current President, and then realized her husband of thirty years is going to be deported because his parents illegally immigrated to the United States when he was four." It was a somber subject, but he found it fascinating. "She hadn't believed that he applied to those they were deporting, because he was a businessman, and supported his family."
This girl really didn't care, and it drew a light, bitter laugh out of Brodie. He let go of the recorder, leaning back in his seat as he finished off the espresso before pushing the cup away from himself. "So you don't care." He pointed out the obvious, letting his head bob from side to side as he thought of how to continue. He wasn't afraid to send the audio file to the instructor that had first contacted him, but that was almost too easy.
"Why don't you?" He really didn't sound as if he was trying to dig deep, but more out of general curiosity. "Or really, why bother showing up here at all?"
Brodie was by no means a computer expert, and something like this - were his continous attempts to press the power button and wiggle the screen weren't enough - looked like it would have to be brought into a professional. Something he didn't want to have to deal with today. A small groan escaped his lips, as he started to close the laptop all together, but a voice calling his attention stopped him mid act.
His gaze landed on the brunette standing in front of him, eyebrows raising. "Did I really look that troubled?" He tried to joke, gesturing to the empty seat beside him and turning the laptop towards him. "Thank you, it is kind of you to offer. Do you have a drink? I can get you one for the trouble."
Those few that knew Brodie knew that he preferred to work outside the realms of technology when he could. His companions were a film camera and a notepad. They were all that was really needed, even if other items made a job easier. In today's age, however, it was impossible to do his sort of work without a laptop. It wasn't that he disliked it, but everything wrote better on paper. It was why he had a folder next to him, and his notebook was already filled with the article he just had to type out.
His fingers looped around a small, grey up, bringing it up to his lips. A shot of espresso was his usual preference, but the reported opted for something he could take his time with today - a cappuccino. The noisiness of the coffee shop had yet to bother him, and when he set his cup down again he started typing on the slick plastic keys of his keyboard.
Then everything went black. Bright eyes took in immediate concern as he pressed his finger to the power button a couple of times to no avail. Eyebrows lowered, confusion taking his features when he looked to see if his power cable had come unplugged. It hadn't. "What?" He whispered towards the machine, a hand pressing to the screen to wiggle it slightly, as if that could solve this problem.
It was an interesting answer. Brodie had to wonder what this woman meant by good practice. It was a topic of conversation he could work into later, filed in the back of his mind.
"I specialize in socio-political pieces." It was what his true interest held in, and where he excelled. It wasn't entirely something sought after in the newspaper industry, but gathering stories on real people always fascinated him. How they were effected by the changing world around them. To capture it, share it and represent it was an honor.
A small laugh escaped his lips, and he put a hand to his mouth before continuing. "German, though it is a little...off. I lived in England for quite some time, and it seems to have an effect on the way I speak."
