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Every statement she offered was laced with sarcasm; sarcasm that could have easily been twisted. Fortunately for the dancer, Brodie believed in genuine reporting, even if he'd have to dig it out of her. The end of his pen tapped against the paper, exhaling heavily at the question posed. Now she was just trying to bother him.
"I'm here to gather facts. How I present them is what makes me good at my job." There really wasn't need to defend himself, but the statement came more of a warning than anything else. "I'd ask you more, but it appears you have no desire to give a real answer." Brodie leaned back in his chair, offering a few more fast paced taps of his pen. "Now I'm not going to lecture you on how poorly you represent your dance facility, Miss Bennett. However, it would be unfortunate to see how they react to your interview, were a copy of this recording sent to them."
For safety, he reached out for the recorder, securing it. "They seemed to care greatly about this interview; I can imagine that they wouldn't be impressed by this. Perhaps even enough to remove you from the program."
It was actually humorous how against this interview she was. Brodie had to wonder who thought it was a good idea to send someone so bothered to do this? Did they know what good publicity was? It would be far too easy to write up an article going into negative details. He could wrap this up in minutes and have three columns in by the afternoon. Though, who didn't like a challenge.
"So you're in school," Brodie denoted, picking apart her sentences for his own benefit. He pressed the small ceramic cup to his lips, taking a sip before picking up his pen again. "Still in high school?" Despite just having her say her age, he couldn't help himself with that one. "What is the age range of those preforming in this show?"
Intuition caught him on a lucky guess. Maybe because someone who worked here every night wouldn't forget to lock the door, or her friendliness towards someone who walked in when they were closing. Either way, he nodded at the response offered to him. "Bartending must be quite fun." It was the sort of job he'd never be good at. So much socialization and crowds. It wasn't entirely his scene, though he could have an appreciation for those who did it.
"I'm a reporter," Brodie explained, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "I work for the local paper, but do freelancing for national companies." It was like he was selling himself, in part because it was the one sense of pride he had. "I've just moved here."
It was standard protocol, really. Brodie was always one to insure that he had everything covered. He hadn't looked up to catch that look on her face, but given her tone, it wouldn't have surprised him to see it. His eyes did lift when a series of measurements were offered to him, eyebrows raising from surprise, but not amusement. Could they have at least sent someone here who wanted to be interviewed. Most would kill for the opportunity.
"I'll be sure to include those details in this article, Miss Bennett," Brodie replied dryly. He set his pen down, lacing his fingers together as he leaned forward. "Shall we begin?" It was a rhetorical question. "I understand that you are part of the cast preforming Cinderella next month? Can you tell me, how does it feel to be part of a story highlighting the importance of a woman finding a husband? Especially in a time during the Women's March Movement?"
Getting a free meal from a place that was technically closed? Brodie misjudged this little town - or particularly, this diner. Though he doubted many would make such an offer. This woman seemed to be some sort of exception to the American attitude he had seen so much of already. Putting his wallet away again, the German smiled and pulled out a chair to sit in.
With his feet off the ground, the camera strapped around his shoulder slid off, finding a careful place on the table. Lux. It was an interesting name, drawing a nod out of him as he watched her as best as he could from where he sat. "Brodie," he introduced himself. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lux."
His palms pressed flat to the table, fingertips tapping idly against the wood. "Do you work here often?"
There was an immediate attitude that Brodie hadn't expected, given the innocent face that stared back at her. As she sat down, his hand dropped, pressing to the table top as he returned to his chair. Strictly business then. Frankly, that was easier, anyway. Securing a pen, he flipped open his notebook before reaching over to a small handheld device, placing it between them on the table. With a press of the button, it started to record the audio between them.
"Please state and spell your full name, as well as your age." His accent did nothing to hide the flatness in his tone, bright eyes flicking down to his notebook. Barely any interaction, and he was already writing down notes.
Brodie honestly hadn't expected an offer for food once he had learned that this place had closed. At most, he hoped to gain some information on the best place to eat in town after a certain hour. There was still so much to learn. His eyebrows quirked upwards, hands pressing together as she squeezed his palms. "If it's not too much trouble," he replied with a smile. "And if there is enough for two, of course." By no means did he want to take any food away from her to feed himself.
Taking another step inside, moved towards the counter and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Fingers secured around a leather wallet as he pulled it out. "And I can pay you."
Brodie couldn't hide the distaste in his features at the idea of fast food or purchasing a meal from a gas station. He shifted a hand out of his pocket, pushing up the sleeve of his jacket to catch the time. When had it become so late? He would do well to keep better track of these things, but the photo lab did well to mask any sort of time passing.
"I was looking for something a little less..." his head tilted to the side, as if he were trying to find the polite words to describe fast food. "processed." Daring to take another little step forward, bright eyes glanced around the interior of the diner, taking in details. "Would you have any other recommendations, by chance?"
With the move to the States, Brodie thought there would be a little bit more excitement in the mix. His resume built him up like a god, but news had been slow. So slow, that he was doing an interview about a ballet playing at the local theatre. It wasn't his usual work, but he'd take anything given to him, and he'd turn it into a brilliant piece.
A small orange cup sat at his table, carrying the bitter condensed taste of espresso. Next to it sat a camera most opted not to use; film. It was his preferred medium. There wasn't limitless shots to take up. Every one mattered.
He hadn't been there for too long, having arrived a little early when his eyes caught someone who matched the description. He lifted the top page of his pad of paper, catching the name he had written down. Eleanore Bennett. Twenty-one. Brunette. Dancer. It wasn't much to go off of, but she looked like a match compared to the rest of those that found their time at this coffee shop.
When she approached, he stood up, pressing a palm to his tie to flatten it out as he extended his free hand. "Miss Bennett. It's a pleasure."
Brodie was still growing used to this strange town. He ventured out alone this evening, realizing that with the amount of work he'd been putting in this week that he had forgotten to buy groceries. It would have been fine, had he realized this before he had opened his fridge in search for something to cook up for dinner. His stomach was now begging for relief, and he refused to seek it at a fast food chain.
A diner had caught his attention, eyes catching the lights that were still on inside versus any opened or closed signs. The pull of the door was all he needed to know that they were open, and he was already a few paces in before the unfortunate news came.
Bright blue eyes landed on the waitress as he wore a soft smile, trying to hide the disappointment. "Ah, my apologies," he replied, German accent coming through. He halted in his footing, but didn't make a turn for the door yet. "Do you know of someplace that is open at this time?"
AGE: Twenty-Five GENDER: Male ORIENTATION: Heterosexual POSITION: Reporter and Photographer
♦ THE ABILITY ♦
POWER: Gravity Manipulation Brodie has the ability to manipulate the gravitational field within a ten foot radius of himself. This can make objects feel to weigh more or less depending on the shift. If he concentrates enough, he can focus his ability around specific objects that are within that radius, but it is much more draining to do so.
LIMITATIONS: He does not have the ability to change the gravity two ways at the same time (making one object seem heavy and another one next to it seem incredibly light). The further an object is away, the harder it is to do a dramatic shift. Size also effects his abilities; it is impossible to make a car float off the ground or a pebble so heavy that it cannot be picked up. The wider the radius he effects, the less he can shift the gravitational field. He has no other control over anything that he changes the gravitational field around.
SIDE-EFFECTS: It's almost impossible to gather an accurate weight reading on Brodie. When he uses his ability, a headache almost always follows, growing worse depending on the duration and what he is manipulating. He also easily misjudges the weight of items in their natural state. He can become lightheaded and get muscle cramps as well.
♦ THE FREEFORM ♦
Do you miss her? I never had the opportunity to. She was gone before I was here.
He played over the facts again in his mind. From such a young age, he had to learn of how easily a life could be lost. People asked why he didn't have a mother, and he always gave the short story. Car accident. He spared them the details of still being in her womb when the vehicle was hit from behind and pushed into an intersection, or how he had been born two weeks early because they couldn't save his mother. Technically, it was a miracle he lived. When the young boy would think on it too much, his father would remind him of that. He was a miracle - because the man would have never survived the loss of his wife were it not for the birth of his son. It gave him reason to push forward.
Raising a son single handed was no easy task, but his father tried his best. There were long hours put into work, but he always came home with a smile. He always insured there was a meal on the table, even if it wasn't executed in the best way, and there was always a book to read to Brodie at night.
How did you feel when your abilities manifested? Miserable. I had to leave my home and move to a new country.
"What?" It was the first word that had escaped his mouth since the recruiters had knocked on the door. He felt the comforting hand of his father against his shoulder.
"There isn't a facility in Germany?" His father asked, voicing the confusion they both felt. "Why must he go to England? He's only twelve." The recruiters did their best to sell St. Bethany to them, even if it meant that Brodie would have to move. They also made it clear he didn't have much of a choice.
The young boy stood up, hands curling into fists before he ran up into his bedroom, the door slamming behind him. Just because his camera had started floating around him a couple days ago didn't mean he deserved this sort of punishment. He hid his face into his pillow, curling up on his bed. It must have been hours before his dad came in, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"It looks like you have to go, Brodie."
Did the idea of someone new being in your father's life bother you? No. It'd been thirteen years. But it wasn't my opinion anyone was concerned about.
Gathered for a dinner to meet someone important. Actually, two important someones. A woman, whom Brodie had never seen nor heard of before in his life, and her son. Now him - he was familiar. He'd seen the boy around St. Bethany, but had never engaged. He looked like the sort of person that would punch you just for looking at him strangely in the hallway. When Brodie looked at him now, it looked like he was going to punch both him just or existing, and he hadn't even made eye contact with him or his father yet.
This was going to be great.
He spared a glance at his father, but his gaze was so fixated on her that he hadn't noticed.
"That's my brother, you piece of shit!" is what he yelled out. Was it odd that he referred to you as a brother before your father and his mother married? Strangely no. It seemed right. We were family after that.
It wouldn't have been the first time he'd been beaten up.
Books had scattered across the ground, an old camera following only moments later. Broody Brodie they liked to call him, just because he was reserved. Because he didn't play sports and spent more time in a dark photo lab than at parties.
As if his things weren't enough, Brodie felt the force of a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down towards the ground. It was probably the first time he'd ever fought back in his life, and all he'd tried to do was stay on his feet. It was enough of a challenge to the group of boys that were so determined to harass him. Fists curled around the collar of his shirt. Despite his height, he had nothing on the guys.
Suddenly, he was let go of. Bright blue eyes grew wide as they saw the backpack that had just collided with the person threatening him. Then he was there.
It was a small wedding, but beautiful. Perfect for them. Did you photograph it? No. My father wanted me there. Present instead of behind a lens. I had to give him that.
He looked nervous. Brodie couldn't recall the last time he'd seen his father so worked up. He supposed he would be too, if he stood there waiting for the love of his life to walk down the isle. Standing by his side, Brodie offered his dad a smile.
The doors opened, and there they were - the two that would become legally bonded as family - but had already felt that way for a while now. Another glance at his dad and he could see the water welling in the blue eyes he passed down to him. They had never talked about finding love past Brodie's mother, but in that moment it didn't matter. It seemed that the universe brought these two together for this exact moment.
"I'm glad you've found her," Brodie whispered before she took the stage with them.
You were angry with him? Of course I was. He's smarter than the army.
Eli had been gone for months now, and Brodie had started to make his own mark in the journalism world. People loved his skills with a camera, even if they'd argue that he'd do too much to get an image a quote. The scrawny boy had a little scrap in him, after all. It just took the right push.
This though? This was absurd.
"You're not a war photographer, kid. You're not built for it." There was an opening, and everyone was surprised he was applying for it. Why would the German want to report on the English military?
"I could be." It was all he argued. Nobody bought it. Worse, was when the news traveled home to his parents. As if one child facing danger wasn't enough, let alone the one that nobody believed could handle it.
"There are different battles you can fight." His boss explained. He never got the job, and instead they offered him a little more danger on the job. Well, as dangerous as England was. It looked like a compromise, but Brodie took it for what it was.
What made you decide to go to America? The so-called free world is falling apart. Someone has to tell the story. Brodie was never good with announcements, so it felt fitting to mimic the way his father had introduced his now-mother. Dinner at the table. Eli had been back for some time now. It offered everyone a sense of security and ease. Really, it was the perfect time.
"I'm moving to America." Straightforward, as Brodie only knew how to be with such matters. His father laughed, only to quickly realize it wasn't a joke as he continued explaining. "To Stagfort, Oregon." With the reign of a new government threatening everything, he had to go. The meta hub of the United States was - if anywhere - the best place to be when ignorance and hatred ran through the veins of a country.
There was silence, he brought a wine glass to his lips for a moment, but didn't take a sip. "I leave in three weeks."
♦ THE PLAYER ♦
USERNAME: Sai AGE GROUP: 27 EXPERIENCE: I lost track? WHERE DID YOU FIND US? I will always find you
