epidemiology | (closed) pulitzer and hearst

Entry tags:

(closed) pulitzer and hearst

CHARACTERS: Keats and Mettaton
DATE: 2/10 post this thread
WARNINGS: mettaton's legs, keats being grumpy...will edit if needed
SUMMARY: Keats and Mettaton put their heads together to come up with an article. That is, if Keats doesn't blow a fuse from working with Mettaton first...

[Keats is very good at his job of being a journalist. He likes to think so, even though he writes articles for a little-known occult magazine that barely a third of the population of most cities has even read,. Maybe he's being arrogant, but at least he knows that even an idiot could agree he knows how to put an article together. He's spent most of his life doing it, after all.]

[Which is why, when Mettaton tells him that he's gotten some information together that he can put together into a single, neat little article, Keats can't say no to that. He'll gladly race through a town of zombies if it means getting his hands on that information, even if the person giving said information is...well, quite irritating in his own way.]

[But Keats shakes off the feeling of annoyance, moving quickly to Woodhurst Watch HQ. Luck is on his side tonight - there's hardly any infected, and most he can sneak around - and sooner or later, Keats finds his way to the Head Editor's Office. He steps inside, and closes the door behind him, quickly. He's here. Now, they can begin.]

I'm here, Mettaton. [He has half a mind to think that when he turns around, Mettaton will be doing something ridiculous, like sticking his leg out in the air while confetti rains down in the ceiling. He sighs, turning around anyways.] Let's get to work.

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Oh thank goodness.

[There's a genuine sigh of relief when Keats comes through the door, followed by the soft clank of Mettaton hopping off his spot on the desk. It's... silly. For as much as he's been keeping his usual fun and excited attitude over the network, finally having someone here in person, someone who isn't infected or screaming, is...

There's that strange feeling of deja vu again.

He doesn't have much energy for confetti or a show right now. Instead, Mettaton makes for one of the metal filing cabinets and, almost effortlessly, lifts it off the ground. He heads toward the door, toward Keats, and offers as calm a smile as possible.]

Scooch a second, darling. Let's make sure no one else decides they want to be a part of this.

Edited (it ain't that bad yet) 2017-02-15 21:30 (UTC)

[Well, at least he's not doing something ridiculous this time. Keats moves forward, before stopping in place when he sees Mettaton lifting that filing cabinet like it ain't no thing.]

...You're strong.

[He says, being putting on the Captain Obvious hat for a moment, just blinking in genuine surprise as he moves aside for Mettaton. Well, now.]

Uh, you're sure that will keep them out?

[Haha. Yeah, he's amazing.

Mettaton drops the cabinet down against the door with a deafening clatter. Thankfully, he already had the good sense to close the blinds once Keats agreed to come. As far as the infected know, he's just making a racket by himself.

...hopefully they don't decide to break any windows to investigate.]

Darling. It's 400 pounds. [He raps his hand against the side of the cabinet. Clunk clunk.] Unless a degenerative brain virus gives them the strength of a 7' tall robot, I'm fairly certain they're not getting through this door. [THAT taken care of, he's just. Going to dust his hands off and head back toward the desk, then.]

SO. I've already written down everything our team-members have been so polite to give us. [He plucks a large sheet covered in flowery handwriting from the desk and hands it toward the human.] Now. I don't want to be THAT person who says that it's aliens, but.

It's aliens.

Four hundred...goodness. [He clutches his head, unsure how to even grasp that fact. The robot could probably break his spine in half like it was a twig. He shudders.] Really don't want to get on your bad side, then...

[He clears his throat, moving to take the offered sheet to look over, but he only gets a glance in before Mettaton says...that.]

Excuse me? [A pause.] You have to be joking. Please tell me you're joking.

[Hell yes he doesn't. Mettaton preens a bit at the compliment (what else could that be) before focusing.

This is serious. Don't get distracted.]

Sweetheart, you'd be laughing if I was joking.

Look at this. [Mettaton nudges himself to Keats' side, pointing at the notes he'd taken over his shoulder.]

Multiple townspeople with no relation all went to the hospital to be treated for illnesses that had nothing to do with each other, only to later be arrested for violent outbursts. MEANWHILE, multiple items have been found in the sewers, including (but not limited to) a vanity with photos of human men clipped out of magazines, a man's wig, and two books: one entitled "How to Be a Doctor" and a child's anatomy book. The mayor has been in talks that one of the doctors from the hospital has been missing and refuses to answer any questions about them and, the MOST damning, a librarian was found making a map connecting the sewers and the hospital together.

Obviously the source of the virus IS the hospital and everything that was scattered in the sewers points to someone infiltrating said hospital to spread it. And tell me: if this was an adult human (who it would HAVE to be in order to successfully pretend to be a doctor who is NOT Neil Patrick Harris) doing all of this, why would they need a children's anatomy book to helpfully remind them what color blood is?

[...oh, he doesn't have a mic to drop. What can...? Oh! This cute little award on the corner of the desk. "Employee of the Month"? Wonderful.

Mettaton picks it up and drops it.]

Boom.

Edited 2017-02-17 03:34 (UTC)

[He has the urge to just sit down and just wonder why life is the way it is. Sure, yes, there's a logic to it, and it's not like aliens don't exist (just based on their previous missions) but Keats' skepticism is his superpower, and he's more than glad to whip it out here.]

Okay, look, look, you're jumping to conclusions here. [He sighs.] First off, yes, the multiple townspeople could have gotten the zombie illness at the hospital. What doesn't line up with your explanation is that just because a person stole a child's anatomy book, it means that they're an alien. You know, I guarantee most people don't know half of the organs inside our bodies, and I'm talking about regular human beings here. I mean, ask any random person what a spleen does, and I'm sure most people can't tell you. It's much more likely that it was a civilian that was just brushing up on knowledge of anatomy just to make sure they wouldn't blow their cover as a doctor.

[He huffs, glancing down at the dropped employee award before he turns his attention to Mettaton's notes.]

...Anyways, the photos of men and the wig actually make me suspect that this Alyssa Bristol and Adam Bristol are the same person, or, at the very least, Alyssa is pretending to be Adam in his absence. This isn't an alien who is trying to appear human - it's probably a woman pretending to be a man. See, the cologne and deodorant point to that, too.

[He adjusts his glasses.]

Anyways, I would suspect that Alyssa or Adam created this virus, somehow, and were living in the sewers - they went to the hospital and used it as a means to spread their creation by using it on random patients. That's probably the backstory I would go with, so far. There's definitely a conspiracy here, that I can safely say.

... [Mettaton listens to Keats' counter-argument silently (surprising, he knows), only making a move to cross his arms the longer the other man goes on.

When he finishes, Mettaton's legitimately pouting.] That's nowhere near as exciting a theory. Where's all the DRAMA? Humans impersonating other humans will barely net you a screenwriting NOMINATION in this day and age, none the less an award. No, [he shakes his head, leaning back in to pour over the paperwork,] it's not that simple...

[Hm.

He pulls back up the previous messages from the comlink. What was it that Fiona said...?]

Here. [The messages project out of his necklace.] Our mystery person wrote notes in the book, including such classics as "When blood is full of oxygen, it's red." And one of our teammates investigated Alyssa's abandoned house, saying, "a look through her ID papers didn't turn up any relation to Adam."

1) If this WAS Alyssa, shouldn't she know the most basic of facts about humans? Anyone who has ever bled knows what color blood is and, [he eyes Keats up and down, frowning] honestly. Humans bleed VERY easily.

2) If she WERE disguising herself as Adam, shouldn't she have evidence in her house connecting the two of them? Any of his paperwork? His IDs? Even his phone-number jotted down in a book? If she were disguising himself AS him, why the photos of completely random men on the vanity?

[Huff. He leans himself against the desk before pushing himself on top of it. His legs swish back and forth against the tile floor.]

Those weren't photos of Adam because whoever was in there wasn't pretending to BE Adam. They weren't even trying to look like him. They were just trying to look like A man. A random human man.

Look, sometimes theories aren't always as exciting as you want them to be. Truth is sometimes bland and boring. Those are the facts.

[He's about to just continue on with trying to piece together the puzzle pieces from his end, when Metatton displays the messages and...well, now. That changes a few things. Rather ruins his theory too, as far as Mettaton is explaining. Great. Back at square one.]

...Okay, that is odd. But let me play devil's advocate, here. [He taps the paperwork with a finger.] You bring up some good points here, but okay, let's say this is an...alien, as you say. Here's my question for you...actually several - if this being was trying to impersonate a human being, then the fact that they have multiple photos of men becomes even stranger. Why not just choose one and stick with it? If they were aiming on blending in, then why are they incredibly sloppy with what they left behind? This doesn't seem like a highly professional worker who knows what they're doing, this seems like the work of an amateur. If they had planned this all from the start, they would've done their research on how humans work, not try to steal books and learn on their feet.

[He's getting a little tired of standing - he moves to sit next to Mettaton on the desk. This whole business is confusing, really. But it's exciting, too - he hasn't had a juicy scoop like this in a while.]

Also, I don't think we should throw away the fact about Alyssa. The fact that she shared Adam's last name, had interest in viral infections, and then disappeared is quite odd. She's definitely connected to this whole business. How, though, that's the question.

[He scratches his chin as he thinks.] ...Also, here's a question: why did the librarian make a map from the hospital to the sewers? How many people were in on this, and why? Who is benefiting from a zombie invasion, exactly?

[Oh, Keats. Of course it has to be that exciting.

Mettaton shakes his head again and holds up a finger.]

Okay, 1) Inspiration. I had photos of random humans in my room all the time. [They're all so... angular and curvaceous at the same time! They have such beautiful limbs... He taps his fingers against the knee-like hinge of his leg.]

[Another finger.] 2) ...maybe they DIDN'T plan this from the start. "Technologically advanced" and "planning" don't necessarily go together. I mean. [He scrolls up toward the argument between Asher and their possibly only hope for answers.] Look at Dr. Urahara.

Buuuuut... [Point taken. At least about the librarian. That's a strange detail, isn't it...?] Huh.

...Huh. [Not really coming up with anything here. Shrug?] Maybe they weren't expecting a zombie invasion?

Edited 2017-02-17 05:09 (UTC)

If you were an alien invader aiming to spread a dangerous virus, would you take the time to cut out pictures of human beings just for inspiration?

[More stroking of his chin.] And that's true, Dr. Urahara is...well. [...Yeah.]

Look, let's try to come up with reasons why this invasion needed to happen, by which I mean, how does it benefit anyone. [He pulls out a journal from his coat pocket, which looks like it's covered with....skin? Look, it was a gift from ALASTAIR, don't ask. He pulls out a pretty snazzy metallic pen with a skull on the end (also from ALASTAIR). He starts making notes in neat, quick handwriting.] First of all, this could be Zymandis' work. Though them making a move so quickly after their business with the Taraxa is a bit suspect. Second, this could just be your typical mad scientist experiment thing, if you are looking for exciting stories.

[He smirks at this point, even gently jabbing an elbow into Mettaton's side as if to say "eh? EH?".]

I mean, you do bring up another idea...what if the virus was supposed to make people do something else besides turn into zombies? And it just went wrong, somehow...

[Pft.] Hey, maybe they thought cars were the dominant lifeforms. Who knows, [he interjects, tittering, before Keats moves on.

...and promptly rolls his eyes at the "mad scientist" suggestion. When it comes to a "HOT NEW SCOOP", aliens outsell mad scientists every time.

Oooooh... ALIEN mad scientists, though...]

If... If the way the virus turned out WASN'T their original intention, we might have our motivation. This a virus that attacks the brain, isn't it? Maybe it was supposed to make people compliant instead of... [He pauses, listening to the noises in the outside hallway. Barbara is somewhere out there, audibly moaning and shuffling about.] This.

Edited (what was my typing) 2017-02-17 06:15 (UTC)

Goodness, wouldn't that be an idea? An alien race disguising themselves as cars...

[LOOKS VERY CLOSELY AT HASBRO. VERY CLOSELY.]

You think it might've been mind control? [Huh. Not half a bad idea. Keats jots that down in his notebook.] Why would they control this entire city, though? What's so special about it?

[Keats taps his pen against his chin.] For convenience, maybe? If they already lived here...

[Right? Wouldn't that be totally ridiculous?

Anyway. Convenience.]

That and... [He sighs, poking at the awful coat he'd picked out for Keats days ago.] Well, let's be honest: this isn't the most GLAMOROUS of towns. And if I know my low-budget science fiction movies, small towns are ALWAYS the trial runs.

Edited (i'm so sorry i was distracted by drag race) 2017-02-19 01:58 (UTC)

[He looks down as Mettaton pokes his awful tweed coat, but doesn't comment on it. Yeah, well...he has a point.]

Like I said, real life isn't like the movies. [He sighs - it's easy to throw logic at this enough times to see if it'll stick but at this point, they have clues that are too vague to be comfortable. Maybe it isn't useful to try to take a reasonable approach.] Somebody messed up somewhere, that's about the only thing I'm sure of, here.

...really.

[THAT'S the only take-away?

Mettaton's legs are his pride. They are his joy. They are also absurdly long. He stretches them out onto the tile, positioning one foot on one side of the dropped award and sliding it to his other foot. Now sandwiched between his perfect heels, the robot lifts his legs and rests them onto Keats' lap.

"Employee of the Month", the award shines.]

This is for you.

...

[He looks to Mettaton, then the award, then back to Mettaton. Then to the legs. Then back to Mettaton.]

[Where does he even begin to process this?]

Uh. [THOSE SURE ARE LEGS ON HIS LAP.] Thanks? I mean, uh...you're not making fun of me, are you?

I am.

...

[He just takes the employee award between Mettaton's legs, frowning.]

I have half a mind to just clobber you over the head with this, you know.

Oh, I know. [Award gone, Mettaton withdraws his legs to hang them back off the side of the desk, then leans himself back until he's half laying on the desk's surface, hands folded onto his stomach. He swings his legs again.] Thankfully, the other half of you understands it'd be a crime against nature to ruin a face this good.

[Smirk.]

...So. [Now what?]

Your face might be good, but honestly, the other half was just thinking it would be a nice waste of a perfectly good award.

[WOW, KEATS]

Well, now, we've got the start to this whole mystery. As a good journalist would do, we need to cover up the holes in the story. See if anyone has found anything else so far. Possibly track down that librarian who made the map, see what they know. It will be hard to do during this whole mess, but...it's doable, really.

You think my face is good? [Ha!! Oh you! That earns a knee-nudge. A nudge to Keats' knee with his own... kind of knee.] It's so nice for us to finally agree on something.

[Ah well. Back to the matter at hand, is it?

...ugh. Mettaton somehow seems to slink down further.] Do you REALLY want to be out there right now? It's so... dreary. Not to mention dangerous for someone like you! Let's... [Sigh.] Just explore our options for a bit. Inside.

We were having such a nice moment...

I said it might be. Don't be so quick to assume.

[He's smiling, though.]

I'd be fine with it. I've been through much worse, trust me. And like I said before, it isn't dangerous because of my...

[A pause. He suddenly turns his head away, awkward.]

Uh. You know.

[His...?

Oh. Oh! That's RIGHT! It completely slipped his mind!!

Mettaton rolls himself onto his stomach, then pushes himself off the desk entirely. He smiles, excited at the reminder.

He reaches for Keats' hands.] Your Magic? Honestly, sugarplum, what is there to be ashamed of? Any other human would DIE to have the power you do!! [Ah... Maybe...

This is a wholly inappropriate smirk he's giving the other, but that's never stopped him before.] I'll show you mine if you show me yours...

[Keats' cheeks turn beet red - it's still a topic he's touchy about, even though the fact that he's even admitting he has it is a huge step from what he did before, which was denying it even existed.]

Your magic? [He looks incredulous, but intrigued - can't help that sense of curiosity he has.] Ugh, look, I can't even show half of what I do because it would destroy the building if I did.

[A pause. He realizes Mettaton is still grasping his hands, and he pulls them away.]

I could do the smaller things, though...

[That destructive? How impressed and excited he is is clear on his face, especially in the way his grin goes to an ear to ear smile. Warlocks and wizards had LONG since disappeared from his world when Mettaton was born; most humans barely have enough Magic in them to do... anything, really. For Keats to say that he not only HAS it, but that it's THAT powerful...?

How can he not see how special that is?

Hands having been rebuffed, Mettaton takes a step back and claps them together with a sharp spark of electricity. A gray banner projects behind him, hanging in the air on nothing. "The Amazing Keats", it reads. Gray glitter falls from the sky, as do those cute little box summons. They land all along the table, waving their arms in mute cheer and blowing little kisses.]

No need for performance anxiety, now. We're all waiting.

Edited 2017-02-19 05:31 (UTC)

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