Beauty & the Bug.(Maxine)

He enjoyed the atmosphere, here. It had that genuine feeling. It wasn't like a snapplebees or a TGINM(thank god it's not monday.). This was one of those places that belonged here. He considered how it would be ironic to burn this place down as well... Irony did seem to be the theme of the day... Then again, arson was a little played out already. Maybe he would eat all of the plates instead; it wouldn't be at all ironic, but he was in the mood for plates.

Did they have plates on the menu?

"Gregory Samson? I'm Maxine Ralls. What a pleasure it is to meet you—I'm so glad this slot opened up. And might I just say, what a wonderful hat."

He was interrupted by a familiar voice, and his antennae perked open momentarily. Ah! Right on time! He'd hoped she'd be late, so that he could dislike her enough not to feel guilty about having her flogged. Oh well, he never truly felt guilty about anything anyway; there was no sense in sparing her for fear of starting.

"Why thank you! And might I say that's quite a lovely...." He looked her up and down for a moment, and then back to his menu. "Right, we should order. I hear the hideous shoes here are- oh, did I say hideous shoes? I meant blackened chicken. Please, have a seat, kick your hideous shoes off!" Great, something to hate her for! Her shoes would have been better as hats... Much better, actually. "... Are you selling those hats? Oh, dear, I've gone off on a tangent. Pleasure to meet you! As you know, I am Gregory Samson, and I have many, many things to speak with you about. I'm sure you have questions as well, so let's make a deal. We take turns over a delicious meal. Mayhaps you might even try the veal? Though I've been informed against the eel."

Yes. He rhymed. Was it on purpose? Possibly, though he didn't seem pleased with himself as those who often set up couplets in mid conversation. You know those people? The ones who were always like, "Heh, that rhymed." Like they did it on accident. They know who they are.

Why, wasn't this a familiar sensation? Acts of fake courteousness, speaking through a professional veneer... He'd had to tip toe around a similar conversation with Syn not too long ago... He wondered if Mrs. Ralls would be more of a challenge to manipulate. Did I say manipulate? I have no idea what you are talking about. Shut up. Still ,he had to wonder if there was a factory out there that expressly produced red heads that were hard to talk to.

“Why, Mr. Sampson, with an offer like that, what could a girl do but accept? Until I finish eating, you have my complete attention.” Oh, how nice, she'd put a time window in place! It was an open display that her patience was thin; that was no matter to him, though. He had to talk to her, and she would hear what he had to say... She would then most likely dismiss all of it.

That worked for him, too... He'd already planned to make everything he said today that she might see as 'wrong' exceedingly right to her in the near future. That was assuming everything went well, of course.

“Water and a side salad, please,”

Ah, the wait staff was here.

"Look at me... Look closely at me... What ever you think I might enjoy cramming into my hideous mouth... bring it out to me. Thank you kindly." The waiter was uncomfortable, looked around quickly, nodded, and disappeared.

"Mrs. Ralls, I know you are aware that I brought you here under false pretenses. Frankly, the fact that you haven't called me on it is a little bit insulting. That, though, is of little importance in the long run. You did your research; I know because I saw you do it. If that's a little unsettling, I'm sorry, but you see, that's my business... Seeing things." Like her apartment, but he wouldn't get into that.

"I'm a bit of an information broker, but that is only my day job... I've devoted my life to something much, much more important. It's because of that devotion that I must say... I'm very disappointed in you."

He paused for a moment.

"That's why I invited you here... To talk. You see, you are a rare thing. You are one of our kind, lifted into the lime light... There are children who look up to you. Little mutant children telling their human teacher that they want to be a reporter when they grow up. Such positions are ones of great pleasure, I'm sure, but they also come with an immeasurable responsibility. You represent our kind like few others can, and, seeing your recent behavior, I wonder if you take such a responsibility seriously... But here I am, practically ranting... I apologize."

The bread sticks and butter had arrived, oh joy! He took a break to grab one of the butter wedges and pop it into his maw.

"I mentioned I was an information broker... I have some information for you. Free, this time... It's about a certain attack that I'm sure you're quite familiar with... Would you like to hear it?"

“Well, That answers one of my questions. So there is someone in there capable of holding a conversation. To answer your question: as long as you aren't wasting my time on petty insults and the crazy act, I think I might be quite interested to hear you out.”

Cute. She seemed to have an air of superiority about here; She thought she was something great. That was good; it allowed him to appeal to her sense of pride. Such a silly concept, pride. He decided right then and there that plan B was going to happen. He was almost certain the second the oppression of mutants actually affected her she would sing a very different tune.

“My turn. Why were you rude to our waiter?”

He eyed the bread stick snatched from his clutches for a moment, and then her, dropping his hand to the table.

"I could tell you it's so that when she goes home she has a real story to tell. Think about it. 'I saw a giant bug at work today, served his table and everything. He was really nice.'... What a boring story. Instead, I act how she might expect me to act, and she has a good story for her friends. OR I could tell you the truth. Waiters tend to mess with my food when I approach them in such a way; it makes it all more exciting."

A chest hand wandered to his napkin, and started ripping it up slowly and methodically. "I do hope you don't waste my very limited time with silly questions like that. Since we are taking turns I would ask you, in response: Why are you a reporter?" He wondered if she would answer sincerely, if at all. He wondered if she even knew. He also wondered why he was tearing up a napkin, Oh well.

“Our definition of ‘silly’ may vary, Mr. Samson. I’m a reporter because I’m an ambitious attention whore with a passable face.”

"Yes, I think our definitions do not fall in the same circles. For example... I think it's dreadfully silly that your explanation as to why you've taken up your career is because... If I may parrot, you're an ambitious attention whore with a passable face. While these may be true, a person doesn't pursue a degree in something when they care so little about it. In that case, I think you've lied to me. I take no offense. Who knows, maybe you've forgotten why you wanted to be a journalist in the first place; spending so long as wolf news' pet mutant might do that to you. A journalist's job is to tell the truth. If you don't consider that your job, then you are simply a joke."

“Who runs the Order? Off the record, of course. I may pick on your more visible members, But I’m not on that market for a full exposé.”

"No one. The Order is currently in a transitional phase; Lots of reflection has been done, much realization of mistakes and horrendous approaches. It goes without saying that everyone makes mistakes. I can say that I am confident speaking for much of the entity you know of as the Order. My goal is to help mutant kind. That's why I'm here. I hope to convince you to become more of a voice for our people... You see... We are hurting. You aren't, perhaps, but the average mutant takes lower pay, is less likely to graduate high school, lives in a lower income neighborhood, is five times more likely to be a victim of hate crimes, and is ten times more likely to suffer from depression among other things. I come to you with this because I know something more... Something that I wished you would have asked about by now."

A plate of old cabbage was dropped in front of him, he kept talking. "The attack on Gina Schuyler was no accident. She was targeted because she was a mutant; beaten because she was a mutant... What proof do I have? None. I don't need proof. I know because incidents like that happen daily. They don't often happen on tape, and they aren't always so close to home, but they are common place, and almost always, the officers involved are let off the hook. This woman's case only got famous because she could be considered by many as pretty. In your most recent address you listed the names of many officers killed by mutants in the past, but you failed to mention how many mutants have been killed by police officers... This is a war, Ms. Ralls, and I want you to be on our side; your people's side. Perhaps instead of worrying how the wait staff around you is treated, you should worry about your job, and actually having enough respect for yourself to do it right."

He reached out and grabbed a bread stick.

"Just a suggestion."

He started eating. It was frightening.