interview with a I can't finish this terrible pun

[fuckrobertfrost]

Who: Erik Lensherr THE SHERIFF OF MAFATON and John Allerdyce A SAMIZDAT REPORTER
What: the most awkward interview about murders and heads
Where: Mafaton
When: pretty soon after early transmissions of this event
Notes: if this messes up plot in any way you can blame TK. I am an angel this was TK's idea etc. /flies away like a lawnmower
Warnings: possible gore! Erik saying Magneto things. Newbie journalist mistakes.

When Murrough had his breakdown and retired to Chimer, the editor in chief had called in and hastily promoted their contributing editor. Samizdat is a relatively small operation in comparison to the other newspapers, both out of necessity and choice. You have to be of a certain political mindset to work there; alternately, extremely apathetic. Drinking also helps. Which is not to say that Samizdat doesn't have work ethic, that they aren't a good paper — they are, because they work together. Each and every one of them may be dysfunctional as people (well, he can't actually tell with the graphics department, which consists of one mostly humanoid xenian who doesn't talk), but as cogs of the news machine, they get shit done. He's busted his ass as intern. That isn't really why Lysandra lets him have this interview, though. He knows because she straight up told him that. It's really just a matter of convenience, slight expendability, and also by the way she knows he can control fire so he gets to go to vampiretown, have fun, don't drink on the expense account, that's a joke you don't have access to the expense account, which is a jar of coins on Lysandra's desk.

Lysandra is a witch or something, because he never told her anything and he's never slipped up at work or at the apartment. Well, whatever.

He's not giving this chance up even if the interview is with the Sheriff of Mafaton, also known as Erik Fucking Lensherr, also known as his fucking boss or some shit, jesus fucking christ this is against all the rules of journalism.

In any case, by the time he gets to Mafaton, it's about ten til seven in the morning, which honestly means nothing to him anymore. He's dressed as usual (there was no time to change), one sleeve of his hoodie pulled down over the shark face sleeve, gripping a recorder and a notepad. Eddie could not be located and so the entire graphics department, the praying mantis-like Spring Blossom #23 is with him. Her presence is what makes John send Erik a terse message in addition to the official one Lysandra, as editor in chief, had sent: It's me doing the interview so could you pretend you don't know me. Thanks. It's not clear that Spring Blossom #23 would notice or care if Erik knew John, but he's not taking any chances.

The scene is being cleaned when they arrive, but he can, as usual, spot Erik immediately amidst the bustle, and they head in that direction with only a little wrangling from someone directed to keep people out.

Comments

[magnetic]

Erik had sent no reply to the EIC, not only because he prefers not to deal with city business until after breakfast, but because it's easier to deny having received a message if you don't acknowledge it, especially should it turn out that the sheriff in charge of Mafaton would rather avoid publicity. He doesn't know her well enough yet to predict her whims, after all, and the Candlelighters aren't exactly a subject that many are comfortable discussing. Which is why he is prepared to discuss them publicly.

Likewise, he does not respond to Pyro's text, but is pleased by the good luck.

And so this brings us to a certain very public location in Mafaton. By now the head has already been taken down from its spectacular arrangement, although it has not been removed from the scene. Soon it will endure some forensic business or other; for now, it awaits its fate inside a thick bag, which rests inside what appears to be a cooler. A travel cooler. Like for a picnic. (It was the only appropriately sized container on hand, what do you want.) This unfortunate cargo now sits in the back of a personnel wagon. Waiting.
(Erik's imposing black horse stands nearby, tied to a post by the reins, steaming slowly from the nostrils and flattening its ears at anyone who happens to get slightly close.)

Erik appears appropriately standoffish when the tiny Samizdat team arrives, complete with a failure to acknowledge them with eye contact as he continues to pencil something at length in his pocket logbook. "Were you not told to stay over there?"

[fuckrobertfrost]

"No, not really," John lies, the poker face he tends to assume in defense against authoritative personalities such as Erik's or Lysandra's firmly in place. "We're here from Samizdat and would like permission to take pictures. If you could answer some questions or give a statement, that would also be appreciated."

Spring Blossom #23, who is a lovely pink color, loiters behind John as innocently as a seven foot tall xenian with dodgeball-sized compound eyes and a partial exoskeleton can. She (and John is not entirely certain Spring Blossom #23 is a lady, but everyone in the office refers to her as such) holds an apparatus uniquely designed for her vision needs in her mandibles, ready to take a photograph. It's almost more like a gas mask.

[magnetic]

When Erik finally looks up from his notebook—and this occurs after seven long seconds of silence—it is to regard John with the wholly unmoved expression of a man who cannot be bothered to give even the slightest shit who you are or why you have come here. (He's had plenty of time to perfect this look.) The mantis-like being, on the other hand, receives a faint and polite, if not entirely sincere, smile. He then looks off to one side, apparently weighing the scene's current state in consideration of their request—the decision's already been made, of course, but this has to look candid.

"Very well." He flips the book shut, tucks it and the pencil into the inner breast pocket of his coat. "But make it quick, and don't expect anyone to pose for you."

(He removed his hat well before they arrived.)

[fuckrobertfrost]

The precise moment he finishes saying 'you', the camera clicks and flashes loudly, making John flinch. So possibly the picture has Erik with his mouth open, possibly not; Spring Blossom #23 seems to think that is sufficient and wanders off to peruse the crime scene.

For his part, John has little to no reaction to Erik's professional disdain, keeping his face schooled to the passive-aggressive attentiveness of a reporter prepared to wring blood out of stone, though in fact he is not.

("Open questions first, yes or no questions later," Lysandra told him with the casual impatience of someone oversimplifying interview procedure. "Follow up as necessary, respond to them, don't just go down the list.")

"What have you learned so far about these murders?"

[magnetic]

Erik's not entirely patient squint lasts for a fair bit longer than the momentary flurry of blinks that ultimately punctuates his sentence. That's great, camera-mantis. Thanks for that.

"Which murders do you mean, exactly? We've had just the one this morning." There's going to be a slight bugger off tone to almost everything he says from now on, probably, so get used to it, John.

[fuckrobertfrost]

"No leads on the bodies in the initial transmission?"

John keeps looking at the light on his recording device, paranoid that it will fail, as they occasionally do. As much as the Candlelighter aspect is highly relevant to his interests, it's not like they can talk about it right now. He is less nervous than he usually is with Erik, because now at least there are concrete roles to play with clear limitations and clear goals. If he thinks about it too much he'll get uncomfortable again, but he tries to stay in this mindset.

[magnetic]

"Ah, right. Those." He pauses to consider his words. "Well, it is possible that the head of this unfortunate gentleman," with a faint nod toward yon picnic cooler, "may have been brought here from a scene reported in Raven's Gate just this morning. But that is outside my jurisdiction, so I can't say for sure."

This is exactly the sort of comment that will get him in shit with the boss, but Erik is confident in his ability to talk his way out of it.

[fuckrobertfrost]

Spring Blossom #23 is pantomiming her desire to have the cooler opened for picture-taking to a deputy, which is not something John thinks the paper would actually publish. However, he's not really in a position to say anything like that to a senior, far more valuable employee. Maybe this is her version of fun. He just scribbles down a concise version of Erik's answer.

"And the identity of the victim?"

[magnetic]

No, madam, that will not be happening any time soon. Erik wouldn't care if it did, personally, but he does care about keeping his job—and although he is not technically superior to any of his fellow deputies, an exchange of glances between the two men has him shaking his head in subtle reinforcement of this unspoken expectation. She will have our asses, the glance also says. (Clearly it's a nuanced dialect.)

"Just as advertised," he says to John, now fixing him with a particular look. "So far as anyone can tell."