Post by trish on Sept 3, 2006 4:59:07 GMT -5
When the hangover had worn off, Lars had called the number on his sleeve, not remembering who it belonged to. Through a series of unwieldy adventures, he now found himself precisely...
...here...
...wherever HERE was exactly.
A small TV studio somewhere in Mississippi where he had arranged to meet this Trish Tilby person. That bit he could work out. Quite why he was here, he didn't know.
He'd made an effort with his appearance. He'd swung by the motel and changed the shirt for one that didn't reek of beer and have writing all over it, and he wore a charcoal grey, well-cut suit over the top of that. He'd even put on a cobalt blue tie that set his eyes off perfectly. There was nothing particularly unusual about Lars in a suit: he usually was.
The only hint that he was any the worse for wear was a slight smattering of barely visible blond stubble and slightly red eyes.
Pacing, Trish looked over to see Eugene setting up calmly. They'd joked about her cameraman infidelity when they'd met at the airport, and while he'd joked about making her look bad, she knew that it would never happen. He valued his job as much as she did, and the pair of them had a fantastic working relationship.
She checked her makeup in her hand mirror, glad that Paul had set them up in an airconditioned studio, even if it was small - this southern heat was terrible. As Lars was led into the room by one of the bored secretaries - they were all bored, had refused to go beyond small talk with Trish - she stopped her pacing. Instead she wandered over to the doorway to greet him, holding out a hand to shake.
"Patricia Tilby, lovely to meet you." She was glad to see that he was the kind of face that would look on television. Although his charcoal grey suit almost matched hers - an observation that made her smile.
He took her hand and shook it, only briefly meeting her gaze with his own before sliding a pair of tinted glasses out of his top pocket and putting them on. "Excuse the indoors sunglasses thing," he said, in his easy way. "I have an eye condition that hurts my retinas in too much light."
Plus it hid his hungover eyes.
"Lars Anderssen," he said. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Tilby." He gave her one of his exceptionally charming smiles. Oh, yes, he'd look good on TV alright.
She glanced to Eugene, who nodded briefly, then smiled at Lars.
"Not a problem. I've been eager to talk to you." Her eyes flicked down to his feet, then scanned back up along the length of his body and to the top of his head. He was going to get himself a fanbase whether he wanted it or not, once this interview aired.
"Would you like to take a seat, and we can get started?" She walked over to the little set. A bit dingy, in her opinion, but then she was used to working in different conditions. It was nice enough for what it was, but the furniture was only basic, the carpet underneath certainly not plush. At least it isn't threadbare.
She sat, crossing one leg over the other in a movement that pulled her skirt tight. She didn't even notice - Trish hadn't paid much attention to men since the breakup of her marriage; the motion was simply her adopting a comfortable position.
Lars noticed.
His eyes, behind their dark glasses flashed in appreciation. He enjoyed the sight of a beautiful woman as much as the next man.
As requested, he took a seat and found himself feeling somewhat shy and anxious about this whole thing. Then he checked himself. What did he have left to lose, after all? The shyness actually came over in his posture and made him seem even more endearing - and he'd been fairly endearing to begin with.
"I've never done an interview like this before," he confided.
Smiling somewhat indulgently, Trish reassured Lars, "I've done plenty, it'll go nice and smoothly. And we have great editors, so if you have any problems we can smooth things over." Some people got very nervous their first time on camera, and that came across in all sorts of different ways. Stuttering, rambling, mumbling... On one memorable occasion she'd interview a nervous man with chronic flatulence. It wasn't half so amusing for her as it had been for the rest of the newsroom.
She thought that the best way to do this would be more of an informal talk. Lars was no Trask, she didn't have to worry so much about whether she was according him the respect he was due, and... well, he'd been interesting enough to talk to on the phone. Albeit very drunk. Trish hoped that he'd stayed away from the alcohol that morning.
Glancing at Eugene, she saw him give a thumbs up and nodded before turning back to Lars with a smile.
"I hear you're a real live hero around here. Can you tell me about what happened?"
"Um, well, I'm not really a hero as such," he said, brushing back a lock of blond hair that fell into his face and giving her a sheepish grin. "Some guy stole this woman's handbag...I just stopped him, that's all. Nothing nobody else would have done."
Way to go Lars, big yourself up, why don't you?
He coughed, nervously and picked up the glass of water. "I guess the 'hero' bit's come out of the fact that - y'know. Um. I'm a..." At this point, he took a sip of his water exactly as he said the word 'mutant'.
"But nobody else did," she pointed out. She'd seen the footage, seen what had happened, and Lars had been the only one who had stepped up. Not much petty crime in small towns, she supposed, so it was no wonder everyone had been too shocked to act.
Trish looked at Lars curiously. Not all mutants were particularly happy with their powers, but he'd used them in public and then agreed to be interviewed for national television about what he'd done - it was an odd juxtaposition.
"Not every mutant is a hero, Lars." She smiled. Just the other day a mutant had tried to kill a senator. Of course, another hero had come out of that - one that she and Eugene were going back to Washington to concentrate on after this. She was starting to miss her own bed. "You did a good thing." Trish paused for a moment, unsure whether he'd answer her next question.
"Can you tell me about your powers?" Worth a shot, anyway.
He flushed bright pink and stared into the glass of water. "I took the Cure," he said. "About a year ago. But it's worn off." He looked up at her and ran a hand nervously through his hair which fell in neat waves again. "I'm still really learning about my - ah - powers."
Lars swallowed. He really was incredibly nervous and that in itself was starting to have an effect on the ambient environment.
"I could give you a demonstration if you like," he said, hesitantly. "I can manipulate oxygen levels."
Well that was interesting. Trish had heard about papers casting doubt of the long-lasting effects of the cure, but to actually hear Lars tell that his had worn off... Well, this story had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.
When he described his powers, offered to demonstrate them, Trish shook her head. "That won't be necessary. Perhaps once we're done." She didn't want to end up gasping - or giggling - in front of the camera, although it certainly sounded like an interesting power. Potentially very dangerous, too. Especially if he was still learning control, though he hadn't explicitly stated as much.
"Is that how you stopped the thief?" It was easy to see sometimes why politicians called for mutant registration. An ability like this ... well, who was to say what was 'reasonable force' when they were capable of so much more than a normal person?
"I...I'm not sure."
Lars was starting to get uncomfortable. He couldn't answer a question he didn't know the answer to. "Look, I'm sorry, I know that's not a very good answer, but it's the truth. The guy was haring off down the street, I just sort of...focused on him and next thing I knew, he'd passed out. I haven't heard but I presume he's OK now."
He toyed anxiously with his glass of water.
"I didn't want to hurt him or anything, just wanted to stop him."
Fiddle, fiddle.
"I wouldn't want anybody to think that I wanted to hurt them, I'm not like that. I'm an architect, for God's sake."
Fiddle, fiddle.
"Is that what this is about?"
"Not at all, Lars. I actually made a point of checking with the police department - Mr Greene is just fine, and has been taken into custody. Apparently he was wanted for several more serious crimes."
She smoothed her skirt, a poor replacement for her pen-tapping habit. But she had no notepad when she was on screen - a good thing, since the habit could make people even more nervous. Lars seemed to be getting a good dose of it anyway, though.
"If you're uncomfortable, we can stop. There's no pressure on you." She knew that this part of the interview would end up on the cutting room floor, so there was no point in pussyfooting around. "I'm not here to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets. I'm here because my station likes to cover mutant news, and there's been a lot of mutant news lately. You're a hero - and you'll look great on television." Smiling, Trish left the decision up to him. Sure, she was a reported, but she wasn't like the paparazzi, and she certainly wasn't interested in what she considered fluff - marital status and the like. It was all the same to her, she was just here to find out about his experience as a mutant, and she was quite curious about the cure. Those questions wouldn't get asked unless he agreed to continue, though.
"No, no, it's fine, carry on. I'm just a bit nervous." He gave her one of his crooked, charming smiles. Oh yes, Lars Anderssen would definitely acquire a fanbase on the back of this interview. Good looking, shy, uncertain and yet with an underlying core of pure charm that positively oozed from him.
And he looked fine in a suit.
"I would like to have put on record that the activities of the so-called Brotherhood at NovaTeX recently are inexcusable," he said, seeing an opportunity to at least express some of his views. "There are ways and means of dealing with these situations, but blatant terrorism isn't one of them."
A smile appeared in response to his, and Trish nodded at his statement against the Brotherhood. There were few who would condone their activities, but it was particularly interesting to her to find out Lars' views, since he was obviously a supporter of the cure. At least, one would expect as much from his unashamed confession that he had taken it. Trish had heard some reports of mutants having the cure forced on them, and there were of course the terrorists who had been shot with it in the Alcatraz incident, but the great majority of the cured had taken it willingly.
"Can we talk about the cure for a moment?" She smiled reassuringly. "I think it would be great for our viewers to know a bit more about it."
"Sure," he said. "I took the cure willingly. They offered a full counselling service before I took it. But, see, I also suffer with haemophilia. I wondered if it was somehow connected to my mutation. Turns out it wasn't. I could still die from a paper cut."
Another flash of that smile.
"The cure's been wearing off gradually over the last couple of months. But in the past couple of days...whoosh!" He gestured with his hand.
With a grin, Trish nodded. A lot of mutations had physical aspects to them, so it made sense for him to suspect the connection. A shame that it hadn't actually been the case, haemophilia wasn't a particularly pleasant condition to live with.
"I'm sorry to hear about your haemophilia. Are you happy that the cure has worn off? Would you take it again?" It was a circumspect way of asking if he'd actually wanted to be rid of his mutation, or if it had been a sacrifice he was willing to make to be rid of the haemophilia.
"Ah, there's the rub."
A broad smile.
"As has been demonstrated, having these powers CAN be used for the common good. It feels nice, knowing that you've helped someone, even if only in a small kind of way. Of course, I'll be looking for help to learn how to use these abilities properly, but no, Trish. No, I don't think I WOULD take the Cure again. After all, I am what I'm meant to be."
"So it took an experience like this for you to accept your mutation as a part of you?" Trish smiled. "If only everyone could go through the same." It wasn't always easy to accept who you were, whether that had to do with your mutancy, race, religion, sexuality... The cure was an appealing option, as Trish saw it, but she was glad to see that it could be reversed with time. Although that did bring up interesting implications for the search for Magneto.
"Where do you see yourself going from here?" Mutant persecution did exist, and the public revelation of his abilities - and his identity - could go either way from the attractive architect.
"Where do I see myself going. Well, in terms of employment, I imagine that by appearing on this interview I haven't done my job prospects a lot of good. There's still a lot of employers out there who wouldn't employ me on the grounds that I'm a mutant."
There. He'd said it out loud for the first time ever. Just to be sure, he said it again, and there was almost unparallelled delight in his voice.
"I'm a mutant."
A rush of confidence nearly overwhelmed him and everyone in the nearby proximity suddenly found themselves feeling a little happier with the world in general.
"So we can see." Trish grinned, though it wasn't actually obvious at all to look at him.
"It's an unfortunate truth that mutant prejudice still exists, even with the introduction of the mutant rights bill. I'm sure you won't have any problems making your way in the world though." Another smile. He really was charming, and Trish found herself feeling incredibly happy to be down there interviewing him. "It has been a distinct pleasure speaking with you."
"Pleasure's all mine, I'm sure," he replied, and then looked faintly disappointed. "Is that it?"
The general mood dipped, then rose again.
Frowning, Trish shook her head. "No. I mean..." She looked faintly confused for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with happiness. "I'm sorry, I'm just having a little trouble concentrating." The reporter blinked as if to clear her head. "Why don't you tell me some more about yourself? Where are you from, what brought you here?" It was obvious he wasn't a Caldecott native.
He was glad he was invited to continue. He was just getting into his stride. He gave her the whole story of his upbringing, how the family had moved to Boston from Sweden, the discovery of his mutation when the plane's cabin pressure had dropped and he'd brought it back up again.
Lars was totally natural and had never clicked that he'd saved so many lives on the plane that day. He'd been too panicked by the realisation that he'd had this peculiar power.
He told the stories of learning to handle it and left the camera crew laughing at the tales of incredible happiness followed by passing out. They hung on his every word, and the more he talked, the happier he - and subsequently everyone else - became.
Feeling warm and pleased and very well disposed to Lars, Trish nodded along with his stories, laughing and gasping and even clapping in reponse. She was faintly aware of something not quite right, something about the interview that was getting away from her, but she was far too happy to care.
There is a guy with charisma. A guy who could easily work a crowd. Move over Oprah!
There were all sorts of possibilities for Lars' future, and Trish found it hard to imagine anyone denying him a job just because he was a mutant. He was charismatic, sweet, and obviously smart. Not to mention a hero.
"Are you planning on staying in Caldecott? Or would you consider coming back to big city life to do your hero work there?"
"For now," he said, "I think I'm going to stay here. There's a group of kids that I'm sort of helping out. May as well keep myself useful."
Over his shoulder, Eugene was tapping his watch, indicating that Trish should wrap the interview. Lars didn't care any more, he was feeling content and even, rather daringly, proud of himself.
Nodding to the cameraman, Trish took a few deep breaths. She was still feeling gloriously happy, but that wasn't a good enough reason to run so long that the editors would hate her.
Humanitarian, too. Dear lord, is there nothing about this guy that isn't good?
"Well, you keep me updated on that, we might have to come check in on you again sometime." She leant over with her hand extended.
"Unfortunately, we're out of time for the moment, but it's been lovely chatting to you. Thank you very much for seeing me."
He shook her hand easily and then, on a whim, took off his glasses and looked her square in the eye, willing her oxygen levels up enough so that she smiled that rather attractive smile again.
"Pleasure's been mine," he said, with a grin. "Thank YOU."
...here...
...wherever HERE was exactly.
A small TV studio somewhere in Mississippi where he had arranged to meet this Trish Tilby person. That bit he could work out. Quite why he was here, he didn't know.
He'd made an effort with his appearance. He'd swung by the motel and changed the shirt for one that didn't reek of beer and have writing all over it, and he wore a charcoal grey, well-cut suit over the top of that. He'd even put on a cobalt blue tie that set his eyes off perfectly. There was nothing particularly unusual about Lars in a suit: he usually was.
The only hint that he was any the worse for wear was a slight smattering of barely visible blond stubble and slightly red eyes.
Pacing, Trish looked over to see Eugene setting up calmly. They'd joked about her cameraman infidelity when they'd met at the airport, and while he'd joked about making her look bad, she knew that it would never happen. He valued his job as much as she did, and the pair of them had a fantastic working relationship.
She checked her makeup in her hand mirror, glad that Paul had set them up in an airconditioned studio, even if it was small - this southern heat was terrible. As Lars was led into the room by one of the bored secretaries - they were all bored, had refused to go beyond small talk with Trish - she stopped her pacing. Instead she wandered over to the doorway to greet him, holding out a hand to shake.
"Patricia Tilby, lovely to meet you." She was glad to see that he was the kind of face that would look on television. Although his charcoal grey suit almost matched hers - an observation that made her smile.
He took her hand and shook it, only briefly meeting her gaze with his own before sliding a pair of tinted glasses out of his top pocket and putting them on. "Excuse the indoors sunglasses thing," he said, in his easy way. "I have an eye condition that hurts my retinas in too much light."
Plus it hid his hungover eyes.
"Lars Anderssen," he said. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Tilby." He gave her one of his exceptionally charming smiles. Oh, yes, he'd look good on TV alright.
She glanced to Eugene, who nodded briefly, then smiled at Lars.
"Not a problem. I've been eager to talk to you." Her eyes flicked down to his feet, then scanned back up along the length of his body and to the top of his head. He was going to get himself a fanbase whether he wanted it or not, once this interview aired.
"Would you like to take a seat, and we can get started?" She walked over to the little set. A bit dingy, in her opinion, but then she was used to working in different conditions. It was nice enough for what it was, but the furniture was only basic, the carpet underneath certainly not plush. At least it isn't threadbare.
She sat, crossing one leg over the other in a movement that pulled her skirt tight. She didn't even notice - Trish hadn't paid much attention to men since the breakup of her marriage; the motion was simply her adopting a comfortable position.
Lars noticed.
His eyes, behind their dark glasses flashed in appreciation. He enjoyed the sight of a beautiful woman as much as the next man.
As requested, he took a seat and found himself feeling somewhat shy and anxious about this whole thing. Then he checked himself. What did he have left to lose, after all? The shyness actually came over in his posture and made him seem even more endearing - and he'd been fairly endearing to begin with.
"I've never done an interview like this before," he confided.
Smiling somewhat indulgently, Trish reassured Lars, "I've done plenty, it'll go nice and smoothly. And we have great editors, so if you have any problems we can smooth things over." Some people got very nervous their first time on camera, and that came across in all sorts of different ways. Stuttering, rambling, mumbling... On one memorable occasion she'd interview a nervous man with chronic flatulence. It wasn't half so amusing for her as it had been for the rest of the newsroom.
She thought that the best way to do this would be more of an informal talk. Lars was no Trask, she didn't have to worry so much about whether she was according him the respect he was due, and... well, he'd been interesting enough to talk to on the phone. Albeit very drunk. Trish hoped that he'd stayed away from the alcohol that morning.
Glancing at Eugene, she saw him give a thumbs up and nodded before turning back to Lars with a smile.
"I hear you're a real live hero around here. Can you tell me about what happened?"
"Um, well, I'm not really a hero as such," he said, brushing back a lock of blond hair that fell into his face and giving her a sheepish grin. "Some guy stole this woman's handbag...I just stopped him, that's all. Nothing nobody else would have done."
Way to go Lars, big yourself up, why don't you?
He coughed, nervously and picked up the glass of water. "I guess the 'hero' bit's come out of the fact that - y'know. Um. I'm a..." At this point, he took a sip of his water exactly as he said the word 'mutant'.
"But nobody else did," she pointed out. She'd seen the footage, seen what had happened, and Lars had been the only one who had stepped up. Not much petty crime in small towns, she supposed, so it was no wonder everyone had been too shocked to act.
Trish looked at Lars curiously. Not all mutants were particularly happy with their powers, but he'd used them in public and then agreed to be interviewed for national television about what he'd done - it was an odd juxtaposition.
"Not every mutant is a hero, Lars." She smiled. Just the other day a mutant had tried to kill a senator. Of course, another hero had come out of that - one that she and Eugene were going back to Washington to concentrate on after this. She was starting to miss her own bed. "You did a good thing." Trish paused for a moment, unsure whether he'd answer her next question.
"Can you tell me about your powers?" Worth a shot, anyway.
He flushed bright pink and stared into the glass of water. "I took the Cure," he said. "About a year ago. But it's worn off." He looked up at her and ran a hand nervously through his hair which fell in neat waves again. "I'm still really learning about my - ah - powers."
Lars swallowed. He really was incredibly nervous and that in itself was starting to have an effect on the ambient environment.
"I could give you a demonstration if you like," he said, hesitantly. "I can manipulate oxygen levels."
Well that was interesting. Trish had heard about papers casting doubt of the long-lasting effects of the cure, but to actually hear Lars tell that his had worn off... Well, this story had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.
When he described his powers, offered to demonstrate them, Trish shook her head. "That won't be necessary. Perhaps once we're done." She didn't want to end up gasping - or giggling - in front of the camera, although it certainly sounded like an interesting power. Potentially very dangerous, too. Especially if he was still learning control, though he hadn't explicitly stated as much.
"Is that how you stopped the thief?" It was easy to see sometimes why politicians called for mutant registration. An ability like this ... well, who was to say what was 'reasonable force' when they were capable of so much more than a normal person?
"I...I'm not sure."
Lars was starting to get uncomfortable. He couldn't answer a question he didn't know the answer to. "Look, I'm sorry, I know that's not a very good answer, but it's the truth. The guy was haring off down the street, I just sort of...focused on him and next thing I knew, he'd passed out. I haven't heard but I presume he's OK now."
He toyed anxiously with his glass of water.
"I didn't want to hurt him or anything, just wanted to stop him."
Fiddle, fiddle.
"I wouldn't want anybody to think that I wanted to hurt them, I'm not like that. I'm an architect, for God's sake."
Fiddle, fiddle.
"Is that what this is about?"
"Not at all, Lars. I actually made a point of checking with the police department - Mr Greene is just fine, and has been taken into custody. Apparently he was wanted for several more serious crimes."
She smoothed her skirt, a poor replacement for her pen-tapping habit. But she had no notepad when she was on screen - a good thing, since the habit could make people even more nervous. Lars seemed to be getting a good dose of it anyway, though.
"If you're uncomfortable, we can stop. There's no pressure on you." She knew that this part of the interview would end up on the cutting room floor, so there was no point in pussyfooting around. "I'm not here to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets. I'm here because my station likes to cover mutant news, and there's been a lot of mutant news lately. You're a hero - and you'll look great on television." Smiling, Trish left the decision up to him. Sure, she was a reported, but she wasn't like the paparazzi, and she certainly wasn't interested in what she considered fluff - marital status and the like. It was all the same to her, she was just here to find out about his experience as a mutant, and she was quite curious about the cure. Those questions wouldn't get asked unless he agreed to continue, though.
"No, no, it's fine, carry on. I'm just a bit nervous." He gave her one of his crooked, charming smiles. Oh yes, Lars Anderssen would definitely acquire a fanbase on the back of this interview. Good looking, shy, uncertain and yet with an underlying core of pure charm that positively oozed from him.
And he looked fine in a suit.
"I would like to have put on record that the activities of the so-called Brotherhood at NovaTeX recently are inexcusable," he said, seeing an opportunity to at least express some of his views. "There are ways and means of dealing with these situations, but blatant terrorism isn't one of them."
A smile appeared in response to his, and Trish nodded at his statement against the Brotherhood. There were few who would condone their activities, but it was particularly interesting to her to find out Lars' views, since he was obviously a supporter of the cure. At least, one would expect as much from his unashamed confession that he had taken it. Trish had heard some reports of mutants having the cure forced on them, and there were of course the terrorists who had been shot with it in the Alcatraz incident, but the great majority of the cured had taken it willingly.
"Can we talk about the cure for a moment?" She smiled reassuringly. "I think it would be great for our viewers to know a bit more about it."
"Sure," he said. "I took the cure willingly. They offered a full counselling service before I took it. But, see, I also suffer with haemophilia. I wondered if it was somehow connected to my mutation. Turns out it wasn't. I could still die from a paper cut."
Another flash of that smile.
"The cure's been wearing off gradually over the last couple of months. But in the past couple of days...whoosh!" He gestured with his hand.
With a grin, Trish nodded. A lot of mutations had physical aspects to them, so it made sense for him to suspect the connection. A shame that it hadn't actually been the case, haemophilia wasn't a particularly pleasant condition to live with.
"I'm sorry to hear about your haemophilia. Are you happy that the cure has worn off? Would you take it again?" It was a circumspect way of asking if he'd actually wanted to be rid of his mutation, or if it had been a sacrifice he was willing to make to be rid of the haemophilia.
"Ah, there's the rub."
A broad smile.
"As has been demonstrated, having these powers CAN be used for the common good. It feels nice, knowing that you've helped someone, even if only in a small kind of way. Of course, I'll be looking for help to learn how to use these abilities properly, but no, Trish. No, I don't think I WOULD take the Cure again. After all, I am what I'm meant to be."
"So it took an experience like this for you to accept your mutation as a part of you?" Trish smiled. "If only everyone could go through the same." It wasn't always easy to accept who you were, whether that had to do with your mutancy, race, religion, sexuality... The cure was an appealing option, as Trish saw it, but she was glad to see that it could be reversed with time. Although that did bring up interesting implications for the search for Magneto.
"Where do you see yourself going from here?" Mutant persecution did exist, and the public revelation of his abilities - and his identity - could go either way from the attractive architect.
"Where do I see myself going. Well, in terms of employment, I imagine that by appearing on this interview I haven't done my job prospects a lot of good. There's still a lot of employers out there who wouldn't employ me on the grounds that I'm a mutant."
There. He'd said it out loud for the first time ever. Just to be sure, he said it again, and there was almost unparallelled delight in his voice.
"I'm a mutant."
A rush of confidence nearly overwhelmed him and everyone in the nearby proximity suddenly found themselves feeling a little happier with the world in general.
"So we can see." Trish grinned, though it wasn't actually obvious at all to look at him.
"It's an unfortunate truth that mutant prejudice still exists, even with the introduction of the mutant rights bill. I'm sure you won't have any problems making your way in the world though." Another smile. He really was charming, and Trish found herself feeling incredibly happy to be down there interviewing him. "It has been a distinct pleasure speaking with you."
"Pleasure's all mine, I'm sure," he replied, and then looked faintly disappointed. "Is that it?"
The general mood dipped, then rose again.
Frowning, Trish shook her head. "No. I mean..." She looked faintly confused for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with happiness. "I'm sorry, I'm just having a little trouble concentrating." The reporter blinked as if to clear her head. "Why don't you tell me some more about yourself? Where are you from, what brought you here?" It was obvious he wasn't a Caldecott native.
He was glad he was invited to continue. He was just getting into his stride. He gave her the whole story of his upbringing, how the family had moved to Boston from Sweden, the discovery of his mutation when the plane's cabin pressure had dropped and he'd brought it back up again.
Lars was totally natural and had never clicked that he'd saved so many lives on the plane that day. He'd been too panicked by the realisation that he'd had this peculiar power.
He told the stories of learning to handle it and left the camera crew laughing at the tales of incredible happiness followed by passing out. They hung on his every word, and the more he talked, the happier he - and subsequently everyone else - became.
Feeling warm and pleased and very well disposed to Lars, Trish nodded along with his stories, laughing and gasping and even clapping in reponse. She was faintly aware of something not quite right, something about the interview that was getting away from her, but she was far too happy to care.
There is a guy with charisma. A guy who could easily work a crowd. Move over Oprah!
There were all sorts of possibilities for Lars' future, and Trish found it hard to imagine anyone denying him a job just because he was a mutant. He was charismatic, sweet, and obviously smart. Not to mention a hero.
"Are you planning on staying in Caldecott? Or would you consider coming back to big city life to do your hero work there?"
"For now," he said, "I think I'm going to stay here. There's a group of kids that I'm sort of helping out. May as well keep myself useful."
Over his shoulder, Eugene was tapping his watch, indicating that Trish should wrap the interview. Lars didn't care any more, he was feeling content and even, rather daringly, proud of himself.
Nodding to the cameraman, Trish took a few deep breaths. She was still feeling gloriously happy, but that wasn't a good enough reason to run so long that the editors would hate her.
Humanitarian, too. Dear lord, is there nothing about this guy that isn't good?
"Well, you keep me updated on that, we might have to come check in on you again sometime." She leant over with her hand extended.
"Unfortunately, we're out of time for the moment, but it's been lovely chatting to you. Thank you very much for seeing me."
He shook her hand easily and then, on a whim, took off his glasses and looked her square in the eye, willing her oxygen levels up enough so that she smiled that rather attractive smile again.
"Pleasure's been mine," he said, with a grin. "Thank YOU."