We Can't Be Held Responsible


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Scene Title We Can't Be Held Responsible
Synopsis The latest episode of the Advocate has sweeping consequences…
Date January 23, 2011

Manhattan — Studio K, Set of The Advocate

With the opening of that familiar theme music, the Advocate host stands in the spotlight, staring at the camera as per his usual drill at the beginning of an episode. ”Good evening folks! Welcome, as always it’s a pleasure to have all of you with us. My name is Bradley Russo, and this is The Advocate.” He manages a bright smile complete with a shiny flash of white teeth. His hands retreat into the pockets of his grey suit jacket. And, on a dare, he’s in a salmon coloured shirt and silver tie. It’s all polished together, but chances are it won’t do much for bloggers opinions on his sexual orientation despite his recent, very public engagement.

”Quite the news these last few weeks. I imagine all of you,” a single hand is removed from his pocket as he points directly at the camera, “have been keeping a keen eye on the goings-on across the country. I’d like to actually preface our discussion with a brief comment on that hostage situation that recently happened. I’m sorry to hear that it ended in a man’s death, but just wanted to send out our many kudos to those fine FRONTLINE, NYPD, and, as the case may be,” his smile becomes somewhat more mischievous, “retired NYPD officers for keeping us all safe.” He clears his throat, “I think that’s something many people lose sight of. Especially in terms of martial law and all that it entails. These are people who are in the line of fire every single day. They risk their very lives for us. They put themselves on the line. It’s something to be admired. Something to be considered.”

His smile fades slightly, while his eyes narrow, “It’s not simple. When governments, or… bodies of governance take over, their intentions are to keep the people safe. Authority in life isn’t necessarily easy to understand. It bears with it great responsibility. And, we, the people, are consistently asked to give our faith, our loyalty, and our devotion to such authority. Authority that, through some form of election, be it intensive training, actual political election, or some other adequately deemed test, we have given.”

He grins again as his hands clap together in front of him. He rubs them once, nearly greedily, “We have quite the show for you today. It’s a real treat. We’re talking about social control.” His grin extends. He’d talked about it in his monologue last week like some talk show foreshadowing. With a sharp whistle he turns his head to glance over to where the panel is sitting.

”And without further adieu, I’d have my lovely producers,” yes, Kincaid is lovely today, go with it, “introduce you to our panel for this evening.” He steps down from his monologue platform— a stage of sorts with three steps upwards to raise him from the direct ground. Several paces to the left brings him to a small sitting area where each of the panel have taken their proffered chairs.

The chairs are a little different than his usual variety. Russo has opted for a colour change so as not to clash with his salmon shirt. Instead of that usual deep blue, they’re black. No one will class today. And as new seats they’re stiff, barely used aside for the sitting pleasure of the studio staff when they chose to take a load off during set-up. Their easy chair format is somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable lacking any kind of necessary lower back support. Perhaps they don’t want the guests getting too comfortable. Behind them, a faux New York skyline sparkles through what viewers are meant to think is a window. It isn’t. It’s just more of the set.

"Thank you for that lovely comment, though the head producer is far more lovely than me," Kincaid's voice says from the producer's room. His smile carries through his voice, but only Kristen can see the wink he gives her at his own compliment, before he turns back to the microphone. "Today we have a member of FRONTLINE, Jameson Jones, Intelligence Officer for Unit Zero One. For three years before transfering to FRONTLINE, he was army reserve in San Diego, and he was one of first responders in the hostage situation at the World Center Mall."

There's a pause for a breath, then he continues, "Secondly we have Doctor Michelle Brennan, a pediatrician and registered Evolved, who works with the Brennan Medical Group, as well as a participant in Doctors Without Borders, where she spent time practicing children's medicine in various third world countries. You may also recognize her name from regular guest, Doctor Harve Brennan, who is her husband. She's the mother of their four children, and she participated in last year's H5N10 vaccinations." Is that it, two guests?

Flipping a toggle switch on the soundboard, Kristen activates the microphone for her own headset, allowing everyone to hear what she has to say for the time being. "Thank you, Kincaid and Russo," though a slight roll of her eyes can be seen every time someone tosses a lovely comment. "To round out our panel this evening we have one of our own here at Studio K, Dirk. Dirk is an executive assistant and an expert on the subject of— " There's a little bit of a static sound as Kristen covers her mic and confers with Kincaid. "Does this really say what I think it does?" With a clearing of her throat, the producer licks her lips to try to keep the smirk off her face as she reads. "Expert on the subject of Vulcan topography. Back to you Bradley~"

"It's a pleasure to have you here, Mister Jones, Doctor Brennan," Russo manages warmly enough. Just enough. His fingers clasp the arms of his chair and his eyes track over to Dirk. He shoots the other man a polite smile, "And… Dirk." What is Dirk's last name anyways? With a quiet sigh, his eyes trail back to the production booth, and he arches a single eyebrow at those within it. Particularly the woman behind the magical voice. He clears his throat loudly and returns his gaze to his guests.

"Well, it's great to have you all here. To weigh in. I think we should just warm up by discussing the ideas of freedom versus control. Generally, freedom is something that our citizens press for, but freedoms need to be moderated for the collective good…. what would our panelists say to this? All having different areas of… expertise…"

What a difference a day makes ~ JJ is not clad in his armor, nor is he in his loose jeans or his basketball shorts he wears around Textile 17, but instead in a charcoal gray suit with a sage green dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar — no tie. He looks a little nervous, fidgety while the introductions are being made, adjusting his collar cuffs before forcing his hands on the arm rests of the seat.

When he is introduced he looks out and gives a broad grin and a friendly wave, then turns to smile and watch Michelle and Dirk acknowledge their introductions. His hands return to the arm rests, curling around them as if he might be forcibly ejected if he doesn't hold on.

Jameson JJ Jones might just have a touch of stage fright.

Pressing the button to turn the mic off, Kincaid glances over at Kristen, with his still healing face, and shakes his head. "You know how much he hates Dirk— you're just trying to keep him on his toes, aren't you? Sometimes I wonder if you're a producer or a torture expert…"

Or maybe they're supposed to be both.

Viewers get to see Dr. Brennan's better half - Michelle would argue his better half - finally as a woman of average height enters when directed to, easing over towards her appointed seat. This is traditionally Brennan's job, he's the one used to the limelight and everything that comes with it, but when the request for her had come through, who were they to say no. Jaw length hair curled up and back, pinned fashionably so it stays off her face, a simpldress with cap sleeved jacket that gathers in a knot on the left side of her collar bone and one at her waist. DOes well to disguise any hint of a not yet gone baby belly that she may still have.

No cheek kisses in greeting, the frenchwoman smoothes her hands against the back of her skirt when she eases down onto the chairs with a bit of a Mona Lisa smile, crossing her legs at the ankle and tilted to the side. "A pleasure to have been invited" There's the french accent. She looks over to JJ with her smile widening. "And to be beside you, I have to say that I have often wondered what you looked like behind the helmets" Her hands mimic as if she were patting one on her own head. "Far more handsome, without it on, if I may say so. Tell me, they're air conditioned?" Trying to put JJ at ease.

"Well it was him or you, Kincaid. We didn't have enough guests for a full panel." Kristen's matter of fact tone is all business now. Her eyes quickly scan between the cameras as she leans over to murmur something to one of the directors. "Get a better angle on the Jameson, looks like the right side is his better one. Let's give the ladies at home something to drool over." Turning back to Kincaid, a wisp of a smile is offered before she points toward his face. "Didn't think you'd want to be put in front of our audience with your face in that sort of shape."

Unlike Russo's garish salmon shirt, Dirk's own attire is a little more muted and understated, though it compliments the hosts' very well. It's almost as though it was planned, or something. Flashing a crooked smile to the host, a waggle of the eyebrows to the doctor, and loose two finger salute to the soldier. The executive assistant settles himself into his chair and straightens his tie. "Thank you Mister Russo for having me on the show. Long time listener first time caller and all that… heh heh heh…"

Clearing his throat, he holds up a few fingers to the camera and glances at the production booth before interrupting the host. "Before we start? I'd really just like to clarify that I'm not an expert on vulcan topography as in the fictional planet where the aliens come from, okay? There's no gleebidy globbbedy bleep bloop over here. We're talking about the town in Alberta. That's in Canada," he glances at Russo as though the host doesn't actually know where Vulcan is. "There's some really interesting formations in the area. Plus dinosaurs are all over the place." Before anyone says anything, he cuts a glare to the host and narrows his eyes, "and no, I don't mean alive dinosaurs. They're fossils."

Realizing that he never actually answered the question the petite blonde man clears his throat and mumbles something really fast down to the lapel microphone. "Oh and yeah… freedom, rah… Someone had a dream, yadda yadda.. Sis boom bah." He cuts a glance to Michelle and his eyes sweep over her form for a solid minute before he lifts his hand again, "And instead of that question, I'd like to ask my own. Four kids? Seriously? How do you keep your shape? Because I don't even see where one of those life suckers could have leeched from a system so fine~" With another ahem to clear his throat, Dirk's eyes flit over to the production booth. He then flashes a bright smile and a double thumbs up sign before he composes himself again. Lacing his fingers together, he places both hands demurely over on knee and gives Russo his full attention.

Dirk incites something rarely seen on the practiced host's expression. Shock. And. Horror. Russo's eyes again tick up to the production booth. As if being ditched last week was enough, now this? The expression is undeniable. Seriously, Kristen? Seriously?! He lets go a breath slowly, inflating his cheeks slightly as he blows out. This is not what he had in mind for today's panel. Clearly.

His mouth opens to speak only to clamp shut, forcing a smile now. "Right. Vulcan, Alberta. Well, excellent." There's a brief pause as Russo attempts to formulate his thoughts again. What else is there to say? He clears his throat and tries to redirect away from the subject. "Dirk," there's an edge of warning in the name as he moves the discussion away from hitting on the other panelists. He clears his throat again, this time to regain his easy demeanour, which he manages with some effort. "Well, again, we're delighted to have you here. Now, in terms of control, registration has often been cited as a means of it. Even to the point where hospitals have mandated it to acquire treatment. Generally, what do all of you make of that? At every turn citizens are prompted to follow the law, but to deny medical treatment based on registration— is it ethical? Is it necessary for enmasse legal compliance?"

Green eyes widen as JJ looks at Dirk, and he leans across the woman, thinking to cover his mic with one hand, to say with a low breath, "Dude. Uncool."

As he leans back, he flashes Michelle a smile. "You look lovely, and I'm sure you're an excellent mother, Ma'am." Ma'am.

At Russo's questions, he presses his lips together thoughtfully, then leans forward. "In a perfect world," he begins, "which surely we aren't and can't ever be, but in a perfect world, no one should have to be ashamed of who and what they are. Registration is simply putting on paper an objective fact. Driver's licenses, identification cards — prior to this we've had them, required them for various things. They list things like eye color, height, weight. Why? For safety reasons. Drivers have to have things listed like the need for visual correction."

His cheeks flush a little and he clears his throat, glancing up at the production booth for a moment before back at the others. "Knowing that someone is evolved or not is necessary for safety reasons. What if a paramedic or a doctor goes to help someone with an ability, not knowing about it? They could put their own lives in danger unnecessarily to do so, or put the patient in danger, if the procedure is something that might counteract badly with the ability. Electrokinetics or something, for example? I donno, I'm not a doctor."

He heaves a sigh. "The problem is we're not a perfect world, not a perfect society, so there's problems with it. If everyone were tolerant and didn't live in a climate of fear, it wouldn't be a big deal." He looks up at the camera, then back to Russo. "I'd like to believe it's a good idea for safety reasons, but unfortunately there will always be people who abuse the system. The Registry, in this case. The problem is figuring out how to change that."

"Breastfeeding Mister Dirk" Mister Dehrk. She reaches over, touching his lower arm, flashing him a dazzling smile. "One would be amazed the benefits it provides for the mother as well as the petite enfant yes? It's the undergarments too mind you. Without them my waist right now, so soft. Like how say you… the pillsbury dough boy? You just poke me and I giggle." A flippant wave of her hand. "But a lady doesn't talk about what she wears under her clothes when we are here to talk about the topic that was brought up. My waist another day yes? Maybe my sisters number for you both to fight over because as mister Russo here inquired-" Michelle shifts to face the Host.

"Freedom is something that is hard fought for. I know that with my accent many might think that I would just throw my hands up-' Which she does. "and say I surrender" Michelle lowers her arms back down, settling her palms in her lap. "But I am a doctor and I have long believed that no matter who you are, where you are, color of skin, gender, sexual preference, air you breath or color of your eyes that you have the right to basic medical care. The hippocratic oath demands that we do no harm and to treat everyone. That I cannot stand by and let someone who is in need of medical care not receive it because they do not have the little card that tells me whether they can make it rain like I can or not. Yes, as mister Jameson here has said, you may be touching an individual with a very dangerous ability and in a time of distress where their control may not be that good. But they are still a person, they are still in need of help and I think it's atrocious that people cannot get the necessary medical attention required because they are different on a single genetic level."

Michelle shakes her head, forefinger of her right hand lifting and waggling back and forth.

It's inhumane, likely it goes against the tennents of the United Nations and if medecines sans frontiers will provide medical help to anyone overseas regardless of SLC expression or not, what does that make us? It's unethical to one of the highest degrees. I don't advocate breaking the law, I am registered, but I will not turn away a patient just because they have not. It goes against the oathes that I swore when I chose to enter into my profession"

Dirk's outbreak makes Kincaid lower his head down into his scarred hand, as if he's starting to feel a throbbing pain in his forehead. If he is feeling this pain, he imagines Russo is feeling it worse. "I get it, you added him cause we don't have Magnes." They need a wild card, and Dirk is definitely filling that position. It may be more that's tightening his jawline and making the healing split in his lip throb a bit, but Dirk is definitely the main source of frustration for him.

"Now you're learning," Kristen smirks as she eyes the screen, particularly the one just outside the studio doors. "Like I said before, we need Magnes on every show. If we don't have him, then I have to find a suitable replacement. I think Dirk is doing a great job up there, he looks pretty good, doesn't he?" She must not have been paying attention to the part where her assistant was trying to play super nice with a married woman. Either that or she's ignoring it. Placing a hand over her mic, she murmurs into it. "Artie, queue our next guest. Get her to the doors, make sure she's not shiny."

Dirk on the other hand is eating up the attention like a kitten with cream. "Oh oh! Registration, I definitely know this one…" Standing up a little, he shifts and tucks one leg underneath him, making him just as tall as JJ in his seat. "Registration is great, I mean… if we're registering for the important stuff. Who cares about evolved versus non-evolved? We should be registering things like hooter sizes. Am I right? Huh?" Turning to one of the camera men, he gives another thumbs up sign and receives one in return.

In the production booth, that camera slowly swerves to Michelle's torso rather than anyone's face. It quickly rights itself.

"Like I was saying. Who cares? I know they're saying it's because they want to prevent the next midtown man blah blah blah… They're not really doing anything except making people scared that they're selling their information to like telemarketers or something." There's a pause. "Speaking of which…" he turns to Michelle and gives her a rather winning smile, "As a doctor… I have this rash… Now, I can't exactly show you right now but… maybe later? In private?"

"You all raise some excellent points that beg further exploration," Russo leans forward in his seat as his hands clench tighter around the arms of his chair holding him in place and granting him some semblance of control with Dirk on his panel although his smile appears more like he's gritting his teeth. Where his hands grip, there seems to be a hint of movement, like the air itself is shifting around his palm, and his hands feel warm and dry. "But before we get to them, I'm told we have a surprise guest. Sarisa Kershner, director of FRONTLINE. I'm so glad you can join us today." He motions to a now empty black chair, the same as the others to invite her to sit down.

"As we were saying, there are certain risks to medical professionals if they people aren't registered, yet aren't there similar risks to the general public if people avoid much needed treatment to avoid mandatory registration? Like H5N10. Aren't there concerns about it spreading through unregistered populations? What if it mutates and spreads to the greater populace so no one has protection?" Russo clears his throat.

The entrance of Major Sarisa Kershner is a subdued one, much as her personality in public is tailored to appear. The sleek shark gray suit she wears is a neutral, earthy color designed to evoke notions of stability, strength and resiliance. It also comes off a bit cold, which seem to be a natural observation of much of Kershner's persona.

The square heels of her shoes clack against the studio floor on the way out, her posture straight and gait smooth and even. The splash of color afforded by a blue silk scarf loosely tied around her throat keeps that cool temperature motif, while giving her a femenine accent that is important for reaching the independant 18-25 women's demographic.

Settling down in the empty chair beside Dirk, Sarisa affords the wiry man an askance look with eyes that match the color of her scarf; cold, blue. One leg crosses over the other, and her hands fold across that knee as she directs her attention up to Russo.

"It's an honor to have finally found the time to be on the Advocate, Mister Russo. It's good to see that you're treating Jones kindly. I'd heard that this place is like a shark tank sometimes." There's a wry smile at that practiced joke, one corner of Sairsa's mouth lifting in measured emotional response.

"The discussion of Registration versus immunization isn't even really an area for discussion. Avoiding mandatory Registration is a violation of local and federal laws as well as a health risk for SLC-Expressive individuals, such as myself." Sarisa's gloved hands lace together at her bent knee.

"We should afford no comforts to people who violate Registration laws no more than we should afford comforts to Tax evaders, murderers or terrorists. Committing a crime requires punishment be delivered, not coddling."

Looking down the row of panelists, Sarisa's dark lashes partly shadow her eyes before she turns her attention back up through them to Russo. "As for the state of the H5N10 virus, I'm not a virologist, and I don't believe anyone on this panel save for Doctor Brennan hols a medical degree at all. Speculation as to whether the H5N10 virus could possibly mutate further than it has is tantamount to fear-mongering, and is more harmful than good. I can't speculate on something like that, and I don't think anyone else on this panel can— or should— either."

Upon Sarisa's arrival, JJ looks even more nervous, sitting up after finally having relaxed a touch, his hands once more curling around the arm rests as if he were an airplane passenger going down in a nose dive. At her words about coddling his mouth opens as if to rebut, but then closes again as he thinks the better of it.

"Morning, Ma'am," he manages when his mouth opens again, and his gray eyes flick to Russo and back to Sarisa. His cheeks color a touch when he chooses to speak again, courage mustered.

"I'm not sure, Director Kershner, that necessary medical aid and precautions against a potentially deadly illness would really count as coddling. After all, if someone doesn't get medical attention for something like H5N10, because of their registration status, they're putting the law-abiding citizens in danger, too. Registration's goal should be to protect all people, but if the government denies vaccines and medical treatment… then that government is putting all people at risk."

He clears his throat, carefully studying the camera now, rather than Kershner's face. "It's sort of like the clinics that give out clean needles to junkies, right? I mean… yeah drugs are illegal, but junkies are going to exist, and we might as well have clean junkies, so the rest of the population doesn't get infected with things like hepatitis because of their choosing to break the law."

JJ turns to Brennan. "Right?"

"Herve can look at it. I'm a pediatrician. You're not a child, just acting like one."

There's another female coming on, thank god. She won't be the only one here. Another smile flashed in greeting, she listens attentively to what Kershner has to say, shaking her head with some of the things that she says, a flicker toward Russo and they way he's presenting himself at the moment. She brushes it away, filters it to the back of her mind.

"It will mutate. To what degree we can't know. Cold viruses mutate, normal flu viruses mutate it's why you get a flu vaccine every year. It already has they say from what was presented last year and last years was supposedly a mutation of the swine flu but somehow affected only those who were SLC expressive. Will it be as bad as they say it is. Maybe, maybe not" Michelle gives a dainty shrug.

" but why not take the necessary precautions and get yourself vaccinated? Not just for yourself, but for those around you. Non-evolved individuals can be carriers of the virus as well, it just doesn't manifest into the potentially lethal illness that it does in others. So just because you haven't come across anyone who's SLC and effected doesn't mean that you won't get it. But Major Kershner is right, I'm not a viruologist, but I am a physician and we do have people who come into our practice with bona fide worries about the evolved virus. I would think that while everyone would register and do their civic duty so that they could receive the vaccination free of charge, I know that many won't"

MIchelle glances to JJ another nod of her head, a gesture to him. "I would agree. Again, I abide by the law, I don't condone breaking it, but at the same time, if the government truly is interested in ensuring that they have a handle on any outbreak of the H5N10, if they truly are concerned about protecting the populace that is registered, they would just require that you show up. No question of whether you are evolved or not. Jsut draw up your sleeve, here's your jab, here's your bandaid and be on your way. This protects everyone" Michelle's lips purse ever so briefly, the temperature in the room fluctuating by a few degree's upwards.

"There will always be people who are afraid to register. Short of going into each persons home and forcibly sitting them down and testing them, you will not get everyone. It's a sad truth. Perhaps…"

Michelle turns to Kershner. "Perhaps we should implement a mandatory Measles, chicken pox, Ruebella vaccination for all the other viruses that we are supposed to get but an increasing portion of the population don't. They put us at risk too."

"He looks silly," Kincaid says to his boss, lifting his head enough to stare down at The Director and the remaining group. As if they didn't have enough wild cards. There's a shuffling of papers up on the producer's booth, as if he's trying to find some information, but he's not looking at the sheets as he does. He's sitting up higher in his chair, and it's almost as if he's trying to get a better look at everything, as he switches looks at the different camera angles. His dark eyes stay on one particular screen for a time.

"Someone has to, this is why Dirk's perfect." That and her executive assistant will believe that he's absolutely incredible on the show. Kristen's focus is entirely on the camera and the reaction of the rest of the panel as the next guest comes out onto the stage. "Look at Dirk… haha.. This is going to be goooooood~"

Sarisa's entrance and subsequent sitting aside him has Dirk's eyes going wide before he leans back in his chair to give his own special greeting to the director of the military unit. "Well aren't you just the cutest warrior princess to ever grace my presence~" Lucky Michelle, Sarisa now has Dirk's full attention. He even turns his back a little on the doctor to twist for a better view of the FRONTLINE officer.

When JJ speaks, Dirk seems to ignore it, leaning against one arm of his chair and sighing as he moves one hand to brush a little bit of imaginary dust off Sarisa's arm. The lovestruck expression on his face is actually focussed on by one of the cameras (on Kristen's order) and inside the production booth there's a dial that's conveniently turned up just a little so the assistant is a bit louder than everyone else.

"You know… I think the director is right," the petite man murmurs dreamily. "Screw the people who don't get registered, do they seriously deserve to live in such a fine world as this foxy lady~? Oh… and the doctor too…" Turning to Michelle, he gives her a placating smile and whispers, "don't worry, you can have seconds."

"I believe our panel has raised some excellent points," Brad leans forward further in his chair. This is going somewhere. "Alright, I think we've addressed some very important things here," his hands begin to relax around the arms of his chair, "First off, people are people. Defying the law or not, people have basic human rights. And I suppose it begs a question: does a person's humanity confer their right to basic health care? Does it bring forth a basic right to survival?"

His lips press together as he considers his next point, "Beyond that, what do all of you think about suppression pills? When we discuss control, it needs to be considered? Particularly as other exercises of control throughout history have hurt entire groups of people— " His hands raise grip a little tighter to his seat, causing his knuckles to whiten underneath the pressure. As a side-bar, he actually turns to face Dirk directly, "Dirk. Please refrain from treating my guests as meat. Both the Director and the Doctor are well regarded in their fields and while I can respect your attitude towards them, I believe you're making everyone uncomfortable…" This may be the first time he's ever issued a blunt reprimand on camera. Nothing like firsts.

Like the way a slicker sloughs off rainwater, Sarisa Kershner deftly navigates around Dirk's remarkably unique personality in a way that indicates her unwillingness to get caught with her pants around her ankles on national television. Her temper is something that she struggles to keep in check, but so far Dirk hasn't done enough damage to her self control to warrant an outburst.

"SLC suppressants are a necessary pharmaceutical development in the post-bomb world, Bradley." Sarisa motions towards the Host with one gloved hand. "Ever since the nuclear explosion in Midtown, there has been a need for individuals without the ability to control their power to have a means of long-term care. Some abilities, despite training, are simply too dangerous to allow potential accidental use. It's no one's fault if you were born with the power to create fire, let alone not your own fault. Which is why, as a safety precaution, these drugs should be available."

Leaning back in her seat, Sarisa recrosses her legs, clearing her throat as she does. "The research teams at the Commonwealth Institute of Massachusetts have made leaps and bounds with the development of Adynotyline, and it may well be on the market for public consumption before spring. I say it couldn't come a moment sooner. The more options we present to the American people on how to control their own abilities and keep them in check, the less accidents we're bound to have."

JJ's eyes widen as Dirk calls Sarisa foxy and he coughs uncomfortably. "Are there any side effects with adynotyline?" he asks, leaning past Dirk to make eye contact (bravely) with his boss. "I'm curious what they might be. Also, would it be completely optional or would it be required for some people to take? And if it's required, what's the criteria — people who can hurt others with their powers? That's a wide range and kinda subjective. I mean, powers like ours," how often are there two psychometrics in a room? "could be seen as harmless, but they could be used to harm someone. Invade privacy, that sort of thing?"

He turns to look at the camera, giving a little wink. "Of course I choose to use my power for good instead of evil, so there's nothing to worry about there, folks." Apparently the stage fright is fading.

"Adynotyline is a wonderful thing. It's like my husband in your back pocket. I think it's a beautiful option for those with abilities who need the help with their abilities or who realize that they don't want to walk around with the potential to do whatever it is that they can do. I look forward to the day when our practice can prescribe it after I throughly look over the peripherals that come with it and know that what I'm prescribing to my patients who want it, won't cause any unwanted long term effects."

Michelle looks over to JJ, brown eyes crinkling, little crows feet at the corners and faint delicate laugh lines. "You'll find me firmly in the option camp with you with regards to requirements. I don't feel that it should be required. How can you learn to manage your ability if you can't access it and safely learn with it? I think it will be an invaluable companion in ones medical arsenal to help promote safe learning of ones ability and managing of ones SLC lifestyle"

"If he makes it through this without someone suing him after, I'll be surprised," Kincaid says, as he puts his hands down on the counter in front of him, pushing himself up. Something has surprised him, from the way his jaw tightens and he's looking between different cameras. It's hard to say what it is, but he's on his feet by the time Michelle speaks, biting down on his lower lip til the split breaks and bleeds.

Up in the booth, Kristen feigns a yawn and flips a toggle switch. Only a few people can hear this careful instruction, the people in the production booth and one of the people on stage. "Dirk, listen to me carefully. This is getting to be a yawnfest with everyone agreeing with each other. I need you to ramp the antics, remember what we talked about. Let's Magnes it up a little… turn off your personal charm and call in the crazy." Flipping the toggle switch again, she gives a quick side glance to Kincaid and shrugs one shoulder. "What? Of course there's always been a plan."

Down on the stage, Dirk straightens up as though he's actually listening to what Russo has to say. Turning to face the host, he gives a nice smile and then again to the other panelists. "Sorry, so sorry… I was channeling my inner Russo for a bit." Moving his hands to his tie, he straightens the knot a little bit and shifts in his seat again. "I completely disagree with the rest of my esteemed panel. Sure suppressants would be great… Yipee I can drug my babies so they can't inconvenience me anymore. This shit's like ritalin for evos."

A small sneer is given to the camera as one of Dirk's eyes narrows and twitches, it's not on purpose. "Doctors like to shove pills down the throats of little kids, that's why pediatricians make so much money. And these FRONTLINE guys… pfft… Come on people?! Can't you just hear the government brainwashing?!"

While Brad has worked hard at considering everything said and formulating another question, his thoughtful expression transforms rather quickly when Dirk opens his mouth. Dirk can no longer be ignored. "Your inner Russo?" His eyebrows knit together and he presses on the arms of his chair as his eyes slide over to the booth. The scowl melts into something altogether different: sheer disappointment— the kind of expression only parents and teachers can truly master, but at this moment, Brad is exercising a fairly good impression of an unimpressed father.

The disappointment transforms as his head turns, his angular jaw clenching together while his breathe comes out in a sniff. His blue-grey eyes narrow angrily while the smile becomes tense, sardonic, ingenuine, "Do NOT insult my guests. You WILL mind your manners while on MY set. Of MY show," his hands slide from the arms of the chair.

A fizzling blue-green glow can briefly be seen around his hands, that shifting of the air that no one quite noticed earlier. What happens next is so sudden there's barely time to blink. A beam emits from the raised hands, slamming into Dirk's chest and sending him flying backwards, obstacles and all, into the painted backdrop of the studio wall. Through the thin plaster, in fact. The beam lasts for barely two seconds, but it lasted long enough.

Sarisa is out of her chair as well whent he concussive shockwave beam strikes Dirk. The noise of the impact is the slap of a solid hit, not something as ephemeral as energy like a laser or fire. She isn't knocked out of her chair, but she tips the sturdy thing backwards with a push of both booted feet, rolling out of the seat and into a crouch behind the chair, one hand coming up to her scarf at her throat, fingers winding around the silken fabric and blue eyes wide.

One of her hands moves up to the earpiece concealed behind her long hair, voice firm as she speaks aloud for her security team. "Secure the studio perimeter, we have a possible uncontrolled manifestation or Evolved crimes incident. Jones is with me on sight, call Harrison and Heller and have their teams ready if this escalates."

Slowly rising from her crouch, Sarisa fixes a wide-eyed stare on Russo, watching him with one gloved hand held out, palm open. "Bradley— Bradley calm down." She has no way of knowing if this is a manifestation, or if he's kept this ability concealed for longer. Either way, this isn’t something she wanted to be in the middle of.

"Ho, shit!" As soon as that blast happens, JJ too is up out of his seat, but instantly moving to guard Michelle, arms out to make himself a bigger target since his lean form isn't that much of a shield.

As Sarisa addresses Russo, he throws a look to the cameras; knowing it's a ridiculous plea (who would stop filming such an event as this?), he draws one hand across his neck. "Cut the cameras!"

Back to Russo, he lifts a hand, the motion one might use to gentle a wild stallion. "Relax, man. This the first time this has happened to you? You need to calm down. Breathe, man. Breathe, and please, please put your hands down? Aim 'em at the ground, okay? Like this." He demonstrates, both hands pointed downward.


Mentally that is, from the frenchwoman. Finally someone shut up that l'imbécile impudent qui a juste essayé de s'abaisser sa profession sur la télévision vivante. This thought is quickly transferred into shock on her face and Michelle scuttling away from Dirk's now empty spot and onto JJ's lap. She slides off as he gets up to protect her, shuffling around him, putting the FRONTLINE officer between her and Russo before two seconds later, she's running as fast as her little stiletto heels can carry her for the back. "HERVE! She screams for her husband. "HERVE! Russo frappe les gens avec une bielle! Vous sortez mieux ici et venez le nient avant qu'il tue par hasard nous tous!"

From where he stands up in the Producer's booth, Kincaid suddenly curses under his breath and rips off the headset quickly, reaching to shut down the cameras with one hand, though he may miss some, because he's turning to run out of the producers booth and down toward the stage.

On Christmas Eve it was Kristen who did this, but this time he's going. Either instead, or too, he's not really paying attention to what the Executive Producer is doing. Blood drips down his chin where he opened up the wound on his lip. He's heading toward the green room even as a woman yells for her husband, he seems to be running to the same place as well.

Though he stops to pull a fire extinguisher off the wall, too. Blue-green as it may be, for a moment, it looked like fire.

"Commercial! Get to commercial right now!!" The yell in the production booth isn't just from Kristen, but the director and the sound guy as well. Once one of the screens has a commercial pause running, Kristen flips on her mic and wheels her seat closer to the panel. "Artie, get the rest of security around the set. Don't let anyone in… I don't care if they're flashing badges from Interpol. No one gets in here without a warrant. Someone get down to make sure Dirk is okay, then make sure Russo gets out." Hopefully, it's before someone else sees his registration card.

A groan comes from the pile of rubble and a meek weasley sounding whimper emits as Dirk tries to loose his arm from a piece of plaster. "Did someone get the number of that truck?" Another bit of the set breaks off and hits the poor blond man in the head putting him out of commission for the time being.

A few husky men in security uniforms race out from behind the set and crouch down beside the executive assistant. "Dirk's still alive, boss… I think he needs an ambulance though." A few wary eyes are directed at Russo but no one from the set seems to be approaching him. Not yet.

It takes less than a half a second before Kristen is chasing after Kincaid, as he turns to the green room, she veers for the direction of the studio. She gains good ground, thanks to the boots she's wearing today, unlike the woman in stilettos.

If everyone else is unsettled by the demonstration of power, Russo is literally in shock. His eyes widen, his mouth gapes, and his hands physically shake. He can't really hear what's going on, his utter and complete shock writes across the paled skin of his face while his grey blue eyes stare at his own hands, silently questioning whether that just happened or if he's experienced a psychotic break from reality. The shaking increases, moving up his arms to his shoulders, creating minor tension between them as his eyebrows knit together further. There's nothing nothing remotely evident in his expression to suggest he intended or expected to do what he did. All he hears is the sound of his heart beat while he quite literally stares at his own hands.

His lips part further as he attempts to negotiate what's just happened, but there are no words, there are no reactions, and he can barely understand what he's being instructed to do. Naturally, perhaps too naturally, his hands rise to the air, not giving thought to how this might be taken. He isn't armed. He's not holding anything. This is that universal sign. Right? His fingers flex and finally his blue eyes fix on J.J.

His hands are slowly dropped from the sky while his lips finally meet again. The fog begins to clear a little, but those eyes remain wide. Finally, his tongue rolls over his lips, "Help Dirk. Please… Doctor. Just.. I— " instinctively a hand presses to his forehead only to be dropped purposefully seconds later, forcing his palms down.

As the reality of what's happening begins sinking in, his breath quickens again, his heart rate skyrockets, and he can feel that same heat beginning to form along his hands, that dryness reigning once again. He tries to heed the instructions taking slow deep breaths, but it does little to stop that feeling. "I— I've never— " he actually frowns, dropping to the ground like a soldier might drop and give twenty, laying his palms flat against the stage. His head lowers as he squeezes his eyes shut. While Kristen might have it in her mind to get him out, he has a different plan, if only to keep them away from his apartment.

"Christ," Sarisa mutters into her comm, flicking a blue-eyed stare to JJ as her hand relaxes away from her scarf. The blonde shifts her weight to one foot, then looks across to the rest of the panelists. "Everything's under control, you're alright. If I could have everyone exit the stage in an orderly fashion so we can get medical personnel in here." Blue eyes alight to JJ, followed by a look down to Russo indicating handle that.

"Mister Russo, everything's going to be fine," has Sarisa's authoratarian tone to it, "but you're going to need to stay here until I can get someone from the DoEA down here to handle things, alright? You might be facing criminal charges depending on the status of the man you injured as well," that Sarisa can't be bothered to remember the name of, apparently.

Turning a look over to Michelle, Sarisa seems thoughtful, then looks up to the control room. "Can someone bring in Doctor Herve Brennan from the green room?" Speaking of the DoEA, Sarisa just happens to have one on hand that doubles as a negator.

The young man relaxes visibly when Russo lies himself down at their feet; JJ exhales and gives a short nod to Sarisa's words, moving to bend down next to Russo, laying a gentle hand on the man's shoulder to try to assuage his fear.

"Just keep your hands down, okay? It'll be all right. Did you know you were evolved, sir? It's all right if you just manifested and didn't know — we know that happens. We'll get you help in controlling it." He'd done his research, he knows Russo is non-Evolved in the Registry, so something doesn't compute.

He glances up at Sarisa, trying to read her expression. His hand moves to touch the watch that Russo wears — depending how often he wears it, this might take a while.

JJ swallows, and closes his eyes — letting himself be taken through the memories, backwards in time. It's like looking for a needle in a hay stack — or in this case, a moment or two in hundreds of hours.

Michelle is a pink clad figment of everyone's imagination as she's ducks around an exit towards what leads to the green room, already ahead of people in calling for the resident negator in a stream of flawless french. It cuts off soon enough, Brennan having been watching the ongoings from the green room and was already on his way. Swaddled infant passing hands, a gentle push for Michelle to take him back - he was't handing his only son off to just anyone - and Brennan's rounding the corner.

Already negation is on, it flickers over the individuals that he's looking at in turn. JJ, Dirk, Sarisa, JJ, Russo, Sarisa, JJ then back to Russo. Sure strides bringing him across the studio floor with a shake of his head. "Bradley, really. Can't just call in Varlane to provide the theatrics?" It's a joke, an attempt at bedside - or in this case studioside - Humor. "Dirk, You alive man? Can't say you didn't deserve that, the way you looked at my wife, but I think my fist would have packed a lot less punch" Har har har… is he joking?

A few steps behind him, Kincaid still carries the fire extinguisher, but sees no flames or burning that make him pull the nozzle up and open fire. Instead he glances briefly at the doctor as he looks down at Russo on the ground, and then towards his boss. Kristen will have her own thoughts on this, and since she got ahead of him, she's already there. The Sarisa earns a worried glance—

That blood on his chin is probably not becoming, as his eyes shift to J.J. as well. There's almost, very briefly, a hint of apology. It doesn't last long. He doesn't let it last long.

"K, he's talking, so I don't think he's badly hurt…" But he doubts that was in his boss's plan. He doubts it was in the plan at all. His hand tightens around the extinguisher.

Kristen saunters up from the edge of the set calmly, her eyes flit between the two FRONTLINE members and her host. Dirk and the doctor are ignored for the time being simply for the sake of keeping her host out of trouble. "Dirk's been hit with worse…" segway, scooter, quad, Russo's fist, the list is never ending really. "Now, Doctor Brennan is here to make sure that he's fine. I'm sure criminal charges won't be necessary."

A quick glance is given toward her executive assistant who is rambling about— something. "Did you see her legs? It's like— they go for miles man. She's a warrior princess and a sexy cylon all rolled into one sweet bundle of MmMmMMmmm. She could totally utter the L word and I'd be all lesbians what?" Yeah, Dirk's fine.

That's when Kristen's gaze falls back between the two members of FRONTLINE and she gives them a little smile. "See? He's fine."

Russo takes a deep breath. "Thank you, Director. I'll just… stay here." His lips crack into an ironic smile for the floor to see while he lets his head hang. Criminal charges or not, he's not going to attempt to run. It's not like his identity is in question, and he's worked for years to acquire this particular livelihood.

After swallowing hard, he clears his throat. "I'm registered non-evolved this was… unexpected. To say the least. I— " Tone is terse, nearly mechanical as he finally slides his hands from the stage floor, knowing full well of the negation taking over, giving him some measure of pause. His lips press together into a thin line the good humour completely drained from his face now, if he'd thought there'd been a shit storm before, there's no denying the one he's in now. He releases a soft sigh after propping himself up to a sitting position. The doctor is issued something polite, likely a sad attempt at an exhausted smile.

"Kincaid?" the name is said softly. There's no time or energy left for goofy nicknames. "Caid?" he asks louder this time, somewhat unsure if he said it the first time, particularly with how his voice catches in his throat. "You need to move the vegetables. In my office. On the window sill. The Carrots. They… they can't stay there— " it seems he's still in shock. Maybe. Of course, should Kincaid choose to check the office the only thing he'll find on the window sill are Russo's house keys.

"K.. K.. I.. you may need to run a rerun today. I mean— " his eyes narrow and he swallows the lump in his throat as his face buries into his hands.

He finally lowers them his hands to look up at her, his blue grey eyes rife with that which he generally refuses to admit, that which he rarely brings himself to say. "I'm sorry."

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