Bobby Drake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
longislandiceme) wrote2011-10-08 05:30 pm
longislandiceme) wrote2011-10-08 05:30 pm
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San Diego Convention Center: Saturday Fandom Time
Bobby had kind of counted on ending up at this particular convention center at some point of his life. He'd just, you know, kind of figured it would've been during Comic-Con or something equally awesome, and not a rally for a Presidential candidate basing his campaign on anti-mutant fear-mongering. Bad enough he was missing the Fall Break trip, it sort of sucked beyond the telling of it that he was missing it for this crap.
"Please welcome to the stage," the announcer was saying, "the next President of the United States, protector of humans' rights, Graydon Creed!"
It took an act of extreme willpower for Bobby not to let his emotions get the better of him and ice up right there. Even then, the temperature in his immediate vicinity had people looking uncomfortable. Moving away lest someone somehow connect his presence to the sudden 'draft' that had appeared in the building, he coughed as he found himself wandering in to a face full of cigar smoke. And speaking of faces... the one belonging to the man responsible for the tobacco-laden cloud was no other than J. Johan Jameson, editor of a certain rather prominent New York newspaper.
"Excuse me sir, Mr Jameson?" Bobby said pointedly.
"Yes?"
"I know you're with the Press Corps, but still- no one is allowed to smoke in here," he told him, trying to sound apologetic.
"There are a lot of things that aren't supposed to be happening here, son. But they are," Jameson said gruffly.
"Can you be more cryptic?" Bobby raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'm talking about you blasted wolves in sheep's clothing. Trying to win an election by playing on people's fear of mutants. I'm the publisher of a newspaper, the Daily Bugle, a paper predicated on the precepts of free speech and the responsibility that comes with free thought. Whether you're talking about mutants or the Middle East or public housing and healthcare reform- people need to make up their own minds about the issues. Instead, they get scared and line up behind the shepherd du jour, and follow him up the side of the mountain and right up over the flaming cliff. I'm telling you kid, I've seen this happen before. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and watch it happen again!" Jameson's voice had risen steadily since he started speaking, and had reached full-on shout before he turned and stormed away.
Well, who'da thought? Bobby mused to himself as he melted back into the crowd. Good for you, Jonah. What's that expression about politics making strange bedfellows? J. Jonah Jameson may have been the last person I would have expected to meet when Cyke decided the X-Men should keep as close an eye as possible on Creed's anti-mutant campaign, even if it means going undercover. So far so good, but I can't shake this feeling of- his train of thought was interrupted as a woman wearing entirely too much pink and armed with a clipboard.
"Mr. Roberts? Drake Roberts?"
It's actually Robert Drake, but while I'm here undercover... "That's me. And you arrrre?"
"Carly Alvarez, volunteer coordinator for Creed's campaign. If you come with me, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Creed's new personal assistant." She nodded at a nearby doorway and gestured for him to follow her as she headed out.
"It seems like support for our candidate," how he managed to keep saying those words without rolling his eyes, he wasn't quite sure, "is growing every day."
"Honestly, Drake, it's a little more complicated than that," Carly told him as they headed up a flight of stairs. "When Graydon started out, there were a lot of Friends of Humanity hangers-on. For political reasons, it was necessary to distance himself from them. Their sometimes radical views could conceivably hurt him in middle America. With the campaign's infrastructure gone, a lot of shoes have needed to be filled." Again, it was really hard to listen to that little spiel without wanting to roll his eyes. Or hurl. Bobby, after all, knew better than anyone just how radical the FoH could be. Pushing open the door at the end of the hall, Carly stepped inside to reveal a tall blond man with his back to the door. "Drake Roberts, meet Samson Guthry." At the sound of Carly's voice, the man in question turned around, giving Bobby a thorough once-over.
"Sam Guthrie, eh?" Bobby tried not to smirk as he did much the same.
"With a 'y'," Samson corrected firmly. "Nice to meet you, sir," he offered a hand for Bobby to shake. Oh yeah, the next few months were gonna be interesting.
[ooc: dialogue taken, bent, folded, and spindled from Uncanny X-Men #338. NFB for distance, obvs.]
"Please welcome to the stage," the announcer was saying, "the next President of the United States, protector of humans' rights, Graydon Creed!"
It took an act of extreme willpower for Bobby not to let his emotions get the better of him and ice up right there. Even then, the temperature in his immediate vicinity had people looking uncomfortable. Moving away lest someone somehow connect his presence to the sudden 'draft' that had appeared in the building, he coughed as he found himself wandering in to a face full of cigar smoke. And speaking of faces... the one belonging to the man responsible for the tobacco-laden cloud was no other than J. Johan Jameson, editor of a certain rather prominent New York newspaper.
"Excuse me sir, Mr Jameson?" Bobby said pointedly.
"Yes?"
"I know you're with the Press Corps, but still- no one is allowed to smoke in here," he told him, trying to sound apologetic.
"There are a lot of things that aren't supposed to be happening here, son. But they are," Jameson said gruffly.
"Can you be more cryptic?" Bobby raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'm talking about you blasted wolves in sheep's clothing. Trying to win an election by playing on people's fear of mutants. I'm the publisher of a newspaper, the Daily Bugle, a paper predicated on the precepts of free speech and the responsibility that comes with free thought. Whether you're talking about mutants or the Middle East or public housing and healthcare reform- people need to make up their own minds about the issues. Instead, they get scared and line up behind the shepherd du jour, and follow him up the side of the mountain and right up over the flaming cliff. I'm telling you kid, I've seen this happen before. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and watch it happen again!" Jameson's voice had risen steadily since he started speaking, and had reached full-on shout before he turned and stormed away.
Well, who'da thought? Bobby mused to himself as he melted back into the crowd. Good for you, Jonah. What's that expression about politics making strange bedfellows? J. Jonah Jameson may have been the last person I would have expected to meet when Cyke decided the X-Men should keep as close an eye as possible on Creed's anti-mutant campaign, even if it means going undercover. So far so good, but I can't shake this feeling of- his train of thought was interrupted as a woman wearing entirely too much pink and armed with a clipboard.
"Mr. Roberts? Drake Roberts?"
It's actually Robert Drake, but while I'm here undercover... "That's me. And you arrrre?"
"Carly Alvarez, volunteer coordinator for Creed's campaign. If you come with me, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Creed's new personal assistant." She nodded at a nearby doorway and gestured for him to follow her as she headed out.
"It seems like support for our candidate," how he managed to keep saying those words without rolling his eyes, he wasn't quite sure, "is growing every day."
"Honestly, Drake, it's a little more complicated than that," Carly told him as they headed up a flight of stairs. "When Graydon started out, there were a lot of Friends of Humanity hangers-on. For political reasons, it was necessary to distance himself from them. Their sometimes radical views could conceivably hurt him in middle America. With the campaign's infrastructure gone, a lot of shoes have needed to be filled." Again, it was really hard to listen to that little spiel without wanting to roll his eyes. Or hurl. Bobby, after all, knew better than anyone just how radical the FoH could be. Pushing open the door at the end of the hall, Carly stepped inside to reveal a tall blond man with his back to the door. "Drake Roberts, meet Samson Guthry." At the sound of Carly's voice, the man in question turned around, giving Bobby a thorough once-over.
"Sam Guthrie, eh?" Bobby tried not to smirk as he did much the same.
"With a 'y'," Samson corrected firmly. "Nice to meet you, sir," he offered a hand for Bobby to shake. Oh yeah, the next few months were gonna be interesting.
[ooc: dialogue taken, bent, folded, and spindled from Uncanny X-Men #338. NFB for distance, obvs.]