capeandcowllogs | and though its been a long time

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and though its been a long time

WHO: NELSON GARDNER and MITCHELL HUNDRED
WHERE: City Hall
WHEN: Monday afternoon
WARNINGS: Casualty: One computer. RIP.
SUMMARY: Mayor / employee bonding and probably a whole lot of bitching.
FORMAT: Tagger's choice!

Adjusting to working "with politics" -- at City Hall, specifically -- wasn't at difficult as all that, really. It was dull work, mostly; Nelson could do filing easily, he was an exceptionally organized person and politically-minded as it was. Dull work but doable, and his coworkers were fine enough. For the most part.

What had been eluding him still, even after almost two weeks, was using the computer. Even more so using the internet. Every time he tried it overwhelmed him with complications so that he gave up relatively quickly, to try again another day (and give up just as quickly) and he'd taken to writing messages and letters by hand when he could get away with it. But no; apparently he needed to learn "electronic mail" to do his job properly, so there he was, doing battle with the machine.

It wasn't a long battle. After a brief period of trying to figure out how "the internet" worked, Nelson had seemingly pressed the wrong thing (it was honestly impossible to navigate) because his screen quickly filled up with various pop-up windows, more and more until the monitor simply sputtered and went dark. Nelson tried restarting it to no avail, so he consulted the manual for help. It recommended backing the machine up so that it could be restarted on old information; he didn't quite know what that meant, but tried backing it up anyway. A bit too far: it fell off his desk with a loud crash.

Nelson decided it was a good time for a coffee break.

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Now, how it came to be that a man who was so incompetent with the basic tasks of using a computer was working at City Hall eluded Mitchell. He thought the notes were some fucking quirk, or maybe that the email hadn't been set up, but after some time, it was starting to look less like that, and more likely that there was a root cause there.

But that really wasn't his job, thank fucking god. He had enough to worry about, but still, he knew when something Bad happened, and he knew it as deep as his bones, even if it wasn't for the sound that echoed through everything else around him. Machines, they knew, somehow. They communicated in a weird way that most people didn't realize.

It made him edgy, and his mind went the same place that Nelsons's, apparently, had as well. It shouldn't be surprising that the Mayor went right for coffee as a crutch, really. It was his favored vice, other than a few others, and the coffee machines in the breakrooms had been purposefully stocked with coffee that wan't the usual Folger's fare simply because Mitchell was often sweeping through on the hunt for a quick burst of caffeine.

Of course, that meant he and Nelson, inevitably, headed for the same place, which happened to already have coffee ready. Thankfully.

Although he wasn't very talkative at first, trying to soothe away the headache of hearing...whatever it'd been from his head first. Once he had coffee, though, he was a bit closer to actually being human.

"Nelson, is it that bad of a day? Most people don't hit the coffee this late," except for him. This wasn't even remotely near his quitting time.

Nelson was in the process of adding a generous amount of cream to his cup and stirring in a spoonful of sugar when Mitch spoke to him, and he looked up trying not to appear too flustered. He wasn't really sure how he was going to get through the rest of the day without someone discovering he'd broken his computer aside from nursing a coffee for the rest of the afternoon, so he latched onto the conversation quite gratefully.

"Oh, you know," he said with a chuckle, sipping his coffee. "Sometimes you just need a little, erm, jump start. Filing can be a bit monotonous." He smiled amicably, taking another quick sip before he found himself saying anything further.

"I can fucking imagine," he offered simply, pulling the cup away to fill it, once again, all the way to the top. He hadn't quite drained it, but he'd made a pretty good showing, already. He drank it black, of course. (Creamer had a habit of leaving his stomach in shambles.)

"I did it for a bit, back when I was a civil engineer, before we converted to digital blueprints all the way, back in the day," he stopped again for coffee. The Mayor was one of those people that had a purpose, and even if it was just getting his coffee, he was single-minded. He needed to be, to keep going, sometimes. "I couldn't imagine doing it all day. At least you can break it up with some of those, ah, notes, huh?"

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed it of you," Nelson said, eyebrows raising slightly. "You've come pretty far since." He was more in his element now -- although he could file and organize, Nelson was far more of a social creature. If he couldn't be out on the streets he'd rather at least not be stuck behind a desk with a useless machine that he couldn't figure out.

He licked his upper lip and took another sip of coffee. "Ah -- well, yes. I get it all done much quicker when I'm writing. I have some for you, actually..." He'd meant to bring the small stack of handwritten memos and messages by Mitch's office later, but since it had come up he may as well make mention.

For being someone who was Mayor, he should be the same, but while he could fake it, and fake it fucking well, he much preferred the stack of proposals rather than the line of people. He could cross-reference words on a page, but he couldn't do that on the spot with people. It made him wary. He looked over the rim of his coffee mug at Nelson.

"They're probably just security movements and scheduling. I'll have one of my secretaries deal with them," it was probably too little concern for the notes, but he'd never really focused on security. It was standard to let him know, but he didn't really care, as long as he was alive, and as long as he stayed that way.

"You know, you could just email them to me, it's easier," and not just in the modern convenience sense. That way he didn't have to read it.

"Oh. If you're sure... there's quite a few," Nelson continued, but if the mayor didn't want them that was that. There weren't so many he'd hurt his wrist writing, at least. He sat down on one of the breakroom chairs, fingers clicking nervously against his coffee mug.

He cleared his throat after what he hoped wasn't a noticeable moment of pause. "About the er, electronic mail, I don't think I've quite--" He swallowed a quick and very hot mouthful of coffee and coughed once. "I'm not sure it really works properly, haven't you gotten any of my -- I did, didn't I...?" He'd even double-checked City Hall's street address before he'd typed it into the 'to' field.

"No?" he asked, feeling the slide of apprehension in his stomach. How bad was this guy with computers? Sure, he was from before the major computer revolution, but still...

Well, being around electronics, and talking to them meant he had a different perception that sometimes he forgot. "Maybe I need to get someone to host a remedial computer useage program, or something. "Or see if your email is working alright." He stayed standing, grateful for the moment to stretch his legs and stand. He worked hard, but a lot of that was chained to his desk, when he wasn't pacing his office on the phone, but being out of there, occasionally, felt good to clear his head. Even if it was just in a breakroom, chatting with one of his employees.

"Oh no," Nelson said relatively quickly, shaking his head. "No need for either of those. They probably just got lost in transition. The electronic age isn't quite without its bumps in the road."

He smiled again, idly stirring another creamer into his coffee as he considered ways to change the subject. He'd like to get to know the mayor more anyway while he was here -- it seemed a terrible waste not to -- and he'd rather not dwell on one of the only areas he was incompetent in.

"But that's more than enough about me," he said. He ruefully looked into his cup now too sweet coffee, then back up at Mitch. "You aren't having a rough day yourself, are you?"

Mitchell wasn't always the most...perceptive when it came to other people's emotions, and social cues were something that he often blustered through, making by on dumb luck and charisma more than anything else. Even he could see the obvious change in direction for the conversation, and he laughed.

Really, it was kind of, well, the day he didn't have a rough day was the day he gave up and went to tame lions.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's any different than any other day, but that doesn't mean that it isn't rough. It's pretty par for the course, for me."

"You must be terribly busy," Nelson acknowledged with a nod. He had never envied the job of the mayor -- or any politician, really; politics had never interested Nelson as a career in part because he didn't think he had the patience nor the eloquence for it -- even in the handful of times he'd met New York City's mayor back in the 40s.

"I imagine the pressure must be enormous," he added, quite sincerely. "Although I'm not sure about all the specifics, but I do know a thing or two about putting up with constant... insurgents."

He was only guessing, of course, but how could the mayor not suffer the same plights he had back in the 1960s? It was growing more and more common to question authority.

Insurgents was a hell of a word to use. For Mitchell, it meant a hell of a lot more due to his history with such things, of course. His own experience with the term colored from a world still reeling from, well-- It wasn't important, not here. His experience mattered, but that was what he brought to the table.

The dreamy, half-focused gaze was wiped from his expression after a moment. He did it too often, drifting into a place that was far and away, drifting back into the past, when his job was both more complicated and simpler, all at once. It was almost impossible to think about, it being both, and yet it was. A study in fucking contrasts, the ways that the City differed, and then the ways that it mirrored his old job, the way it was terribly familiar.

“Well, I’m used to it, honestly. It’s a lot of pressure, sure, but it’s also something that I enjoy doing. I think with the right government, people will be less upset with us, and involve themselves more. Shit, half the problems come from people feeling powerless with their place in life, you know?” it was honest, and earnest. His hands folded around his cup, his face just a bit tight with his expression, but still a slight smile hidden in there.

Edited 2013-02-12 16:48 (UTC)

Mitchell's diplomatic tone was refreshing to hear, if nothing else; Nelson was holding back, knowing there wasn't much he could talk about to anyone here -- the best he could do was focus on the immediate. The politics, the state of the world, everything that he was just as invested in fixing as any politician might be.

Here, at least, respect for heroes seemed to be more alive than it had been for him. Real heroes, not just psychopaths-for-hire like the Comedian or atomic accidents like Dr. Manhattan.

"Right -- powerlessness can drive people in all sorts of directions. You'd hope more of them would put that feeling to productive use. We put the world in order for them, but there's always someone who resists the good work you do at every turn."

He sipped his coffee morosely.

His eyebrows quirked, but he covered it by just taking a long drink of the coffee. It was almost like his tastebuds had absconded for greener pastures, the way he took it like there was nothing to burn. Really, he'd been drinking hot coffee for way too many years, the addiction to caffeine finally winning over mere human limitations.

"Well, some of us put the world in order for them, but some of us are as shitty as they think we are. It's sad, but it's true. If I don't recognize the flaws, I can't improve them, you know?"

He didn't see much of the respect for heroes like others, but then again, he tried to give that part of the City a wide berth. Maybe it was paranoia, remembering how quickly it had all gone south to indulge in that kind of activity where he came from. More than that, though, he had to be the person to look the most like a native citizen, how else was he going to keep his fucking job?

"I mean, hell, here even more than anywhere else, the average citizen is more powerless than where I come from."

"No one's saying there isn't room for some improvement," Nelson said, a little bit stiffly. "That powerlessness is what some people are fighting to put an end to. It takes time, though. It isn't easy work."

He sighed, shook his head, then shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"Better to focus on the good, however," he added, a bit more brightly. "Regardless of what a few naive anarchists have to say, we must keep our efforts up. I still think it's possible to save the world!"

That was what he told himself, at least; it made it easier to keep on going as long as he was still fighting for something.

"It's never easy work," he admitted with a small laugh, fingers drumming against porcelain before he turned to get more coffee. It was probably a sign that it was a long day. Normally he stayed tethered to his desk, but even workaholics needed a twenty minute break now and again.

"Hopefully it's possible. I think with the right opportunities, we can."

A fitting statement from him, he knew. Or at least the him that lived in another world. Here in the City, he was trying to just keep the dam raised against a flood that was always verging on uncontrollable.

"Hell, here in City Hall, we're practically bureaucratic superheroes," there was a grim smile in his voice, a light joke tossed in.

"Of course it's possible!" Nelson smiled over at Mitch, again relying on the words and attitude to lift his own spirits as well. Usually it worked, as long as he was in company and could keep his mind off of further troubles. He finished his coffee with another sip and wished for a moment he'd brought some food along with him.

Mitch's analogy brought him back out of it, and his smile broadened slightly. He nodded. "As we should be in a city full of them. We march to the beat of the city's drum, so to speak."

"Exactly, or rather, we fucking try to. Sometimes that's a bit more impossible than we let on, but we've been working pretty hard at it for a while. I like to think we're pretty good at it here in City Hall," he mentioned, again diving in for his coffee for a long moment.

He liked to think they were, anyway, but he never could guarantee much. They'd been working for so hard and for so long at making the twice ungovernable city governable that sometimes he wondered if they were getting mired in that. Focusing on the import population as a potential problem was the only way they'd done anything, but it wasn't fair to, well, anyone, and he knew it.

"You do the best you can with what you have to work with. What else can you do? It's really just the simple truth."

Nelson thought about how uncomplicated things were in his home world by comparison. Painful, yes, much more devastatingly so because it was his world that he'd worked tirelessly to help shape and get it in order, his world he was seeing get corrupted more each year. This world could only go up, he figured, he was starting so low already.

"You don't get a lot of trouble, do you?"

"Trouble?" he asked, his eyes blinking wide, looking just a hair surprised. Of course they had trouble, but he didn't think telling the guy all the shit that went down so often was such a good idea. He'd figure it out eventually, and if he was some kind of superhero, then he'd probably handle it just fine.

"Not really. Just the usual level of chaos that comes with running a city filled with superheroes and supervillains. It's definitely not something I'm used to, and I was the Mayor of New York City, I'm pretty used to weird," he explained.

"Why, you worried?"

"Well, no, I'm not worried," Nelson said slowly, though of course he was, mildly. He didn't expect it to be anything he couldn't manage, especially from his relatively unimportant desk position, but who could know for sure?

"I'd like some idea, though. What to expect if I'm to be working here -- I have got the experience to handle trouble, you know." He smiled nervously, still hoping it wasn't anything too weird. "Anarchy, protest, erm, attack, what -- supervillains all have their own styles."

"Fair enough, but this tends to be a bit on the, ah, big side," he set his coffee aside, half-drank and scratched at the side of his face-- the unmarred side with a finger. It was rare to see him lift a hand to the other side, as Nelson could probably figure out soon enough.

"Disaster procedures play heavily. We tend to see big shit more than anything else. We had a fucking giant monster lay down a path of destruction once, and then there's the supervillains."

It was, of course, just the City. He'd given up trying to explain all of the shit that went down.

Nelson managed to set his coffee mug on the table instead of dropping it, close call through it was; giant monster was hard to brush off for a guy like him, even taking into account some of the situations he'd dealt with.

"Like in the pictures -- ah, I mean the movies... I was never keen on those monster flicks," he managed, a little weakly. He refilled his cup with unsteady hands.

"Yeah, I preferred superhero shit myself, but you know, to each their own," it was wry, with a twist of his lips that was a bit too sarcastic. Using a phrase meant for preferences, because even now in the City, after three and a half years, he still thought of things in the City as matters of different genres.

It was how he kept his head above water, really. Edward had given him shit about it, about how none of it was a goddamned comic book, but at the end of the day, it was the only way he could stay sane with the shit he had to deal with.

"Probably worse, honestly, than the movies. I don't think I've seen a monster movie do it fucking justice."

"Obviously it would be worse when it's real. Films are just -- well, they aren't. Most are approximations, at best, unless they've got real footage." And films in Nelson's time were not to the same standard of films today, of course, so his perception of the medium included the lack of realism. Not that he ever watched monster flicks, certainly not on the regular.

He shrugged his shoulders, sipping his new cup of coffee and wrinkling his nose when he realized it was too bitter. In went the cream and sugar. By 'superhero shit' he assumed Mitch meant threats, not films.

"Supervillains are much... simpler than that."

Mitch gave him a look, finally taking up his coffee again, turning the word over in his head. What kind of place was it where supervillains were simpler, other than, well, the older generation, like back when he was a kid. Which, if he was from so long ago, well, he shouldn't be surprised.

He shook his head. "You'd be surprised. Supervillains seem to be getting worse as the years go by. You know how they are, constantly trying to one-up each other, trying to make their mark, eventually things get worse."

Or they started bad, and then turned to shit afterward, in his experience, but he knew that of all the superheroes-- ex or otherwise-- in the City, he was not necessarily the standard by any means.

"They're more complicated these days."

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