Charity Begins At Home

[Dinah Hall]

A flash of light illuminated the group as Dinah snapped a candid shot of Alan Scott raising his glass to his companions. She paused, lowered the camera a bit and smiled at the group. It gave them enough time to arrange themselves and pose politely for the camera's second shot.

Another picture for the society page. She moved on and scanned the room for her next victim... subject.

Not exactly the assignment she had rejoiced at receiving but it gave her an excuse to wear a dress while working for a change and with the free bar it was better than a fashion shoot. Speaking of bar, her gaze wandered towards it to see Oliver Queen speaking with a few potential donors.

Target acquired.

[Carter Hall]

Carter struggled hard against the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Being photographed was hardly something he had a fondness for, and usually he was able to evade the lens of his daughter's camera; but every now and again she caught him unawares.

"Hear, hear," Carter muttered, tipping his champagne flute in Alan Scott's direction as the stealth photographer disappeared. His attention had only partially returned to the group, however: half an eye was still tailing Dinah, and projecting her trajectory through the crowd. A scowl threatened at the corners of his brow.

Damn it, Dinah, he muttered internally. I just don't understand what you see in that boy.

He tore his eyes away, returning them to the circled of allegedly educated minds that had gravitated together. "These vigilante's think they're helping, but they aren't. They labour under the delusion that a costume and a few gimmicks will make them invulnerable: but instead it makes them a target. Idealism and spandex is no substitute training and due process."

He grunted out a sigh. "Until we as a society stop indulging their comic book fantasy, we're condemning ourselves to an ever-worsening spiral of escalation: each hero trying to outdo the newest villain; each villain trying to outdo the newest hero; ad infinitum."

[Ray Palmer]

Fingers pulled at the impeccably neat full windsor knot of his dark blue silk tie, yanking it off and stuffing it in his pocket as he walked. His steps echoed in the mostly empty hallway, the din of the party up ahead growing louder for a brief moment as one of the doors opened.

Ray sighed and paused, tugging open a few buttons of his crisp white shirt and smoothing out the lapels of his navy suit jacket. He'd much prefer a casual mode of dress but such functions demanded formality.

Or, at least, as much formality as Professor Raymond Palmer could be bothered to muster.

Once inside, he paused briefly at the bar to acquire a drink before glancing around the room, taking note of who stood where. He caught sight of Oliver Queen heading towards the bar and stepped away to avoid the inevitable rush that always followed the young man wherever he went. Ray barely stifled a smile as Dinah made her way through the crowd behind Oliver, and wondered where Carter was...and how disapproving his expression would be.

Making his way through the crowd, he joined a group of people around Alan Scott just as Carter finished speaking. He lofted a brow and remained silent, sipping from his drink in order to keep himself from retorting.

[Louise Lincoln]

Her tall, slender frame moved slipped through the lobby of the Wayne Foundation building, heels clicking rhythmically along the inlaid stone floor. The delicate vellum invitation was scrutinized a second time as she passed through a set of glass doors and into atrium, the far side of which had a grand staircase leading up to where the function was being held.

Louise sighed softly, one hand rising to brush a loose lock of hair back into place as she paused near a mirrored pillar. Blue eyes cast to her reflection, eying herself critically for several moments, before gently smoothing out her dress. The sleek, black silk was revealing but still sophisticated, striking the perfect balance for an evening function.

Tucking her clutch under one arm, she proceeded up the stairs and down the hallway, smiling as the door to the impeccable decorated space was opened for her. The din of voices enveloped her as she strode forward, pausing here and there to greet those few people she recognized. A waiter paused at her side, receiving a soft 'thank you' as she plucked a flute of champagne from his silver tray.

After a moment and a sip or two, she found herself on the fringe of a particularly eclectic group. Alan Scott was, as always, holding court, with a number of academics and socialites joined in conversation around him. Louise lifted a hand and delicately tapped Victor on the shoulder, "I didn't think you would ever leave the lab this evening, Doctor Fries." she said with a small smile.

[Alan Scott]

A look of concern came over Alan Scott's face at Carter's last words, and he shook his head.

"Now, I'm not sure I quite agree with that," he said. You all are fairly well too young to remember, but back during the war, and for some short time thereafter, there were heroes who did a damn good job, and the baddies never got the better of them. Of course, that said, once the threats were gone, the heroes disappeared. That, and from what I understood, they actually had some pretty fantastic powers. I rose to the head of GBS on the back of some of those stories, so I can't condemn the idea of heroics completely."

Taking a sip from his champagne, he then continued, "However, in those days we didn't have the technology we do now, and the police force is far better equipped, so I don't see a need for such heroes, powers or not, these days. Capes and tights are all well and good in some of the television shows we make, and some of our comic books, but I don't think anyone could ever make a leap from such fantasy to any form of reality. It's merely entertainment for children, these days. And lonely men who live in their mothers' basement."

[Carter Hall]

"And how many people died as a result of their damn good job, Mister Scott?"

A scowl formed across Carter's brow. "Your news services cloud the facts to fit whatever spin is going to appeal most to the public. The truth is, no one really knows whether it was the heroes or the villains who put on costumes first: but we do know that it escalated. It was a cold war back then, each side building a caped and cowled arsenal against each other. There were more than a few Cuban missile crises; we were damned lucky that those reckless kids playing at comic books didn't bring nuclear winter down on our heads."

He shook his head; his frowning scowl deepened. "We dodged a bullet back then, but from it we learned nothing. We've got a whole new generation of impulsive idiots following the terrible example of the one that came before. No one learned from history's mistakes, Mister Scott, and now we are all doomed to repeat it."

[Alan Scott]

"There are always Huns to any Romans, Dr. Hall," Alan replied. "And I did say 'during the war,' did I not? You seek to find the negative. Living in those days, I felt compelled to consider how many of our boys those costumed men and women saved. Forgive me for being slightly optimistic in my nostalgia.

"And I wouldn't say we learned nothing. The problem is, powers, capes or not, men are still men, and no amount of history can fill the void that greed or avarice has left in so many hearts. Compassion, outreach and our work here, however, can. You don't see me donning tights and running through the streets, do you? Of course not. Nevertheless, I fight injustice with my own weapon: my pocketbook."

[Jervis Tetch]

The conversation had gotten quite away from him after the flash of a camera had distracted Jervis. His eyes followed the blonde photographer as she wound her way through the crowd, and when he returned his attention to the group several others had joined, listening to the back and forth between Professor Hall and Mr. Scott. Their words seemed to have a special weight behind them, as if only those who'd also lived through The War could understand what they were talking about.

Jervis found himself on the outer edges of the group, and wandered away. Too many cooks in the kitchen adding pepper to the soup. His contribution would be lost. He found himself standing by the intricate model of the proposed research center, silently stewing while pretending to admire the workmanship.

[Curtis Knox]

"Ah, someone else who can't stand the prattling of old men."

There was something odd about Doctor Curtis Knox - not just the odd mongrel accent, but his entire demeanour. Despite spending a lifetime in medicine he carried himself like a weary general, and his eyes shone with an odd mix of wisdom, mischief, and mystery. He seemed almost timeless, trapped in that amorphous zone between young and old that made some people's age so hard to guess.

"Curtis Knox," he introduced, with a slight incline of his head. "And you are Jervis Tetch. I've read your work," he added for clarity, to reassure against any untoward stalking. "Impressive."

[Jervis Tetch]

"Ah, yes, thank you," Jervis managed not to stammer. He looked back at the group he'd just abandoned. "I've been instructed to mingle." He couldn't help the slight curl of his lip which indicated his distaste of the assignment.

Taking about his research was much easier than trying to engage another social butterfly in conversation. "I am working on another paper - hopefully to be published next year. Very exciting developments regarding brain structure and how we might manipulate it." Jervis patted his jacket pocket absently while he was talking, then clasped his hands behind his back.

[Kendra Saunders]

Hazel eyes swept across the crowd as she made her way through it, smiling softly and politely inclining her head towards Agent Kord as she passed. The click of her stiletto heels was lost in the chorus of voices that rose in concert, one trying to top the other as the usual discussions and colorful arguments broke out.

It was enough to give a girl a headache.

Kendra muttered under her breath and strode over to the bar, suddenly incredibly thankful that it was 'free". That simply made everything more tolerable. But, she mused, glancing over the drinks menu, she was on duty tonight. So it was a fruity, non-alcoholic concoction she ordered, thanking the bartender as he placed it before her.

She plucked one of the cherries out and savored the taste of it as she leaned back against the bar. Her free hand smoothed out the soft fabric of her dress before gently touching her up-swept locks, ensuring that not a single one was out of place.

[Curtis Knox]

Knox nodded along with Tetch's words, but in truth at least some small fraction of his attention was captured by the woman in the white dress who strode past. There was nothing sordid or untoward in the way that his eyes followed her across the room: if nothing else she was far too young; not to mention the fact that his tastes were far too discerning and refined.

No: it was familiarity that drew his gaze. Detective Saunders had visited him at Arkham a few days ago, bringing with her the DEO agent who had been loitering around the buffet for quite some time. He smiled quietly to himself; despite their best efforts, the gathering's covert security wasn't nearly so covert if you'd actually met them before.

He turned his attention back to Jervis, adjusting his expression into one of interest. "Manipulating brain structure?" It was an intriguing prospect, with so much potential: everything from the benevolence of repairing brain damage to the more sinister applications of mind control. "Purely for medicinal applications, I hope."

[Jervis Tetch]

"Medicinal purposes. Of course," agreed Jervis. "Mostly I have been testing the technology's mental health applications. But, and this is just a theory at this point, if one could stimulate the right portion of the brain one might be able to increase reflexes. Creating a meta-human could very well be within the realm of this science."

He always added things like that when he was speaking to donors. The military practically frothed at the mouth at the thought of amping their soldiers up. Could he create a super-man? Jervis was very careful to never say yes. Muscles and healing were physical things, beyond the realm of reshaping the landscape of someone's grey matter. Reflexes, reaction times, and pain thresholds were brain and nerve related.

Not that he'd really been studying any of that. It was all... incidental to his real research. Jervis resisted the urge to check his pocket again.

[Curtis Knox]

Creating a meta-human.

That notion in and of itself was equal parts intriguing and alarming. For as long as the human race had been aware of the special abilities that some of it's members possessed, they had attempted to find ways to replicate it. In ancient times they relied of magic, spirituality, and divine intervention; in the modern day it was chemistry and cybernetics that took the foreground.

Humanity was obsessed with bettering itself, and unlocking hidden potential. It was with a strange melancholy that Curtis mused over whether or not such aspirations were born from hope and optimism, or from deep-rooted insecurities that being only human was not 'good enough'. Perhaps both.

"An intriguing prospect," Knox admitted with a bow of his head. "God knows we need a few breakthroughs in the mental health field: there's only so much we can do with talking therapies and drug cocktails." He offered what he hoped was a friendly and reassuring smile. "If you ever find yourself at a loss for funding, Doctor Tetch, Arkham Asylum would be more than happy to help support your research."

[Oliver Queen]

Oliver Queen was bored. It wasn't that he was being forced to endure unpleasant conversation - on the contrary, he'd managed to stumble across one of the plain clothes detectives at the bar, and was in the middle of a joke about how he was probably funding at least half of her department in speeding fines alone. Most of the undesirable conversations were being soaked up by the assortment of scientists and professors he'd seeded into the crowd: that incredible feat of social strategy was working surprisingly well.

His boredom stemmed more from being here, and not being out there. Functions like this were necessary: high profile events that fooled the public into believing that Oliver Queen still had an active nocturnal social life, and drew suspicion away from him being the man behind the hood. That didn't mean that he enjoyed them. The much younger man who'd made front pages with his trust funded, alcohol-fuelled exploits was long gone, beaten to death by military training and island solitude. He played the part from time to time; but in truth, Oliver Queen the socialite was the mask, the costume. Green Arrow was his truer self.

"- and that's why I'm not allowed to ride the Metro any more." His eyebrows twitched into a slight frown. "I never did get those pants back."

Laughter followed, and Oliver gestured to the barman for another drink, shifting his position to gaze out at the party he'd fabricated, and the familiar faces he'd invited. There was Jervis Tetch, crowbarred out of the lab, and now talking to the mildly unsettling administrator from Arkham Asylum. There was Victor Fries, the cryogenics expert who Ollie had agreed to give funding to purely on the basis of his amusingly apt name; he had no idea what Louise had done to convince him to attend, but he was glad she'd succeeded. There was Carter Hall, who Oliver had only invited because he knew how much it would annoy the old guy: no matter how intensely Carter seemed to hate him, Oliver knew that his odd sense of manners would make it impossible for him to turn down an invitation. There was Dinah, the world's most photogenic photojournalist, making a beeline directly for him. There was the DEO agent, who'd shown up with fancy paperwork to strong-arm Oliver into inviting -

Oliver's brain leapt back a few carriages on that train of thought, gaze settling on Dinah. Heading directly for him, and the probably suspicious-looking conversation he was having with an attractive redhead at the bar. A knot began to form in his stomach.

"Hey, Dinah," he blurted out, mustering what he hoped would look like a charming smile. "Allow me to introduce Detective Kendra Saunders, one of the people Gotham's finest sent to keep us all safe from crazy supervillains." He gestured a hand between the two women. "Detective, this is Dinah Hall: probably the most talented photographer on the planet."

[Dinah Hall]

"You're just saying that because I don't chase you around the city trying to snap photo's of you in compromising situations." Her eyebrows twitched a bit as a knowing smile played across her lips. Dinah leaned past Oliver and gave a quick order for a dry Martini to the bartender.

Dinah slid back to her upright stance,"Detective," and slung her camera over her shoulder. "Aside from trying to keep the intellectual elite from boring the pseudo-aristocrates out of their minds, what brings one of Gotham's finest to this little shindig tonight?"

She was genuinely curious at the number of undercover individuals she had spotted in the room. They all looked the part, but there was something just a bit off about them. Not interested in the technical conversations of the scientists nor the banter between differing political opinions, not even the various chit chat of current social scandals; they moved about quietly and politely among the crowd.

If Dinah had been attending the gathering as a guest she may have missed the difference, but in doing her own rounds grabbing photos of people she picked up on the subtle difference. In her opinion, it went a little beyond your average security measures for the attendees who might be interested in a little corporate espionage.

The bartender handed her the Martini and Dinah took a sip. "I mean, you don't strike me as the simple security guard type."

[Kendra Saunders]

The immediate shift in Oliver's stance from pretty rich-boy socialite to little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar was as amusing as it was abrupt. She might not be the expert in body language that so many others were, but Dinah's approach certainly made things even more interesting.

Kendra smiled bright as she stood a little bit straighter, and took another sip from her drink. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Hall."

Hall? Dina Hall...the name and the face floated about in an almost disjointed fashion for a few moments. Hazel eyes slid across the room to where she already knew Carter was standing, the strange sensation returning to sit heavily in her chest. His daughter. About her age. Well. Didn't that make things more...interesting.

Her mind circled back to the present conversation, as she smiled and shook her head, expression turning rueful. "I'm usually not, as an MCU detective. Normally, this isn't our purview. But my department works with the DEO and I'm here as a liaison to the DEO presence." Her words were polite and her tone even, but it would likely be obvious that there was much more behind them.

Hazel eyes drifted back to Carter briefly, before she shifted her stance, turning slightly more towards Oliver and Dinah instead. "I have to say, Miss Hall, I've greatly admired some of your work. How did you ever get into photojournalism?"

[Dinah Hall]

Dinah took a delicate sip of her martini, "My father actually introduced me to the camera as a child." A memory of Carter giving her a small point and shoot one Christmas and patiently teaching her how to use it surfaced in her mind.

"It was his way to keep me preoccupied, out of his hair and," she broke out into a wide smile, "ultimately a little quieter on our summer digs. I quickly discovered I love catching the unnoticed moments in time often overlooked by people. There is a certain beauty in every moment, even in the most tragic." Her smiled faded.

She looked directly into Kendra's eyes. "Who would I talk to about doing a ride along? I've had my fill of the society page and would like to get back to doing more serious work."

[Kendra Saunders]

Head canted to the side as she listened, Kendra found herself gently nodding. "I can certainly agree to that." she added quietly, her own smile fading a bit after Dinah's did. Fond memories of her childhood exploits in her father's garage, climbing around the cars he was working on, causing trouble until he gave in and started teaching her.

Arching a sculpted brow, Kendra sipped from from her drink, savoring the taste of the sweet concoction, absently wondering about recreating it at home. But with vodka, which would make it sublime.

Hazel eyes met Dinah's direct gaze as she answered with a thoughtful tone. "Depends on who you want to ride along with, really. But anyone of at least Captain level can you official permission. You're more than welcome to come with me, though, providing you don't mind someone who drives a fair bit faster than she should. If I wasn't a detective, I'm fairly certain I'd have racked up more speeding tickets than Mister Queen here." her expression brightened with a bit of mirth and mischief as she took another sip.

[Oliver Queen]

"I've only ever had two speeding tickets, thank you very much," Oliver muttered defensively, swallowing a defiant mouthful of his drink. The silent hesitation that followed undermined his point somewhat. "Okay, so I have a DUI, and I was once written up for driving whilst naked -" It was hard to tell whether the small smile he threw in Dinah's direction was nervous or embarrassed. "- but only two for speeding."

Another awkward moment appeared, and Oliver decided that coughing to himself would help dislodge it. It didn't work. He offered the ladies a smile each, and these ones were definitely embarrassed.

"Oh, look," he said suddenly, picking a random direction and pointing in it. "There's some person that, I really should, you know -" He downed the rest of his drink in one and reached awkwardly between Kendra and Dinah to set it down on the bar. Another smile. "- do the whole socialising thing."

With that he made as speedy an exit as he could without breaking into an actual run, swooping through the scattered clusters of conversationalists that had broken away from the main party group. As he passed he retrieved a glass of champagne from a waitress working her way through the crowd; a growl from his stomach reminded him that he should probably eat before he drunk too much more. However, the integrity of his lie was provisional on him actually finding someone to talk to; a conversation with the buffet probably wouldn't cut it.

Reaching his randomly selected member of the crowd, he placed a hand gently on their arm, voice dropping into a quiet but smiling half-whisper. "I don't think I actually know you, but if you could pretend to talk to me for a few minutes so the women I left by the bar don't think I'm a total crazy person, I would really appreciate it."