The Birds and the Beetles

[Kendra Saunders]

Oh, she tried not to laugh.

Tried not to extend his obvious discomfort, wondering to herself if he'd read far enough into her file to know who her grandpa was.

Tried so very hard to resist the urge to drift around a sharp turn into the long drive that led to the massive gates of Arkham Asylum.

Kendra failed spectacularly at behaving herself. Her laughter was bright as it escaped her lips, the gleeful sound in sharp contrast to the deft maneuver she managed to get the car to execute. She took a much more mild pace up the long drive, taking the time to compose herself and let Ted at least pretend he wasn't about to die.

"You are perfectly safe around me, even we do find ourselves within arm's reach of an assault rifle. I don't shoot annoying people...too much paperwork to file for an accidental weapons discharge, you know."

She stopped next to the imposing guard outpost, the great black gates now a few scant meters ahead. Window rolled down, she passed over her ID and her shield for verification, along with the ID Ted freed one hand to give her. "Detective Saunders, MCU, and Agent Kord of the DEO." Kendra said, her voice under much better control.

[Curtis Knox]

At first glance the office seemed spartan: but that was an illusion created by a meticulous sense of organisation. Rich wood pannelled the walls, and gave a feeling of wealth and luxury. Bookshelves recessed into them carried a veritable library of literature: everything from psychology to science fiction; from medical journals to magical journeys. Artefacts too littered those shelves: souvenirs from exotic lands, each one perfectly poised to blend into the room's atmosphere, leaving it full but not cluttered. The crimson carpet was plush and carefully cleaned; it marked out a vast welcoming space, interrupted only by the desk that stood sentry in front of the vast, landscape-filled bay window, and the invitingly comfortable chairs that sat ready for visitors.

Behind the desk sat Doctor Curtis Knox, lost in silent contemplation. Like the room, his desk was meticulously organised, but comfortably so: everything had it's place not because of some obsessive or compulsive desire for order, but simply because that is where each item had always been. The only things that disrupted the quaint antiquity that the writing mat, the ink well, the waiting pens and quills, the antique lamp, and the miniature globe all conjured were the computer - a necessary evil in these times - and the intercom.

It was the latter abomination of modern technology that disturbed him, chiming a harsh synthetic buzz as it so frequently did. "Doctor Knox," a voice spoke; Ann Carver, his ever-persistent secretary.

A sigh escaped him as he triggered the intercom, tired words tumbling from his lips without any pretence of civility. "What is it, Miss Carver?"

"I'm sorry to have to disturb you, but I've just been contacted by Security. A Detective and a DEO Agent are at the front gates, but I don't seem to have anything scheduled. Were you expecting them?"

A frown creased the Doctor's brow. He twisted in his seat, peering down the grass-bordered driveway to the distant sight of an obnoxiously painted and crudely designed automobile. "No, Miss Carver," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "I was not expecting them at all."

There was a moment of hesitation before the secretary spoke again. "Should I send them away? I can tell them you're busy, and have them schedule a proper appointment."

Curtis drew in a slow breath. "No, that won't be necessary." He turned back to his desk, and settled more comfortably into the high-backed leather seat. "Arkham Asylum is always more than happy to help the police with anything they need."

[Kendra Saunders]

"Miss Carver will meet you in the lobby. Please keep these visitor badges pinned to your IDs and return them on your way out." The guard said after some few moments, begrudgingly handing everything back over to Kendra.

It had taken some few minutes to obtain permission to enter, during which they'd sat in silence while the dour guard glared as best he could from his little glass box. Having dropped by without an appointment however, it was to be expected, which is why she simply smiled and waited there beside Ted, her car idly rumbling.

The right hand side of the massive gates gave a theatrical creak and groan as it slowly retracted open, wide enough to allow her entrance. The car slid through slowly, taking a slow, proper speed up the remaining portion of the drive, before coming to a stop in one of the marked visitor spaces. Slender fingers unbuckled her seat-belt, allowing it to retract as she clipped her badge and pass to her belt. Her glock and its holster were removed and securely set beneath a panel between the front seats, in lieu of leaving it in the hands of the security they'd soon be passing through.

"Ready?" Kendra spoke, turning to glance at Ted before slipping gracefully out of the car and closing the door.

[Ted Kord]

Freedom beckoned, oh so sweet as the car door opened. The ground looked so inviting: so safe, so stable, and so blessedly stationary. Unfortunately, the car wasn't all too keen on the prospect of him escaping; the cramped leg-space he'd clambered into was putting up a fight, restraining his man-legs from finding their way outside. Only when Ted abandoned any hopes of remaining graceful and presentable did he succeed, half-climbing and half-falling his way out onto the Arkham Asylum parking lot.

Finally feeling his fate back in his own hands, Ted smoothed down the front of his shirt and straightened, eyes sweeping his surroundings meerkat style to survey what the Challenger had prevented him from properly seeing. Mostly, he was looking for escape routes - perhaps a vehicle he could commandeer in the name of national security or something - or failing that, some way to render the Detective unconscious and confiscate her keys.

His gaze settled on a men-in-white-coats van, and he wondered if getting back into a car with Kendra would be sufficient grounds for insanity. A life spent in a comfy padded room seemed infinitely more appealing than a life ended in a high-speed collision with some kind of vehicle or surface that didn't feel like it was going to rattle apart at any moment.

"Yeah," he grunted, eyes sweeping the windows of the vast old house in search of his secondary point of concern: creepy looking crazy murderer people staring at him out of windows. There was a faint sigh of relief as he spotted none, though the voice in his mind reminded him that maybe they were just super-stealthy creepy looking crazy murderer people.

He forced his expression into a friendly-ish smile. "Ladies first, Detective."

[Kendra Saunders]

Her own expression mirrored his, a polite 'smile' residing on her lips as she moved forward. "How very chivalrous of you, Agent Kord. Thank you." Kendra said lightly, smoothing out her blouse and straightening her jacket as she climbed the steps up to the broad porch and the waiting door.

Door was perhaps the wrong word. Ornate, heavy-looking double doors that looked suited to when this monstrosity had still been a mansion. But knowing what it had locked up behind it made it seem...out of place, somehow. Years of learning to bluff at poker against her father, however, left her with an ability to keep her expressions smooth and even. There was nothing to betray her unease at entering the facility as a brawny guard glanced at her visitor ID and pulled open one half of the door to admit them into the belly of the beast.

Well, beast was a relative term. It might have been a hospital and prison for the criminally insane and insanely powerful, but it was still well maintained. The interior lobby hearkened back to the building's origin, in spite of the obvious security and medical paraphernalia that was tucked away in an attempt to make them unobtrusive to the eye. At the base of the grand staircase, waited a petite woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose and a blouse with one too many ruffles on it to be fashionable.

"Miss Carver, I presume? I'm Detective Kendra Saunders, and this is Agent Ted Kord. I do appreciate you being able to accommodate our unannounced visit." Kendra said with a slightly warmer smile, shaking the woman's proffered hand.

"Doctor Knox is waiting in his office. Please follow me." the secretary said crisply, turning with almost military precision to lead them up the stairs.

A couple of flights of stairs and one long, plushly carpeted hallway later, they entered what was presumably Miss Carver's office and the very formal waiting area. Knocking softly on the door, she paused until a deep voice sounded from beyond it. She opened it and stood aside, to allow them to pass, eying them both with thinly veiled displeasure at the interruption to her perfectly ordered day.

Kendra stepped through first, hazel eyes adjusting to the light and taking in the antique decor. It was a sight to behold, no less so than its occupant, who rose from behind his desk. "Doctor Knox..." she began, striding forward to offer her hand. "...I do appreciate you making time to see us. Please forgive the abruptness of our arrival."

[Curtis Knox]

Knox rose as his visitors entered, a warm smile arranged on his features as the young woman strode towards his desk. He returned her handshake with gentle firmness; not quite the traditional and suave greeting he was used to exchanging with a lady, but in this day and age such archaic manners were more likely to be considered as sexist or chauvinist rather than conveying the polite respect that was intended.

Crows feet crinkled at the corners of his bright and perceptive eyes as his gaze examined the duo, weighing up all the details that his psychological and life experience could divine from them in just a glance. "I would imagine," he guessed, eyes flicking from Kendra to Ted and back again, "That you are the Detective, and your friend here is the Agent."

He turned his attention fully to the other man, gauging the movement of the muscles in his shoulder to determine whether or not another handshake was necessary. Kord's hand remained firmly in his pocket; an amateurish attempt to prevent Knox from becoming too comfortable around him, but one that had no doubt proven effective in the past. Perhaps he was subconsciously considering some sort of good cop, bad cop scenario, letting the woman establish herself as the more friendly, amenable visitor while he remained subtly confrontational.

Knox met his gaze, and extended a hand regardless; his expression maintained the same pleasant smile that it had carried since the moment they'd entered, but his eyes almost dared Kord to let himself appear rude in front of the Detective by refusing the gesture.

"Your trousers," he added by way of explanation. "They've been tailored, and from the look of the fabric they're too expensive for anyone from the GCPD to risk wearing them while at work. No offence, Detective," he added, his eyes flicking to Kendra for only an instant.

[Ted Kord]

Ted could see that he was being sized up; it was to be expected, really. You couldn't walk into the office of an eminent psychologist without expecting him to try and profile you even a little.

In truth, that was part of the reason for being here: Arkham Asylum was something of a dumping ground for Gotham's more outlandish criminals. If the DEO was going to be assisting the GCPD, they had to know whether the holding facilities here were going to be up to scratch, or if they'd need to ship them off to a better equipped location elsewhere in the States. Ted cared very little about whether or not the Asylum could cure criminals; but he definitely needed to know if Knox and his staff were smart enough to sift the normals from the crazies.

That said, if Kord was going to be helping to lock up vigilantes as well as villains, it'd be nice to know that the place they were being shipped off to wasn't too barbaric.

"Agent Ted Kord," he introduced, finally electing to return the handshake; he kept it brief, but made a point of matching the firmness of the Doctor's grip pound for pound. "This is Detective Saunders. And yes," he added, "I'm not local. Just transferred in from DC."

[Curtis Knox]

From Washington. Another crude psychological tactic. By providing slightly more information than was absolutely necessary, Kord was testing him again. An inexperienced interrogator might become cocky and complacent in the face of answers that came more easily than they expected; or they might back off completely, not wanting to push their luck with a line of inquiry that had already proven fruitful.

"I trust this means that the DEO has decided to help us with Gotham's little -" he trailed off for a moment, mustering a knowing look. "- criminal insanity problem." The air quotes were heavily implied in his tone.

Waiting for his guests to be seated, Curtis followed suit, reclining back into a seat that was considerably more comfortable and grand than the one afforded to visitors. His fingers laced before him, and he set his gaze firmly on the Detective: no offence to Agent Kord, but it was a considerably more pleasant place to rest his eyes.

"So, Detective," he said with yet another smile, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Are you introducing Agent Kord here to the neighbours, or is there something specific that requires my expert attention?"