Post by Deleted on Jan 24, 2016 3:42:51 GMT -5
“For a time I would feel I belonged still to a world of straightforward facts; but the feeling would not last long. Something would turn up to scare it away.” -- Joseph Conrad
Lex Luthor's office seemed like something out of science fiction, it certainly did not seem like the workspace of an average human being, but rather one who saw the design aesthetic of bauhaus minimalism as a little too cluttered. Spartan did not quite do the office justice, nor did minimalistic, nor did austere, ascetic or even monklike. Empty would be a good term for it. The area was large enough, it took up almost the entirety of one of the upper floors of the LexCorp Tower, certainly the highest office floor, although it didn't seem to reach entirely to the roof of the large building that dominated the Metropolis skyline.
The elevator ride up was quick, Gordon had been led to a specific elevator, Mercy Graves, the Amazonian bodyguard of Luthor had led the man personally, large and dominating, she looked like some sort of Greek Goddess, but said very little on the ride up. The elevator moved easily, with an almost impossible speed if the numbers suggested anything. When the clear windows of the elevator showed the cityscape behind it, the speed was confirmed on a background of a cityscape of landmarks. Metropolis was . . . clean. That's one way to describe it. A clean city with futuristic architecture that seemed a world away from the dark alleys and dank corners of Dark Gotham City. Metropolis was a love letter to a history of Tomorrows, carved in glass and stone and steel, a bustling city where things seemed to work together and crime, if it even existed at all, appeared in full color glory without the moral ambiguity of something so simple as sacrifice.
Lex Luthor's hand was visible throughout the city, it was a playground that appealed to the aesthetic he always spoke of, future, tomorrow, the full bay of Metropolis was clear and blue with an even progress of boats moving in and out, and in the distance, a blur . . . up in the sky. A bird? No. Maybe a plane. . .
When the elevator had opened up it was in a waiting room. Comfortably appointed, it had its own private washroom, the secretary appeared bored but competent, an older woman who said very little. The waiting room was sleek, modern, LexTabs sat in the side table with magazines and newspapers on them, a floating stream of holographic information floated overhead with news stations and videos playing. The acoustics appeared designed just so that when Gordon looked at every floating screen, he could hear the audio of only that screen, and none of the others. Whether that was because they were tracking his attention and adjusting the audio, or just superior audio engineering, was difficult to tell.
It was a short wait, no more than five minutes before the secretary said that Mr. Luthor was ready. . . and then the door opened.
The interior of the office was larger than the waiting room, and it appeared to take up most of the floor, diffuse glowing white on ceiling and ground, panels of lights that shifted slightly in tone from white to softer white, powered by some unseen thing. Three of the four walls were taken up by floor to ceiling windows that showed the entirety of the Metropolis Skyline, the Daily Planet building in the distance. The office itself, otherwise, was almost entirely empty except for what appeared to be a glass and brushed metal desk that Lex Luthor stood in front of, walking around and looking at a very realistic figure of Poison Ivy. Little balls of information and holographic displays stayed near Luthor as he spoke. Various machine parts and schematic designs floated nearby in the corner, transparent and very clearly some sort of holographic display.
"Commissioner Gordon, I'm glad I have the opportunity to speak with you, while you're in the city. The East Coast Metacrime Conference . . . it's wonderful to see so many cities working together to engage in this new reality. I plan on being there in the Technology Seminar, personally. Dr. Magnus was going to go to it, but I thought it would be much better to go personally, after all. Some things to require the personal touch."
He waved a hand in a strange arcane pattern as a new holographic readout floated in front of him, suddenly visible. The floor parted way near the desk as a chair rose slowly from the floor, then he thought better of it, waved his hand in the air then moved an open palm up, before swiping his off hand again twice. the windows started to darken as the ceiling and floor opened up in another part of the office. Two sofas arose from the floor, along with what appeared to be a fireplace. The fireplace lit itself on the way up as a corner of the office began to change into something more comfortable, something better suited to guests. Awards on the wall, an abstract painting over the granite fireplace, a counter rising from the floor. "Please, do have a seat. We can discuss this interesting conundrum you've shared with me. Control of plants, Pamela Isley, Doctor Pamela Isley, a protege of the infamous and great Dr. Jason Woodrue, and subject to his . . . experiments." He seemed to show a bit of personal distaste at the thought of something, then shook his head as he said "Can I get you a drink?"
Lex Luthor's office seemed like something out of science fiction, it certainly did not seem like the workspace of an average human being, but rather one who saw the design aesthetic of bauhaus minimalism as a little too cluttered. Spartan did not quite do the office justice, nor did minimalistic, nor did austere, ascetic or even monklike. Empty would be a good term for it. The area was large enough, it took up almost the entirety of one of the upper floors of the LexCorp Tower, certainly the highest office floor, although it didn't seem to reach entirely to the roof of the large building that dominated the Metropolis skyline.
The elevator ride up was quick, Gordon had been led to a specific elevator, Mercy Graves, the Amazonian bodyguard of Luthor had led the man personally, large and dominating, she looked like some sort of Greek Goddess, but said very little on the ride up. The elevator moved easily, with an almost impossible speed if the numbers suggested anything. When the clear windows of the elevator showed the cityscape behind it, the speed was confirmed on a background of a cityscape of landmarks. Metropolis was . . . clean. That's one way to describe it. A clean city with futuristic architecture that seemed a world away from the dark alleys and dank corners of Dark Gotham City. Metropolis was a love letter to a history of Tomorrows, carved in glass and stone and steel, a bustling city where things seemed to work together and crime, if it even existed at all, appeared in full color glory without the moral ambiguity of something so simple as sacrifice.
Lex Luthor's hand was visible throughout the city, it was a playground that appealed to the aesthetic he always spoke of, future, tomorrow, the full bay of Metropolis was clear and blue with an even progress of boats moving in and out, and in the distance, a blur . . . up in the sky. A bird? No. Maybe a plane. . .
When the elevator had opened up it was in a waiting room. Comfortably appointed, it had its own private washroom, the secretary appeared bored but competent, an older woman who said very little. The waiting room was sleek, modern, LexTabs sat in the side table with magazines and newspapers on them, a floating stream of holographic information floated overhead with news stations and videos playing. The acoustics appeared designed just so that when Gordon looked at every floating screen, he could hear the audio of only that screen, and none of the others. Whether that was because they were tracking his attention and adjusting the audio, or just superior audio engineering, was difficult to tell.
It was a short wait, no more than five minutes before the secretary said that Mr. Luthor was ready. . . and then the door opened.
The interior of the office was larger than the waiting room, and it appeared to take up most of the floor, diffuse glowing white on ceiling and ground, panels of lights that shifted slightly in tone from white to softer white, powered by some unseen thing. Three of the four walls were taken up by floor to ceiling windows that showed the entirety of the Metropolis Skyline, the Daily Planet building in the distance. The office itself, otherwise, was almost entirely empty except for what appeared to be a glass and brushed metal desk that Lex Luthor stood in front of, walking around and looking at a very realistic figure of Poison Ivy. Little balls of information and holographic displays stayed near Luthor as he spoke. Various machine parts and schematic designs floated nearby in the corner, transparent and very clearly some sort of holographic display.
"Commissioner Gordon, I'm glad I have the opportunity to speak with you, while you're in the city. The East Coast Metacrime Conference . . . it's wonderful to see so many cities working together to engage in this new reality. I plan on being there in the Technology Seminar, personally. Dr. Magnus was going to go to it, but I thought it would be much better to go personally, after all. Some things to require the personal touch."
He waved a hand in a strange arcane pattern as a new holographic readout floated in front of him, suddenly visible. The floor parted way near the desk as a chair rose slowly from the floor, then he thought better of it, waved his hand in the air then moved an open palm up, before swiping his off hand again twice. the windows started to darken as the ceiling and floor opened up in another part of the office. Two sofas arose from the floor, along with what appeared to be a fireplace. The fireplace lit itself on the way up as a corner of the office began to change into something more comfortable, something better suited to guests. Awards on the wall, an abstract painting over the granite fireplace, a counter rising from the floor. "Please, do have a seat. We can discuss this interesting conundrum you've shared with me. Control of plants, Pamela Isley, Doctor Pamela Isley, a protege of the infamous and great Dr. Jason Woodrue, and subject to his . . . experiments." He seemed to show a bit of personal distaste at the thought of something, then shook his head as he said "Can I get you a drink?"