Evelyn Mulciber (bestdefense) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-12-12 16:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | evelyn mulciber, gwendolyn vane |
WHO: Gwendolyn Vane and Evelyn Mulciber
WHAT: An interview
WHEN: December 12, 2017
WHERE: Mulciber Security and Surveillance
Gwendolyn Vane sat in the waiting room for Mulciber Surveillance and Security, a notepad on her lap and her legs crossed at the ankle. She’d took careful care with her appearance earlier, stopping into the bathroom before she left the Prophet. It was a careful, measured routine, designed to combat the nervousness that had burrowed its way into her. She’d assessed herself critically, applying some extra lip balm, straightening her jacket, trying not to wonder whether she looked nervous. There wasn’t going to be time for it to get worse, she’d told herself. She was wrong. She arrived too early and no one seemed that thrilled with her being there, though Gwen couldn’t tell if that was purely her mind playing tricks on her. There was the possibility that potted plants were entirely indifferent to her presence. Folding her fingers around the top corners of the notepad, she glanced at the receptionist again, willing her to announce that Evelyn Mulciber was happy to see her. The receptionist vaguely acknowledged Gwen's presence, but until she finally got Evelyn's okay to let the young woman into the office behind her, said barely a word to their guest. "She'll see you now." The doors to the office opened to reveal Evelyn standing behind her over-large desk, beckoning the journalist in. She crossed around the desk to offer Gwen a firm handshake before gesturing to one of the seats facing the desk. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, "Tea, water?" After a moment, Gwen said, “Tea, please.” She sat, placing her bag at her feet and waiting barely a moment before she started talking. “Thanks for having me. I really appreciate it. The profile’s have been very popular and your business is surely thriving now. Yes?” Evelyn poured tea for herself and her guest, nodding to the tray which followed her to offer an array of tea additions for Gwen to choose from. Evelyn added nothing to her own brew and took her seat behind her imposing desk. "We're doing well," she said, not willing to commit actual numbers to a public profile. "Thank you for reaching out, by the way. We should all be doing more to promote women-led businesses and enterprises." “Of course,” Gwen said, smiling around the cup of tea. She let the warmth seep through the china and into her hands, before setting it back down beside her. There was a quill set up to take exact notes as they talked, but she scribbled on her notebook itself. The desk was large enough, notable enough that Gwen couldn’t not mention it. “I think that there’s a wide berth of women-owned businesses that get enough attention. We don’t think that yours should be one of those. Of course, you’re quite established at this point. What’s the key to your success?” "Isn't that always the question?" Evelyn's laugh was artificial, but not mean-spirited. It was the same kind of humouring patter she'd perfected over the years of working with stuffy clients and fluffy interviewers. "Let me let you in on a little secret -- there is never only one key to anyone's success. It doesn't matter how brilliant and skilled someone is if they're not also willing to put in the work, and staying ahead of the curve in new security systems and technology only matters when people believe that it works." That laugh again, "Or it's the trolls." Gwen scrunched her nose up and then laughed. “It might well be the trolls. I wouldn’t bet against them in a fight.” She laughed, light and airy and then asked, “Your company is comfortable with using magical creatures, then? Do you consult with experts on it?” "We are experts on it, dear. We've been training security trolls for over thirty years," Evelyn said, a hint of pride at her pet project showing. "Our troll services have been hired by private business, the Ministry--even Hogwarts, once." “Hogwarts has a reputation for being rather open-minded about creatures. They did hire someone who was later revealed to be a werewolf for a professor.” Gwen pushed her shoulders back slightly, her chin lifting just a little. “What do you think about werewolves?” Evelyn blinked. Her shift in demeanor was subtle; a straighter back, a tighter smile. After the very public accusations made against her on Hooter and over the journaling network, this transition didn't feel like a coincidence. "Well. I'll say I'm glad my daughters were no longer at Hogwarts at the time that individual was brought in." “Yes, I think we’ve heard a lot of similar responses from other parents,” Gwen said, voice round, soft, understanding. “The Prophet had a lot of letters that expressed much the same. They’re not very popular, werewolves.” A quick, nervous tap of her pen against paper and then, with more bravery than she’d expected, she asked, “What do you have to say to the accusations made on hooter and other forms of media linking you to the disappearance of former Professor Lupin?” Evelyn's smile was razor-thin. "I'd say whatever that poor man has been through has left him lashing out where he shouldn't be. I've had my solicitor looking into slander and libel cases. It is a relief to know The Prophet wouldn't print such unfounded drivel." “Of course not,” Gwen said, shaking her head, as if she was truly distraught. She reached up, pushing her hair back, fingers trailing down her jaw and tapping against it in thought for a moment before she returned her hand to her lap. She had to get this right: the last thing she wanted or needed was Narcissa Malfoy’s disapproval coming her way again. “We like to substantiate claims and we want to talk to people on the other side of the issue. You’re going to pursue this in court, then?” Evelyn glanced down at the woman's notebook. "I won't commit to that on record," she said. "We haven't decided yet the best course of legal action, and I wouldn't want to muck up anything by having it mentioned in the press before the appropriate steps, whatever they may be, are taken." Of course, the ideal plan was that the werewolf wouldn't be around long enough to necessitate any sort of legal action, but Evelyn at least tried to keep up an image of respectability. “No, of course,” Gwen said, nodding. “We wouldn’t endanger you like that.” She was smiling, the picture of support and professionalism. “You’re thought very well of in the Prophet, so many are obviously hoping the claims go away. False as they are.” There was still a question faint in her tone, a desire for explicit denials. Gwen couldn’t quite help it. "Am I?" Evelyn said, more a statement than a question. She thought back to various Prophet personnel she'd dealt with over the years, and she wasn't quite sure the statement was much more than flattery, but she didn't mind that. "Have we met before? You seem very familiar." Gwen looked at Evelyn for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t think so. Unless you’ve seen me around: I covered a few events a couple of years ago, maybe you were at one of them.” There was a beat and Gwen added, “Or if you go to media galas.” "Hmm, maybe." It didn't seem right to Evelyn, but she just couldn't quite place it. "Perhaps you remind me of someone." “My mum owns a pub in St. David’s,” Gwen supplied, even though she couldn’t exactly see Evelyn Mulciber frequenting it. “It does some popular nights, though it’s a bit far from you.” She laughed, lightly, and then, “Maybe I’ve got one of those faces.” "Perhaps you do. I suppose I've taken us off track," Evelyn said. She sipped her tea, then invited, "What other questions do you have for me?" “Oh, loads,” Gwen said, a smile slipping onto her face. “I’d like to ask about your daughters — do you have plans for a family empire, of sorts?” |