commence with your questions
This was - easily - one of the duties of his position he disliked the most, equally aware of the due diligence money and privilege tended to bring when it came to matters potentially detrimental to corporate interest and stockholders and resentful of just how readily it could shove itself into his personal existence, waiting on what might have been the edge of his seat had he been sitting for a bunch of press vultures to start picking apart bits and pieces of who he was - who he had been and who he had become - because the curious public and those who stood above him deserved to know.
Was it better than military investigations? Or having Central Intelligence and the Federal Bureau step in? Maybe, but they were equally intrusive and what he had thought to be careful, if not sometimes staunch methods, of ensuring he didn’t become a public figurehead - at least not in the realm of super heroism - were rocky at best, if not decided failures under foolish expectation of permanence.
People would find out - people had found out - and, if only out of significant convincing from a teenage trillionaire, if that was even scratching the surface of Warren Worthington the Third’s wealth, who might have known a little bit more about being in the capitalist hot seat, Joseph would take their inquiries, their burning questions, even when they became redundant to what was already known. It was just another interview - a series of queries he could answer without issue now that the visual was out in the open; and if someone wanted to dig into archives of press only, not public, conferences, they certainly could, too much at stake to ever consider broadcasting it to the public.
Thank goodness for closed-door press conferences.
The first questions were simple and didn’t exactly deserve the obvious: Yes, he was Joseph Warren the Third and, yes, he was the Chief Executive Officer of Warren Enterprises. As with any Chief Executive Officer of any international corporation, his duties included making corporate decisions and managing the overall operations and resources of the company, the main point of communication between the board and corporate officials, providing a face for what would have otherwise been a faceless group of decision-making money makers; but then questions would turn from the information everyone could find out to the information only a select few knew, and that took some more tact.
“On May 25th, obviously, some interesting things happened, centered in the Financial District and while I cannot say for certain the cause or the reason, I found it in my due diligence to help the situation where I could,” Joseph explained as he stood behind a podium, addressing the press reporters that had gathered, questions written on notepads where they could jot their own opinions among voice recorders that would ultimately carry what he had to say with them for dissection later. “My part in said affairs has been addressed with governing bodies and Warren Industries has donated both financial backing and resources for any remaining damage which has yet to be addressed.”
But professional questioning would only last for so long as they covered the necessary topics - the events as he knew them, what Warren Enterprise had been doing to help in considerable detail, future ventures for the company in accordance with both what they were known for and his own newly-founded status as a superhero and just what that might have brought to corporate and militaristic advantage, and the like - and Joseph didn’t find himself surprised by what the reporters had been able to dig up. His marriage to Kara Zor-El - not that he didn’t take every opportunity to correct them of his wife’s name and profession not as an alien superhero, but a living, breathing surgeon and frontline worker when the world needed it the most - had only scratched the surface, his irritation growing palpable in the wake of deeper pries into his life.
“I don’t presume I can speak for my parents, but I’d rather believe that this would be something my parents would accept rather than dismiss or reject, regardless of what complications it may present,” Joseph replied to one such reporter with a bitterness to his tone that suggested it a good move not to bring up the late-Warrens a second time, the itch of frustration felt from deep back in his mind that belonged to that same winged-teenager who had not only lost his parents to such tragic means - his father, felled by his own brother before the X-Men could even respond, and his mother, poisoned by the very same in an attempt to usurp the family fortune - but endured almost-familial disgust in the feathers perched on his back.
He didn’t need that here and neither didn’t Joseph, conveniently and obviously ignoring any questions that followed suit as topics turned - perhaps not in a better direction, but one that he could just as readily stem without feeling the press of metal pinions against his back.
“My relationship with Ms. Edie Ford is strictly professional these days. I’m sure no one has forgotten than I’m married to Supergirl,” he said with an attempt to assuage the tension with effacing humor, hands coming to rest on the sides of the podium where they gripped into the polished wood, “though I’ve got to admit you’ve done some good research digging through old tabloids and Teen Beat magazines to find all that out. Are you a fan of her attempts to find a best friend too?”
Okay, perhaps that had been a little strong.
“The Inner Circle and Warren Enterprises hold similar interested in established industries and contrary to what may be perceived about my and Ms. Ford’s personal relations, I trust Ms. Ford’s business acumen given the accolades of generations that came before her.” Naturally, they didn’t need to know the rest of it - the inner workings of a secret organization built of the wealthiest, most influential, and certainly most useful mutants, one of which had risen to power through what would have been considered unjust means had anything been known while the other had been responsible for the demon-laden destruction in the Financial District - all sure to raise some further questions he had no intention to broach.
There was still one more thing though as the question started to settle over the course of what felt like hours and may have very well been, a lone hand reaching up through the crowd as if teetering between hesitant and curious, Joseph shifting his shoulders as he straightened his posture to address it. Where any potential timidness had come from in the steamroller of questions covered everything from how his powered status would change the face of Warren Enterprises to the perception of his personal relationships now that he wasn’t quite human, Joseph didn’t know, but he’d entertain it all the same.
“Can we see them?”
The wings - he knew that much, Joseph staring down the reporter for a moment longer as he contemplated the posed question and expected action of a bunch of reporters waiting with bated breath for some further validation than the viral videos that had been hastily shot in the midst of chaos; and, more importantly, how he would react. Would it have been professional to embrace the opportunity, to finally shed some normalcy that was only ever hidden behind holographic frames that only a few people could see through, or was it more advantageous to keep it to himself, maintaining professionalism over feathered flamboyance that spoke more of a sideshow than business call?
The answer was an easy one - especially as he felt the soft plumes shift into cold metal against his back.
“You want fanfare, go find Tony Stark,” Joseph said. “If everyone doesn’t mind, I’ve got more meetings to attend. Thank you all for your time and your questions.”