The American public would be dubious, but they tend to be these days. Too many sanctimonious authorities having sex scandals right and left. But Veidt is more than capable of carrying his own luggage and obtaining his own coffee these days. His personal staff has diminished, point of pride in these harried times. At the moment he occupies his days with a small mentoring program. Not under his own name, that would be slightly gauche; the Veidt Institute For Privileged Teenagers With Self-Declared Moral Scruples? It is under the name of one of his high school teachers, who in point of fact never actually existed. A variety of young people from all economic backgrounds. Veidt's own protégé is the irrepressible Kurt Hummel.

If he didn't have some regard for the boy, he'd have passed him on to a more skillset-relevant teacher. Professionals with a more direct hand in the arts, or in the theater. Veidt Industries has the relevant connections in all sectors; that was no issue. The obvious answer (as all too often) as to why the long-since-retired Ozymandias would select a telemachus, even for six months, who happened to be a rosy-cheeked gay youth, was thoroughly, patently incorrect. Upon actually meeting the boy (after a thorough vetting) such thoughts couldn't be farther from his mind, and the implication of it was disturbing. The boy had a face like a china figurine, and even from their brief meeting had been preternaturally easy to read.

Painfully stylish, which must have distracted nicely from the anxiousness and fear. More of this than the average adolescent, which was saying something. No small amount of inner strength to counterbalance that, and a neverending wellspring of haughty adolescent viciousness, cattiness. Some trouble at home, Adrian is given to understand. More trouble at school. Quite a nice voice. (Veidt has perfect pitch.)

It's clear from his demeanor that he was expecting someone slightly more showy. He is wearing quite a good reproduction of one of Veidt's own suits circa 1986, which looks (under modern lighting, in a modern hotel lobby, on a rather small sixteen-year-old boy) garishly purple.

"How are you liking New York?"

On later meetings, he's more familiar.

"My friends think that you're Gay Professor Xavier." Veidt laughs, Kurt covers his mouth with a hand. "From X-Men, you know--"

"Of course," Adrian must cede graciously. "Sort of."

"And my dad's not sure what to think."