The Proust Questionnaire by Brittney Henley

Alex Rider, age fourteen and unwilling teenage spy, was not someone easily persuaded into anything. He liked to know the facts and reasoning behind something, and had never been one to take bullshit answers without a fight. The little details that went unsaid always bothered him, so he was known to take action and dig deeper for answers. That's why it would seem so unlikely he would agree to an interview. MI6 no longer had a secret weapon. Certainly a weapon of amazing ability, but Alex's pseudo-employment with the British intelligence agency was fairly common knowledge among the top-secret organizations at this point. After working with the ASIS and CIA, news spread past the KGB and all the way through Asia, reaching nearly every continent's department of life-and-death "gossip". Alex Rider was a fact now, a borderline legend, and after such popularity among the world's most secret associations, it was easily answered as to why many people were looking for answers. Who was this kid? Where had he come from? And why was he able to pull off succession after succession despite limited training (with the SAS, for 2 weeks no less, who offered very little education in the area of espionage)? Politicians became involved as news of the young boy spread, and soon a meeting was held. "Very little is known about Britain's young 'operative'. It is no wonder why you're all in a state of distress. He has seen and heard much more than the average fourteen year old, and you must be wondering what kind of child he must be so be able to pull of such huge undertakings. Therefore, since MI6 is reluctant to share what they don't want to, a compromise has been offered. The boy, one Alex John Rider, will be given the widely known Proust Questionnaire." This proclamation was met with silence. No one dared to breathe as the representative continued his explanation. "This, while being rather unorthodox, will give some insight into the child's personality, stability and, ultimately, dependability. MI6 has promised to cooperate, and we have been told he won't be informed of his, shall we say, interview until the very last minute to prevent any sort of planning. He is a fourteen year old boy, and spy or not, he has accomplished some amazing things. We will be forced to trust that he answer honestly. "The interview will be held a week from now. This decision has been agreed upon by all ambassadors with finality. This meeting is adjourned." So, a week later, Alex received a call asking him to the Royal Bank and General. He was assured that this was not anything that involved leaving the country, or even Chelsea for that matter, though it would call for some wit on his part. He was also told to be honest, but also smart. When Alex arrived, instead of being taken to see Blunt as he normally did, he was lead into a room one floor below the one that housed MI6's head of special operations. A woman in her early thirties with tightly wound hair and a cool expression greeted him. He was reminded of a brunette Mrs. Jones, but shook it off. Now wasn't the time to get distracted he needed to find out what this was about. "Why am I here?" He asked the woman, who'd earlier introduced herself as Veronica Faring, an ambassador of the GIO, or Global Intelligence Organization. She explained that he was to be interviewed for the next two hours, and breaks would be allowed for the bathroom only. He wasn't allowed to leave until it was over, but he was permitted to ask for recess anytime he felt the need. Alex nodded slowly, taking in all the facts, considering the explanations behind it, and all the while planning the specific castration of a certain Alan Blunt. This had been sprung on him with all the predictability of a landmine. Mrs. Faring nodded at him and then shut the door, leaving him to look around. He was in a room with a single coffee table and two plush chairs. A bowl of mixed nuts had been placed on the table, as had a pitcher of ice water and two glasses held atop coasters. Suddenly, Alex felt like some kind of movie star. He wondered what kind of questions they would ask had they meant interrogation when they'd said interview? Surely if he was in for anything dangerous they wouldn't have left the surroundings so comfortable. For once, Alex would have to trust what MI6 had told him and just go along with things. He took a seat in one of the chairs, but he wasn't waiting long before the door opened again and a short dark-haired man walked in. He was young enough to still be in his mid-twenties, his hazel eyes wide behind a pair of glasses. When he saw Alex he smiled, and that seemed to brighten up the dull look somewhat however, Alex had learned not to trust appearances at a young age. "Hello, Alex. How are you doing?"

"Fine." He answered curtly. The man looked appeased at the easy answer, sitting down in the chair opposite of him and pulling out a small notepad attached to a clipboard, along with a pen. He looked up to see Alex watching him carefully, chocolate eyes cool and calculative. Already the man was impressed with the teenager in front of him. Clearing his throat, he started again. "Well, my name is Sebastian Emerson, and I'll be interviewing you today. Feel free to ask me if you'd like to take a break anytime, but for the majority of the time this thing will go past a lot faster if you answer truthfully, okay?" "Sure." Alex responded, signaling for the man to go on. Emerson cleared his throat again, taking a tape recorder from the pocket of his coat before asking the first question. "What is your idea of perfect happiness?" It was a strange question, but Alex forced himself to think for a moment and answer accordingly. He guessed what Mrs. Faring had meant by "be smart" make sure you don't say anything compromising, like "well, I do wish Scorpia and MI6 would leave me alone because all I want is a normal life and no more bullet wounds". He opened his mouth to answer, paused, and then tried again. "I guess a weekend away everything? I don't know. It'd be nice to be able to relax with my friends." Emerson looked pleased with this answer, so he went on. "What is your greatest fear?" Images flooded his mind at this question of Jack, a pool of blood growing beneath her prone figure. Sabina, sprawled out beside her, unmoving. Tom, and the rest of his class, all gone from the world. He swallowed. "Spiders." Emerson gave a plastic laugh, smiling and going on comfortably. "Alright, this is great. Now, what is the trait you most deplore in yourself?" This one was easy. He grinned and answered with, "Probably whatever trait makes me such a pushover." Emerson nearly snorted. This child was hardly any kind of pushover. Nevertheless, he continued. "What is the trait you most deplore in others?" "I'd say insanity. It makes them rather unpredictable." In fact, nearly all the villains Alex had encountered had been mad in some right. He decided stopping a sane person from taking over the world would be a lot easier, although he didn't have much experience in the area if he were to be really honest. "Which living person do you most admire?" This one also came easily. He couldn't think of anyone else more admirable than the red-haired American that stuck by him through thick and thin. She'd gone through a lot more than the job description had offered, and despite everything, still refused to go. "My housekeeper, Jack."

Emerson glanced up, surprised. Somehow, he'd expected to hear something like the President, but it was also obvious that Alex Rider wasn't a predictable character. "What is your greatest extravagance?" Alex didn't quite know what to answer this one with. He didn't really have any extravagances, so he answered dryly, "I guess I'd have to say all the brilliant gadgets I receive from Mr. Smithers." Especially the explosive gum. That. Was. Awesome. Emerson hadn't expected this answer, either. Mr. Smithers? Probably a toymaker of some sort if he was to guess. "What is your current state of mind?" This was where what Mrs. Faring had told him came in. No joking around with anything like "just a little off my rocker" and a crazy smile. He answered straight-faced. "Sane enough." He was told to be smart, but he was also told to be honest. Shuffling his feet, Emerson smiled unsteadily. This was turning out to be a really strange interview. He hadn't been told who this kid was or any of the things he'd seen, just that he'd be interviewing a special fourteen year old and it was crucial that it went well. "What do you consider the most overrated virtue?" Alex laughed. "Innocence." This was an unusual answer as well. Just who was this kid? "On what occasion do you lie?" Oh, this was rich. Alex was actually glad he'd gone along with this it was proving to be pretty amusing. He could tell Emerson hadn't been told much about him, so he smiled and explained, "Whenever the situation calls for it. Little white lies only, I assure you." Except the last year and a half, even off duty if you think really think about it. "What do you most dislike about your appearance?" Alex frowned. He'd always held a sort of held a fondness for his eyes they were a memento of his mother. He'd gotten his fair hair from his grandfather, he'd been told the same color as Ian, but different from his father's dark locks. All in all, Alex had been told he was attractive to say the least, but in the end, Sabina had only given him a twelve out of twenty. Granted she'd also added that he'd be perfect in a few years though that wasn't the point. Shaking his head, Alex responded when the answer popped into his head. "My scars." Emerson swallowed nervously. "Ah okay. So, which living person do you most despise?" This one was simple and easy. MI6. He knew the answer and his lips had already twitched into a smile of subtle contempt, but at the same time he knew that answering this one honestly was probably the stupidest thing he could do at the moment.

"Tiger Woods. What a dick," he enunciated. Emerson laughed. Finally a teenage answer. "What is the quality you most like in a woman?" Tan skin, long legs and dark luscious hair worked their way into the forefront of his mind. Now it was his turn to tug at the sleeves of his dress shirt, willing the pictures to leave him. He wouldn't say looks, he wouldn't say looks, he wouldn't say looks But Alex found he didn't even need to. Sabina was more than just a cute girl he stared at a little too long. She'd kept her cool with Damian Cray, offered herself as a pillar of support. Her powerful smile had always made him feel a little better when he was feeling at his worst, and he knew he wouldn't take anything else in a girl. He looked straight at Emerson, slightly surprised at his own composure. "Strength." Emerson wanted to sigh. Alex Rider was too good to be true. What kind of answer was that from a fourteen year old boy? He carried on, wishing he could've interviewed Britney Spears or Borat or something. "What is the quality you most like in a man?" He thought of his best friend, Tom. The answer came to him when he thought of how Tom never told his secret to anyone, and even went as far as to defend him and dispel every vicious rumor that revolved around him. "Loyalty." "Which words or phrases do you most overuse?" This was a weird question. He wasn't sure maybe something like "you're insane" or something along those lines? "Oh, I don't know. Probably 'you'll never get away with it'?" There had been enough crazed villains to allow him justified access to the phrase well over a few times. This time, Emerson just breezed past it, giving up on the idea of receiving normal answers. "What or who is the greatest love of your life?" Jesus Christ, can I ever catch a break? "Pie. Love it, can't get enough of it." Emerson shot him a what the hell are you saying now? look. Alex had been avoiding the question and used his favorite weapon sarcasm. "When and where were you happiest?" "Hey, Alex, rub more sunscreen on my back, would you? Sun is killer today, huh?" Damn it. "I had a school play in grade four. It was really fun." "That sounds nice. Which talent would you most like to have?"

He had no idea how to answer this question. Which talent? Maybe the talent to disappear into thin air, or create a black hole beneath his feet to be sucked into. There were quite a few times he wouldn't have minded doing this. He forced himself to give out a normal, fake answer, though. "I've always wanted to play guitar." In truth, Ian Rider had never been willing to pay for music lessons. He'd wanted to take up an instrument when he was younger, but the man insisted that he should focus his attention on something more important, like his karate, survival skills or foreign languages. It always seemed like a personal thing until Alex learned the truth about his uncle. Now, he didn't really care all that much, despite the fact that the man raised him to be a spy from the friggin cradle. "If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?" This one was also hard, but at the same time he decided to go with a surface answer, one easy and truthful at the same time. "I'd really like to be taller." After all, his youth was what made him so valuable, right? If he was taller he might not be MI6's first option as a teenage spy. "What do you consider your greatest achievement?" Emerson carried on, accepting the answer easily. "The time I managed to make Yorkshire puddings and not have them all deflate. It's a risky business," he confessed with a loose smile. The man might have taken this answer in stride if he couldn't see how Alex was carefully evaluating these answers in his head, eyes narrowed with concentration. While the glass expression was perfect one of comfortable false contentment and easy curiosity there was something in those chocolate depths that just screamed power. Emerson shivered, wondering how the boy managed to be so in control of the situation. Emerson was sure he was feeling more intimidated than this kid ever did. However, he forced himself to continue, wishing he'd said no to the job. He was feeling more than a little rattled by Alex Rider's presence after all, the kid was an enigma. "If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?" Emerson asked, still jotting down Alex's response on paper from the last question. Alex rolled the questioned over in his mind, answering after a moment's thoughts, "A pineapple. Chill all day in the sun That's the life," he told Emerson, images of a tropical island vacation wafting through his brain. If anyone needed the break, he did. Emerson's eyes flickered up, incredulity written into the dark depths. He tried to school his expression into one less profound, though. "Where would you most like to live?" "France," Alex answered effortlessly, "preferably the South." The good memories of staying with Sabina far outweighed the ones from his time spent at Point Blanc, and besides that, he'd worked with the CIA, MI6, and the ASIS. He had yet to be exploited by the French Intelligence services. "Yes, that'd be nice," Emerson concluded, glancing down at the sheet in his hands for the next question after he finished jotting down that answer. "What is your most treasured possession?" Well, he didn't really put a lot of value into possessions, but he did his best to answer anyway. "I have a wooden beaded necklace I got on vacation once from a friend. It's pretty important to me." "What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?" Here come the harder questions, once again. Alex thought hard, his mind immediately grabbing for his entire scope of memories spent captive, or worse when he was still working for the terrorist organization, Scorpia. Hard times, those were. Eyes darkening, he replied coolly, "The point where you realize that the good side and the bad side are both going to screw you over one way or another. Also, when

you find out that girls your age are impressed by Justin Bieber but you're still considered a loser." Despite the fact that you save the world on a regular basis, and manage to get your maths homework done on time. Emerson didn't even try to dissect that one. Justin Bieber was one of the names on his list of people to interview once he became big, anyway. "What is your favorite occupation?" Oh, this was great. Alex wondered if they wanted to hear him say spy. Assassin was what he wanted to say just to be annoying, but he slammed his big mouth shut in favor of saying with a pleasing smile, "Professional athlete." After all, the joke would cost him a lot more than it would cost Blunt. He was sure his time spent in Venice had been carefully covered up, anyway. "What is your most marked characteristic?" Emerson asked next, glad for the break in strange answers. Alex tapped his fingers on his knee, answering brightly, "Sarcasm." " Right. And what do you most value in your friends?" "Friendliness?" He suggested, eyebrows furrowing. He was just messing with the man now. Emerson scribbled down the response before carrying on, his voice a lot shakier and rushed than it had been when he'd first entered, all cheesy smiles and confident underestimation. The blonde supposed Emerson wanted nothing more than to escape from this room now. "Who are your favorite writers?" "Don't got any," Alex replied languidly, stretching out on his chair. "I mean, J.K. Rowling? She's British, isn't she? Lovely." Emerson stared. Then he sighed and gave up, continuing in a defeated-sounding voice, "Who is your hero of fiction?" "James Bond," he replied instantly, knowing any other answer was completely unacceptable. Emerson nodded silently, moving on. "Which historical figure do you most identify with?" "I have no clue," he offered, never bothering to think these ones through. He hated the reference questions, and didn't really feel like giving it all that much thought. In the beginning of the interview, Emerson probably would've pressed for an answer, but now he accepted it without a hitch. These thirty-five questions were the most tiring ones he'd ever asked in his life. "Who are your heroes in real life?" He breathed, looking up at Alex, who was peering at him artlessly, of all things. This question came easily to mind. He thought of Yassin Gregorovich (who happened to be dead), and the way his father (who was also dead) and he had worked together. The man may of made a mess of his life near the end, but he was still someone Alex considered extremely strong, mentally and physically. Though giving the name of a world-renowned killer as his real-life hero was probably not something Mrs. Faring would consider as smart. "My mom and dad," he shrugged, knowing that this was also true. To think his mother would stick by his father even though their life together had become so complicated was impressive to say the least, and the things his father had accomplished were astounding. They were both considered good guys, too, so that meant it was a safe answer. "What are your favorite names?" Emerson continued, satisfied. And they want to know this why, exactly? Alex wondered, pondering the answers. He hadn't given much thought to his 'favorite

names', so he decided to bullshit it. "Alex and Jack," he piped up. "Emerson is a nice name too though." Emerson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Four more questions, he motivated himself. Then I'm free. "What is it that you most dislike?" MI6. The SAS. Gossips. Interviews. Insane villains trying to take over the world, my dead godfather (who killed my parents)- Ash. "School dances. Who goes to them, anyways, besides the preps?" Yes, playing the simple teenager card would work just fine for this one. "What is your greatest regret?" Emerson hurried on, knowing he was nearly done. So close. Alex wondered. He had quite a few, to say the least trusting his Godfather, allowing Wolf to get shot in the Alps, not realizing he was being played by his only living relative his whole life, taking Yassin's advice and tracking down Scorpia and biggest of all, seeking out the truth surrounding his uncle's death. ' car accident, tragic, really. The poor boy's an orphan now, I suspect, unless that housekeeper of his decides to step up. Oh, I do hope she does' But he once again chose to reply on a half-truth. "I once hijacked a crane and tossed a drug lab into the ocean. If only I'd stopped and thought about the fish I wonder how many of them were forced to go to rehab because of that? The fish interventions alone must have been numerous to say the least The families I must have torn apart" What the hell? Emerson inwardly wailed, hand clenching around the pencil he held above the papers. Grinding his teeth, he forced a strained smile, not bothering to confirm the kid's story. Before he'd entered the room he would've laughed it off. Now he was left thinking about how many Fish Anonymous sessions were being held in that particular spot underwater. "How would you like to die?" Well, how he'd like to die and how he was going to die were two very different ways. Alex very much doubted he'd make it past thirty, but he smiled and responded truthfully all the same. "Peacefully in my sleep." How boring. Emerson allowed a peaceful smile to grace his features when he realized he was on the last question. Glancing at where Alex was splayed out in the armchair, he asked breathlessly, "What is your motto?" Alex couldn't properly answer. A motto? Didn't people just have those in crappy TV shows and even crappier books? Emerson was squinting at him, eager for the kid to answer so he would be able to finally just leave, when Alex's mouth opened and he paused before answering finally. "Never say never." It was quite possibly the corniest thing he could've said, but it no doubt fit. How many times had he managed to bite back against all odds? Gotten out of situations that promised death? How many times had he thought I will never let myself be used by Blunt ever again? Emerson scrawled the words down on the paper hastily, standing up when he was finished and hurriedly reaching forward to shake Alex's hand.

"Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Rider. It was i-interesting." He stressed, eyes moving over to where he'd entered, just to make sure the door was still there and available for exit. After a beat of silence in which Emerson was lost in thought and Alex was giving him a disturbed look on the basis that the interviewer had yet to let go of his hand, Emerson finally looked up and tore his grasp away, looking apologetic. Then he dashed out the door, leaving the clipboard on the armchair. Alex ran a hand through his blonde hair, mumbling quietly, "Well that went well." Then he reached forward, gathering a handful of the mixed nuts in his hand before tossing them into his mouth, chewing absently. They tasted bland and seemed more for appearances only, much like the rest of this room. When Mrs. Veronica Faring came out a moment later, he had a pleasant, relaxed expression on his face a stark contrast to the interviewer's who she'd watched flee through the hallways under a minute ago. "I trust the interview was enlightening?" She asked impartially, raising an eyebrow. Alex stood up and walked over to the door, peering around the corner just in time to catch Emerson trip in his haste to get into the elevator, crashing into a tall woman and spilling her coffee all over the both of them. He slowly leaned back and met her eyes. "That's one way of putting it.