ArchivedLogs:Unintended Consequences

Unintended Consequences
Dramatis Personae Eric, Ion, Micah
In Absentia	30 April 2014 Preparing the church for the coming refugees. (Part of the Prometheus TP and the Perfectus TP.)
Location <NYC> St. Martin's Church – Harlem
St. Martin de Porres Catholic Church is not large, but it has a quiet majesty to it all the same, in the way of many old churches. A tall stone building tucked into the center of Harlem, it is one of the earliest Catholic churches in the city, and it looks it. Inside, the wooden pews stretch off towards the alter, the crucifix an immense and solemn wooden carving that presides over it all. Most of the windows are stained class, rich and vibrantly colourful depictions of various saints and Biblical scenes. Small recesses along the wall hold the Stations of the Cross depicted in intricate stone carvings, and the prayer alcove holds real flickering votive candles unlike many modern churches who have switched over to electric. The vaulted ceiling has detailed painting done between its arches, and the distinctive scent of frankincense often lingers faintly in the air. Below, the basement of the church has been heavily modernized; there is a pair of meeting rooms for classes, a pair of bathrooms with showers, a door leading out to the tiny adjoining rectory building where the pastor lives. In tribute to the church's namesake, ministries for the poor are a large part of the church community; one room holds a wealth of donated clothing that is free for any to take. With the large dining room and industrial kitchen that serve hot dinners six days a week and distribute donated bags of groceries every Monday, there are frequent visitors through here who are often in need of the helping hand. As the evening sets on the Saint Martin de Porres Church, it is busy. Busier than usual, for a time where the soup kitchen is not running. In the basement, cots are being set out in the large dining room, space cleared out by a small cadre of volunteers. Many of the volunteers are in the process of unloading equipment from the back of a beat up looking box truck; an eclectic set of cots, blankets and pillows to pack the halls. Some medical supplies, as well, are beginning to be piled up in the smaller classrooms, and a few cots as well. In the thick of things, downstairs, Eric has apparently been put to work where his skills are best suited. In the words of one of the organizers, "Keep your mouth shut and carry the heavy shit." In a blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans, Eric strides back and forth between the truck and the basement, carrying plastic tubs of stuff into its place in the classroom downstairs. Ion is good at that second part of Helping. Nooot so good at the first. He's in a leather jacket over plain white tee and jeans, bounding down the stairs with arms loaded up with a pair of boxes that he carts off to add to the first aid supplies. "S'nearly ready to party, huh? Hope someone get some music up-in-here, last time this place was jammin'." He ambles out of the side meeting room, thumbs tucked through his beltloops. "'Course we ended up with some not-so-fun crashers but huh. Maybe be little more selective about the guests this time 'round. You want to play bouncer?" He's asking this to Eric, with an upward jerk of chin and a flick of dark eyes over muscles, appraising. There is a thudding knock at the basement door, where Micah sits patiently until someone opens the thing. Fortunately, there's a bit of a /bustle/, so his wait is not likely long. He is dressed in his army green canvas jacket and olive newsboy cap against the intermittent drizzle, simple aubergine henley shirt and faded bluejeans underneath. His hands have a pair of neon orange and black half-finger wheelchair gloves on them since he's been zipping around quite a bit today, in and out of the TARDIS-van on assorted errands. Seated in his lime green wheelchair, he has several reusable canvas bags full of large Tupperware containers in his lap. "You know it." Eric says, grinning at Ion and posing a little bit as the other man looks him over. "See something you like, vato?" He winks, but the smile on his face freezes as he glances at the door. He takes the lead, putting the box in his arms down on the floor and going over to crack the door open and peer out it. When he sees Micah, his eyes widen and he opens the door quickly. "Hiya, Micah," Eric says, surprised. "Come on in. Need some help?" He blinks, tilting his head to one side slightly at the wheelchair. "Leg in the shop?" he asks, curiously, stepping to one side to let the other man pass. "Anyone ever tell you you are /really/ damn full of yourself, gabacho?" Ion's tongue clicks against his teeth, head shaking at Eric's wink. "Need your fists, yo, not your damn --" His ensuing crotch-grab is rather pointedly AT Eric. Complete with small hip-thrust, too. "Eyyyy, howzit? S'my favorite cyborg. You come with a /feast/? He always come with a feast." He ambles over to reach for some of the bags, scooping a pair off of Micah's lap. "Hi, Eric. Leg's fine," Micah replies with a grin. "Brain could use some work, though. Man, that's a long story if y'ain't heard none of it yet. What d'you know 'bout the whole Perfectus cult stealin' special abilities from folks 'long with body parts?" He reaches far back on the ultralight's wheels to propel himself over the threshold and in toward the kitchen, pausing when Ion approaches to clap a hand on his forearm in greeting. "Yessir, y'know it. S'more where this came from in the van, but I can only put so many bags on me an' still be able t'move without riskin' droppin' stuff. Been cookin' since early this mornin', so there's a few /billion/ containers of soups an' curries an' chilies an' stews an' casseroles an' pastas. Vegan stuff's marked. Figured pre-cooked was best t'do first an' we can always buy more groceries t'supplement later. Plannin' a trip for the less-perishable sorts of things after this." "All the time, ese. But about the same number of people say they want to be full'a me." Eric grins at Ion in a very familiar kind of playfulness. He gives Micah a bit of a surprised look, flicking his attention to the other man's wheelchair. "Yeah, I heard some'a it before I got dropped from the force, but it was all still pretty new. And what I read on the news'n all, 'course. You alright?" Eric asks, striding back into the room and grabbing a large plastic crate. He quickly unloads it, squatting down and looking at Micah as he unloads things onto the floor next to him, clearing it out. "Tsss." Ion just shakes his head, returning Micah's clap with a firm forearm-squeeze of his own (it comes with a brief zap of static electricity before he lets go.) "Few billion, man, you're an angel. I'll go stash this, yeah? You got more outside? I'll take. You check the first-aid stuff maybe you're like practically a doctor, right? Make sure we not missing nothing." He jostles at Micah's shoulder with another squeeze, carting the bags off to the kitchen to put the food away. Eric's reply to Ion earns a little headshake-eyeroll from Micah, though his small, lopsided grin is amused, clearly. "Thanks, Ion. Lock Lucille up when y'got everythin' in?" He hands the keys over to Ion for unloading purposes, knowing /full/ well that he's better used on other tasks than carrying currently. "Practically-a-medic's more like, but thanks, sugar." Micah drops his remaining bags off, lifting them up onto a countertop that's a bit high for him, turning back to Eric after. "It...was a mess. When they took Dusk an' one of the twins' classmates, we didn't have the first idea where t'start lookin'. Other than a guy who got killed rescuin' /another/ one of the twins' classmates was involved in a church group. So I went kinda undercover? An' maybe did too well. Creepysauce cult leader--who is John Sublime, just extra-fun FYI--stuck a leg on me. Messed with m'head. Got telepathy /and/ a connection t'him at the same time. I just had the leg removed on Monday t'get rid of...all of it. All but the part where m'brain's wired for two /biological/ legs now, so I don't work quite like I used to." He shrugs and sighs. "Got everybody home an' workin' t'ward bein' healed now, though. An' Sublime's in custody. So there's that." He glances around. "Anythin' I can help with? An' I prob'ly /should/ take a look at the first aid supplies 'fore I leave. Just...stocks in general since I'm gonna fetch more stuff." Eric listens to this, unpacking the crate slower and slower before his hands are groping in the bottom of the empty box. This does cause his eyes to flick away from Micah and into the box just long enough to put it aside and start sorting the blankets, clothes and medical supplies out into separate piles "Jesus, Micah. I wouldn'ta thought goin' undercover is really in your skill set, but." He shakes his head, giving the other man an impressed look. "Since you're standin' here - or sittin', even - ya must've done somethin' right." Eric's smile is warm, even though he does give Micah a bit of a sympathetic look. "Shit, ya should talk to me more often. Helps knowin' ya ain't got the shittiest time'a it the last few weeks," Eric teases, lightly, teeth flashing in a grin. "He ain't in police custody; least, that's what the news says. But it's good'ta know he ain't a threat anymore. I assume he's up north?" Eric raises an eyebrow. "I'm far from the first choice for that kinda thing, I know. But we needed somebody /without/ an ability they'd wanna steal but /with/ a good story they might buy." A light rosy-pink blush dusts across Micah's cheeks. "I'm a terrible liar, but a pretty good actor, actually. So I just had t'make a part I could play." He idles a bit, watching Eric unpack his box. "I been far from the worst of it these past few weeks. I ain't the kid they took the leg /off/ of. Or Dusk." His smile melts into a more concerned look. "Yeah, he's...taken care of. Not by the cops. Been tryin' t'/avoid/ involvin' the government in it. They're just as like t'take the guy an' hook 'im up with Prometheus t'keep doin' what he was doin'. Accomplished over'n over what they been tryin' t'do forever." At the mention of Dusk's name, Eric's smile slips off his face as well, and his eyes turn down to the sorting that he's somewhat lazily doing. "Yeah, I ain't sure that's the wrong approach. Some people're too dangerous for jail, even so. There's the law, and there's justice, you know? Sometimes, the law ain't as important as justice is." He looks up and gives Micah a nod. "Well, it ain't an easy thing to do, jumpin' in like that. They train officers for years to do that kinda work, with way more backup than you'd got, in easier circumstances. Don't sell yourself short, yeah?" "Not sure what's t'be done with 'im in the long run. We ain't /got/ prisons for 'im. He's insanely dangerous. An'...killin' 'im would be the /cleanest/ an' simplest thing t'do, but. It don't seem like the thing that's likely t'happen." Micah shudders faintly at that, leaning back a bit in his chair. Nevertheless, his cheeks manage to darken further at the compliment. "Thanks, I was just...usin' a lotta my own story an' just twistin' it 'round a /lot/, anyhow." He shrugs, a slow roll of his shoulders up and back again. "Desperate times, y'know? Had enough of those recently." "Give him over to me and mine." Eric says, glancing at Ion as the man passes through to drop more food off in the kitchen. "We'll make sure he ain't able to hurt anyone ever again." Despite the friendly, light tone, his eyes flash with cool steel. "That just makes it all the more real, ya know? They always say, don't change too much, or else you'll forget, or not act right." He pauses and then shrugs. "Least, as far as I've heard. Ain't find out much as a patrolman 'bout that, and I've never wanted to be a detective. Just a cop." Eric nods, slowly, frowning down at the blanket and turning away from Micah to stack them neatly against the wall. "How's Jax... and everyone?" "I'm not in charge of what happens to 'im or I /might/," Micah replies in a cold-low tone. It makes him shudder again. "Yeah, an'...not bein' good with the whole lyin' thing. Didn't wanna have t'make much up on the fly. Makes me all flustery an'..." His hand gestures at his still-not-faded blush. "Better, now. I made it...kinda harder on everyone for awhile. When Sublime was in m'head after the leg thing. I couldn't trust bein' nowhere folks was usin' for safety an' spent a good week livin' outta m'van again, so they were kinda down a husband an' a parent right in the middle of a crisis. Right up into Passover startin' the first time since Liam... It's just. Been a lot. Between the Lofts an' then the Perfectus thing. An' now Jax's takin' the team on another raid. Dusk's still...not good. Hive's barely able t'move on some days. It's hard. But we're workin' through what all we got /control/ over, anyhow." Eric's voice is teasing, glancing over his shoulder back at the other man. "Well, the blush looks good on ya, I gotta say," he drawls, with a wink. "Yeah. I've been hearin' how they're both doin' from some other friends a' ours. And, 'course, I heard about the bombing." Eric turns to look at Micah once more, lacing his fingers together. "M' glad to hear everyone's hangin' in there. Yourself included." Eric looks around him for a moment and then back to the human, shrugging his shoulders. "Ya need a vacation, man." Hopefully Eric /meant/ it, because the compliments and talking about the blushing is a fatal combination in making it /worse/. The stain of red creeps up to claim the back of Micah's neck and the tips of his ears. "Ain't much else t'be done short of just givin' up." Yet another shrug punctuates that statement. "Had a vacation, once. Went away with Jax a whole week...last August." He plays with the velcro closure on the back of one of his gloves. "Prob'ly shouldn't do that again 'less we can take all the kids with us, too. But that's beside the point. Got this raid. An' the refugees after. Prob'ly they'll head off on the next one soon as those've gotten settled enough t'have the space open again for new ones. Jax's finishin' school. An' I've missed more'n enough work for emergencies an' injuries." "There'll always be the next thing, Micah." Eric chides, gently. "You don't want ta wait forever n' become like me, livin' in a shit apartment in Clinton and fightin' your boss to go work for'm again. Take a fuckin' vacation when this is over, and fuck the next crisis, ya know?" Eric stands up, stepping across the room past Micah and letting his fingertips run from one of Micah's shoulders to the other, trailing along the back of his neck as he steps over to get the next box from the corner. Hefting the large box without much effort, he carries it over back to his sorting station. "This is why I'm m'own boss," Micah returns with a hint of a chuckle. "Things need doin'...we get 'em done. S'just how things go." He shivers faintly at the touch to his neck, his head turning to follow Eric through his box collection. "Y'sure there ain't nothin' I can help y'with? Feel silly just sittin' here while everybody else is...doin' things." "Why don't ya come over here and take a look at the supplies as I sort 'em out? Not sure how old some'a these things are, and other than tossin' the ones with just straight up mold, I only know how to use a few'a em." Eric gestures over to the other man, patting the floor next to him and grinning. "I promise, I ain't bite. Unless ya ask nicely." He pulls out a stethoscope that has one tube partially torn on one side and puts it on his ears. Talking into the flat end, he holds it like a microphone. "See, I'm not sure'm usin' this right." "Medical supplies is gonna have dates on 'em. Anythin' expired or with seals broken ain't good t'keep 'round." Micah backs his chair into a corner where it's not /too/ in the way, locking his brakes before using his arms and one leg to lower himself to the floor. He scoots over closer to the box. "An'...that's prob'ly not gonna work too well for much. 'Least not if you're really tryin' t'get heart an' breath sounds. Might could get away with it for takin' manual blood pressures." He starts picking through the supplies, sorting away the things that clearly aren't good anymore. "Oh god, I think I'm dead!" Eric exclaims, as he presses the stethoscope to the side of his head. "I don't hear my heart or nothin'!" He pauses for a second and then grins at Micah playfully, tugging the stethoscope off of his head and tossing it into the discard pile. "The things I like listenin' to, ya don't usually need one'a em to hear, anyway." He winks at Micah as he pulls out a blanket and passes it over for the other man to sit on. "Hey, this raid on the Perfectus place. Did they have any cops raid any'a 'em? Do you know how those raids went?" Eric asks, curiously. Micah shakes his head at Eric's antics with a little lopsided grin. The wink after that comment brings darker spots to his cheeks again, the other man proving rather effective in not letting the blush fade entirely. "I don't think anyone who went on the raids was a cop. An' certainly didn't anyone call the cops /for/ it. They sent a few folks after Anole when he went missin'. Then when we found all the places they had folks stashed, they just went in an' got 'em out. Think they saved all but one of 'em. People on the rescue teams didn't all come out so well, but we got some good special abilities healers as've been helpin' with that." "Damn." Eric shakes his head, lips pressing together. "I've been tryin' to convince someone at 1PP that we need a team of mutant cops to help take down mutant criminals, but I ain't been gettin' anywhere. They'd rather just have ESU do it, and get everyone killed. On both sides." Eric sighs and looks up at the ceiling. "I gotta wonder how much'a it is the idea and how much'a it is who it's comin' from, now. I got a meetin' while I was still an officer, but since I've been suspended, I ain't even gettin' my calls returned from the secretaries." “It ain't gonna be politically popular t'give people with abilities...authority, power, weapons... Y'name it. I think that's a further reach than most. We'd have better luck gettin'...basic medical care first, or somethin'. That at least don't involve...any of that other stuff.” Micah sounds more than a little resigned to this. “The idea's bad enough. Havin' it come from somebody they don't wanna listen to don't make it no better. Apologies...s'just. How things been goin' lately.” Eric chuckles and shakes his head. "See, it's funny, but I ain't sure I agree with that. Medical care ain't help nobody but us freaks," he says, waggling a box of burn cream at Micah indicatively. "Not directly, least. A mutant police department helpin' to take criminal mutants off'a the streets? Seems like it should be an easy sell. Ain't a plus for us, necessarily, as much as for them." Eric shrugs his shoulders. "Least, that's what it seems like ta'me." "Are you kiddin'? There's a reason public health is /public/ health. Havin' sick folks with special abilities runnin' about unable t'get care s'an issue." Micah tosses out a package of opened gauze that actually looks a little /dusty/, to boot. "Then y'got unchecked health issues. More unvaccinated people. More disease spreadin'. More ER's havin' t'deal with the unsightly issue of havin' people with abilities show up, an' turnin' people away. Or havin' people with abilities show up an' not knowin' what t'/do/ with 'em, which can be a danger." He digs through the box again. "Think as long as we just keep pushin' for /separate/ facilities, they'll give. Outta sight, outta mind, make it not their problem." "Maybe. Public health ain't as popular as law n' order, though. All politicians love bein' tough on crime, and no one likes it when the police budgets get cut. Cut the NIH budget, though, and people cheer and say ya ought'ta cut it more." Eric chuckles and raises his hands in surrender. "Ain't sayin' health ain't more important. But I ain't exactly a good story for how the health system saved me, ya know? I ain't know nothin' 'bout any of that. All I know is how to be a good cop, and I'm not that no more either." "Sure, they'll throw more /money/ at the cops. But more special abilities...s'another story. Apologies, honey, it's really awful you're goin' through this. S'just another example of what's wrong with the MRA. Or as the supporters'd say, what's exactly right with it. One less sneaky mutant runnin' 'round with a gun, in a uniform, foolin' regular folks into thinkin' he's there for their protection." Micah's nose crinkles up, one hand miming someone else talking for that last part. "If you're interested in goin' over their heads, though? I know somebody as might listen t'your story, at least." He pulls one of his business cards out of a pocket (there is /always/ a stash in there) and flips it over to copy information out of his phone: the publicly available contact information for Elliott Carruthers. "She's expressed an interest in bringin' some /sanity/ t'the whole government approach t'people with special abilities. Maybe she could help." With that, he passes the card over. "Carruthers." Eric frowns down at the card for several seconds before looking up at Micah with confusion. "Hang on a sec, I know who this is. This's that chick from the Friends of Humanity commercials. The Captain or Lieutenant or whatever who got the purple heart from that mutant attack." He blinks several times and gives Micah a suspicious look for a moment. "Ya know, generally speakin', it's a good rule'a thumb to not try and go to the authors of'a law to try and get their help to circumvent it. Ain't proper." “She's in the middle of it an' wants t'help. Sometimes those are /just/ the folks that y'should be lookin' for help from. She's reasonable, Eric. An' she's got the ear of the opposition. I'm not sayin' y'/have/ t'talk t'her? I'm just sayin' y'could do a lot worse than tryin'." Micah piles a few packages of bandaging and containers of antibiotic ointment into the 'keep' box. "I don't think folks fully understand the unintended consequences of laws. It's worth it t'bring 'em t'their attention." Eric is silent for several seconds, taking this in with a slight look of indigestion on his face. His eyes close for a moment, and he says, quietly, "I fought with her, I think. Durin' the whole risin' plague. Her unit was comin' through, and I ended up goin' with them for a while when I was still workin'. Seems like a lifetime ago." Eric's voice is wistful for a moment before the younger man stands up, stretching his arms above his head and from side to side, straightening his spine out with small cracking sounds and showing off his chest "Alri'. I'll give her a ring, see if she'll be able t'a help. Can't make it worse I guess." "That'll help. Havin' worked t'common goals in the role you're lookin' t'fill again before." Micah glances at the time on his phone and starts to scoot back toward his chair. "I should get goin'. Lots of errands t'run. An' there's sure some supplies that just need bought new for here, at least. It was good talkin' with you. Good luck with your proposal." "Yeah. I'll be here, late, I think. Give me a ring if ya need anything, yeah?" Eric stands up as Micah scoots back towards his chair, extending a hand to the other man to help himself up on. "Was good seein' ya again too, Micah. Give my best ta Jax n' the boys. And Shane...." Eric's smile, here, is a little wry. "Tell him I hope he likes the shirt." Micah takes the hand, but just to shake it. "Likewise. If anyone remembers somethin' that y'need here." He uses the chair to push himself up, instead, onto a knee facing the chair and just turning to settle into the seat once he's up. His look at the shirt comment is vaguely confused, but he doesn't ask. "Sure. Have a good afternoon." A quick flick of his brakes and forward stroke of his wheels sends him off in search of Ion and his keys.