ArchivedLogs:Cops vs. Firefighters

Cops vs. Firefighters
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah, Eric, Flicker
In Absentia	5 July 2014 Some sun, some politics, and some cookies. (Raid aftermath.)
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it still unwelcoming -- rusty as well, reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. For those who venture into the slitted gap cut out of the fence, though, the yard within tells a different story. Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted. It's bright and sunny-warm and gorgeous out, and right now this tidy little lot beside the Clinic is a pleasantly calm place to relax. With the Clinic not actually open for standard business on weekends it means the usual sprinkling of protesters is nowhere to be found. This block of street is just quiet, mostly businesses that are closed, just a scattering of through-traffic both vehicular and pedestrian. Jax is taking advantage of the quiet. He's been wheeled over here, though at the moment the wheelchair itself is abandoned beside one of the garden beds. Dressed in black cargo shorts and a silver-and-purple wide-sleeved tank, the photokinetic is lying in a patch of grass between vegetable beds, head pillowed against a backpack and a large canvas shopping bag nearby that, knowing his family, is PROBABLY full of food. He looks like he's been through /something/ rough recently, left leg in a brightly coloured rainbow tie-dye cast below the knee, one side of his face swathed in clean new bandaging; there's a smattering of scrapes and cuts and small bandaging sprinkled down his arms and peeking out from under the shorts though in /comparison/ to the rest of him these are minor. Overhead there's a small cluster of dragonflies flitting above his face, vividly bright and metallic-coloured. A few of them /might/ be breathing fire intermittently. One of them sports a teeny-tiny pixie rider with war helmet and glittery translucent wings. Micah has had a busy morning at the Clinic. He ran over after breakfast and the Commons community meeting with /all/ the breakfast leftovers, which were deliberately copious. After supplying food, he spent the morning and early afternoon tending to what tasks could be handled without physician supervision: dressing changes and wound care and helping people to restrooms and the like. Now he has claimed a Flicker, also in a shiny wheelchair, whom he is wheeling out into the garden for some much needed fresh air and sunshine. You /have/ to take advantage of gentle-breezy days in /July/, after all. He is dressed simply in bluejeans, olive newsboy cap perched on his head to block out /too much/ sun, and a powder blue Totoro face T-shirt. It takes him a moment to fuss the gate open and help the chair through it. "Thanks, man." Flicker's face is tipped back up, towards the sun, though he looks over and across the garden with a bright easy smile once he's inside. "Oh, wow. Sweet. I didn't /entirely/ miss the lightshow, then. Though I did kind of see it secondhand. It looked pretty spectacular." His voice is quiet, and he looks a little pale; he's in shorts, too, a plain grey t-shirt over top. His right sleeve hangs down, empty, nothing /there/ where his arm used to be. Other than that, though, he doesn't actually /look/ nearly so beat-up as Jax, most of /his/ surgery bandaging hidden away beneath his shirt; there is, though, a sprinkling of scarring peppered against his face and arm that has managed in a few short days to look /old/. Healers are odd things. The warm weather seems to be a happy time for Eric - if, perhaps, not as much as for Jax. Wearing a black v-neck and a pair of shorts, Eric's skin has been clearly soaking up the sun, a rich tan showing on his skin as he strides by the park. It is, perhaps, the fire breathing dragonflies that catch his attention, head turning backwards in a sharp double-take that almost makes him walk into a passerby. Apologizing even as he turns and takes off his sunglasses, Eric looks around the little garden and raises his hand. "Hiya there," he calls out, hands coming up to lace fingers into the fence. "Fancy runnin' into y'all here," he says, bright smile flashing at the little gathering of people. Jax has been soaking up the sun, too, but his particular quirk of mutation means that around the bandages and tattoos he's just as pale as ever, no sun /damage/ for him to actually react to. He has sunglasses, too, his standard huge mirrored ones, and he tips his head slightly up to flash a warm smile over to the approaching people. "I'll give you your own personal show any time y'like, sweetheart, I'm spillin' /over/ it's actually kinda a blessin' to have an outlet." His mouth twitches at its unbandaged side, brows hiking up with Eric's greeting. "We /all/ work right next door, ain't that surprisin'," he answers with some amusement, one vivid green dragonfly skirting over to flutter up against the wall of the Clinic. "How's life been?" At the thanks, Micah just reaches over and musses Flicker's hair. No 'you're welcome', just the simple implication that no thanks are needed. His eyes widen a bit once he has the attention to notice /oh/, glowing firelizards and faerires over there. "Jax-honey, how'd y'end up over here all by your lonesome?" The chair comes to a stop at the edge of the grass by the photokinetic. "Lemme know if y'wanna sit somewhere else or get outta the chair entirely, sugar," is offered to Flicker. "There was /such/ a lightshow last night, goodness. An' less of the loud bangy gunshot sounds t'spook...the better half of everybody at the Commons, honestly." Head shaking at that, he settles himself on the ground next to his husband, rolling onto one hip to deliver an easy-casual kiss to his unbandaged cheek. Eric's talking has him tipping his head back to regard the new arrival. "Afternoon. Yeah, we're over this way a fair bit 'tween work an' actually workin' the gardens right here, too. Ain't a bad place t'find us." "Also live in the neighborhood," Flicker adds to the list of reasons they're all fairly easy to find around here, bobbing his head in a nod to Eric. "Oh -- grass. I could do with some grass. You know, you make that offer," he tells Jax with a small laugh, "sound a little indecent. The fireworks are right on the river, though, right? I mean, couldn't you hear the banging anyway? I'd imagine there's a /view/, at least. I was kind of looking forward --" He breaks off, a little wistful. Eric glances over to the clinic with a look of almost surprised. "Oh, yeah. I guess tha' makes sense." The ex-officer studies the side of the clinic for a moment before letting his hands drop off of the fence. He wanders over to the entrance, pulling open the gate and stepping into the little garden - closing the rusty gate behind him with a little squeak of metal. "Oh, you know. It's been goin'. Should be gettin' busier before it gets calmer, ya know?" His smile is broad as he wanders over closer to the group. "How about you? I know Shane's been keepin' busy; went over to see the new Evolve week or so back, but he wasn't there to say hi to." His eyes glance over the wheelchair, the bandages on Flicker and Jax, and his smile fades slightly. "Looks like ya been busy." "Oh, yeah. You could totally see the /actual/ fireworks over the river but Ryan kept it kinda quieter-like. Didn't want to have everyone spooked." Jax's cheeks flush red at the comment about indecency, dragonflies halting for a moment above him. "Oh, gosh. Ain't /that/ kinda show." He shifts one hand to the side, trailing fingers lightly against Micah's arm with a small happy hum at the kiss. "Shane's been busy an' a /half/. We had a bit'a busy, too, yeah. How's, um -- I heard in the news y'lost your job that's gotta be -- no fun but since Ms. Carruthers won maybe that's -- somethin'? Y'think it'll be any help?" Micah laughs outright at the indecency comment, burrowing his face into Jax's neck briefly to hide the growing blush of his cheeks. Not that he's planning on making it any better. "Pretty sure /that/ show'd draw a crowd, too." Warm as Jax tends to be, he probably doesn't note the increased heat in Micah's face as he sneaks a few more kisses in against his husband's throat. Flicker's request for grass is what finally peels him away, making his way back to his feet to lock the brakes on the other man's chair and swing the foot rests away before widening his stance to offer as much support as is needed to get the teleporter up and back down to the ground. "Spoke t'Elliott the other day. She's takin' a special interest in gettin' any officers as lost their positions due to registration back on the force. An' puttin' t'gether a unit 'specially for handlin' special abilities issues. I imagine if she gets /that/ t'gether, might could be a good place on 'em t'get people into as was tossed out for their own abilities... I'm glad y'did go t'talk to her, though. Really got all this on her radar." Micah quiets for a moment to concentrate on assisting Flicker. "She's s'posed t'get me some flyers t'put up. Wants t'meet with folks with special abilities so they can help advise her on needs in the city. Was thinkin' I could post 'em at the Commons an' the Clinic an' Evolve. So folks as wanna talk at her know how t'get in touch." "Not entirely sure it'd be a community-appropriate crowd," Flicker muses, his own cheeks flushing and his tone quiet and serious despite the laughter glimmering in his green eyes. "We never did come to a /decision/ about that kind of thing, though." He reaches up to loop his one remaining arm around behind Micah, leaning into the other man as he pulls himself out of the chair, paling a little further, and eases down to the ground. "... She wants an advisory squad of freaks?" His brows raise in some surprise. "It'd definitely be a show that I'd watch," Eric says, voice light and teasing. "Yeah. Elliott's been great helpin' out. We're gettin' close to gettin' the squad open again. Another couple'a weeks. Not sure how many officer's we're gonna get back. A few, certainly, but ain't goin'ta be a popular unit ta be in. I've already got people callin' it the freak squad, and we haven't even got anythin' goin' yet. But...." Eric shrugs his shoulders and smiles, spreading his hands in a shrug. "I'll take it if it means we get to serve again, and do some good." He nods at Micah. "Yeah. Someone'ta help out the oversight board, and work with the mutant crimes division, as well as ours. And ta work with the rest of the City departments." As Flicker stands up, Eric takes a half-step towards him, but he stops a ways away, dropping his hand back to his side. "It's a sweet idea. If she can make people listen'ta it." Jax's lips press together, thin, and overhead the dragonfly with its rider aboard turns around, belching out a fierce spray of mist that melts the other dragonflies into a blending-together swirl of messy goop. "Yeeeah, cuz the NYPD typically does /so/ much good." The remaining un-melted dragonfly swoops down, sucking the colourful mess left behind by the others into its mouth and swelling bigger. "Can't say I'm real sanguine 'bout slappin' badges an' guns on freaks any more than I'm sanguine 'bout givin' bullying rights to any /other/ thug. -- This city needs better healthcare, an' education, an' housin', an' job trainin', way more'n it needs to add /superpowered/ terrorists to the regular kind." Once Flicker is situated, Micah settles back in on the grassy patch between him and Jax. "Don't know if it's so much an advisory squad as...like a town hall meetin' with special abilities issues in mind? She wants t'know more 'bout the community's needs an' concerns an' see if folks got...complaints, worries, /ideas/ t'help. Though she /may/ eventually want a formal advisor on the issue. I didn't rightly ask." Micah is back to chuckling soon enough. "Why's 'Freak Squad' sound like a Saturday mornin' superhero cartoon?" The amusement fades into a sigh. "S'pose folks aren't meanin' it fondly, though." He reaches over to pet at Jax's shoulder. "Honey, it ain't like we can do entirely without a police force. /Somebody's/ gotta handle law enforcement an' protectin' folks. Ain't it better t'have people who know what they're doin' an' are /part/ of the community they're lookin' t'serve than not?" He side-eyes Jax at the rest of that. "An' of course those issues can be brought up, /too/. Ain't like it's gotta be either-or. Y'should go t'Elliott's meetin'." Flicker leans back, toes wiggling down into the grass and his weight very slowly easing onto his arm propped behind him. "You /should/ go," he agrees softly, looking upward towards the sky. "Half the problem with all this -- politics and law enforcement and everything. Is that all the people who'd actually do a good job and not abuse the positions are the people who'd never want the power to begin with." He is breathing a little more heavily with the change in position, eyes scrunching closed as his cheeks puff out with a slow breath. A faint shiver runs through him as the dragonfly melts the others. "One day." A small smile pulls at his lips. "Most TV superheroes now are ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Wouldn't want kids looking /up/ to freaks. But. Eventually. Maybe." "Better mutants dealin' with mutants than not," Eric says, smile still on his face even as he watches one of Jax's dragonflies incinerate the other one. Perhaps it gets a little fixed around the edges, but his eyes are still warm. "You have no mutants on the force, it's gon' make things worse. More violent, not less. So, yeah, I think it'll do some good. But I ain't goin'ta argue with ya that the city needs more a' all those other things too, 'specially education and job trainin'." He gestures to the building next to him with one hand. "Healthcare seems ta' be a thing that people're workin' on, too." Eric's gaze turns to Micah, and he nods, once. "Ain't be surprised if we find the injury rate for the team's just as much from friendlies as from not. But, someone's gotta wear the capes," he says, a light little joke. "Though, I think the firefighters are the ones who already try'n claim the superhero title." "Problem with that notion," Jax's hand turns upward to catch the swollen fat dragonfly on his palm, now, "is thinkin' they're lookin' to /serve/ anything. The whole institution is corrupt an' it sure ain't here to serve the community or nobody in it. S'possible the firefighters claim that title cuz they're the ones savin' people 'stead'a murdering them." The dragonfly on his hand is belching out another cloud of misty grey-green that settles onto Jax's hand and starts melting /that/, fingers and then palm oozing away into a runny stream of colours that drips back down the rest of his arm. Beneath Micah's hand, his shoulder is tense, a fierce heat rising under his skin. "'sides which the last thing we need is /mutant/ cops beating the tar outta people, I'm sure /that'll/ do a world'a good for our reputation 'round this city. I mean, yeah, sure, I'd love t'see more mutant representation in a /lotta/ places. But places that actually do some /good/, not places designed for stompin' on faces. Politics, law enforcement, s'all two sides'a the same screwed-up coin. One group to legislate oppression an' a second t'make sure it's carried out." "Ohgosh, I'm havin' /The Republic/ flashbacks now," Micah mock-groans at Flicker's talk of power and who should have it. "Need t'have people with special abilities for kids t'look up to. Ain't good havin' /any/ group underrepresented publicly. Just makes folks...isolated an' scared." He nods in staunch agreement at the mention of healthcare. "I directed Elliott at Doctor Saavedro t'talk on healthcare issues. An'...particularly the concerns 'bout emergent care an' surgical interventions that folks with special abilities have. Namely not havin' /any/ proper-like. Hafta make sure the doc hits up one of her meetin's or schedules a time t'talk at her, too. Since he's gonna know that issue better'n anybody, arrangin' surgeries in cafeterias." A wry sort of smile comes at the firefighters comment. "Admittedly, all the firefighters are doin' is puttin' their lives on the line t'help folks. Some cops is like that? But then some is beatin' an' killin' people an' startin' mutant fight rings, so. Kinda not a debate there." He pales and winces away from Jax's new line of imagery. "Honey. Honey, could you not?" They've seen Jax melted enough for real. And Flicker /did/ just get his arm burned off, after all. "I /did/ see a movie the other week with a prominent mutant role in it," Flicker says, quiet and a little amused, "of course, he was a crazy terrorist trying to kill the President so there is that." His fingers press down harder into the ground behind him, a small hiss pushed through his teeth as Jax's arm melts. "Doctor Saavedro would be really good to speak on this kind of thing. They want to expand the Clinic into a hospital, but getting all the -- legal everything in order for that is about ten years' worth of hoops to jump through." His eyes are returning back up to the sky, and slowly he lowers himself down to lie on his back in the grass. "See. The thing is. You should go to the meetings and say all that." Eric watches Jax's arm slowly melt, and his smile follows in kind, lips thinning into a frown. One of his hands rises to run through his hair, restlessly, cheek bending inwards as he chews on it for a moment, silent. "There were plenty'a firefighters involved in fight ring," he says, voice low. "Would ya have preferred that I let my Sarge shoot that man, who ain't done nothin' wrong other than be scared, all the way back then?" Despite the rising tone in his voice, it doesn't seem to be an actual question. "Ain't nothin' black and white as all that, Jax." His lips thin further and he turns to glance at the clinic. "I hope they do get that expansion, 'cause I don't think the badge is necessarily goin'ta open the doors of the ER when one'a my people get hurt." A pause, and the ex-cop's eyes scan over the little gathering of people. "I think I've interrupted ya afternoon. Y'all have a good one, ya hear? Enjoy the weather." He raises his hand in a little half-salute, eyes flashing apology at Micah and Flicker. "What, y'mean that man what ended up in /jail/ for doin' nothin' wrong other than be scared? An' sure I'm supposed to give you some kinda /praise/ on account'a you /only/ ticketed me for stoppin' that mess? Like oh here's a cookie you /didn't/ kick a puppy in the face this week /well-done/. Forgive me, but when the legal system itself is oppressive, I ain't dishin' out a /whole/ heaping of respect to the folks who choose to work to /uphold/ it." Jax isn't exactly smiling, either, his jaw starting to clench but relaxing again at the twinge of pain this brings. His hand reforms, dragonfly leaping off it to vault into the air and explode in a shower of sparks. "The day a firefighter beats my kids bloody I'll stop givin' them respect, too." He doesn't look particularly upset at Eric's decision to leave, just lifting his chin in a faint nod. "G'day, sir." It's short and terse as his hand falls back to rest lightly against his chest. "Hnngh," is his only answer to Flicker, a distinct grimace spreading across his expression and the energy from within him radiating out to leave even the air around him uncomfortably hot. “Y'know that ain't hardly what I meant,” Micah says of the mutant terrorist movie, his head shaking slowly. “Need a real hospital real bad. Even if they got it approved /t'day/ it'd take a hot minute t'get operational. Sooner's better, though.” His look to Eric is equally apologetic, one hand lifted in farewell rather than actual words. Instead, he's scooting closer to Jax and his excessive heat, fortunately rather /used/ to that by now. An arm snakes around Jax's shoulders, holding him tight (though gently!) against his side. “Shh, hon. Settle, you're practically sparkin'.” "In his defense," Flicker tells Jax solemnly, "that puppy totally had it coming, he would've been within his rights." He scoots faintly sideways in the grass, farther away from Jax and his swell of heat. "Jax likes firefighters on account of the number of times he's lit his house on fire." He jerks his chin upward, too, flashing Eric a very brief smile. "You take care, sir." He closes his eyes again, face turned towards the sunshine. "So what. Are you just going to wait for the revolution before you try getting involved?" Eric glances over the little crowd and shakes his head once, turning and quickly stepping through the gate. As he closes it, he looks back at the little crowd of people in the garden, before closing the fence with a sigh. Glancing both directions down the sidewalk, Eric turns and walks back in the direction that he had come from, pace steady and measured smooth. "Hngh," Jax answers again, soft and displeased, but he leans in against Micah's side and draws in a slow breath at that last instruction. His head leans up against Micah's shoulder, muscles still tense but the heat around him gradually receding. "Right," he answers Flicker, voice as tense as his posture, "because I've definitely done /nothin'/ t'get involved already. It's a broken system. I'll save m'energy for fightin' where it's /useful/." One of Micah's hands wanders up to pet at Jax's head, fingertips massaging into scalp. “Nobody's sayin' y'don't do enough, sugar. Just sayin' /I'll/ prob'ly go t'whatever meetin's an' sure wouldn't mind havin' you along, too. Can't hurt t'use a forum when it's presented.” He lazes back into the grass, snuggling Jax up against his side. “Meantime, we're /actually/ here for more sunnin', less politics just now.” Flicker curls his arm across his chest, slowly, fingers pressing lightly up against the sagging sleeve at his shoulder. "I wasn't saying --" He stops, though, when Micah speaks, exhaling slowly as his fingers knead against healed-over skin. "I just sometimes want to stop fighting," he admits, very softly. "But I don't know how we'll ever be able to without -- a lot of change." He tips his head over towards Micah, a faint smile pulling his lips back up. "Sunning is good, too. You know," he decides in sharp departure from his expressed wish to stop fighting, "you should build me like a really kickass Terminator arm." A tiny-happy purr rumbles in Jax's throat, and he snuggles back, close, rubbing up into the massaging fingers. "I brung food. We should eat it." Though he's not getting up just at the moment, luxuriating in the affection instead as slowly the tension begins to seep away from his frame. "Oh, /goodness/. Y'know the scary part is Jane'd prob'ly approve." Micah just nods slowly at Flicker's desire to stop fighting, hands busied with Jax-pettings. “Have y'discussed the options 'bout your arm with the docs an' Kate? I'll sure help y'out from a prosthetic standpoint if that's the way you're wantin' t'go.” He nuzzles a little closer at the mention of food. “Oh, goodness, is it food time again already? Feel like I just finished feedin' folks breakfast.” "Food sounds good. Maybe just a little food. I think I still have some --" He glances downward, fingers pressing veeery gently against his midsection. "Kickass Terminator arm," he reiterates this request to Micah. "I'm -- not really looking to pester Kate about this, she and Mirror already pretty much pulled me back from --" He shakes his head, rolling it back to glance over towards the bag of lunch. "Maybe with webshooters," he adds in addendum, about his theoretical prosthetic. "Mmhmm. It's /always/ food time for me anyway. But I think s'food time for /everybody/ now. I got some pesto pasta salad an' grilled tofu an'." Jax's brows crease thoughtfully. "Cookies. Oatmeal an' walnuts an' chocolate. -- Oh /gosh/ reflexes like your'n, you /could/ handle webslingin' yourself about everywhere, couldn't you? Those things is gonna spread to half the city soon enough." “I'm sure it wouldn't be /pesterin'/, sugar. But it's completely your decision. I'll help with whatever y'want. Should check the residual limb when we go in if you're wantin' t'go the prosthetic route, though. Never too early.” Micah's cheeks colour a dark tomato-red to match the nearby plants. “Oh/gosh/, I still sometimes wish I ain't ever helped Peter with those when he landed on m'van a million years ago.” Though he's /chuckling/ at this, too...so clearly only /sometimes/. “Cookies. Oh, would it be horrible if I got a cookie first? I'll definitely still eat pesto, but chocolate an' walnut...” "Well, I mean, the arm's already /healed/, I don't think there's much for her to even -- work with but." Flicker just sounds thoughtful, now, softer and perhaps a little tired. "I just -- they saved my life. That's kind of enough, right? I see her walking around the Clinic looking half-dead and kind of zombielike because she's worked to the bone to save /everybody/ and I --" His eyes flick over to Jax in a brief pause, here, something tugging up a little thin and wry at his lips. "Even if it /was/ pestering, even if it was going to actually /hurt/ her, I don't get the impression she's someone who'd /say/ no if she was asked to help. I'm fine asking Mirror for stuff because ze's going to tell me to piss /off/ if it'd be too much. You know she offered Hive healing after knowing him five minutes? I don't really like to ask for extraneous help till I know someone's OK taking care of /themselves/ first." Now his smile eases, a little warmer though there's a small uncertain fear niggling in the back of his voice. "... Besides. How cool would a robot arm be, anyway? I'd websling /everywhere/. Just because I /can/." "She did kind of look on the verge of /collapse/ when finishin' with Jim yesterday an' was still fixin' to go on t'someone else," Jax acknowledges with a very small wince and a sudden deep flush of crimson at Flicker's look. He nestles closer to Micah, huffing out a small laugh. "Might be somethin' in the water. We end up with a lotta those types. Y'know, honey-honey," he tips his head up to peck Micah lightly on the cheek, "best part'a bein' all growed-up is you get t'eat cookies /whenever/ y'like. So long as someone bakes 'em for you, anyhow."