ArchivedLogs:Bail And Dinner

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Bail And Dinner
Dramatis Personae

Shane, Micah, Jackson

22 February 2014

Bailing Shane out after he is arrested for (allegedly) shoplifting.


<NYC> NYPD Station - Garment District

Despite the fashionable clothing of those outside, almost everyone inside the NYPD station is wearing the same dark blue uniform, gold badges flashing on their chest. A few, however, are in business clothing, and a rare one or two are in crisp white uniforms. The police station is several floors high, each dedicated to a different department, and a rare parking lot in the back where the cruisers and trucks sit.

In the late afternoon on Saturday, a few text messages go out to Jax and Micah's phones both:

  • (Shane --> Jax, Micah): So, I think I'm getting arrested.
  • (Shane --> Jax, Micah): Sorry.
  • (Shane --> Jax, Micah): This will probably totally destroy any chances we had of beating Geekhaus in this star-hunt.

Micah and Jax probably have a while to wait, even after they get to the station. A while of tedium and paperwork and dealing with bail -- which hasn't been set all that high, thankfully. Freakish mutant teenager or no, first-time underage offenders arrested for stealing a handful of CDs are not exactly way up high on the consideration for Dangerous Flight Risk.

/Eventually/, though, Shane is brought back out from the cells in the back -- in handcuffs, still, as he's marched through to the front lobby of the station. He's dressed still as he's been all day, though his grey slacks and houndstooth vest are somewhat more /rumpled/ than they were before. His bowtie is still immaculate. There's a dark scowl on his face, shoulders hunched tightly inward, as he waits for the cuffs to be unlocked, shaking his wrists out once they are. "I found a star in my cell," he informs his dads. "But it was a cookie, so I ate it."

Micah has been doing his best not to pace, sitting in one of the hard straight-backed chairs in the area where they had been left to wait. Fidgeting, instead of pacing. Fussing at his severely mussed hair. His coat hangs from the back of the chair, leaving him in his chocolate brown Firefly dinosaur shirt and jeans, hiking boots tap-tapping frequently against the floor. Questions seem to be receiving little attention and less by way of answers. He stands when Shane is brought out, moving forward to hug him /tight/ once he is released. "Honey, what /happened/? They wouldn't really tell us much. S'good...y'had somethin' t'eat. We'll stop by someplace on the way home t'get you food."

Jackson hasn't really been even trying, very much back and forth with a constant restless energy that leaves him pacing the lobby near-ceaselessly. /His/ hair is un-muss-able today, cemented up into hard long liberty spikes (freshly dyed lime-green with vivid purple tips), he kind of /looks/ like a star, himself. He's otherwise not actually all that colourful, knee-high black boots over black skinny jeans, bell-sleeved black and purple top, black 'believe in faeries' t-shirt; the silver jacket over top brightens up the outfit.

He darts over towards Shane when the boy emerges, too, curling an arm around the teenager to add his own fierce squeeze to the mix. "Ohgosh. You aright, what -- /happened/ they -- a cookie that ain't hardly food." He's stepping back to unzip his messenger bag, pulling out a plastic bag of jerky to offer it to Shane. "What d'you want for dinner we can go -- anywhere really."

Shane leans into the hugs, though only for a brief moment. He swipes the bag of jerky gratefully, opening it up to reach inside and paw out a large hunk. "Hang on --" He has to turn back to the desk to reclaim his Things, checking through the items they return him and signing off once he ascertains that he's reclaimed them all. He actually has a smile on his face once he sets his top hat back on his head, slings his own bag back over his shoulder, tucks his skateboard beneath his arm. "Some fucking bitchface is what happened. I didn't goddamn steal anything. I mean, dude, why the fuck would I steal one of /Ryan's/ CDs. I /had/ all those songs before his album was even /finished/." He starts to drop the skateboard onto the floor but kicks it back up into his grip at the glare from one of the police officers, just walking rather than skating towards the door. "What /happened/ was I was too fucking blue."

A nod answers Shane's request for them to wait, and Micah releases the boy from the hug to go claim his possessions. His brows knit as Shane describes the events. " some random woman accused you of stealin' while you were in a store? That ain't no kinda evidence." His lips pull into a frown as he moves toward the door. "I honestly don't doubt as someone would /make/ the accusation just t'give someone with physical mutations a hard time, but it don't seem like they could /arrest/ you on it."

Jax shoulders the door open, leaning back against it to hold it open for the others to head back out into the still-mild evening street. His brows pull into a frown, dipping down below the rims of his dark glasses as he listens to Shane. "Wait, some woman -- what?" His head shakes once, slightly incredulous. "They ain't really gonna try you on account'a some woman bein' a bigot at you, are they?"

Shane scrubs the backs of his knuckles against his face, tucking the bag of jerky down into the top flap of his messenger bag to free up his hand for eating with as he heads outside. "She was getting on my case for -- existing, I guess. Called me an animal. I called her a bitch. Kinda -- thing that happens pretty much seventeen million times a day. Anyway then when she was leaving she bumped into me and made a big deal of it like /I'd/ tried to start something -- and I guess she'd slipped a bunch of CDs into my bag when she did because the alarms pinged when I tried to leave and I got busted for stealing a bunch of CDs that I'd never even fucking touched. It was a crock of bullshit."

"That's a /lot/ of effort for someone just t'be /petty/ over folks bein' genetically enhanced," Micah grumbles, following through the opened door. "We should get a lawyer involved. At least we know a few dozen by now with everythin' we've gotten tangled up in lately. Which store were you at? Electronics kinda places near always have surveillance cameras t'keep people from stealin'. Sure a lawyer could get the footage, but they need t'do so quickly if it's a place that records over their own tape after awhile. If y'never went near the CDs, that'll help. Did the police confiscate the CDs they said y'were takin'? Less optimistic about the chances of 'em effectively checkin' those for prints. But if /you/ didn't touch 'em, yours wouldn't be on there, either."

Jax's hands curl into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. He lets the door swing closed behind them, following after the others with a tighter set to his shoulders. "My /goodness/ I never will understand people, sometimes. Guess we can call up some'a the folk that helped us out already. Those Sublime people put us in touch with good folk when me an' Dusk was --" He waves his hand vaguely. "-- /Dinner/, oh gosh, you need /dinner/, when did you last eat you must be starvin'."

Shane chomps down on another bite of jerky, teeth baring in a sharp grin. "Pa, chill. You gave me a whole bag of cow. I was at Spin, up in Harlem. I was just picking up more sheet music, I didn't go near the CD section at all. I don't know if they took the CDs or not. Man. I must be the only kid in the fucking city who gets arrested and my parents are just all fret and hugs and let me buy you dinner instead of angry and now I'm grounded. -- oh /man/ I would not say no to like a /boat/full of pho though. And some cocoa."

Micah steps closer to Jax, loosely draping an arm around the other man as they walk. "We'll give 'em a call soon as we get some food into everybody. I know a place that does an amazin' Saigon pho. Veggie or meat, every kinda garnish imaginable." Shane's comment earns a tired little smile. "Y'said y'didn't do anythin', Shane. An' we got no cause t'think you'd lie about it. Got no reason t'be angry at you or punish you. Seems like you're gettin' punished enough for /not/ doin' anythin' as it is." He leads the group over to where his van is parked.

"Pho does sound great. -- A place we can all go?" Jax's teeth drag briefly against his lower lip, head turning slightly to case a faintly worried glance towards Shane. He leans into Micah's touch with a soft sigh, arm curling around his husband to curl fingers loosely against the other man's hip. "An' cocoa we got in spades at home. I think it sounds like your day's been plenty-enough stressful without us fussin' at you no more." Even at the van he leans a little more heavily against Micah for just a moment, before straightening to open the door.

"It's okay," Shane says quickly, when Jax asks about the restaurant's tolerance, "I'd rather get takeout and eat at home /anyway/. Kinda burned out on -- people today." He polishes off the rest of the handful of jerky he is holding, licking at his fingertips and clambering up into the van. "-- I /did/ call that woman a bitch," he corrects Micah cheerfully on the didn't-do-anything. "But in fairness, she was a giant bitch. So pho then?"

"Y'know, I'm not sure? They ain't got any overt intolerance that they advertise, but I ain't /seen/ how they react t'folks with physical mutations. Usually I'm just pickin' up takeout. We can do that an' just eat at home, though, if--" Micah nods as Shane practically completes that thought. "Mightn't have been your /best/ option of responses, but far from unreasonable when someone calls you an /animal/ just for darin' t'go out an' buy sheet music. I'm just gonna choose t'be grateful that no fights broke out, an' hope the lawyers can sort out the rest." He climbs into the driver's seat once everyone else has gotten themselves into the van. "Definitely pho. An' then cocoa."