ArchivedLogs:Guard Duty

Guard Duty
Dramatis Personae Jax, Trib	2014-06-27 (Set immediately after getting Billy shot and a bit before talking to Billy.)
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. The Mendel Clinic is built, really, for /primary/ care, regular checkups, /non/-emergent situations -- and yet. And /yet/ when most of the hospitals in the city will blatantly turn away mutants in even the most critical condition -- Tonight is kind of hectic. Not many nights /are/, actually, usually quiet around here after-hours, but every so often things switch into emergency-mode. Tonight is one such night -- the nurse on duty has whisked Billy off (to the inelegant retreat of the /cafeteria/) to stabilize him while the doctor on call for the night is paged. It leaves Trib alone in the lobby, at the moment, where one guard in crisp black-and-red uniform has been, for the past couple minutes, /staring/ very wide-eyed (/very/ wide-eyed -- the enormous eyes in the young man's extremely pale face are huge and solidly pitch-black) at the big man without a word. Flicker has flitted off to secure the /gun/ Trib brought with him somewhere up front near the security checkpoint; /probably/ he'll be back shortly to deal with the man. Or would have been, except the stairwell door is opening, now, dispensing another guard into the lobby. Same crisp uniform, though he wears his with a host of piercings, shaved-bald head with bright tattoo, sheeny rainbow-black oilslick nailpolish, enormous mirror-lensed sunglasses despite the fact it is /nighttime/ and /indoors/. It makes his expression that much more inscrutable as he approaches Trib where he's been left to take advantage of the comfortable lobby couches. Trib is not availing himself of the comfy couches. Unable to shake his metallic shell yet, the big man seems unwilling to risk crushing the handy sofas. Instead, he stands near-motionless in his spot, his Planet Express t-shirt and jeans both sporting chewed-up holes where Billy's acidic blood has eaten through. His arms folded across his chest, the big man returns the black-eyed guard's stare with the same, even look. Occasionally, he breaks off said stare to glance in the direction they've taken Billy, his brow knitting each time in a brief pulse of concern. When the stairwell door opens, Trib allows his attention to be drawn that way. It takes a minute for him to recognize the inscrutable figure approaching him, and when he does, his mouth tightens at the corners. The cast of his eyes says that this might be a perfect touch to his evening's activities. But he remains silent, lifting his chin in silent greeting when Jax gets close enough. "You came in with Billy?" That's all Jackson says initially, stopping a short distance from Trib with hands folding behind his back, a military-uprightness to his posture. The ID clipped to his belt identifies him, in contrast to the other guards (whose badges actually /say/ 'Nightmare' and 'Flicker' in place of names) as /senior/ security staff here. Trib drops his arms when Jax speaks, jerking his chin towards his chest in confirmation. "Yeah," he grunts, furrowing his brow. "It didn't look bad, but he was fadin' pretty hard." He glances cafeteria-wards, then back at Jax. "He goin' to be okay?" "You're not his family," Jackson answers Trib, very calmly, "it would be a violation of his privacy to disclose information to you about his medical status." And, after a small beat of pause: "An /illegal/ violation of his privacy. I'm not here to talk to you about Billy. The police are on their way. It's likely they'll want a statement from you on what happened." Trib frowns deeply at the response, and looks like he might argue the point for a moment. Then he exhales through his nose heavily, and lifts his chin with a different sort of expression. "So, you're here to...what? Make sure I don't beat feet before the cops get here?" He doesn't look particularly happy that they're even on their way, but he's not making any attempt to move away. Reaching up to rub at his nose with a metallic scraping noise, he considers that. "Or you got somethin' else in mind?" Jax's pierced brows lift, raising from behind his sunglasses. "What exactly d'you imagine I would have in mind, Trib?" Trib snorts. "I probably ain't exactly high on your list of people you'd like to fuckin' see," he rumbles, his eyes crinkling in a hard sort of amusment. The dull metal color in his flesh seems to be melting a bit around his hair line, ruddy flesh creeping in in spidery threads. "I figure a guy like you probably has all kinds of things in mind to do to the kind of guy your kids think I am. Given then chance." His eyebrows hitch just a bit. "Yeah?" "A guy like me." Jax echoes this, absently, almost thoughtful. "I'm not sure what exactly you'd even know about the kind of guy I am." There's no amusement in his voice (still steady, still even) and if there's any in his expression it can't be read behind the sunglasses. Just Trib's own crinkling eyes looking back at him. "I'm only here to inform you of what's going on. I certainly ain't gonna keep you here against your will, m'sure the police can come find you at your house if they're so inclined. Just letting you know. You can leave now or you can leave after dealin' with them. /That/ ain't on me." "Based on the one conversation I had with you, I'd say you're a guy who loves his kids an' wants to keep 'em safe," Trib rumbles, rolling his shoulders. "Which is frankly fuckin' cool, even if my opinion don't mean shit." He nods when Jax explains his purpose, and furrows his brow. "I"ll stay an' talk to 'em," he says, perhaps taking Jax's impassiveness as some sort of interest. "I'd feel safer about doin' that shit somewhere where people can fuckin' /see/ me." He shifts his weight, and grinds his teeth a bit as he considers his nest question. "...you guys /will/ fuckin' stay with me while I talk to 'em, if I want?" He actually sounds /nervous/, though there's no sense of guilt about his anxiety. "Just to be sure?" Jax's head simply inclines, once, very slightly, when Trib says he'll stay and talk. "You have an enormous amount of audacity," is what he actually answers /aloud/, though. "My team will do their /job/. They always do. That means protecting this Clinic and its people from --" There's the faintest skip-beat of pause, chin tilting down again though past this his expression doesn't change. "Whatever comes through our doors." Trib's disappointment is a flash that's lost in the suddenly angry flush that blossoms in his neck at that pause. He's not /stupid/, after all. "Just forget it," he growls, reaching up to push his pinkening hand through his hair and get it off his face. "I should have known better than to expect -- " he bites off whatever the rest of that sentence was going to be, and shakes his head. "Thanks for lettin' me know what's goin' on," he says as he moves towards the door. "Tell Billy I hope he gets well soon." Jax's head lifts once more, posture still quite steadily ramrod-straight. "Given your history, yeah, you probably should have known better." He takes a step to one side as Trib starts moving towards the door, body turning sidewise towards the other man as he passes by. "I'll pass it along." "/Fuck/ you," Trib growls to Jax, turning to narrow his eyes at the other man. "You don't know fuckin' /shit/ about my history. You know one fuckin' thing that happened one fuckin' time that your fuckin' kids got fuckin' wrong, an' that's /all/ you fuckin' know." He sniffs, and rolls his shoulders. "An' since you ain't interested in hearin' anything else, you can take what you know about my history and shove it up your sparkly fuckin' ass as far as it'll go." Jax is /clearly/ not interested in hearing anything else. It's Flicker he addresses rather than Trib, after this, with a small tip of head when Trib starts /growling/. "Get him out. The police can deal with him somewhere else." Flicker has been hanging back at the desk with Nightmare, through this, but that instruction from Jax puts him at the bigger man's elbow in a heartbeat. "Sir --?" He gestures towards the door to the mantrap that leads back outside. "/Don't/ fuckin' touch me," Trib says when Flicker appears at his elbow, pulling his arm away from the other man. "I'll fuckin' walk out of here on my fuckin' own. An' I'll be sure an' tell folks that only the /right kind/ of mutants can count on any kind of help from their fuckin' 'hero', " he promises Jax as he heads out the door. "An' they better hope his kids ain't got an axe to grind with 'em." He lifts a hand to offer a solitary finger in a farewell wave. "Have a good fuckin' night, now." And mantrap or no, it's only a scant few moments later that he's exiting the Clinic. And, if anyone is watching, he remains just outside until the police arrive, giving his statement right there on the sidewalk. Like he's making a /point/ or something.