ArchivedLogs:Hyperbole

Hyperbole
Dramatis Personae Anette, Elliott, Jax, Parker
In Absentia	2015-01-31 '
Location <NYC> Midtown East
A dense, skyscraper packed neighborhood, Midtown is the busiest commercial district in the United States, and one of the busiest pieces of land in the world. Day and night, Midtown is filled with people going to and from work, enjoying the nightlife, and walking quickly through the streets. Very few live in Midtown proper - only the most wealthy and work-obsessed - but many who live in and around the City work here. In many ways, Midtown is the heart that beats in the city that never sleeps. Midtown is busy as ever. Frigid-cold, today, the wind whipping icily through the wind tunnel created by the skyscrapers. In this particular corridor of Midtown the /afternoon/ theatre crowd is juuust starting to trickle in for the round of matinees at the theatres up and down the streets here. Jax is hastening towards one theatre, not out of any actual hurry for the show -- he's totally way early to see /Pippin/ -- but because it is /cold/ cold cold and he just wants to be inside. He's flagrantly bright and colourful as ever. Metallic blue jacket, knee-high stompy silver boots with tons of buckles, black skinny jeans embroidered with peacock feathers, glittery blue and purple makeup, silver streaks in the blue hair that sticks out from under his cap. He passes by a hotel, a bakery, a bar, stopping outside the theatre to dig in his jacket pocket with half-frozen fingers for his phone. Coincidentally heading for the theatre right next door (/Les Miserables/ is playing!) is New York City's mayor, far less colourful than Jax in trim dark peacoat over pantsuit, just getting out of a black car pulled up to the curb. Also getting out of the car, her NYPD bodyguard. Who stops short at the sight of Jax, quietly but promptly imposing himself in between Elliott and the glittery young man. His brows pull into a frown as he looks at Jax. "Is that -- I didn't know he was --" "Probably here to catch a show, Parker," Elliott says -- with a smile that doesn't look entirely pleased, regardless. "But it's /Jackson Holland/." As if Elliott didn't know. He's /eying/ Jax's reach for his pocket. His own hand reflexively falling to the sidearm holstered at his hip. Juuust in case. Not one for theater herself, Anette just happens to be passing by after a shopping trip. Bags in her hands, she carefully weaves her way in and out of the pre show rush. She's bundled up in long leather coat, with a matching knitted hat, gloves, and scarf topping off her bulky appearance. Still quite a few yards away, she does pick up on the words "Jackson Holland". Curiousity gets the best of her and she looks up, slowing her pace down a bit. She does want to get home soon but she doesn't want to miss anything good either. Jax looks up at his name, too. He fumbles at the phone that slides out of his pocket, nearly dropping it but catching it again -- reflexively on a small shimmering platform of shield hovering in the air that stops it from clattering down to the icy ground. He nabs the phone back out of the air, folding his arms across his chest. A bright smile flits across his face as his eye darts over to Elliot and her bodyguard. "Your Honour." His Southern drawl is layered on heavy-thick. "Here t'catch a show, s'right. Pleasure t'run into you, I hope you been well?" Parker does not look convinced, eyes fixed on Jax. The movement of the phone. "That's illegal." A return smile touches Elliott's lips, her head inclining towards Jax. "Thank you. I have. Busy, but -- here for a show, too. I hope your family is --" She watches the shimmer of shield, her smile just a little tighter. "Well. And Lieutenant Carruthers is fine. They do --" Her eyes lift to track the path of the phone, "-- still mention you in my office. From time to time. I hear you're still a holdout when it comes to registration." Anette chuckles at Parker's comment. "So's jaywalking." Realizing she is now within earshot of Jax and Elliot, she clears her throat. "Erm, sorry..." she responds, adjusting the grip on her bags. She begins to continue forward but at the mention of registration, she can't help but let curiousity get the best of her once more and she decides to detour to examine a poster tacked up on a theater (maybe she will go see Pippin after all...) "Lieutenant," Jax allows easily, gripping his phone a little bit tighter. His brows hike up a touch higher, eye shifting to Parker. "You gonna arrest me, sir?" He gives his head a small shake, looking back to Elliott. "Yes'm. Still am an' still plan t'be. It ain't done nothin' to keep anyone safe an' it ain't going anywhere except providin' an excuse to hate us /systematically/." The polite smile doesn't really fade even as he looks aside at Anette's clearing of throat. "Oh hey. Don't nobody arrest you for jaywalkin', though." "Perhaps not this afternoon." Though Elliott's smile has thinned somewhat. "And the men and women who /are/ on the police force working to keep the city safe -- and the medics and firefighters and other civils servants doing the same -- registration has helped them immensely in knowing what it is they're facing in situations that would, before, have been unknown." Her head shakes, too. "People fear what they don't understand. We're trying to help /foster/ understanding. You know, I'd much prefer someone like you working /with/ me on that." Another small tip of her head. She takes a step back away from Jax. Towards the neighboring theater. "Enjoy your show." Anette can't help but pipe again and this time, it isn't from curiousity. She turns around and walks back up to Elliot and Jax. "That is the biggest load of crock. All this registration business does is force mutants to reveal themselves and make themselves open to abuse and hatred. If the government gave any real concern for mutants, they'd treat them like citizens, not like freaks or ticking time bombs. What's next, tattooing ID numbers on our foreheads? GPS chips embedded in our skin? Shipping us off?" Her eyes are wide and nostrils flaring as she rants, though she keeps most of her anger bottled up. "Registration ain't for /our/ sake, I don't think that's the pretense." Jax's lips thin, and he takes a half-step back as Elliott moves. "If it's understandin' you want, ma'am, you're goin' about it the wrong way. You want a dialogue, I'll come to your table. You want to start with the massive problem of homelessness among mutants? The enormous-high murder rate of the NYPD shootin' us? The endemic poverty in my community? The steep rate of hate crimes? The housin' discrimination, job discrimination, lack'a education opportunities? Y'want t'start addressin' some'a that, I'll talk at you all y'want on registration." Parker stops short, hand lifting abruptly -- towards Anette as she approaches them, blocking her path, his palm halting about an inch from her chest. "Back off." His voice is a little gruff. Elliott turns back around, looking over Jax and Anette. "That's rather hyperbolic," she answers Anette, calmer, drier. "Mutants are treated like citizens. We have laws regulating all kinds of things. Driving, gun use; it's a question of safety. There are regulations around Parker carrying his firearm." She gestures to her bodyguard's sidearm. "No less regarding," her eyes shift to Jax, very briefly, "someone who shoots with /lasers/." And then her eyes return to Jax. Longer, thoughtful. "Those are all certainly conversations worth having. And I would welcome your input." Anette rolls her eyes as Parkers stands in her way. She stops moving forwards though she doesn't move backwards at all. "Oh relax..." She turns her head towards Elliot. "So your response is to criminalize mutant powers -before- they're actually used for criminal behavior? Shame on them for being born with a gift, they should've just bought a gun instead. The paperwork's easier. Then you tell mutants to spend their lives ashamed of their abilities and to hide them and then, whoops! Sorry, you need to register yourself so we can shame you publicly." She sets her shopping bag on the floor. "Did you ever think that maybe if you stopped giving mutants reasons to distrust the government, they'd stop distrusting the government?" "Oh, now you're talkin' nonsense, too," Jax says (brightly /cheerful/) to Anette. "Mutant or not, I wouldn't /never/ in a million years trust the government." He bobs up onto his toes, glancing down to his phone briefly and flicking its screen on. "But I will talk t'you. Gladly. Jus' give me a when an' where." This does as least prompt a very small chuckle from Elliott. She spares a small glance, a small shake of her head to Elliott. "Again, quite a lot of hyperbole you're inclined to. In most cases, registration data is largely kept private outside of cases where it's relevant. Nobody is branding you or tattooing your forehead. In interactions with, say, law enforcement, it /is/ a matter of safety." She nods to Jax again, glancing at his phone then back up at his face. "I'm sure we can work something out. -- I don't want to keep you from your show. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Holland." A small nod, polite, and then she turns, the Mayor and her bodyguard both heading off to get to /their/ theatre as well.