ArchivedLogs:Jail Support

Jail Support
Dramatis Personae Eric, Sebastian, Shane, Mirror walk-on role
In Absentia	2013-12-17 After the protest and during jail.
Location Jail, somewhere
It's been quite a few hours since the arrests at the protest, and a few /more/ since the arrestees finally made it through processing and into their final destinations. The intervening time has not been idle. In the nature of post-protest arrests there's been a follow-up tiny protest /at/ the jail, signs and chanting and a cluster of press that almost rivals the cluster of /protesters/, but inside there have been two very small very /determined/ sharks. They're having a protest of their own -- not particularly political, Sebastian is standing up by a counter dressed in peacoat and long corduroy trousers and boots, his hands folded firmly behind his back -- perhaps in an effort to make them as nonthreatening as possible. He's been here with his brother a /while/ now. To those who know him there are clear signs of agitation, in his rapidly blinking inner eyelids, his rapidly fluttering gills. This latter, though, only serves to make his voice that much breathier, soft and quiet rather than angry-hard. "-- I /realize/ someone already gave him a juice," he is telling the officer at the desk, "but what you need to understand is that his metabolism is /different/. He --" "-- Will die," Shane pipes in. Identically dressed to his brother save that his coat is a darker shade and his corduroys a lighter one, he has /his/ hand tucked through the crook of his brother's arm. "He will /die/ if he isn't fed. Something --" "-- with sugars in it. Fruits. Peanut butter and jelly. Something with sugar and something that's --" "Vegan," Shane picks back up. "Really, /we'll/ bring the food, okay? We /have/ the food you don't even need to get him food. He travels with tons of food. We brought sandwiches and energy bars and you can inspect --" "/All/ the food as much as you want, but we have good vegan food here and bringing it to him --" "-- will look a lot better than him dying in here, there were already cameras all over that protest." Shane's gills are fluttering rapidly, too, his voice quiet to match his brother's. The police officer standing behind the desk gives the two teenagers a long-suffering look. His fingers tap along the surface of the desk, glancing behind him for a moment. "Look, he's getting well cared for, alright? He'll be out in a couple of hours. I've been telling you that. He can't get special privileges just because he's vegan. He gets everything that everyone else gets. If you've got a problem with that, you can take it up with the Sergeant or the Lieutenant." A pause, and the police officer's arms across over his chest. "That's policy." He says this in the same way that one might say, 'That's what the Bible says.' "/Well cared for/." Shane echoes this with his brows raised high. "There's literally video footage of him getting /beaten in the face/ while kneeling with his hands behind his head," Sebastian answers quietly. "Do you want to add to that the news tomorrow saying that Jackson Holland died in jail on your watch?" "I wasn't at the raid. If you have allegations of overuse of force, I'd suggest reporting it to civilian oversight board." The police officer looks bored, and he shakes his head. "Besides, even if I was going to break policy and bring the inmate some food, I can't bring in food from the outside. There might be anything in it; I've seen all sorts of things. Weapons, drugs..." He ticks these off on his fingers as he goes. "It's not the Hilton, kids. It's jail." "Uh huh. Just wait there one second." Sebastian gives the officer at the desk /such/ a sweet-polite smile, lifting a finger like 'wait'. He turns for the door, where the small group of protesters outside have been joined by a small scattering of press. Shane grins, not small and polite but large and toothy. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning up against a wall. Sebastian returns in short order, leaning in close to a tall woman with microphone and neatly-tied coat and cameraman at her back. He's talking quick and quiet, small gestures of his webbed hands as they cross the room. The woman's press pass reads Naseemah Chaudhry, the Daily Bugle. "OK," Shane says lightly, "tell us again how you're planning to starve my dad to death after he saved all of New York, because it's not policy to give him a PBJ?" The officer straightens up as the reporter walks into the room. "I'm sorry. Let me see if I can get my sergeant to come speak with you if you have concerns. The health of those in our custody is, of course, one of our major concerns. I can't make an exemption to policy myself, but I can get you someone who can talk to you more about it." As the officer speaks, another police officer is crossing through the lobby, heading towards the back, black hair slicked back and blue chevrons stitched to a perfectly smooth uniform. A dress uniform, actually. "Sergeant, can you help me for a second?" The newcomer turns, blinking, mouth opening. It claps shut as his eyes flick to the cameraman and reporter, and the two teenagers standing next to them. A flash of surprise shows on his face, and he steps over. "Of course, officer. My name's Sergeant Sutton. What seems'ta be the problem here?" Eric asks, flashing all a warm, friendly smile. Shane's gills press flat against his neck, his eyes widening when Eric appears. Sebastian takes /Shane's/ arm now, squeezing his twin's elbow gently. "We've just been trying for several hours to make sure our pa gets --" "-- fed adequately," Shane finally recovers enough to explain, softly, his gills starting to flutter again. "It's actually fairly common amont mutants to have different dietary needs than most people." "And my pa can fall into a hypoglycemic coma and die in -- very short order. This would be like denying food to a diabetic, sir," Sebastian explains, looking between Eric and his brother. The camera is dutifully filming all of this. Shane draws in a large breath, unslinging a backpack from his shoulder to offer it forward. "He's vegan, sir," he explains, "but he has a very high need for a consistent supply of sugar. There are /many/ foods in here that'd be good. Please -- I just want to make sure he's okay." "You can search it, open up everything, whatever you need to but please just -- make sure my Pa doesn't starve?" Sebastian's eyes open huge and wide, and he leans in more against Shane's side. Eric nods along as the two younger men speak, eyes flicking back and forth between the two teenagers. "Well, we certainly don't want anythin' to happen to your Pa." he says, circling around to the back of the desk and reaching out to take the backpack. He lets it slide on the desk and then looks back up. "I don't want to take your backpack, so I'm just going to open it up and take some'a the food out, alright? Nothing in there that's going'ta poke or cut me, right? Gloves." This last is to the other officer still sitting down, though looking less bored, now. A quick snap of purple nitrile later and one last glance for permission, Eric is pulling food onto the counter and gently lining it up. "The sandwiches I'm going to leave for you both, since they're not sealed. But I can bring the rest of this on back for ya. What's your Pa's name? And d'ya know what he was wearing? Easier to find him that way." "Nothing in there except food and drink and a notebook, sir." And indeed Shane's backpack is just stuffed with food, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bags of apple crisps, a /myriad/ of energy bars, bananas, clementines, sealed bottles of Naked fruit juice. Other than the sandwiches the foods are sealed in their original containers, with little stickers on them -- very /shiny/ metallic smiley faces, smiling stars, smiliny hearts. "Thank you, s -- Sergeant," Sebastian replies carefully. "It means a lot, he's been through --" He swallows. "Jackson Holland," he says. "My pa is Jackson Holland." "He has bright -- jeans and /bright/ green hair and a lot of tattoos. Yellow -- yellow t-shirt. Little Miss Sunshine. Can you --" Shane glances up at Eric, and then down. "My dads are probably -- can you just tell them we're here waiting." "We're not going anywhere," Sebastian adds, hugging his brother and then bowing his head slightly to dab at his eyes with the back of his hand. Eric places all of the originally sealed food in a plastic bag that he tugs out of his pocket - thanks, Rite Aid - and piles it gently inside. "Green hair and a lot'a tattoos. Shouldn't be too hard to find, sounds like." The sergeant nods and pushes the backpack back towards the teenagers. "I'll go bring this back'ta him myself right now. And I'll let him know that you're here, waitin'. He glances down at his watch, and nods. "He'll probably not get arraigned until the mornin' at this point. I'll be around here finishin' up some paperwork, so if you need'ta get him some more food, just ask one'a the officers to give me a call, and I'll let them know a' his medical needs. Alright? Both'a you should get some rest. Your Pa ain't goin' nowhere for a bit, and standin' and frettin' ain't goin'ta get him out any sooner, ya hear?" "Yessir," the twins chorus in unison. "Thank you," Shane says, more softly. "Tell my dads we love them?" Sebastian sounds very hopeful. He squeezes at Shane's waist and then nods to the reporter, mouthing a silent 'thank you' there, too. "C'mon," says Shane. "If they're not getting out till morning let's go -- home and get some shit ready -- we can have /hot/ cocoa and /grits/ here when they're out." Sebastian smiles, at this. He watches Eric take the food with an almost palpable relief, and nods. "Yeah. /So/ much warm when they gets out." Eric gives the two teenagers a smile, and turns and nods to the reporters. "If ya have any questions, I'll let the press office know that we talked, so they should be able to help'ya with anythin' you might need." A pause. "I'm going'ta go bring this back to Mister Hollin now." He nods and with a murmured "Call if there's anythin' else" to the other officer, he heads towards the back.