ArchivedLogs:Parking Enforcement

From X-Men: rEvolution
Jump to navigationJump to search
Parking Enforcement
Dramatis Personae

Alice, Lucien


"The situation is under control."


<NYC> Greenwich Village

A rather bohemian neighborhood and the East Coast birthplace of the Beat movement, Greenwich is the residential counterpart to its more punk east sibling. The Village has been a historical center for the important political movements-- landmarks such as the Stonewall Inn on Christopher street were here during the GLBT rights movement, and the Weather Underground had safehouses here during the radical anti-war movement as well. Historically a place for artists and hippies to flock, gentrification has driven up prices in the locale, causing Greenwich to now trend less bohemian and more yuppie, though the stereotype remains.

It's a bright autumn day, and around NYU's campus the Village is already festooned with Halloween cheer, ghosts and goblins hanging from lampposts, pumpkin and candy corn cutouts in many windows.

Pulling up to the curb nearby one of the residence halls, a sleek black Aston Martin Vanquish to which someone has recently affixed a very new unblemished bumper sticker: My other ride is a broomstick. The car slides carefully into place, rearranges itself closer to the curb with a minimum of wiggling.

Lucien is casually dressed when he emerges: jeans, monkstrap boots, a lightweight long-sleeved seafoam-green button down. He circles to the curb absent-mindedly to open the passenger side door for his companion, but mostly to scrutinize (lengthy, contemplative) the stacked series of signs (four signs deep) regulating parking at this particular spot. His forefinger taps slowly at the crook of his arm. "Either I can pay at that meter," he eventually decides, "Or I am only allowed to park here between two and three in the morning after -- some sort of arcane sacrifice. Should we take our chances?"

Alice probably would have opened her own door, except that she was busily texting still. This done, she steps outside onto the sidewalk and squints up at the signs. She's wearing a cropped blue denim jacket over a fitted black t-shirt with the word 'REMEMBER' spelled out in glittering rhinestones across the chest, tight red capris, and black sandals with straps that crisscross and lace halfway up her powerful calves. "It's /probably/ alright, but we can check the meter. Those things have gotten pretty smart, they won't let you pay if parking is free /or/ forbidden right now." So saying, she's already drifting over to peer at the parking meter. "Seriously though, merci encore for the ride. It woulda been hella obnoxious dragging all that stuff downtown, our bike trailer belongs in a museum."

"Pas de problème." Lucien follows Alice to the meter, reading it somewhat mistrustfully as well but nevertheless taking out his credit card to pay. "I was blissfully free of obligation today. Soon enough to be free of it altogether." Light and airy as he goes to tuck in his receipt into the inside of his windshield. "At which time my car might even be at your disposal some /Wednesday/ afternoon."

In the rush of traffic, chatter of voices, the wail of a busking saxophonist on the next block, the honking of several horns at the jammed intersection ahead, the heavy footfalls of a pair of NYPD Sentinel drones has become just a regular part of city white noise. This particular pair, heading one way down the block when Luci and Alice were exiting the vehicle, are now returning on their side of the street. In tandem the bots pause beside the Aston Martin -- before turning to Alice in unison. "Citizen," one of them informs Alice with a smooth politeness, "you are being detained. Under New York law you must comply with all lawful orders from an NYPD officer." Helpfully, in case the point was missed, their insignia glows subtly here.

"Whaaaat!" Alice's exaggerated exclamation sounds neither questioning nor actually surprised. "You gonna be a man of leisure? Psych, you'd probably like spontaneously combust if you tried to do /leisure/. What /are/ you gonna do..." She trails off when the Sentinels approach, eyeing them a bit dubiously but without much apparent concern. Her brows gather tightly when they speak. This time her "whaaaat?!" is very incredulous. "Why am I being detained?" Then adds, after a beat, "/Officers./" But she is standing very still, keeping her hands turned out as if ready to raise them up any minute.

Lucien closes the passenger door again after placing the parking receipt, his brows creased faintly as the robots halt. Then lifting. He is quiet at first, eyes skipping between the Sentinels and Alice. "Pardon," his tone is mild, "but is there a problem?"

"Citizen," the /second/ Sentinel is addressing Lucien, just as politely neutral, "Por favor, do not be alarmed and do not interfere. As MID officers we are equipped to safely handle incidents of mutant-related crimes."

Its partner is still addressing Alice: "This vehicle has been improperly parked."

Alice's eyebrows hike up and she mouths 'whaaaat' yet again, though silently. "Uh, first of all is that even a /crime/? We can /move/ the car if it's that big a deal." Then, aside to Lucien, kind of helplessly, "Can they like /detect/ mutants now? Cuz if I am one this is /not/ how I expected to find out."

"They cannot detect mutants," Lucien assures Alice with a somewhat bemused look at the Sentinels. "Ah -- Désolé, officers. The vehicle is mine. I had thought this a legal parking space. I will be glad to move the car."

Unfazed, the first of the Sentinels continues its placid explanation. "At 12:32 we recorded you exiting this vehicle. By state law your wheels must be no more than one foot from the curb. The rear right wheel of this vehicle is 12.03 inches from the curb."

Helpfully, Sentinel #2 informs Lucien: "This is a legal parking space. Remember to pay the meter!"

"In that case their definition of 'mutant-related crime' is a little /off/. Parking enforcement ain't gonna like them trampling on their jurisdiction." Alice eyes the space between the curb and the tire speculatively. "Merci for pointing that out, officers. We didn't realize we were parked wrong, but I'm sure we can like. Back up a little? Have a nice day." She sounds slightly hopeful, here.

Lucien eyes the curb. Eyes the car. Eyes the Sentinels. One brow quirks fractionally upward. "I -- along, no doubt, with all the hardworking people of New York -- feel quite heartened knowing the tireless and vigilant work you do safeguarding our streets." There's a quiet earnestness to his voice that carries over to the following offer: "S'il te plaît. Allow me to move the vehicle -- point oh-three inches, was it?"

"{We thank you} for your courtesy." Lucien's Sentinel responds. Its chest lights up cheerfully! "How are we doing?", it says. "File official compliments, complaints, or service reports online at or use the handy NYC311 app any time, any where!"

"Do not attempt to leave the area," the other Sentinel responds to Alice's suggestion. "You are being placed under arrest. Do not attempt to flee. We are authorized to use force."

"Wait, wait," Alice says, clearly exasperated but still keeping her body language calm, "what am I even being arrested /for/? He just said he'd move the car." She glances over at Lucien. "You know this the kinda surreal experience I normally expect from /human/ cops. At least I know jail support has plenty of snacks."

"By state law," Alice's Sentinel repeats, "Your wheels must be no more than one foot from the curb. The rear right wheel of this vehicle is 12.03 inches from the curb."

Lucien's eyes have widened slightly. Though he steps forward just a hair, he does not lift his hands or try to move between the robots and Alice. "Pardon," heard says again, carefully even, "but the vehicle is mine. I parked it. I will gladly move it, if you'll allow it. There shouldn't be a need for any -- apprehension."

"There is no need for alarm," Lucien's Sentinel tells him. "This individual is under arrest. The situation is under control."

"Don't worry about it, man," Alice tells Lucien, bland and fatalistic. "I'll go with them and it'll get sorted out at central booking. Hopefully they aren't gonna ask for a statement from you. It'd be /hilarious/, but a total waste of your time. One of these days I'll /actually/ buy you lunch." She offers her wrists to the Sentinel. "You know," she continues philosophically, "this is /probably the beginning of the robot uprising. They don't care about our genes, we're all just dirty meatbags to them."

Now Lucien's hand does lift, palm scrubbing slowly across his face. "D'accord." The shake of his head is small. "I will /bring/ lunch." His tone is a little wry. "And meet you down there." He casts the Sentinels one last look as he gets into his car.

The robots pay Lucien no more mind. Not the offending car, either. They take an odd care with handcuffing Alice to escort her away.