ArchivedLogs:Searching for Justice

Searching for Justice
Dramatis Personae Eric, Jackson, Spencer	2013-06-14 '
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. It is early in the morning on Friday when Eric makes his way up the stairs of the Village Lofts towards Jax's apartment. He is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, blue and trimmed tight against his chest. He eyes the burn patterns on the wall with a suspicious look before he knocks on Jax's door, the edge of his fist planting into the door once, twice. "Jax? It's me." It takes a moment before the knock is answered. A long stretch of quiet and then -- rattle, thunk, chk, chk -- the multitude of locks on Jax's door open one by one. Behind, he looks -- bright! Freshly shaven head decorated with a bright tattoo. Glittering pink makeup above his blue-eyelinered eye. Deep indigo on his nails, flecked with tiny diamond-bright shimmers of silver-white that make it look kind of like the night sky. He's in dark jeans, pinstriped in silver, and a pink tank beneath a short-sleeved blue fishnet shirt. The smile he gives for Eric is warm if very brief, gesturing the other man inside. "Mornin', Eric. I, um. Sorry I didn't text you back last night, my phone broke. Can I get y'somethin' t'eat? Some breakfast?" Eric steps into the apartment and looks around, eyes scanning back and forth. "Uh, nah, I'm all set, thank'ya Jax." He says, turning to follow the other man with his eyes. "I kinda thought you might just'a been done talkin' to me. What happened t' your phone?" he asks, curiously, as he sticks his thumbs into his pockets and bounces once on the balls of his feet. Jackson hitches a shoulder upwards. "Broke it on accident," he answers vaguely, slipping back into the kitchen where there's garlicky grits on the stove already. Collard greens sauteeing in a pan. He dishes out a bowl of these, mixing them together and dashing in some pepper before pouring a glass of orange juice. "Give me a sec," he asks Eric, setting out the food and then slipping to Spencer's room: "Honey-honey?" He knocks on the door. "Breakfast ready." Spencer is quick to hurtle out of his room. Bouncebounce -- oh hi visitor! He beelines to Eric instead, eying the officer's casual clothing /accusingly/. "Where's your /police/ things?" He mimes a HAT on his head, as this is evidently the most important part of /policing/. Eric's expression lights up when he sees Spencer, smile spreading onto his face as he crouches down. "Heya there, champ!" he says, reaching out a hand and ruffling Spencer's hair. "Go eat your breakfast, Spence." he says, straightening back up to his full height. "I'm not workin' right now, so I don't have them on me." A police officer's hat appears on Eric's head. Spencer /beams/. Jackson hides his expression behind a palm pressed against his lips. "/Cool/," Spencer's expression has gone from accusing to cheerful in nothing flat. He holds out a hand to Eric for KNUCKLETAP before dashing off to the kitchen. The hat fades. When Jackson drops his hand there is no smile behind it, just a faintly tired look. He nods down the hall towards his bedroom -- away from Spencer. "You wanted help with somethin'?" "Yeah, I did." Eric's smile fades quickly as he looks around again, and he steps over towards Jax's room, even as he says, "I'm looking for one of the people you got out of that fight ring." His voice is tight, and his posture is uncomfortably stiff - a major difference from his normal attitude. "One of the people I saw fight, actually." Jackson shrugs a shoulder, pushing open the door to his room. It's in a state of organized disarray; there's clutter from the stacked art supplies to the boxes of first-aid supplies to the packets of seeds to the boxes of clothing but everything is neat and labeled. The bed is made up neatly, and an easel by the window holds a painting well on its way to finished; there's a misty swirl around the edges of a black-framed mirror. Possibly a mirror, possibly a /portal/ given that the figure reflected in it is reaching back out. "Didn't really keep in touch with a lot of 'em," he says with a tinge of regret, "a good number of 'em just split the moment they was reasonably patched-up." "Maybe you kept in touch with this one," Eric drawls, glancing around the room curiously. Snooping distracts him for a few moments, curiously glancing around the paintings and the rooms - and he shakes his head, rapidly, shaking himself back to the conversation. "Mm. Shadow lady. Made of shadow, and has a temper." he says, voice hardening. "/Ah/." Jackson's teeth click together, a thin line of tension in his own jaw. He closes the door behind them. His steps are quiet in bare feet as he drifts across the wood floor towards the window, looking down at the city below. "She lit out pretty much as soon as she was fit to. Didn't really leave us no contact info." Eric's eyes sweep over Jax, then follow his gaze back to the city below. "We need to find her, before this city goes to hell even more than it already is. It's going to get worse and worse unless we /stop/ it." he says, voice hardening until it sounds like iron striking on metal. "This /shit/ is just gonna hit some boilin' point and explode into widespread violence, if'n we keep followin' injustice with more injustice." "They killed one of my best friends," Jackson says in a level voice, "because his powers look a little bit like hers. Three people died at Evolve last night. I think," his shoulders are sagging, tired, heavy, "it's already exploding. Though I ain't quite sure what kinda /justice/ you imagine that man had earned himself." He turns from the window, looking back at Eric instead with that same tiredness creeping into his expression. "Hard to find someone made'a shadows if they don't want to be found." "The kind found in court, not at a fuckin' graveside." Eric says, and his voice hardens. He looks over at Jax and sighs, taking a step back and leaning against the wall. "I know. I'm stuck at my desk, still, but I see the reports comin' in and comin' in, and gettin' worse. We gotta be able to do somethin' to stop this." A pause. "You have no idea where she is?" he asks, voice softening. "You know they had members of the court on their payroll? A Supreme Court justice paying to watch their fights? Do you really think there'd be justice/ there?" Jackson's palm presses to his eye. There are shadows curling around /him/, too, dark wispy tendrils that snake their way around his arms. "If I did, I ain't sure I'd'a been able to /stop/ some folks from killin' /her/, this week. Ian saved a lot of lives around here. Shane got shot. Dusk won't be able to fly for a while. I don't think I know a single person who ain't been screwed over by what she done --" He exhales a sharp laugh. "-- Gosh, I almost said 'start'. But /she/ didn't start none'a this." "Shane got shot?" This has succeeded in completely distracting Eric from his train of thought. "Is he alri'?" he asks, concern sparking to life in his tone. "He got shot, shot, or just... skimmed, shot?" He glances towards the door, as if considering dashing out of the room to search Shane's room for bullets. "He's fine," though here there's a definite edge of strain in Jax's tone; it's being forced a good deal more calm than he likely /feels/. The shadows around him deepen. "He's tough. Don't heal so fast as /you/, but he's tough. Can't swim for a bit. Tore right through his gills." Eric pauses for several seconds before he nods, once. "No, she didn't start it. But this ain't about what's fair, and she just did make sure that my sergeant is a hero, now, no matter what truth comes out. They ain't never gonna be able to get the press on our side." he says, shaking his head sadly. "Not no more. Like it or not, she fucked us, good." "Yeah." Jackson's expression hardens. "Yeah, she really did. We been tryin' to collect evidence about what happens -- kinda pissed all that work away, nobody'd care right now if we had video of him cuttin' them up himself." His hand lifts, scuffing across the smooth surface of his head. "Not sure at this point /what/'ll stop it. I think this city was just waiting for that match to be lit." Eric shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. He is quiet for several moments before he looks up at Jax, once more. "Maybe not. But justice is a reason, if'n it does it or not." he says, voice firm. "Whether it stops things or not, it still ain't right." He shakes his head. "We can't get justice no more for all the people in those clubs, but we can still get it for Kyle." "/Justice/." Jackson practically spits the word out. "For /Kyle/. Right. Because in the middle of everything going on here, my priority is making sure the system that /hates us/ gets to get /vengeance/ on behalf of their hero. The one who /tortured/ my kids. What the hell /justice/ do you think is gonna happen here, Eric? They'll hold her up as a example of what monsters we all are and keep on sucking his cock for years." Jackson's anger sparks similar in Eric. "You think I /liked/ watching those fights?" he says, voice rising in volume as his fists clench. "You think I /enjoyed/ watching them execute that person in the middle of the ring?" His eyes flash, and then the anger runs out of him in a snap. He looks down at the ground and shakes his head. "I put my career and my life on the line when I went in there, and when I went to that lawyer." he says, voice soft. "I didn't want it to end up like /this/." "This ain't about /you/, Eric. I didn't say jack about /you/. /You/ come here askin' me to help you get /justice/ for that bastard." The shadows around Jackson are rapidly vanishing, replaced by a bright hot glow that creeps its way up his arms. "You can get bent. There ain't gonna /be/ no /justice/ around none of this. Certainly not from the /courts/. They ain't lookin' for justice, they're lookin' for blood. When every cop involved in that's seen /justice/ you can come talk to me about gettin' some for the monster who started this." Eric looks up at Jax, but his expression remains calm. "Alright." he says, and he turns towards the door. "Where's Shane? I want to look in on 'im before I get out'ya hair." he says, hand turning on the doorknob. "At work." Jackson does not look exceptionally pleased about this. It shifts into a wry smile for a moment, though, as his hand runs over his bald head again. "Eric --" This is quieter than his previous anger, softer. Tired. But it just trails off into nothing. "Be safe out there." "My desk isn't a dangerous place to be," Eric says, softly, turning to glance back at the other man. "You be safe out there. If there are any more problems... give me a call." A pause. "And you really should take everyone out to the school. Get out of the City. This ain't gonna get better before it gets worse." "No. But the city is. Y'might not die but y'can still find all kindsa hell." Jackson's head turns, eye shifting towards the window. "Yeah. I don't doubt it is."