ArchivedLogs:Slippery Slope

Slippery Slope
Dramatis Personae Dan, Eric, Granuaile	2013-03-13 A cop, a security guard and an activist meet in Central Park....
Location <NYC> Central Park North
Central Park North is slightly quieter than its southern counterpart, being further uptown and slightly out of the bustle of the City - insofar as one can escape the bustle of the City even here, in the acres of green and blue that make up Central Park. The reservoir is in the northern half, providing miles of jogging and biking trails along the clear water, as well as benches for people to sit and rest. Granuaile has been having a hard time, as of late. For a few weeks now, she's been hearing voices in her head, a din that she cannot distinguish from nor make out, that crowds out other sounds and her own thoughts the way an annoying rock concert would. She had been acting incresingly odd and erratic - but, fortunately, two encounters with Claire seem to have alleviated the worst of that ... for now. Still, things will get bad, and she has to find ways to cope before they do. So she's here in the city part, sitting on a bench. Its isolated, but there are still enough people around to give her a headache. She can handle it, for now ... and hopefully, for later. Before she looses her job. So she's sitting on a park bench, with a rosary, praying as she moves the rosary beads. The prayers are loud enough to be heard; its the Hail Mary prayer. In the distance, a figure dressed in blue lycra on a similarly blue bike approaches along the path at a leisurely pace. The broad-shouldered man wears a dark black helmet and can be seen leisurely looking around as he bikes. << Maybe I'll go to Evolve tonight. It's been a couple days since I got out there. Or maybe I'll call someone. Mary? She might still be in Florida. Shane? Mm. School. Marcus - maybe Marcus. He was fun last time. Hello - whose this? >> The bike slows as it comes upon Granuaile, the eyes of the biker flicking up and down Granuaile appraisingly. At a closer distance, the NYPD logo on the front of his shirt can be read, as well as POLICE marked on the bike, his helmet, and on his back. The red and blue lights mounted to the bike tells the same story: Cop. << Rosary. >> When one cycle of the Hail Mary comes to an end, Eric pipes up, voice low and delicately dipped in a southern accent. "Amen. Afternoon, ma'am. Everythin' alright?" The warm(er) weather means that walking through the park to get home is preferable to riding the subway, and so Dan is doing just that. Dressed in security guard polyester black pants with a satin stripe, his white shirt and black tie are partially obscured by the battered brown leather jacket he wears over them. On his head, a captain's cap is pushed back far enough to indicate that he is in no way a cop nor should he be confused with one. He's checking his phone as he walks along, although the recitation of the Rosary brings him up short, and he frowns at the woman on the bench. << Poor kid. >> When the /actual/ cop wheels up, he shifts his weight. "You're not Catholic, are you, Officer?" he rumbles in an amused voice, although his look of concern for the woman doesn't match it. << Man, she's praying like she's committed one of the Big Ones. >> "We all look like that when we're prayin' hard." Granuaile glances upwards, her eyes darting from the police officer, to the security guard and back. She hadn't noticed them approaching. Its difficult enough just focusing on the prayer. "Oh, I'm...I'm just grand, thank you." she says, in a lilting Irish accent. "Sometimes you just..." She closes her eyes for a moment, jerking her head slightly and breathing in deeply as a headache spasm distracts her. "Need to pray and be alone. I'm just Catholic, thats all. Not ... a crazy." She hopes. "Nah," Eric drawls with a shrug of his shoulders and a warm smile as he flicks his eyes up and down Dan. "Baptist. But it can't hurt, yeah?" he says, mischief in his eyes. << I've never slept with a rent-a-cop. He's got some nice muscles. >> He turns his attention back to Granuaile, warm smile dialing back a few notches. "Never said you were, ma'am. Just wanted to make sure you were al'ight. I rarely see people prayin' so earnestly in public." Dan's eyebrows lift when the woman speaks, and he reaches up to run a thumb under his left eye, along the scar there, nodding at the cop. "True. Never hurts to be careful." <<Cops. Can't help being nosy.>> Then he's grinning at the woman, and nodding. "Central Park isn't exactly /alone/," he says, with a lopsided grin. "There's a church a couple blocks over that'd be a lot less traffic-y." He waves a hand at the Park, fairly heavy with joggers and others enjoying the warmish weather. << Not crazy, but something's wonky. Better not leave her with this guy, or she'll be riding a bed in Bellvue or something. >> "Y'know?" "Oh, I'm feeling right knackered right now...I am just not up to a church, you know." She glances around, at the trees, and the path, and the park, and the two men. "And sometimes ... when you have disagreements with God ... or perhaps doubts ... church isn't quite what your in the mood for, you know?" She shrugs. Eric nods, sympathetically, as his eyes glance to Dan once more. << I bet he'd like the handcuffs. A real pair, I mean. Or the badge. I mean, he's a security guard. Why else would you become a security guard other than wanting a real one? >> "I understand. I know there are some times I feel like I need to take a shower in holy water before I should step through the doors of the church." he says, voice bright. Dan is not unaware of being checked out, and the look he gives the cop in return is one of polite disinterest, followed by an 'it is what it is' look that's mildly apologetic. << I bet that's not an exaggeration. Guy probably has a punch card at the free clinic. >> The woman gets a wide smile. "Oh, I know what you mean about disagreeing with God. He and I have had plenty of shouting matches, over the years." There's a wash of sadness that permeates his thoughts that fades as he compares the woman on the bench to another redhead he knows. Well. "I learned quickly that He's not all that interested in fighting with us." "Fighting with god has been something of a pasttime of my family." Granuaile admits. "Usually, you just end taking it out on the world. I've seen alot of that. I prefer to just take it out inside. Less painful that way." She trails off, bites her lip, and recites another Hail Mary, quickly, as a wave of mental thoughts suddenly washes in on her. She can't tell most or hardly any of them apart; but the prayers seem to help with the pain and the distraction. The whole thing looks a bit odd. "You know, when you want one thing ... and life says another ... and then you don't know what to do, because there is nothing else? I mean, life isn't the bees knees, I know...but I fancy we all feel that way sometimes, and I'm just...trying to sort some bad things out." Eric's smile does not fade as he receives a look from the security guard. << Ah well. Probably would'a been too much for the poor guy anyway, if he couldn't'a gotten into the academy. >> He looks over Granuaile for several moments before kicking the stand out on his bike and stepping off of it in a smooth movement. He removes a water bottle and opens it with his teeth, squeezing some water into his mouth and swallowing greedily. "Nothin' wrong with that. We all have our trials." "Amen," Dan repeats when the woman finishes her Hail Mary, sketching a cross over his torso. "Less painful for who, though?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows. << Poor kid. Whatever she's going through must be tough as shit. >> The question gets a laugh, and another rush of his own painful memories all of which get quashed down very quickly. "Little sister, my whole /life/ has been me wantin' to go one way and Life decidin' to kick my ass the other." He presses his lips tight, and when he speaks again, his tone is rough but gentle. "But there's always something else." There's an image of that redhead, again. "Might not /seem/ like it, but there is." "I'm from Dublin." Granuaile says. "I'm here because of my work - I don't want to get into it. I enjoy my work. I believe in it, I think its the right thing." She pauses, thinking, then responds to Dan's earlier question. "I've found that if you take out your frustrations on the world, its ... not good for anyone. Better to bottle them up. Not very Irish, and...eh, I guess it does all come out sometimes, but ... its better then taking it out on the world. Which..." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just babbeling. Crazy lady on a bench!" she smiles. "Sorry, I didn't want to keep you two on my account. I don't even know your names, and here I am, praying and babbling like a nutter." << Irish. Nice. >> Eric flicks his eyes up and down Granuaile contemplatively, and his smile widens just a little bit. "Don't apologize on my account," he says, taking another sip of his water before shifting the bottle from one hand to the other and extending his. "Eric. Eric Sutton." he says. "Now you know m' name, and you don't have anything to be sorry for." << And maybe, later, know other things about me too. I like the accent. >> Dan's eyebrows lift again, and his grin goes lopsided. "No need to apologize," he says, almost on top of Eric's similar senitment. "I guess we all have those kind of days." He also extends his hand, casting a quick, suspicious look at Eric before crinkling his eyes at the woman on the bench. "I'm Dan Rourke," he says, bobbing his head. "I spent some time on the old sod, when I was in the military," he notes. "Had to see my ancestral home, and all that." He wrinkles his nose. "You're not homesick, are you? 'Cause I can introduce you to more Irish Catholics than you can shake a stick at with a single phone call." He's teasing, his thoughts of a matronly-looking woman with coppery hair. Then he's offering a light smile. "/Please/ don't say you're homesick." Her eyes darting between the two simultaneous hands, Granuaile looks confused for a moment, and then, deciding to make a lighthearted moment of it, her upset demeanor flits away from her face, as she extends both of her hands to the men, crossing them over and giving a mock 'oh, I'm so confused' look. "Oops! Well, thats one way to solve that!" she says, still looking decidedly more perky. "I'm Granuaile. No, I'm...not homesick. I mean, I miss my family, but thats not the problem. Its just...my health is bad, and I'm probably not going to be able to do my job, which means I'll have to return home. And...I like my job." << Health is bad and you're sitting praying in a park? Well, that's one way to go about it, I guess. >> Eric chuckles and shakes her hand lightly, hands large and strong. "I'm sorry to hear that. Have you talked to your boss about it? Maybe you could take some time off. I know that there's a way for me to do it if I got sick." He pauses, a faint smile on his lips. "And I know it's not the union, since I know others who can d' the same thing in non-union jobs." Dan grins as he closes his fingers over Granuaile's, and he nods, the corners of his mouth tugging downward at her sudden change. "It's nice to meet you," he says, grimacing. "That's a tough spot," he says, nodding at Eric. "Like Officer Sutton here says, have you tried talking to your boss about it? I bet they'd rather have you around and getting better than try and train someone to replace you." He lifts a shoulder. "The devil you know, and all of that." He grins, and tips his chin up thoughtfully. "What does your doctor recommend?" "I did, and I managed to get a leave until my health improves." Granuaile admits to Eric and Dan. "But I've spoken to my doctor and...I'm not sure its going to get better. Its the sort of health problem and the sort of job which just don't really mix." Horrible lies, that 'spoken to my doctor' bit. The rest is true-ish. Granuaile is no stranger to lying though, and has no moral qualms against it, praying aside. Eric makes a noise of sympathy. "Tha's tough. It can happen, though. I know co-workers of mine who had to switch to workin' at a desk for the rest of their careers because of their health. Maybe--" He is cut off by a beeping noise from his radio. "Excuse me." he turns slightly as the dispatcher's voice blares loud, then quieter as two fingers turn down the volume on the radio at his waist. 'Dispatch to central 3. 10-10 flasher near the north path to east drive." Eric squeezes the radio and murmurs into it, "Central 3, 10-4, north path to east drive." He flashes the other two an apologetic look as he mounts his bike. "'M sorry, ma'am. Duty calls. Good luck with your work. Chin up and all that." A flash of a smile, and he kicks his pedal up and stands up on the pedals, pushing heavily off of the ground. He picks up pace, red and blue lights turning on a few moments after he has began to move, heading off down the path in a rush. Dan offers a nod when the crackle of Eric's radio interrupts whatever he was going to contribute, and he lifts a hand. "Stay safe, Officer," he says, and watches as the man speeds off the path. "I'd be careful of that one, little sister," he says, nodding after the bike cop. He doesn't elaborate further, rather, shifting his weight so that the cop is blocked from her view. "Who's your doctor?" he asks. "My oldest brother is a doctor, and he'd give me a referral, if you want a second opinion." He grimaces. "Stress is a bitch, though. What is it that you do?" Granuaile can't help it. She gets dodgy. She avoids the doctor question entirely. "I'm ... an activist." she says, sounding further dodgy. "I train college students and volunteers to form activist ocmmunities. I work with some of the local nonprofits and some of the local college students. Right now, I spend most of my time alone in my apartment, so as not to really ... inflict my misery on anyone else. I just sleep most of the time." Granuaile also waves farewell to the officer. Dan frowns. "Activist?" he echoes, jutting out his lower lip. "Like, conscientious objectors and sign-wavers?" He does not sound like a fan. "For anything in particular, or just 'here's how to do it' kind of stuff?" He snorts a laugh as he puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Although, getting college students to be activists about something is kind of like shooting fish in a barrel, isn't it?" He turns his head, then, to watch a couple of women power-walk by, chatting loudly over their individual music players. Then he's turning back. "Are you sure your misery affects others as much as you think?" he asks, not unkindly. "I mean, I've been talkin' to you for ten or fifteen minutes, and I don't feel like I'm talking to a woman on her death bed." He scrunches his nose. "Sorry to be so blunt an' all." Granuaile sighs. Well, she has to unload to someone, might as well unload to a stranger. "Mutant registration." she admits. "Its no different then gun control, and you at least need a background check for that. You at least can have a debate about that. The group I work for thinks its time we have a debate about whether or not people who can destroy buildings or control minds with a thought ought not to be discussed. Its not necessarily anything personal but... gun control is a tough topic. People all across the world debate our right defend ourself - being no fan of the bloody brits, I'm down with that - verses our right to be safe and secure. We think its time for a public discussion on the issue, without necessarily blaming anyone in particular as to why. I do believe that. Humanity can't be trusted with power. We use rocks to hurt each other. We can barely be trusted with knives or swords. All humans need less power, not more." Friends of Humanity. She hasn't said what her problem is yet, but the nature of the situation should likely become more clear. Dan's face remains expressionless during this explanation, but his mind /rolls/ with images: Auschwitz, Afghanistan, a slew of faces from the same redhead to a tiny purple face, to a shadowy figure and finally a pair of shark kids. A muscle jumps in his jaw when Granuaile stops speaking, and pokes a tongue into his cheek in the intervening silence. "And you don't agree with the party line?" he asks, eyebrows lifting. "You spout it pretty enough, but you didn't put no heart in it." Granuaile sighs. "I do agree." she claims. "You can't really be free in a world with complete centralized power. Over time, our democracies slip into facism. We get those rights back, but we loose them again. Humanity is never far from hurting itself ... and that is when everyone is equal. We use every chance to claim, we are better then them, or they are to blame. Even with all humans being born equal, things are not fair. We dunna' have anything like a fair government. What will we do when a portion of the population really are more powerful, really can rule everyone else if they want? There has never been an army in the world that was not, at some point, used to hurt others. Human beings can barely be trusted to play as nice as five year olds." She sighs. "But the solution needs to be more humanity and more compassion, not less, and it can't involve pretending there is not a problem, or that we don't need regulation of some sort." "So you agree with what you do, and you're up on the patter," Dan says, tilting his head to one side and closing one eye. "Is it hard to teach those kinds of things?" He winces. "No, I guess it wouldn't be." He extracts a hand to hold up a finger. "But. You're talking about tracking people, ultimately. American citizens. Who are protected from such things by the Constitution." He can recite the party line, too. Even if it's for an organization of which he's no longer part. "Not to rain on your parade or anything." The hand gets waved. "But, back to your health, and this job. Is it high-stress, what you do?" He grins. "I mean, other than the usual stuff I figure such a measure would run into." Granuaile considers that. "Well, my family is involved, back in Dublin. They hold some pretty crazy beliefs. There has been some trouble over it, and...its hard to say where the family stress ended, and the cause began, back home. Here, its...different. Nothing of that sort but...you hear some alarming things. I mean, registration is one thing, but...racism is another. And yeah, its...the demands are tough." Dan snorts. "Little sister, this is New York," he says, rumbling a chuckle. "Even without mutants, you'd hear some alarming things." He presses his lips together, then, and a corner of his mouth quirks to one side. "Look, I get that people are worried -- hell, I've got..." he bites off whatever was going to end that sentence, and closes his eyes, briefly. Images tumble again, worse images now, of that redhead and that tiny purple face in prison clothing, behind bars and fences. It looks like he might actually be sick, for a moment. "There's got to be better ways." "I hope so." Granuaile says, honestly. "But if I think about the long term, I'm worried. Human government requires human equality. It is an instable balance which every generation fights for. Humans, whether they have special powers or not, do not play nice. Unless everyone is on equal footing, the tendancy..." She pauses. "The nature of original sin is such that one side will try to destroy or rule the other, oppressively. And the only way to stop that is to be harsh, and firm, and regulate very thoroughly, both sides, to establish a secure footing before it happens. Registration today might mean ending the fears that cause a genocide tomorrow, or a mutant takeover, like those terrorists tried. Neither possability is one people want to face, but either could happen unless we stop hiding from it." Dan considers that, his brow lowering. "Maybe," he says slowly. "But I think the acts of mutant terrorism are on a par with the acts of human terrorism. I think it'd be more feasible to think about anti-mutant tech that law enforcement and military could use, when one of them steps out of line. Registration...it just sounds like a slippery slope to legislated oppression, and I fought long and hard on foreign soil preventing that kind of thing." He lifts a shoulder, and looks down the path, wrinkling his nose at the light. <<Damn. I got to get to the bar. Frank's got that shipment coming in.>> "Look, I've got to go," he says aplogetically. "But if you're ever on the Lower East Side, I tend bar in a pub called Molly's from time to time. We can talk about this further, if you want." He grins. "And I never knew any 'activist' who wasn't willing to talk further, so I'll look forward to seeing you soon." He offers a small half-bow, shifting into an Irish brogue. "Sure an' 'tis an odd colleen y'are, Miss, but 'twas a pleasure to make your acquaintances." Then he's offering a grin. "I hope you feel better soon."