ArchivedLogs:Teamwork, pt. 2

Teamwork, pt. 2
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jackson, NPC-cops	2013-05-15 '
Location <NYC> NYPD Station - Garment District
Despite the fashionable clothing of those outside, almost everyone inside the NYPD station is wearing the same dark blue uniform, gold badges flashing on their chest. A few, however, are in business clothing, and a rare one or two are in crisp white uniforms. The police station is several floors high, each dedicated to a different department, and a rare parking lot in the back where the cruisers and trucks sit. The afternoon in the NYPD Central Park's office is a much different affair than the evening. Police bustle back and forth, and the building is as full as any other office building in Manhattan. There are still prisoners in the basement, true, but not as many as the previous day, and much less inebriated. Detectives, too, crowd the building now, following up on leads, taking new cases, and interviewing suspects and witnesses alike. The sergeant behind the main desk is a gruff, older looking man who wears his blue stripes with pride as he surveys his domain. Jackson is looking kind of presentable today, as he arrives. Black corduroys, a short-sleeved red button-down. His hair is fire-engine red, streaked with black, and his nails glitter in red as well. His smile is polite and warm as he heads towards the desk. "Good afternoon, sir," he offers, his Southern drawl thick. Hive trails behind. He looks -- the same. Skinny-wiry. Thick workboots, faded frayed jeans, a brown t-shirt with a pair of hedgehogs staring at a third who has tipped a can of blue paint over himself. He is quiet as he follows after Jax, giving the officer a polite dip of his head but offering nothing by way of greeting. Just quietly watching the activity -- scanning it both visually and mentally. "Good afternoon." The police officer says, flicking his eyes up and down Jackson and Hive in turn, measuring. << Hm. Don't usually see punks coming in here not in cuffs. >> The sergeant's forehead furrows, and he tilts his head to one side. "How can I help you?" << He looks really familiar. >> "It's kind of a long shot, actually," Jackson says, sort of apologetically with a dip of his head, a slight flush of cheeks. "It's just, we're looking for a friend? A -- missing persons, there's been a case open. If it's not too much bother could you direct me to someone we can talk to about the case? I -- it looks real busy around here right now, but we're okay with waiting, sir." Hive stands a little bit straighter when they are addressed. Not much straighter. Just enough to be not /quite/ so slouchy. "His family's been sort of beside themselves," is what he offers, the slightest hint of an accent -- distinctly Not New York, too, but kind of unplaceable in contrast to Jax's Very Southern -- in his words. "We'd appreciate the time, a lot." "Of course. Let me see if a detective from the missing person's squad can come talk to you." The sergeant says, picking up the phone. "Are you the parents?" he asks, even as he dials. << Wasn't he the guy in Central Park with Sutton? >> "Hey, Mark. Can you send a detective down? We've got someone here looking to talk about an open case. -- Thanks." << Didn't know he was gay. I wonder if Sutton slept with him afterwards. >> He smiles at Hive and Jackson. "Someone should be down in a couple minutes." he says, with a mental snort. << Probably. >> "We're not the parents, no," Jackson says with a shake of his head. "I'm actually a teacher at his school." His tone is warm-polite, even if there's an underlying tension visible in his mind if not in his expression. Police stations make him Extremely Uncomfortable. His smile is easy, though, the tip of his head appreciative. "And thank you, sir, we really do appreciate the help." Hive just nods. "Yeah. Thank you. It's been -- well. You know." He shrugs a shoulder. "Missing kid. Nobody gets happy about that. Thanks for your help." He takes a slight step back from the desk, not far; just enough to allow anyone else needing help up to the desk while they wait. << Dude recognizes you from Eric and the park, >> he tells Jax in his typical sledgehammery-bludgeon mindvoice. << Doesn't seem hostile, though. Just wondering if you fucked Eric. >> "Please, take a seat. A detective will be down to take you up to missing persons in a minute or two." The sergeant says, gesturing to a bench not far from the door. It is a wooden thing, and not all too uncomfortable, all thigs considered. It does, however, have strong reinforced seatbars, for when it is used to handcuff suspects to before booking. The sergeant steps back away from the desk, going over to meet someone in a black sports jacket just away from the elevator. Their conversation is quiet and brief, before the sergeant returns back to his post, and the detective heads over to Hive and Jax. He is a short man, Chinese, and his smile is warm. "Hello. My name is Detective Chao. Please, come with me," he says, gesturing back towards the elevator. "And you are?" << I am going to have to tell the Lieutenant that this guy's here. Should I do it now, or after he leaves? >> Behind his back, Jax's fingers clench at the hammering of Hive's voice, but his smile remains pleasant. "Thank you," he says again, moving to take a seat. He is up again when the detective arrives. "Good afternoon, Detective. Thank you for your time. My name's Jax -- Jackson Holland. I'm here about a missing persons case." He has the case number written down on a small scrap of paper! He offers it out to the Detective as he follows along towards the elevator. << ... Guess he knows Eric pretty well, then, >> is his wryly amused answer to Hive. And: << Keep your ears open. >> Metaphorical ears, anyway. The meaning comes through clearly enough. "Hive," is the name Hive gives in response. "Thanks for meeting with us." But for now that's all he volunteers, trailing after the others quietly. He is keeping his ears open, keenly attuned to the minds around them. The detective takes the post-it note and peers at it for a moment before he slips it into his pocket. "If you don't mind me asking, how are you related to the case? Sergeant O'Connor said that you weren't the guardians, and we don't usually share that much information with third parties." He sounds almost apologetic. << Don't recognize the case, but if he's Park-guy, I bet it's one of those mutant cases that the Lieutenant has been sitting on. >> "I'm a teacher at his school, sir," Jackson says. "It's a boarding school, so we kind of -- have a lot of responsibility for the children entrusted to us." His undercurrent of discomfort does not ease any as they head closer into the building, though it's checked by the detective's polite manner. These words make Hive's senses prickle a little more alertly. << Wonder if his Lieutenant's around, >> he says to Jax. << Apparently this guy's -- boss? >> he's not too clear on this hierarchy, << -- has been taking an interest in some mutant cases. >> He relays this as simple fact, not much sentiment to it beside thoughtful curiosity. "Ah. Well, let me see what the status of the case is. I'm not sure what information I will be able to share, but you may have some insights that could help the case." The detective says. The doors open onto a floor with many desks, in little front-to-front arrangements. Chairs are at the edge of each desk aswell as in front of them, making interviews a little bit easier. "My desk is over here," he says, ushering them over to a desk near the edge of the room. He pulls out the number and sits down in his chair, logging in and removing the post-it note to pull up the case record. "Feel free to pull the second chair around from my partner's desk. I'm sure he won't mind." he says, brightly. << Yeah. Case assigned to the Lieutenant. >> His hand moves on the mouse, and though his expression does not change, inside he is frowning. << No notes, no nothing. I wonder if he just hasn't put them in, or if he's just closed it off the books. >> "Looks like the case is being worked on, but the detective assigned to it isn't in right now." he says, looking up from the screen at the other two men. Jackson takes a seat at the desk, hands folding in his lap. He sits, listening quietly, his single eye watching the detective. "That's alright, sir. We -- actually came here because --" There's a beat of hesitation, his head tipping slightly downwards. "We were worried he might have got himself into some kinda trouble. I mean, /obviously/ we were worried that," he allows with a wrinkle of his nose. "But maybe a little moreso. When he vanished, he was wearing a kind of -- watch? That had a GPS tracker in it. We tracked its signal to -- well, this station right here." "We understand there's a lot of information you can't share with us," At least not officially, though Hive's careful attention means there's plenty likely to be shared inadvertently if it comes to mind, "but we know his aunt and uncle -- they're his legal guardians -- they'd be really glad to hear any sort of news there is. Even if he was involved in some kind of trouble." Hive has pulled the second chair over, perched kind of rigidly in the seat, though his quiet voice is for once polite rather than his default gruff. The detective looks surprised, and he glances back at the computer. "I don't show us as having any property on this case." He pauses, then looks over the other two. "GPS, huh? How close can you hunt it down?" << If it's in Anders's office, I swear to fucking god I'm going to run this up to IAB. >> "It's -- possible it was picked up without knowing it was his," Jackson allows, somewhat uncomfortably. "He's kinda a -- teenager, you know, he gets into a lot of stuff." His fingers lift, scuff through his hair. He pulls a phone out of his pocket, turning it on to open up an app -- it's some kind of map, currently receiving a signal from right in their building. At least, they are practically on top of the beacon it is sending out. He tips the screen towards the detective to show him. "Is there anywhere you might keep things if you -- I don't know, sir, if you were holding property for some other reason?" << Mentioning the Lieutenant again. Think we maybe need to find that guy. He seems to think that there's a chance this might be connected to -- something? Something the Lieutenant's doing. With mutant cases. >> Outwardly Hive is quiet, just watching the interaction between the two with a mildly concerned frown. "The police hold evidence from all kinds of things, right? If it got picked up in connection with -- something else that might at least be a lead on where he was last. What kind of trouble he could be in." "If it was somewhere, it'd be locked up in evidence." The detective says, peering over at the screen. "Is there a way that we can make this thing make some noise or something? There are boxes and boxes of things in evidence, and I just can't go through them all." << That's an awful lot of apologizing. Is this drug related? They don't look like organized crime. >> "I don't think it can beep," Jackson says, a little uncomfortably. There's a long pause where he is quiet, considering. His fingers press briefly at the hollows of his eyes, and then his hand drops to his lap. "Look, sir, I'm sorry, it's just. The truth is there have been a lot of disappearances lately." He's a little more cautious when he adds, "Of mutants. Peter's the only one we've had any kind of lead on because we could track his watch but my --" His hands fold tighter in his lap, his voice a little shaky, but only for a brief moment. "My sons are missing, too. And if he disappeared in some kind of /crime/ scene if -- if there are some sort of criminals kidnapping mutants, I --" His head shakes. "It's the first break we've had," Hive says quietly. "I know a lot of people don't like mutants but they're just kids." << Fucking hell. Mutants. >> The detective considers this for a moment, and he sighs. "Alright. What does this thing look like? I can go talk to the duty officer down in evidence, see if he's seen anything. No promises, though. It's a maze down there." "Thank you, sir," Jackson says quietly. "They look like a pair of wristwatches. Except bulkier. But -- black strappy things to wear on your wrists. With sort of -- canisters instead of a watch face." The shaky edge to his voice has gone, it's calm again now. Just quiet. An internal sort of tired that is not quite allowing hope but not quite quashing it either. << He know anything, or just his Lieutenant? >> << Just thinks his Lieutenant might know, >> Hive says, a little disgruntled. Internally, anyway. Outwardly he just slouches slightly in his chair, and watches. << But I don't think the dude's around. At least I can't feel him. Fuckton of people in here, though. He's a little put off by the mutant thing but -- not hostile, still. I guess most people are a little put off by it. >> "Bulkier. Alright." The detective stands and locks his computer with a quick keystroke. "I'll be back in a few minutes." With that he heads to the elevators and downstairs, with only a brief stop to tell one of the other detectives to keep an eye on Jax and Hive. He does not return for several minutes, but when he comes back, his expression is serious, and he is followed closely by a second detective - tall, burly, and Irish. They are not happy. << How the fuck did you catch this break, Chao, you bastard? >> Jackson looks up when the detectives return. His expression doesn't change -- a note of concern, a note of exhaustion. A polite nod to the second detective. "Sir?" That's all. << Careful, >> Hive warns, though it probably doesn't take a telepath to detect the Not Happy. << We might have trouble incoming. >> "Hello. This is Detective Collins from the Joint Terrorist Task Force." Detective Chao says, voice firm. "I found the item you mentioned, I think, and Detective Collins wants to speak with you." He turns to the other police officer. "I think Interview 3 is open, if you want?" "Yes. Come with me." The taller of the two says, gesturing to the other two. << They certainly don't look like terrorists, but if they're mutants... >> There is a tired sinking feeling from Jackson, but he just nods, heavily, and stands. "Yessir. /Terrorist/ Task Force? I don't --" His brows crease into a deep frown. << Gggghha, >> is the strangled mental feel from him, with distinct undertones of, << /Peter/. >> << Joy. >> Hive's mindvoice is a heavy leaden /weight/ thudding down into Jax's mind. He gets up, too, hands in pockets, slouching after the others obediently. << S'gonna be a long fucking afternoon. >>