ArchivedLogs:Wrongfully Accused
| Wrongfully Accused | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 29 December 2013 /Jax/ ends up arrested for Malthus's murder instead of Micah. (Set a short while after Micah gets home). |
| 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 myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room 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. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. 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. Things are Kind Of Subdued in the Holland-Zedner house, at the moment. My Little Pony time has never arrived. There's still the spicy smell of tofu scramble in the kitchen though this has mingled with the chemical smell of fire extinguisher and burning plastic. Burning potatoes. The bathroom floor has been mopped up, though. The twins are curled up together in the beanbag, Sebastian's arms curled around his brother. Shane is reading; Sebastian might well be sleeping, eyes closed and body just curled around his brother. Spencer's bedroom door is open once again, though he only emerged long enough to grab his K'nex and retreat with them into his room again. Jax -- hasn't left his bedroom, since retreating into it to change. His door is just closed, and quiet. There were the distinctive sniffling sounds of crying earlier, but now only silence. At some point Micah dragged himself from the hallway to throw himself face-down on the couch. Somewhere along the line he removed his shoes and socks to stop tracking water through the apartment, and these are laid out to dry by the door. It has been some time since any other motion has been seen, though his breathing is far too uneven for sleep. Down the hall, the door to the stairwell opens - and stays open. Heavy boots clomp into the hallway, the quiet rustle of plastic and kevlar, the squeak of leather. The soft buzz of the radio, as a voice murmurs into it. "Take the stairwell. Unit two, the elevator. Three, at the other end. Let's go." There is another discussion, a quiet hiss of activity at the end of the hall. "Well, the Lieutenant ain't here yet, and this is a state warrant, not a federal one. Your team stays outside, unless ya like the idea of tanking this whole case on a technicality." Eric. The other voice sounds annoyed, but it doesn't get farther than a "But---" before the first cuts it off. "Now. Move them back." Sebastian might have appeared sleepy-faced, but at these distant sounds both twins look up, in tandem, freezing sharply at the quiet noises from down the hall, heads tilting long before other ears can hear these noises. In tandem, both their eyes rivet on Micah. Sebastian bolts upright to turn for the door, teeth bared and his claws out sharp and long now. "Shhhh," Shane is resting a hand against Sebastian's chest, gently urging him back down. "Shh don't --" But his eyes are wide and kind of terrified. "Ba. Ba get up we have to go you have to --" He looks towards the fire escape, looks towards Jax's room. "Pa can hide you. If you're not home maybe there's time to -- time to -- time to /think/ --" He gets up in a hurry, going over to shake Micah by the shoulder. "Ba come /here/ come here." "You said they wouldn't know." Sebastian's tone is accusatory. "You said they couldn't know." "Hm?" Spencer just looks out towards the twins. "Know what?" Micah is slow to sit up, but comes from his dejected slouch into ramrod-straight posture immediately at the /worry/ that begins to emanate from the twins. "What? What is it? They who?" He finally shoots a glance at the door through his puffy, red-rimmed eyelids, adding it together. "It's...the police? I don't know how they could /possibly/..." His head shakes at the recommendation to hide. "There's no point. Boys, if they know, there's no point. We gotta open the door if they have a valid warrant. I'll...inspect it. But if it's valid, I have t'go." His posture crumples again, hands starting to shake with a new anxious-fear. "This was always...a possibility. I told you. I told you this is why it had t'be me an' not any of you. I'll at least...get a trial. I'll get t'live. An' you'll all get t'live. An' I'm /so sorry/." Apparently the restriction on use of that word has been abolished for the evening, too many other concerns pushing the nagging reminder not to /zombie/ out of Micah's head. There is more scurrying on the other side of the door as body armor clad police officers shuffle down the hall to block off the other staircase. It isn't until the edge of a fist knocks on the door that the sound echoes through Lighthaus loud enough for normal human hearing to pick up. "Open the door. This is the New York Police Department." The voice at the door is clearly Eric's - all recognition aside, there can't possibly be that many officers on the NYPD with a thick Georgia accent to match Jax's. His fist thuds into the door three times more, and Eric's voice sounds again, commanding. "Jackson Holland, we have a warrant for your arrest. Open the door or we will break it down." "Spence stay in your room." Sebastian's voice is tense, edged. He hurries for Jax's door, not knocking but just opening it. "Pa come here they're /coming/ for him you have to /stop this/." "No no no no no no /no/." Shane has gone over to the couch to -- maybe /drag/ Micah somewhere but this ends in just a somewhat painfully fierce hug, his face buried against Micah's shoulder. "/No/ they can't take you you /can't go/." His voice is soft, a shaky whisper. "I can take you we can /go/ I have the --" His hand taps at his wrist to indicate webshooters. "Not yet they can't --" And then the actual knock comes. Both twins freeze, wide-eyed. "... Ba?" Sebastian's voice near Jax's door is abruptly tiny. Spencer's eyes are huge. "Dad no they what. Why. Is that /Eric/." He sounds -- a little hopeful there. Like maybe this is a /joke/? Jax has changed and dried off by now. No longer in church clothes but comfortable-casual, his sky-blue UFOs paired with bell-sleeved black long-sleeved shirt, purple and blue designs at the ends of the sleeves, lavender Lorax t-shirt over top, brightly coloured mismatched socks. He has been on his bed sketching, but drops the sketchpad to the mattress, sliding out of bed quickly at Sebastian's concern. "What? Who -- what." He looks, abruptly paling, to Micah on the couch. To the door. He's already /heading/ for it when that knock comes -- he turns slowly on a heel to just /stare/ at Micah. There's a sudden shiver of light around him, blank confusion in his expression. He swallows hard. His hand scrubs through his hair. "Micah --" He barely breathes out the word, soft and shaky. "... go to the bedroom. Please." He turns to the door. Slooooowly thunking open the locks; it's audible enough from the outside that he's doing it but there are quite a /few/ locks on Lighthaus's doors. Rattle. Thunk. He's not -- in a /rush/. “Spencer, go in your room an' close the door an' stay sittin' up in your bed an' /don't move/, honey. Shane, B... You should really go t'your room or Spence's an' do the same. We don't want no twitchy cops gettin' itchy trigger fingers just from lookin' at you two. If they /do/ end up askin' you questions just tell 'em real polite that you aren't answerin' without a lawyer. Don't /do/ anythin'. I'm sorry...that I brought 'em here. Y'should go.” Micah's arms squeeze Shane tight but then give him a gentle shove in the direction of the hall. When Eric's voice asks for /Jax/, it is like a needle dragging across a record, Micah's head tilting and staring at the door as if he couldn't /possibly/ have heard that right. “Jax. Jax...what did you /do/? Why are they askin' for /you/? Y'gotta...check the warrant. Maybe they'll have left the apartment number off or spelled your name wrong. Y'don't gotta let 'em in if they...at least we can stall while they get another one. Why are they after /you/?” He shakes his head. “No. No. I gotta be here t'make sure they don't hurt you. This is all wrong...” The other side of the door is not a particularly welcoming place. Eric is standing there, kevlar body armor thrown over his uniform, obviously with some haste - the straps are not even buckled correctly on one side. Behind him, there are two ESU officers, with submachine guns pointed directly at Jax. More officers line the hallway, bulletproof shields extended in front of them, all but one emblazoned with the logo of the NYPD, or it written in block letters. One person, though, is dressed in a very different uniform of the rest - a military uniform, with the logo on his shoulders bearing a different mark: HAMMER. "Jackson Holland, you're under arrest for the murder of Federal Officer Malthus Rogers. Turn around and put your hands on your head, real slowly now." Eric says, and he has the decency to look a little bit apologetic, as his eyes cross into the room to look at those inside. Looking at Shane causes a twinge of pain to briefly flash on his face, and he looks quickly back to Jax. "Y'all stay back. Let's not make this harder'n it is." "Pa what --" Sebastian stops speaking there, though, once the last lock is finally turned and the door is finally opened. His claws /shoot/ back out at Eric's words. His teeth bare in an abrupt harsh snarl, and for a twitchy-tense moment it looks like he might lunge. "/B/." It's harsh-sharp from Shane, not nearly enough time to get across the room and /stop/ his brother but the word at least freezes Sebastian right in place. Shane might not have time to get to B, but he does tighten his arms hard around /Micah/, resisting this push and instead kind of pushing Micah behind /him/ with a sharp: "Shhhhh." He at least keeps claws in. Teeth in. Just tense and /staring/ as if his diminutive form will do -- something to keep his dad safe. Spencer has very much not closed the door, /blinking/ from his room to Jax's side at these orders in a sudden vanishing-and-reappearing act. "/No/ what Eric you /can't/ it's /not fair/." Jax's hands are shaking by the time he finishes opening the door, the light around him flickering unsteadily. Oddly, it's Eric's proclamation of /why/ he is being arrested that calms him, an absurdly /relieved/ breath expelled in a quick sudden rush. The light quiets down, and his hands are remarkably steady as he lifts them to lace his fingers behind his head. He turns, just shaking his head at Micah. "Shh. Spence. It's gonna be okay, just go to your room, sweetheart. Stay here. Stay here /with your dad/, okay? He'll look after you." He maybe gives more emphasis to this last part. His socked feet wiggle against the floor, posture shifting uncertainly. He looks down at the row of shoes by the door with a frown. His hands stay laced together against his colourful hair. "/Settle/," Micah orders the twins, just before Shane grabs and holds him. Every fibre of his being is begging to shout at the police that they have the wrong man when they announce the crime, and he might well /do/ it once he gets his breath back from being squeezed out by Shane. Tell them that it couldn't have been Jax because Jax was sitting in church being an /angel/ while /he/ was busy pulling the trigger and watching Malthus's skull shatter. Then his eyes go wide as saucers when Spencer darts into the room, in front of all of those /guns/, priorities flipping ass over tea kettle. When he finds his voice it is to /plead/ rather than to confess. "Spencer! /No/, honey. Sergeant, /please/. Please let me take 'im into another room. He's just a little kid. I'll sit with 'im an' make sure he stays out of the way. /Please/." There is movement behind Eric as Spencer appears suddenly in front of Jax, but Eric steps in front of the soldier even as the gun comes up. He looks down at Spencer, and his lips thin into a hard line, even as his eyes give him a sad look. "Go see your da, kid." One hand reaches behind to pull out a pair of handcuffs, and one of his hands circles Jax's wrist. The metal is cold against Jax's wrist as Eric cinches it down against the artist's skin, shifting his hand around as he pulls the other man's wrist down to his waist. This action is repeated on the other side, and the cuffs get a little wiggle to check their security. "Get some shoes on." He turns to one of the police officers next to him and orders, "Help him." A growl rumbles in Sebastian's throat, soft and more unhappily /whining/ now than threatening, scared and small. His claws retract and he shifts slowly back a step, away from Jax and the door. He doesn't move any further than this, eyes frozen in wide uncomprehending stare as Jax is cuffed. Shane's tight squeeze loosens once Micah starts speaking to Spencer. Reluctantly loosening. He doesn't move away from Micah's side, staying there tense and -- looking somewhat like he may be inclined to movement again at small provocation. There are tears glistening in his eyes as he looks at Eric cinching the handcuffs on, head just shaking in slow denial. "No but they /can't/ they're taking him you can't /let them/ you have to /st--" Spencer is still protesting, shriller, more panicked. But this cuts off quickly -- Sebastian /does/ move now, quick but at least not /lunging/, to scoop his little brother into his arms. Only /incidentally/ muffling Spencer's words by pushing Spence's face against his chest. He watches the officers warily, backing up to deliver Spencer into Micah's arms. "Take him. To the bedroom." Jax doesn't say anything more. He shivers unhappily at the cold metal touch against his too-warm skin. When told to, he toes on his pair of chunky red-grey-black sneakers, better for jail with their velcro straps and no need to confiscate shoelaces. His eye fixes on his family, and then lowers to the ground. "Okay." That's all. Tears are already building up in Micah's eyes, making the images in front of him swim sickeningly. He blinks repeatedly to make them go /away/, so Spencer can't see them. “Don't you /do/ anythin',” he repeats to 'Bastian in a harsh near-whisper. He scoops up Spencer, a hand behind the boy's head pressing his mouth down into the cotton T-shirt material covering his shoulder. “I love you.” These last words are still quiet, not given specific direction on the /you/, as he retreats slowly to Spencer's bedroom and closes the door. One of the two ESU officers crouch down at the ground, velcroing up Jax's shoes with a somewhat amused look on his face. Kevlar is a little bit overkill for elementary school level lessons. "Alright. This way, Mr. Holland." Eric's hand on one of Jax's arms guides him around and out of the room. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against ya in a court of law." The rest of his speech is muffled by the closing of the heavy door between him and the remaining occupants of the room, with only one last glance back of his eyes meeting Shane's. | |
