ArchivedLogs:Moving Violation

Moving Violation
Dramatis Personae Eric, Jackson, Peter, NPC-Spencer
In Absentia	20 February, 2013 Some activism. Some panic. Some ticketing.
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. The day has been mild, but with dusk falling the temperature is rapidly dropping. It's not /quite/ dark but it will be there soon, and the demographics of the park are shifting. Less tourists, more actual New Yorkers. A good sprinkling of houseless people congregating in various places. A good sprinkling of families letting their kids play on the playgrounds in the last waning light. Over by Bethesda Terrace there is a small crowd gathered, around a man in a somewhat drab suit standing not, actually, on a soapbox but on the edge of the fountain (lacking in water, at the moment, though it holds a good helping of snow.) He is holding forth with a good deal of /passion/ about the need to Clean Up The City. He does not actually /mention/ mutants, explicitly, but his references to Unnatural Abilities and Dangerous Individuals makes it clear enough. Peter is texting. Furiously. And not looking while he's doing it. The boy cuts straight through the park, thumbs wildly twiddling at his phone, eyebrows knotted in concentration. The boy's dressed in a black hoodie, blue jeans, his classy Buddy Holly glasses, and a t-shirt that says 'DON'T BLAME ME, _I_ VOTED FOR KODOS'. Also, sneakers. And... gloves. The gloves are a little unusual--they look like motorcycle gloves. Except they're blue and red and, well, just *weird* looking. When he starts moving toward the ranting man, the sound of him speaking doesn't even pull Peter's attention away from the phone. He *hears* it; he even parses what he's saying--he's just simultaneously busy pestering the crap out of Hive. Jackson has been at the playground, watching Spencer exert at least /some/ of his energy in company with a handful of kids from his school. But now it is coming up on dinnertime, and then worktime, and so he brings a reluctant Spence away from friends and in a wide circle around to get out of the park. It brings them in distance of the ranting, with he grimaces at and Spencer immediately gets fascinated by. "Why is that man waving his arms?" He's excited. "It's -- uh -- it's nothing, he's just -- ranting." Jax scrubs a hand against his cheek. Tugs at Spencer's hand. Spencer is clutching a large robotic spider under one arm, and his other seems resistant to tugging. "He seems excited!" Which means now Spencer seems excited. He tugs back, pulling Jax closer. Dressed in a heavy jacket with retroreflective strips on the back spelling out "POLICE", Eric pulls into the Bethesda Terrace on his blue bike. He glances around the circle about the fountain, eyes scanning over the little knots of people - the families, the passers-by, the homeless people. He pulls out a water bottle from under the bike and takes a sip of the water. He gets off his bike, kicking out the kickstand and leaving it by the wall as he goes to pick up a piece of trash littered on the ground. "-- Putting our families in danger," the speaker is saying. While gesticulating. Towards Eric, this time, as Eric picks up the piece of litter. "Putting our hardworking officers in danger!" And towards Peter, and Spencer. "And our youth. The city's made some good first steps, but it's not far /enough/." He's pulling a clipboard out from a bag near his feet, now, explaining, "-- And that's why we need your signatures, to send a message to our representatives that we want them to take a stand." Getting pointed at by Ranty McRanty *does* bring Peter to a halt--briefly, at least. He looks up, cocks an eyebrow, and proceeds to twiddle his thumbs even *more* furiously on his phone, as if in such *disbelief* at what just happened that he needs to inform Hive of this IMMEDIATELY. When the man mentions a petition--and taking a stand--Peter starts to shift up on his toes, trying to peek up over the shoulders of the crowd (unsuccessfully) and see what this is about. "Hey, it's a police! It's /Shane's/ police!" This excites Spencer, too. Now he's tugging Jax towards Eric, though he stops with a puzzled frown when he's pointed at. "Me? Pa," is more of an urgent whisper Jax-wards, "what did I do?" "You didn't do nothin', honey-honey. I don't think we should bother Eric, he's working." Also Jax's jaw has tightened considerably. Spencer is determined, though. He moves closer to Eric. "I gotta show him /Jerusalem/," he informs Jax, earnestly. Jax is distracted by seeing Peter, though, frowning slightly at the boy. "Uh -- hey, Peter?" he calls, tentatively. Eric smiles brightly at the man as he's mentioned, but he does not respond. He picks up the trash and tosses it in the can nearby. As he does, his radio makes a few beeps and he tilts his head, listening to it for a moment as it quietly chatters in his ear. He turns around and looks backwards. "I'm down in the circle, Sarge. You want me to come up there?" The response cannot be heard, but as Eric makes no move towards the stairs, it must have been in the negative. A second police officer, this one in a more traditional uniform, steps down the staircase a few moments later, and Eric comes over to speak to him just as Spencer points him out. "We've got postcards already filled out," the man explains, to the crowd milling around, "All you need to do is fill out your name and address. Mutant Registration could go a long way towards keeping our families safe." This is met, largely, with additional eagerness. A few people pull out pens. Some come closer, seeking out the clipboard. One man at the back seems a bit disgruntled by the whole business, though. He frowns at the clipboard-holder. He frowns at Eric. Peter blinks. Owlishly. He mouths the word 'registration' to himself, eyebrows crunching together, as if pondering it. Then, suddenly, he's back to texting. Up to the point when he hears a familiar voice behind him. Instantly, he spins, glancing over his shoulder; he brightens. "Oh! Hey, Mr. J... Jax. Jax," he says, repeating the name a few times, trying to cement it into his head. It is a *very* hard habit for Peter to break. "Hi!" Spencer is as chipper when he greets Peter as he was when insisting they greet Eric. "I have a spider." He holds up Jerusalem demonstratively. "I was trying to teach him monkeybars but his legs aren't long enough." Jax's expression tightens further at the mention of mutant registration, and his grip on Spencer's hand does not let up. He does smile at Peter, though, bright. "Hey. How's school going for you?" He glances upwards, at the sky, but then back to Peter. Spencer is calling out to Eric, though, just as cheerful. "MISTER POLICEMAN. I have a spider." He waves it towards Eric. "He's going to be a policeman /too/." The day the NYPD starts allowing robot spiders onto the Force. Eric turns and glances behind him as Spencer calls out to the two police, and both him and the other police officer next to him give a warm wave to the younger man. Eric glances back to his superior officer and murmurs a brief explanation too quiet to hear. "I'm sure he will be!" he calls out to Spencer with a flash of white teeth. "Yeah, no problem, Sarge. I'll go there straight after my shift and make sure it's all dealt with." The man is getting more clipboards from the bag, giving more postcards out to the crowd to sign. A few people are asking him questions, "-- Is Registration really a possibility?" "-- It's not going far /enough/, it should be /deportation/," might be a joke but the sniggering tone it's said with is decidedly unfriendly regardless, "Can I sign if I'm not from the city? I should start doing this back home, those things are popping up everywhere." It's the /things/ that makes the man at the back bristle further. Literally, really; there are sharp quills starting to sprout from his hands, the back of his neck, the sides of his face. "Oh my /god/," says someone, "there's one right /there/." This causes another stir of agitation. Some people back away. Some move closer to get their postcards faster. Someone spits at the man. Peter is a multi-tasker extraordinare. As Jax and Spencer approaches, he's *still* texting--without even looking at the screen. He grins down at Spencer's spider. "I see!" Peter says, before adding: "No, but maybe you could make him *jump*. I bet you could add--" Eyes flick up to Jax, cutting himself off: "Oh, it's going pretty awesome--my roommate thinks I'm cool!" Peter says, like this is the most *bizarre* thing he has ever heard. Then, his voice *much* lower, so only Jax--and maybe, accidentally, Spencer--can hear: "Uh, Hive says you should laser that guy but I *really* don't think you--" Peter snaps to attention; he doesn't even *see* the quills sprouting from the man's hands before every hair on the back of his neck is standing at attention. By the time he turns, he sees someone spitting--and by that point, he's spinning back round, crouching in front of Spencer: "Hey tell you what why don't you show me how that spider works on the jungle gyms real quick," and then he looks up at Jax for permission, clearly intending to scoop Spencer up and just *move*. "You /are/ cool," Jax tells Peter with a laugh, but the laugh cuts off short at the growing agitation. He doesn't have Peter's danger sense but he is following the gazes of the crowd, swallowing as he notices the man. "I'm not lasering, uh --" He scrubs a hand against his face. "I was just /at/ the jungle gyms," Spencer says, but he sounds hopeful as he adds (with a slight trace of reproach), "Pa said it was time to go home." "Um, no, you know what?" Jax smiles, a little brittle-bright, at Peter and Spencer both. "I think Peter probably would really love to see Jerusalem in action." He lets Spencer's hand go, giving him a small nudge towards the teenager. /He/ is angling closer to the man with the quills (and the people around him), his Southern drawl soft and easy, "-- Hey, y'all, this ain't the place. Why don't you just get your postcards and not start no trouble?" As the crowd parts way and starts to stir, the two police officers look over at the man with quills starting to stick out of him. "Go deal with it." The uniformed police officer says. Eric nods, once, stepping over towards the man with the quills, hands very much free. "Hey." he calls out. "You." The man with the quills gets a point. "Come here." he steps forward, giving Jax an apologetic glance. "You know that public displays of mutant powers is a ticketable offense, don't you?" he says, voice firm. "Come on. Let's go away from these people and talk for a minute." "I -- I didn't -- I can't --" The young man is protesting, and as he wipes the spit off his cheek his expression is troubled. "Look, I'm sorry, I can't -- get /away/." This last is at a near-frantic pitch, as another man steps up -- the other man /almost/ looks like he's going to take a swing at the mutant, but a glance to Eric halts this. The quilled man's tone is almost frantic, at this, and his agitation is clearer. In the widening of his eyes, the look towards the crowd, the look towards the approaching man, the look towards the approaching /cop/. The quills start to withdraw -- for a moment. Just a moment. And then they grow faster and sharper, /shooting/ out from his skin in needle-sharp hard spikes. Their direction is pretty random, a scattered spray as more quills start to take their place. The man is backing away quickly, his tone apologetic, his eyes wide. "Ohgod I didn't -- get back get back --" Which probably doesn't help the dart of spikes heading towards Eric, towards the man who almost punched him, towards Spencer and Peter, towards the crowd. Some fall harmlessly to the floor. Others fly sharper and harder in his upset. Every nerve in Peter's body fires at once. He doesn't think, he only reacts--arms snap up around Spencer, enclosing him in a giant teenage-sized bear-hug right before he *jumps*. Not high--but long. 20 yards, easy; if no one looks too closely they might figure he is just sprinting *really* fast. They might not even notice that his feet aren't touching the ground. When he lands, it's in a crouch--with Spencer nearly tackled beneath him--a spike poking out of Peter's left shoulder. He hasn't even *noticed* it yet. "Spencer," Peter says, his voice rushed, but low: "Are you okay? I need you to stay down. Everything's fine, just, uh, stay down and do what I say until your dad gets back." Peter looks over his shoulder, then, blinking at the spike. "Ohcrap." Jackson, too, only just /reacts/, perhaps at the threat to his child more than anything else. His hands lift, almost as if warding off the shower of spikes. A faint shimmer blossoms quickly, spreading across the space where -- well, where Peter and Spencer /were/, but it grows to let the bulk of the spikes rattle harmlessly off it and down to the ground. Stopping one before it hits Eric. Another before it hits a woman in the crowd. He doesn't catch them /all/ but he's quick enough for a fair few. His harried, "Spence?" comes a moment before he notices the boy safely away; only after that does he turn his attention to the rest of the crowd. "-- You okay?" he's asking the quilled man /first/, and then sweeping the rest with an equally worried gaze. Eric, too. "Shoot, I -- are you -- mmngh." Eric's hand moves to his side as the other man's agitation rises, fingers trailing along the tazer set behind his gun. When the spikes shoot out, though, Eric reacts, instantly. He jumps and tackles the man who had almost punched the mutant, pressing him to the ground and shielding him with his body. As soon as the sound of the quills hitting the ground can be heard, Eric is back on his feet, tazer in hand. "Get on the ground and put your hands behind your head." he instructs, laser lancing out of the tazer to show a small red dot on the ground in front of the quilled man. Across the courtyard, the sergeant's eyes widen as quills shoot everywhere. He grabs for his radio, hissing into it as he pulls his gun and heads quickly for the other police officer. "On the ground!" he yells, gun pointing towards the ground as he circles around to behind the quilled man. The quills that /do/ find marks -- rather fewer of them than would otherwise be -- find them deeply. They hit hard. And burn a good deal more than a simple puncture probably /should/. The burning sensation is followed by an odd discoordination of muscles, an ataxia that leaves its targets weaker and off balance. The man is wide-eyed, still kind of panicked, sinking to the ground behind one of Jax's shields, another spray of quills thudding harmlessly into it and rattling to the ground. "/Shoot/ him," someone is saying, behind Eric, and someone else, "Oh my god, it's that guy from City Hall. Shoot them /both/." "I think he killed my brother!" This is coming from nearby the only other person in the crowd who /did/ get hit; the man has dropped to the ground and is quite evidently /not/ dead, given his confused attempts to push himself back to his feet. "Pleasedon'tbebarbedpleasedon'tbebarbed," Peter mumbles, seizing hold of the quill in his shoulder and pulling. It didn't get deep--it hit him at an odd angle, the majority of direct hits having been blocked by Jax's shield. But Peter feels that odd tingle, that burning sensation--and suddenly, he feels... a little woozy. "Crap. Crapcrapcrap," he says, and now, as he yanks it out: "Pleasedon'tbeneurotoxinpleasedon'tbeneurotoxin..." As the effects intensify, Peter tries to get to his feet--and finds that it's just not happening. Not yet, anyway. Which means he probably can't trust his aim with his webshooters to help Jax. Which means... uh, he's just going to sit here with Spencer. Pulling out his cellphone, sending a text with one hand, his other on Spencer's chest. "Stay here for a second, okay? I'm gonna... I'm gonna text Hive." He's not sure how that will help. But he's not sure what *else* to do. He feels a bit woozy. "But they're saying shoot him why are they oh no is the police going to shoot /my dad/?" It's Spencer's turn to panic, now. He's clinging to Jerusalem as tight as any security blanket. The shields stay in place, around the quilled man; it means the quills can't hurt anyone else. It means, too, that the police can't get to the man. "It was an accident," Jackson says, holding up his slightly shaky hands, his voice quiet, "anyone can see that. He was scared, that guy almost hit him --" He frowns, towards the man having trouble standing, and then over towards Peter. "-- Are they -- are they poisoned?" he asks, lower, to the man kneeling behind his shield. "I think we need an ambulance." "Scared or not, he assaulted a crowd of people." Eric says, tazer still not pointing at the man, but very close by. His eyes are fixed on the quilled man. "We need to take him in. This would have just been a ticket, but now it's... much more serious." he says, voice hard. "Control yourself, or this will be much worse for you." he says, sternly, to the man behind the shields. The other police officer is rounding around the shield behind the quilled man, gun out but safely pointed down to the ground. "An ambulance is on its way. If you've been hurt, please stay calm and sit down. Everyone else, please disperse for your own safety!" the sergeant calls out to the knot of people. To the man behind the shield, he continues. "Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head. You shoot those quills at me, I'll put a bullet through your head." he says, voice harsh. The quills are still shooting -- faster, again, with the threats from the police officer. "I can't -- oh god." The man looks panicked, still. He puts his hands behind his head, but given that those hands are currently shooting out poisoned needles, this just means that quills rattle out in /more/ directions. There are tears streaking down the young man's cheeks, now. He takes deeeeep breaths. And focuses down on the ground. Someone behind is still shrieking to shoot him. Someone else /shoves/ at Jackson. "Those cops are trying to do their job, freak," the man grits out, glaring at the shield and the glittery mutant responsible. "Did you see that other kid jump?" someone else is saying, "Where'd he /go/, they're /everywhere/!" The poison is -- well, poisoned. It still burns. It still leaves muscles uncoordinated. The other man in the crowd is failing in his rather drunken-looking attempts to stand up. Weave for a step. Fall back to his knees. "It's not -- it'll wear off," the quilled man whispers, from his kneeling position. "Please, I just -- need to --" Take more deep breaths. It's not calming his tears. Peter *immediately* brings both hands down to Spencer's shoulders--the phone nudged up against one of them: "Spencer," he says: "Listen to me: NOBODY is gonna shoot ANYBODY. ESPECIALLY not your dad." Peter's left cheek twitches. "Also I think I might be about to yurk," he adds, much more quietly. His head tilts back, listening to the crowd--catching the strains of someone saying 'that kid who jumped'. "Oh crap I gotta bail," he says, but then he looks back to Spencer. Then back to Jax, and the guy under the shield, spitting quills and crying as the police scream at him: "Oh man oh man oh man this is _so_ uncool," Peter mumbles. He's shifted one hand to hold Spencer by the shoulder, the other slightly above Spencer's head, tapping away at his phone, texting *instinctively*. "But they /have/ the guns why are they going to /shoot/ him?" Spencer is watching the goings-on with no noticeable lessening in panic. He does shift closer to Peter, though, worried. "What's a yurk? Are you going to die? He /shot/ you." With a quill. But still. "I don't think he can help it," Jackson is saying, his tone quiet and calm even if around him there's faint tremblings of light, a quivering halo that is brighter and noticeable in the growing dusk. "I think everything needs to calm down, it can be hard to control things while you're panicking and people are pointing guns at you." His shields remain very much in place, surrounding the man to stop the barrage of quills. Until he's shoved, and he stumbles back a step, instinctively bringing one faintly glowing arm up to block the arm that shoves at him. Eric glances at his sergeant and waves a hand. "I got this, Sarge. I did ESU back at my last gig. Get the injured." He holsters the taser and crouches down next to shield, down to the level of the mutant behind the shields. He reaches to squeeze his radio and murmur into it, "Central 2 to dispatch. I've got a 10-55 Echo and a 10-55 Sierra at Bethesda Terrace. Can we get a bus and medics?" he says, voice soft. "Hey, listen. We're not here to hurt you, alright? All we want is for everyone to walk away from this without getting hurt. Just relax, take some deep breaths. An ambulance is coming to take the people who were hurt to the hospital. Things just got out of hand, you know? I know this isn't what you intended," he says, voice soothingly slow and soft. The sergeant grunts, warily walking around the shield and giving both the quilled man and Jax a look of disgust. "You better know what you're doing, Sutton." he mutters to him as he holsters his pistol and steps out towards the crowd. "You are ordered to disperse for your own safety," he calls out. "Unless you have been hurt, leave /immediately/." The sergeant grabs the man who shoved Jackson and pushes him back. "Hey. Get out of here or you'll be sleeping in a cell tonight, you idiot." "He /burned/ me," the man -- who just shoved Jackson -- is complaining, wide eyed and startled and no small measure of angry at the glowing. Even if it didn't burn. The man is slowly calming, without a gun trained on him anymore. The pulses of quills grow weaker as Eric speaks and the sergeant holsters his weapon. He lifts his hands to scrub his palms against his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't -- mean to -- I'm sorry." There's one last rattling pulse of quills but they topple to the ground almost as soon as they have emerged. The crowd is no less agitated. The man with the postcards has collected a lot of signatures, though. /He's/, at least, pleased. And leaving quickly at the police order. Many others are leaving, as well, although some have lingered to take pictures. Some are still calling for the freaks to be shot. They seem a bit disappointed at the holstering of the gun. "Hey, did that man shoot you?" A woman has approached Peter, looking worried and pinched in her expression. "There's help on the way, okay? You don't need to worry, they're taking care of the -- whatever that is." She waves a disgusted hand towards the quilled man. "Did he hurt the /boy/?" She looks alarmed at this, looking over Spencer and then Peter again. Peter is still texting. The kid has *got* to get his priorities straight. As the woman comes toward him, Peter shakes his head. "No, I didn't get shot," Peter lies, looking a little pale--"He's fine. Just, I'm just, feeling a little sick and nervous, and I gotta get him home--" Peter's getting up, now. Wrapping his arm around Spencer. His legs spasm a little--he wobbles for a moment, unsure on his feet. He looks at the phone--a reply coming in--then looks at Spencer, who's probably got his eyes glued on Jax: "Don't worry," he whispers, trying to keep his voice low enough for the woman not to hear. "Your dad will be fine, he's totally got this. He's doing his superhero thing, and he's gotta talk to the police. But we need to go. Car's coming. Also uh please don't do that thing you do." The... teleport thing. Peter had brief experience with it, when he played with Spencer the other day. Hive's mention of 'not touching him when he's panicking' brings a picture of Spencer flashing out of here and re-appearing in his apartment with... half of Peter wrapped around him. Ergh, now he's *really* going to yurk. "What thing who are you texting where are we going are we /leaving dad/?" Spencer is /definitely/ panicking. His eyes are glued firmly on Jax. "We can't leave him they could shoot him what car who's coming will it take dad too?" Jackson is watching the quilled man very warily, though his head turns at the sound of Spencer's panicking voice, his shoulders stiffening. He bites his lip, looking back at the man in the shield. "I didn't -- burn anyone, I just -- ngh." He meets the sergeant's eyes -- or the sergeant's disgusted glare, whichever -- for only a minute before looking away sharply. The shield lingers for a good few moments after the last weak splutter of quills, dropping away only after no more are forthcoming. He takes a half-step closer to Eric and the man, though, keeping his eye trained carefully on both. The sergeant gives no shits about the man's complaint. "You shoved him. You're lucky I don't arrest you for assault and interfering with police business. Now get out of here before I change my mind and arrest you." he says, stepping forward and shoving the man again, forcing him further back. He levels a glare at the crowd and then steps forward to tend for the injured man. Eric smiles and nods. "I know you didn't." he says, softly. "It was an accident." Red and white lights flash across the terrace as an ambulance drives right up onto the scene and two FDNY paramedics step out. Eric whistles and gestures them over. Pushing a stretcher with bags on top of it, the paramedics approach the shield, watching it - and Jax - cautiously. "Got a man injured over there," Eric explains, gesturing in the direction of the sergeant. "And this one needs eval." Eric gives a friendly smile to the quilled man. "Alright? You're going to go with the ambulance to get checked out." he says, softly. "You don't look so good," the woman is saying, and calling to the arriving paramedics, "-- I think this kid's sick, too! And the mutant shot a /kid/." "I didn't --" The quilled man starts to protest, but then thinks better of engaging. Deep breaths. So many deep breaths. He looks a little pale and unsteady, himself, eying the police with no small measure of trepidation as the shield vanishes. It's only when he finds himself /not/ shot in the head that he nods, warily, and gets to his feet. There are still prickles around his face, hands, but they're shrinking back, slowly. OhGod. OhGodohGodohGod. "Please stay calm," Peter tells Spencer, and there's a hint of panic in his *own* voice now. Realizing that panicking in response to Spencer's panicking is quite possibly the *worst* possible thing to do, he tries a different tact--taking in a low breath: "Look at me. Spencer. Look at me. Listen to me: Stay calm. Your father isn't going to get shot. No one is. Your father is *helping* the police. He's being a superhero." The woman calling to the arriving paramedics--she gets a dirty look. Peter *never* gives dirty looks! But she managed to get one out of Peter. He turns back to Spencer, setting him down on his feet--crouching down in front of him. Partially because he needs to calm Spencer down--but also partially because Peter is genuinely unsure as to whether or not he can carry him to the car. "You're dad's not in any danger," Peter says, speaking calmly and softly: "But I need you to stay calm. Your dad's told you that you can't use your power in public, right?" OhGod, *please* let Jackson have told him that. "I need you to remember that. Because your dad isn't in danger *now*, but if use your power, you might accidentally *put* your dad in danger." "I --" Spencer is looking /very/ concerned. At the paramedics. At the police. At Jax, most of all. "Yeah, he said -- that I shouldn't --" This comes with a deep frown, and a protesting, "-- /unless/! Unless it's an /emergency/ and this looks like an emergency, right, there's /ambulances/." Which Spencer seems to only now notice for the first time, because all of a sudden he is staring at it in fascination, watching its flashing lights, "-- there's an /ambulance/!" He sounds much more intrigued now. "Can we ride in the ambulance?" Jax is breaking away from the police as soon as the man has calmed down and gotten to his feet. His gaze keeps darting back that direction but /he/ is darting /away/, over towards Spencer and Peter to drop down to kneel by the younger boy. "Oh, my gosh, are you okay? Are you both okay? /Thank/ you," he whispers, to Peter, quiet but quite sincere. "Thank you, I -- are you hurt? -- It's okay," he adds to the nearby women, "they're my -- they're with -- they're family. It's okay, Spence. We're gonna go." Eric escorts the quilled man towards one of the ambulance, even as a second one pulls up. He changes the direction to the back of the second ambulance, as his sergeant heads quickly towards him, jogging over. "I'll ride along." The sergeant says. "Go give that man a ticket." Eric turns, perplexed. "Who?" "Who do you think, Sutton? Mutant using his powers in public. The fag with the pink hair." Eric stops, surprised. "Bu--" His objections are cut off even before they begin by an angry look by the sergeant. "Yes sir." he says, curtly. He knocks on the window of the ambulance. "Bellevue psych for an eval." he says, annoyance in his tone, then he heads back towards his bike. After retrieving it, he heads towards Jackson, quickly. "Hey, Jax." Eric says, softly, his voice apologetic. "Jax. Hey... thanks." he says, a soft smile. "I'm afraid I can't pay you back very well." He pulls a ticket pad from a bag on his bike. "I've got orders. Contest it - I'll make sure not to be at the hearing." he says, with a flash of sorrow in his eyes, even as he starts writing on it. The quilled man goes quietly, if still a little warily. The quills are retracting the rest of the way, leaving him mostly just normal looking, save his pallor and shakiness. He does his best to keep his distance from the sergeant as he gest into the ambulance. The woman who had been worried now just looks alarmed as Jax comes over. She is backing away /hastily/. Most of the crowd has, too. "I'm fine," Peter responds, and then he proceeds to effortlessly yurk all over Jackson's shoes. It just... comes out. Like he's been saving it all up until this *very* moment. "OhGod. Oh, that is *gross*, I'm so sorry," Peter groans, and then: "Hive's said somebody's coming with a car. Uh also I am feeling a *little* woosy but I think I should be okay but somebody said something about a kid jumping--" His eyes snap up to Eric, mouth shutting the moment he gets in ear-shot. That doesn't last long, though. When he sees the ticket-pad--and sees what he is doing--Peter proceeds to *bolt* up straight: "You *CANNOT* be serious!" Peter shouts, and then he's wobbling a bit, unsteady on his feet--almost flailing. "That--that--ohmyGOD that is _beyond_ uncool, that is--no! No, no--dude, dude, DUDE! People could have _died_!" Peter sounds like he's on the verge of hyperventilating. Jackson just -- rubs a hand against his face, when he is puked on. He exhales, slowly, squeezing his eye shut, and moves a hand to rest against Peter's hair, brushing it back for a moment. His other arm curls around Spencer, hugging the boy tight, briefly. And then he looks up, uncomprehending, when Eric arrives. It's only Peter's shouting that brings his gaze to focus on the ticket pad. "You -- but -- I -- that guy -- those things would've /hit/ you," Jackson says, a little too startled-lost to even manage angry. "Oh, gosh, Peter, you should really -- calm down, if you're sick you -- um. Relax, maybe?" He looks back at the pad with more dismay than ire. "Why are you -- is it Shane, because that was -- you --" His eye closes again. His head bonks lightly against Spencer's. He opens his eye to look down at his shoes. And sighs. "That's /so gross/ you /puked/ oh my gosh do /you/ need the ambulance, Pa, let's take him in the ambulance!" Spencer, truth be told, sounds far more excited about the prospect of Ambulance Ride than he does worried about Peter. But he does seem a /little/ worried. "I think we should take Peter back to the school to rest," Jackson answers Spencer. Still looking downwards. At pukeshoes, and decidedly Not At Eric. Eric is clearly not happy about the situation he's in. "I can't refuse a direct order, Jax. I'm sorry. If I don't write it, he'll write me up, and send you the ticket in the mail anyway. I protested, but..." he shakes his head. "I'm sorry." he tears off the ticket and extends it to Jax between two fingers, pocketing the pen. "Do you need a ride? The sergeant left the cruiser here, and I can take you guys somewhere if you need to go." His eyes sweep over Peter, and the puke on his shoes. "Or to the hospital." "He's--your--I--ARGH!" Peter's fists are clenched; his teeth grind against one another. He looks like he's ready to just *JUMP* thirty feet in the air. But he doesn't. Instead, he just... plops down. On the ground. And grabs a clod of grass, *yanking* it out, trying to use it to angrily (and awkwardly) wipe some of the vomit off of Jackson's shoes. "I'm FINE," Peter snaps back at Eric, before adding--more softly: "I'm fine. The dizziness just made me do that. And the moving." Then, to Jackson, even softer: "I'm sorry. This is... I'm fine. And this sucks." Jackson rubs, tired, at his temple. For a long moment he just sits there, /eying/ the ticket Eric holds out to him. Eventually he takes it, looks at it a long moment thoughtfully. And then lets go of Spencer to tear it neatly in half. He's conscientious enough at least not to drop it on the ground. He folds both halves neatly and presses them, almost like a present, back into Eric's outstretched palm. "This," he agrees with Peter, though he's looking up at Eric, "sucks. Don't worry about my shoes, I'll throw them in the washer. C'mon." He offers the teenager a hand up. "Lean on me. Let's get you out of here. C'mon, Spence. You want to go see the twins?" "Are we going to the school? I want to go!" Spencer is suddenly animated again. Slightly less so than before, given the general tension, but only slightly. "Jax." Eric says, looking down at the pieces of paper in his hand. "Please. Don't do this. This sucks enough already without making it worse." he says, tone almost begging. "I'll say I tore this one up for being misspelled and write you another one. But you need to sign and take it, or..." he trails off, shaking his head. "Alright. I'll say you had already left. Expect a summons in the mail. I'm sorry, Jax." he says, pocketing the pieces of paper. His eyes flick first to Spencer, then to Peter. "See you 'round, Spencer. Feel better." he says to one, then to the other. As Jax takes the ticket, Peter's all >:| -- but then when Jax tears it in half, he's all :o -- and when Jax is like 'let's roll', he's all >:D. He stands up, then, leaning heavily on Jax--he can walk, just a bit goofily--before shooting a look at Eric: "I'll be... fine." He suddenly sounds a little apologetic, like he's unsure of exactly what to *think* of Eric. But then he's following Jax toward the car--Hive sent Ryan to pick them up. As they walk and leave Eric's earshot, Peter mentions to Jax: "Oh, by the way, did I tell you I can basically fly now? Yeah I can basically fly now. Well, not *right* now," he adds, and then he shuts up until they get in and are on their way. "It ain't about you, Eric," Jackson says, almost apologetic, too. "This law's just --" He trails off, head dipping downwards. "I'm sorry, too." It's the last thing he says to Eric, his arm curling in steady support of Peter as his other hand reaches for Spencer's. "-- 'zat so?" he says, in time with Spencer's /much/ more eager, "Ohmygosh you /can/ /cool/ you gotta /show me/!" Jackson, more sedate, a little tired, but still warm enough: "-- Yeah, you're gonna hafta show that one. Uh. Maybe once you're steady on your feet again." And then he's quiet, too, heading out of the park and to the waiting vehicle. Eric watches the three men head away from him and he looks down at the ground for several moments. Then, swinging a leg over his bike, he remounts his bicycle once more. Glancing around, he looks at the quills lying around on the ground. His face is serious for several moments as he stands there, bike tilted to one side and foot on the ground. Then his fingers reach up to press the button on his radio. "Central 2, dispatch. 10-97 Hotel, I'm back in service."