ArchivedLogs:Jail Delivery

Jail Delivery
Dramatis Personae Cage, Jackson, Micah, Dusk, Eric	18 December 2013 Okay, just /food/, not forcible escape. But still. (Set later in sitting in jail time and the twins' visit.) (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Local Jail
Being who he is, and what he is, Luke had to make a conscious effort to cooperate with the police and not accidentally give the impression he was resisting arrest to compound the problem. That being the case, Cage made sure he was the first to follow each command, all the way to the big holding cell. As such, he was in the back and well away from the other mutants he was somewhat familiar with here, sitting down against the wall, trying to not draw any further attention to himself. He sits a long time, just letting people jostle against him, and pretty soon the muttered conversations telephone their way back to him in many different forms. 'Cage made it worse.' 'Cage's fault.' 'None of this woulda...' It's nothing he's never heard before, but it also takes a toll on the big man. This is particularly why the singing gets his attention so fully - a respite from his own thoughts. He looks up, and then stands, as the men towards the front of the room sing. Luckily, Luke can see over most of the heads here, and he nods when he sees Jax and Micah. Dusk is hard to miss, but he's never met the guy. After a couple of songs, slowly and carefully, Cage makes his way to the front, and leans against the wall near the guys in question. His expression is as tired as everyone else's. "Jax. Micah." He nods at them and at Dusk as well, offering his hand. "Look guys, uh, for what it's worth, I know this is on me. I'm- {I'm sorry.}" The phrase in spanish has become pretty popular and well known since the plague, and hardly anyone would need a translation these days. "Pretty shitty as far as apologies go, for getting you all into this, but I mean it all the same." Jackson doesn't immediately notice Cage's approach. He's lying down, still, between the other two men, curled up into a ball with his head resting on Micah's lap and Dusk's wing draped over them like a blanket. He's left off singing, though intermittently he's been humming along with the songs he knows, softly -- though even that has faded too, now. It takes a few moments after he's addressed before his eye cracks open, peering up at Cage. His smile is crooked, one side of his jaw and cheek dark and puffy-bruised, and that side moves less than the other when he smiles. "Hey. It's not -- mmnh. You know, when I'm givin' folks trainings on safety at protests, I tell them --" Probably there's more than follows, here, but he just kind of trails off, his eye drifting back closed. Micah is nestled snugly against Jax and Dusk, Jax's head in his lap and his own tucked up on Dusk's shoulder. He's a little on the pale and shivery side, dressed in only a powder blue Totoro face T-shirt and muddy-stained jeans with one knee torn out, the leg under it notably truncated before the large hole. He sports a hand-shaped bruise around his left arm and additional dark purple circles around his wrists. "Jax, honey? Remember when we were gonna talk later about the cookies? Now is later." The blue packet that has been staying in his hand gets tapped against Jax's chest lightly to draw his attention. He looks up at Cage's approach with a small smile. "Oh...Luke. It ain't like y'/caused/ alla this. Pretty sure once that fire started, people gettin' arrested was pretty inevitable. Cops was too antsy." Dusk's voice has grown quieter, singing now on his own just for Jackson rather than participating in protester-sing-along. His soft singing halts as Cage approaches, his eyes lifting to the bigger man but quickly averting back downwards -- not because of Cage but because of the harsh bright overhead lights. He wears bruising of his own, though his has faded far more than should be expected after a few hours, barely swelling though it's darkened his scruffy-bearded jaw some. "Hey, man." He answers extended hand with extended /fist/, not in hostility but for knuckletap. "Hey. Hey-hey-hey." His other wing curls around his body to prod gently at Jax's stomach with a clawed tip. "No sleeping. Up." He shades his eyes with his wing to look up more comfortably at Cage. "Gorram pigs. Not sure," he admits, "what you were expecting stepping in there. Fucking thugs and bullies and murderers, half of them, and the other half just stay quiet and cover it up." Luke's face is immediately concerned when he realizes how bad off Jax is, and he scoots down the wall to a half crouch to get a better look. "Hey man, are you..." He nods to himself, apparently getting it when Micah plies Jax with cookies. "No, I know Micah. I just... The cops are always twitchy around me, and I shouldn't'a got in their way." Luke drops all the way to a squat, still leaning against the wall, so he can fistbump Dusk, gently. He looks particularly worried about Jax, and then nods at Dusk. "Well, that's what makes my apology so shitty, man." Luke shrugs and offers a sheepish smile. "If I'd thought it through, I'd still have gotten in the way. Because then I think shit like... what's the /point/, if we just let little girls get beat up, you know?" Luke clenches his fists, not frustrated at Micah or Dusk, but at the situation in general. "I think I'll have to support the rallies from a distance next time though. They're just gonna assume I'm there to start some shit now. And it ain't like people don't know where I stand on the issues." Jackson's face scrunches up, and he bats reflexively at the packet of cookies and at Dusk's wingtip when these things poke at him. "Oh --" His eye opens again. "Dogs," he says. It takes him a moment to clarify this, head just nestling down against Micah's lap. "I teach people to treat the police. Like they're a strange dog. Could be friendly, could bite off your hand. Don't show fear. But approach calm an' with caution. An' be prepared t'come away maimed." His arm curls up around Micah's legs, his own wrist similarly bruised and his fingers just a little bit puffier than they should be when they come to rest against Micah's abbreviated leg. Under Dusk's wing, there's still a noticeable shiver to him, a faint tremble that will not cease. "Don't think anyone /wants/ to let -- little girls --" His eye closes again. "The /problem/ is –" "The problem is that you ain't eatin' nothin' an' there's perfectly good cookies /right here/," Micah concludes, tapping the packet against Jax again. "An' the problem is that when y'stop a bully with /power/ from doin' some little-awful thing then all they wanna do is somethin' /worse/. An' then ain't nothin' t'stop 'em from doin' /that/. An' claimin' any action y'took as an attack t'validate their responses." Tapping proving ineffective, Micah decides to cheat. He leans down and touches his lips to Jax's in a soft kiss. "Hey. Jax. Look at me." Dusk snaps his fingers together, forefingers pointing at Micah as he nods. "The problem is it's just plain stupid to think you're gonna stop a group of thugs from being thugs, no offense. We /all/ wanted to help that girl. But getting in front of the cops? Not gonna help. They hurt her worse, you know. Once they'd arrested you. Hit her, shoved her face into the ground, jammed a riot shield into the back of her neck. Because then they weren't just trying to arrest her, they were /also/ pissed off and agitated and they can't take it out on /you/, what's the point? The rest of us, though." His teeth flash bright, a wide fangy grin that in his case at least does not seem at all compromised for the bruise he wears. "The problem isn't not wanting to let little girls get beaten up. The problem is forgetting what the consequences to people around you are because you don't feel them the same way." He doesn't actually sound angry, just sort of blandly tired. His wing curls tighter around Jax and Micah. "So, I mean, keep fighting, dude. Just learn what battlefields to fight /on/. Cuz /those/ rat bastards certainly don't give a fuck about beating on little girls." He folds his other wing stiffly back behind him when Jax bats at it, dropping his hand instead to rest on the artist's stomach, rubbing absently in small circles. "I tend to just assume they're all rabid," he confides more quietly to Jax. "Dangerous and volatile and need to be put down before they do more damage." Luke listens attentively to what Jax has to say, not wanting to interrupting the man, especially when he's obviously feeling so poorly. Talking must be a lot of work. He clenches his jaw when Micah follows up and takes a long moment before responding. He's not angry, but his tone is tired and frustrated. "No, I /get/ that Micah, but the flip side is, you give on the little stuff-" Cage cuts himself on when Dusk interjects, at first eager to reengage the argument, but then he just sags back against the wall, slumping all the way down to sit on the floor finally. His face goes ashen as the blood drains at Dusk's description of what they did to the girl. His hand scrubs up and over his stubbly scalp making a raspy sound, and stares down at his boots. "Fuck me... Those fucking bastards..." His voice is just raw, powerless frustration. Jackson's eye opens again, his breath catching at the kiss. He returns it, softly, and around him there's a faint shimmer of light, a sickly greenish tinge mixed in with its yellow. It fades soon; Jax scrunches his eye shut briefly and then looks back up at Micah. "Jus' tired," he murmurs. His small crooked smile returns when Dusk speaks, posture relaxing beneath the belly-rubs. "Rabid dogs, aright, that ain't a bad approach neither. Disengage, back off." His smile fades, nose wrinkling up again. He turns his head slightly to the side so that he can look at Cage better. "But there's the problem, yeah? I don't think think they see us as human neither. Jus'. Rabid dogs. 'Cept they lean more towards the 'put down' than the -- than the --" There's another flicker of greenish light. "Ain't your fault, sir. We /should/ be able t'expect better of the people -- who're --" The light fades into darkness, a slow shadowy twine that creeps smokey-dark tendrils up around Jax's arms. "Put down?" Micah's brows furrow. "Dusk...these folks are /people/ with families an' everythin'. Ain't every one of 'em out t'hurt folk. Think it's a little past okay t'say they all gotta be taken out like animals." He shakes his head at Cage. "Ain't sayin' they shouldn't be held t'task for what they do. S'just tryin' t'answer 'em physically ain't never gonna make anythin' better. Just makes y'into a criminal, best case. Gets folks killed at worst." He chews at his lower lip for a moment. "I filmed 'em. Everythin' they did that I could get a shot of. /That's/ how y'have t'fight 'em. 'Cause while they might not be accountable to /person/, cops're accountable t'the /people/. Things only happen when there's enough folks makin' enough fuss. /Non-violent/ fuss." The shadows deepen Micah's frown. He finally just opens the bag and holds a cookie to Jax's lips. Not forcing him to take it but making it /exceptionally/ easy to do so. "Jax. You're ignorin' me an' you /ain't/ okay. Please eat." "Seriously, Micah? You think those pigs are accountable to any-fucking-body?" Dusk's eyes have narrowed in irritation. He pulls his legs up towards his chest, his free wing curling inward against his shins. "That's why those bastards who murdered Ian saw jail-time for it, right? That's why all those sick fucks who put /your kids/ in cages to make them into killers are here in jail too? Oh wait, no, sorry, they're /all/ still out free and getting paychecks from the city. Couple of them got desked, because that's sure justice. I'd ask you to tell me just when that Gandhi bullshit starts getting results, but we'll all probably be dead long before then." His wings quiver restlessly, a brief shudder felt easily against Micah's back. "They're not all out to hurt folks. But they /are/ all content to just /sit the hell by/ while their colleagues do. The /entire system/ is set up to /protect/ these bastards, Micah. They /don't/ get held to task. They just -- keep killing. You're not gonna stop a bullet with a video camera." His chin drops to rest on his knees, his voice shaky as he closes shiny-bright eyes. Luke rests his arms across his knees, propped up in front of him. "I dunno... rabid dogs don't tend to /let/ you back away nice and quiet..." Luke speaks softly, looking at the floor, lost in thought until Micah and Dusk start arguing. His gaze lifts, looking from one man to the other as they make their points. "I wish non-violent would work, Micah, but I'm not sure they're leaving us that option. I'm grateful for your video though. That was good thinking. It'll keep us out of prison at least." Luke lets out a long breath and says to Dusk, "Man, I get where you're coming from. When I was locked up they had to treat me like a person. Not like what happened in the cages. Some of these guys got away with murder. I /know/ that. But killing cops just 'cause they're cops ain't much different than hunting mutants, just 'cause they're mutants. If /all/ the cops were in on it, we'd be wiped out already." Jackson turns his head aside with a small whimper when Micah holds the cookie up. His muscles clench in a sudden harder tension, and the hard shake of his head spills bright hair down over his eye. "Nosir -- don't, I can't --" He's mumbling at first, eye still closed; he opens it briefly again but just closes it when hair falls down into it. "Dusk --" He raises his hand from where it's curled against Micah's leg, brushing his fingers clumsily against Dusk's wing instead. "Honey-honey, you can't." He drops his hand again. "They /are/ all in on it. Because the system's constructed that way. The ones who speak up get in trouble. But you don't. Smash people over that you smash -- the whole system. Rebuild something better. Something where the good ones /can/ --" His words trail off, the back of his hand rubbing against his forehead to wipe off the sheen of sweat that is gathering there. "But there's a place. For non-violent and for -- you need. Diversity of --" He frowns, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "... my head hurts. Worse'n usual." "You think I don't know what they've been doin', Dusk, /really/? Y'think I don't /get/ that? But they've /gotta/ be accountable. Maybe it weren't enough...direct evidence before. They were explainin' things as accidents in the line of duty. An' maybe the thing with the cages happened, in the public mind, but all /those/ videos proved was that there were fights. Not who was runnin' 'em. People /wanna/ believe that the cops ain't doin' this stuff, so they'll take excuses when they're fed 'em. But /this/?" Micah finally pauses, gesturing to Jax's chin. "We got pictures of the men in the uniforms /don'/ it. We're gonna have t'push back. Publish every video an' get every story out on this as possible. Start...lawsuits. /Force/ people t'deal with it. It's just like how the news didn't /listen/ t'the Prometheus story the first time but now they are. We just gotta keep pushin' for progress. Ain't no good gonna come of people just tryin' t'pick one another off in the streets. Don't nothin' come of that but a lot of /dead/ people. An' a lot more hurt. An' a lot more reason t'see one another as animals." He tries to follow Dusk with the arm that had been around the man's shoulders before he scrunched down, to pet his hand against his back. Jax's refusal followed by the complaint of his head hurting crumples Micah's brow, his expression pained. "Honey. Honey. There ain't no judgement in eatin' when your body's tryin' t'eat itself. How many times've we told the twins that, when they got into situations where they was starvin' an' ended up doin' what /they/ had to? It's /just/ a cookie. Jax, we don't /got/ anythin' else an' your head hurts 'cause y'done needed t'eat so /many/ times by now an' y'got nothin'. Please?" By now his pleading is taking on a more desperate edge. "I don't think you don't know. I just think you really /want/ to believe things are better than they are. There's -- there's kids shot dead, hands /cuffed/ behind their backs, shot in the temples while they were in the back of a police car after already being frisked for weapons and -- it's not even just the police, they rule it a /suicide/ and don't even begin investigating. And I'm not talking about all /this/, with us and -- I just mean /ordinary/ teenager whose skin happened to be too dark. And you really think some judge is going to care about video of beating mutant /troublemakers/? /God/, Micah, I /wish/ that were true. I really do. But it's not the world we live in." He buries his face against his hands, wing pressing gently in against Micah's hand and the hard thick muscles of his back shifting beneath the other man's fingers. "Not just cuz they're cops," he finally agrees, grudgingly. "But the ones who /are/ murderers --" He grimaces, head slumping lower and his fingers raking through his hair. "... You think people involved in Prometheus'll go to jail? People are listening but. But what are they /doing/? They --" He swallows back his words, looking down at Jackson instead. He reaches out, fingers brushing gently along the unbruised side of Jax's face. "Man. You do not escape those labs and goddamn HAMMER's death squads just to fucking die in here because you need a candy bar. Dirty hippie." Despite the words, his tone is heavy, cracking slightly under the weight of worry. For once, Luke sits back out of the conversation without further comment, letting his head thunk back against the concrete wall, staring up at the lights that gave Dusk such a hard time. He sighs heavily at the ongoing argument, and reaches out to roll up the sleeves of his bright yellow dress shirt, and then rubs at the back of his neck. He speaks softly, but insistently. "C'mon Jax, buddy, you gotta eat something." Then he blinks, finally catching on to something Dusk said. "Hey wait, Dusk - what were you saying about HAMMER? That's who was running that shit-storm at Sanctuary, wasn't it?" "HAMMER's running a lot of -- they were there yeah. And -- they -- s'a whole branch'a law enforcement s'whole job is to kill us. Literally." Jackson grimaces, his expression pained as well. He curls his fingers loosely around Micah's wrist, bringing the other man's knuckles to his lips to kiss them even though he doesn't take the cookie from Micah's hands. "It's not. /Just/ a -- fff. We keep talking about them treating /us/ like animals, you know that's -- only bad /because/ of how horrifically /we/ treat animals. And /that/ was a fight I was fighting long before I got involved in /any/ of this and I'm not -- I /can't/ --" His palm presses down hard against his eye. "It'll jus' be a few hours more, right? They don't. These things don't never last." His eye slides closed again. "I liked jail better with the singing." "We won't know until we try," Micah argues rather weakly of efforts at continuing work through public awareness and legal avenues. Weakly, perhaps, as he's dropping the cookie back into the bag. "I ain't gonna force y'to, honey. I just hate t'see y'sufferin' /more/." He tosses the package on the cot, just done with it. Maybe somebody will eat them eventually, maybe not. "Yeah. HAMMER's attacked us a couple of times. Keep almost killin' Jax." The fingers of one hand grip into Dusk's shirt, the other just lingering with fingertips against the uninjured side of Jax's jaw. He slumps back against the wall now that there is no Dusk-shoulder there to lean against. "HAMMER's the sickest of all these sick fucks," Dusk explains. "Whole unit just called in to toss us out like fucking garbage." He's talking to Cage though he's watching Jax, fingers still tracing against the artist's cheekbones, brushing down against the myriad scars spread over the side of Jax's face. "Almost killed /you/, man. And shot half of Jax's face clean off and --" Dusk clenches his jaw, his eyes closing. "That's what the government does, though. Not try to put a stop to this. Literally form entire divisions whose sole purpose is to -- they weren't even trying to arrest you guys, Micah. They were hunting you down to /murder/ you where nobody would see." "Fuck /yeah/ they were tryin' to kill everyone there," Luke says, eyes glazing as he remembers. "But if they're working in secret, maybe that means we can hit back..." Jax's refusal to eat the cookies finally clicks for Luke. "Oh shit he's /vegan/ huh? Damn, you should'a told me. You gotta know the tricks for regular jail." Luke hauls himself to his feet, refueled by the idea of helping someone, and reaches through the bars to bang on them carefully without damaging them. "Hey, HEY!" he shouts. The big man's basso can get loud when he wants it too. "You got a dehydrated guy with low blood sugar in here! We need a gatorade or something or he's gonna die." The keywords that no officer wants to hear, especially with a room full of witnesses, and videos already online tonight. Jax turns his face in against Micah's fingers, pressing his cheek to Micah's hand. Light spreads around him again, pale and puke-green once more, quivering restlessly where it grows. "Yeah. Yeah, they were," he acknowledges, with Dusk's description of HAMMER. "I think they do -- some things. Publicly. Like Harlem, that was official. But me they -- were trying to kill off the clock. Don't think anyone's getting -- getting charged for that neither." He turns his head, brushing a very soft kiss to Micah's palm. "I'll be okay," he whispers, though his shakiness doesn't put much /confidence/ behind this assurance. "I got you guys here." "Hey, shut up!" One of the guards stands up, stepping over towards the cell. "He just got juice. Now shut up and sit down." The officer growls, glaring. "Or you'll wish you had, you fuckin' freak." The officer's hand reaches back to the baton at his waist, tugging at the handle indicatively. "Hey!" The voice comes from the doorway, tone sharp. "Stand down, /Officer/. It's not enough that ya fuckin' beat the crap out of him with his hands on his head on live television, now you want them'ta show up to booking with bruises all over them that they ain't had before?" The newcomer's Georgia accent sounds out of place in the jail, and a few moments later, a figure pops his head into view, carrying a plastic bag. Eric's eyes flick up and down the officer and he gestures back the way they came. "I ain't like them here either, but the rat squad and the fuckin' oversight fucks are going'ta be crawling all over here as it is. Ain't no reason to make it worse." A pause, and Eric shrugs his shoulders. "I've got this, man. Go ahead and get some coffee or somethin'. You look like crap." The first officer looks annoyed, but when relieved, he cracks a grin and gives a little salute. "Them's orders I like to hear. Thanks, Sarge." Micah's head nods slowly as Dusk continues his litany, eyes squeezing closed with the acknowledgement. A few of the tears manage to escape and trickle down in little trails that he at least manages to keep silent, hoping that they might go unnoticed with Jax's face hidden in his hand, Dusk watching Jax, Cage off at the cell door. "I'm tryin' t'take care of them." His jaw clenches. That litany and more. Not being able to get to the boys at the protest. The stupid /cookies/. "/You/ know I'm tryin'." The last is just above a whisper, though seeming intended for Dusk, leaning a little heavily on that first word. He doesn't move, just letting the commotion happen in front of him, Jax's shaky comment just another twinge, drawing another twitch of taut jaw muscle. Dusk's wing unfurls again, at that quiet whisper. It wraps around Micah's shoulders, pulling him in close. Dusk leans in to press a kiss to the top of Micah's head. "I know you're trying. I know." He swallows, hand dropping from Jax's cheek to rest at his side. "It's gonna be okay. You'll --" He stops what he was about to say, looking up towards the bars of the cell when Cage calls out. "Hey thanks, man --" His eyes widen at the officer who eventually arrives, brows lifting. He kisses the top of Micah's head again. "Well, shit. Look. Look, maybe it /will/ be okay." A small fanged smile twitches at his lips. "Hey there we go," Luke says, putting on his best 'business face'. "Thank you, Officer Sutton. It's nice to have someone who speaks sense in here. Were you-" Luke turns, obviously confused at Dusk's reaction. "Wait, you know this guy?" His mouth works like he has about eight other questions all fighting to get out at once, but none of them win. "Huh?" is all he manages to get out. Jackson continues to nuzzle in against Micah's hand, just nestling his cheek in against it afterwards. He /doesn't/ notice the tears, eyes closed, face turned aside, but he lifts his hand to curl gently against Micah's with those words. "Sweetie, you take care'a so much." He kisses Micah's palm again, only opening his eye at the sound of the commotion by the door. "Wh --" His eye opens wider, and he struggles to sit up, though this attempt fails and just has him slumping back down against Micah's lap once more. "Oh. Oh, it's -- oh." He looks /puzzled/. "... did I. Die?" "That's /Sergeant/ Sutton." Eric waits until the other officer has turned and left down the hall before he smiles warmly at the cell's occupants and holds the bag out through the bars. "Still gettin' used to that myself, though. Heya, Dusk, Jax, Micah." He gives them a smile and a little shake of his head. "Bumped inta' the twins in the lobby. They had cornered the poor desk officer with a reporter, and next thing I know, I've got food'ta bring to ya." He smiles and looks over Jax with a concerned look. "They got some food. There's apple juice in there. Couple'a boxes. Looks like ya could use it." Micah's eyes open again just to watch what is happening with Eric's arrival. He withdraws his hand from Dusk's back, quickly swiping at his cheeks and eyes while the others are distracted with him. "No, honey, you're not dead." Though he might be adding 'this time' silently, his teeth digging into his lower lip roughly. They release it with just a trace of blood beading in their wake as the sergeant mentions the twins /and/ food. He slips Jax's head off of his lap, cradling it gently as he rests it on the cot. "You just stay here, sugar, an' rest." Extricating himself from Dusk's wing, he hops up and...mostly just hops to approach the door as quickly as possible. "Are the boys okay? They got outta there without trouble? All the kids from the school...did they say? Is everyone safe?" He's /talking/ kids, but his hands are out to take food, as well. At least his expression is grateful (somewhere mixed in there with all the /fret/), though there's no space between the questions to voice it. "/Sergeant/ Sutton," Dusk agrees with a crooked smile. "And /today/ at least I think this," he informs Luke, "is the cavalry. S'a friend. Oh, shit, the pups are out there? They doing okay? They get kind of -- twitchy around cops." Though his smile /brightens/ at the news that the twins sicced a reporter on their cops. His breath catches, though, when Micah bites his lip, eyes riveting briefly on that trace of blood. He starts breathing again with a sloooow pull of breath, his tongue tracing across his lip. He folds one wing down over Jax, and the other he stretches way way out -- it's not quite enough to reach the door but it's enough to provide a sort of bony-winged /handrail/ for support as Micah hops towards the door. "He could use it," he agrees with Eric, adding bluntly: "Thanks. He'd maybe have been dead by morning if they didn't bring him anything new." Cage raises his eyebrows as the food is handed over and nods his apology. "Yeah, of course. My bad, Sergeant. You got the bars right there on your shirt. Huh." He reaches out to help Micah's hopping as well, wings on one side, Cage on the other. Luke blinks as if, even though Micah has been sitting there missing a leg all this time, this is the first moment is actually sunk in for him. "Thank you, Sergeant Sutton. And it's nice to meet you." Cage can't go exactly shaking the man's hand through the bars just now, but his expression is clearly one of grateful respect. "Oh. Ohgosh. OK not dead just. Ohgosh." Jax closes his eye. Opens it again. Closes it. Opens it, and snuggles down beneath the soft fuzzy blanketing of Dusk's wing. "Thank you. That's -- thank you. Ohgosh are the pups aright they shouldn't be here /alone/ they ain't alone are they -- they should -- should --" His words drop off again in another fuzz of confusion. He watches Micah hop towards the door, watches Eric with the bag. "Thank you," he whispers again. "There. /Now/ it'll be a proper party." With -- fruit juice and energy bars as refreshments. "I sent them home. Ain't no reason for 'em to stay in the lobby. You guys ain't goin' nowhere until the mornin'. Then you'll get arraigned and get out." A pause, and his attention flicks briefly to Cage. "Most of ya probably without summons, even. I don't know about everyone else. No major injuries, at least. A few bumps and bruises, but nothin' too bad. Media vultures are gonna be everywhere tomorrow though, so I'd start thinkin' of what ya want to say." He glances around the cell and at Micah, and frowns. "Let me see what I can do about the leg. Run it through the X-ray machine, I ain't see why we can't give it back ta you, if'n you're just here on a disorderly. Let me talk to the Lieu." Micah accepts the help getting across the room, though it's all entirely more than necessary, it does get him there /faster/, which is the key goal currently. "Okay. S'long as they're okay. An' they know that we're comin' home an' when. So...they /are/ keepin' us overnight. Thank goodness...for the food, I don't think he'd make it all night without..." He glances over at Jax, then back to Eric, but as soon as he has the food in hand he is /off/ to the bedside. Lifting Jax's head to slip it onto his lap once more, he sits, propping the other man up enough to eat and drink comfortably. He fishes out a juice box and places the straw essentially all in one motion, slipping the straw into Jax's mouth. "Finish up the box an' then we can get some real food in you." It takes several moments for Eric's words to sink in after they are said, Micah's focus entirely on delivery of sugar to Jax. "Oh...I don't know. They seem t'think I'm gonna take the thing off an' use it t'bludgeon people t'death or somethin'. Apparently I'm intimidatin' these days. If y'can convince 'em, that's fine, just don't get yourself in trouble over it." He manages a tired smile for the policeman. "It's not like I'm goin' anywhere."