ArchivedLogs:Scot-Free

Scot-Free
Dramatis Personae Eric, Jim, Shane	2012-12-20 The aftermath of the riot does not end up quite as in jail as planned.
Location A police car, somewhere.
Eric does not get to the arrested pair until they have been loaded into the back of the patrol car. But when things have calmed down somewhat, the police officer raps on the window on Shane's side. "What the hell were you doing?" he growls at Shane. He takes a few steps back and goes off to consult with another officer in a white shirt. A minute later, Eric returns once more, and opens the door. "Get out." he orders Shane. Leaning in the corner between the seat and the door on his own side, Jim watches this with a vague impassive grimace. "-- What?" Shane does not get out, in fact. Handcuffed still, he stays right where he is, tucked onto a bench alongside Jim. And stares at the officer with blank-black eyes huge-wide. "What did. Why. Am. What." It's not the most eloquent of responses. Rather than get out he -- well, he'd probably be hackling, if he had anything by way of /hair/ on his rough skin. But his whipcord-thin muscles tense and his fingers clench into fists in their handcuffs. He looks at Eric. And looks at Jim. In case maybe he was not, in fact, the one being spoken to. "Even the library was better than this," Eric hisses, glancing around for one moment suspiciously. "Come on, /move/ it." he says, gesturing for the other man. Louder, he says, "Come on. Get in the other squad car." he gestures again, holding the door open for the teenager. Jim blinks cautiously from right where he is. Now /he's/ flicking his eyes back and forth between Shane and Eric. It's a little wincey to one side where his face had been resting against the pavement. It manifests in eye-twitch. Almost unconsciously, Shane shifts where he sits, a little bit towards Jim, a little bit away from the cop. "The library?" He sounds baffled. His hands wiggle experimentally in his handcuffs, behind his back. "W-why me and not him?" He sounds uncomfortable with this change of events, looking at Eric and then at Jim. "What are you going to do to --" But he stops here, evidently unsure /which/ of the arrestees is in more danger with this situation. Eric gives Shane a puzzled look. "You're... different than you were before." He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder for a moment. Then he leans forward and grabs Shane's arm, tugging him out of the car. "Move it, unless you want to spend the night in jail." He glances at Jim, giving him a look and a glare. "You stay. I can't bail you out of your mess. Assault on a police officer is not something that can be made to go away. Keep your mouth shut and plead down to a fine once your lawyer gets there." he drawls, Georgia accent shining through his words. Sitting stiff and rigid in his seat, Jim's eyes stay locked on Eric through his peripherals - not his face, but his badge. They make a certain repetitive back and forth study of it. Intently. And then move to Shane's face. Shane is shifting from wary to outright alarmed as the officer manhandles him out of the back of the truck, gills fluttering against the side of his neck and his black eyes open wide. "Different, I -- haven't ever --" Blink. Blink, blink, blink. "Tccch," he hisses through his teeth, and then, quieter, "he was just trying to help me. And he got beat for it. He should come." "Come on, /little brother/," Eric says, stressing the words even as he gives the teenager a puzzled look. "Take too much longer, the Lieutenant might change his mind. I can't do shit about him," he says, nodding to Jim. "Sorry. Not my call. You hit a police officer. I go back and ask the Lieu, he's going to tell me to book both of you." He gives a brief, small smile of apology. "Now come on. Maybe this time you'll actually go somewhere where you can study." The corner of Jim's mouth twitches, the lines around his eyes twisting a margin tighter a the words 'little brother'. And then, lips twisted diagonally, he turns his eyes back to facing forward. And sits, slouched, like he has all the time in the world. "I bet you could," Shane insists, watching Eric carefully with deep black eyes. With hands in cuffs, his elbow jerks back towards Jim rather than a hand of indication. "He hit a cop who was attacking me. I don't think he was really thinking about it much at the time. It was chaos out there anyway. How many people are really gonna remember?" Eric pauses, hand on the door. "You're some kind of idiot." He shakes his head and closes the door with a soft slam. He glances around, tugs the cap down on his face, and then walks off in the direction of a knot of police officers, some in riot gear, some in the same uniform as Eric. He remains in eye sight of the car as he goes over to them, gesturing back at the police car as he talks to one of the officers in particular. Turning his head to watch Eric move away from the car, Jim murmurs low with his raspy smokers voice into the silence, "Kid, if you can get out of here..." "Yeah, I don't think I'd be here if I was /smart/," Shane says with a thin twist of lips and a wry tone. And slumps back against the bench, exhaling heavily. "Well, sure," he murmurs under his breath with a thin flash of sharp teeth towards Jim. "If I can get out I'm gonna be /out/. But uh. If I can get you out with me all the better. I think he thinks I'm someone else." His brow creases at this, posture shifting a little uncomfortably. "Someone nicer." His head turns, watching Eric carefully. There is some gesticulation in the direction of the car, by the officer Eric is talking to. A few moments later, Eric and the other officer split off from the group and head back to the patrol car. It is the officer that arrested Jim and Shane in the first place, lips pursed. The door opens, this time on the other side, next to Jim. Eric chimes in, immediately. "As I was telling Maloney, you wanted to apologize for hitting him, isn't that right?" he says, giving Jim a sharp glance. "Officer I'm /real/ sorry," Jim erupts almost as soon as the door is opened, before Eric is even don't /speaking/, not even meeting that sharp glance - his eyes watery blue eyes are pawing up at the other policemen, his head tipping to the side to try and look up through the open door, head shaking, "I don't know what I was fuckin' thinking, I couldn't even see what was goin' on. I've been on the wagon for - for nearly a year now..." While most of his body stays slouched, he drops his head. "I've never done a thing like that in my life, I /respect/ you guys." This time it is Shane who stays quiet. Very quiet, and very still. His head bows, silent. The police officers glance at each other. Maloney grunts once in acknowledgement, shaking his head. "You owe me one, though fucking god only knows why you care." "I owe you one. Long story." he says, giving him a smile and a clap on the shoulder. The other officer wanders back towards the knot of police, and Eric opens the door. "Get out." he says, pulling out his keys. Jim keeps his head miserably dropped low until the other officer is clearly out of proximity. Then he glances through the corner of his eye over at Shane. And then past Shane to Eric. And while he does not move /hesitantly/, his movements are cautious as he shifts around awkwardly in his seat with his arms cuffed yet behind his back, working himself out of the car in whatever manner manages to spare the strain on his knee. Largely uninjured save the bruise on his stomach and the larger one knotting up on his chin, Shane is far less cautious in his quick slide-tumble out of the car. His eyes dart, between the cluster of police officers, and then Eric. "Thanks," he says, soft and low. "Where are we going?" Eric gestures towards another patrol car not far from them. "Come on," he says, stepping over towards the car. He unlocks the car with a key fob, then opens the back door. "Get back in." he says, holding the door open for the two of them. "That depends. Where do you want t' go?" he pauses, smiling for a minute. "I suggest not here." He reaches for his radio, clicking it on briefly. "Unit 1-4, 10-61 prisoner transport then 10-2." "Waffles," Jim says instantly, seriously, his mouth hanging open as he squints out the front windshield, "You know where the nearest diner is?" "Home," Shane is saying, just as instantly, just as seriously. "It's only over in the East Village. By Tompkins Square." He is frowning at Jim's answer, slipping into the back of the car, settling down. Wiggling slowly at one handcuffed hand and then the other once the door is closed behind them. His hands seem almost boneless in the way, when pulled, they fold in against themselves, Shane's teeth gritting slightly as he tugs one hand out and then pulls off the other. "My house can have waffles," he says, though it is hard to read how seriously he is proposing this. The tiny blue teenager shivers slightly as he looks out the window. Eric closes the door once they are inside, and walks around the hood of the car to the driver's seat. He gets in and starts the car with a rumble of the engine. A few switches flipped and a couple taps at his computer's screen, and they're off, lights flashing as they make their way out from by the protest area and turns towards the East Village. "Tompkins Square it is. I'm sure there's a diner there, if you're desperate." "Hey, wherever's good," Jim is saying rather casually, even if one of his eyes is squinted up as he watches Shane slip his cuffs. "So. Buddy." He swivels his torso back to front - his own hands remaining cuffed, "You gonna tell me the fuck's all this about?" "I don't know what this is about," Shane admits. He scoots closer, to frown at Jim's handcuffs. Extend one loooong claw to poke curiously at the lock. But he does not whip out any mad lockpicking skillz to bust Jim out, he just pokes and then settles back with a frown. "I mean, there was a riot. Hey. Um. Mister. Cop. What's this all about?" "I'm saving your ass from felony assault charges. Damn, and I thought you were a good kid. Studying to be a doctor or whatever the fuck." Eric drawls, flicking the sirens on briefly as he cuts off a taxi and blows through a red light with only a quick slow down. "Though you don't seem to be... at all the same." A brief pause. "Your brother?" he hazards, glancing in the rear-view mirror. Jim gives Shane a frown that clearly says 'knock yourself out' when he pokes at it with a claw, scooching around in his seat to give the kid better access. He watches the city blow past, eyes racing idly to follow various objects that whizz by. Fire hydrant. Bike rack. Man in a silly hat. And while he clearly is listening, he is also clearly not looking a gift horse in the teeth. He's riding it into the /sunset/. "Nah, I've just got one of those faces," Shane answers with a quick blue-lipped twitch of smile. More helpfully: "Twin. Uh. Though this is new. Usually he's getting /into/ trouble on account of my face. Anyway, he's not going to be a doctor. The fuck kinda med school would take him?" There is a little more poking at the lock, but his eventual hopeful solution for it is to ask up front: "You got a key for these handcuffs?" This is followed, with a frown to Jim, with, "-- Why'd /you/ help me, then? You can't possibly know 'bastian too." "Met him at the library the other day. Nice kid." Eric says, glancing in the rear-view mirror to grin at Shane. "Blushes a lot. We talked for a while. I figured you were him. Now, anyway." He chuckles. "If you'd like, I can apologize for the mix-up and actually drop you off at lock-up like I'm supposed ta." he drawls, smirking. "Yeah, I do, but it'll have to wait. They're right on my keychain." He glances around, then pulls the wheel sharply, sending them down another street. "What street?" "Woah-woah-woah-," Jim isn't exactly protesting. He's sort of apologizing, that last turn sent him toppling into Shane. "No," grunt, strain, he tries to drag himself back to his side with strictly abdominals. His abdominals are not so sleek-toned as the young man he's sharing backseat with. "Think I'd remember that." His brown-flaky tan has long since receded to what looks vaguely like a mild psoriasis at the back of his neck. Grimace. "Yeah. He's nice," Shane agrees. He is frowning distractsomely at the handcuffs, until Jim topples into him and then he aids the upward drag with a hard push of shoulder. "Just got a death wish, then?" he asks Jim. "Last time I tangled with a cop I got shot. And I didn't even touch him then." He gives his street name and number with a quick lean forward towards the front seat. And asks Eric point-blank: "You one of us, too?" "Yeah, I am. 's not why I bailed you out though. I just thought you were your twin." Eric says, grinning at the men in back in the mirror. Sirens come on again for him to make a quite illegal U-turn to get back to the right direction to head for that particular street. "Almost home." Back in his own side of the bench, Jim has turned to look out the window. "Let's say I'm not all that bright," he answers mutely. And then snorts, cocking a grin at Shane and thrusts out an elbow for lack of /fistbump/, "Four in the back. Nearly punched /my/ ticket." The grin fades to something just kind of baring teeth slightly at Eric's response, and he turns his head quieter back to the window to mutter with deceptive lightness, "Bust be some kinda fuckin' kid, your brother." "Well, sure, I figured you thought that, but 'bastian's still, uh, blue. Sharky. Most people don't look long enough to /realize/ he's nice. Figured you musta been used to the freaks." Shane leans over, answering elbow -- thrust with elbow thrust, a quick bump of joints that comes with a grin. "Oh, sure. And I'm glad he is. Comes in handy, having a good twin," Shane says with a quick flash of teeth. "Shiiiit, man, four. That's -- uh. You're alive, though. You must do something useful." Eric pulls up in front of the curb and shuts the lights on the car off. He gets out of the car and opens the back door. "Come on, go home, you two. And don't get into any more trouble, yeah?" he drawls. He pulls a knife off of his belt and, when Jim gets out, cuts the plasticuffs off of him. He closes the door behind the other two, and gives them both a smile. "Stay out of trouble," he says, getting back in the driver's seat. "And tell your brother that Eric says hello." "Every once in a while," Jim says wryly, a single cord of tension in his thick neck twitching when Eric pulls knife behind him, eyes fixing blankly on Shane's face until the plasticuffs come off. Then it's all crooked grins again as he gets his hands back, even if it's a sort of a thin, not entirely convincing grin for Eric, though he dutifully adds, "Yeah. Thanks." He looks Shane over a last time, shaking his head with a sigh, "That's the first time I seen a cop turn over for a kid he met once. Your brother must be a piece of work. Maybe I'll see ya around." And he turns to meander off. At a limp. Ow.