Post by Pyro on Sept 7, 2006 8:09:01 GMT -5
(With NPC assistance from Kaylan, MWAH!)
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[continued from HERE ]
His head was swimming.
He was aware, on some basic level, that he'd been unconscious for a time, but he had no idea for how long, or even why. What he did discover very swiftly was that his hands were still cuffed and he had the most rampant headache.
John opened his eyes and let out a whimper at the brightness of the artificial light.
Hearing a small noise coming from the cell, Charlotte looked over. He was finally awake - that was good, she'd actually ended up quite worried when she'd arrived back at the station to find out he'd been passed out since just after she'd last seen him. They'd left him cuffed and in a cell, as they should have thanks to his confession of arson, regardless of the fact that whatever he'd done had helped the fire in the end.
"John?" Standing, she left the desk and wandered over to look down through the bars at him. "Did you want a glass of water or something?"
"John?" he said, and then he remembered that was who he was. He tried to sit up, a difficult thing to do when both cuffed and woozy and succeeded merely in almost falling off the hard cell bunk.
"Yes," he said, realising how dry his throat was. "Yes, water. Please."
He was confused beyond confused. In his nearly-seventeen years of life, he'd been confused many times, but this beat them all.
Walking swiftly over to the cooler, Charlotte filled a paper cup and handed it through the bars.
He looked confused. Very confused.
"Do you remember what happened? You're in jail." Might as well get all the shocks over with quickly.
"No," he said, having difficulty accepting the cup with his cuffed hands and being able to bring it to his mouth to drink it. "I don't remember."
God, but he was scrawny. She was used to them, these street kids, with their filthy clothes, their malnourished, underdeveloped bodies, but it never made it any easier.
"I remember...a burning building," he said, slowly, blinking rapidly and trying to clear his vision.
Charlotte nodded, unable to keep the sadness from her face.
"You set it on fire, John. You confessed, we found cash on you - best we can figure out, the other kids were robbing the place with you, but they all got away."
Her voice lowered. "Try to remember, if you can help us catch the others, we should be able to help you." She had her suspicions about who it had been, but as much as she wanted to help the young mutant in front of her, she couldn't feed him that. Hopefully he'd remember and confirm her suspicions.
"What will happen to me?"
The words were the same as any other kid who'd been arrested for such a crime, but the meaning was totally different - and Charlotte could read it. "I'm a mutant. What will happen to me?"
John sank back down on the bunk, visibly shaking, the shock of the situation, and his injuries, finally settling in.
"I never...I'll give you all the names you need, but that's not gonna help me, not really, is it?"
"It'll help you stay out of jail. As far as we know, you don't have a record." They'd run his fingerprints and hadn't gotten any hits yet.
Her voice lowered again. "There's places you can go. I've heard of a school that helps... people learn to control..." She hadn't really had to deal with it much, but she knew a little about the mutant situation.
"I can get you the number, for once you get out. If you give this guy a call... Well, they say he's helped some pretty extreme cases before."
"A school? Are you kidding me? I haven't been to school since I was fifteen." And he'd missed it, too. "They wouldn't want someone like me....aw man, that hurts."
His head felt like it was going to explode. He'd over-exerted the psychic control over his fires, had he but known it, and was having a very definite backlash.
"I hear they take all sorts.... Are you ok?" She frowned in concern, watching his face screwed up in pain.
"They should have given you some painkillers." Her frown deepened. "I think I have a couple of advil...?" Charlotte wasn't a mutant. None of her family were mutants, and she'd only had a few experiences with mutants in her time with the force. She didn't know about psychic exertion, there was nothing that she could do to help. But she wanted to try.
"No, don't," he said, quickly. "I've had painkillers before, but they sort of make me a bit sick." It occurred to her that the ambulance staff would probably have given him something whilst he'd still been semi out of it, maybe going someway towards explaining why he was so woozy now.
There was a long period of silence during which the only sound was his breathing. He'd lain down on the bunk and she thought, for a while, that he'd fallen asleep.
Until she realised that he was actually crying.
Oh man.
Charlotte had a son - much younger than John, it was true, but her motherly instinct wasn't deterred by that fact.
Still, she was a cop, and he was a criminal. She wasn't supposed to go in there and comfort him - what if it was some sort of trap? Her gut told her different, but her head forced her to stay cautious. She stuck one hand through the bars to touch his shoulder lightly.
"John, it's going to be ok. You give us those names, and with what you did for the fire and your co-operation, I know you'll get out with a warning. We can help you, but once you're out of here you'll need to help yourself." She was talking about going to see this Xavier guy, going and enrolling in the school and learning more about his powers.
Her kindness served only to increase the kid's tears, almost as though he were letting out years of misery in one go - which wasn't so far from the truth.
"I don't want to die out on those streets," he said, between heart broken sobs. "I will, though, if I go back. They all hate me, they're all scared of me."
"You don't have to go back to the streets, John." She felt incredibly stupid for even having the thought, but her mouth ran ahead before her brain could stop it. "You could come and stay with me for a little while, until you get your head sorted." Lord, her mother-in-law was going to kill her. The old woman had moved in before Charlotte's husband had died, and she had a problem with white folk. Even just normal white folk, not skinny white street rats who'd burnt down buildings.
He gulped back tears, refusing to face her, not wanting her to see his misery as well as hear it. "I can't do that," he said. "You don't need me in your life. I'm trouble."
How many times had he heard that?
Certainly enough that he now believed it.
"The offer stands, John." She shrugged, keeping her hand on his shoulder even though he'd turned away.
"But first, we need to get those names so you can get out of here."
Quickly enough, she'd moved back into cop mode, her manner professional again. She didn't move her hand, though.
The brief moment of composure ended, and the boy broke down completely, wailing like a child much younger than almost seventeen years old. It was not an uncommon reaction for a young person who'd just been arrested, but the kid's tears were heartfelt.
His thin body shook with sobs that he could no longer contain and all through the tears, he constantly said the same two words.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
Her words were soft, and she took her hand from his shoulder to unlock the cell. Walking into the cell, Charlotte's hand returned to his shoulder in a comforting gesture that was contrary to the manner than went along with her uniform.
"Come on John, come sit down with me and we'll see how soon we can get you out of here."
He finally turned over and looked up at her, his grubby, soot-stained face tear streaked. He looked young for his age, as did many of the street kids, but his eyes held that wisdom that no child of his age should have to bear.
What they'd found out about him from his fingerprints was extraordinarily little. They'd found a half-hearted missing persons report from Green Meadows Children's Home, but he was too old to go back there now anyway.
With a kind look in her brown eyes, Charlotte helped John off the small bunk, bringing him out to the desk to get the names from him. She was careful when she saw his wrists, bandaged under his cuffs, not wanting to hurt him.
She spoke quietly and calmly as she brought him over to her desk, explaining what she needed him to do so that she could help him. She wasn't expecting that he'd have to stay in the little cell overnight, but since he didn't have anywhere to go it wasn't likely that they'd put him back out onto the streets straight away. She didn't push him, but she made a point of reminding him that he could call her if he needed to.
"It's going to be alright." She didn't know who she was trying to reassure, but Charlotte was certain that things would work out in the end for the troubled young man.
Still sniffling slightly, John told her what he could. He had no sense of loyalty to those people anyway and didn't really care what became of them. Right now, he was feeling selfish enough only to care what happened to him.
"Thank you," he said in response to her continued offer. "I need to think about what to do next."
He was calming down now and some of the disoriented wooziness was passing, leaving her to deal with what was obviously a very intelligent young man.
Charlotte nodded, a small smile appearing on her face.
"I'm sure whatever it is will go just fine." She had to look up all the details for him, and get everything organised, but she was certain that he'd get off with a warning. No, she couldn't see John Allerdyce ending up convicted of anything anytime soon.
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[continued from HERE ]
His head was swimming.
He was aware, on some basic level, that he'd been unconscious for a time, but he had no idea for how long, or even why. What he did discover very swiftly was that his hands were still cuffed and he had the most rampant headache.
John opened his eyes and let out a whimper at the brightness of the artificial light.
Hearing a small noise coming from the cell, Charlotte looked over. He was finally awake - that was good, she'd actually ended up quite worried when she'd arrived back at the station to find out he'd been passed out since just after she'd last seen him. They'd left him cuffed and in a cell, as they should have thanks to his confession of arson, regardless of the fact that whatever he'd done had helped the fire in the end.
"John?" Standing, she left the desk and wandered over to look down through the bars at him. "Did you want a glass of water or something?"
"John?" he said, and then he remembered that was who he was. He tried to sit up, a difficult thing to do when both cuffed and woozy and succeeded merely in almost falling off the hard cell bunk.
"Yes," he said, realising how dry his throat was. "Yes, water. Please."
He was confused beyond confused. In his nearly-seventeen years of life, he'd been confused many times, but this beat them all.
Walking swiftly over to the cooler, Charlotte filled a paper cup and handed it through the bars.
He looked confused. Very confused.
"Do you remember what happened? You're in jail." Might as well get all the shocks over with quickly.
"No," he said, having difficulty accepting the cup with his cuffed hands and being able to bring it to his mouth to drink it. "I don't remember."
God, but he was scrawny. She was used to them, these street kids, with their filthy clothes, their malnourished, underdeveloped bodies, but it never made it any easier.
"I remember...a burning building," he said, slowly, blinking rapidly and trying to clear his vision.
Charlotte nodded, unable to keep the sadness from her face.
"You set it on fire, John. You confessed, we found cash on you - best we can figure out, the other kids were robbing the place with you, but they all got away."
Her voice lowered. "Try to remember, if you can help us catch the others, we should be able to help you." She had her suspicions about who it had been, but as much as she wanted to help the young mutant in front of her, she couldn't feed him that. Hopefully he'd remember and confirm her suspicions.
"What will happen to me?"
The words were the same as any other kid who'd been arrested for such a crime, but the meaning was totally different - and Charlotte could read it. "I'm a mutant. What will happen to me?"
John sank back down on the bunk, visibly shaking, the shock of the situation, and his injuries, finally settling in.
"I never...I'll give you all the names you need, but that's not gonna help me, not really, is it?"
"It'll help you stay out of jail. As far as we know, you don't have a record." They'd run his fingerprints and hadn't gotten any hits yet.
Her voice lowered again. "There's places you can go. I've heard of a school that helps... people learn to control..." She hadn't really had to deal with it much, but she knew a little about the mutant situation.
"I can get you the number, for once you get out. If you give this guy a call... Well, they say he's helped some pretty extreme cases before."
"A school? Are you kidding me? I haven't been to school since I was fifteen." And he'd missed it, too. "They wouldn't want someone like me....aw man, that hurts."
His head felt like it was going to explode. He'd over-exerted the psychic control over his fires, had he but known it, and was having a very definite backlash.
"I hear they take all sorts.... Are you ok?" She frowned in concern, watching his face screwed up in pain.
"They should have given you some painkillers." Her frown deepened. "I think I have a couple of advil...?" Charlotte wasn't a mutant. None of her family were mutants, and she'd only had a few experiences with mutants in her time with the force. She didn't know about psychic exertion, there was nothing that she could do to help. But she wanted to try.
"No, don't," he said, quickly. "I've had painkillers before, but they sort of make me a bit sick." It occurred to her that the ambulance staff would probably have given him something whilst he'd still been semi out of it, maybe going someway towards explaining why he was so woozy now.
There was a long period of silence during which the only sound was his breathing. He'd lain down on the bunk and she thought, for a while, that he'd fallen asleep.
Until she realised that he was actually crying.
Oh man.
Charlotte had a son - much younger than John, it was true, but her motherly instinct wasn't deterred by that fact.
Still, she was a cop, and he was a criminal. She wasn't supposed to go in there and comfort him - what if it was some sort of trap? Her gut told her different, but her head forced her to stay cautious. She stuck one hand through the bars to touch his shoulder lightly.
"John, it's going to be ok. You give us those names, and with what you did for the fire and your co-operation, I know you'll get out with a warning. We can help you, but once you're out of here you'll need to help yourself." She was talking about going to see this Xavier guy, going and enrolling in the school and learning more about his powers.
Her kindness served only to increase the kid's tears, almost as though he were letting out years of misery in one go - which wasn't so far from the truth.
"I don't want to die out on those streets," he said, between heart broken sobs. "I will, though, if I go back. They all hate me, they're all scared of me."
"You don't have to go back to the streets, John." She felt incredibly stupid for even having the thought, but her mouth ran ahead before her brain could stop it. "You could come and stay with me for a little while, until you get your head sorted." Lord, her mother-in-law was going to kill her. The old woman had moved in before Charlotte's husband had died, and she had a problem with white folk. Even just normal white folk, not skinny white street rats who'd burnt down buildings.
He gulped back tears, refusing to face her, not wanting her to see his misery as well as hear it. "I can't do that," he said. "You don't need me in your life. I'm trouble."
How many times had he heard that?
Certainly enough that he now believed it.
"The offer stands, John." She shrugged, keeping her hand on his shoulder even though he'd turned away.
"But first, we need to get those names so you can get out of here."
Quickly enough, she'd moved back into cop mode, her manner professional again. She didn't move her hand, though.
The brief moment of composure ended, and the boy broke down completely, wailing like a child much younger than almost seventeen years old. It was not an uncommon reaction for a young person who'd just been arrested, but the kid's tears were heartfelt.
His thin body shook with sobs that he could no longer contain and all through the tears, he constantly said the same two words.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
Her words were soft, and she took her hand from his shoulder to unlock the cell. Walking into the cell, Charlotte's hand returned to his shoulder in a comforting gesture that was contrary to the manner than went along with her uniform.
"Come on John, come sit down with me and we'll see how soon we can get you out of here."
He finally turned over and looked up at her, his grubby, soot-stained face tear streaked. He looked young for his age, as did many of the street kids, but his eyes held that wisdom that no child of his age should have to bear.
What they'd found out about him from his fingerprints was extraordinarily little. They'd found a half-hearted missing persons report from Green Meadows Children's Home, but he was too old to go back there now anyway.
With a kind look in her brown eyes, Charlotte helped John off the small bunk, bringing him out to the desk to get the names from him. She was careful when she saw his wrists, bandaged under his cuffs, not wanting to hurt him.
She spoke quietly and calmly as she brought him over to her desk, explaining what she needed him to do so that she could help him. She wasn't expecting that he'd have to stay in the little cell overnight, but since he didn't have anywhere to go it wasn't likely that they'd put him back out onto the streets straight away. She didn't push him, but she made a point of reminding him that he could call her if he needed to.
"It's going to be alright." She didn't know who she was trying to reassure, but Charlotte was certain that things would work out in the end for the troubled young man.
Still sniffling slightly, John told her what he could. He had no sense of loyalty to those people anyway and didn't really care what became of them. Right now, he was feeling selfish enough only to care what happened to him.
"Thank you," he said in response to her continued offer. "I need to think about what to do next."
He was calming down now and some of the disoriented wooziness was passing, leaving her to deal with what was obviously a very intelligent young man.
Charlotte nodded, a small smile appearing on her face.
"I'm sure whatever it is will go just fine." She had to look up all the details for him, and get everything organised, but she was certain that he'd get off with a warning. No, she couldn't see John Allerdyce ending up convicted of anything anytime soon.
