| A Game of Cat and Mouse: Hospitals, Sickness, and Symptoms | ||
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| Summary: The feline stranger meets up with Detective Hawksmoor to discuss matters of concern, legality, and custody.   |
Rayne suspects that the attack was brought on by the strange cat person that appeared not long after JR entered the station. That very same figure has even been encountered by Detective Hawksmoor wherein he helped to combat yet another one of the strange things in order to save a young woman. Furthermore, the stranger has spent time, off and on, in the grand building itself tending to matters judicial. It is this day that the cat makes an appearance in the section of building set aside for the acting police force. No doubt some were present then that are now and recall the unique style of the stranger's attire associated with the sudden upset of TASK veterans saving the day along with Rayne's (and Ami's) help. The cat stands before the attendant's desk with a folder containing papers in hand. His expression is pleasant. "I am here to collect. With whom shall I speak?" "I believe Detective Hawksmoor was looking for you," the receptionist, Doris says. "Let me call him." She picks up her phone, presumably calling back somewhere into the office. The stranger says nothing at this. Past acquaintanceships aside, if this Hawksmoor is the one to speak with regarding the situation he finds most important at present then all is going accordingly. That's all anybody could ever really want. Neverless, the tall feline figure stands there, and exactly there, while wandering eyes search the desk for points of curiosity as those pointed ears listen to the call made and, quite possibly, even the words spoken from the other end of the line. Jack Hawksmoor steps out from the back. He's wearing a similar, but different crumpled suit; clearly a personal uniform as it were. Still no shoes. "Ah, you're here." He lifts a hand. "Come on back." Not the most formal of guys, apparently. Soft footsteps fall as the cat walks around the corner of the desk to head back in that direction. He does not offer to shake hands in greeting, although that may be due to it being of a different custom more than rudeness. "You say that as if you've been expecting me," comments the feline with a curl of one side of the mouth upturn only slightly. His confidence in posture might even be seen as arrogance, but he lacks the rigidity of stereotypical nobility for that to be a matter of caste. "I knew the moment you walked through the door," the detective says, cryptically, leading the way back to a small office. It's actually quite tidy, not a huge amount in the way of personal touches except for a couple of books on the desk. "Well, being the case, you may also know that I've stopped by to collect important papers from the judiciary servants." A slight lift of the folder in-hand is all the emphasis given on the matter and the feline takes to then having a walk about the small office with a critiquing eye. "Detective. Much like an Inquisitor, I imagine. I didn't realize that was the job most entitled to help with the issue at hand. I'm sure we'll be able to sort out this matter quickly." He pauses to look over his shoulder in Hawksmoor's direction while otherwise peering over the spartan nature of the room. "Shall we now or are there other pleasantries of obligation first?" Jack Hawksmoor shakes his head. "I want to know everything you have on these...you called them symptoms, but what's the disease?" No, no pleasantries from Jack. "And not quite an inquisitor, at least not given what that word implies in English. "How interesting." The stranger walks over and behind the desk so that he can reach out and place the folder upon it, front and center, before pulling one flap to open it to reveal the surprisingly mundane legalese within. "A bit heavy of a subject for casual conversation, don't you think?" The cat man makes no effort or indication to cross back to the front of the desk to have a seat. Rather, he seems content to stay standing where he is. "However, as long as you help deliver what I've come to collect, perhaps I can help provide some illumination." The papers inside the folder might be difficult for most civilians to read, but the trained will be able to make out the intent fairly quickly. The papers are signed, witnessed, and notarized in reflection to court order granting the stranger, wherein the papers simply name him 'Lynx' and are the only indication of identity given thus far, full and unconditional custody of the man hereby identified as Johnston Reynolds. The very same man that the stranger asked after having turned over on his first appearance in the police station. The very same man that was attacked and is now fully comatose at the mercy of doctors to keep alive. "How to best put it... The symptoms at hand are a product of the wounding of what should be into what shouldn't be. The disease is best marked in onset by intense trauma. Perhaps you can tell me; has this city experienced heavy existential trauma at any point recently?" Jack's response is a laugh, a deep one. "It was before I got here, but yes...and this city is all *about* existential trauma." The god of cities' expression turns wry. "I'll help deliver it." Power of attorney for the guy in a coma. Jack's going to have to press on that. "This city is deeply wounded, and I'm doing all in my power to heal her, but...it's going to take time." If the cat wants to stand, he can stand. There's a chair if he wants it. Clasping one hand over the other wrist behind his back, the fuzzy-faced guy observes as much as listens. "Can you tell me anything more about what may have happened? Things that are to be made, unmade, and things that are to be done, undone, are of great concern and would explain your recent issue, hence my presence and investigation." That does hint that the stranger knows more about the strange things than he fully lets on. Rather than spilling a list it would seem that he is, instead, attempting a bit of quid pro quo on details. As an aside and a faint downward bob of the chin in gesture, the man says of the paperwork, "It took entirely too long to jump through all of the hoops, as one puts it, in order to present a finalized decree. That man requires protection as I believe he may be one of only a few that can truly help, at least with the symptoms at hand. I was very dubious about leaving him in the care of your guardsmen, yet your ruling body insisted against the man being given to me. Still, all the same, I would be delighted to accompany you to the dungeon for his release." "All I know is the pain in the city's heart," Jack said. "And...there was a dimensional twisting, reshaping the city, and it was apparently caused by messing with portals too much, so don't do that." Dungeon? This guy's old school... "Portals. Dimensional twisting. Reshaping. Sounds about right." The feline takes a deep breath before slowly letting it out. "This could be more difficult than I thought. What I am dealing with (and, through consequence, you and your guardsmen, as well) are things that are born in the wake of something or some one that should /be/ being unmade or those that should /not be/ being made. Ripples of paradox." That could possibly make very little sense or it could fit perfectly, logically. "It's not that they cannot be dealt with. Clearly, there are ways. But they will only grow in number as the issue compounds over time." A side glance is given to Jack. Jack Hawksmoor nods. "Which means we need to work out what the issue is." The man closes his eyes for a long moment. When he reopens them, they are flickering *red*. "Time does not work here, not properly. The city remembers and does not remember, for a long time she slept and did not dream." "Yes, I had begun to assume something along that nature, although I would like to know more about the flow and shape of time here. It may help me better assess just how these symptoms came to be, at least at this location." As far as the City can reveal, the strange creatures are extremely difficult to know, much less reveal. They aren't normally physical and are generally only known just as an attack takes place. The events are quick, the victims are rarely severely wounded, and there have been no deaths, although there have been gradually more disappearances of late as reports of the strange monsters become more frequent. If they are products of a deeper hurt, it could be a very difficult thing to pry open. If an old wound, what would that result in? "You can trust me when I say that I'm taking the matter very seriously. I'm sure my digging can reveal something useful other than they do seem to be searching for individuals of special ability in the most brutal way. It's almost as if a force of reality is gaining awareness, intelligence." Jack Hawksmoor purses his lips. "That's not generally a good thing." He doesn't say more about time; it's not his expertise. "The symptoms, so far, are menacing people rather than causing real harm. That would imply to me that this is about...fear." "Fear," echoes the stranger almost as a question of choice of concept without the intonation that shapes a question. "Mm. It's certainly a very basic thing to conceptualize. If the symptoms are showing inclination to induce baser emotions, that does leave one to wonder to what end; or could it just be a stepping stone leading in the direction of full awareness. Not something I've encountered before. Perhaps the unique nature of this place allows this progression." The cat seems almost amused at this more than concerned, if tone of voice has anything to reveal, but it is all hypothesizing at this point, isn't it? "All the more reason to protect the assets that they find worthwhile of harming the worst." That's a not-so-subtle segue into the matter he finds most pressing at present: custody change. "Shall we? I am very much able to talk and walk at the same time." Jack Hawksmoor nods. "Of course." Jack hops out of his chair, his eyes fading to brown...but there might still be a red glint somewhere in their depths. Who IS this man? If there's one thing that can be said about the cat person, it's that he observes everything. That he notices these details and doesn't comment on them yet may mean that he is either trying to form his own conclusions or he's remaining more focused on the issues of the present that seem more dire. "Wonderful." Of course, the man in question to be released into the care of the stranger isn't going to be in a holding cell. Not after what happened. Somebody will have to know, although surely those in charge of granting such custodial rights were aware of the state of the person? Then again, a change in custody doesn't have to mean a change in location. "Lead the way, Detective. Heh. What a fun title. It really pops, doesn't it? So, has what I shared with you sated your curiosity?" "No," Jack says, simply. "But I believe that it's all you *have* for right now." He doesn't think Lynx is lying to him. He thinks the investigation is, shall one say, in its early stages. He leads the way to where the unconscious man is being kept. Jack's guest does cast a somewhat quizzical glance as the path taken deviates from the path expected. However, much like his observations of the peculiar man named Hawksmoor, this all seems to pass without a word of question. This does not mean, though, that the black and gold militaristically-dressed fellow doesn't grow a bit more stone-faced as the way transitions into the medical care department. "Would you say, Detective, that your fellow guardsmen are some of the best and most-reliable protectors the city has to offer? You yourself displayed remarkable ability, last we met." At least, the exit was quite interesting. Jack Hawksmoor considers that. "Pride has me say yes. Honesty...we do our best." Which is all anyone can do. Let's just not bring up his fellow detectives. "As for remarkable ability? I cheat." For as sharp-tongued as the question was cast, the answer so reeled in causes the feline to softly chuckle. "And why do you say that?" asks he regarding a way to 'cheat' since such context can vary greatly. While his tone may hold humor, his expression does not. Where his face tells of no emotion, his eyes belie the stoicism. His eyes narrow just enough, affecting his natural presence, so that others passing the pair in the halls may find the brief encounter remarkably unpleasant. "It's not all skill. Some of it is being the way I am." He'll lead the way into the room where the man "sleeps," eyes closed. Maybe, just maybe, Lynx can help him. Johnston Reynolds lies upon the medical bed while machines monitor the man's vitals to make sure he remains stable. Tubes and intravenous drips are set up to both provide and remove fluids. Thankfully, the man is able to breathe on his own, but it doesn't take much to see that the man is under strong observation and steady care. The policeman standing outside the door keeping watch attests that. The feline man following Jack into the room promptly wanders over to look the man over, then look the instrument panels over, then finds and checks the on-hand documentation kept at the foot of the bed. He does all of this without a word more. It doesn't take a particularly empathic person to know that he is upset, even if he doesn't much show it outwardly, but somebody skilled or trained at reading people could surely tell that the stranger now with legal custody over JR is deeply unsettled, disappointed, nonplussed; no matter the subtle differences involved, they still hold true. It probably doesn't help that the cat says nothing. He stands there, written medical documentation in hand, browsing the details, prognosis, medications and treatment... Not a word. Eyes shift from the documents to Reynolds and then to Hawksmoor where they stay. He stays silent. It's almost as if he's expecting an answer to an unspoken question. "So, do you have any idea why he was attacked? From what we know, he's a thug." Jack uses the word as a mere descriptor. Like he's dealt with many of the type. There is a moment of immense tension as that stare burns its way through Hawksmoor when Jack speaks. At length, the cat places the medical synopsis documents back. When he speaks, however, there is no anger. To most, the disconnect would be very eerie. "Nobody told me he was attacked. I was made to leave this man in the care of your guardsmen, denied the opportunity to keep him safe, and now it is revealed that he was injured under the watch of your companions?" The cat wanders over to the bedside where JR, despite his state, is secured to the bed. Grabbing and lifting part of the sheet, a peek is had beneath it. "Records don't indicate that he was injured by gunfire. I did hear a multi-discharge from outside after I was turned away and began to wonder." There's implication there of suspicion of firing upon a person under arrest. "The record doesn't say anything about an attack; only that he suffered asphyxiation and cardiac arrest which lead to a comatose state despite being otherwise healthy across the board. So. Who attacked him? I imagine he has many enemies, although they are not necessarily of my concern." Jack Hawksmoor shakes his head. "He was *not* attacked by our people. He was attacked by one of those things, so I thought you might have *some* insight into why they target who they target." He looks at the unconscious man. "No medical reason for him to be in a coma. I reckon he's afraid to wake up." "If that is the case, then all the more reason he should have been released to me when I had asked. Instead, I've been made to spend much time and effort in order to get him into my care -- only to now find this out? This, Detective, does not make it any better." "This is the opposite of better." There is a sigh, one mixed of agitation and disappointment, as the feline wanders over to the room's window, peels back the blinds, and peers out at what barely passes for a world for a moment. Perhaps a moment almost too long as to seem rude. There is a breath upon nails before they are buffed against the fabric of the front of that black coat. These nails, in turn, are displayed with a glint in the dim lighting as he holds that hand up and out to the side -- still fully facing away -- in gesture of emphasis. "But, I did already mention what I suspected. For the sake of ease, though, I'll repeat myself: the symptoms appear to be searching for those with special abilities. These are often the ones hurt the worst, from what I've discovered in my investigating." That hand falls to rest loosely against the feline man's hip. The reflection of his face can just be made out in the glass, although his amber eyes really are the details that stand out the most. "I believe there are those, so combined together, with abilities that can stop the spread of such symptoms, although that says nothing for the curing of the source." Jack Hawksmoor purses his lips. "Which means it's only a matter of time before they attack me. I *am* a threat to them." No arrogance. "I will note one thing...it took us forever to catch this guy, *please* don't let him get away." Hence the concern. "If there is one thing I can be very adamant about, Detective: I don't plan on letting him go free." The tall beast-faced fellow turns about on his heels with a flowing flutter of his cape. His arms rest akimbo and a light smirk with narrowed eyes punctuates his facial expressiveness. "If anything, I may be able to use this to my advantage. His papers show that he has been under care since the day he ran screaming to you and your guardsmen for help. He hasn't been attacked again in all this time. I somehow think the guard at the door would be ill-prepared to deal with such a sudden threat. That tells me something new." After all, being able to do nothing at all might be just as good as being dead, if death truly was the initial goal. And, as for the other matter? Jack nearly was fully attacked. The stranger stepped in to intervene before Hawksmoor had any direct contact. Jack Hawksmoor nods. "And I'd like to know what it tells you." His eyes glint red, just slightly, as he regards the cat. "I never caught your name." "It's quite simple: the best move to make is to keep him here. If he eventually rouses, reinduce coma. Keep him from being a target until I have a better understanding of which role he and others like him play in this game." With the stranger now technically handed over custody, that also means that he'll be footing any bills. Apparently, what he sees is enough. Not one to waste time unnecessarily, the figure walks toward Jack with the intention of passing him by to find his way out. "And, don't be silly. Any inquisitor worth their weight in G's would have checked the papers handed them for identification. Good day, Detective. Seek me once you've learned more. We'll share." "Of course, but that would have been impolite," Jack says, with a wry expression. He sees this one's game now. "We will talk later, Lynx." "Of that I am quite certain," replies the feline in clear amusement of Jack's visual reaction and includes a pause following the statement that accents the following word with a tint of intentional awkwardness, "Jack." | |
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