Erik and the Cops

[hazlogs]

[Scene: The jail.]

It is currently 18:24 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 30 1997.
Currently on this windy and cold spring evening in the general St. Claire
area, it is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6.1 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming
from the north-northwest at 20.4 mph. The ground is wet and it is raining.
Skies are overcast with a definite chance of precipitation.

Officer Paolin strolls through on desk duty, counting prisoners.
Erik sits in the jail cell he was put in, knees pulled up to his chest and
looking rather pathetic, really.
Officer Paolin stops at the spectacle of one lone prisoner in a mask, huddled
in a corner, while every other prisoner in the holding cells is as far from
him as humanly possible, all apparently unaware of the phenomenon. He looks
through his clip-board, and checks names, then continues on for a bit, now
thoughtful.
Erik glances up, lifting his head to glance at the officer who walks by.
Officer Paolin's wits slowly process this mystery. It's probably nothing. Just
a bad smell, or... He returns, after a bit, to stand opposite the cell.
"Prisoner Erik Daae, step forward."
Erik hesitates, then rises slowly and moves toward the bars of the cell, his
body language tense.
Officer Paolin repeats the process he has gone through with prisoners named
alphabetically 'A' through 'C'. "Are you represented by counsel?"
Erik shakes his head, mutely.
Officer Paolin says "Prisoner must answer 'Yes'or 'No.' Do you understand the
question?"
Erik sighs. "Yes." The accent's faint at the moment, only barely perceiveable.
Officer Paolin nods, matter-of-factly. "Prisoner understands," he notes, going
through his survey. "Has a public defender visited with you since your
incarceration, Prisoner Daee?"
Erik shoves his hands into his coat pockets. "No, sir," he says softly.
Officer Paolin taps his badge with his pen. "Constable, not 'sir'," he
corrects, placidly. "Do you understand the nature of the charges against
you?"
Erik gazes at the cop for a moment with raw green eyes. "No, constable."
Officer Paolin blinks at this. He finally looks up. "You do not understand the
language of the charges, or you do not understand your rights?" He raises a
finger, lest the very literal prisoner begin do answer. "Do you understand
the language?"
Erik closes his eyes; the odd-looking man seems to excel at patient
long-suffering. "I understand the language. I have had my... rights read to
me."
Officer Paolin says "Do you understand your rights?"
Officer Paolin taps his pen on his clip-board, waiting for the prisoner to
answer his question, growing impatient.
Erik shifts his weight from one foot to the other and repeats, in a slightly
louder voice, "I've had my rights read t' me, constable."
Officer Paolin repeats himself. "Do you understand" and the stress on this
word makes it clear he feels he's addressing an imbecile "your rights?"
Erik stiffens, clearly on-edge, and the brogue gets a bit thicker. "Aye."
Officer Paolin peers up, now, irked by something in the man's tone. "Would you
explain the mask?"
Erik lowers his head slightly, the tall body tensing. "Medical reasons."
Officer Paolin looks critically at the mask. "Remove it."
Erik takes a step back. "No."
Officer Paolin says "Would you prefer I brought in a staff medic to inspect
and validate your medical claim?""
Erik's hands clench into fists inside his coat pockets. He doesn't answer.

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (52% full).

Officer Paolin sighs. "Fella, there is nothing you have that I haven't seen.
You do understand that a reasonable search of your person and your effects
is required, for your own protection?"
Erik breathes very slowly and deeply, trembling slightly. A couple of the more
weaselly-looking prisoners eye him with slightly greater alarm. "You've
already ta'en those," he says, the Irish lilt thick. "Wha' more d'ye want
from me?"
Officer Paolin says "Relax, fella. I'm here to protect your rights, not
violate them. Do you require medical attention, yes or no?""
Erik shivers, holding himself still with great effort. "No."
Officer Paolin closes his clipboard, and looks around at the uneasy prisoners,
hardening his features. Each one in turn looks away, something in the beefy
Detroiter's manner warning of physical peril. Finally, he walks to the
corner of Erik's cell furthest from listeners, and, standing outside,
gestures to the masked man to move toward him. He softens that withering
mask of his own somewhat, now.
Erik hesitates, then follows, his steps tense and wary, shoulders hunched as
if expecting a blow.
Officer Paolin keeps his voice low. "Geez, fella, get a grip. You don't stink
of booze, and if you're hooked on smack you don't look that, either. You got
anyone you can call in town to bail you out? Worst I can see on you is a
bench warrant for failure to have proper papers, if you just cooperate a
little."
Erik watches Paolin with the wary eyes of a dog that's been kicked far too
many times. "I ha' a bed at the Regan Hope Project."
Officer Paolin's eyes narrow. "Regan? Will the honcho there vouch for you?"
Erik hesitates a moment, nods once, then shrugs.
Officer Paolin nods. "Okay, I'm sticking my neck out, but I'll make a call on
my personal time, and see if there's someone at the Project who can speak
for you. They should be able to get you a lawyer. Meantime, no trouble from
you. You make me look bad, and trust me, you'll regret it."
Erik nods carefully, the deep-set eyes still expecting the worst.
Officer Paolin steps back, and returns to his conversational level. "Prisoner
Evans, step forward."
Erik shuffles back to his place on the bench to find it's been taken by a
grizzly-like thug. The thug eyes Erik warily for a moment before the Metis
simply moves off to an isolated corner.
Officer Paolin continues on his rounds, making every prisoner answer pointless
questions.

[Later on, Paolin (Vincent) calls the Regan Hope Project, and Thomas
answers.]

Ayesha> Thomas stiffens abruptly and his expression flattens with dislike.
After a moment he tells the phone, "Yes, I think I know the person you're
talking about. He's been here for week or so, I think. Maybe more. What's
the problem?" His tone seems to indicate that he thinks it fully possible
that the problem is simply the person on the other end of the line.
Ayesha> Ayesha' tail continues to lash as the tempramental Siamese cats
watches Piddles.
Ayesha> Thomas relaxes slightly, almost grudgingly. He says, "I'll come down,"
though it is clear that the prospect gives him no pleasure at all. Constable
Paolin, you said?"
Ayesha> Piddles evidently decides that PB&J is too much trouble and settles
back into his chair with a long, loud yawn that exhibits his exceptional
teeth and curling tongue.
Ayesha> Ayesha arches her back, fur bristling. She hisses at Piddles.
Ayesha> Thomas nods stiffly, though his interlocutor cannot see the
concession. "All right. Thank you for calling. I'll be there as quickly as I
can." He glances around, startled by Ayesha's hiss, obviously on edge.
Ayesha> Piddles shuts his mouth with a snap and looks around at the source of
the hissing. His eyes narrow and he starts a low growl.
Ayesha> The bristled-out brown tail lashes back and forth as the cat stares at
Piddles, long claws digging into the floor, ears back, mouth gaping and
showing needle-sharp teeth.
Ayesha> Thomas moves forward to the extent that the cord will allow him and
whispers furiously at the cat and man alike, "Stop it!" He rounds on
Piddles. "Only /dogs/ squabble with cats," he says meaningfully. "Not
/people/."
Ayesha> Piddles stops short in mid-growl and blinks at Thomas. There is a
fleeting moment of huge brown eyes looking somewhat hurt... eyes that
properly belong on a Cocker Spaniel... but they are overcome immediately by
whatever Pid uses for common sense and he straightens up in his seat and
looks away from the cat, almost resentfully.
Ayesha> Thomas makes a quick flapping motion in Ayesha's direction.
Ayesha> Ayesha mrowls loudly and leaps up onto the kitchen counter. There she
sits down primly, tail curled about her hauncehs, and washes her face.
Ayesha> Thomas sighs.
Ayesha> Thomas mutters very quietly, "This is ridiculous."
Ayesha> Ayesha licks one chocolate paw and rubs it across her face, apparently
paying no attention to Pid /or/ Thomas.
Ayesha> Piddles stands up and starts wandering aimlessly around the room.
Ayesha> Thomas nods again and hangs up, giving the phone a black look. THen he
sighs, and turns toward Piddles. "I need to go. SOmeone who might be a
possible friend of yours, who also lives here, /has/ managed to get in
trouble with the police. God knows how. I'm going down to try to help the
poor bastard."
Ayesha> Piddles nods. "Bad cop, no donut," he says simply.
Ayesha> Thomas catches /that/ one mid stride and stops, gaping slightly. Then
he murmurs, "As you say," and heads back to the main room, getting a jacket,
putting away his borrowed desk and reams of papers, and gathering up Emrys
before he heads out into the damp evening.
Ayesha> Ayesha gives Piddles a few cold looks, but otherwise leaves him be.
Ayesha> Piddles wanders out to find himself a bed, but pauses long enough to
strategically position himself behind the washing Ayesha and let out one
sudden, loud BARK!!!!
Ayesha> Ayesha springs into action, yowling, fur bottling out, claws
unsheathed. The cat races from the kitchen in a blur of feline speed.
Ayesha> Piddles sighs contentedly and goes to find himself a place to sleep.