06-07-2014, 12:48 PM
Drayson was a man of detail. It was an important part of his job, after all. Dane's posture and mannerisms. His state of dress and choice of style; the man was well off, clearly. The cup of tea on the table was taken, registered. He'd glanced at the logs before entering the room, and no one had been within in hours now. Someone had brought him a cup recently, and not made note of it on the board by the door. He would have to look into that later. Such registries were kept for a reason, and although made rather moot by all the cameras and recorders that monitored the room, it was still standard operating procedure to note. "Thank you, Mr Gregory."
His shake was not one to demonstrate his physical prowess compared to the posh Lordling. Just enough to be firm without being painful. There was no need to be rude yet. "I need to better understand what happened on the train, and between yourself and Mr Little Bird."
---
Dane gestured that the Inspector take the other seat,and would not return to his own until he had. McCullough's request elicited all kinds of fond emotions within, but they hissed away, insignificant, behind the furnace of power churning inside. His smile was professional, but flat; a plastic doll had more life. "I apologize if I have been unclear in the many previous times I have told the story. Please do tell me Inspector if you need additional clarification."
Dane shifted in his seat enough to cross one leg over the other. The power ebbed distantly in the back of his mind. "Jon, as I believe his name is, sat next to me on the train when there were many other seats available. He was polite, but I think mistaken in his assessment of my sexual orientation. We spoke kindly until the train stopped and we each moved about the cabin to check on other passengers."
Dane bowed his head ever so slightly in a way that made his hair sheen and the angles of his face catch the light. Many hours of practice in front of a mirror, examining and scrutinizing every facet of his body taught him how to posture himself to glean what he wanted. At the moment, he wished to convey the delicacy that Jon, and almost everyone from his primary school, might have mistaken as homosexual. Of course he'd not actually suspected Jon of any such motivation, but the unfolding of subsequent events made for an easy tale.
"After the initial commotion faded, I struck up a conversation with Thalia. She's interesting, sweet, and attractive. I had hoped to ask for her number,"
his hands gestured with Dane's version of a shrug, but the glint in his eye was conveyed man-to-man. "When Jon realized I was speaking with her, he lost his mind."
----
So the Lordling thought he was in charge did he? Drayson paused in taking the seat briefly, by moving the warm cup of tea back to the table's center and out of his way. It had been placed as far from Dane as he could manage without it leaving the table entirely, so likely it offended him in some manner. When he did sit, his papers and files were placed and the button of his suit jacket was undone. Having one arm in a sling made it that everything seemed to need to be it's own dedicated action. "Well, Americans, yes? An arrogant sort."
The idea of Little Bird having a sudden emotional outburst, unjustified, did not seem to match the man's personality. So what was the cause that sparked the dispute between the two? Whatever it was, it seemed to have gone unseen by anyone on the train. "And what of Miss Chadova? The young woman that passed away."
---
Of course his gaze fell to the Inspector's sling. He openly studied it, quite obviously interested in inquiring about the nature of the injury, but polite men did not bring up such things that were none of their business. Why would he care about the dead girl? If he were less disciplined, he might have rolled his eyes. "I do not understand, sir. She was well one moment, and the next, seized and fell into a fit."
Dane's answer was flat, his irritation at having to discuss her veiled, yet likely still sensed by the Inspector. He did force himself to hold eye contact, however, and perhaps overcompensated in the gesture of seeming relatible.
---
Drayson nodded slightly, matching Dane's gaze as if searching for something, then seemed to accept his statement. It matched those made by the other witnesses, and Drayson had no reason to suspect that Dane had been in any way related to the girl's passing. That was not why he was interested in Dane, however. "Did you see Mr Little Bird strike his head when the train came to a stop? Or any sign of weakness before his sudden collapse?"
-----
Dane's expression changed somewhat. He was clearly thinking through the sequence of events and lining them up with what the Inspector was suggesting. "I saw no such thing, sir. We were seated next to one another when the train came to its stop. We ensured the other was well then moved about the cabin to see to the well-being of others. As I said before."
There was a glimmer in Dane's voice that gave his answer confidence. He suspected the Inspector was trying to corner him into misquoting his own story; which would then brand him a liar and suspect. "I did not see him fall directly. I was pushed down in the panic over the Sickness."
---
He nodded again, making a written note on one of his papers. "It's refreshing to have a witness that hasn't confused everything in the panic."
He turned a page over; he generally preferred the tactile interaction with paper rather then more efficient computers and Wallet systems. "In the confusion, some passengers claim to have seen something outside the train. Can you shed any light on what they may be talking about?"
---
Paper? Really? Dane watched him scratch notes, amused in the way of watching a child fiddle with crayons. The man was archaic, tired, and sadly out of touch. He matched the dilapidated atmosphere; this cement coffin was his, not Dane's. "I think we, myself included, saw nothing but strange shadows cast by the emergency lighting system."
Quickly growing bored with the anticlimatic turn of this conversation, his eyes fell to the tea. It was already cooled from where Dane's powers reheated it. What would happen if he twined the same heated cords through the inside of the Inspector's chest? Would his heart boil?
---
He nodded and scratched the paper again with his pen, and glanced up from under his brow as Dane's gaze lowered to the cup. He studied it with an unusual intensity, and he wondered a moment just what the man was thinking. But those thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and an officer opened the door to lean in, "Chief Inspector? You're needed."
He nodded and gave Dane an apologetic nod, "This should not take long, Mr Gregory."
Then stood, collecting his papers and such and moved back to the hallway, the door closing behind him to leave Dane alone once more.
---
Dane followed the Inspector's retreat, then shifted slightly to study the adjacent glass wall. The Inspector was likely on the other side speaking with his minions about dreadfully dull lines of evidence. In the interim, Dane busied himself by reheating the cup of tea. It would be steaming once more, smoldering in the way he pictured the Inspector's skin would given the same treatment, when the man returned.
---
Drayson didn't make it as far as the mirrored room. The results of the hair samples had come back, and one had indeed been identified as Jon Little Bird. The other however...reports and evidence files were accessed from his Wallet, and Drayson was absent near an hour from the room as he read up on the unsolved case.
A young woman had been found near death in the woods outside the city. Barely conscious, and incoherent even in her more lucid moments. She had been tortured, for weeks by the state of her various injuries and physical state. Missing persons reports had been filed of course, and he read on those as well. Her name, her birthdate, what school she went to.
Her own criminal record; a speeding ticket and a parking ticket, both paid in due order and no other indications of trouble. She had rambled something about magic in her dying moments, or so the witnesses that had found the poor girl had said when interviewed. That stuck out most in his mind, thanks to the recent conversation with Alric, and with the run-in with that drug maker, Vladimir. The incident at the metro control station. Far too common lately for his liking. When Drayson returned to the room, there was no polite warning knock. He simply entered, and was joined by two uniformed officers who stood in opposite corners of the room; one in Dane's line of sight, the other behind him.
When Drayson sat, there were far more paper files in his stack, and his Wallet was set on the tabletop as well. A few deft taps and various screens appeared, oriented that Dane could glean nothing of their meaning. "Mr. Gregory. When you were found on the train, you had locks of hair in your pockets. Can you explain where those came from?"
---
Time ticked on, and only by virtue of the expensive timepiece on his wrist, a demonstration of status still habitually displayed by the british upper class, had he any knowledge of the passage of time.
The Inspector was needed, Dane surmised, to teach the other imbeciles in the station how to write with pen and paper, most likely. Some wretched soul likely filled their days translating the Inspector's shoddy handwriting into digital format. He should at least use digital Flypaper.
Over the hour, he moved quite little. Without paper and pencil of his own, agents had confiscated his little drawing kit as well, he fiddled with the tendrils of the power. The aimless shapes did nothing but entertain him, and for all purposes, he seemingly stared into mid air for no reason at all.
The lines faded when three men entered the room. Dane watched the first round the periphery and take up sentry behind him. The second, a pot-bellied man with a wedged nose went to another corner.
He looked up the long distance to the Chief Inspector. Dane's look took on one of surprise. His eyes widened, his brows lifted, and the corners of his mouth pressed tight together. "Did I?"
He asked, tone light-hearted.
---
Drayson studied Dane for a moment, "Miss Elena Campos went missing three months ago. You have a lock of her hair, Mr Gregory. I need to know how you knew her, and when you last saw her, if we are going to find the ones who took her."
He pulled up an image of her, provided by her parents and the last known photo of the dead woman, but watched Dane for his reaction. It was a simple gambit; giving Mr Gregory a chance to reveal what details he did or did not know of the case and of the woman. If he were to find what had happened to her, it would be through Dane likely.
---
Mockingbird was quite aware of the predicament he could soon face. The holoscreen popped up, and with it, Dane's gaze drifted. He knew the woman's face, of course. He'd hovered quite close to it many times. He watched in awe as tears spilled from the corners of those beautiful eyes. "She's pretty,"
Dane replied.
"What'd you say her name is?"
He returned his gaze to the Inspector. Mockingbird knew her name; but Dane did not. Mockingbird gathered she must have crawled out of her new home; but Dane didn't know she was dead. Good riddance, bitch.
---
The man showed no immediate outward reaction to the image. He struck a key and the next that appeared was of what was left of the woman when she had been found. "I have men searching the area she was found. She was held somewhere for these past few weeks, and I suspect once the place is found, there shall be ample evidence to link to whomever did this to her."
The cup of tea was in the same location as before, but once more brought to a fresh boil. If this man turned out to be one of these people that Alric had warned him of, what was Drayson going to do with him?
---
Dane outwardly had no reaction to the gruesome body if perhaps he was slightly too interested in the specifics of her condition. "Good luck with your search, sir."
Dane glanced at the two officers. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
He was quite ready to leave without being arrested. They had no proof linking Dane to illegal activities. He stood, "I'm sorry to ask, but I'd like to leave."
---
"Actually, you won't be leaving any time soon, Mr Gregory."
Drayson stood up. The man was far too neutral in his responses. Practiced. There was little he could hold Mr Gregory on at the moment...asides a pending of charges from Mr Little Bird, that is. "You shall be shown to a cell. Mr Little Bird may wish to press assault charges when he wakes up. And until you can provide me with a good excuse for Miss Campos' hair in your pocket. Or my men find where she was held."
He would contact Alric, and see what he had to say about Mr Gregory. Drayson could only hope for the moment the Lordling didn't decide he wanted to show himself out.
---
The Inspector suggested Jon would press charges against Dane? His gaze narrowed at that; Dane should be the one pressing charges against Jon. As did he react similarly to the suggestion of a new home of his own. The four walls seemingly collapsed, cement blocks transforming into bars in his mind. His reply was quiet.
The two officers approached, one on either side. Dane looked first to one, then the other. The power that boiled the tea curled on the air behind their heads, but he could not guess he would be fast enough to do aside with all three and escape the building without facing more than he could handle.
The Chief Inspector watched, wary. Dane licked his lips. They had no proof of his involvement with that dead bitch aside circumstantial evidence. The hair could have come from her brush, from clippings at a salon, or willingly given as a memento of love-making. A night, maybe two in jail, alone and unmolested by other cell-mates, might be tolerable...
And then a weight pressed on one shoulder. The other grabbed his other arm. They pulled him to his feet and in moments was wrangling him around the side of the table. Dane jerked his arms free, "I don't like to be touched,"
he warned, but one smirked in response and made to cuff him.
"Stop!"
He tore his arms away and hopped to the side, the power shoved the man back, and Dane spun, finding himself facing the Inspector.
---
Dane's calm exterior began to fracture like the poor quality porcelain it was. He had hoped he had been wrong about the man; that maybe he was just some arrogant, daft fool with no connection to the missing girl asides a pleasant past encounter. He still had no evidence to the contrary. Nothing that would stand up in court, anyway.
His officers moved to cuff him, and then that porcelain finally cracked. Mr Gregory's calm was gone, thrashing away from the officer with the cuffs, and with one look the officer was thrown back. The boiled cup came back to mind. The fired metro worker. The drug dealer.
Drayson met Dane's eyes as the man wheeled to face him, staring down at the Lordling as his good arm came up and forward. His stance shifted, lining his body sideways to Dane, such that the brunt of his weight was put behind the blow, a classic boxing stance, his torso twisted and threw his arm forward, his weight held on his rear most leg and stepped into the blow. He had always favoured boxing over the other martial arts styles. It was classical, stylish, and most importantly, favoured his large size and reach.
His shake was not one to demonstrate his physical prowess compared to the posh Lordling. Just enough to be firm without being painful. There was no need to be rude yet. "I need to better understand what happened on the train, and between yourself and Mr Little Bird."
---
Dane gestured that the Inspector take the other seat,and would not return to his own until he had. McCullough's request elicited all kinds of fond emotions within, but they hissed away, insignificant, behind the furnace of power churning inside. His smile was professional, but flat; a plastic doll had more life. "I apologize if I have been unclear in the many previous times I have told the story. Please do tell me Inspector if you need additional clarification."
Dane shifted in his seat enough to cross one leg over the other. The power ebbed distantly in the back of his mind. "Jon, as I believe his name is, sat next to me on the train when there were many other seats available. He was polite, but I think mistaken in his assessment of my sexual orientation. We spoke kindly until the train stopped and we each moved about the cabin to check on other passengers."
Dane bowed his head ever so slightly in a way that made his hair sheen and the angles of his face catch the light. Many hours of practice in front of a mirror, examining and scrutinizing every facet of his body taught him how to posture himself to glean what he wanted. At the moment, he wished to convey the delicacy that Jon, and almost everyone from his primary school, might have mistaken as homosexual. Of course he'd not actually suspected Jon of any such motivation, but the unfolding of subsequent events made for an easy tale.
"After the initial commotion faded, I struck up a conversation with Thalia. She's interesting, sweet, and attractive. I had hoped to ask for her number,"
his hands gestured with Dane's version of a shrug, but the glint in his eye was conveyed man-to-man. "When Jon realized I was speaking with her, he lost his mind."
----
So the Lordling thought he was in charge did he? Drayson paused in taking the seat briefly, by moving the warm cup of tea back to the table's center and out of his way. It had been placed as far from Dane as he could manage without it leaving the table entirely, so likely it offended him in some manner. When he did sit, his papers and files were placed and the button of his suit jacket was undone. Having one arm in a sling made it that everything seemed to need to be it's own dedicated action. "Well, Americans, yes? An arrogant sort."
The idea of Little Bird having a sudden emotional outburst, unjustified, did not seem to match the man's personality. So what was the cause that sparked the dispute between the two? Whatever it was, it seemed to have gone unseen by anyone on the train. "And what of Miss Chadova? The young woman that passed away."
---
Of course his gaze fell to the Inspector's sling. He openly studied it, quite obviously interested in inquiring about the nature of the injury, but polite men did not bring up such things that were none of their business. Why would he care about the dead girl? If he were less disciplined, he might have rolled his eyes. "I do not understand, sir. She was well one moment, and the next, seized and fell into a fit."
Dane's answer was flat, his irritation at having to discuss her veiled, yet likely still sensed by the Inspector. He did force himself to hold eye contact, however, and perhaps overcompensated in the gesture of seeming relatible.
---
Drayson nodded slightly, matching Dane's gaze as if searching for something, then seemed to accept his statement. It matched those made by the other witnesses, and Drayson had no reason to suspect that Dane had been in any way related to the girl's passing. That was not why he was interested in Dane, however. "Did you see Mr Little Bird strike his head when the train came to a stop? Or any sign of weakness before his sudden collapse?"
-----
Dane's expression changed somewhat. He was clearly thinking through the sequence of events and lining them up with what the Inspector was suggesting. "I saw no such thing, sir. We were seated next to one another when the train came to its stop. We ensured the other was well then moved about the cabin to see to the well-being of others. As I said before."
There was a glimmer in Dane's voice that gave his answer confidence. He suspected the Inspector was trying to corner him into misquoting his own story; which would then brand him a liar and suspect. "I did not see him fall directly. I was pushed down in the panic over the Sickness."
---
He nodded again, making a written note on one of his papers. "It's refreshing to have a witness that hasn't confused everything in the panic."
He turned a page over; he generally preferred the tactile interaction with paper rather then more efficient computers and Wallet systems. "In the confusion, some passengers claim to have seen something outside the train. Can you shed any light on what they may be talking about?"
---
Paper? Really? Dane watched him scratch notes, amused in the way of watching a child fiddle with crayons. The man was archaic, tired, and sadly out of touch. He matched the dilapidated atmosphere; this cement coffin was his, not Dane's. "I think we, myself included, saw nothing but strange shadows cast by the emergency lighting system."
Quickly growing bored with the anticlimatic turn of this conversation, his eyes fell to the tea. It was already cooled from where Dane's powers reheated it. What would happen if he twined the same heated cords through the inside of the Inspector's chest? Would his heart boil?
---
He nodded and scratched the paper again with his pen, and glanced up from under his brow as Dane's gaze lowered to the cup. He studied it with an unusual intensity, and he wondered a moment just what the man was thinking. But those thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and an officer opened the door to lean in, "Chief Inspector? You're needed."
He nodded and gave Dane an apologetic nod, "This should not take long, Mr Gregory."
Then stood, collecting his papers and such and moved back to the hallway, the door closing behind him to leave Dane alone once more.
---
Dane followed the Inspector's retreat, then shifted slightly to study the adjacent glass wall. The Inspector was likely on the other side speaking with his minions about dreadfully dull lines of evidence. In the interim, Dane busied himself by reheating the cup of tea. It would be steaming once more, smoldering in the way he pictured the Inspector's skin would given the same treatment, when the man returned.
---
Drayson didn't make it as far as the mirrored room. The results of the hair samples had come back, and one had indeed been identified as Jon Little Bird. The other however...reports and evidence files were accessed from his Wallet, and Drayson was absent near an hour from the room as he read up on the unsolved case.
A young woman had been found near death in the woods outside the city. Barely conscious, and incoherent even in her more lucid moments. She had been tortured, for weeks by the state of her various injuries and physical state. Missing persons reports had been filed of course, and he read on those as well. Her name, her birthdate, what school she went to.
Her own criminal record; a speeding ticket and a parking ticket, both paid in due order and no other indications of trouble. She had rambled something about magic in her dying moments, or so the witnesses that had found the poor girl had said when interviewed. That stuck out most in his mind, thanks to the recent conversation with Alric, and with the run-in with that drug maker, Vladimir. The incident at the metro control station. Far too common lately for his liking. When Drayson returned to the room, there was no polite warning knock. He simply entered, and was joined by two uniformed officers who stood in opposite corners of the room; one in Dane's line of sight, the other behind him.
When Drayson sat, there were far more paper files in his stack, and his Wallet was set on the tabletop as well. A few deft taps and various screens appeared, oriented that Dane could glean nothing of their meaning. "Mr. Gregory. When you were found on the train, you had locks of hair in your pockets. Can you explain where those came from?"
---
Time ticked on, and only by virtue of the expensive timepiece on his wrist, a demonstration of status still habitually displayed by the british upper class, had he any knowledge of the passage of time.
The Inspector was needed, Dane surmised, to teach the other imbeciles in the station how to write with pen and paper, most likely. Some wretched soul likely filled their days translating the Inspector's shoddy handwriting into digital format. He should at least use digital Flypaper.
Over the hour, he moved quite little. Without paper and pencil of his own, agents had confiscated his little drawing kit as well, he fiddled with the tendrils of the power. The aimless shapes did nothing but entertain him, and for all purposes, he seemingly stared into mid air for no reason at all.
The lines faded when three men entered the room. Dane watched the first round the periphery and take up sentry behind him. The second, a pot-bellied man with a wedged nose went to another corner.
He looked up the long distance to the Chief Inspector. Dane's look took on one of surprise. His eyes widened, his brows lifted, and the corners of his mouth pressed tight together. "Did I?"
He asked, tone light-hearted.
---
Drayson studied Dane for a moment, "Miss Elena Campos went missing three months ago. You have a lock of her hair, Mr Gregory. I need to know how you knew her, and when you last saw her, if we are going to find the ones who took her."
He pulled up an image of her, provided by her parents and the last known photo of the dead woman, but watched Dane for his reaction. It was a simple gambit; giving Mr Gregory a chance to reveal what details he did or did not know of the case and of the woman. If he were to find what had happened to her, it would be through Dane likely.
---
Mockingbird was quite aware of the predicament he could soon face. The holoscreen popped up, and with it, Dane's gaze drifted. He knew the woman's face, of course. He'd hovered quite close to it many times. He watched in awe as tears spilled from the corners of those beautiful eyes. "She's pretty,"
Dane replied.
"What'd you say her name is?"
He returned his gaze to the Inspector. Mockingbird knew her name; but Dane did not. Mockingbird gathered she must have crawled out of her new home; but Dane didn't know she was dead. Good riddance, bitch.
---
The man showed no immediate outward reaction to the image. He struck a key and the next that appeared was of what was left of the woman when she had been found. "I have men searching the area she was found. She was held somewhere for these past few weeks, and I suspect once the place is found, there shall be ample evidence to link to whomever did this to her."
The cup of tea was in the same location as before, but once more brought to a fresh boil. If this man turned out to be one of these people that Alric had warned him of, what was Drayson going to do with him?
---
Dane outwardly had no reaction to the gruesome body if perhaps he was slightly too interested in the specifics of her condition. "Good luck with your search, sir."
Dane glanced at the two officers. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
He was quite ready to leave without being arrested. They had no proof linking Dane to illegal activities. He stood, "I'm sorry to ask, but I'd like to leave."
---
"Actually, you won't be leaving any time soon, Mr Gregory."
Drayson stood up. The man was far too neutral in his responses. Practiced. There was little he could hold Mr Gregory on at the moment...asides a pending of charges from Mr Little Bird, that is. "You shall be shown to a cell. Mr Little Bird may wish to press assault charges when he wakes up. And until you can provide me with a good excuse for Miss Campos' hair in your pocket. Or my men find where she was held."
He would contact Alric, and see what he had to say about Mr Gregory. Drayson could only hope for the moment the Lordling didn't decide he wanted to show himself out.
---
The Inspector suggested Jon would press charges against Dane? His gaze narrowed at that; Dane should be the one pressing charges against Jon. As did he react similarly to the suggestion of a new home of his own. The four walls seemingly collapsed, cement blocks transforming into bars in his mind. His reply was quiet.
The two officers approached, one on either side. Dane looked first to one, then the other. The power that boiled the tea curled on the air behind their heads, but he could not guess he would be fast enough to do aside with all three and escape the building without facing more than he could handle.
The Chief Inspector watched, wary. Dane licked his lips. They had no proof of his involvement with that dead bitch aside circumstantial evidence. The hair could have come from her brush, from clippings at a salon, or willingly given as a memento of love-making. A night, maybe two in jail, alone and unmolested by other cell-mates, might be tolerable...
And then a weight pressed on one shoulder. The other grabbed his other arm. They pulled him to his feet and in moments was wrangling him around the side of the table. Dane jerked his arms free, "I don't like to be touched,"
he warned, but one smirked in response and made to cuff him.
"Stop!"
He tore his arms away and hopped to the side, the power shoved the man back, and Dane spun, finding himself facing the Inspector.
---
Dane's calm exterior began to fracture like the poor quality porcelain it was. He had hoped he had been wrong about the man; that maybe he was just some arrogant, daft fool with no connection to the missing girl asides a pleasant past encounter. He still had no evidence to the contrary. Nothing that would stand up in court, anyway.
His officers moved to cuff him, and then that porcelain finally cracked. Mr Gregory's calm was gone, thrashing away from the officer with the cuffs, and with one look the officer was thrown back. The boiled cup came back to mind. The fired metro worker. The drug dealer.
Drayson met Dane's eyes as the man wheeled to face him, staring down at the Lordling as his good arm came up and forward. His stance shifted, lining his body sideways to Dane, such that the brunt of his weight was put behind the blow, a classic boxing stance, his torso twisted and threw his arm forward, his weight held on his rear most leg and stepped into the blow. He had always favoured boxing over the other martial arts styles. It was classical, stylish, and most importantly, favoured his large size and reach.