maskormenacelogs

Entry tags:

OPEN

WHO: JAIME REYES and OPEN to any visitors or fellow jailbirds!
WHERE: Prison!
WHEN: May 30th - whenever the possessed criminals get released!
WHAT: Jaime's just one more person who's fallen victim to Yomiel's little crime-spree, and he's pretty unhappy about it. Pay him a visit, come and pry, or commiserate over shared fates.
WARNINGS: None for now!

[As it turns out, "a ghost possessed me and made me break into your building" isn't an excuse that flies in the face of some very unhappy looking policemen. Jaime hadn't really thought it would, but not only is it the truth, but it's the only thing he could come up with. For all intents and purposes, it looks as if he intentionally broke into a government building, trashed a window, got into their files, turned off the power to the entire building and trashed one of their offices just for kicks - and in all fairness, he only did three of those things, but he thinks it's quite understandable, given the circumstances.

When it comes to dangerous criminals, Jaime doesn't fit the bill, and he knows it. He's about as intimidating as a damp paper towel, and he hasn't given anyone any reason to believe that he's anything but another teenaged imPort, one that's probably a little more normal than the rest. What he doesn't realize is that his current appearance doesn't help his case much - he's got the beginnings of a shiner and a few more bruises here and there, courtesy of Yomiel, and he's more angry than he is upset or scared.

The really sobering thing about all this - beyond the fact that yeah, it's pretty chilling to lose control of your own body - is that he doesn't know what to do, or who to call. At home, he knows exactly where he'd go. He has friends and family to turn to, connections to the cape community to ask for help, the Teen Titans to notice his absence, and one seriously magical sort-of girlfriend to ask about ghostly possessions. Here, he's made acquaintances here and there, but nobody he can think of calling from inside a jail cell. The only person he could think of was Booster, and as it turns out, he's nowhere to be found.

Jaime leans back in the slab-like seating afforded to them and sighs. In the absence of anyone telling him not to, he prods irritably at his bruised eye, wishing it wouldn't be too suspicious to use the Scarab to just heal the thing overnight.

This sucks.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Coincidences were like burned coffee beans. A few add flavor... too many become overpowering and the only thing you can notice in the blend. And there have been far too many coincidences around here lately.

Too many Imports getting arrested for uncharacteristic crimes. Too many suspects who didn't remember anything about what happened, or at least were using that as their excuse. Far, far too many similarities between their stories.

He and ~~Trite~~ Wright had been pursuing this on the side, sort of a little hobby. Back then, he'd said something profound-- that unless they got to the bottom of things, there would be more Cameron Sutters in Heropa. Maybe Wright had a knack for prophecy.

Jaime will be escorted into the visitor's room, where the man in the glowing mask is already waiting for him in a chair, a stack of papers in his hands.]

Mr. Reyes. My name is Mr. Godot. I'll be the public defender in charge of your case, unless you hire a private attorney between now and your trial.

Have a seat. Let's chat.

[While Shinjiro was familiar enough with stations and holding cells-- jail was a whole different matter. And while he hadn't been there long, it didn't take him long to keep his head down and listen around, trailing some bullshitting back and forth between inmates to something that sounded all-too-familiar:

Some teenage import targeting a government building. Claims of mental innocence. (Guards and inmates are only human, after all, and scarce as the info is, it's still gossiped and joked quietly, just as his own crime was.) Enough to string together some faint hopes that there would be something to it besides just some shitty vandal or whatever.

So in the time they're allowed to meander (though hardly freely, always under some kind of watch) he approaches the small cell he'd been directed to. And whatever he was expecting, it sure as hell wasn't one of his housemates.]

--Shit, you here too? [The surprise overrides any cool, no-fucks-given attitude he might have pretended to have, brows creasing in the middle as he stands up a bit straighter.]

[Everything about this entire experience has been utterly surreal. Despite working amicably alongside the police for quite some time now, the processes behind-the-scenes have remained a total mystery to Jaime, and being escorted to see his lawyer still feels like something out of a movie. It's not a movie, however, and no movie that Jaime's ever seen has featured a lawyer dressed quite like this. What is that thing...?

He hovers reluctantly in the entrance of the room for a moment before finally shuffling forward and awkwardly sitting in the chair across from him.]

Um. Hi.

[Jaime's hands fidget nervously in his lap as he resists the temptation to peer over at that stack of papers. He figures he ought to be launching into his story by now, but he has no idea what the protocol for this is, so instead he just sits there and waits for Godot to take the lead.]

Shinjiro?

[Jaime gapes openly at Shinjiro before rising to his feet and walking towards the guy. Shinjiro's not someone that Jaime would describe as wholesome, but he's not the type of seedy he expects to see in prison. Truth be told, he reminds Jaime of the Posse; he probably doesn't tread on the right side of the law one hundred percent of the time, but he's probably not doing anything that terrible either.

He regards Shinjiro with a healthy amount of disbelief, half-expecting this to be some sort of joke. What were the chances of this happening?]

What are you doing here?

[Elsa's been here a few days, and frankly she's looking for anything to distract her from her own miserable existence in her cell. She's been moved to her own for the safety of other prisoners as she keeps coating the walls and floor in a thin layer of ice, flakes swirling in the air. She's starting to get tired of explaining to every new shift of guards that no, she really can't do anything about it.

She could try to escape, but where would that get her? The whole exercise seems pointless, so she can only sit quietly and await her fate.

The boy, at least, is something of a distraction.]

Rubbing at it like that will only make it worse.

As your attorney, it's important that you understand I represent your best interests. If there's any part of this you don't understand or have questions about, feel free to ask.

[At least Godot doesn't seem very tense. His whole demeanor is laid-back and calm, and there's a serene smile on his face seemingly permanently.

That, and the cup of coffee he seems to be enjoying so well.]

So before we get into the sticky part- you might as well tell me a little about yourself.

[Jaime has plenty of questions, but none of them are ones he's willing to voice, not yet. The main question on his mind is how do you expect to get me out of this one? He's no lawyer, but he figures that even the best lawyers would have a hard time putting a case together out of something like this.]

Okay.

[He figures that Godot's just going through the pleasantries, but when it comes to talking about himself in this sort of situation, he has to admit that he's at something of a loss.]

What did you want to know?

Your name is Jaime Reyes, you're 16, you're an Import. That's all I've got so far.

[He sets the stack of files down on the little ledge provided on his side of the visiting booth, then kicks back in his chair to get more comfortable.

And to take another sip of his coffee.]

Where are you from? How's your family? What's your favorite color? The list is long.

[Jaime's hand falls away from his face almost automatically at Elsa's interjection, and he grimaces as he says,] Yeah, I know.

[That certainly hasn't stopped him from doing it in the first place. Once he looks up, the first thing that would usually catch his attention is that Elsa really doesn't resemble any criminal that Jaime's ever seen, but he's duly distracted by the sheen of ice that surrounds the surface around her.]

Whoa. Are... you okay?

[He's pretty sure she's not doing that on purpose, or else she'd be doing something, anything beyond just sitting there, as trapped as he is.]

[Those questions, he can do.]

Well... I'm from El Paso. That's in Texas, right by the border - they've got one in this world too. My family's obviously not here, but y'know, they're good. Mom, Dad, little sister. [He shrugs.] My mom's a nurse, and my dad's a mechanic.

[As normal as normal can be, really. This still isn't where he had anticipated this little question and answer session going - he had imagined nothing more than another grilling for the hard, cold facts of the case.]

Why are you asking, anyway?

Your version of America sounds similar to mine, then.

[He nods as Jaime speaks, still drinking slowly from his coffee cup. After about two questions, he runs out of coffee. Setting his mug up on the ledge, he goes for... yes, that is a Thermos at his waist, and pours himself a refill.]

Never serve a cup of coffee without knowing what it tastes like. That's one of my rules.

[He is apparently satisfied that that answers his question.]

[She winces a little, glancing around at it.]

Yes. That... don't worry about it.

[She sits up a little straighter, tugging on her gloves even though they're already pulled up as far as they will go.]

So... what are you in for?

[She can't believe she's having this conversation.]

[Jaime stares in relative disbelief as Godot goes for more coffee. He can understand liking the stuff, but Jaime's pretty sure that if he drank that much in a day, he'd practically be vibrating out of his skin.

And then there's the coffee metaphor, which he doesn't try all that hard to parse out. He's tired and worried and is woefully equipped to try puzzling out what his lawyer is getting at.]

I'm not following.

[Jaime's not so sure that she is okay, but he's willing to take her at her word for it. Besides, even if she isn't doing well, what's he going to do, break out of jail to help her?

He ducks his head at her question with a low laugh, though it's not at all a happy sound.]

Man. Never thought anyone would be asking me that. [He scuffs the heel of his foot against the ground and looks back up at her.] Officially, I'm in for breaking in and entering. [The way he says it suggests that there's far more to the story than that, but he's quick to turn the question back at her.] How about you?

I mean that it's important I get to know you before we stand in court.

[The amount of coffee Godot drinks in a day is a staggering and horrifying statistic, better left to the unknown.

Cool as ever, though, he reaches into his briefcase for a second, smaller cup.]

The relationship between a client and a defense attorney is built on a foundation of trust. If I'm to stand up for you, you should be able to trust me. Tell me anything and everything you can about the incident you're accused of, no matter how it sounds or how it makes you look.

And in return, I'll trust you and what you say. That's the only way we get out of this.

[A beat.]

Care for a cup of coffee, Mr. Reyes?

Okay, I guess that makes sense.

[There's a limit to how much Jaime's willing to say - anything Blue Beetle is out of the question, of course - but as for the rest of it? He's willing to tell the truth there. He's got nothing to lose. He's frankly surprised that the attorney that he was assigned seems to be taking this case so seriously, but he's a little glad. Even if he doesn't have a whole lot of faith that any attorney is going to be able to get him out of this jam, it's nice that there's someone who seems to be at least halfway willing to listen to what he has to say.

And as for the coffee...] No, thank you. I don't think I need the extra caffeine. [He's jittery enough as it is!] You carry around an extra cup just for your clients?

I carry around an extra cup for anyone who needs a taste of the bitter truth.

[Adjusts his thermos, unscrews a section from the bottom, and...] What about decaf?

[The guy's a lunatic, no question about it. . But he'd like to think he's a decent lawyer.

Once the thermos is set aside, he goes for his files again, holding a folder open in one hand and his coffee cup in the other.]

I gotta say, amigo, your case was a pretty riveting read. Breaking and entering, vandalism and burglary. [Siiip.] Nothing was found missing from the scene, so we might be able to drop that burglary charge as long as no motive for theft is established.

I'm good. Thanks.

[Okay, this guy is a nut. He's heard about being addicted to coffee, but this is just getting ridiculous.]

I didn't take anything, and it's not like they found anything on me. [In the end, Jaime's confusion had gotten the best of him, and he had been apprehended on the premise of the very same government building he had broken into. His only chance of grabbing anything off the scene of the crime would be to shove it where the sun doesn't shine.] So... there's that, at least.

Inquisitive children throw their plates at the wall to see what sticks. [... okay.] Prosecutors are similar when it comes to charges.

[He has another sip.]

That'll be an easy stain to get out, then. As for the others...

[It's utterly impossible to read his face, given the glowing metal device that covers half of it, but the smile on his face stays just as solid and serene the whole time he speaks.]

Why don't you tell me what happened? Everything you remember, down to the littlest detail.

[What kind of children has Godot been around...?

Whatever, now's not the time to be pedantic (or to point out the idiosyncrasies of the guy who's paid to be on his side). He shifts uncomfortably in his chair at Godot's question, then seems to make up his mind as he leans forward, elbows resting lightly on the table.]

Okay. But there's something I want to ask you first. [He hesitates, knowing how crazy it sounds, but unable to think of any other way of going about things.] Do you believe in possessions?

[The metaphorical type.

He sips from his cup in between Jaime's question and his own answer.]

I believe in material ownership- so I'll assume you mean possessions of a more esoteric nature.

[If you'd asked him this a long time ago, he'd have laughed. That was before he dated the daughter of an entire school of spirit mediums.]

Let's say yes. More than most.

That'll make this a little easier. [He stares down at his hands resting on the table between them, drums his fingers a few times, then takes a breath, getting ready to spill his guts. He looks up from the table to look Godot eye-to-mask, and decides to just go for it.]

Honestly? I don't really remember all of it. If you asked me yesterday, I might've been able to tell you more, but it's gone kind of... fuzzy.

[It's the best word he has to describe it. It's not just a complete blank in his recollection, but it feels as if the truth of the matter is slipping through his fingers. He remembers the broad sweeps of what happened, but the little details are getting harder and harder to remember. He can't remember specific words as much as he can the sentiment, and lurking there in the back of his mind, he thinks he can remember the guy laughing.

It's not a good feeling.]

It started just after school, when I was walking to my internship. Everything was normal, but then there was, like... this voice in my head, telling me where to go. This isn't like those things where people here a voice in their head and just figure that hey, might as well follow the crazy voice. I couldn't actually control my body.

[He lets his words linger in the air for a beat before he goes over his own words and places one hand flat over his face. A part of him doesn't even know why he's bothering to tell his side of the story - his is a hopeless case.] Which makes me sound totally nuts, I know, [he says, voice muffled by his hand.]

[Godot is completely silent as Jaime talks, simply holding his cup. It's hard to tell if he's looking at Jaime or at the file, or somehow at both-- his visor kind of just points in whatever direction he's facing.

When he mentions the voice in his head, the one controlling him, the very corner of Godot's smile can be seen to rise in a little bit of a smirk.

He says nothing though, until Jaime is finished. Then he summarizes in a voice surprisingly free of skepticism or judgment.]

So you're saying that a disembodied voice controlled your body and made you commit your crimes.

[Despite Godot's assertion that he's open to the idea of possession, Jaime's a little surprised that he's not being told to stop spinning tales and to just fess up already. He mulls over the man's words, trying to think of some sort of wording that would improve on a disembodied voice controlling his body, but inevitably gives in to the fact that that's actually a pretty decent summary, as summaries go.]

Yeah, [he admits, letting his hand fall back down onto the table.] That's pretty much it.

Ha...!

[He pulls out a pen from his briefcase and goes to make a note on one of the pages in his file.]

A Pyrrhic hunch. Victory-- with an altogether unsettling aftertaste.

[It takes him a moment to get around to explaining what the hell that is even supposed to mean.]

I was unsure when I read your file, Mr. Reyes. Some punk teenager looking for a thrill, getting a bad idea, breaking into a building-- nothing I haven't seen before. But something told me there was something different at work.

[Siiiiip.]

That difference? A similarity. Between your case, and the cases of nearly a half-dozen others in the past month.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 10

OPEN

Morning of the 31st

Anytime after June 2nd

no subject

no subject

May 30th

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject