Turton - To Serve and Protect (John's IC)

[Worlok]

On the way to the Department, John Gifford found himself in front of a red traffic light. In the street, there was a notable ubiquity of bright-green Volkswagens - among other cars of all hues and makes, of course - to be seen, the sounds of frustrated drivers abusing their alarm horns adding awkward and annoying subsonics to the cacophony of the tightly-packed swarm of pedestrians shouting, pushing, laughing, talking, yelling and hurrying all about. Somewhere, someone was either trying to help his cat to tragic martyrdom or just that bad at playing the violin, mobile phones were sounding all around, and with there still being about half a mile left to go to his place of work, the one-hour headstart that John had taken that day was in the process of running short.

There was much work to be done yet, and many of his colleagues had been working overtime in the past few weeks. If the big number of "Have you seen this dog?" or "In case of sighting this person, please call..." posters on almost every available surface was any indication, though, that would continue for quite some time. He distinctly remembered Cohen, absent-mindedly emptying a cup of what one could only assume was coffee for all it looked like liquid tar and ranting about how he'd had it with all of the phone calls by now the night before. The younger man would have to work today, as well, and with the state of troop morale and workloads faced on duty, he would most likely not be in a better mood, and neither would (m)any of the others there - By what experiences they had made so far, this kind of phone call just grew into a more common thing in the hours after sundown lately, and there had been little headway made in any of the open cases they had set upon. Yea truly, 'twas pay well-earned these days.

[Strawberries]

John takes a drag on his cigarette, tapping impatiently on the wheel with his other hand, and waits for the lights to turn green. The driver window is half-open to let out the smoke, his car is in sore need of a wash, and John is beginning to suspect that it’s going to be one of those nights, that kind of night where reports don’t get filed, suspects don’t get arrested, advancements aren’t made, and still you end up working your ass off and getting home in the morning exhausted and frustrated. John can tell. Call it a policeman instinct if you want. Plus, there have been a frustrating amounts of nights like that lately.

[Worlok]

As the light finally turned green, the crowd on the pavement seemed to divide for a short time, a tall, lanky figure in cowboy tack making his drunkenly swerving way through the masses with the security of a somnambulist. Bound for John's car, apparently, but eventually stopping short just before crossing the street, merely waving and grinning in apparent cheer before turning around and disappearing again. Holding what would be a sizable number of rolled-up posters under one arm and wearing a broad-brimmed hat retooled to support a pair of lemonade cans mounted to both sides of it. Now followed by a small crowd of brightly-dressed, long-haired individuals, the whole bunch of them seemingly of Middle-Eastern or otherwise mediterranean extraction.

The insistent honking of the drivers next in line, however, appeared to dissuade further investigation for now, and by what was most likely no coincidence, the Volkswagen drivers likewise seemed to be of such uniform style and wear. To the tune of the cat-pain-violin screeching, traffic continued to roll, if haltingly, and one of Mr Gifford's more junior colleagues, serving bravely as a traffic light replacement at the next major intersection, signalling disc in hand, remained the only more notable occurance for the rest of the way to the PD. The elusively foolhardy traffic jam had by then reduced one perfectly useful hour to a mere thirty-five minutes left before his official shift began.

The place was overrun, and John's policeman instinct seemingly most accurate: The various officers on desk-duty trying their best to process - not to mention stem - the tide of people trying to file reports, asking about the whereabouts of relatives or pets, and generally making well-intentionedly obstructive trouble of themselves. Cohen, off in the corner, longingly ogling the coffee machine while trying to calm down a skinny black man in unconvincing drag and genuine hysterics. One of the new guys, some kid named Skinner, balancing vast stacks of files in each hand while bumbling and stumbling through the excited crowd. A pair of seemingly Arabic twin brothers shouting down Detective Simmons in slurred English, in between trying to shout each other down in their own native tongue. And an unhealthily pale individual in an expensive suit failing to push his way through the masses, citing his desperate need to "have a smoke, that's all I'm askin' for, like, damn!"

It was a twisted Hell on Earth, and debatably business as usual nowadays.

[Strawberries]

John follows the oddly-dressed crowd with his eyes for as long as he can before starting the engine again. Posters, strange attires and foreign people probably mean a circus in town. Just what they need: a spiking in denounces for drug peddling, alcohol abuse and bothersome noises, on top of all the crap that is already happening. And that would be the best case scenario. More or less ten years ago, he had to intervene because some very respectable, very religious and very middle-class teenagers had gotten into their mind that it was perfectly acceptable to gear up for a ‘punitive expedition’ on the circus people, on the mere account of them not being Americans. Well, they had got their asses handed to them even before he had time to arrive, and John had restrained the last two standing and hauled their collective skinny acne-covered behind in jail. Which, as he remembers, had been incredibly satisfying, but not worth the bother of having to put up with the hysterics of the parents for weeks afterwards. He sniggers. If something similar happens again, I’ll leave Cohen to deal with them. There must be some advantage in being the senior, after all.

The chaos in the PD is familiar to the point of being comforting. He nods in greeting to the colleagues that cross his path and navigates towards his desk with the practiced security of someone who’s done this every day for more than twenty years. He ignores the shouts, the noise and the strange people around: it’s nothing outside the ordinary, and moreover, he has those paperwork to finish. He has already lost a lot of time: if they aren’t done by tomorrow morning, someone will have his head.

He is about to sit down when he intercepts Cohen’s eyes from the nearby desk, and he sighs. The kid looks like he could use a coffee, and now that he thinks about it, John could use one, too, otherwise he’d end falling asleep on those damn reports. He makes a deviations for the coffee machine, fills three cups, and brings them to Cohen’s desk, balancing them with the ease that comes from a long practice. He puts a cup in front of Cohen and the other in front of the hysterical man. Hell, he’s another one that looks like he could use a hot drink right about now.

[Worlok]

As John approached, bits of dialogue in the hysterical one's voice could be heard more clearly over the mess of murmur and muttering: "-party wi' dis friend a' mine 'n'-" - "-jus' stepped out fer a smoke 'n' then-" - "-basically SUDDENLY THERE IS THIS FREAK and-" - "-like basically like some dinosaur or some crap-" - "-jus' dragged him away, nothin' I could do-" - "-like, 'em teeth, you see, 'em big teeth-" - "-'n' jus' stepped out fer a smoke, you see, jus' stepped out fer a smoke..." Just as his speech trailed off, John was close enough to put down the cups on the desk, and both the man and Cohen were only too happy to see to their emptying. "Thanks, John." - "Thanks, officer." The two of them paused in their fevered talking, drinking with relative relaxation, the witness' hands shaking heavily nonetheless as Cohen just sipped with the silent resolve of the desperate, only to turn to his colleague and say: "We got a hell of a night incoming, John." Something about the way he kept saying that recently always made him look and sound far older than he was.

[Strawberries]

John nods, sipping his coffee. He is inclined to agree. Don't ask his brain reminds him You've got paperwork to finish. Nonetheless, he subtly shifts his gaze towards the man, and then meets again Cohen's eyes, arching an eyebrow subtly in the non-verbal code for do you need help with this?

I'm pathetic he thinks, meanwhile I'd do anything to avoid sitting at that desk. He can't deny that, while part of his interest comes from genuine curiosity and desire to help, another part is him being only too grateful to put off working on those reports. Again.

[Worlok]

While it was obvious that Cohen was about to wordlessly scream a resounding YES!, he reined himself in for now: "Basically, this is Mr Jerome Scott, Jr., Mr. Scott, Officer John Gifford." This elicited a curt, shaking nod from the man in question, who, after having horked down his cup-full, seemed to be somewhat less frenzied now, if still quite on edge. "He came in a while ago, wanted to speak to someone who has a say in things. Says he's got a case of armed assault and kidnapping for us." Again, a nod on Mr Scott's part, his obvious intention to let loose again only just barely stopped short by Cohen by means of a warning gesture and continuation of his speech: "And it's quite a story, too." Something about the way he said that seemed to imply I think he's crazy, or on drugs, and I have no idea what he's even on about, but, entirely the professional, none of that colored his choice of phrase to any notable degree as he went on: "Basically, I'm not quite sure what I can really do for him. Maybe you'd like to ask him some questions, John?" While he put some effort in sounding calm and unfased, the younger cop's exasperation and confusion were as obvious as the wig-wearing witness' nervosity, and the general airs of hysteria in the room didn't help either, naturally.

By now, the guy in the suit had finally managed to make his way to the entrance, removing a pack of smokes from his chest-pocket and lighting up before he was even entirely out of the door, and Simmons had managed to get the two Arabic men to follow him out of the room - But still, there were more people coming and going, a never-ending stream, and in the middle two guys in bright green bathrobes noone appeared to have seen coming in, long dark hair trailing behind them, right in the middle of the commotion, yet calm as a pair of rocks in the sea. Just standing there, staring ahead, one apparently trying to study the suit-wearing smoker beyond the door, the other vapidly looking at Mr Scott without the latter's apparent notice. Maybe, by the looks of the two, even without the long-haired one having noticed him.

[Strawberries]

John nods curtly, retrieving a notepad from his pocket and opening it on a blank page. He doesn't need it, of course He'd be a really poor cop if he had to take notes for something so simple as taking a testimony. Still, he has found that he gives him a more professional area, and this helps put suspects and witnesses alike more at ease.

His eyes stray for a moment to the two green-robed individuals. This is a tad too crazy, even for this place's standard. He looks briefly around to see who's going to take the case, then focuses again on Mr Scott. "Why don't you start at the beginning, mr Scott? To give me a clear picture of the situation" His tone is calm and professional.

[Worlok]

The green-robed ones did not appear to have any actual business here, being apparently rather content with just standing and staring, silently. In the general chaos, noone really seemed to pay them any heed, but it was notable that they weren't pushed or ran into in the crowd.

Cohen seemed to relax ever so slightly in his chair, draining the cup of its last contents and being visibly happy to have someone else handle Mr Scott. But it didn't last long, as the witness did not have to be asked twice: "Beginnin'? Well, y'see, as I jus' tol' Officer Cohen here, I was headed for a party with a friend. Harmless stuff, friend a' ours had his birthday goin' on and we-" He suddenly paused, as uneasy as before, but somehow in a different way, glancing over his shoulder, seeing the green-robed men. "Say, Officer, dere sum place we could talk dis over in secret, like?" he asked, turning his head around to face John again, much calmer in a way that strongly hinted at a certain degree of poorly-masked fear. "I'll sound crazy sayin' dis, and I would rather we get out a' all dis noise, y'see?"

[Strawberries]

Yes, it was going to be one of those nights. John sighs, then nods. One of the interrogation rooms should be avaiable Ten minutes, just the time to do Daniel this favor, then I'm going back to my desk.

"Very well, mr Scott, if you would follow me" He follows the direction of the man's gaze and frowns "Dan, please, if you could go tell the carnival down there that this is a police station,not a sauna. Send them to Officer Thompson, I believe he is free at the moment" Morgan Thompson deserves the 'favor'. John had sworn he would get back to him when one month ago Morgan had landed them the old lady with the missing canary that wouldn't stop talking. He can handle two weirdos in a bathrobe.

[Worlok]

"You got it, John!" Cohen replied, making to call Thompson down upon the weirdos in the lobby before getting swamped by the demanding presence of five different people wanting him to handle their complaints right now.

On the way to the interrogation rooms, Scott stayed silent, his rapidly going breath and occasional muffled muttering nonewithstanding. He did, however, still seem perfectly ready to jump and dash away given the weakest encouragement to. Whatever had made this man call upon the cops had terrified him, that much at least could be gauged right now, and John could still hear him go "basically like some dinosaur or some crap" in the back of his mind.

What was notable was that the rest of the department seemed almost empty when compared to the entry hall, every available officer most likely being out on patrol or tied down at a desk in front. Two of the interrogation rooms were taken, but as a matter of fact, number three to five were free, and just as John made to open one of them, Officer Thompson rounded the bend, glaring daggers at the two of them in passing without saying anything.

[Strawberries]

"Officer Thompson." John inclines his head in greeting, barely concealing a smug smile. This is one little satisfaction that would make the night more bearable. Nothing wrong with getting even with a colleague, after all. He'd be sure to...tell Cohen to bring the man some coffee or something like that down the way, to make sure that there are no hard feelings. And really,a missing canary? The man got it coming.

But at the moment,he has another thing to handle. He motions the man to a seat, takes out his notebook again, and starts in a calm, reassuring voice "Now, Mr Scott, we have all the privacy we need here, no need to be nervous. So, you were telling me you were heading for a birthday party, right?" he scribbles down some meaningless words on his notepad.

Drunk, high or merely a drama queen. 'Teeth like some dinosaur', really. his mind is helpfully supplying. He studies the man unobtrusively to see which one of the three hypotesis is more likey. He's scared alright, John can see that, but people always tend to exaggerate in their reports. One of the things a cop has to do is bring down the wild tales into something more plausible, and then start working on that. That's how 'seven feet tall and buid like an ox' usually ends up meaning '6'2'' and works out from time to time'.

Uhm... perception+investigation, maybe? Or perception+empathy?
I'll do perception+investigation, if it's the second, subtract the last 4d10 from the pool :smallwink:
[roll0]

[Worlok]

One thing that had to be pointed out was the astounding change in demeanor that Mr Scott underwent upon being alone in a room with a cop: Almost immediately, a great weight seemed to be lifted off his chest, and his shaking stopped, allowing him some small share of calm as he spoke - without much in the way of the slang John had initially overheard: "Yes, a birthday party. Friend of mine said, it's a costume gig, you can see that much." While saying this, he removed his wig, revealing a rather unimpressive crop of wiry, brown hair underneath, and continued: "And so, well, we get there, and this friend of mine, the one I'd been going with, he's getting somewhere with one of them Jetty-Fam chicks. No idea who invited those, but hey, not like they were that many of them there, you know?" Even now, despite the effects of privacy having done their work, he looked haunted, uneasy, and even though the "You know?" would have seemed to be just a throwaway phrase initially, it was clear he expected some sort of response.

Very impressive rolls, but what exactly are they meant to do? :smallredface:

[Strawberries]

((to see if the man is drunk, high, or merely a drama queen, which are the three theories John is working with at the moment- and from experience he's tending towards the 'drama queen' hypotesys. :smallwink:. Basically to get a feel for the man))

John nods, encouragingly. "Yes, please go on, mr Scott" And he has to ask where 'there' is, at some point, but there's no rush: Daniel has surely taken down all the important details. At the moment, it's better that he leaves the man free to tell the story how he chooses.

[Worlok]

John had always been able to trust his policeman instincts to an extent. Looking at Mr Scott, it was apparent that while the man had had a glass or two, or maybe more seeing how you could even smell it, and might well have had his share of less legal drugs, he was perfectly serious, whatever had scared him so having apparently broken through rush, high, and drunkness quite easily. None of which meant that Scott could not simply be wrong, of course. But whatever the man was saying, it was none but the truth as he knew it, and maybe that was the strangest thing:

"And well, you know how 'em Jetty peeps are, all callin' each other their siblin's and everything, they's a cult or something, got no idea. And two of them, they follow them outside, and they have these masks, you know, and" - here the slang came back again - "dat's like all dey's costumes, 'cos dey always wear like 'em long, green coats, and no costumes, like, and dey follow my friend and dis chick outside, and I figure, I better follow, can't leave a guy alone like, know? 'n' basic'lly, place is hella full by now, all overrun with peeps, 'cos our birthday boy, he's got hella friends, and dey's all dere, dancin', 'n'e moment I step outside, 'em two boys in green, dey's nowhere to be found, and dere's shoutin' some ways away, and I follow, 'n' basic'lly, dere my friend's at, chick's dere with 'im still, 'n' the guys, dey are with 'em likewise, 'em masks all off, 'n' dey's shoutin' in some whacka language I ne'er done heard, 'n' ma friend, he's got a gun out I di'n't no even know he had. 'n' I can see ma friend's back, 'n' this one kid's eyes, 'n' he's got his own gun drawn like, 'n' is still shoutin', 'n' suddenly, 'n' I swear it happened like dis, you gotta believe me, here..."

While his voice had grown louder until he had been almost shouting, he went all quiet now, having stood up from his seat again, staring dramatically at John: "Dey grow teefs like 'em dinosaurs in Jurassic Park, 'n' attack him, 'n' dere's a bang, 'n' dis kid goes down, 'n' dey lock my friend down, and he just up 'n' bites dis other guy right in da face, 'n' dere's hissin', screamin' like, 'n' I run! 'n' den, I come here, 'n' you seen 'em two, standin' in ya lobby jus' da moment when we left, you know? Dey's done followed me, all da way here, 'n' you gotta believe me, it's how it happened, swear!" A short pause, the man being apparently on the verge of collapse now: "'n' dey's after me!" Real panic, no doubt about it now. Whatever was going on here was either immensely out of the ordinary, or he was on the most unheard-of trip.

[Strawberries]

Augh, sorry, I forgot to ask if John knows what 'Jetty Fam' is...so, does he know?

John resists the temptation to rub the bridge of his nose. Act calm, act professional, try to put the witness at ease. Even if what he says isn't making sense. He makes a mental note of speaking with Thompson, to find out what those people in the green robes were there for. But at the moment, he still has to understand the dynamics. "Mr Scott, first of all, let me reassure you that this is a police station, and you're perfectly safe here. Now, I'm not quite sure I understand. Please help me recap a bit. Your friend shot another armed person during... an argument, those people wrestled your friend to the ground and then he bit them in the face?" this is how John has understood it so far, leaving aside the description of teeth growing, which could be very well an hallucination caused by alchool or drugs - acids being the most likely suspect. Dinosaurs aside, this is sounding like assault with intent to commit murder, at the very least. "Could you give me your friend's name and personal details?"

[Worlok]

Not as such. Had originally intended to mention that somewhere. Apologies. :smallredface:
Something about that seemed to sour his already troubled mood: "Sure could, but it's dem you should be after. Dey straight-up killed him, else dey woul'n't been a'le to come after me, now, wouldey?" But he reined himself in soon enough, breaking into something of an explanation: "Cos, y'know, dem Jetty peeps? Dey's e'rywhere now, and dey's bad news, like, real bad news. All killin', rapin', racket-pimpin', stealin', dealin' bad, ya hear me, Officer? Anyway, ma friend's name's James. Or was, anyway. James Curtis Freeman, 378 Boston Road. It's where I live, too, we share ma place." And, almost as an afterthought: "Or used to, anyway. 'n' I swear, ya better believe me, dey got 'em teeth, 'n' 'em criminals, 'n' 'em guns, 'n' I tol' ya exactly jus' how it happened, yeah?" It felt as if he was holding something back, as if there was something more he didn't want to - or thought he couldn't - talk about.

But he had already dropped his number of keywords, really: The slang term "Jetty Fam" seemed to describe a group of people that were heavily involved with criminal activities. Over the last few weeks, the phrase had cropped up all over the place, and in certain parts of the city, it was almost as if the regular criminals had either fled these mysterious new arrivals, gone honest overnight, or joined them, but there did not seem to be any sort of reliable information on the group. Describing them as a cult and as bad news, and more importantly linking them to the increased popularity of green coats and long-hair-cuts that had been notable for a while now, as Scott had done, was already more of a lead than what the TPD had had so far.

[Strawberries]

"I am just collecting information, mr Scott. Let me get this straight: the two in the entry hall are the same people that assaulted your friend?" Screw that. He'd have to go to Thompson straight away, telling him to detain those people for as long as possible. And then he has to convince mr Scott to press charges and testify. The night has become more interesting all of a sudden. Reports forgotten, John leans forward, looking the man straight in the eyes.

[Worlok]

"Well... maybe not dose two guys, precisely, but if not, dey sure look a lot alike." He had seemed about to meet John's gaze, originally, but now he looked aside. "'n' at any rate, dem's all killers, fo' all I care." Yes, there was definitely something he couldn't bring himself to spit out. Some missing piece to the puzzle, as it were. "'n' I'd rather not have stayed to find out after... y'know. Simply not. Too busy runnin' for my life."

[Strawberries]

Dammit. John finds himself faced with a quandary. Either he keeps pushing, taking advantage of the flow of the questions, or he stops right there to alert Thompson That's why it usually takes two agents to interrogate people. We're missing the damned BASICS, here. It seemed a simple matter of taking a statement, but John has been in the force long enough to know that these matters can get messed up like nothing. Still, reaching Thompson seems more important. Scott will still be here in five minutes, and John can reattempt a connection then, but he doesn't know what Thompson is doing with the carnival in the bathrobe.

Decision taken, he addresses the man, speaking in a calm, low tone. "Mr Scott. I am going to step outside for a minute to make a call. I'll be just outside the room, so there's no need to be worried." Assumed there aren't strong objections from the man, John steps outside, on the other side of the interrogation room where the phones are and when he can still keep an eye on Scott, and dials Thompson's number. Come on, Morgan.

Edit: I posted, and then I realised John would probably have a cellphone with him...but let's go with that all the same: it's very possible that he just doesn't want mr Scott to overhear the phone call.

[Worlok]

Sure thing. :smallsmile:
Scott's expression was one of mild surprise, and yet it seemed almost as if he'd been expecting John to leave, for his reply sounded rather neutral, matter-of-factly, some might have said 'resolved': "Uh-huh. Sure, if you say so, Officer. Jus' don't take too long." And as the cop left the interrogation room, the witness had taken to busying himself with nervously staring about and mumbling under his breath ("...really... like one a' 'dem veloci-whatsits... my frien'... our Jimmy-James, 'n' now this... now dis crap...") - Thompson, on the other hand, sounded a different kind of mad when he picked up his phone: "Here Morgan Thompson. That you, John?"

[Strawberries]

"That's me. Morgan, listen, this is important." He can yell at John later, if he still wants. For now, John's tone is nothing but serious and professional. It should be clear that's not a joke. "I need you to keep those two nuts in green here. Don't send them home, and keep an eye on them. They're probably perps, and we definitely want to talk to them. It's about Jetty Fam. I'll be there as soon as I'm done with the witness." That way, Morgan can maybe start doing some ground work. For his part, he still has Scott to deal with.

[Worlok]

"Say wha- Huh. Well. Alright. I'll try to keep 'em here. Though this is all your fault if they are no perps, yeah?" A sudden upsurge in ambient noise levels, many voices and footsteps and telephones, indicated that he had just passed the doors to the lobby, and it immediately became harder to understand what he was saying: "And besides, anything more than the color of their clothes? Because I gotta be honest here: That? That's a lot of dudes in green."

[Strawberries]

((ooh, chilling! Well done!))

"What? The bathrobe, Morgan, the ones in the bathrobe. - the nutcases Cohen has landed on you-a witness indicates green robes as a mark of Jetty Fam. You mean there's more people like that in the hall?" Subconsciously, he moves a bit towards the way for the entrance to thr interrogation room. It's a gesture of protection, and he's not even aware he's doing it.

((if that's alright with you, my idea was to have John in the room on the other side of the one way mirror, so he can still see what Scott is doing. If you're cool with it, of course.))

[Worlok]

Sure. And thanks, I'm happy I could pull it off. :smallbiggrin: You, too, up so late tonight, though? :smalltongue:
Thompson's voice lowered a good bit as he outright whispered into the phone, a sudden urgency taking a hold of him: "You bet there's more. There's nothing else in here. Must be about two dozen, perhaps more." He paused, the background noise indicating that he had either not been noticed yet, or the people in the lobby did not care enough to stop talking because he had arrived on scene. The sound of the door falling shut, and the noise died down a little, Morgan having apparently stepped right out again. Then: "Or well, almost nothing else. There's some dude in a suit there, too. And the new guy... Skinner? Skinner, I believe. They're talking. Where's Cohen? And what is going on?"

In the meantime, Scott had started shuddering, fuzzing about with something under his costume - basically just a plain blue dress - until his search yielded a pack of cigarettes, blue L&M. The man paused looking around then, shooting John a plaintive glance and producing a lighter, too.

[Strawberries]

John doesn't answer immediately. He is staring at mr Scott, and at the fact that he has managed to meet his gaze with complete accuracy through a fricking one way mirror. John is starting to feel like he has stepped into an episode from "The twilight zone". He is aware he probably has a very idiotic, befuddled expression on his face, but he snaps out of it soon enough. The tought of the emergency helps.

"I have no idea of what's going on, Morgan." He answers slowly, eyes still fixed on what has suddenly become a very strange witness. "Cohen should be there. Listen...how many agents in the department? I want to handle this as an attack on the station. Don't go in there and be ready to call for the protocols." His hands are sweating slightly. This is a first, even for him...and he really would love a smoke, right about now.

[Worlok]

"Well... Let's see, there's Skinner, Simmons, Wood, Cohen, Mackenzie, some from the afternoon shift might yet be around... Listen, this is crazy - They are not attacking, far as I'm aware. They're standing there and talking. If there is a lead on Jetty Fam, we should just-" He was interrupted by the door going again, and by the sounds of it had apparently attempted to hide the phone in his surprise. This time, Skinner's gratingly nasal voice could be heard, if not exactly clearly: "...Morgan? What's the deal? Standing here and staring when it's your one break for the whole night?" A pause...

[Strawberries]

John is still keeping his eyes fixed on mr Scott. Slowly, not quite believing in what he's doing, he nods, doing a 'go ahead' gesture with his hand. The man knows that that is a one way mirror, and it's just by accident that he's managed to meet John's gaze. That is surely it, as will be proved by his lack of reaction whatsoever at John's gesture.

"Morgan?" he says quietly into the phone. It's Skinner, after all. So, clearly, not a danger.

[Worlok]

As Mr Scott looked about once more, shrugged, and lit up his smoke, Morgan replied to Skinner - whose given name was Matthew, as John remembered now: "Oh, well, Matt, thing is, our Jew called, told me to come over here. Said there was something about guys in green that I should come check out." Some of the older cops had a way of doing that, calling Cohen 'our Jew' - and the man himself didn't overtly mind, far as anybody was aware. Doing so around the relatively stuck-up newbie Skinner, on the other hand, was new. "But well, now I come here, and basically all primed for an emergency, you know - and there's nothing there but peeps in green. Kind of a sight, is all." There was a short silence, then: "Well, Morgan... People in green are a thing with... emergency rooms, you know?" His halting mannerism manifested as usual when he got up to another lame pun, but at least that much was normal, then. Thompson didn't laugh, though, and the sudden leap in clarity would have appeared to indicate him having raised his phone again: "Yeah, sure. Not funny, though. Say, I got John on the phone. He's worried. Anything to say about those guys?" - "Not much. Don't seem to speak a great deal of English, anyway. One walked up to me, told me they're on a pilgrimage, and whether I could maybe direct his brothers and him to a temple in the vicinity. Not even a church. A temple, Morgan." - "Huh." - "Yeah. I asked him, what kind of temple, right? And he says, a Hindu one. They're a Hindu thing. Call themselves 'Cowboys of Ganesh', I think he said, but his accent is kinda weird. Maybe I misunderstood." - "Well... That's good, then. Good work, Matt. John? Anything to say to that?"

[Strawberries]

Not a whole lot, actually. John is still staring throught the mirror, at the witness. Doesn't have to relate with my go-ahead, he could simply have gotten fed-up of waiting. He thinks, and then Hindu, now? I was about to involve the protocols over a frigging bunch of gurus? Apparently, the witness' hysterics are contagious... but John doesn't manage to relax completely. His instincts are still screaming 'danger'. "Listen Morgan, there's something strange happening. Can you keep those people there for ten minutes? Because I have a witness saying two of those 'hindus' there killed a guy. I'll be down there in five."

[Worlok]

"Sure. Will do, John. But you better explain this to me some time, 'cause really? Honestly? I'm confused. We can keep them here for about half an hour, I'd say. That enough?"

[Strawberries]

"More than enough. Thanks, Morgan, I'll owe you." And you'll be the first to know, as soon as I figure it out myself. John puts the receiver down, and wipes his sweaty hands on his uniform's pants. He overreacted, probably, and he's going to feel like an idiot in an hour's time...but not right now. Right now, his brain is still telling him that there's something wrong. He composes his expression to one of calm and professionalism, and gets back into the interrogation room where mr Scott is. "Sorry about the delay" he says. He can't help but launching a glance through the mirror, to see if it is still, indeed, a mirror. "It is technically forbidden to smoke in a police station, mr Scott" he says, but he produces his own packet of cigarettes, with a wink. Connection, first thing is to get a connection. They teach that to rookies in the first lesson.

[Worlok]

The mirror was still, as far as anyone could have told, and for all intents and purposes a mirror, and as John looked, his reflection looked back with the same share of puzzlement. "Yeah, 'fficer, I know. Thing's tho', I been runnin' all da way, and you's stressed too, so way I see it, no harm done?" Mr Scott took a deep drag of tobacco smoke, leaning back and calming visibly. "Any news outta dat call a' yo's?"

[Strawberries]

John nods, smiles, and sits down, consciously adopting a relaxed posture to get the witness more at ease. "Yes, I asked my colleagues to keep an eye on those two guys down in the hall" No need to tell the man that the hall has become an enclave of strange guys. "So, as I was telling you, no need to worry about that."

"Mr Scott, the more you tell me, the more I will be able to help you" he says. Project calm and confidence. "You were telling me about your friend and Jetty-Fam. What else should I know?"

[Worlok]

"Well... Dere's one thing. But it sounds real crazy-like. 'fore ah tell ya, tho', you got an ashtray here?" He looked about the room, the already half-inhaled cigarette now forming a precariously lopsided column of ash between his fingers.

[Strawberries]

John fishes under the table for the litter basket and slides it towards the man. Crazier than people growing theet like a dinosaur? "Mr Scott, I am a cop. Believe me, I've heard my share of crazy things.'"

[Worlok]

"Well, ya see... When 'em two guys, dey took down Jimmy-man... I coulda sworn he grew a set a' teeth as well, 'n' bit 'em back. I tol' ya he bit him. I di'n't tol' ya about 'em teeth." He ashed off into the litter basket, and took another drag, nervosity already rising again: "'n' I mean, dude's lived wi' me for five years, slept on ma couch, on his back, mouth open 'n' e'rything. Now, ah'm not one a' dem creeps what watch sleepin' people... But really, I woulda noticed dinosaur teeth, right?"

[Strawberries]

John resists the need to sigh, instead nodding and scribbling something else meaningless on his notepad. The important notes he's taking in his head. Screen for LSD and acids. You don't want to find out he's a junkie in the courtroom, his testimony will be destroyed. "Mr Scott, it would be very useful if you provided me a description of the two people who attacked your friend. And told me the exact address where all this took place". I'll send someone there, to see if there -is- evidence of a crime, and meanwhile we'll see if we're lucky enough that people matching his derscription are currently in the hall. Long shot, that, but with all the odd things that have been happening this evening...

[Worlok]

"Well, see, basically two of 'em long-haired, dark-haired, Indian-lookin' dudes in green. All classic Jetty Fam style, like." Then he settled into a more contemplative pose: "But lemme think... Dis was about... 395 Havish-ham Drive, I think. Or close to it. Our party was 379, anyway. 'm 'fraid I don' quite recall. As I said... Busy runnin' away, and all. Sorry, officer."

[Strawberries]

395 Havish-ham Drive. He had been holding out doing that, what with all the mentions of teeth and the other crazy things that have happened, but he really shouldn't delay further. He pulls out his radio "I need a unit checking Havish-ham Drive, 375 to 395. We've got an armed assault, possibly a injuried man. Suspects are two Indian men with long hair, dressed in green." Which are possibly in the next room right about now.

That done, he turns again to mr Scott. "We're going to check for your friend, and then I'm sending down someone to have you write down and sig your declaration, and to ask you some other questions" Namely, to pump him for every little scrap of information he can have about Jetty Fam. Still a bit of time for another question: his half an hour is far from being up. "What I need you to do now is to tell me if you can think of a reason why those people could have a beef with your friend."

[Worlok]

"On it, headquarters!" one of the guys replied, and the line went dead. Was that the sound of sirens, somewhere, nigh-inaudible through walls and night?

Scott replied: "Yeah, 's awright, 'fficer. One thing though?" He looked almost apologetic when lifting his right index finger in the manner of a little nerd speaking up to politely correct someone on terminology: "'t's jus' beef. Not a beef, beef. Bit of a pet-peeve o' mine, y'know?" But he re-serious'd almost immediately after that: "'n well... 't's mos' likely nothin', but dis one time, I caught Jimmy in a conversation wi' dis hippie-lookin' guy." A moment, attempting to access the memory: "'n' dis hippie, he tells him, everyone's got a place, and some don' know deirs 'n' such crap. 'n' how he was tol' by dis priest o' hisss..." There was apparently something more than tobacco in his cigarettes - at any rate, the slang was now in full force, and his speech was suddenly riddled with these annoying, wet, hissing noises. "'nnn' how it'sss in da bible 'n' what dat us men, we'sss suppuppoposed to ssstamp out da sssnaaakesss, y'sssee, 'fficer?" A grin, and somehow his eyes seemed brighter now, somewhat yellowish. "'n' da sssnakes, dey live in'a dark, and dey, dem'sss of darkness, right? 'n' my friend, my good friend Jamesss... He looks at dis hippie, and goes, he's a hematite stick 'n' all. 'n' dat da snakes, dey's gooood." And now he had to laugh, deeply, warmly, yes, almost cheerfully if not for all its apparent bitterness: "'n' our hippie? He dashes off. 'n' I think, James might've spoken with dinosaur teeth. But I always thought, it's nothin', 'n' he even tol' me it was jus' a trick of the light, alright?" Now, his dark skin was almost greenish, and he looked much older by this point: "Bu' say... Dere a place 'round here where I can step out for fresh air, now, first?"

[Strawberries]

: "'t's jus' beef. Not a beef, beef. Bit of a pet-peeve o' mine, y'know?"

Is it,really? :smallredface: *googles* Apparently there are both expressions, but they mean different things, and I've always had it wrong. :smallredface:
The more you know. :smalltongue:

What in the hell? Screw speed, screw PCP, these are not drugs, these really can't be the effects of drugs, and John finds himself almost unconsciously bringing his hand near his gun. Nonetheless, when he speaks, his voice is still controlled and professional, if a little strained. "There is a door at the end of the corridor that goes outside" he says. It is the access to the garage, and civilians shouldn't be there, but John wants to see mr Scott under the lights of the corridor. He'll give a shout to someone along the way to let them know where he is And where the hell's Cohen? "I'll accompany you for a smoke, but it's really quite urgent that we take your statement of facts, mr Scott."

[Worlok]

It's basically just his idea of proper slang. The fact that it actually is that way bore little consequence for that. :smallredface:
"Yesss, yesssofcourssse." He seemed to only then realise what was going wrong, and within a split second, the green-skinned old man was the ebon-skinned younger man again: "Oh. Uh. Sorry 'bout dis jus' dere. 't happens, 'times. Nerve condition. Some'in' 'bout stress 'n' hormones 'n' such." An uneasy smile - and no, his teeth weren't the slightest bit dinosaur-like. "Bu' yes, reckon a smoke'll do us both good. Lead on."

And with that, he slowly rose, nodding and smiling, and indicated the door with one hand, the other currently extended to remove the last length of ash into the garbage bin.

"Say tho', officer, you reckon I gone nuts?" The question was serious, no matter the jokular tone of voice, and his concern was likewise genuine, for obviously, this man did not want to have his story disbelieved, and he was absolutely certain of what he had seen and said.

[Strawberries]

Stress and hormones, like hell. Stress and hormones are what you complain about when your hair falls off, or if you get a rash. They can certainly NOT explain what John has just seen.

“Mr Scott, I recon you’ve seen something unusual that should be investigated.” And that he is probably a nutjob. The disturbing thing is, John is feeling like he is about to join in that par club very soon, if he hasn’t already. I need a goddamn smoke, too.

He keeps the door open for the man, directing him to the door at the end of the corridor, and giving a warning shout to whichever agent he first sees on the way “I’m bringing the witness out for some fresh air – five minutes.” Which is also a way to say if I take longer, come see what the hell is happening

((Uhm... I probably should have rolled something akin to a sense motive a while ago, right? :smallwink:. Let’s remedy! Perception + Empathy [roll0]
Also,a plain Perception roll to observe the witness under the better lights of the corridor [roll1]
And do I need Manipulation+Subterfuge to maintain the facade of a calm, professional law enforcer despite having no idea of what's going on? [roll2]

[Strawberries]

Rerolling that first ten
[roll0]
EDIT: okay, this is ridiculous. I don't have to roll a third time, do I?

[Worlok]

It's cool. The exact effects of those results reflect neatly what has been going on, so we can stick with them for now, I think. :smallbiggrin: Also, the Subterfuge wasn't really needed as such, but it's sure good to have.
"Well, dat's good to hear. Thank you." Scott nodded, smiled, and began walking down the way towards the door. Officer Ramirez, his unhealthily pale complexion a good bit paler than usual from being overworked, just nodded when John told him of the plan as he came in, having apparently just gotten done with a smoke break himself - Funny, had the guy even been supposed to be working tonight?

But in as much as could be told, even with better light, the witness was nothing entirely out of the ordinary: The back of his head was - and even through the hair this was visible, now that the wig was off - lightly scarred, or just scratched, possibly, in a pattern resembling the scales on a lizard's skin, and the same went for some of his neck. His skin still had that odd, greenish tinge, but now it was much less pronounced, and every once in a while, he stopped, very briefly, apparently fighting the urge to spit on the ground and swallowing up the wet in his mouth instead.

He offered one of his cigarettes, this time around, and casually asked John whether he'd ever heard of a thing like the one he, Scott, had purported to have seen earlier. "Your man Cohen, he seemed to have no clue of anything anymore. Now I'm not sayin' he's bad at what he does. But he sure hadn't heard anyfin' like dat before, I bet."

[Strawberries]

John acccepts the cigarette with a nod, leans back against the station wall and lights up. He answers with a laugh that, he hopes, at least seems genuine. "Mr Scott, I've been a cop for twenty years. There are very few things I haven't heard." Which is true enough. The things he's seen tonight, on the other hand, are rapidly assuming the very special place of absolute firsts. "I have another question for you. When your friend and those people were arguing, before he was attacked, did you hear something of what they were saying? Something that wasn't in a...weird language?"

A part of his mind, meanwhile, has kept acting like it was trained to do and has come to what seems a quite solid conclusion. Acid. He's bombed up to the eyeballs on LSD. Paranoia, allucinations, incoherence, excessive salivation... it all matches. Except for a thing. I haven't taken any damned acid. So how come I'm hallucinating, as well?

((Google, I love you.And I should probably delete my navigation history before someone uses my computer and sees all those pages on the effects of recreational drugs... :smalltongue:))

[Worlok]

"Can' seem to remember, officer. All dat standard 'dis our territory' jazz you get from street thugs, basically." He tried to remember, but the attempt seemed to have failed. "Then again, well, might be that I'm getting that wrong. No idea, really. Sorry, officer." While he actually sounded rueful, something about his composure was off: He stood crookedly, but perfectly still, and even now the odd criss-cross of lines on his skin was visible. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it is about dis city. Dere's almost nothin' happenin' here all year, but the moment some'in' does go down, it's always dis ghoulish-ass crap." His use of the word 'ghoulish' seemed out of place, somehow too old-fashioned, too formal to blend in with his relatively casual choice of words up to now. "Like, I dunno. Like we's basically livin' here, mindin' our businesses, 'n' all da while, dere's some man-eatin' monster with dinosaur teef jus' outta sight, waitin' for us to get comforta'le, guard down like, know what I mean?" It was remarkable how malleable this man seemed, for all of a sudden, he seemed so very old again. But then that might just have been stress.

Either there was something he wasn't letting out, though, or what he'd said had been meant to be metaphorical - For while there had been several rather messed-up things throughout Turton's history, mostly some quite interesting murders that had happened long before John's time and inspired conspiracy theorists, copycat killers and criminology students the nation over, nothing quite as curious as people with sharp teeth attacking others in the streets had happened throughout his career. Things that were stranger, yes, things that were significantly bloodier, for sure, and even things more disheartening or just more difficult, but nothing quite like that. Then again, Scott had given his adress as 378 Boston Road - flat in the middle of the northwestern part of town, where most of the resident black community made their homes and people very rarely spoke to police personnel.

[Strawberries]

John glances at his watch. There's something very strange, scratch that, there's something fundamentally wrong about this witness, every policeman instinct he has is telling him that, but there's also Morgan to consider. Morgan, who's holding a bunch of people just for him, based on nothing. He has to get down there and to break that deadlock, too. "Mr Scott" he starts, patiently, "I need you to give and sign your statement of facts, so that we can open an official case. I can send you someone as soon as we're back inside. I would also like you to stay for another bit, I may need you to identify the suspects. Do you feel up for it?"

[Worlok]

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sure. Sure I do." Scott was overeager to agree now, nodding his head almost too energetically. "Jus' lemme..." and he finished his cigarette, taking one last, long drag "... finish this." Discarding the sorry remains of the smoke onto the ground without much in the way of care, he then turned towards John: "Tho' call it a wild guess, jus' a feeling like, really... But maybe we shou' stay here. Reckon it's possible to get 'em out here with us, rather dan goin' back in?" What an urgency in his voice there, now - the man was a master and miracle of the swinging mood, that much was sure.

[Strawberries]

As he has mentioned more than once during the evening, and as he is fond to mention, John has been doing this job for twenty years. That means his reaction isn't the insinctual one - which is, to sigh, rub his eyes and start yelling at the witness to stop losing his goddamn time. Instead, his tone is even and measured when he answers "Mr Scott, as I already told you, this is a police station. There are few places safer than the inside of that building." Forget the fact that, less than ten minute ago, he was ready to declare the station under attack. That was no doubt the stress, and he is ready to bear a couple of months of ribbing over it. "Even if it should come to an identification, I assure you, you won't be seen by the suspects. You would be on the other side of a one-way mirror: that's the standard procedure." And he definitely is not going to mention the one-way mirror in the interrogation room. The evening is already mad enough as it is.

And still, there's that little warning sign flashing wrongwrongwrong in the back of his mind. It's maddening and frustraring. Coincidence. That he met my eyes was a coincidence. Coincidences happen all the time he tells himself, firmly,purposefully chosing to forget all the times he's told Daniel I don't believe in coincidences.

[Worlok]

"Right, sure. Okay. Yeah. Sorry." An apologetic gesture, no less calm than John's reply, yet still somehow seeming out of place. "Was jus' a hunch, is all. I'm ready, now, tho'. Lead the way, yes, officer?" That last one sounded far from as relaxed as Mr Scott was apparently hoping for it to sound. Nonetheless, he seemed to mean it.

[Strawberries]

John straightens up, and holds the door open for the witness to enter. As soon as they are inside, he guides Scott back to one of the interrogations rooms. He'll send some younger agent to make him sign his statement of facts. He feeds the man the standard meaningless reassuring drivel about bureaucracy and the standard procedures "Come tell me if he asks to leave" he makes sure to tell the agent that's going to make Scott sign his statement, assuring himself that things are going to go smoothly before going back to Morgan and the hindu gurus.

[Worlok]

Once again, Ramirez was wordlessly cooperative. Apparently, whatever business he had previously had in the lobby had been done, and while there was now something haunted - more haunted, at any rate, and only briefly supplanted by a look of relief over the fact that he now wouldn't have to come see what the hell was happening - about his countenance, he remained professionally cordial while nodding and guiding Scott into the interrogation room.

As for the lobby itself, the scene had not notably changed: The dude in the suit from earlier could be seen through the front door, nervously eying what was happening inside, and the people in green sat around the hall, the vast majority gazing into nothingness in perfect silence as before, and a select few studying the notice boards and posters on the walls or staring at each other, gesturing and moving much as if communing without words. A strangely ceremonial, intimate air seemed to surround the gathering, and for a second, it felt the slightest bit like entering a church while service was in session. Skinner and Thompson were standing in a corner, next to the dark-skinned man in the cowboy hat whom John had seen earlier, while coming here, and the guy had apparently just arrived, for he seemed out of breath, as if having only just finished a longer run.

Upon sighting Gifford, Morgan made to wave him over, only to excuse himself from the other two, meet his colleague halfway, and whisper: "John, this seems to be their... tour guide, or something of the sort. He just came in, says he lost sight of them during rush hour, and that this is very embarassing for him. We told him you could explain to him why we asked them all to stay here, so this is your case." And your mess. rang out as the unspoken undercurrent. "He calls himself Buck Winters, but you know... he sure doesn't look like a guy named Buck Winters to me. Passport checks out, anyway. You gonna take it from here?" The man was exasperated. And pissed. But he made a poor job of hiding his curiosity over this whole thing.

[Strawberries]

Their guide or their friggin' lawyer? John is tempted to snap, buy he restrains himself. This is a weird night and he is stressed, but there's no need to be rude to Morgan. Instead, he nods. "Yeah, I'll take this". Reassure the 'guide' Not a circus, then, I would have thought a circus for sure, then get to work on the people in green It may all be an hallucination from a stoned witness, but if those people -are- connected to Jetty Fam, this might be the breakthrough we needed. "Just another thing,Morgan. I sent a squad to Havish-ham Drive. Can you check for me if they got somethin'?"

((Approaching, and rolling perception+alertness (or should it be perception+investigation?). It's a long shot,and they'll probably look all similar, but he'll try to figure out if there are people that match Scott's description in the group.
[roll0]

[Worlok]

"Sure can try. Though notice how we haven't even had a call since all of this began? I'll go look what I can do." Morgan left it at that, trudging off through the doors and into the back of the building, leaving John alone with Skinner. And the cowboy guy - Buck Winters, huh? - and the legion in green, of course. All of which, even at a closer glance, could have fit Scott's admittedly sparse description perfectly. Some less so then others, as a number of them wore different shades of green, or had dyed their hair - red or orange, predominantly - but still.

[Strawberries]

Repressing a sigh, John approaches the pair. "Mr Winters. Officer John Gifford. We received a report and I need to have a talk with some of these people. You said you were their guide?"

[Worlok]

"Their guide, indeed, in a way. And their tour guide for the duration of our stay in this most blessed country of yours, if only as a matter of convenience. Indeed." He sounded oddly happy to be here, and had there been any reason for him to look like that, one could have said the gaze he leveled at John was one of intrigue, of attraction, yes, almost of lust. And that impression of his expression just wouldn't leave as he went on: "And it is a pleasure to meet you, it really is. Tell me though, if it is allowed, why ever you would have need to talk to my brothers in this? Certainly, hopefully, none of their number has fallen to crime?"

[Strawberries]

"I'm afraid police investigations are confidential, and I can't share the details with you." John answers, politely but firmly enough What's he staring at, anyway? It doesn't make him uncomfortable, as he is quite used to have gazes fixed on him in anger or with a promise of vengeance, but it's most certainly odd. "However, if you would be so kind to answer a couple of questions for me, we could solve this situation with minimal trouble. Coud you tell me how ong have you been in Turton, andwhere are you coming from?"

[Worlok]

"Well, certainly, how silly of me. I could have known." A casual laugh, immediately supplanted again by that same look of probing intensity he had maintained before: "Most of my brothers here are from Europe, the Eastern and Southern parts mostly, to answer that. I, myself, as well as several of the fellowship you see gathered here, hail from Mumbai, India, and most of us just arrived a few weeks ago. The idea was a grand sight-seeing circuit, seeing America. You might already have gathered that we are... ah, what's the word? A... religious organisation. A... a church group, essentially, except we do not consider ourselves a church. For lack of Christianity, if nothing else." That had apparently been supposed to be a joke. "And should we by some want of familiarity with local custom have transgressed against the law, I assure you that I am unconsolable over this oversight, and shall do all within my power to help set this right." Something about the way he said it seemed... off. "After all, we would not want to cause trouble in this fair town of yours."

If I might trouble you for a Perception + Subterfuge roll? :smallwink:

It's one of the harder ones so far, but let's see Bucky's roll:

[roll0]

[Strawberries]

((I'll roll and then react accordingly to your response
Perception+Subterfuge
[roll0]))

[Worlok]

It certainly seemed as if Mr Winter's desire to help was genuine, yes, by the sheer appearance of things, a more honest and law-abiding soul had rarely walked the earth. His facial impression might have been disturbing, yet surely he had not lied.

A little base of me, I must admit. Yet apparently Winter's manipulator build does work for him. :smalltongue:

[Strawberries]

((No need to apologize, and fair enough!))

John relaxes considerably. He has seen a lot of peope lying, he knows when people lie, and this man certainly isn't. The weird staring thing, probably, has an explanation too. It's possible that it is just some weird cultural thing - the man isn't American, after all. "Well, Mr Winters, you can probably help me" he says, in a much more relaxed tone. "As I said, we received a report. Exactly how long ago have you lost sight of your... group, and was everyone accounted for before? "

((How long ago has "Jetty Fam" started being mentioned?))

[Worlok]

A few weeks to months ago. Starting with the unprecedented rise in tourism activity, basically. Ever had a leaking faucet go unfixed for a long while? Namedropping Jetty-Fam would be the drip-drip-drip, slowly becoming more frequent and more annoying over time. :smallredface:
"Oh, basically every night, starting the day we arrived. I figured, the less... pressure I apply, the more... pleasant this whole... trip will be. I basically let them... roam free after sunset, experience... Turton by night and all." Everything about his delivery reminded John of certain stereotypes about a certain kind of man - but while his message sounded strangely innuendo-laden, one could not be sure what he was trying to imply. Either the man was trying way too hard, anyway, or being offensive by accident. "And now you might say, how odd that we would get... stuck here for so long, I mean, we already came here mid-April and all. But what can I say, we stumbled across this city and fell in love." He paused, giving a stunningly exaggerated wink. "So many... opportunities. Some of the boys are actually planning to build a temple here. But at any rate, I did try to keep them perfectly accounted for up to now."

At this point, one of the 'boys', a particularly unkempt individual with stringy, greying hair and one of the few in their ranks with a beard (and what a beard, basically Sadhu Santa Claus), deigned to speak up: "Buck is decider, yeah?" And they laughed at that. All of them. Perfectly uniformly and in tune, from all around, like an entire room full of robot clowns. Even Skinner joined, apparently without thinking about it too much.

[Strawberries]

Wrong. Again, that warning sign in the back of his head. Something's wrong, something doesn't match... It takes a couple of seconds for John to figure out what. Morgan saying 'he lost sight of them during rush hour, and that this is very embarassing for him', and now, the man admitting that he usually let his charges roam free. Sure, the man seems honest enough, but that detail bugs him...is it possible that Morgan may have misunderstood? And what's with him, anyway? He didn't talk like that before.

He is still prodding that thought, but in that moment, the people in the hall laugh. His eyes snap on Skinner, and he contains himself enough to avoid yelling at him Dammit kid, what did they teach you to the Academy? You never laugh, never show friendliness to possible perps, unless it isn't a part of a precise strategy. Which most certainly isn't: John has seen Skinner's expression.

"Skinner" he snaps instead, to regain the kid's attention "Go and get me officer Cohen, tell him to come here." And since you're there, buzz off, and stop doing damage. He turns back to Winters again. "Very well, mr Winters, since you were keeping them accounted for... has any of them even mentioned having been invited to some sort of party in Havish-ham Drive?"

[Worlok]

"Huh?" Skinner reacted much as if snapping out of a trance, winking uneasily like a child in thick cigarette smoke. "Yeah...? Yeah, sure. Of course, John, I'll go right away." His face reddening significantly, he did not lose any time in leaving the room.

Winters himself had remained calm throughout the scene of merriment, yet he did let a chuckle escape at the sight: "Officer Gifford, I certainly hope that will not have any negative repercussions on Mr Skinner here. It is not uncommon for us to have that manner of effect." He - poorly - faked mortification, one hand rising up to shield his mouth. "Oh, did I let that slip? How inconsiderate of me. Do rest assured, however, that his laughter wasn't all young Matthew's fault. And as for your request, I can in fact inform you that some of us were. I did, in fact, share in the celebrations there, myself. Yet may I ask why that is of relevance?"

[Strawberries]

What the hell does it mean now, 'have that manner of effect?' But the important thing is, if the man was here himself, he ceases being just a useful mediator and becomes a key witness. Possibly a perp, even if John doubts it. Scott hasn't mentioned a cowboy's hat, and the man isn't dressed in green. Besides, he gave John a good impression, before.

Still, a key witness: John's demeanor changes accordingly. "In that case, mr Winters, you should be informed that I have a report about two people that by description correspond to members of your group. Tentative charges at the moment are assault with the intent to murder." And I'd really like to know if we have news from the squad I sent "Do you know a mister James Curtis Freeman?"Start slowly. Then I'll ask about Jetty Fam

[Worlok]

"What? Assault with the intent of..." He seemed stunned, was stunned, most likely. "I... That... I can't imagine one of my people becoming a murderer. It is one of the core tenets of our group to never visit harm upon a... living thing." Was this the face of a man experiencing genuine concern, genuine shock? Something about it seemed put-upon, but then he had already proven that he was quite fond of overacting even when in honesty. "But as for your question... No. I do know a James Ebenezer Zimmerman, however, if that helps...?"

EDIT: Upon closer scrutiny, more than one thing about Mr Winters was off. For one thing, he had apparently overacted on something else than just his words: Red-facedly catching his breath as he had been when John had first come in, he now didn't appear to breathe at all, and for all his gesturing, he seemed oddly stiff at times, coming off every bit as lizard-like as Scott had done, if in an entirely different way. Regardless of that, his story checked out. An odd one, this Mr Winters, that much was sure.

Remember, you're always free to ask for a roll. Perception + Subterfuge and the likes are basically our Sense Motive here, you can always roll one of 'em when in doubt. :smallwink:

[Strawberries]

Yeah, I was about to ask if I could do that. :smalltongue:

Perception+Subterfuge
[roll0]

Or should I roll Perception+Investigation? He is trying to question the man, after all...
Just in case [roll1]

I'll post my reaction when you give me the result... :smallwink:

EDIT: Augh. I suspect the results won't be good.

Wrong. Once again, that maddening warning that his instincts are giving him. Something's wrong, something's amiss. Not in the man's words, that seem honest enough, but in the rest of him. John scrutinises the man more closely Is he holding his breath?

"I'm afraid not. Still, if you could provide me with the names of the people who were with you at that party, I will arrange for me and my colleague to have a talk with them." John takes out his notepad. Professional, again. "Also, could you tell me who was the person who invited you to the party?"

[Worlok]

Alright, let's see. Manipulation + Subterfuge are eight dice, again. So yeah, the chances are slim indeed. Here's the roll, if both sides score zero successes, we'll roll again, but even then it's not looking all that great. :smallfrown:

[roll0] - EDIT: Well. Sorry about that. He had not originally been supposed to have this slick a tongue. :smallredface:

However, John's Perception + Investigation is about to score some points, because the pool that counters that just happens to hold seven dice as well. :smallamused:

[roll1] - EDIT: Four for John, three for Winters. Congratulations, you win the roll. :smallsmile:

Will edit my previous post with implications of results, and then wait for your edit of your post before editing this one with what happens next. Sound good? :smallbiggrin:
"Well, let us see... It just so happened that there were a... few of us, and I'm always so bad with names when I don't have my list with me. But as for who invited me, I don't presume there's any harm in that." He smiled, warmly and happily now that he actually was a help, and he began to breathe again, provided he actually had been holding his airs at all. "It was no lesser than my good friend Mr Scott himself. Jerome Scott, jr., after his father whose blessed person I have the notable pleasure of doing business with."

[Strawberries]

What the fu- John is too experienced to blurt it out loudly, or to betray his surprise through his expression. I will have to have a chat with Scott, again.

Instead, he nods, takes a note, and passes to the next question. "I see. And during the course of the evening, did you happen to see any of your people leaving, following a man? Perhaps one they had an altercation with, before?"

[Worlok]

"Well... Well... Well..." Winters sank into deep contemplation there for a spell, seemingly fishing for relevant memories. "Now that you mention it, there was this wiry one. Big, thin guy, kinda pasty, I remember him having red hair. Kept harassing Mohan and Damodar all the time, wouldn't leave them alone, and then flat-out refused to speak with me when I told him to knock it off. Such a very rude individual. Just a regular drunk though, apparently thought that long hair on men is some sort of sacrilege. Some of the guys had some trouble with other people while stepping out for a smoke, or so I'm told." A pause. "And that one girl with this incredibly filthy vocabulary. Eventually, she followed some of the guys outside, and some of the rest of us followed her, but I lost sight of them after that. And later Rahul comes in and tells me she just yelled some more and then went home. With Kumar of all people, too, and I'm telling you, Officer, the kid just cannot keep it in his pants. Noone hurt though, as far as I could tell, and from what I know, I can trust my people on such accounts. But I understand that wasn't exactly what you were asking for. Come to think of it, however... Would it be fine by you if I were to briefly adress my... congregation, as it were?"

[Strawberries]

The story checks out with Scott's report. More or less. Two of the weird guys and a girl. Finally getting somewhere. "I will need to speak with... Mohan and Damodar. And the other people that were with you at that party. Are they all here at the moment?"

Then Winters' question fully registers with him "On what matter? This is a police station, not a temple. It's not the most appropriate place for a sermon"

[Worlok]

"As it so happens, that was exactly what I was going to ask of them. Given the hurry in which we arrived, I would like to get a quick roll-call in, for one never knows." He gave John one of those strangely lurid smirks of his, and added: "And if so, I might as well just hold a sermon later on. There's always a first time for everything, after all, though I won't... commit to such plans just yet."

One Willpower roll, please, something... interesting might very well be going on. :smallamused:

[Strawberries]

((As usual, I'll roll and then react based on what you write

[roll0]

[Worlok]

No need to, go ahead. That was more or less a hidden check, basically a reference roll. All will be explained, though there might be more of those. :smallredface:

[Strawberries]

Can't he tell at a glance? The people in green are more or less all around. Not like they're hiding or roaming the station or anything like that. "Very well, Winter, go ahead, then".

[Worlok]

"Happily. Be assured of my gratitude, Officer." Winter nodded his thanks, then turned with a flamboyant flourish and yelled: "EVERYONE PRESENT?" This prosaic adress was met with some seven dozen voices going "YES" as one, and the aforementioned Santa Claus look-alike's more formal reply: "Kumar is still off somewhere, and Rahul had some things to see to, or so he said. Grigori's caught Montezuma's revenge, and the new kid has been held up, apparently. Other than that, all in attendance." - "Very well, then. Damodar, Mohan, you heard Officer Gifford, here. Please step forward and do as he asks of you."

At that, Indian Santa and some dude that could have passed for a swarthier, darker-skinned Charles Manson minus the forehead scar rose, stepped closer, and silently locked their expressionless gazes at John. "One thing I wonder, however, Officer..." Winter turned to face him once again. "Is it just me, or are your colleagues really taking their time with those tasks of theirs?" He was, obviously, smiling again, in that knowing, suggestive way, yet he surely couldn't have heard all of John's conversations with the other officers... right?

RIGHT?

[Strawberries]

"It's a busy night" John snaps, before realizing his mistake. You friggin' idiot, why are you justifying yourself with him? It's a weird and unnerving night, that much is certain, and it's beginning to affect his nerves. You are a cop, dammit. Focus. The man is playing tricks with him, John is sure. What is frustrating is the fact that he can't figure out how.

"Mr Damodar, Mr Mohan." he says, a bit tensely. "If you would follow me, please." He is going to split them up in two different interview rooms, take one for himself, and ask Cohen to interrogate the other. Where the hell IS Cohen anyway?

[Worlok]

"It would appear to be. No worries, Officer, I'm certain this will be cleared up before long, and we will likely laugh about this once it has." Cheerfully waving them off as the two men followed John, the last Officer Gifford saw of him was how he whispered something to one of his followers before sitting down on a chair and leaning back, apparently content to let events unfold from here.

"Sure. But, well..." This was 'Santa' speaking. "Y'see, shoulda told you this before. Those are given names. Would be Mr Advani and Mr Singh, technically. He's Damodar Advani. And my name's Mohan Singh." - "Happy to have been met with you." Damodar Advani lazily threw in, apparently neither used to talking, nor to speaking English all that much.

As they headed towards the interrogation rooms, however, they were met by Officer Thompson, once again. Looking less tired, maybe, but only because this time around, he was afraid. His uncharacteristically slouched posture and the haunted air he had about him certainly betrayed that much. He did not greet them. He barely seemed to notice they were there.

[Strawberries]

If you asked officer Gifford how many times he's been genuinely scared in his career, he’d honestly answer not that many. A couple of hostage situations. The four times he has been shot and sent to the hospital. Now it’s obviously not one of these times, but still, looking at Thompson, he can’t help a feeling of unease. Maybe because he knows Morgan, and while he isn’t John’s favourite person in the world, he is a pretty damned good cop with a load of experience. Scaring him, John imagines, would be as difficult as scaring John himself...which means something serious has probably happened.

Still, he has some possible perps to deal with. John covers as well as he can. “Very well, then, mr Singh, if you could take a seat down in that first room to your left, mr Advani, if you could do the same with the room next to it, I and my colleagues will be with you shortly”

Assuming they comply, he turns to Morgan. “Thompson, what the f***’s happened? Was it the squad in Havish-ham?”

Of course, if they don't comply, ignore that last sentence. :smallwink:

[Worlok]

Resuming their previously maintained blank stares, the two men merely nodded, Mohan waddling off towards the indicated interrogation room, and Damodar doing the same with the one he had been directed towards after a short pause. There seemed to be a certain edge to both of them, maybe a hint of nervosity at the sight of Morgan, and while they moved in a pointedly casual fashion, their curiosity was downright tangible. Yet there seemed to be more to it. Some would have sworn the two of them looked amused.

Morgan, however, did not even bother to hide his state of mind. The moment John's question had registered, there was no stopping him, and stepping closer to Officer Gifford, he started whispering: "No. Yes. I mean... Kind of. The witness. You had Ramirez set on him? This Mr Scott, I think? There was... I mean... there is... the squads. The phones. Cohen." The words bubbled out of him at an alarming rate, and yet there seemed to be little coherence to them. Until...: "Our Jew is nowhere to be found. All the lines are dead. No news from no squads regardless of where. I looked out of the window. This place is surrounded. All of them guys in green. Think they're being stealthy or something, they sure didn't notice me." He whinced. "Or 't least, I hope so. Whole lot of 'em in the yard. And your witness just basically... crap. You're not gonna believe this, anyway." This man, that much was clear, was desperately clinging to what little remained of his former cool.

[Strawberries]

"Sh*t." He had known it. He'd known since that first maddening warning bell in the back of his mind. "Alright, Thompson, calm down, we can deal with this." His mind is following two directions at the same time. Cellphone. If now isn't the time to activate the protocols, I don't know what it is, and, togheter with it They're a lot, but they're not armed. And on the trail of that thought The Armory. Damn it

As for the witness...he wants to know, but really, those two thoughts should take the priority "Thompson" he mouths, motioning with his head for the man to follow him. "I'm going to call in the Protocols. And we gotta secure the armory. You can tell me on the way". He starts to move down the corridor, a hand on his gun, and with the other he fishes out his cellphone from his pocket.

((I'll wait to know if he has signal before dialing anyone. This seems one of those occasions in which there's no signal.))

[Worlok]

The signal - almost predictably - being weak enough as to be practically non-existent, it would appear that either these people's means of blocking communication were more efficient than one would guess, or something bigger was amiss. On the other hand, the emergency personnel had a way of mobilising once the lines went dead and stayed that way for too long, meaning that sooner or later, someone very likely would show up.

Backtracking towards the armory, the two policemen would have to pass the door to the lobby again, and given this circumstance, Winters' men would likely not have much trouble to get there before John and Morgan did. Then again, they could have simply overwhelmed them and moved in some time ago. Whatever was going on in here would certainly make for a quite interesting case report...

Leaving the interrogation rooms behind, the two of them made for the weapon storage, Thompson recounting the course of events he had seen on the way: "Well, you're not gonna believe this. They disappeared. Mr Scott, Ramirez, both disappeared. I passed by the room they were in, and while I look in, they just basically... I don't know, John. It's like they turned invisible right then and there. Poof, gone, not to be seen or found. And that Scott fellow... I saw his eyes. Those eyes, John! Like some sorta... crocodile, I dunno. All reptilian. Scared the crap outta me, and the next minute, they are right there again, all normal, normal eyes, right there. And so I figure, hey, it's jus' stress, I'm seeing things, right? And I go to check on the squads, and halfway up the stairs I look out back and see the greencoats standing there." So far, he seemed to hold it together rather well, given the outrageous claims he put forth. But then: "And get this - I come down here, I turn the corner, this was right before I ra-"

An echoing bang interrupted his report, Thompson immediately, instinctively throwing himself to the ground and pulling his gun, only for a pained yelp to resound from around a corner right up ahead, and a billowing cloud of thick, black smoke to round the same and fill the corridor at record speed.

[Strawberries]

John has dropped to the ground and drawn his gun simultaneously with Thompson, in the kind of automatic reflex that’s often the only thing that saves a policeman’s life. Gun in hand, he gets up to a crouching position, but doesn’t stand: there’s smoke, and to stand up would only mean ending up choking on it. He signals to Thompson to cover him, and cautiously begins to crawl towards the corner.

Uhm... Dex+Athletics? Just in case [roll0]

[Worlok]

Thick wafts of the rapidly spreading smoke passing overhead, the two made for the corner, with Thompson keeping his weapon raised and following right behind Gifford, both of them seemingly having gone unnoticed - so far. As if freed by the sound of what could only have been an explosion, a gunshot, or the most poorly parked, loudly malfunctioning car in the world, a maelstrom of footfall, rustling of fabric, rumbling and speech broke loose, many people hurrying about in obscured sight, seemingly highly disturbed by this turn of events - which was, in itself, all the more disconcerting, seeing how there was noone left in the building except their few attendant colleagues and Winters' men. If one's prime suspect reacted to the cause of offense with such outright fright...

A second bang rang out, and this time, the tell-tale click of an empty gun followed it, triggering a barrage of screaming and frantic scurrying in the invisible masses, the overpowering scents - and the heat - of a fire drowning out nearly everything else. Winters yelled, somewhere up ahead, yelled warnings and threats and incomplete orders and what would likely be much of the same in some different tongues, either desperately trying to assume control over the situation, or losing the one he had over himself, only to find himself shouted down by what could only be less-than-enthusiastic response in languages neither Morgan nor John seemed to know.

Glass shattering, steps rushing, wood and meat and stone and steel colliding in the hall.

Sparks mingling with the cloud of smoke.

Hot winds and yells and gurgling screams, and clicking, clicking, then another and another bang.

All at once.

Unfortunately, if mercifully, still veiled by the wavering dark.

All around.

Just too clearly so despite the uselessness of one's eyes.

Human forms, no, mere blurs of humanoid outlines dashed past with mind-boggling speed, one flying, no, having jumped right over John, rushed along the hallway and passed into smoke, their movement parting the thickening cloud just enough to reveal that Thompson had silently disappeared - or been disappeared - just then.

And somebody's severed hand flew past and collided with the now-heatening floor tiles right next to John's left foot, crumbling to ashes despite having not caught flame.

[Strawberries]

It's difficult to move in the sudden chaos, difficult to think, even, but fortunately, John has the training and experience to fall back on. He ignores the severed hand, ignores the inhuman jump, ignores anything that doesn't make immediate sense - his mind just files it up for later. At the moment, two things are important: trying to locate Thompson, who may very well be wounded and requiring assistance, AND trying to get close enough to understand what's happening and who the third party is - because it's pretty evident that there is a third party. Maybe Cohen had been more lucky than them and has managed to call in the protocols... in which case, the presence of even a single agent in the right place to give cover and assistance may as well be crucial.

Perception+alertness, first of all,to try and locate Thompson, and then tell me what else I should roll.

[roll0]

[Worlok]

There was a sense of unspeakable things happening just out of sight permeating the very air - what little of it remained! Thompson was still nowhere to be seen, but the voices of Mohan and Damodar resounded from far away, Mohan frantically yelling "OFFICER!".

Relentless, biting smoke filled every orifice, bit into nose and tongue alike even when those were well-protected. Bursts of flame, more audible then visible, briefly lightened some obscured parcel of infernal twilight, but it never was sufficient to cut through.

"WINTERS! WHATEVER DO YOU THINK THAT YOU ARE DOING HERE?" a booming voice inquired suddenly, loudly, profoundly, much like the sound of mighty waters rising in a tidal wave, and as it did, the smoke seemed to part, the fires to dull and die, the very light to be sucked out of the vicinity in one greedy gulp. To be transformed into arm-thick, writhing growths apparently fashioned of manifest night, searchingly making their way across every surface of the area, even John's very form. Yet they, most likely by sheer circumstance, formed a tunnel for him to see into the middle of what seemed to be a most tenebrous storm that had erupted suddenly, indoors.

Not much, a courage roll if you'd insist, otherwise some badass roleplaying of overcoming sudden-onset nyctophobia on steroids. You might start guessing as to whose aquaintance you're about to make. :smallwink:

[Strawberries]

((I'll go for the roleplay, I think. Let's give the guy a moment of glory before he snuffs it :smalltongue:))

Locate the dangers, locate the civilians, locate the support. How to deal with a terrorist attack, or a chaotic situation of any kind, according to basic police training. That’s really all John is thinking about right now: he has to focus on the basics, or risk to panic and become useless. Locate the dangers, locate the civilians, locate the support. he keeps repeating to himself Locate the danger, locate the civilians, locate the support, locate the danger...

Locate the danger. Everywhere...and nowhere at the same time, it seems. Smoke, and fire are the easy ones. Stay down, don’t breathe too deeply, get to an estinguisher... except he can’t. Not with an unknown number of possible hostiles between him and wherever he may decide to go... hostiles that don’t seem exactly human, and that he can’t see... Stop it. Focus. Locate the civilians. The civilians. He isn’t sure who to count among that number. Mohan and Damodar shouldn’t by any rights be included, but Mohan is yelling for him... I can’t reach them now, anyway, so focus on the next step. Locate the support. That’s the easiest one. There is no support, none that he can see. Morgan has disappeared and Cohen... he hasn’t seen Cohen since he brought the witness in the interrogation room.

And, as he is thinking about it, a voice belonging to somebody he can’t see yells for Winters. That is... not support, but maybe something he can use, and... what the ****? The shadows... the shadows that have suddenly come to life, and seem to grow and writhe all around him, through him, even. John inhales sharply, partially in surprise, but also, partially, in fear. Bad, bad mistake, giving the quantity of smoke still around. His eyes water, and he has to use all the self-control he has to avoid coughing and give away his position. He is only partially successful, and he muffles the cough in the crook of his arm, as he tries unsuccessfully to understand what’s happening, and still... there is a passage, in the mass of impossible, writhing forms. John doesn’t much think about it as he reacts by instinct. Gun in hand, he rolls through it, trying to avoid as much of the tangible dark as he can...