Who: Pris, Halcyon, Marcus and Grant
Where: Lock Up!
Why: Pris visits Halcyon, Marcus and Grant intervene
POV: Pris'

NYPD: 52nd Precinct: MERT Office
The PID office is jammed under the stairs, but
extends further back than you might expect. There are
no cubicle walls here, just battered desks, though
each does have it's own computer, unlike the pit
outside. A wall full of ancient, sagging grey vertical
file cabinets is at the back. The constant clatter and
babble of phones and voices is no less strident here
than it is outside. A fax machine in the corner whirrs
relentlessly, a dot-matrix printer chatters loudly.
There are also outward signs of PID's
reputation for eccentricity. A waste paper basket is
surrounded by complex-looking paper airplanes. A radio
plays softly on one desk, but seems to change stations
at random every two minutes or so. A picture of a UFO
is up on one wall, with darts stuck into it and point
values written on different pieces of it. There is
also, ominously, a separate weapons locker for PID,
with no visible latch, handle, lock, or other means of
opening it.
Obvious exits:
Out <O>

The back of the office holds lock-up. The barred and
closed area is separated by men and women. At the
moment, the male part is empty as court was in session
all day. Most of the men have been transported back to
Rikers or have made bail. The woman's half is empty
too. Empty except for one prisoner sitting in the
furthest corner and curled up around her knees. To get
into the area, one would have to be either a lawyer, a
court officer, or a psychologist/psychiatrist of some
kind. Visitors are not welcome unless they are of the
aforementioned professions.

"...just for a couple of minutes," Pris is saying as
the young policeman leads her in. She smiles
brilliantly at him. "Not too long, of course. I have
places to be, but there are a couple of things that
simply won't wait." The policeman doesn't look too
convinced; he's not letting her into the barred area,
but he does leave her just outside the bars with a
warning: "I'll be just over here, Ma'am." Pris nods,
smiling again, and only once he's stepped away does
she turn and look at Halcyon.

Halcyon looks completely awful. Her clothes are ripped
in such a fashion as it would lead Pris to belive that
Hal's own talons have cut the shirt and pants in
various places. Though its obvious that she's been
seen by some sort of nurse, blood still cakes around a
cut on her lip, a large slice that doesn't need
stitches, but is nasty anyways. She sits facing the
bars, but on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees.
Her third eyelid is down and though her talons aren't
out, the holes in which they reside are reddened
inferring that they've made their way in and out many
times over the past day. She seems vacant and lost. Oh
yes, and her beautiful golden hair is now a mousey
brown. It doesn't do much to complement her already
scarred features.

"Jesus Christ," Pris curses, finally getting a good
look at her. "What the hell happened to you?" She
sounds shocked, her voice a little choked. She
obviously wasn't expecting to see Hal in such a state.
In contrast, Pris looks all dolled up, wearing a nice
dress and fairly obviously on her way somewhere.

First, Halcyon stares through her white third eyelids
towards Pris. Then, something within lets her know
that she can't see well through those things and they
disappear. "Who's there?" She asks, as if her memory
has been cut short. She doesn't move from her position
and her talons emit, defensive.

Pris shoots a quick glance over to where the policeman
is sitting, apparently concentrating on some
paperwork. She still lowers her voice as she says:
"It's me, Hellie. Feline. I read about your arrest in
the paper and... well, I just wanted to come and see
if you were all right." Which she plainly isn't.

The caged bird tilts her head and regards Pris for a
few moments. She looks like Fee, but she's better
dressed. Maybe she is Fee. It takes Halcyon a few
moments, but using her talons to help her grasp the
bench and then the wall, she rights herself and walks
slowly over towards Pris. "Fee?" She doesn't walk to
the bars. Halcyon is obviously very wary of anyone.
There must be a reason she's still here while the rest
of the women are back at Rikers.

"Yeah, it's me, Hellie." Pris doesn't make any sudden
movements; Halcyon is obviously skittish. She grits
her teeth as she gets a real good look at the state
the bird-woman is in. "Shit, Hellie. If that Victor
guy did any of this to you, I swear I'm going to track
him down and kill him myself." She means it, too.

Standing in the dead center of the cell, Halcyon again
peers at Pris. Her talons are drawn, ready to defend
herself if needed. But, Pris's voice sounds all too
familiar. Maybe it really is Pris. Hal takes another
step forward, slowly, slowly. Halcyon's instincts have
somewhat taken a hold of her, and Pris is a Feline at
heart. "Where's Victor?" She says to Pris, desperate
to find the answer.

The door to the holding area creaks open only a few
short minutes later. Marcus stalks in through the
opening, a confused police officer standing behind him
in the doorway. The door slams shut again. Every
thread of clothing is groomed to perfection, the black
leather shoes blindingly bright. And, of course, the
wraparound shades are in place. He gives the police
officer in the holding area a half-glance, and Pris
holds his attention only minutely longer. Then, it's
Halcyon. He approaches no closer than Pris has been
allowed, and stands a meter to her left, silent.

Pris shakes her head, and is about to say something,
when Marcus enters. She turns her face away from him,
grimacing. It had to be him, didn't it? It couldn't be
some nameless cop who didn't know her from a bar of
soap. Damn the man. She turns back to Halcyon,
ignoring Marcus for now, and says curtly: "Forget
about Victor, Hellie. He's the one who got you into
this mess in the first place." Not quite accurate, she
acknowledges to herself. Hal leapt in fairly
gleefully. And she doubts her words are going to sway
anyone, but maybe they'll help keep Hal out of any
further trouble. Maybe.

Immediately upon seeing Marcus, Halcyon retreats to
the back of the cell, crouching down and into the
corner. She seems to be folding into herself, trying
to make herself as small as possible so as not to be
seen by the man. Pris is forgotten as Halcyon wraps
her arms around her legs, dragging her talons along
the cuts in her pants and drawing a bit of blood. Her
hair falls over her eyes and she trembles, pushing
herself against the wall even though she can't move
anymore.

Marcus regards the cowering Halcyon quietly for a few
moments before speaking. "I'm not going to ask you any
questions," he says to her, "and I don't want to hear
you speak. You're going to listen to something, and
then I hope that you'll find some shred of conscience
in that animal heart of yours and cooperate fully with
the local authorities. He'll kill again. Maybe you,
since you're now a liability as far as he's
concerned." Marc slips a hand into a jacket pocket,
and produces a small device about the size of the
typical Nokia cellphone. He presses a button, and
crystal clear audio relates in Victor's voice: "Send
some body bags and a whole lotta mops." The next
sound, heard briefly but looped so that it's extended,
is the sound of Halcyon...laughing. Laughing.

Pris' hands are curled into fists at her sides, and
her eyes are lowered. The play of muscles in her cheek
suggests she's still gritting her teeth. A quick
glance shoots towards Marcus, then to Hellie, and then
back to the floor in front of her. She doesn't want to
be here. She doesn't particularly want to leave Hellie
alone with Marcus, though. Not like this.

Tapping her talons against her legs, drawing more
blood, Halcyon emits a high pitched scream - the sound
one would imagine a human/bird form to make. She
tosses her head back and throws her body into the
sound, giving all her energy to it until she has no
more breath to sustain it. Then, she looks up and over
towards Marcus, "He won't kill me." Her talons tap
again, this time tapping each other and making little
clicking sounds. "You won't kill him."

Marcus lets the laughter continue to loop in the
background. "He's killed everyone that's ever been
close to him. The closer, the more feet of intestines
he pulled out in the process.. No, he won't kill you,
you're right about that. Blood loss after he leaves
you hanging like a skinned carcass for five days,
that's more likely."

"What the hell do you want from her?" Pris snarls,
turning angry eyes on Marcus. She gestures towards
Halcyon. "Isn't she in enough of a state as it is? She
doesn't bloody know where Victor is, all right?" It
seems like she might have said more, but she forcibly
closes her mouth, breathing heavily, and angrily draws
her coat tighter around her, even though it's quite
warm in here.

Halcyon immediately jumps to her feet and begins to
pace in the interior of the cell. Her legs are ruddy
with bloody streaks and her talons continue to click
together as she walks. "He wouldn't kill me, he's
mine. I'm his. He wouldn't kill me. You won't get him.
You'll never get him." Then, pausing in her pace, she
turns fully towards Marcus and lets out the bird-like
scream again.

"She's alive," Marc says in reply to Pris without
turning to look at her. Nor does the scream evoke so
much as a twitch. "That's more than can be said for
the fathers of six families. Men who meant her no
harm. No malice. I thought I might see something, some
tiny little spark of humanity inside there..." He
turns away from Halcyon, voice remaining decidedly
neutral and now lowered for Pris' 'enjoyment' alone.
Those with enhanced hearing may, of course, overhear,
but it's whispered. "...but all I see is some
malicious animal that needs put to sleep as quickly as
our judicial system will allow. Ten years? That's a
long time, but I'll be there to watch the needle.
Count on it."

Pris' eyes are flat and unfriendly, and she winces
when Hal screams. If she was any more feline, she'd be
laying back her ears and hissing at Marcus. As it is,
her own retort is just as quiet: "What I see is a girl
who's been tormented and terrified into something so
close to insanity she might as well be there." She
points to Halcyon. "This is not the woman I knew. This
is not how she used to be."

Grant comes back towards the cells at a lazy,
unhurried pace.

Marcus stands a meter to Pris' side, facing her. In
one hand is a small Nokia cellphone-sized device, from
which plays the looped sample of Halcyon's laughter
from the El Tigre radio call.

After screaming, Halcyon pauses to listen to Marcus
speak to Pris. Then, she laughs, her own laugh
matching that which eminates from the tape playback.
"Ten years, Fee. Ten years is a long time. Guess
who'll come to dinner by then, Fee? Ten years."
Finally, Halcyon walks straight up to the bars, near
to Pris. Her talons screech against metal, but do not
cut through. "Fee," Halcyon mock whispers, "Tell that
man over there he's barking up the wrong tree. I'm not
immobile, you know. I'm not, I'm not." Alright, so she
doesn't make much sense. Maybe, just maybe, its all
private jokes shared between Pris and Halcyon. The
bird-woman stares through the bars at Pris, eyes wild.

Grant just leans back in the grimy hallway next to the
cell and doesn't introduce himself right away to
anyone. He narrows his eyes at Halcyon's appearance.

Marcus turns off the recording and slides the device
back into a pocket. He taps the inside of his left
elbow with a pair of fingers. "Stick around. I'm sure
the lawyers will take a few jabs at each other before
the final plunge. Your case does stop the heart on a
number of issues, and we wouldn't want to risk
euthanizing any interesting lines of discussion."

Grant rolls his eyes. "For Chrissakes, Marc, if you're
not gonna question her, don't /taunt/ her, she's half
off her nut from being locked up and half from being
away from Creed. Scram. Don't you have resumes to be
copying or something?"

The anger drains out of Pris' eyes as she looks at
Halcyon. It's replaced by sympathy, and sadness.
"Hellie, I..." Her voice breaks a little, and she
smiles a bit. "I wish it hadn't turned out this way,
yeah? I'm sorry." There's not much more to say.

Halcyon's talons return to her knucklebones and she
reaches through the bars towards Pris. "Fee, I'm sorry
I took your clothes. I'm sorry I ruined them. I'll
return your scarf, I promise, I promise, believe me."
Her attention is fully on Pris and she now ignores or
honestly can't hear Marcus or Grant.

Marcus smiles, turning his attention more to Pris. Her
clothes, really? "The two of you were friends? That's
really interesting, 'Fee.' She didn't happen to borrow
clothes from you sometime after a certain sextuple
homicide, did she?" He holds up a finger. "Don't
answer that. You may want to consult an attorney,
first."

Grant now looks exasperated. "Marc, will you /please/
cut it out? You know /nothing/ about being obvious,
and you're making my style look bad by trying." he
says, taking off his sunglasses.

Pris ignores Marcus to reach up a hand to grasp
Hellie's. "It's OK," she says soothingly. "It's really
OK. Just look out for yourself, all right? Scarves are
replacable." She turns a quick, unfriendly glance on
Marcus. "She borrowed my scarf, a long time ago. It
had nothing to do with anything, except that I knew
her before everything happened, and she bloody well
wasn't like this." Accusing, her tone now.

"Keep Vic safe, Pris. Keep him safe. I can't anymore."
Halcyon holds onto Pris's hand, pressing her nose
against it. Pris smells like 'normal' and Halcyon
hasn't smelled that in a long time - being cooped up
with Victor and now in a cell with her own crazed
scent. "Keep yourself safe, I can't do that. Stay with
me."

Grant laughs a little cruelly. "Oh, Vic's 'safe' all
right." he says, turning awy from the bars with a
cheery grin to now stand directly before Marcus. "He's
safe as houses. Yep. Marc, you need to get some fresh
air. But just stepping outside will have to do. Okay?"

Marcus glances back at Grant before turning his
attention to Pris again. "I knew her 'before', too.
Back then, all she did was maim cops, and I let her
walk away to 'keep more people from dying.' Joke was
on me, wasn't it?" He turns on a heel and stalks
towards the exit, stopping beside Grant without
looking at the man: "The General offered me a position
with OMA a few days ago. I had my bags packed for
deployment to the Middle East with the Navy, but
y'know? I think I'll stick around. I'll try not to
make a mess...oh, and her?" He nods his head back at
Halcyon. A smile: "The charges against her are without
merit and she should be released as quickly as
possible." Walking onward, the guard outside opens the
door for him to leave.

Grant rolls his eyes at Marcus back. He turns back to
Pris and Halcyon. "Sorry." he says to Pris.
"Cop-killers put everyone on edge. Me included. They
had kids." He puts out his hand. "I'm Grant Sutton."

"Vic can look after himself," Pris whispers to
Halcyon, squeezing her hand. "And so can I. But I
can't stay here with you. They're going to make me
leave and I don't think they'll let me come back. But
I'll try. And I'll be at your trial." She tries to
extricate her hand, and looks over as Grant addresses
her. "Um... I'm Pris Carnelian." She can't quite shake
hands, Hellie's still got hers.

Peering over at where Pris looks, Halcyon finally
views Grant for the second time. She squeezes Pris'
hand and starts to cry, "Don't let him touch me, Fee.
Don't let him touch me." Halcyon pushes herself up
against the bars, her hand extending further out
towards Pris.

Grant sees Pris has Hal's hand and drops it without
judgement, seeming to understand. "Nice to meet you. I
don't want to interrupt or anything, but I could stand
to talk to you afterwards, if you've got a minute.
I'll wait, it's no big rush. She's not going
anywhere."

Pris raises both hands now to take Halcyon's. "Hush,"
she says softly, soothing. And then to Grant: "Of
course I will speak to you, Mr Sutton. I will have a
few minutes, at least. But for now, some privacy,
however minimal, would be greatly appreciated. She's
not going to hurt me." A perfectly poised smile.

Halcyon bends her head to Pris's hands and sighs,
shaking slightly.

Marcus stops in the doorway and turns, lowering his
shades. "Privacy?" A snicker as he walks out, the door
closing behind him.

Grant seems to think about it, looking between the
two. "Sure." he says finally.

Grant looks at Halcyon and he slowly smiles. Not
really reassuringly. But he bops out of the cell area
completely relaxed.

Pris' eyes flickered to the door as Marcus exited, a
shadow of something flitting across her face, but it
disappears quickly, and she turns back to Grant,
smiling. "Thank you." She waits for him to turn or
step away, as much as he's going to anyway, however
much that is, and then looks to Halcyon again,
pressing her hand. "Hellie, there's not much I can
do," she whispers. "Not much at all. Not with me being
who I am. Just coming here - all these cops - made me
so nervous. And now..." she expells a breath, an
explosive sigh. "And now they're going to ask me
questions I'm not sure I can answer. I'll try my
hardest, Hellie, but you have to be strong. For me.
For yourself."

Grant and Marcus leave.

Halcyon whispers back to Pris as her hand shakes
within Pris's grasp, "Don't tell them anything. Don't
worry, this will all work out." Somehow, Halcyon seems
to be a bit clear minded at the moment. Whether it is
because the men are gone or because Pris is soothing
is not apparent. "I am strong, I will be strong, but
you have to make sure Victor isn't caught. He'll
rescue me, I know it, but I've got to fix this system
first. I've got to play them worse than they've played
me."

Pris raises an eyebrow; this is more like the Hellie
she knows. When she speaks, it's less like she would
to a distressed child. "Like I said, Hellie, Victor
can look after himself. I'm more worried that he might
try to rescue you before you have a chance to work
things out." However she's going to do that. A pause.
"Hellie, do you know where he is? I'll..." She looks
around, steps closer, her voice barely a breath now.
"I'll take him a message for you, just one, but I
don't know where he is."

"Don't let them read your mind, Fee. They'll do it."
Halcyon glances around, then lowers her voice even
further so as to become undetectable to any bugs
implanted therein. Of course, one would hope that in a
chamber where lawyers can visit their clients, there
would be at least an expectation of privacy and
therefore no bugging. "Tell him they've got me. It was
Illyana. And now I'm here."

Pris nods, just once, and she's memorised it.
Remembering directions is important to a thief. Filed
away in her mind and then she closes the drawer. "They
won't get it from me," she promises, and squeezes
Hal's hand again. With a cheeky, oh-so-Pris smile, she
says: "Is there anything else? Because otherwise, I'd
better go and play twenty questions with Sutton. I'm
already late for a date as it is."

"A date?" Halcyon asks cheerily, still not letting go
of Pris's hand. "With whom?"

Pris shrugs, still smiling. "Just a guy from work. His
persistence finally wore me down. Besides, I haven't
been taken out to dinner in a very long time. And all
work and no play makes Pris a dull little girl."

"Eat some lobster for me, and don't let him near your
pants." Halcyon giggles, trying to stuff it in. She's
herself, all right, and anything that says otherwise
is either manufactured or a product of the men who try
to capture her. She's always been a caged bird around
men. Perhaps it is her sisterly relationship with Pris
that could keep Halcyon sane.

The smile on Pris' face broadens, a hair short of
laughing herself. "A kiss at the door, nothing more, I
promise, Mother. Though you're one to give me lectures
about chastity." Light and teasing, though, not
admonishing. She leans back a little, and lets go of
Halcyon's hand to straighten her coat. "Well, I guess
I'd better go and humour Sutton. I just hope that
annoying Kincaid isn't still there." She grins and
winks at Halcyon. "Keep up the good work, yeah?"

"This brown hair is awful for me." Halcyon says,
stepping back from the bars. She shakes her head a
bit, mussing her hair even more and then emits her
talons. Using one to stab herself in the side, tears
start running down her cheeks and blood trickles from
where her love handles would be if she weren't so
happily fit. "Bloody hell." She grimaces. "Well, I've
got to do what I've got to do. And don't you worry
about me, I'll be out quicker than the tern can fly."

A final smile, a little wave, and Pris heads out of
the cell area, her heels clicking on the floor. She
pauses with her hand on the doorknob, and straightens
her shoulders, then opens it, and steps out.

NYPD: 52nd Precinct: The Pit(#1169RJ)

The entryway is staffed by a burly desk sergeant and
a receptionist, directing people past back the wide
information desk to the maze of cheap-looking desks,
busy twenty-four hours a day with policemen in and out
of uniform coming and going with all manner of people,
from tuxedo-ed and unhappy-looking rich people to
scantily-clad prostitutes and torn, ragged men. The
desks nearest the entrance appear to be
catch-as-catch-can, with whatever officer and witness
or suspect needs to be processed grabbing half-broken
chairs at random. Most of those desks have ancient
typewriters
and old phones, with a single overworked computer on
about every fifth desk or so. Near the back of the
pit, desks appear to be more assigned and of
higher quality - perhaps those are detective or
officer's desks. A few offices encircle the pit and a
raised walkway allows easy access all the way
around.

Contents:
Marcus
Grant
Obvious exits:
Out <O> PID Office <PID>

Hey, cool. Marc's wearing body armor. Don't stub a
finger on that, but he looks suitably annoyed by
Grant's poking. "And we aren't supposed to--" he
stops as Pris arrives, eyes flickering to her
direction.

Pris enters completely poised, her high heels
enhancing her natural sinuous grace. She adjusts her
coat on her shoulders as she pauses just inside the
door, taking in the scene with a guarded expression.

Grant is extremely pissed off at Marcus. But he turns
from him as Pris emerges and pushes his hair back from
his forehead. "Hey." he says calmly. "Sit down, sit
down." He indicates a table and chairs nearby. "We can
talk later." he says to Marcus.

Marcus looks about as expressive as the wall behind
him. "Don't trouble yourself. I think you've said all
you need to say, Grant." He gives Pris another look,
and drops something small on the table as he walks
out.

Pris steps over and takes the offered chair, looking -
glaring might be more like it - briefly at Marcus
before turning her attention to Grant. "I only have a
few minutes," she notes shortly. "I have an engagement
tonight that I am already running late for."

Grant nods. "That's fine." he says. "What's your
relationship with Ms. York?"

Pris' hand closes over the thing Marcus dropped almost
before it's settled on the surface. She folds her
hands into her lap, and there's nothing on the
table now. She doesn't look down, though, as she
answers Grant's question. "We have some small
acquaintance. Perhaps you might call it a friendship,
but I don't know her very well. Our paths have crossed
a few times, that's all."

Grant nods. "And Victor Creed?"

"Victor I have met once," Pris answers promptly. "Only
briefly, with Halcyon."

Grant says "Where was this?"

"TriBeCa," Pris replies.

Grant says "Where exactly...did you just bump into
them on the street, or...?"

Pris nods. "Yes. I just ran into them. This was a good
while ago, before any of this unfortunate business
even happened."

Grant says "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a bartender at a club called Iridium," Pris says,
not blinking at the sudden change of subject.

Grant says amiably, "Do you have any information about
places York might have lived...any way to contact her,
or places you know she frequented?"

Pris shakes her head. "No, no and no, I'm afraid."

Grant says "Well, in that case, we know where to reach
you if we need anything more. You can go."

Pris smiles as she stands, tugging her coat straight
once more. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful," she
notes pleasantly. Two steps away, though, she
stops and turns. "Oh, just one thing. Why was Halcyon
so horrified at the thought of you touching her? What
has happened to her?" Her voice is harder now.

Grant says easily, "We don't know. She was like that
when we picked her up. Her blood test hasn't come back
from the hospital. My theory is drugs, or drug
withdrawal. Her wounds are self-inflicted...we keep
patching her up, but short of putting her in
restraints, which the doctors aren't sure is a
good idea, there's not much we can do."

"Marvellous." The sarcasm is as thick as molasses in
Pris' voice. "Well then, goodnight, Mr Sutton. Look
after her." She turns to go, pausing at the door to
turn something small over in her hand - a small stone,
it looks like, catching the light and gleaming red and
orange. With a short sound that may have been
laughter, or something else, she drops it into the
pocket of her coat, and leaves.

-the very end-

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