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sixthiterationlogs2017-04-25 09:35 pm
mund) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-04-25 09:35 pm
obscurial event: town hall.
WHO: Percival Graves
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: Half an hour after the first sighting / hearing of the Obscurus
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, abuse, hate, etc
STATUS: Something like a mingling -- feel free to post OTAs of your own. If you need Graves to respond, just put his name in the header / or in bold somewhere in your comment!
Graves has to get ahead of this; he must. The Obscurus that had raged across town is monstrous, magnificent; but it's twisted magic, dark beyond all comprehension, a parasite that had latched onto a young man who had no other recourse. Graves has never seen the likes of it in his life, but there will be plenty of time to ruminate on that later.
Right now, Graves' objectives are clear: keep a lynch mob from forming using whatever means necessary (in this case, with information -- MACUSA's not here to obliviate the entire lot of them), find Credence, and contain the damage. They can figure out contingencies later.
The fact that he should have seen this coming is not lost on him; as Director, he should have had more comprehensive measures in place -- no matter if no one has ever actually dealt with an Obscurus in written record in four hundred years. His own precautions and failsafes had not been enough, he had not anticipated a creature of nearly this much power, and with preliminary (incomplete) knowledge of the damage the Obscurus has caused, Graves holds this meeting.
It haunts him, the cries resounding within the wails of the thing. Credence's cries. He tries not to think about just why he's attacked him -- he knows exactly why, and the truth of it makes the bile rise in his throat, anger burning in his bones: all reactions that do not serve his objectives at this point in time.
He's healed himself somewhat, the bleeding from the gash in his forearm has stopped, wrapped up tight -- the dislocation fixed even if Graves still favors his right side almost imperceptibly. Nothing can be done for the cracked ribs but time, and after all, he's suffered through worse. And more importantly, Credence is in distress, lost out somewhere, and Graves knows he needs to keep the peace and protect him, to get him back before the parasite itself consumes him wholly. Newt (and perhaps Tina) are searching for him out there in the woods, and he's here, intent on dealing with whatever fallout may come their way.
He doesn't trust No-Majs, their violence and hatred bleeding deep and rampant in the centuries (then again, wizards are not much better), and despite altered circumstances within this village, he still does not trust most of them -- after all, fear is a powerful equalizer, it can turn even the most intelligent people into faceless, irrational mobs. And that had been why he had first sought out Stella and Peggy, enlisted their help. The centuries old law, the one thing that keeps them from war with the No-Majs, cannot apply here, it must not. He will Obliviate them all later if necessary, but Stella and Peggy have proven that they can be valuable partners, and with a common tie to Credence it's unlikely they would turn on him. He tells them what they need to know, withholds all that is irrelevant -- including the identities of the wizards amongst them.
His duty is to them, not to the No-Majs, and he will keep them safe however he can.
In a sea of unpredictable variables Graves makes the best decision possible; he alerts Queenie as well, even as he prepares to address the people. Graves looks a little worse for wear, which is an improvement from earlier in the evening, all things considered -- and while the squirrel on his shoulder is a deviation from the norm, the little creature is at least peaceable, settled.
"What happened out there is not a natural disaster." He says, getting right to the point without pomp or greeting. "The force that destroyed the schoolhouse is a part of Credence, and he is as much a victim to it as you are. That force is called an Obscurus, a parasite that latches itself onto a child who has -- special gifts, but who have been forced to repress and hide away those gifts out of shame and fear. An Obscurus is created through violence and pain -- by being constantly bullied or abused. Credence is an Obscurial."
Best to give them as much context as necessary but hold off on the details. Graves' words are crisp, almost impersonal, but the magic that gathers, crackles just under his skin is present and strong, detected only by fellow folk born to magic itself -- his failsafe: if anyone goes after Credence with the intent to hurt him, if the worst happens and the village turns on Credence, he will do what it takes to shield him from it. As Director, he has never shied from difficult decisions; he doesn't intend to make exceptions now.
"What you may have seen is an extreme. Some of you may have noticed that Credence has not been himself lately. When Obscurials reach their emotional and mental breaking points, they lose control, and it triggers a physical transformation into an Obscurus.
"This was what happened, and the causes of which are currently under investigation." The lie is effortless and undetectable. After all, he has spent his whole life professionally dealing in secrets and lies.
His words are calm, as he looks at each and every one present. Even now, he quietly guards Credence's shame, his past, giving only what is necessary. "The cries you may have heard within that cloud was him, and we are searching for him at the moment. We intend to put a stop to the destruction, retrieve him and help him, as well as to ensure that this does not happen again." He pauses. "I understand that you may be afraid, or have concerns. I am here to reassure you that we have the situation under control, and to address these concerns."
A beat, and Graves considers the crowd, silently warring with his own instincts when he realizes that at this point he has very little left to lose. "Credence Barebone is not a monster. And for those of you who know him, he is still a friend to you. He is someone who needs help. "
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: Half an hour after the first sighting / hearing of the Obscurus
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, abuse, hate, etc
STATUS: Something like a mingling -- feel free to post OTAs of your own. If you need Graves to respond, just put his name in the header / or in bold somewhere in your comment!
Graves has to get ahead of this; he must. The Obscurus that had raged across town is monstrous, magnificent; but it's twisted magic, dark beyond all comprehension, a parasite that had latched onto a young man who had no other recourse. Graves has never seen the likes of it in his life, but there will be plenty of time to ruminate on that later.
Right now, Graves' objectives are clear: keep a lynch mob from forming using whatever means necessary (in this case, with information -- MACUSA's not here to obliviate the entire lot of them), find Credence, and contain the damage. They can figure out contingencies later.
The fact that he should have seen this coming is not lost on him; as Director, he should have had more comprehensive measures in place -- no matter if no one has ever actually dealt with an Obscurus in written record in four hundred years. His own precautions and failsafes had not been enough, he had not anticipated a creature of nearly this much power, and with preliminary (incomplete) knowledge of the damage the Obscurus has caused, Graves holds this meeting.
It haunts him, the cries resounding within the wails of the thing. Credence's cries. He tries not to think about just why he's attacked him -- he knows exactly why, and the truth of it makes the bile rise in his throat, anger burning in his bones: all reactions that do not serve his objectives at this point in time.
He's healed himself somewhat, the bleeding from the gash in his forearm has stopped, wrapped up tight -- the dislocation fixed even if Graves still favors his right side almost imperceptibly. Nothing can be done for the cracked ribs but time, and after all, he's suffered through worse. And more importantly, Credence is in distress, lost out somewhere, and Graves knows he needs to keep the peace and protect him, to get him back before the parasite itself consumes him wholly. Newt (and perhaps Tina) are searching for him out there in the woods, and he's here, intent on dealing with whatever fallout may come their way.
He doesn't trust No-Majs, their violence and hatred bleeding deep and rampant in the centuries (then again, wizards are not much better), and despite altered circumstances within this village, he still does not trust most of them -- after all, fear is a powerful equalizer, it can turn even the most intelligent people into faceless, irrational mobs. And that had been why he had first sought out Stella and Peggy, enlisted their help. The centuries old law, the one thing that keeps them from war with the No-Majs, cannot apply here, it must not. He will Obliviate them all later if necessary, but Stella and Peggy have proven that they can be valuable partners, and with a common tie to Credence it's unlikely they would turn on him. He tells them what they need to know, withholds all that is irrelevant -- including the identities of the wizards amongst them.
His duty is to them, not to the No-Majs, and he will keep them safe however he can.
In a sea of unpredictable variables Graves makes the best decision possible; he alerts Queenie as well, even as he prepares to address the people. Graves looks a little worse for wear, which is an improvement from earlier in the evening, all things considered -- and while the squirrel on his shoulder is a deviation from the norm, the little creature is at least peaceable, settled.
"What happened out there is not a natural disaster." He says, getting right to the point without pomp or greeting. "The force that destroyed the schoolhouse is a part of Credence, and he is as much a victim to it as you are. That force is called an Obscurus, a parasite that latches itself onto a child who has -- special gifts, but who have been forced to repress and hide away those gifts out of shame and fear. An Obscurus is created through violence and pain -- by being constantly bullied or abused. Credence is an Obscurial."
Best to give them as much context as necessary but hold off on the details. Graves' words are crisp, almost impersonal, but the magic that gathers, crackles just under his skin is present and strong, detected only by fellow folk born to magic itself -- his failsafe: if anyone goes after Credence with the intent to hurt him, if the worst happens and the village turns on Credence, he will do what it takes to shield him from it. As Director, he has never shied from difficult decisions; he doesn't intend to make exceptions now.
"What you may have seen is an extreme. Some of you may have noticed that Credence has not been himself lately. When Obscurials reach their emotional and mental breaking points, they lose control, and it triggers a physical transformation into an Obscurus.
"This was what happened, and the causes of which are currently under investigation." The lie is effortless and undetectable. After all, he has spent his whole life professionally dealing in secrets and lies.
His words are calm, as he looks at each and every one present. Even now, he quietly guards Credence's shame, his past, giving only what is necessary. "The cries you may have heard within that cloud was him, and we are searching for him at the moment. We intend to put a stop to the destruction, retrieve him and help him, as well as to ensure that this does not happen again." He pauses. "I understand that you may be afraid, or have concerns. I am here to reassure you that we have the situation under control, and to address these concerns."
A beat, and Graves considers the crowd, silently warring with his own instincts when he realizes that at this point he has very little left to lose. "Credence Barebone is not a monster. And for those of you who know him, he is still a friend to you. He is someone who needs help. "
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He told Tina Credence was weaker, they're all weaker, this shouldn't--
He told Credence he wasn't in control.
Swallowing, he stops looking for his friend in the crowd. Stops looking for anyone. Maybe he should care more, that there are injured among them, that even if he isn't any kind of doctor, there are jobs he can do with his unharmed limbs to help. It doesn't matter. None of those people are Credence, and after Casey, after Ren and Ty, Kira isn't letting loss come in fours.
"Excuse me," he says stiffly, nudging his way through the people behind him to find the door. Medicine might not be his thing, but if there is any job he is remotely qualified for in his stupid life, it's talking to Credence Barebone.
[Establishing Kira's presence and his reaction; tags welcome but he will not linger, he's going after his friend.]
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She's wrapped her arms around herself, defensive and protective, and if the light was better it'd be easier to see just how pale she is. How much her freckles pop out against her white face, more like little dots of burns.
"You'll... You'll make sure he's fine, won't you? Credence?"
Kate trusts Kira with Credence's wellbeing, none of the others currently trying to take control.
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He'll leave that to Graves, which will distract the man well enough for him to slip out on his own.
He's not sure what will distract Kate. "He's not fine," he finally says, managing to keep his voice even. "He wasn't fine when this started and he's not going to be fine if he wakes up from it, so no. But I will find him, and I will--sort it as much as it can be."
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OTA
"I agree with Mr. Graves. This man needs our help, not our fear and prejudice. The creature inside him is not him and we must do what we can to get Mr. Barebone back safely. As to the injured, I don't think there's anything we can't mend. I have some manner of experience in researching and pursuing magical creatures of this sort. I would be happy to lend aid if it were necessary to find this Obscurial. Above all, we shouldn't frighten it. Creatures tend to lash out when threatened and I would be afraid it might cause more harm to the village or, worse, to Mr. Barebone should we be too aggressive in pursuing it. We should be cautious in our approach and defer to the expertise of those who have experience in dealing with these Obscurials."
Helen hated to admit a lapse in knowledge, naturally, but she'd never seen anything quite like the vaporous creature that had wreaked havoc over the village earlier that day.
ota
Julian had been in the hospital--doing what he could to brace Emma's ankle before going back out into the gloom to look for other injured people, and had gotten swept up into the group heading for the inn. The group that is given an explanation. To say it's unexpected is a bit of an understatement.
Julian had met Credence. Found him to be quiet, a bit withdrawn, but nice enough. The revelation that the recent destruction had been caused...not by him, no, by something within him, didn't change that perception.
(Graves' descriptions strike somewhere deep in him. Julian knows all about repression, about hiding what you are, fearing the reaction of those around him and the consequences should it all come to light. Not to mention feeling like a monster.
Not that Julian is going to say as much. He doesn't even admit it to himself, so deep the rabbit hole of repression goes.)
"Will he need medical attention?" Such as it is. It would be very nice to have a medical kit and tricorder right now.
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This man must care for Credence, Graves supposes, even if he hasn't heard about this particular individual's name during their daily evening sessions together. Then again, what matters is the offer of medical aid. He's not sure just what kind of damage Credence will sustain when Newt and Tina are out searching for him, but he trusts that they will be gentle -- and if anything, he assumes the trauma will be more psychological than physical.
"He may." It won't hurt to prepare and mobilise a group to care for him once he returns. If he returns. Graves is still keeping an ear out for any more signs of chaos beyond the inn. "Are you a specialist?"
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"I'm a doctor--Chief Medical Officer, to be technical." Medical supplies are rather limited, and what they do have is downright archaic from what Julian is used to, but he should be able to assist in some way. They do have more than what he did in the Dominion camp.
"Either way, I'm more than willing to provide whatever assistance I'm able to."
OTA -- though possibly directed at Graves?
So, when Graves begins to talk about Credence and what he is, Sam is a little shocked. He silently takes it all in, trying to match what he saw a few moments ago with the boy he'd been playing chess with only recently. He'd known there was something troubling Credence, something below the surface, but he'd always just assumed it was some other kind of trauma. Not something that required a meeting like this. It just doesn't make sense and yet, somehow, it explains so much about the way Credence behaved and some of the things that Sam had brushed off.
Even worse, some of what Graves says makes Sam think of experiences he had back home. He understands the tightrope Graves must be walking and the fact that Graves is being vague is not lost on him. But another thought occurs to him in that moment. Where was Credence now?
"How can we help him?" Sam is standing, he's not sure when he got to his feet. "You say it's triggered by mental and emotional trauma? Like PTSD, right? I have some training as a counselor in that area, working with soldiers mostly, but is someone looking for him? Someone he can trust? He has to be terrified right now. And sending someone after him that he doesn't trust could only make it worse. So what can we do?" If this was even a portion of how Steve felt when it came to Bucky, Sam suddenly had an entirely new appreciation for what his friend went through.
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It's hard to believe. Sonny knows Credence. They're friends. From day one, he's had a gripping urge to protect the younger man, to make sure nothing and no one hurts him. He'd suspected from experience, from his job, that Credence likely hadn't always seen the kindness he deserved.
He didn't know it was this bad. He wishes he could've done more. That's the worst part of his job β there's rarely anything they can do beforehand. They always end up helping afterwards, handling the aftermath.
"I want to help, too," he says, glancing from Graves to Sam. "I'm not a counselor or anything, but I'm a Special Victims detective at home. We work with abuse victims a lot, we have sensitivity training. Whatever's going on β Credence doesn't deserve it. I want to do what I can to help him."
@ Sam and Sonny
He's making his way back through the crowd, needing some air, needing to get out there already, damned if he'll let another person slip through his fingers like--
Smoke, Jesus.
But he catches Sam's question, and he's spent enough time with him and Sonny both he doesn't need to pick their reactions out of the crowd to know they're genuine. Whatever Credence has done, they're no more upset with him than Kira is, and it means something to feel that, wondering if the fear in the room will coalesce into a mob. "I'm going," he says, stopping briefly at their elbows. "Credence calls me a friend, the only other person he talks about like that is Tina. I don't think he'd hurt me, even like this." Even with his strange temper the other day, he seemed to be holding it back for Kira's sake. "I'll bring him back."
continuation for kira and sonny thread?
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@ Sam and Sonny
He looks from Sam to Sonny, taking in their suggestions and questions; to say that their reaction is unexpected is an understatement. No-Majs usually have more of a fearful and violent response to something like this, a enduring trait he has long detested and has always made preparations against. The concern on their faces is something that makes him wonder if more exceptions to the norm here exist -- or if this is perhaps the norm.
Sensitivity training, working with abuse victims -- things really are done differently back in these men's world, and the sympathy he senses from them makes him pause.
"My colleagues are searching for him currently." He glances out the window. Serenity after the storm, a cloying, heavy thing in the wake of such damage. "Credence must have regained control of himself by now." Looking back at them, Graves chooses his words carefully. "He trusts the both of them." And that, that must be enough. "I cannot assume his mental state, but both your help as to his recovery will be appreciated. Your names are?"
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OTA
Clint listens, though it's clear from the first that he doesn't like this. He, Sam, and Wanda live across the street from Graves and Credence, and he's well aware how close it probably came to having their house smashed - with them in it and no real chance of escape - and how he's already kind of failed in one of his self-imposed duties. All his life he's kept an eye out for kids from bad circumstances, and his brief meetings with Credence had set off some of those alarms - but he'd let it go at the time because wherever he'd come from, he wasn't there now, and from what he'd seen he had people here who cared about him. If he didn't have to interfere, he wouldn't push himself in unasked. Clearly, what support the young man had hadn't been enough.
He and Nat had found each other in the chaos of the aftermath, everyone awake and dragged from their beds by the noise and he knew that people besides him and Nat were ready to act but there was no time to organize anything. The two of them barely had to discuss their strategy after so many years together; information was what they needed now, her following the... thing to spy and observe, him staying in town to gather eyewitness accounts, judge the damage, help the injured, and see if anyone knew what the fuck was going on. Listening to Graves gives him a lot more information than he'd had, and not as much as he wants. He's been too involved in military, law enforcement, espionage, and (unwillingly) on the fringes of politics in his life to not notice the careful phrasing, the blanket statements that sound reassuring but are meant more to pacify than anything, the lack of many explicit statements. That's not something he's going to stand for.
Rising to his feet, Clint crosses his arms as he watches the man at the front of the building, taking mental note of every injury and trying to match that up with the wreckage and other hurt parties. He'd gotten off luckier than some, worse than others. Probably wouldn't be able to stay on his feet too long, but was unwilling to drop. Good enough to ask some very pointed questions of. "How are we supposed to trust you and what you're saying? You knew about this, you knew it could happen, so why didn't you warn us about this being an outcome? Even if it was a far reach in the past, why didn't you warn us in the past few days once he stopped 'being himself?' Now we've got people hurt, some really badly, and maybe it's not his fault but maybe something could've been done to help him before this."
Maybe it would have worked. Maybe it just would've made him change sooner. But they hadn't even been given the option to decide if that was something they wanted to try.
"How many of you are victims of abuse or have worked with them before? When he comes out of this, what's he going to need to help him deal with having this do- what, take him over and shred things? Do you know how to help him cope with the fact that people are hurt because of this?"
Maybe it's a lot. But he remembers Wanda, with the bomb in Lagos and what happened when she wasn't able to contain it. He remembers Tony and his guilt over Ultron. He can never forget what he did under Loki's control, perhaps the most obvious parallel to this situation in his own experience. And he remembers all too well the dull fear that never really leaves and comes from living in an abusive situation you can't escape, the mental pain from the yelling and the physical pain from when fists or belts are involved, and he remembers all too well wanting to never inflict that on anyone else.
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She hated this, all of it, and it was only made worse by Peitro's recent disappearance. She knew what it felt like to lose control, when emotions were running so high that it was impossible to think clearly. She had wanted to kill Ultron and she would have done anything to make that possible. In the end she had ripped his heart out, wanting him to feel the pain that she was feeling. Having innocent bystanders between her and her goal wouldn't have mattered. Wanda didn't want to believe that she was capable of such darkness but she couldn't ignore it.
She reached for her abilities feeling the energy crackle beneath her fingertips. Wanda's eyes narrowed harshly at Graves. There was something about him, an aura that didn't sit right with her. She wasn't going to start a fight but she was there to back Clint up.
Wanda was just as pissed as Clint was. She hated people like Grave's, he looked so controlled and composed. Did he even hear what he was saying? This could have been prevented, they could have protect Credence. Wanda didn't know the boy but it didn't matter. It was easy for her to sympathize with him.
"Why does he feel like this?" The question was directed towards Grave's. "Something set off the pain." She wanted to yell at Grave's to fix it.
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This man seems to be one of the most distrustful of them. Savvy, perhaps, of the machinations of public relations narratives. Graves gives only what he deems relevant, his statement plain and straightforward. "The draining of powers in this village should have bled most of the Obscurus' effects out of him." He stares back at Wanda, entirely fearless, unmoved. "That it has somehow surged was unexpected. There was no warning because there is no warning to give -- there has not been an Obscurial in the past four hundred years. The exact scale of his power had not been known to us."
Graves might be many things, but he is no Seer; the power drain should have kept Credence in check, but somehow the young man had blasted past his failsafes, his precautions. Graves only had a taste of his true capabilities in that instant, of the Obscurial's fear and pain and hatred, all directed right at him.
It's a wonder that Graves is still alive, but he's not naive enough to believe that it was mercy that stayed the thing's hand. He tries not to think about that. He tries not to think about what it means, the blatant truth and reminder of what will happen to him when he returns back to his world, his time. Still, no point going on and on about spilled milk -- Graves has no interest in mulling over 'should haves', not when more pertinent concerns are at hand.
"Now, it's much clearer what we are dealing with. I will be working with my colleagues on more effective failsafes, and to help him work on controlling that parasite." A beat. "We will be engaging a handful of the other volunteers here to ensure that he is appropriately cared for when he returns."
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OTA
She somewhat wants to scream with fear herself. She doesn't. She has her arms wrapped around her body, is keeping her back ramrod straight to keep from shaking. She's heard furious winds before, even heard several explosions (the gunpowder at the Glenrowan Inn, catching alight and exploding, ripping through the alcohol-soaked wood with a roar) but nothing, nothing like this.
She hadn't want to venture out of her and Benedict's room. She'd wanted to grab her cat and her man and just cling, shake, not move until she felt better. But she's a Kelly, isn't she? That's not what she does. And like hell if she's going to cry here, in front of Mr Graves with his clipped voice and controlled self-assurance.
Currently under investigation, fuck him. That was, that was... that was magic, or something demonic.
"What about concerns about you?" Kate asks, suddenly. Clearly. Three years on a stage, more years before that on a farm, and she's not wearing a corset: she can project her voice when she wants. "Credence Barebone's like a horse that's been whipped too many times. Most of us here have picked up on that, and we looked out for him. But then you turn up. He goes to live with you, and then he became worse.
So was it you, Mr Graves? And how do we know that you are goin' t'take care of him? What exactly do you mean by help?"
This isn't like her, she knows. She tries hard, so hard, to be a voice of reason, to keep meetings level and calm. But she has screams and ripping wood echoing in her head, and this... this... this lawman standing there and telling her what's going to happen to someone who lived underneath her roof. Someone who has been beaten too many times, and needs to be never be beaten again.
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He can feel her practically vibrating beneath his palm, trembling with tension as she hugs her ribs and all but bounces on the balls of her feet. Luckily, he can see over the top of her head without even trying, so her tension doesn't disturb his ability to surveil the room, but it's distracting enough that he wants to say something to her to help some of the painful rigidity ease out of her muscles.
Leaning down, he squeezes her shoulder lightly with the hand he's still got on her, taking a moment to press his lips to the crown of her head in something that's not quite a kiss, his other hand settling on her left arm and rubbing up and down briefly.
"Katie," he murmurs into her hair, warring with the urge to tell her to relax. How could he? This situation does not warrant relaxation, but he doesn't know how else to comfort her.
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Kate doesn't verbally reply, but at the not-quite-a-kiss, she leans back into him. A little. She's too keyed up to do much more, too aware of how huddling into Benedict would give her an impression of helplessness.
But he helps, and she reaches up to gently squeeze the hand on her shoulder to tell him so.
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The parallels are unmistakable, ringing questions a reminder of belligerent Second Salemers looking for someone to blame, and Graves' expression is one of cool neutrality; no matter if the first question hits uncomfortably close to home. She is a threat, this much he knows, perhaps a far-flung descendant of Scourers that had eluded justice, but it doesn't matter. His priority is protecting the wizards within this village, Credence included, everything else is secondary.
"Your assumption that he became worse under my care is wholly unfounded." His response is cold. Credence had been steadily getting better. Braver. Bolder. Graves had not imposed a thing on him, save for the distance he maintains between them (although there are times when Credence has unwittingly breached those boundaries). "Helping him through this incident, and in controlling his powers is a priority for us. This is not an incident I intend to have happen again."
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Normally, oh, normally she'd be using all of the weight of her presence and standing in this community to keep it all calm. She's done it before, when arguments grew heated, and dimly she's aware if it was anyone else doing this, she'd probably be trying to calm her down.
Probably.
Except every cool tone from Mr Graves, every moment of control, every assumption of authority has her wanting to yell, throw something. Punch him. There's no authority here, no law, no society except what they make it, but here he is, talking like he's just strolled out of the Commissioner's office. Like he has the God-given right to do as he pleases.
"Why is it up to you, Mr Graves? And who is this 'us'? Cos from the way you're talkin', it sheer as hell ain't anybody standin' here."
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Re: OTA
Later, after everything has been talked over for as long as people have energy to do so, Clint makes sure to swing by Kate before he leaves, having gathered up the stuff he brought to do rescue work on the collapsed building. She seems more in control now than she was at the start of the meeting, but he still wants to check in and make sure. No one walked out of this happy, but she'd seemed the most perturbed. "Hey - you okay?"
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Kate wants to go to bed. She wants to curl up in Benedict's safe embrace, rest her head against his chest and be lulled to sleep by the steady beating of his heart. But she'd heard what had happened to the schoolhouse, heard of the injuries, heard that wailing energy, and she's not sure where is safe. But that's not the main reason why she's still here. No, the main reason is that she refuses to be seen as having been chased off. The way Mr Graves - no, wasn't it, Director Graves - so easily assumed that he could lead has unsettled her, set aflame a bit of pique and stubbornness. This is her community, and she won't run off like an upset little girl after some excitement got the better of her.
Barton gets a quick smile, wan and polite. "I'm uninjured, unlike some of our companions. It's nothing but a fright."
Her fingers dig into her clothes, her left into the fabric bunched at her right elbow while her right fingers clutch at her skirt.
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OTA
But the first boom of splintered foundations brought him right back to Habble Morning, to the day Bridget and Reggie faced off in a duel, the day Spire Aurora attacked and did their level best to destroy everything Benedict had ever known up until that moment. For a brief second, he's brought back to that day, the smell of stone dust and gunpowder, the slick hot wetness of Barney Aster's blood spilling over his fingers as he tried to staunch the bleeding, the hum of his gauntlet in his palm sending tingling vibrations up his arm each time he discharged the weapons crystal.
And then he hears Kate's breath hitch and he's slammed back into the present, back to the Surface, back to not understanding what's happening.
He follows Kate to the Town Hall, uncharacteristically grim and silent, all his senses on high alert as he stands behind her, his right hand steady on her shoulder both to ground her and himself, his left quietly flexing at his side like he wished for something to hold in it. Kate's outburst isn't unexpected; others have voiced similar concerns, and Benedict wholly supports each and every question people fling at Graves. Normally he'd be trying to insert himself into this dialogue, acting as mediator in an emotionally charged moment, but the very last thing he feels like doing is placating anyone. He may not have known Credence very well, but anyone with eyes could see that boy needed looking after, and the guilt of not having tried hard enough settles like a lead weight in his gut, keeping the ominous dread he's been feeling company.
"What will you do when you find him?" he finally asks Graves, reiterating Kate's concerns, his voice low but still somehow carrying perfectly well. "Are you going to shackle him? With what? How are you going to stop him when he's strong enough to destroy entire buildings, let alone injure so many residents?"
His golden eyes narrow. "And what if you can't stop him? Are you going to kill him?"
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He doesn't miss the concern, the dread and the question he last asks, the one Stella had asked him when he had come to her and Peggy. This is the question he will not answer again, not directly.
"My priority here is to keep the peace. That includes your safety." Inasmuch as it is relevant to making sure some sort of war doesn't erupt. Credence, Queenie, Tina, Newt -- their lives are in his hands, too. If the No-Majs turn on them, he will have failed them. "I will do all that's needed to ensure the best possible outcome for everyone here."
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OTA
She'd thought to wake Cassian, who she remembered was sleeping in one of the empty beds in the other bedrooms, but thought otherwise. He'd only just re-arrived, gone through the harried, frenzied induction of the fountain. He deserved to rest, for as long as he could, for as much as he needed.
Instead, she hobbles through the door as she tugs on her second boot and makes her way towards Town Hall. She finds there's already a gathering of people there listening to the man she now knows is Graves (Mr. Graves, as Credence called him). Folding her arms across her chest, she lingers on the outskirts of the crowd, then leans towards the person closest to her, realizing she'd not gotten to hear the majority of his speech.
"I just got here; what did I miss?"
For Cassian
(He's increasingly glad he'd sent Annie home, though it fights every instinct he has to leave her alone when there may be danger out there and shelter is no guarantee of safety.)
He's uneasy, too, about the way that Graves is handling this. It's hardly the first meeting when someone has stepped up and professed knowledge and understanding that they claim the others here don't have. He's been the one to do it himself, when it seemed nobody believed him about the way the Gamemakers of this place manipulate them and their environment.
When Graves starts talking about law enforcement, Finnick is doubly glad Annie's not here, and he glances away from the unfolding scene between him and Kate Kelly, the aversion an attempt to hide any reaction in his face to the fact that this man is some sort of Peacekeeper, and he hadn't known.
It's only because he's looked away that Finnick sees someone else here, someone he hadn't expected, had thought gone. Cassian. The spy he'd thought had disappeared to report back to his masters.
He considers not talking to him, pretending that he hadn't seen the man and just ignoring him. There's a lot more happening than just Cassian's reappearance. But knowing Cassian is back, he has to wonder what the man remembers. Not everyone remembers when they return.
So Finnick wanders over and leans against the wall near Cassian.
"I thought you were gone."