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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. "
no subject
A mob can be formed on the cries of just one hysterical woman -- a situation can be turned on its head by a self-righteous individual who believes they're doing the work of their so-called creator. He's seen it before, and he sees it in her, his dislike and distrust of her extending beyond the usual that he holds of others.
"It's up to me because Credence is my responsibility. The weight of the danger he presents to the village is mine to bear and account for." He addresses the rest of them now, his gaze beyond her. Steady. He leads because he knows how to lead, his authority built not from the backs of others, but the strength of his will, his very nature in assuming responsibility. "The debt accrued for the damage done to the village and its inhabitants is mine to repay. Credence will continue to be taught to keep the Obscurus under control, and we will continue to pursue ways to keep the villagers safe from any untoward incidents arising from the Obscurus, now that we have learned what it's capable of."
no subject
Graves stands still and steady, a middle-aged man who has built his own world and knows how to issue commands and yes, yes, she can read him. It doesn't matter to her if he was born with enough wealth to go to good schools, climb ranks, or if he worked himself up from further down the social chain. It doesn't matter because he's all ice and coldness and looking at them as if their questions are nothing but annoying. Flies to swat away. Settle the hoi polloi, then get back to work, oh yes she knows his type. The same type who stared out dispassionate and annoyed when the people of Greta came in search of their arrested husbands, brothers, sons. The same type who labelled her brothers monsters, the same type that ordering the shooting up of the Glenrowan Inn, no matter that there were women and children inside.
Mr Graves talks of responsibility and repaying, and it sounds empty. Sinister, if she lets her mind get away with her.
Mr Graves is still, steady, and she stares back in simmer anger, his authority merely added fuel to her fire. But she's not uncontrolled. She breathes in and she breathes out, she feels Benedict's solid warmth at her back and she tries to get her temper under control. She's not some fainting, hysterical upper-class lady, and she'll be damned if she's going to be dismissed as such.
"Who are you to claim all this?"
no subject
It's not a weight he sheds even in this village, even in the face of oncoming death in the form of a sharp-eyed blond wizard with delusions of grandeur. This is a woman who does not understand. Too different, their realities too removed from each other, and for good reason. "I'm the Director for Magical Security of the United States." He says simply, like he's talking about the weather, like he isn't the second most powerful man in wizarding America. "And chief of all magical law enforcement in the country. Think of it what you will; I intend to clean up what's left behind. Any more questions?"
no subject
At law enforcement, Kate's expression shifts from puzzlement to anger, scorn. Her lip curls and she repeats, "Oh, chief of law enforcement," with her rich voice full of disdain. That's just fantastic. Except, except before she can comment on that further, before she can point out that the police barracks is being used as a stable or something else clever that might spring to mind, he keeps talking.
She's still angry, she still looks angry, but at I intend to clean up what's left behind, a sudden wave of fear, dread, washes over her. Through her.
Any more questions?
"Don't kill him."
It's not a question, she makes it not a question, but she means it. Credence Barebone is a good young man who tries hard, no matter that he's... he's possessed or whatever it is, oh God, oh God, poor Credence, but Kate knows what it is when the police declare that they are going to clean up mistakes.
no subject
Not everyone is quite so practiced, however, and that's quickly becoming clear as Stella listens to Kate Kelly from a few feet away. Kate Kelly, who made it quite clear on her last and only one-to-one conversation with Stella that she has a poor history with police — Graves may not know that, Stella realizes suddenly — but who is also, at the moment, a scared young woman lashing out at the nearest target for her feelings. Stella thinks she knows what Graves might be thinking — that he doesn't have time or emotional energy to waste on trying to placate her, and it's clear enough there's some level of distrust between them. Stella and Kate aren't exactly what one would call friends either, but... someone needs to say something here, because the don't kill him has the ring of deep-seated fear, and, Christ, they're talking across each other without actually communicating anything at all.
"Miss Kelly." Politely, only raising her voice enough to be heard by Kate and Graves and the people nearest them. She meets Kate's eyes without flinching, her demeanor calm and measured. "I can't speak for Mr Graves, but as far as I'm aware, no one is going to be killed."
She doesn't step any closer, or reach out physically; that could be too easily read as manipulation. "I know you're afraid. We all are," she says, a simple acknowledgement, not a judgement or a dismissal. "And I think I can speak for everyone here when I say we'd all like to help Credence. I think he'll need the help of those who care for him, once he's safe. But whatever it is that's done this to him—" She's not going to call it magic yet, not aloud, at least. "—is out of the realm of most of our experience."
Stella pauses, takes in a breath, and continues, "I can't tell you not to be angry." She wouldn't, even if she could. No matter how irrational Stella might think they are, Kate has a right to her feelings. "But I think it might be best to listen to Mr Graves, for the time being. He is from Credence's world."
She has no idea if any of that will actually help — but maybe, something there will get through.
no subject
They don't burst out. She doesn't shatter. There's no scream of rage or fear or frustration or frustrated hatred, nothing.
Instead, Kate swallows.
She has Benedict at her back and he isn't silencing her for her own good or anything, and she's more grateful for that then she can possibly convey. She has Miss Gibson and Mr Graves in front of her, to the side and she... and she...
She crosses her arms, properly and firmly, defensively against her chest.
"I know what happens when you people clean up mistakes and accidents," is what she says. She intends to spit it out, all furious anger. Instead, even to her own ears her voice sounds flat. Flat and small.