Participants:
| Scene Title | No Sympathy for the Devil |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Following some shaky events at Central Park, Veronica finds her perp at a nearby hospital. |
| Date | October 12, 2010 |
When Veronica arrives at the park, a lot of the people who originally witnessed the incident have moved elsewhere, but there are still plenty hanging around, rubbernecking and gossiping, some pleased to be the first to have such juicy gossip. Those are the ones who are more than happy to talk to the authorities. The stories vary from person to person, but the basic details remain mostly the same. People started freaking out, a man was thrown through the air by an invisible force. Earthquakes, sinkholes opening, swallowing up a man who had been running away. When they see the picture she has of Tim, almost all of them say, without hesitation, that that's the man who got taken to the hospital.
It's there that Veronica finds Tim, handcuffed to a hospital bed, a cast on his leg, stitches on his forehead, looking pissed and scared. It's not likely he'll be a cooperative prisoner, but at least he's been given negation drugs, so he can't do anything to Veronica or the good doctors.
After speaking to the doctor, Veronica enters the hospital room. She's dressed down — sometimes, not looking like a fed can help get the story. Instead, she's in faded jeans, running shoes and a t-shirt beneath a short green trenchcoat that hides her harnessed weapon and taser. Her hair's pulled up in a ponytail, and she looks more like a Columbia grad student than an agent of a frightening governmental agency.
Or so she hopes.
"Timothy Jones?" she says. She'd run him through the Institute database as soon as she had his name — apparently the registered empath had done a stint in jail for armed robbery, and was liberated just two months ago. "I'd like to speak with you about a few things." She glances at his leg, raising a brow before sitting on the chair a few feet from the bed — she can move fast, and she doubts he can move fast enough to endanger her.
Tim looks over at Veronica, and leers at her for a moment. Until she starts sounding like a cop or social worker type. Then he reverts to his all too normal scowl. "Yeah? What about?" he asks, chin lifting, arm moving slightly, just enough to have the cuffs clanging against the metal rail of the bed.
"Well, Central Park, first," she says. "Can you tell me why you were there and what happened that triggered you to use your power?" She starts with the questioning as if she assumes he wasn't to blame, peering at him with professional curiosity and pulling out a notepad to take notes — since it's a hospital and her phone is "supposed to" be off. It's not — just in her pocket and quiet. It's not like the doctors don't all have cell phones, after all.
"Anything unusual you noticed, that sort of thing?" she adds, pulling a pen and clicking the button.
"Anything unusual? Fuck yeah I noticed somethin' unusual. I noticed that dumb Registration bitch makin' the ground crack open and breakin' my fuckin' leg," Tim says with a sneer, pointing to said leg, which has a cast to above the knee. It doesn't look comfortable at all. "Or the other dumb bitch who did somethin' and made me fly like twenty feet in the air for no goddamn reason. That what you want?"
"Oh, so they just did that all out of the blue, hm?" Veronica says with a smirk, but his animosity lets her know that he's most likely not a good person whose powers were forced into action.
"Right then. Can you tell me where you were on the evening of September 23rd?" she asks, mentioning the Tartarus date. "It was a Thursday," she adds helpfully.
"Hell if I know why they did it. I was just sittin' there and wham! Flyin' Tim. Then there was this goddamn earthquake, and like any sane person, I ran. Then the ground chick started chasin' me and dumped me down a fuckin' pit. Why the hell you hasslin' me instead of lockin' her up?" He smirks then. "Assault with a deadly, you know."
"Because if someone used a power to incite mass hysteria, she's going to have a pretty damn good defense in court, Mr. Jones," Veronica says coolly. "Where were you on the 23rd?" she repeats. "Do you have a job or anything, where I can check your time card for hours, that sort of thing?"
"Hell if I know. Do I look like I have a fuckin' calendar on me?" Tim asks, lifting empty hands. "And no, no job. And who the fuck are you anyway? I'm not sayin' another goddamn word to some fuckin' reporter." Though he's well aware that she's not a reporter. He's been in the game too long for that sort of misunderstanding.
Veronica unfolds herself from her chair, pulling her badge from her back pocket and holding it in front of his eyes. "Homeland, Jones. So tell me why you were at Tartarus on the twenty-third of last month." He's not going to tell her he was there, she knows that much. "You really don't look like the type to like that particular brand of dancing or music. Unless you have a HIM tattoo somewhere I don't see it. Could be," she says with a shrug. "To each their own, of course."
"Never said I was there. Why would I? When I wasn't?" Tim shoots back. "I didn't go to this Tartarus place, and I was attacked in the park. So get off my back and go deal with the dangerous people." Nope, he's not a cooperative prisoner. "And if you wanna harass me? Then I want my lawyer."
"I'm not harassing you. I'm asking you questions. You ever been to the Nite Owl diner?" she asks, writing down the denial of having been to Tartarus, though her pictorial evidence shows otherwise. "Just a simple question. You can answer that without a lawyer, right? I mean, we'll get you one if you need, but it'll have to be in custody rather than here in the relative comfort of the hospital."
"Of course I have. Lots of people have. It's a diner. There anything wrong with that?" Tim asks, glaring at Veronica. "And I know my rights. You can't deny me medical attention. So get me my damn lawyer."
Veronica's eyes narrow. Normally, she has a little bit of sympathy — even empathy — for those she has to deal with. If she could see a gray area here, if she could see a question as to what kind of person Timothy Jones is, she might look the other way… knowing what their future might be in the Institute's custody, after all, but there's something about him that sets her on edge, that raises her hackles and makes her angry — despite his being negated at the moment.
"Don't worry," she says coolly. "There's plenty of medical attention available where you'll be."
With a flash of a smile she gives him a nod, then strides toward the door, her plan to call for a pick-up crew to take him into Institute custody.
To that, Tim has only one reply for Veronica, one word said with a sneer on his face. "Bitch." No, he's not cooperative at all. Perhaps, this once, an Institute captive deserves to be where he ends up. There are certainly some formerly scared people out there who will agree.