Until There's A Riot

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delilah_icon.gif praeger_icon.gif

Scene Title Until There's A Riot
Synopsis Too little too late, but better late than never. After Delilah is arrested, she's approached by someone who takes an interest in the endeavors of Summer Meadows. The kind that doesn't involve lighting it on fire.
Date January 30, 2010

The DHS Building


Delilah Trafford. Registered Evolved. Psychoactive Secretion.

These things had been penned into a form, signed, and that was the last human contact Delilah had been exposed to for the past two hours. It's been a long twenty-four hours, the day closing in fast to the 24 hour anniversary of the Summer Meadows riots, her wounds seen to, many cups of water and coffee offered. Warm food. Long, long hours of waiting and remaining in the one door room with its glass window, center table and twin chairs. The door opening becomes an event in itself. When it does once more, the clock on the wall says that it's a quarter past five, considering there's no window to see by.

"Ms. Trafford?"

The man that appears in the doorway is not a cop. He doesn't look like an agent, either. A professor, maybe, except they only wished they dressed this well. A lawyer.

Frameless glasses flash in the room's illumination, skin a merry kind of pink in contrast to the shock white of receding hair. His charcoal black suit is refined, pinstriped, a smart blue tie impeccably in place despite the long business day gone by, and he puts on a smile for her as he steps neatly into the room, closing the door behind him.

Maybe a politician.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," he says, heading towards the table and putting out a hand to pull the opposite chair out. "But I don't think you'll have to wait much longer."

Not quite in her best mode to impress anyone. She is still in her clothes from yesterday, a coral pink dress with a dark cardigan, though she has since been relieved of her pantyhose- apparently it's like the belts for men? She wasn't quite sure but listened anyway. Delilah has perhaps had a few naps in the last day or so, still going; coffee only does so much, and at some point while she's been left alone in the room by herself, her arms folded on the table looked way too comfortable to pass up. That is why, when the door opens, she is wrapped up like a kid in study hall, snoozing heavily on her forearms with a half empty Styrofoam cup nearby. Just water in it.

The door opens to her sleeping, but her name being spoken gets her to stir and sit up again, abruptly making an attempt to make sure there is no drool and her hair isn't sticking to spatial north. Her eyes are slightly red from lack of proper sleep and general stress, and her brown irises find the man in the doorway with a wakeful blink up to him. One hand is still tucking red hair behind her ear, giving her an especially critical expression when she looks him over. She seems to have trouble telling exactly what role he may be filling, very fittingly.

"I've been here more than a day." When Delilah finally speaks, her words come with an intake of breath to help in waking her the rest of the way, eyelids fluttering off towards the glass window and back to the well-dressed stranger. "At this point, it's not so much waiting as it is being held."

Not quite in her best mode to impress anyone. She is still in her clothes from yesterday, a coral pink dress with a dark cardigan, though she has since been relieved of her pantyhose- apparently it's like the belts for men? She wasn't quite sure but listened anyway. Delilah has perhaps had a few naps in the last day or so, still going; coffee only does so much, and at some point while she's been left alone in the room by herself, her arms folded on the table looked way too comfortable to pass up. That is why, when the door opens, she is wrapped up like a kid in study hall, snoozing heavily on her forearms with a half empty Styrofoam cup nearby. Just water in it.

The door opens to her sleeping, but her name being spoken gets her to stir and sit up again, abruptly making an attempt to make sure there is no drool and her hair isn't sticking to spatial north. Her eyes are slightly red from lack of proper sleep and general stress, and her brown irises find the man in the doorway with a wakeful blink up to him. One hand is still tucking red hair behind her ear, giving her an especially critical expression when she looks him over. She seems to have trouble telling exactly what role he may be filling, very fittingly.

"I've been here more than a day." When Delilah finally speaks, her words come with an intake of breath to help in waking her the rest of the way, eyelids fluttering off towards the glass window and back to the well-dressed stranger. "At this point, it's not so much waiting as it is being held."

"There was a cross over point," he politely contradicts, coming to sit down opposite her, a hand up to smooth non-existent wrinkles from his tie before he pokes his fingers into the pocket of his jacket. "Between detainment and waiting, let me assure you. This is for you." The laminated card is extracted from silk-lined fabric, turned over in his fingers so that she can see it before the thing is neatly set down between them. Identification is printed in the form of a photo, of text — her face, her name, her ability. Her tier, which she learns about as soon as her eyes come to focus on the glossy surface: Tier Two.

His hands settle on the table in a clasp, as graceful as twin doves, almost as pale. "My name is Raymond Praeger," he introduces himself. "I'm the Secretary of Evolved Affairs, and I wanted to talk to you before they let you back into the wild. All charges have been dropped, so you could technically walk out the door right now." The raised grey brow suggests he'd appreciate it if she didn't.

Her examination of him doesn't stop until he dips a hand into his jacket and brandishes the laminated card onto the table. Delilah can feel her lips curling a bit- though on her face it probably just looks like vague displeasure rather than an outright sneer. She doesn't reach for it, instead leaning forward to peer down at it and read the text. "Oh- well kick me arse over tit- got a two." Contrary to probably many people who might be perturbed at the 'highest', she sounds simply relieved of it.

Her eyes go up a moment later, widening slightly and then soon narrowing as she listens. There is obvious skepticism, and it is also obvious that she quickly debates doing just that- walking out. When Dee doesn't, perhaps it is a testament to her patience. "Secretary of Evolved Affairs? I thought that was just some puppet branch someone wrote up to make all the fat white guys with moustaches all clear their throats and nod in appraisal. So what are you doing here, then? Don't you have better things to be doing?" It's not a sarcastic question, though her colorful metaphor almost made it that way. The girl sounds genuinely curious.

Rapid blinks flutter behind clean glass, a hand up to adjust the sit of spectacles on his nose, but his smile never goes away — remains genuine, even, small and patient. "I would not blame you in the least for having that perception. But it is what it is. I like to think that change is never impossible." Hands come back together, and he seems to take her curiousity as honest. "I have a lot of things to be doing, but I've taken some special interest in the renovations going over at Summer Meadows, on Roosevelt Island. From what I understand, you were involved in quite the altercation last night.

"One of the men involved— a Brenton Black— was arrested. Another unregistered Evolved, just like yourself, and his ability, we believe, is the reason behind what happened last night. Black is a breed of empath, specialising in mob-like emotions, such as rage and panic. There was a time— not so very long ago— that the Department of Homeland Security might have been alone in handling this. Not anymore."

He pauses, a tick of a smile, but doesn't allow too much room for interruption to descend. "I'm here because I want to help. It's amazing how efforts to help and do the right thing attract those who would do the opposite."

Delilah rubs a little at one eye with a knuckle, sitting up straight in her seat as to not seem like too much of a listless little slob. If this guy is the real deal, it might be a good idea to pay attention. Especially if he chose to take the time to see her. To say she absorbs the information about Black is an understatement; Lilah is leaning forward in her chair and seems to have woken up as far as she can for this.

Mob empath? That explains the mess, yes. And how she felt- there was something that was egging her on, but she left that up to the arsonists. Or so she thought- turns out it was Black. "You mean you want to help us, or help get rid of Black? Either one would be appreciated, really. We've all been doing what we can out there; I'm guessing maybe we stepped in some kinda spider nest for those guys to torch part of it. Have you heard anything about it? The fire didn't spread, did it?" Oh, right, topic. "How can I help you now, exactly?"

"Help get rid of people like Black," Praeger says, words slotting together neatly. "Or offer protection from them. Which I think falls under the same category as helping you. As for the fire, they were able to stop it from spreading to the other building, but the one they targetted— the second and third floor are destroyed, and the fourth floor, I believe, badly damaged."

But on to the topic. "We would like to offer some funding towards repairing the damaged building, for one thing. All of this could have been prevented if authorities had taken a true interest in areas of the city that badly need it, and I'd be remiss if I did not right this particular wrong. The New York Development and Housing program would be glad to support renovation efforts being made.

"Of course, what you can do to help me now is merely pass along the message."

"The police claim to be spread thin most days; I know that's wrong, they just don't really want to patrol problem areas. Save for a handful of them, they don't seem to pay much attention to anything that isn't a major borough." She would get into a ruckus about police presences, if this were some other time and she was not expected to talk about something else. Delilah finally reaches out a hand to pick up the card left on the table, examining it carefully- and with an expression of distaste once again. It could be worse, right? Then again, nobody's told her what she's got in store for not registering. Ugh.

"It's kind of depressing that nobody 'official' thinks what we are doing is important enough to fiscally support- until there's a riot, something burns down and somebody dies all in one night. And now, because one of the buildings got damaged, we have to help the people whose home it was to find somewhere new." Way to pile it on, Dee. "The project needs protection more than money because we're all volunteers, but we would never say no if the local government supported what we're doing on an official scale. We'd be able to get a lot more done. Maybe even find a second project, like getting all of those people out of Thomas Jefferson Park." She gets more rigid at this, suggesting even to a stranger that she has a personal interest.

"I'll pass on the message if you guys can keep whatever promises you make."

Not only a good speaker, Praeger seems to be a decent listener too. His fingers knit together, patience open as if politeness weren't just a veneer. By the time she's done, he has a card in his hand — cardboard, not plastic, offered out. The Department of Evolved Affairs prints its logo in the centre, his name underscored by his title, and neat little impersonal contact details all in a row. There's no pen mark of any easier to reach numbers, such as his cellphone, but it's a gesture all the same.

"Thank you," he says, back straightening in preparation to stand. "It took a massive nuclear blast to make the world realise that Evolved human ability even exists. My hope is that violence won't continue to be the only way causes and information can get attention. If areas of the city needs protection, then I will see what I can do — and we can start with Summer Meadows."

Now he goes to stand, offering out a hand to her. "I'm glad we had this discussion."

If there were some other means of contact, she might blink- but there isn't. If there were, she'd have a reason to find out the dirt on mister Praeger here. She still might, but without the fervor of someone trying to find a snag. Impersonal is good for a first impression. She takes the card from him with a reassuring little smile, skimming it.

"Starting is something. I'll get this through and hopefully someone will contact you before too long. We- have a new mess to clean up, and all." Nothing personal. Plus, they do need time to double-check pertinent information. Delilah stands up when he does, the faint click of her shoes sounding on the cold floor. She takes his hand firmly to shake on it, now giving him a broadening smile. "It was interesting meeting you, mister Praeger. Not how I'd have chosen to, but, you know."

That makes him smile a little brighter, laughing as he retracts his hand from her's and stepping around his chair. The door is opened, and Praeger steps aside to allow her room to walk out of it. "Then for both our sakes, I hope you'll get to choose in the future," he agrees, doing one last sweep down gesture of his sapphire blue tie before he's escorting her, at long last, out of the small, dimly lit room.


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