[Hanging 2718] Crime & Punishment

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Writer: Muse
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Wed Jan 16, 2019 11:12 am

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2nd of Dentis, 2718
​​COURTHOUSE SQUARE | SUNRISE
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Constable Potiphar, clearly uncomfortable by the entire situation, didn't wait to be told what was happening, moving instead to the wick victim and his surrounding peers in order to quietly begin writing down their statements, more than once having to stutter for them to not all talk at once and calmly requesting for them to slow down and relax. He held no real love for the lower races, but the round galdor had learned to tolerate them with at least a marginal amount of patient kindness.

Rhys was not at all patient, inwardly groaning at the tight, suffocating feeling of being trapped between a strange mountain of a Hoxian and the hard heart of Constable Delacore. His sharp blue eyes narrowed at Drezda's retort,

"I'm a tall galdor in a bright green uniform and you're asking me if I don't get a few stray, inappropriate touches while walking through an agitated crowd? Ask my Constable there how many times I've lost my clocking wallet. Or my baton. Good Lady, it wasn't assault. It was a pinch and you totally overreacted—just because you're comfortable being galdorkind in a crowd like this, doesn't mean the next sod is." The lie stung his lips to say it, fully aware he wasn't a galdor at all, fully aware that when anyone did have the gall to touch the Sergeant, it was usually not in humorous flirtation. He put a bit of humor on the end to ease the discomfort, but it wasn't enough. Pots snorted, an amused noise quickly drown out by Rhys continuing to speak, "Everyone in this clocking square just watched some lower race Resistance members hang until dead and you're confused as to why there may be a bit of resentment toward anyone who even closely resembles a galdor? Keep your passives at home next time—where they belong, considering they are a potential public danger all their own without any self-control, which, admittedly, this wick seems to also be lacking in. He can be disciplined, however. I can't fine a diablerie. I can only clean up the mess it leaves behind most of the time."

An angry tilt of his well-carved chin for emphasis, Rhys had no qualms in this moment throwing passives as a race under the rickshaw in order to bury the discomfort that writhed through the Perceptive mona so heavy in his glamour of a field, the word wick just as painful and bitter in his mouth as galdor had been.

The red-head was speaking and he at least had the presence of mind to shift his attention, his full attention, to her, jaw clenching at her self-deprecating defense of Miss Ecks which he'd already determined was undeserved. The stammering sort of cover story made the tall blond feel dizzy, a heaviness sinking into his insides at the familiarity of such protectiveness because the words and hurt reminded him far too much of Charity in withdrawal, deliriously defending her father or her drug-pushing friends. He swallowed the lump in his throat that felt like bile, lips tightly pressed together as he looked down and wrote out the promised ticket just to hide the trembling of his hands while the nausea of panic passed, "Miss, I appreciate your rather humble interpretation of the Law, but there are far more legal ways of protecting one's property in public other than the harmful use of magic against civilians, whether they pinched you or not."

Hissing through his teeth as Drezda carried on with her passive in a way that felt rather familiar and doting in an awkward sort of way that would have made his skin crawl had he been capable of dwelling on any of it in this moment, his gaze flicked back up from writing to look first to Pots and then to Monica, indicating she should go ahead and interview whoever was remaining. He ignored the apparently elevated level of education the red-head spoke with because he could only conclude that the Hoxian had particular standards with her servants that he didn't want to speculate too deeply about, "The statements are for my report, thank you. I will fairly hear the other side from the mouth of the wick who pinched you, Miss, and I believe that's quite a sweeping statement about who a stranger likes or doesn't like. There's some wicks here who will be losing their livelihoods and status with the revoking of writs, and so I certainly don't expect to see the best behavior out of any of them today. Don't worry—he's not going to be escaping a minor fine, either, so you both can assuage your racial suspicions with that."

He handed the ticket with barely contained vehemence to the dark-haired woman who was now completely grating on whatever nerves he could pretend weren't raw enough already, worn thin by the riots, by his exhausting recovery, by Gale, by his father, by Charity's slow path to sobriety, "Please take this and your entourage and have a productive rest of your day, Miss Ecks. May Benea light your path."

The Sergeant didn't wait for anyone to leave to turn to Monica, adding with no less irritation despite the lowering of his voice, "Later this afternoon, at your leisure, I'd like for you to stop by my office, Constable Delacore—" Potiphar stuttered as if Rhys' words caught him off-guard, though his back was turned from both of them and no one could see his actual surprise. The tall blond wasn't the commanding officer of her squad, but he was still her superior (something he may have once been keen on rubbing in but no longer held any personal grudges about). Whatever his intentions were, he hid them from his tone of voice, "—It's, uh, unrelated. Mostly. Just, yes. If you would. Later."

He'd finish taking statements after that, making sure that all the wicks involved had been thoroughly interviewed, aware that they'd all been quite worked up over the morning's events and announcements, aware the that High Judge had quite the ability to make anyone feel like a piece of chroveshit on the road, honestly.

While Rhys didn't expect any more rioting, there was a sinking feeling in the cavity of his chest while he listened to Tek-laced sentences and felt the weight of judgmental stares at his uniformed self—the next several weeks weren't going to be easy and enforcement of this new declaration would be exhausting. Thank Alioe he wasn't in the Patrol Division.
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