9309/Statement of Cael Becker

Statement of Cael Becker
Date of Scene:	26 December 2021
Location:	Martin and Jon's Suite
Synopsis:	Cael heads to Jon's apartment to give him her statement about her time with Michael. There are hugs and crying afterward and then Martin walks in and misunderstands the situation. (Maybe.) It's awkward. But there's dinner in the end!
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Cael Becker, Martin Blackwood
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    As he departs the Themysciran Embassy, Jon pulls out his phone and texts Cael, asking if she's up for coming over to his place and giving her statement. Some things Donna Troy said to him resonate in his mind--about clarity, and wisdom, about whether or not he's seeing the truth of the matter. And the truth is that there are two statements left to gather, regarding the incidents that led to all of this. Two statements, before he can /truly/ judge whether Michael is out of balance here, what Jon may need to do, to stop him. One of those statements is Michael's own, and he cannot possibly get that yet. But the other is Cael's. And her statement may yet give him some kind of insight into the various dilemmas he's facing.

    Besides, he needs to remember why he's doing this. Why, whatever he says to others about faith and defending the city, at the core of all of this is the fact that Michael hurt his friend, and there has to be /some/ kind of price paid for that injustice.

    Jon's changed into a Columbia U t-shirt and jeans by the time Cael comes over, made sure the office space is set up for a statement, pondered tea and pulled down a bottle of whiskey. He'll offer both. It's only polite.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael was at home by the time she got the text - and she spent a short time staring at the message in silence. Bear, who had been curled up on an extra-large dog bed lifts his head to regard her, and then pads his way over, to deposit his head in her lap with a whuff of air. "Good dog," she murmurs distracted, ruffling at his fur before she types out her reply.
    It's a short one. 'Sure.'
    Of course, whether or not he likes it he'll soon have Bear in his flat as well - but she suspects he'll be fine with that.
    Pulling on her jacket, and getting Bear's vest into place, she makes her way to the elevator, and then to her garage. With Westchester the final destination, the Corvette would be her easiest bet. So after struggling through NYC traffic, she pulls up into the long drive that winds its way to the Triskelion, and parks in their garage, before making her way to the elevators leading to the living quarters. After ringing the bell, she shoves her hands deep into her pockets, glancing aside at the beast sitting placidly at her side. Bear just quirks his ears at her quizzically.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls open the door and greets Cael and Bear both with a bright grin. "Please, come in, come in." The place smells heavily of spices, which says something given the air filtration in the Trisk. Curry, for sure, and some kind of incense that must be used a lot to still be so prevalent in the air.

    They've only been living there for a couple of months, so they haven't replaced any of the furniture, but there are personal touches. There's a mezuzah on the door frame, and the living room walls are lined with bookshelves that hold plants and fidget toys and Egyptian statues as much as books. There are crocheted blankets on the couch and chairs, little knick-knacks around. It all feels vaguely like what the house of a millenial grandparent might feel like, whenever this generation gets there.

    "Martin won't be home for a while, but I thought we should do this in the office at any rate. Did you want... tea? Whiskey? Both? Bear's on-duty, but can I get /him/ anything? Some water, perhaps?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "He might like some water, yeah," Cael agrees - leaning over to unzip a pouch on the side of his vest. Tucked inside was a collapsable water bowl, which she offers over to Jon. "And me... yeah. Sure. Tea with a splash of whiskey sounds like a great idea. It's been several days since I had my emergency meds so... I should be good, yeah?" And honestly - she'd trust Jon's judgement on that more than her own. She knows so little about medications.
    As she steps inside, her gaze flicks around the apartment at all the little knicknacks - she even picks up a fidget cube off a shelf. "Did you back the original Kickstarter before it got ripped off by //everyone//?" she asks in a lightly teasing voice, trying to keep things light, rather than give in to that knot of anxiety forming in her stomach.
    Sure, the memory might not have as much power right now - that doesn't make talking about what happened //fun// for her.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I wouldn't offer whiskey if I didn't think it was okay for you to have," Jon replies easily. He goes into the kitchen and fills and then turns on the kettle--one of those electric ones--and pulls out some loose leaf tea that he carefully measures into the strainer with a frown.

    "I'm not as good at this as Martin is," he admits, "but every time I suggest buying sachets he looks at me like I kicked a puppy." He shakes his head, and goes to fill Bear's water bowl. Speaking of puppies.

    "Fidget toys are an /excellent/ intervention for the neurodivergent," Jon adds as he puts down the water bowl. "Keeping one in my pocket helped me focus through more than one dry, boring psychiatric conference. So, ahh... yes. We did. Back the original Kickstarter, I mean, and then, well... I... collect them." It seems an odd thing to collect, maybe, and by his tone he knows that.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael smirks in amusement. "I knew it," she declares, and after fidgeting with a few different sides of the cube - she just drops it back on another of the shelves, and follows to watch him fuss over the tea.
    "I asked Alis to stay with Sara for this..." she admits while he's measuring the tea. "I don't know that I'm ready to tell her the whole story of this. She's- you don't see her, do you?" she asks a little uncertainly. She //thinks// her sister probably honored the request - but likely only because Jon was one of the few who could always see her.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks around for a moment, then nods. "She's not here, at least not right now. If she shows up I'll let you know."

    The kettle boils and Jon pours hot water into a pot, which is on a tray along with two mugs, and a little container of cream and one of sugar cubes. The pot is a heavy brown thing, and the mugs are of fairly good size--no dainty teacups here. He grabs the flask of whiskey and puts it on the tray, then leads the way over toward the office.

    "This... should probably be easier than therapy. So long as you agree to it, opening a statement is... there's a mystical component, and a telepathic component. It should just flow on out of you in a coherent manner. It's hard to stop once you get started, so I'll be sure you're settled first. And, ahh, I... would like your permission to record the statement, at least. I... would need to record it later /anyway/ but I'd understand if you don't want your voice in the Archive for gods know how long."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael considers that in silence for a moment before remarking, "No, it's fine," she decides. "I mean - why not let a piece of me live on, yeah? And hell, maybe there'll come a time I want to let someone hear the story, without having to tell it. They might as well hear it in my voice. In my words."
    She follows Jon towards the office as they talk - Bear still trotting at her side, tongue cheerfully hanging out. "These apartments are nice. At least Sara and I'll be comfortable enough while we're staying here, yeah?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "That's part of the benefit of the Archive, yes. Being able to refer to it later, if you wish." Jon leads the way into the office, which hasn't been quite as personalized as the rest. There's a desk covered in scattered papers, on which esoteric symbols have been drawn, and a white board filled with Jon's handwriting. Arcane research of some kind, presumably. More bookshelves, these just crammed with notebooks. There are two chairs as well, and he gestures Cael to one of them while he sits in the other and puts the tray in a clear spot on the desk where it fits neatly.

    "I've rather liked it myself," he says once Cael's been seated and he goes ahead and pours the tea and then hands it over along with whatever else she needs to fix her cup. "We've kept our old apartment largely because I can't quite let go of living in the city, but these /are/ nice." A pause. "Brooklyn's not being evacuated... why are you moving here?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael removes Bear's leash before settling onto the chair, then liberally doses her tea with the whiskey - but nothing else. After taking sip she lets out a satisfied sigh, followed by a second sip. "This is probably going to sound silly," Cael admits, "But I just worry about the violence and chaos spilling over, with so many people evacuated. It feels like it could be a rather unpredictable and quickly-changing situation - the Triskelion just seems like it'd be safer. And if I had to leave Bear behind somewhere..." She doesn't want it to be in that apartment, alone.
    "I'm pretty good at feeling paranoid about things, really, and recent circumstances haven't exactly disabused me of the notion."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods. "Ahh, I can understand that." He's put /four/ lumps of sugar into his own mug, along with a splash of milk, then stirs. "Bear will be safer here at the Trisk, yes. And... lord, I hate this. I hate everything about it. Even if the angels don't kill people..." He shakes his head. It's madness. But they all know that.

    He reaches over to the desk, pulling over a microcasette recorder and changing out the tape. "Alright, well... let me know when you're ready, okay? But take your time to compose yourself."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "People will kill people," Cael agrees quietly. "Or just break in to steal your stuff assuming you'd evacuated - and kill the dog. You know." It's just the way things work sometimes, unfortunately.
    Cael takes another sip of the tea, while Bear is lapping at his water, then calls the dog over. She pats her legs, and in short order, has the dog's forelegs and head in her lap, while and pets and ruffles at his ears gently. "Good boy," she murmurs quietly. "You're such a good boy, Bear."
    She enjoys one more sip of the tea, then nods to Jon. She'd done this once before - in one of her therapy sessions, but she still asks to confirm, "I just... tell my story. Beginning to end - of that night. Yeah?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods. "Yes. I've... refined the process a bit, so... just let me get set up. It'll come fairly easily, don't worry." He hesitates a moment. He's going to have to live this /with/ her. It's not something he wants to do. But he needs to know, and it might help to unburden her.

    Once Cael has indicated that she's ready, Jon clicks the 'record' button on the microcasette and says, "Statement of Cael Becker, regarding her encounter with the Archangel Michael. Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December, 2021." He holds the recorder so the microphone is pointing toward Cael. "Statement begins."

    With those two words hanging heavy in the air, there's a faint compulsion, a desire to speak and a feeling of ease and comfort. The words will flow, telling the story until she's done, though it may be difficult, re-living those events.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'd had a long night," Cael remarks with seeming incongruity as she starts her statement. "Working a case for the FBI, and then training in the morning... By the time I got home, I was beat. I knew I had plenty of time, though, before I was supposed to meet up with you, and Sara, and your friends - so I got ready for bed. I turned in.
    "I didn't understand what was happening, at first, when I woke up on that cot, in that room... A room with no entrance, no exit, no windows, no trapdoors... It seemed like a nightmare - I wished it to be a nightmare. Somehow, I knew it wasn't."
    Though her mug of tea remains in her left hand, her right hand pets rhythmically at Bear's head, finding comfort in the dog's presence as she retells the tale. How she'd searched desperately for an exit, remembering what Jon had told her - that the charm had only been a temporary measure to give her time to escape. The rage she'd felt, the frustration,t he defiance. How, when she'd realized there was no way out, she'd decided her only choice was to try to kill Chas - even though she knew he was Jon's friend. How she'd lured him in towards the chair, and swung it - only to be stopped mid-motion and held in place, as the chair simply ceased to exist, and reformed behind her.
    Her brief moment of triumph as Michael tried to force her into the chair, and she managed to throw him, and toss him onto his back on the floor.
    And the utter despair as she was held in place in the air, barely able to breathe, as the charm was plucked away and destroyed. Her terror at the thought of Jon having to take a statement from her shade - before Sara freed her from her chains. Those brief moments of struggle as Michael's influence wormed his way into her mind... before she was overwhelmed by the peace, the tranquility, the perfection of what he offered her. Perfect acceptace, perfect forgiveness - undying and unquestioning love... "Fuck," Cael adds under her breath, letting out a quiet laugh. "I try not to think about it too much."
    Even with the compulsion of the statement, there's a silence as she finishes her tea, and then buries her face against Bear's fur, grateful for his presence.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon listens to all of this, transfixed, like he couldn't possibly move away while listening. There's an odd look on his face, like he's torn between compassion for what she went through, horror at re-living the events, and some strange kind of hunger. Jon Sims may be doing this for information, and to help Cael let it out and let it go, but the /Archivist/ requires statements, and the Archive is always, always hungry for more.

    Horror becomes the predominant expression, eventually. Did he ever explain that he experiences the events in first person? As if he were there? That he can feel her terror, her triumph, her despair? And then the peace, complete and overwhelming, but he can feel her terror underlying that so it's not like that makes it /better/.

    As she takes that moment, Jon just... sits there. He wants to offer support, comfort, help, but... she's mid-statement. A direct interruption might break him out of the trance, but as it is he's really no more able to directly react than the tape recorder is.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Michael asked me to sit," Cael says when she continues. It's such a simple, benign sentence. "So I did. I was happy to do anything he asked of me. There was nothing I had ever wanted more than to please him. //It//. It sat in front of me - and asked about my crimes in the kindest, most sympathetic voice. I relived them all - breaking into Miss Susan's house, the first time I stole a car, my street races... and murdering the people who killed Alis. After I relieved each memory, he would tell me what harm I wrought on others by my actions, and I felt such deep regret - it was like a physical pain. And yet... I was still wrapped in that perfect ectacy of peace, love, acceptance and forgiveness. Both things were true.
    "And as we finished each memory, as he told me the pain people suffered at my hands... My hands and feet began to blister, and burn. I knew that it hurt - but I welcomed it. I rejoiced in it - in my penance. It heightened the ecstasy. And as we finished the last memory... he judged me. A thief, a murderer. And I knew - somehow, I simply knew what was next, what my judgement was, without being told. I accepted it, welcomed it like I welcomed all the rest. I wanted to be unburdened. I wanted to be free. When the cross appeared, I put the nails through my calves, because I knew I would lose my feet. I held the nail at my forearm as he hammered it in, because I knew I would lose my hands. I knew I suffer a heart attack for each of the victims we murdered - and only then could I die, and be free, and I couldn't be happier, or more at peace.
    "...and then my friends came to save me," she adds in a quiet voice, a few tears streaking down her cheeks. "And my first thought was how right it was that you would witness my redemption and finally understand what is being offered. The important work that Michael was doing. The blessing he was offering..."
    Her gaze finds Jon directly for the first time since she started speaking as she adds, "I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to cause anymore pain, certainly not to the people I cared about. But I couldn't let you stop my salvation, and when he ordered me to do it- there was never any chance I could resist. I wanted to stop you, but I didn't want to harm you, so I- nailed you to the wall.
    "And then Michael was bound. I was freed, but not in the way Michael had planned. ...and I'd never felt so trapped. Sara healed me, and yet- everytime I look at my hands, everytime, and I see them so perfect, and unblemished, it- Jon, it feels wrong. There should be some sign, after something like that. Shouldn't there? Scars from the nails, from the burns? But my hands are perfect. It isn't right."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon can feel the moment when Cael is done, and he manages to say, "Statement ends," and click off the recorder. Just barely, his hand shaking.

    Then he sobs. Once, twice, and then stumbles out of his chair to kneel on the floor beside Bear and wrap Cael in a hug. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Gods, I'm so sorry." For taking the statement? Or for the entire situation, to begin with? Or for the fact that her hands are so perfect? Or something else entirely?

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael slips out of her chair - sitting on the floor with Bear, and with Jon. One arm is around the massive pup, who leans into her like he's been taught - and even licks at her face - while she simultaneously leans into Jon, accepting comfort from both. Her own tears continue to fall - but it isn't the desperate, all-consuming pain it might have been a mere week ago.
    "You came in time, Jon. And if you hadn't made that charm to keep him out of my mind... You would have been too late. //You// saved me, Jon."
    Well. The others helped, too...

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "But I doomed you with that charm to begin with. I thought I could protect you, I... I had the /hubris/ to think I could protect you... and all it did was mark you out."

    Jon's own pain is desperate and all-consuming, at least for the moment. This is what he has to look forward to, or worse--and there are other things, too, things he's afraid to tell anyone for fear of their reactions. Maybe a therapist, but how do you open a first therapy session with 'an archangel told me the fate of the universe rests on my choices, and a Hell Lord told me I'm fated to die before summer'? Even if they might actually believe you? He's not sure anyone would start that way with him, and he's known (and derided) for believing just about anything a patient tells him.

    "You never should have had to go through that... that /lie/. To... to make you go through all of that, offer up your sins, and then convince you that you /deserved/ to be tortured instead of absolved or... or to make up for them or..." It was a mockery of therapy, in a way. A mockery of the statements, of confession, of all the things the Archivist was and has become. Not that Michael meant it that way, but it does /feel/ that way.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "No one should have," Cael agrees. "I wouldn't put anyone through that. Not even the people that killed Alis." She frees one hand to wipe at her eyes before she adds, "But I survived. And... I refuse to accept that was the only reason I was taken. I- It seemed like Michael wasn't really aware of the charm. I don't think //that// was the reason he targetted me. He threatened us //before// you gave me that protection. Jon, I think he had me in mind from when he gave us that message. So your charm //did// save me. It did." And she refuses to believe it any other way.
    "I'm going to be okay," she adds in a quiet promise. "And I have my friends with me to make sure of it."
    After another lick from Bear, she pushes the dogs face away from hers, letting out a breathy laugh. "Bear, stop being gross."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't know if I will," Jon admits. "I... I have to be, b-but I don't..." He hesitates, tipping there on the point of just... blurting it out. I'm going to die. I know what they want from me and it's exactly what you think it is. They want to nail me to a cross and I'm terrified and I don't understand /why/.

    But... all he has is Lady Death's word for it, and his own deductions. He needs to be /sure/--and be sure, more than anything, that there's no way out, before he starts telling people. So he just shakes his head.

    "You okay now?" he manages. "I... I know it can be rough. Re-living those things."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'm okay. Much as I can be," and she means it. Cael's gaze, and her concern, is turns towards Jon as she tries to understand the pain that's tearing at //him// - and she can't explain it as anything else.
    "Jon, look at me," she says firmly. "...you saved my life. I want you to say it, and believe it. You saved my life, and I'm gonna be okay." She even offers him a small, sad smile, before she leans back into his hug, pressing her own forehead against his.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sniffles. "I saved your life," he says softly. "And you're going to be okay." He presses his forehead to hers, and closes his eyes. "I believe it," he whispers. "I do."

    Deep breath in. Deep breath out. "It's just... this is all so /much/. A month ago, this was a murder investigation, if a... /really/ weird one. And now... now we're at the center of some trial to determine the fate of all creation, and I'm... /barely/ grasping the edges of what it all means. Every piece of information I get just leads... deeper into something I don't even know the shape of yet. And if I can't figure it out in time... pfft. There goes the universe."

     A beat. "And not just our universe. All of it. All of Creation... destabilized."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I am," Cael says in confirmation after Jon's words. She needs to say it - and she needs to believe - just as much as he does. Honestly though - she is starting to feel that it's true.
    But Jon's pain, and confusion tears at her - and frightens her. But maybe it was better than his confidence? His confidence had not served them well during the exorcism.
    "We're going to figure this out. I have to believe that, because I refuse to believe we're going to fail all of reality. I know it's a lot - I know you're scared. But somehow, Jon, we're going to figure it out, and it doesn't fall on you alone, alright?" She takes a deep breath in, and lets it out slowly. "We're in this together. We'll fix it together." After a brief silence, she pulls back just enough to plant a gentle kiss on Jon's brow. A look of confusion flickers across her features that she would dare do something so intimate, before she starts to gently pull herself out of the hug.
    What was going on with her?

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Luck is a fickle thing. In order to work for some people it often has to desert others. In this case, it might be deserting Cael and Jon for some other fool's errand.

    Just as the pair are disengaging, Martin's voice comes from the other side of the office door just as it opens. "Jon I'm ho--oh!" he says sounding embarassed that he walking in on something so private (nevermind in his own home.)

    He looks more tired than usual, the hint of dark circles forming under his eyes. The embarassment quickly shifts to indignation. This *is* his home and Jon is *his* husband. "I'm sorry" he says, his voice stiff. "Am I... interrupting something?" he asks, pressing a shoulder against the doorframe and staring at the pair as he crosses his arms. Should he be jealous? He doesn't *think* he should be jealous, and yet... there are pangs of it flowing through him at this moment.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon doesn't think too much about the kiss on his brow, not immediately. It's something he's done to friends when comforting them; he's a naturally touchy person, and physical contact doesn't read as anything more than platonic for him most of the time. It's Cael's emotions, bleeding through her aura, her confusion, that makes him blink a little and pull back. Confused at her own confusion. He opens his mouth, as if to reply, even while he's letting her go...

    And then Martin walks in.

    The indignation and jealousy he feels immediately. Ever since Jon figured out how to stabilize his telepathy, he's been creating and strengthening an empathic link with Martin, so it's almost impossible for him /not/ to notice, at this proximity. He blinks and then lets go of Cael entirely, hurriedly pulling himself to his feet and rooting around on the desk for the microcasette recorder.

    "Martin! I didn't think you'd be home for hours." Oh, that doesn't help. "I was just... we were just... Cael gave me a statement and... umm... I made tea." His cheeks have darkened. Why is he /embarassed/? He and a friend were comforting each other. That's /all/.

Cael Becker has posed:
    As she's released, and Jon turns immediately to his casette recorder as proof, Cael turns to her dog - letting the massive, white creature crawl into her lap as she wraps one arm around him, and looks up towards Martin. "Blackwood," she greets the man as a little color starts to creep into her cheeks. "We, uhh... We just recorded my memory of when one of the angels..." She lets out a heavy sigh. "When I hurt Jon. It's, uh... It's a difficult memory for both of us," she admits quietly, dropping her gaze from Martin's accussing stare, down towards Bear's guileless and unrelenting cheer, as the pup wags his tail happily.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin regards Cael and the massive dog for a moment, his expression still hard but softening a few degrees before he looks at Jon. "I didn't know you embraced your clients regularly. In fact, I was fairly certain that you had a ridiculous notion about not being friends with them in any capacity. Something about the separation of business and personal work." His tone conveys just how little he thinks of the idea himself. After all, as an EMT he's had his own share of hero worship from survivors.

    "If that has changed... it would be nice to know. And if..." he glances at Cael again. "If things were to... well... you know where I stand on other matters." He uncrosses his arms, letting them hand at his sides. "I'm sorry for interupting your session. Statement. Recording. I was sent home by the team lead. He realized my plan a bit sooner than I expected."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon spins to look at Martin, mouth agape. "Wh-bu-th-bu... /Martin/!!" He glowers. "That's not... Cael is my /friend/. And... technically I'm not her therapist any longer. Wilson, ahh... rightly pointed out that... look, there's a /reason/ for the professional ethics, okay? Anyway, it was done, it's over. It was just... hard. It was..."

    He swallows. "I needed to know," he says softly, "what Michael might have in store for me." Martin, at least, can feel the shock of fear that runs through Jon in saying that.

    He frowns. "...What plan?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "He's not my therapist anymore," Cael confirms quietly. "I'll be seeing a new one starting tomorrow." That's the plan, anyways. She keeps one arm tightly around Bear, with his prominently displayed 'service dog in training' vest - and strokes him with her other hand, as her gaze flicks between Jon and Martin, her expression uncertain.
    "I, uhh... I stopped our sessions after the failed exorcism. They just- I knew they wouldn't work anymore." She nods towards Jon at his words as she adds, "Jon was distraught. I wasn't exactly happy either. I was trying to help him - but you're here now, so, uh... Maybe I should just go?" she suggests.
    The last thing she wants to do is cause tension between Martin and Jon - especially not //now//.
    And besides. What the fuck //was// that all about?

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin waves a hand. "No. You don't have to go go. You can stay. Besides... your dog is adorable." He sighs and looks at Jon. It's his turn to look sheepish. "I... I had been taking extra shifts. To keep busy. Between this time of year and the things coming to a head for you and my inability to be there..."

    He shakes his head. "Look, I know it's stupid and foolish and counterproductive but... it's eating me up inside..." He adds defensively, "Besides, we *are* short-staffed and people out there seem to be deliberately hurting one another for no good reason."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You should at least finish your tea," Jon says, insufferably British. And then, "Otherwise that perfectly good whiskey was wasted." He grins at Cael.

    "And... you did help. It... it's good to know... that someone will be there. I'm sure Martin is glad you'll be out there with me while he's helping civilians."

    He'll scold Martin about taking the extra shifts on purpose /later/. No need to make things /more/ awkward.

    "There plenty of tea, Martin, and I actually let the water boil this time so /please/ at least try it? And what do you mean, 'deliberately hurting one another for no good reason?'"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Bear's a good boy," Cael replies, giving the creature a tight hug, before she nudges him off her lap. "I'm fine, Bear. Get off, huh?"
    With a quiet hmph the dog is shifted off of her lap so Cael can retake her seat, giving Jon an amused grin as she does. "I'm afraid I'm already out of perfectly good whiskey. It was needed, after all."
    That's when her attention shifts back to Martin, a frown pulling at her lips. "Has there been an increase of violent crime? Are we talking... domestic abuse? Muggings? What? And it isn't attributable to some sort of... Holiday-related pattern we see every year? I could look into the statistic - see what data the FBI has on it..."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin nods to Jon. "I can do that. You have potential... just not the patience a lot of the time." He grins and then sobers. "Just... chaos. Traffic accidents getting higher this time of year is pretty normal. Last minute shoppers or late night after party drivers... those sorts of things happen. But this is..."

    He shakes his head. "It's all across the board. Domestic, neighborhood, traffic..." He shakes his head. "And that's not even counting the number of call ins we've been getting That's grown too. If it wasn't so varied in the reasons, I'd be worried about a pandemic. But there's no consistency."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "/Christ/," Jon whispers. Then, louder, "It's the invasion. It almost has to be. Caitlin Fairchild's practically got the faithful banging down the doors of St. Pat's with her... glowy prophet compulsion aura."

    A pause. Then, to Martin, "You are /not/ allowed anywhere near her, /or/ St. Patrick's, am I clear? I don't... I don't want to lose you to them." Ouch.

    He sighs. "Look, I... Cael, do you want to stay for dinner? I'll make curry, and we can... talk about work. Or not. Whichever."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "...wait. What? Glowy prophet compulsion aura?" Cael repeats. "...who the fuck is //Caitlin//?" After all, she'd only encountered the woman briefly, and she hadn't been in her right mind, by any stretch of the imagination.
    She lets out a heavy sigh, then adds, "I'll definitely look into seeing if the NYPD or the FBI are tracking any current data on this, and see if there's any patterns we can discern - on locations, or the like. Maybe there's something useful to be learned from it..."
    She reaches down to scratch at Bear's neck, then looks between Jon and Martin uncertainly at the invitation to stay. "I- well, I don't know. Maybe I should just get on top of this, now that Blackwood's given us the tip."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin shakes his head. "I can't promise I won't get called to an accident near the Cathedral but I'm not going to looped into some cult stuff, that's for sure" he says. Especially when it's coming from a red-haired Amazonian. He looks at Cael. "Caitlin Fairchild. She's one of the Titans last I checked. Unless that's changed."

    He gives Cael a sympathetic looks and shakes his head again. "Stay. Please. I'm... sorry for my assumption earlier. Least we can do is treat you for dinner. Besides... if it has to do with the... invasion, I doubt the FBI or NYPD will be able to sus out a pattern."

    He sighs. "As much as I love my brothers in blue--most of the time--this is out of their element and they need to focus on getting things set up for the evac. Things they can do instead of dealing with fanatical insanity spreading amongst the population."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Let me have an excuse to cook," Jon says, as he goes to file the cassette tape in a container on one of the shelves. "It's... it's one of the things that helps. When I'm upset, when I'm stressed... I cook. But if you need to go... well. I'll understand."

    He goes to lean down and give Cael another hug, and Bear a pat. "Thank you," he says. "It's... it's good. To know what's coming."

    Then he straightens and goes to pick up the tea tray and take it on out to the kitchen.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Ugh - one of the Titans is recruiting for Michael?" Cael asks in a cooly disapproving voice. "Greeeeat." She rolls her eyes broady, before adding towards Martin, "Well, I'm just hoping to get the raw data, and see what I - or perhaps someone at SHIELD can make of it. There's got to be something useful we can glean."
    Her attention shifts towards Jon, her expression uncertain, but finally she adds a nod of agreement. "Sure. Fine, I'll stay. The cookings up to you, though, I've never uh - cooking really isn't one of my strengths. There's a short list of stuff I know how to make." And curry is no where on it.