The one with the...tail? Jocelyn blinked. They had taken in four people. This man, farm boy, the pale and bleeding man, and the sulking dark haired teen that had been sitting next to pale bleedy-face in their shared cell. None of them had tails. She would have remembered a tail.

Sketchy.

As for the others at the scene of the crime: he didn't know them. That was all. No description of what they looked like or what their actions were at the time, nothing.

Even more sketchy.

Jocelyn glanced up from her notepad where she had just written a big fat question mark to catch his gaze. He was glaring at her. The police woman held back a sigh. This wasn't going especially well. Maybe she was asking the wrong questions. Maybe he was purposely evading answering about certain things. Either way, she wasn't getting the details she needed.

“Mr. Stein, the more cooperative you are in giving your answers, the sooner we can be finished. I still need a few more details from you. The other two at the crime scene: what did they look like, and what did you see them do?”

“Also, what is the nature of your mutation?” His description made him sound like a psychic, but he didn't smell anything like one. “I know that can be a rather personal question, but it may be an important fact in this case.” Her eyes were wide, showing kindness. She tried to convey through her gaze that she was one that could be trusted, that she wouldn't misuse any information that he gave her.

And... now he was asking her questions. This wasn't really supposed to be like a friendly conversation either, but if it really would make him feel more at ease to have a bit of information as well, she didn't mind giving him a little.

“I'm in the Mutant Related Crimes division,” she provided, “The title pretty much says it all.” She smiled, again, trying to put him at ease.

Saying it all. Yes that it was. Mutant related crimes. Crimes made by mutants. Not done to mutants necessarily he guessed. This was the way words went in this language, the familiar language. (Would he some day, by chance, forget his native tongue all together? Not quite promising as thoughts went) This was ordinary discrimination. And also: Extraordinary distrust. She was doing a really good job indeed. And so Martin played along. Not once trusting her gaze or her guise. Just playing a game of cat and mouse. See my tail yet? Or the trail of words? This small smile on his face, was it promising. Anything but pain?

Have you found it? “Ms. Jocelyn, I am trying very much to be compliant to your wishes. Please understand, that I am neither wishing to stall your investigation...” So long it doesn't affect my more private matters, young one... He added yet again. Always that same thought. Please don't make me do something that I would feel bad about. Please don't.“ nor attempting deception. There are just some things that I do not know.” At these words he raised his hands in a pseudo-apologetic gesture. “When I arrived, drawn in by the crash, Mr Csendes offered to enter the building, while I kept watch, trying to stall whoever was in there. Then I blacked out and when I got up again, the youth that had not been there before, was shouting at your colleagues we had been intruding upon the premises and that he had apprehended us. Another one at the window was quite offended by that idea. A rather ridiculous and quite desperate move on the runners part as you might find, nonetheless quite effective.” His blue eyes were locked on hers as he recounted the events from his head. Of the top off his head. She pressed him for detail. So she got what she had asked for. Blue eyes watching. “If you with more detail yet: The “Apprehending” kids shoelaces were black and white. He wore a belt and a t-shirt in a green-blue pattern, which I could draw out for you.” Now that was... not later. “On a side note: Allow me to kindly suggest you have your officers receive more training in deescalation. I can see that they are scared when mutants are involved, but there is no reason to tempt them to do stupid things, yes?”

Lots of sweet information. Spilled right there. As the beans. Bait. The other one, though: Not. His mutation was... his secret. “And to answer your second question: When people touch my skin, they endanger themselves.” Super perceptive? He wasn't. He was just watching. But If she had just gotten that impression by accident that was fine by him. He wasn't dangerous at all after all. Just young and not-really-scared. He was just standing and watching and telling a bedtime story. In a voice that did not belong in this room. A free voice. Unconcerned in a way. Ill be here when you are gone. Long long times ago... that I can still remember. That was how the song went, was it not?

Something in his gaze hardened when she had said “the title explains it all”. Apparently it didn't quite explain everything. His assumptions about what that meant were fairly clear on his sullen expression.

“Mutants as victims, possible suspects, or witnesses,” she clarified. This was not discrimination. This was common sense. It took people who were trained to deal with mutants who got defensive, aggressive, or even needed someone to simply listen and understand. It hadn't always been that way, but with the cooperation between the X-men and the police force and the addition of a few X-gene enhanced agents, they were getting better and better at what they did.

Yet, they were not perfect, as Mr. Stein so aptly pointed out.

“I will see to it that we schedule more training time in that area,” she promised and made a note of it on her yellow pad of paper. That was probably the most helpful thing he had said thus far.

She could tell when it was useless to continue pressing for information, and she wasn't about to start butting her head against his brick wall. He had given her all he was going to give.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Stein. That's all of the questions I have for now. I'm afraid you'll have to stay with us for a little longer, but rest assured that I'll try to have this process completed as quickly as possible.” Again she gave him that comforting smile and stood up to lead the way to the door. The deputy opened it and led the way back to the cell where he would deposit Mr. Stein and collect the next suspect for interrogation.

(Interrogations of Sebastian and our little adapted friend coming soon. Martin and Kai, feel free to chat if you like.)

The medics were still seeing to the pale and bleeding man lying on his bunk, so Deputy Perham escorted the sneering dark haired teen down to the interrogation room and left the medics to finish their bandaging.

Jocelyn greeted the young scowl with a smile that froze as soon as he entered within six feet of where she was standing.

The air all around her, that had moments ago been so alive with scents, was now dead. Not being able to smell was like suddenly being blind. If it hadn't happened so suddenly and if she wasn't still able to breath, she would have thought she had come down with a cold.

For whatever reason, this boy canceled out mutations.

Great. She loved surprises.

“Please take a seat. I have a few questions for you.”

As she explained more closely the nature of her occupation, or what she thought it was, his so youthful face was mostly unconcerned. He did not ignore her, in fact she remained the center of his attention, the passing one that was, but it was clear that the discussion was over. She had stated. Then clarified. Since she managed to see herself – for that was what he deemed occupation to be, part of the being – In that way, it was better for her. If she managed to actually make the blue clad officers work that way, it would be better for all of them. The humans especially. He had no great confidence in that happening – too many news shows focused on the 'mutant x' where x was a rather positive or negative adjective. They had positioned themselves in their comfortable ivory towers, the experts, the anchors, the writers. Propositioned one thing or the other as a general program. They had made every effort to segregate them. He had no hard feelings about that. In fact he lacked feeling for it (maybe not opinion, but most certainly feeling) like he did with most other things. It was a temporary, or maybe rather a temporal, matter. He had not much to do with them. His anchors were detached and he was sailing in high seas with few stars. Alone in the waters. Time come.

Ah yes. The end was drawing near. Martins face changed not by much, but one might feel the air change a little. The smile that was there on the inside. An unsure, slightly insecure one maybe, but a smile nonetheless. Or the air of a smile in that cold around him. Close enough for him to be true nonetheless. A crack in the armor. He stood still, holding the gaze of his inquisitor for a short while. Looking, searching maybe, in his very childless ways, for a hint, something to relate to. A note to be played. Cold note, blue. “Ms. Banks” A simple nod. Chipped, but common courtesy. (Some part of him did feel the urge to salute her, it was silenced with some friendly words) Silence followed. Out of the children role. Out of the mask. Out of the room he went. Out of the box.

Into the box. His cell. Barring any adjective. It was a holding cell. And as such it naturally lacked the comforts for the living. He naturally lacked interest. It was the time for waiting, awaiting the judgment. He had played his cards. Not too well at that. Stupid, stupid mind. He missed things. Messed them up. Standing there like a soldier. Talking like a half-grown child. Around her, dancing. And she was quite a sharp woman. He breathed slowly. The air tasted of antiseptic. Slightly like in a hospital. Other breaths were there too. Silence. It was here. He waited. Nothing to come. Immortals were a strange group. Were they not?