station72 | (no subject)

[ It turns out even on alien planets, prepping for a job is about the same. Do the homework, learn the routines, and find the best way to exploit them. Seth finds the familiarity of it comforting.

Elyiad is an easy mark. He keeps to himself and he's alone for most of his day. He spends afternoons sequestered in the Whalsome House, so it's a no brainer to tail him there and give Richie a clear shot at him. ]

( Do your thing, ) [ ghosts through the channel Seth is reluctantly keeping clear between the three of them as he positions himself in front of the door. Time to get this show on the road. ]

[Richard barely needs the prompting. The environment might be different, the target a damn alien, but the work isn't new. He walks through the door like he owns the place, peeling his glove off in the few strides it takes to cross the room, the few seconds it takes for the kid to even realise someone's there. Hand raised, eye open, he has his palm against Elyiad's forehead before he can voice any reaction.]

Keep quiet and don't move.

[It's a surge of power rising and releasing through him, shuddering under and around his words, an echo ringing in his head as the kid's eyes glaze and cloud white.]

[Waiting outside the door, Darlene shuts her eyes and pulls in a breath through her nose. This is a fucked up feeling, a pretty sweet high. Before all this psychic connection bullshit, this kind of power trip wasn't a common occurrence for the old nervous system. The closest she ever got was to do with her own successes--major one being 5/9, or pre-5/9, really, before everything got screwed up.

That makes this a pretty special feeling. And her front row seat is more like a seat on stage, because like it or not, her vampire-or-whatever broodmate is the one oozing all of that onto her. It makes Darlene feel power by association. Like she could do this.

Still.]

( Loving the take-charge attitudes around here. This four-way is already majorly hot. )

[Bland, sarcastic. To make up for the rest of the shit she's thinking and feeling and passing over to the both of them, without meaning to.]

[The young Second had been sitting at a low table in the center of the small house's singular room at the time of the less than forced entry. Clearly the sound of footsteps at the threshold must be frequent enough not to prompt his immediate attention - it had taken a full moment for him to look up from the series of broad metal disks and surely glowing vials on scattered across the lacquered table top, and by then it had been too late to do anything but blink in shock and--

Well, combat is no more his forte than easy conversation.]

[ With the channel between them propped open, Seth can't help but feel the head-rush, adrenaline and power spiking hard enough to make his breath catch. It nicks the edge of some gnawing, gluttonous thing in the pit of his chest, kicking it awake. The conclusion Seth comes to is the same as Darlene: it's a good high. The urge to slam door on it follows in the wake of that thought forming as the tingling itch of wanting a drink slinks along after. The connection narrows as Seth opens the door for Darlene. ]

Stick around long enough, and you'll get to see the rest of his party tricks.

[ Darlene's not the only one joking over her discomfort. ]

His shit's on the table.

[ Hop to it folks. ]

[Having the connection open between them all could be distracting, if Richard didn't have a job to focus on. The urge to dive into what they're feeling still rises, viciously curious, edged in something possessive, and definitely more than a little smug. But instead he simply moves around the table to grab the back of the kid's chair, dragging both it and its occupant out of Darlene's way.]

Nine minutes.

[A blunt reminder through their banter that the clock has started ticking, reaching up to tug his veil loose.]

Party tricks include acting like a human stopwatch?

[Nine minutes. She steps in with a kind of draggy grace peculiar to Darlene. A sloucher. The shit on the table, she scans as she approaches, looking it over to see what's useful.

There's nothing that looks like a phone or a tablet or even a friggin' keyboard. Instead, there's this big boxy POS that looks like something off the set of a movie. Darlene has long pushed down the scarves swathed around her mouth. Leaves her frown all the more visible.]

What the hell, [she says, flatly.] You have got to be kidding me. What is this thing?

[Her fingers push along the side, seeking out some kind of on-switch. No need: as she touches it, the device gives a warm whir, a crackle. A crude keypad illuminates suddenly.]

Your boy loves his ham radio, I guess.

[ Seth instinctively realizes they've hit a snag. Darlene's frown is a warning sign. They aren't screwed but they're not breezing through this as planned. ]

Can you make it work?

[ Leaving the door completely isn't an option, but his attention flicks to the papers on the table. If Darlene can't get into the system the way they'd expected, they could at least get something out of this kid's papers. ]

Someone has to keep us on track.

[Rather than getting distracted by witty banter, being the implication, but he might be feeling a little pettily offended by the idea of his skills being party tricks.]

It's not my tricks we're here for.

[There isn't a safe here for him to crack. There's tech for her to hack, and the sudden problem that's apparently presenting has him saying it more like a warning. They may only be two minutes in, but they've done enough already. They have to walk away with something.]

I don't do tricks.

[Work, not tricks. Darlene shoves aside more scarves as she leans in to get a closer look, like that's going to make much of a difference.]

This thing is straight outta the alien 70s at best. I can probably do something, but we're pretty much working analog, which means no network, and probably very little storage. Bonus: also very little security.

[That's a small bonus at best. Darlene starts punching in numbers on the keypad, watching the rest of the machine for any kind of response--a whir, a buzz, a print of paper. A machine is a machine and a button is a button and even if you're keysmashing, you can get somewhere.]

If nothing else, I say we take whatever printouts we find and do this manual. You-- [Richie, naturally] --probs can't read his mind while you're doing whatever it is you are actually doing, right.

Edited (edits for explicit sarcasm ) 2018-02-05 21:53 (UTC)