goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

[ Thank goodness aqua is obscured so easily by the camo-unit. The stripes and shades of brown she's presently sporting are hardly uncommon on a planet where rocky terrain and dry summer heat were a regular hapstance.

There's an almost mechanical turn of her head, raptor-like cant offered as hidden green gaze watches the man slides into the booth, seating himself opposite and opening negotiations with a casual glibness that would have earned him a cool look and perhaps a swift kick under the table in another lifetime.

In this one, the question earns him silence to start, the hiring mercenary appearing to be sizing him up as Carolina's skin prickles at the sound of his voice. The accent is dreadful. And not familiar. Not really. It's like a poor man's imitation of Wyoming, and she's not at all intimidated. Not by this..this civvy, who looks nothing like someone who could handle the sort of locks she needs cracking.

Which might mean he's exactly what she needs. Maybe.

And yet something sets her head whirling, a cold finger tracing a path up her spine.

She's glad, suddenly, that Epsilon had been messing with the filter settings within her helmet, the meddlings of his boredom resulting in a disguise for her true voice: her words are pitched higher, spoken with a lilt more akin to a newscaster from Tribute than the ducet tones of Agent Carolina. ]

No, 'fraid not. [smoothly, her hands move to rest palm up on the table, briefly revealing the datapad beneath one arm] Not a good habit to have in my line of work.

[ If he didn't know better, that tilt of the helmet would be damning. As it is he's hit in the gut by a painful stab of familiarity. But it's not possible. Carolina is dead. Has been dead for years. He's been resigned to that forever. It makes shaking off that weird twist of maybe maybe not easier, though he hides it pretty well by pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a battered pack of matches, lighting it on his own. One drag, two, and he's more settled in his skin.

Just another job. Field work that he swore he'd never do again, but. Just another job. ]

Don't do much field work. Wouldn't know. [ Still in that odd drawling posh whatever the fuck Reggie had used. Still lazy and clipped. It's enough. ] What've you got for me, eh?

[ The smoke curls upwards, and he can't see the way her lips twist in distaste. He might be what she needs. Might. ]

Work. Starts small, and if that works out, leads into a bigger one.

[ Black gloved fingers turn the small datapad towards her contact, pushing it across the table's surface, never looking away from him as she does so.

The screen blinks, bright green text on black revealing a set of coordinates and a time/date for the early morning of tomorrow. Beneath that: a large number, leading a string of zeroes.

It's a not-inconsiderable sum, actually, indicating hazard pay has been added to sweeten the deal. Whatever mission is being proposed here, the brown-shaded mercenary likely expects high difficulty - and high danger. ]

The question here is whether your skills meet the requirements needed to match the price I offer.

[ He'd hoped for more information up front. He hates going in blind- makes a point to not. Ever since the job with Tex ended the way it did- he didn't do field work and he didn't go in blind. Not even for hazard pay- and that is a rather large sum for the work she's proposing. ]

That depends on what you have me breaking.

[ Holographic, encrypted, biometric, what? There's some that are easier than others and some he wont' do for any kind of money. Not without Delta- and delta's gone. ]

My window of opportunity grows short. So I'll be brief.

This is my offer: meet me at the specified location at that time, and assist me with lifting an access code from a decommissioned research facility.

[Left hand lifts, is turned palm-up as her index finger flicks out] For your time, you get a quarter of that sum up front, regardless of success or failure. [Middle finger extends, counted off with her right hand] If we're not successful, or you get cold feet, we part company and you take that money, no strings attached and no word back to Vic.

[It would be simply awful if he learned you couldn't keep up your end of a contract, wouldn't it.]

If we're successful, we meet at a designated fallback point, and you'll receive the next quarter.

And then [third finger stretches out, joining the first two] we discuss the second target. But only if you're still interested.

[ Decommissioned research facility. This stinks of running to grab the Alpha all over again and look how well THAT turned out. His gut says to turn her down. This smells fishy, this smells like black ops and PFL and he is DONE with that. He's been done with that for years. He lost his eye and almost his lung and all his fucking friends and the one person that meant everything to him- and most of his mind.

He'd given them enough.

But now? This- someone drawls up with a lot of money and a job that he wouldn't dare take for anything. Even if he'd get a quarter for the first part.

He narrows his eyes behind his glasses at the datapad, preferring that to look at that instead of her helmet. The empty slot in the back of his head that held Delta tells him to bail. Third time will get him killed. He doesn't have armor, he doesn't have the healing unit, he doesn't have Delta. He doesn't even have a pointman that he trusts. Just a stranger. ]

I find motive to be more compelling than money when it comes to jobs like this. Care to share yours? [ She needs him more than he needs this job. And if all he's gonna get is a bullet in the back, he's not gonna do it. ]

That's a little personal, isn't it?

[Most professionals don't usually care, beyond a paycheck. Never mind the one laid out here. Don't need to know such details. This isn't just a job for her, but that isn't something he needs to know.

Is it?]

What kind of difference does it make to you?

The difference between accepting this commission or not, mate. Sure, the money's good but anyone paying this much to get into that kind of facility as a starter? Is planning something big. Big is messy. I do not care for messes.

[ Getting the disdainful twist to his mouth is hard- Reggie had the mustache to help him manage the sneer properly and the beard doesn't quite have the same effect, but he tries. ]

Humor me.

Reason I'm looking to hire someone is to avoid 'messes', as you put it.

[ She doesn't appreciate the grimace, and regrets again the damage to her old helmet; this visor just doesn't quite manage the disdainful glare when the helmet is angled just so.

But. She does need someone with his skillset, if Vic is right about him. (She's distinctly doubting that right now.)

Humour him. Fine.

She can do that. ]

They have something that doesn't belong to them. Something they shouldn't have been able to obtain-- [there's the faintest hint of heat to the tone of her voice] -- and I won't allow them to abuse for their own gain. It's my responsibility to get it back into UNSC hands.

It's up to you to decide if you're going to help me with that. Or not.

[ That sounds- well. that sounds downright noble. Whatever it is that they're going to be hunting after- she sounds sincere and the job seems worthwhile. Huh. It's enough to convince him.

One last drag of his cigarette and he nods. ]

Awright. I'm in. Don't have armor though so- try to cover me. I don't do well around guns.

[ ..It would be a noble cause that would sway York. Someone doing the right thing, needing his help.

She hasn't even given greater context, but frankly, she doesn't see a need to until they get to stage 2. Should he decide he's going to help with that. She is sincere, however, though the relief that he's agreeing is hidden, the sigh soundless in her helmet. ]

I'll find something for you.

[She can most certainly handle guns for the both of them. After a moment's consideration, her hand is extended across the table.]

Tomorrow. If you don't show at the agreed site, then this conversation never happened.

Appreciated.

[ He reaches across and shakes her hand- the feel of armor strange against his naked palm. It's as much protection to be without as it would to have any but- he doesn't need the reminder. He doesn't want it.

This is him, now. The bum that does locks. He can live with that. ]

Not my first rodeo, mate. I'll be there, don't worry your pretty head.

[ Now there really is a sardonic look given. Pretty, is it. ]

Right.

[ The shake was firm, however, a confidence in his craft evident, even if he didn't seem as nervous of the military or armor as he might otherwise implied. Perhaps he'd be there. Perhaps.

She's the one who rises, moving to leave first. The pad will remain; there's nothing that would trace it back to her or Epsilon. ]

[ It's not a bad pad, nor is it a bad view. He's happy to slump back in the booth and play the struck out bum. It makes her wandering away at such a precise clip more reasonable.

He waffles a little, in the morning. Worries. Packs a knife (thank you Connie) and a grenade (fuck you Maine) and a side arm tucked at his ankle. Not so worried about the person he's with but what they might find. He didn't survive this long by not being careful. God. If Carolina could see him now.

He's there at the designated time. Early, even. ]

[ She's there an hour ahead of the designated meeting time. There'd been arguments over how to approach this, how to handle their lockpicker, but compromise wasn't a dirty word here. Epsilon had raised a good point, and there was now a backup plan in place, but he remained elsewhere, acting as their remote contact.

There's a bullet-proof vest (for a given value of bullet-proof) for her contractor, and a helmet if he chose to wear it. Not full body, but armor development has come far enough that even piercing rounds can't quite get through. Supposedly.

Not that she intends on letting him get shot. There's a definite relaxation of her shoulders when he arrived though; she wouldn't have blamed him for not showing up. She extends her hand again. ]

What do I call you?

[ Helmet AND a vest? She does like him- or does take his reservations seriously. He can handle that. He accepts the hand as it's given, a wry twist of his lips in place. ]

Humphrey.

[ It's the most inoffensive, pretentious English sounding name he could think of, it's how Vic knows him. It's what works. ]

[ He can't see the way her eyebrow arches at the name. Has to be assumed - or a surname. No one would use it casually like that, even as a civvy, otherwise. ]

Blue.

[ She'll wait until he's armored up before motioning to follow. There's a path here, one that will take them immediately above the facility. She secured the route this morning, a follow-up on a follow-up, but she'll be able to relay what he needs to know while they're on the go. Starting with: ]

I have a partner, remote. He's keeping tabs on the airwaves. He'll be sending me any updates on changes in patrols, but they've been running like clockwork for a while now. So long as there's no missteps, we shouldn't see any trouble.

This place hasn't been used for research purposes for some time. Mostly doubles as a holding facility for cargo. Have you dealt with anything like that before?

[ The lady blue, a partner on the airwaves, and a washed up locksmith that doesn't do field work actually suiting up and doing field work. How nice. He's got his hair tied back in a loose tail to keep it from getting in the way in the offered helmet, careful to keep his face turned away when he ditches the glasses and slides it on. The HUD pings to life and it is and isn't what he's used to. The comforting ping of Delta is missing entirely, his left side's utterly blank.

It takes a moment to move the data over to his right eye, to double back on trackers on his left so he'll know if anything is coming. He's learned to adapt. The vest is easier, goes on right over the jacket he's wearing. Light, maneuverable, shit goes down? He's hiding. He is not getting paid enough to die for Blue. ]

In my glory days such things were my bread and butter. [ God he feels pretentious using this cadence, but it's part of the role, part of the job, and he's gotten good at lying. Besides. It's kind of true. ] Lead on, Lady Blue, and I'll get you in.

Great war or this civil one? [Chorus has not been kind, even to veterans, even when the greater conflict is now over. ..Mostly over.]

[ The small talk will last until they're halfway there; then, she'll call for a halt, breaking out the holocube she brought with her to show the general base layout. Yellow squares appear where her finger taps the image. ]

Here's the likeliest locations for where the data we need is being held. The places we can enter from are here, here, and here. [dots in red appear] Which route do you want to take?

Bit of both, before I stepped away from field work. One too many close calls, all that.

[ True and reasonable enough as he follows her along, the vague sense of deja vu hitting him with every step. The way the armor moves is familiar but- it's just wishful thinking. Carolina's dead. This is just another self assured, competent, confidant woman doing her job. That's all.

The cube gives him time to look over the facility, to consider the path of least resistance. He reaches out a gloved hand, drawing a line from one of the red dots through the yellow squares and out again at an opposite location. More time IN the base, sure, but a straight shot would be quick and dirty instead of doubling back after they get what they need. ]

Here through here. Much as I'd like to secure an exit, as spread out as the possible locations are? Better to power through. I trust your eye in the sky can keep us abreast of any relevant changes?

He won't like it, but he can, and will.

[Her tone is easy, as if such objections were part of every day life. And they were, to some extent. Church-Epsilon worries about her, even as he holds the place of Carolina's Foremost Cheerleader.

That he's ex-military backs her suspicions. Makes his reason for wanting motive a little more plain. She knows all too well the tale of one too many close calls, of those who didn't survive them.. She won't let him die. Won't let anything happen to him, not while she's in the position and has the power to do so.]

If that's the path you want, then we'll need to make our way down here. [They only get one shot at this. She doesn't feel a need to remind him of this fact.] I'll take care of the sentries here, and here. Then signal when it's safe to get started.

Good enough for me.

[ He considers the path one more time, locking it into his memory. One shot. Cold run. No idea what kind of locks they got but it's probably not biometric. He's got his bump keys with him, his backlog of encryption crackers, and years of experience.

He's got this. No alarms are gonna get tripped. ]

After you.

[ There's an almost cheerful salute given in acknowledgement of his confirmation, middle and index held straight and jauntily tipped to the right. Then, she's off, barely checking her gait as she approaches the facility.

She's walks the walls, knows there's no electrical fencing here. It's remote enough in a region neglected due to the war, but in many ways, taking that for granted is a sure way to walk into a trap. The first patrol, a single guy, is easily taken care of; disabled and bound up, his radio disconnected - he can hear but he can't reply.

The second is a little more tricky. Patience is the key, even if there's a little bit more of a struggle; this one's stronger than he looks. Nonetheless, he's subdued in time, and there's a signal given for 'Humphrey' to join her. Go go go!]

[ Again that fucking wave of Deja Vu is almost blinding and- if D were here he could get him to analyze that walk. That salute. That everything. But D's gone, been gone for a long, long while and it's just him in his tired bones. He sighs and stretches, popping old joints, warming up for the first run. He's got this. Locks look simple enough from a distance- but then they always do.

Blue takes care of things and signals him to make his way down- and he all but surfs his way down the hill, rolling to a crouch behind cover as soon as he's at the base. Sure they're clear but- habits.

It's a jog to the door and he brings up the lock and- ]

Oh my.

[ His hands hover over the interface for a second before he starts laughing. ]

[ She's checking the corridors, listening to Epsilon's easy patter about the paths being taken and--That laugh.

It makes her stomach bottom out, and something twists almost too painfully at how familiar that sound is. She hasn't heard it's like in far, far too long, and the only one who laughs like that is dead. Gone.

It can't be.

She's all but skidding to a halt at the corner of his range of vision, she's returning that quickly, and her tone is clipped, keeping her shock, keeping her concern at bay: ]

What? What's going on?

Re: Whoops shoulda left a note

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