((From => ACDC))
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The dull hum of electricity and the buzz of neon signs was only dulled a little bit by pulling shut the curtains. At least some of the sound seemed to be coming from the walls themselves. They did a better job of blocking out the invasive light, at least, but still not a perfect job of that either.
The hotel room itself was plain and far from well kept. The scent of cheap cleaner hung in the air, though that was better than what it was probably masking, and the economy class thin carpet was worn to its base in places, and marred with cigarette burns and stains elsewhere. Other than the door and the small window, the walls were featureless, and a dull, dark red that was peeling in several places. The only furniture in the room was a tiny bedside stand, made of mismatched wood and chipped lacquer, which promised an army of splinters if tampered with, and a single, simple bed in the middle of the room. The bed, at least was made up properly, even if the sheets doing so seemed old and tatty. Apparently none of that had mattered to Rogan, though, as he lay now sprawled on top of the covers, still in his clothes, sleeping soundly. He hadn't even taken his boots off.
On the bedside table, the small holographic image of a young girl sat cross-legged on the screen of her PET. She was watching the sleeping man with an unusually pensive expression, for her, and her bright yellow hair lay down about her ears and eyes, rather than its normally spiky insistence.
Lyntael bit her lip. Rogan needed her to be able to handle anything that attacked her while she was working for him. It meant she had to fight, and destroy, viruses. That meant she needed to be stronger, so that she wouldn't let him down any more. She slumped forward, head in her hands now.
But getting stronger, for her, was never just going to be about getting better at fighting. It meant upgrades and expansions to her systems... things to make her more able for combat, since she certainly wasn't yet... but then, Rogan wasn't going to spend money on upgrading her, of course, so the only way she'd get the money for upgrades was to make it herself. He'd promised her that; any money she made for herself could be used for upgrading her systems and making her stronger.
She looked around the cheap hotel room. He could have afforded more than this, she knew. Just like he could have bought more of a meal than he had, after the job. He was being very careful with his money, and she knew that was because he didn't have a new contract yet. The thoughts racing through her mind almost made her whimper, but she held her silence. She didn't like that he ignored the law where it suited him, and she hated being dishonest herself to help him... but helping him Was more important than obeying her own morals, wasn't it? And if he didn't find more work, he'd eat less and less, and that was bad for humans.
It always came back to money in the end, she knew that. So far the only way she'd found for making money was from fighting viruses, but, surely there had to be other ways? Not all navis were for fighting; she certainly hadn't been made that way. There just had to be some other way she could make some zenny to help him out.
Her eyes drifted now to the curtained window, and beyond to the bright bustle of Electown. She'd heard stories about this place, but from here, looking out over Rogan's world, it didn't seem too bad. She could feel the electrics flowing all around her, yes, and the hum of the lights and signs, but it wasn't too bad. Out there somewhere, there was money to be made, somehow, she was sure of it. The tiny navi stole another quick glance to Rogan. He'd never let her explore the possibilities, if she asked, but... he was asleep now, and she knew he'd sleep soundly for at least a few more hours. If she could find out anything at all in that time, to help him, then surely it would be worth the risk.
Curiosity called her eyes back to the window and she wavered, fists opening and closing nervously as she warred with herself. At last, she squared her shoulders and the image of the small navi dissolved, slipping back into the PET itself. A light lit up on the small custom probe Rogan had added and began to run its link simulator. A few moments later the yellow light turned green, and Lyntael slipped soundlessly into the hectic Electown net.
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((Lyntael Jacking in, to => Electown Net))
A Cheap Hotel, Bathed in Neon Light
last edited by Rogan
((Return from => Electown Net))
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Nothing had changed in the dingy hotel room as the night wore on. Rogan hadn't even shifted in his sleep, and certainly didn't stir as the emulation light on the PET flickered from yellow, back to green again, before shutting off completely. If it made a sound it was only the faintest click of the light itself shutting off. That was all, and the room continued on in the almost silence of the night, backed by the dull hum of Electown.
Inside her PET, Lyntael crashed in roughly, sprawling to the ground with a wracked cry before curling up into a tight ball, arms wrapped about her knees. She remained like that for many moments, convulsing roughly as the pain of the unstable transfer gradually subsided. Eventually, she pushed herself up to her knees, sniffing and scrubbing at her eyes. She rubbed are her arms, somewhere between soothing and hugging herself. It was bad enough passing in through the hack, but re-opening the link and getting back had been twice as rough on her. Swallowing, she resolved to learn how to stabilise the connection by herself, if she could. With Rogan on this end, it was fine, if a little different from a normal jack-in, but there had to be something the could do herself to make it better, if he wasn't there.
She sank down again, shifting to wrap her arms about her knees and stared at the floor. It was an easy enough promise to make to herself, certainly, but she realised something else along with it that she'd already decided. However frightening it was, she was going to keep doing it. She swallowed and sniffed again, drying her eyes properly. On the bright side, she was home, and safe, now, unharmed, and she'd gained something of value along the way. Putting her fear aside, the outing had been a success, and she was determined to look at it that way.
Another large yawn interrupted her thoughts. Even through the lingering remains of the rush caused by the fear and pain, she was still dead tired. Rogan would only sleep for another hour or two at most, she was sure, and then he'd expect her up and ready for whatever he needed. If she was going to sleep at all, it had better be now. As she picked herself up the tiredness seemed to compound on her an she blinked, wavering slightly. Shaking her head, she stumbled across the empty space through to the section that was supposed to be the area's private quarters, and sunk to the ground in the place she usually slept, curling up with her back to the wall. She was asleep almost immediately.
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Nothing had changed in the dingy hotel room as the night wore on. Rogan hadn't even shifted in his sleep, and certainly didn't stir as the emulation light on the PET flickered from yellow, back to green again, before shutting off completely. If it made a sound it was only the faintest click of the light itself shutting off. That was all, and the room continued on in the almost silence of the night, backed by the dull hum of Electown.
Inside her PET, Lyntael crashed in roughly, sprawling to the ground with a wracked cry before curling up into a tight ball, arms wrapped about her knees. She remained like that for many moments, convulsing roughly as the pain of the unstable transfer gradually subsided. Eventually, she pushed herself up to her knees, sniffing and scrubbing at her eyes. She rubbed are her arms, somewhere between soothing and hugging herself. It was bad enough passing in through the hack, but re-opening the link and getting back had been twice as rough on her. Swallowing, she resolved to learn how to stabilise the connection by herself, if she could. With Rogan on this end, it was fine, if a little different from a normal jack-in, but there had to be something the could do herself to make it better, if he wasn't there.
She sank down again, shifting to wrap her arms about her knees and stared at the floor. It was an easy enough promise to make to herself, certainly, but she realised something else along with it that she'd already decided. However frightening it was, she was going to keep doing it. She swallowed and sniffed again, drying her eyes properly. On the bright side, she was home, and safe, now, unharmed, and she'd gained something of value along the way. Putting her fear aside, the outing had been a success, and she was determined to look at it that way.
Another large yawn interrupted her thoughts. Even through the lingering remains of the rush caused by the fear and pain, she was still dead tired. Rogan would only sleep for another hour or two at most, she was sure, and then he'd expect her up and ready for whatever he needed. If she was going to sleep at all, it had better be now. As she picked herself up the tiredness seemed to compound on her an she blinked, wavering slightly. Shaking her head, she stumbled across the empty space through to the section that was supposed to be the area's private quarters, and sunk to the ground in the place she usually slept, curling up with her back to the wall. She was asleep almost immediately.
last edited by
Lyntael moved her chess piece, hesitating for a few moments before releasing it, then raised her eyes to grin sheepishly at Caminus, across from her.
"Check..."
He smiled back, but his was the more reserved, good-natured grin that she had grown familiar with. He didn't look down at their play board, knowing the exact lie of the pieces already, though he did pause to think carefully. Lyntael looked about as she waited, leaning back on her hands and enjoying the feel of the sunlight on her skin. They were sitting on Eric's kitchen counter, in holographic form. At first she had been surprised to feel continued sensation from the world around her like that; neither Caminus nor Servare could, from what she'd learned. Their tactile sensation was limited to what they felt within networks, and their real-world holograms were just that. Eric had said it was important for her to retain all of her senses, no matter where she was or what she was doing, and she knew he'd worked hard to make it so.
The man himself was at the stove, humming to himself as he made pancakes, and the smell was almost enough to hamper her concentration on her game. Caminus moved with slow deliberation, but Lyntael felt herself break into a tell-tale grin once he finished. She moved another piece quickly, more certain this time.
"Check again," Opposite her, Caminus sighed as he realised the problem. No matter which of his possible moves he made from here, she would have mate the next turn. Eric turned from the stove, flipping the current pancake over once more and sliding it onto the plate with the others, before pouring the last of the batter to make an undersized remainder. All the same he continued to give it the same attention as the rest, lifting the edges and shifting it to keep the cooking even. In a moment he'd turn it for the first time, which was always a little bit more delicate than the subsequent flips. She always liked to watch that.
A small whining sound in her left ear made her wince. It came again a moment later and her brain scrambled to try to find the source. Gradually her awareness shifted and her perception split away and faded, lying down, not sitting, the cold floor and wall, not the wooden counter in the sun.
With a quiet moan she dragged herself up, the dream fading away slowly. Her eyes lingered on the length of fabric she'd used to mark the small rectangle on the ground, where she had slept, reading the words of it to herself again. With a small shake she stood and smoothed out her clothing, then blinked, scrubbing at her eyes. A yawn interrupted her and she scrubbed hands through her hair. It had only been an hour or two, she was sure. Her eyes felt tired and itchy and she raised delicate fingers to push sleep from them without causing any more irritation. What she wouldn't give for just a few more hours. Still...
The alarm had woken her because Rogan had picked up the PET, which meant... A quick peek at the screen display revealed what she had come to recognise as the inside of Rogan's coat pocket. She still felt a bit like a zombie, but scrubbed at her face again to make sure she was properly awake, then reached out to slip one hand around the 'edge' of the screen. The shift in gravity was something she was quite used to by now, as she pulled herself out of the PET, but even so, she stumbled slightly this time as her coordination wasn't quite completely alert yet. A muffled squeak announced her arrival before she righted herself and began to climb out of his pocket to look out to whatever was beyond.
Rogan was walking quickly, leaving the hotel and heading out into the street. It hadn't dawned properly yet, though the sky was beginning to lighten and she could see the faint remains of the early false dawn. There was no-one else on the street at all, but Rogan still moved like he was stalking; smooth, even steps that seemed to make his body flow rather than any sort of walking rhythm. He was uncertain and on alert, even though what they should be doing now was simply completing a contract. She vaguely remembered the employers he'd taken the job from, and that they'd made her uncomfortable, and she felt herself fretting again over what Rogan had gotten himself into. Even barely surface deep, some of the people he had dealt with weren't pleasant, and the way he moved now screamed at her that this was one of those times.
She wanted to ask him more, but experience had taught her already that now, of all times, he would tolerate nothing short of silence from her. Instead, she bit her lip and watched on. To her surprise, Rogan spoke as he moved through the empty streets. His voice starling her enough that she almost lost her footing looking up towards his face, far above.
"Lyntael. There was an email at my private address. That came from last night's work, did it not?" She couldn't read his voice enough to tell what he thought of that; like the rest of his stance, his voice remained smooth and unemotional. She swallowed.
"Yes, sir. It was an alarm message, sir. I didn't have time to stop it completely in a way that would have avoided notice, and doing so more directly would have been just as bad, sir. All I could do was re-route it, so that it flagged as sent correctly."
"It contained some... interesting information. It is not my job to ask questions on a contract like this, but, I find many questions asking themselves regardless. There are things which do not add up with what I was told." Looking up she caught the faint hint of a predatory smile curling one corner of his lips. He really was hunting now. "I take misinformation seriously, as any conscientious contractor would. It's not good business to mislead your employees, after all."
"Rogan, sir..." Lyntael struggled to find the words that might work, her worry growing. "These people, they aren't..." A dark, quiet chuckle cut her short.
"Oh, I have no intention trying to steal this tiger's ball of string. I'm just going to pluck the thread a little bit, and see what falls out." They had turned down an alleyway now, and then another, cutting off what small amount of pre-dawn light had made it over the horizon, but Rogan didn't slow, or seem bothered by the darkness at all. Lyntael found herself crouching lower into his coat pocket, barely peeking over the hem.
"Please be careful, sir."
"Always. Hush now." His hand covered the pocket for a moment, and she felt his fingers brush her hair briefly. A moment later there was a change in the air pressure and the glow of dim lighting as he passed through a doorway, into the building beyond.
"Check..."
He smiled back, but his was the more reserved, good-natured grin that she had grown familiar with. He didn't look down at their play board, knowing the exact lie of the pieces already, though he did pause to think carefully. Lyntael looked about as she waited, leaning back on her hands and enjoying the feel of the sunlight on her skin. They were sitting on Eric's kitchen counter, in holographic form. At first she had been surprised to feel continued sensation from the world around her like that; neither Caminus nor Servare could, from what she'd learned. Their tactile sensation was limited to what they felt within networks, and their real-world holograms were just that. Eric had said it was important for her to retain all of her senses, no matter where she was or what she was doing, and she knew he'd worked hard to make it so.
The man himself was at the stove, humming to himself as he made pancakes, and the smell was almost enough to hamper her concentration on her game. Caminus moved with slow deliberation, but Lyntael felt herself break into a tell-tale grin once he finished. She moved another piece quickly, more certain this time.
"Check again," Opposite her, Caminus sighed as he realised the problem. No matter which of his possible moves he made from here, she would have mate the next turn. Eric turned from the stove, flipping the current pancake over once more and sliding it onto the plate with the others, before pouring the last of the batter to make an undersized remainder. All the same he continued to give it the same attention as the rest, lifting the edges and shifting it to keep the cooking even. In a moment he'd turn it for the first time, which was always a little bit more delicate than the subsequent flips. She always liked to watch that.
A small whining sound in her left ear made her wince. It came again a moment later and her brain scrambled to try to find the source. Gradually her awareness shifted and her perception split away and faded, lying down, not sitting, the cold floor and wall, not the wooden counter in the sun.
With a quiet moan she dragged herself up, the dream fading away slowly. Her eyes lingered on the length of fabric she'd used to mark the small rectangle on the ground, where she had slept, reading the words of it to herself again. With a small shake she stood and smoothed out her clothing, then blinked, scrubbing at her eyes. A yawn interrupted her and she scrubbed hands through her hair. It had only been an hour or two, she was sure. Her eyes felt tired and itchy and she raised delicate fingers to push sleep from them without causing any more irritation. What she wouldn't give for just a few more hours. Still...
The alarm had woken her because Rogan had picked up the PET, which meant... A quick peek at the screen display revealed what she had come to recognise as the inside of Rogan's coat pocket. She still felt a bit like a zombie, but scrubbed at her face again to make sure she was properly awake, then reached out to slip one hand around the 'edge' of the screen. The shift in gravity was something she was quite used to by now, as she pulled herself out of the PET, but even so, she stumbled slightly this time as her coordination wasn't quite completely alert yet. A muffled squeak announced her arrival before she righted herself and began to climb out of his pocket to look out to whatever was beyond.
Rogan was walking quickly, leaving the hotel and heading out into the street. It hadn't dawned properly yet, though the sky was beginning to lighten and she could see the faint remains of the early false dawn. There was no-one else on the street at all, but Rogan still moved like he was stalking; smooth, even steps that seemed to make his body flow rather than any sort of walking rhythm. He was uncertain and on alert, even though what they should be doing now was simply completing a contract. She vaguely remembered the employers he'd taken the job from, and that they'd made her uncomfortable, and she felt herself fretting again over what Rogan had gotten himself into. Even barely surface deep, some of the people he had dealt with weren't pleasant, and the way he moved now screamed at her that this was one of those times.
She wanted to ask him more, but experience had taught her already that now, of all times, he would tolerate nothing short of silence from her. Instead, she bit her lip and watched on. To her surprise, Rogan spoke as he moved through the empty streets. His voice starling her enough that she almost lost her footing looking up towards his face, far above.
"Lyntael. There was an email at my private address. That came from last night's work, did it not?" She couldn't read his voice enough to tell what he thought of that; like the rest of his stance, his voice remained smooth and unemotional. She swallowed.
"Yes, sir. It was an alarm message, sir. I didn't have time to stop it completely in a way that would have avoided notice, and doing so more directly would have been just as bad, sir. All I could do was re-route it, so that it flagged as sent correctly."
"It contained some... interesting information. It is not my job to ask questions on a contract like this, but, I find many questions asking themselves regardless. There are things which do not add up with what I was told." Looking up she caught the faint hint of a predatory smile curling one corner of his lips. He really was hunting now. "I take misinformation seriously, as any conscientious contractor would. It's not good business to mislead your employees, after all."
"Rogan, sir..." Lyntael struggled to find the words that might work, her worry growing. "These people, they aren't..." A dark, quiet chuckle cut her short.
"Oh, I have no intention trying to steal this tiger's ball of string. I'm just going to pluck the thread a little bit, and see what falls out." They had turned down an alleyway now, and then another, cutting off what small amount of pre-dawn light had made it over the horizon, but Rogan didn't slow, or seem bothered by the darkness at all. Lyntael found herself crouching lower into his coat pocket, barely peeking over the hem.
"Please be careful, sir."
"Always. Hush now." His hand covered the pocket for a moment, and she felt his fingers brush her hair briefly. A moment later there was a change in the air pressure and the glow of dim lighting as he passed through a doorway, into the building beyond.
last edited by Rogan
It was a fairly innocuous place, really. There was a sign, faded and ill-maintained, above the plain doorway, which led down a narrow stair to the basement club below, and nothing more to distinguish the place as anything more than a mostly forgotten dive for lovers of calm atmosphere and quiet social meetings. As Rogan descended the stairs and stepped out into the dimly lit club room, he could keenly feel a dozen pair of eyes not looking in his direction. The lone bouncer at the bottom of the stairs nodded to him without really seeing, and over the other side of the room, behind the long bar, the barman offered him a cursory incline of his head before continuing to dry glasses. That was all.
The place was had been the same the first time he had come here, too. Not busy, not crowded, and almost certainly occupied in its entirety with individuals, bought or hired, who were not actually there for a quiet drink, or to listen to the softly playing northern netopian folk music. The tune was one he knew, liked even; the recording wasn't doing it justice, and he found himself thinking that, if given a fiddle, he could offer a much more pleasing rendition. Rogan gave himself a mental shake, scolding himself inwardly for the thought. Not the time, or the place, and even if no sign of the distraction had shown on his face or in his movements, it was warning enough.
He could feel hunger and fatigue gnawing at him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he'd always been the sort of person who could readily ignore the demands of his body without too much effort. Often he even forgot to eat meals, simply because it didn't come to mind. Or at least, he had done, before his brother had decided to gift him with a navi that seemed to be one part secretary, one part nursemaid, and two parts over-enthusiastic child. She rarely let him miss a meal now, though he supposed that was probably a good thing. A part of him was even temped to order a light breakfast when he arrived at the bar; they served counter meals around the clock, according to the old-looking signs on two walls. He settled for a straight black coffee, then crossed the room to seat himself at one of the cosy private tables along the wall. The seating made a semicircle around the fixed table, and the backing was high enough to create the impression of an almost private room, with only a gap wide enough for two people side by side to slip in, at the front. He made himself comfortable on one side, relaxing with as much unconcern as he could manage.
Time seemed non-existent in this place, between the smooth music and the dim lighting. He knew it was the very early morning, but down here, it could as easily have been midday, or afternoon. The place rented rooms as well, further in back, and he wouldn't have been surprised if at least a few of the supposed patrons here hardly ever left. His coffee arrived, and a moment later a lady had slipped into the booth opposite him. She leaned on the table, fingers steepled in front of her.
"Mister O'Conaill. You are early, you know. I trust then, that you were successful, yes?" Her accent was rich, almost thick with the hallmarks of Sharo origins and she made no effort to smooth it. The self assured smile never reached her eyes as she watched him, but he could practically hear it on her voice instead. Her gaze was a hard grey-blue, beneath a wealth of straight hair that was a pure enough black to make her pale skin seem almost white by comparison.
"Varda," Rogan inclined his head to her in a polite gesture, then took a moment to sip his coffee, demurring for a carefully timed few moments. Standing up, the woman would have been called tall, and slender; she was at least as tall as he was. Seated like this, opposite each other, it became clear that much of her height was in her legs. It was unsurprising that she had a past working in a somewhat more hands-on position to the operation she seemed to be working for now. Just what that was, he hadn't had enough chance to work out yet, but he knew enough. Best not to let the moment drag on too long though. He looked up from his drink and reached for his inner breast coat pocket with a relaxed slowness. "Of course."
Varda's eyes darted towards his hand for the briefest fraction of a second before she caught herself, but he feigned not to notice, drawing out the binder he'd collected the previous night instead. He slipped it onto the table, sliding it halfway, though he kept his hand on the folder. Out the corner of his eye he caught sight of hint of blonde hair peeking out of his pocket again but he ignored her, keeping his own gaze fixed on the woman across from him.
"As requested." She reached for the folder but only rested her fingertips on it gently, waiting for him to pull back. He let his lips curl slightly, then continued in a casual tone. "An interesting selection of documents for a woman of your calibre to be seeking removed from such a small firm, I must say." The game was started now, no safe way to back down. Varda smiled in return and raised her eyebrows. She began to trace a small circle on the binder with one finger.
"Only to one without cause to know their purpose. I suppose one like this might find themselves with more questions than answers, and a wise man knows how... difficult, some questions can be, sometimes, you know. Last I checked, it was not the job of a Will o' the Wisp to chase others, hmm?" Testing the water, then. He didn't let his smile falter; Night-Wisp was his calling card, whenever one was necessary, but it would only have taken a moderately detailed background check to tie his name to the alias. If that was all she, or the ones she worked for, knew, he would be very surprised. Even so, a concession; he released the binder to her, drawing his hand back to lift his coffee for another sip. Varda's smile curled higher as she lifted the file and tucked it into a small carry case beside her. When her eyes returned to his he set his drink down again and tilted his head.
"As you asked, all digital copies they had of those have been purged and erased beyond retrieval as well." He raised a single eyebrow to her. "Of course, a conscientious business man would never let such a thing be truly lost, but, suffice to say, you can rest assured that they, at least, will have no means at all to recover what you now possess." His client had tensed at his remark, and her eyes glinted. An extra digital copy of every file he'd removed was stored neatly on a small chip in another pocket. Revealing its existence was dangerous, but worthwhile here. She had drawn a slim card from the same case, his payment, but hesitated now, turning it over in her fingers with an artistic skill that didn't match the hard set of her features.
"Careful mister O'Conaill. You make me think you have not, in fact, completed the task given to you, with talk like that, you know. I don't think I need to tell you that it would be unwise to deceive me or mine, and even more so to cross us, hmm?" The warning was as blunt as she was likely to get, but Rogan feigned unconcern, stretching slightly and settling back in an attempt to look as relaxed as possible.
"Perhaps, perhaps. My contract was quite precise though, and I've fulfilled it. You have the files, they do not, nothing more, nothing less." He winked at her, letting his teeth show for a moment as he grinned. "Besides, dear Varda. So, so many have wasted their lives chasing after wisps in the night. They never catch them, though. The harder a person chases, the less likely it will lead them to what they desire. They can be helpful, yes, but only with due respect." Lifting his coffee to sip it casually with his right hand, he held out his left, palm up, across the table to her. Her mouth tightened but she placed the card in his hand anyway and he tucked it into his coat, inclining his head politely to her. Varda wasn't finished though. She leaned across the table to bring her face closer to his.
"A warning, mister O'Conaill. It doesn't matter how useful a tool may be to us. You can rest assured that if it becomes more trouble than it is worth, it will be snuffed out, swiftly and without hesitation, yes?"
"And why would I be of any trouble to you? I'm just a whisper and a shadow; certainly no threat to your plans." Rogan slipped his hands behind his head, leaning back, then brought one back to stifle a yawn. Accidental it might have been, but it certainly helped maintain his mock surety, however fine a line he knew he was walking. Varda didn't appear placated, folding her arms in front of her with her expression hard.
"Yet one must wonder why then a shadow and a whisper might show any interest at all in what goes on in this, yes? Some are too many years in the world to believe in harmless curiosity, you know. Some would see instead one who thinks to be a whisper, whispering to others for further gain, and that, we cannot have." Something changed in the air as she spoke, and Rogan was sure he felt the attention of others about the room shift in their direction, even if he could see nothing of it from their private booth. The chatter hushed, replaced by a sense of waiting instead. It took all his control not to clench his teeth, or let his body tense. Now was the time to gamble.
"If I wanted to on sell what I've learned, of them... of you... I would not have come here and let you know that I can. I'm a sensible man, Varda; I would also not have come here thus, if I didn't have the right kind of insurance." It was his turn to sit forward again now, waxing as much presence as he could. He was pleased to see her expression falter for an instant as he spoke, but pushed on anyway. "I can promise you, that should anything happen to me, certain information will arrive in the hands of certain people, and I know you cannot afford that over something as petty as me... or, say, doubling this." He patted the pocket where he'd slipped the payment and grinned at her. "I think I'm being more than fair, Varda. I'm not greedy, but the information you sought is far, far more valuable than the pittance we agreed upon."
Opposite him, the woman's expression had shifted from hard surety to a more flat displeasure. Eventually she grimaced and gave a slight nod, holding out her hand. As he passed the card back to her, Varda retrieved what was most likely her own PET from her case, then slipped it into one of the device's slots. She glanced up as she tapped the buttons.
"You are a tiny mouse, playing dice with hungry cats, Rogan O'Conaill. If you lose, you will be devoured... and yet, if you win too often, you will fair no better, you know. Be wary how far you press your fortune, yes?" For a moment she showed him the screen, confirming the doubled amount, then pulled the card out and tossed it onto the table between them. He reclaimed it with a nod, and winked.
"Not a mouse, dear Varda, just a wisp in the night." Moments of silence stretched out between them for what felt like an age before she smiled, visibly relaxing. Slipping her PET back into the case, she resettled herself.
"One way or the other, you are shrewd, careful, cautious and clearly skilled at your work. All that was recommended to us, and if perhaps we we underestimated you, at least we shall learn from this, yes? I expect we may well hire your services again, Rogan, but as I said, do not press your fortune, you know?" She extended a hand to him and he shook it, their meeting concluded. She didn't release him right away, however, her grip tightening as she drew him in, their heads close together over the table. "Because you truly are a mouse amongst cats, and you are not the only one who researches, Rogan O'Conaill, only child of the late Mary and Jacob O'Conaill; no friends, no family, no loved ones, and none to miss you should you disappear. You will not always be as safe as you seem to think you are now. Remember this, yes?" She released his hand and stood, slipping out of the booth as silently as she'd arrived and leaving Rogan to bite his lip thoughtfully. He shook his head and finished his drink.
His mind was still ticking over as he left the club a few minutes alter. He maintained many layers of false identity, one buried beneath the next with increasing complexity and thoroughness. The information she had presented was only one layer from the truth, and that was quite a clever bit of digging to do for someone who was only going to be a contractor for hire. That she believed it was fact didn't matter, really; it was still a surprise.
"You lied to them! That was really dangerous, Rogan!" Lyntael had climbed out of his pocket and made her way up to his shoulder again by the time he was out in the main street. He glanced at the holographic image of the young girl.
"I was conducting business, nothing more. If I had nothing but suspicions and questions to barter with, it was enough for them to see more than was really there. Deception and bluffing is an important part of what I do." He heard her give a harsh sigh and glanced over to see her looking downcast and away from him. Not for the first time he wondered why Eric had chosen to program the navi with such a desire for honesty and forthrightness. He had to have known it would make things difficult for him. Despite himself he felt the urge to mollify the poor thing, AI or not.
"Besides which, it was necessary for me to learn what I did." She looked up, her brow furrowing.
"Learn, sir? The lady didn't tell you anything." The confusion in Lyntael's voice almost made Rogan chuckle aloud, and he did smirk quite broadly.
"Oh but she did, Lyntael. She confirmed very dramatically that there is something very big going on between whoever she represents, and whoever is really behind that little firm, and where there's something large enough to warrant small business fronts, cloak and dagger hiring, and threats on my life, well, that's something I want to learn more about, most definitely. The bonus was nice too. That will buy me some time to do more research in between other jobs, I should think." He began to realise that the prospect of chasing this string had him more than a little excited. The grin came back, more than a little wolfish now. "I've got a good feeling about this..." The little navi didn't seem to share his sentiment, worry creasing her brow, but Rogan paid it no heed as he made his way through the streets, disappearing into the lightening morning.
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((To => Another Night))
The place was had been the same the first time he had come here, too. Not busy, not crowded, and almost certainly occupied in its entirety with individuals, bought or hired, who were not actually there for a quiet drink, or to listen to the softly playing northern netopian folk music. The tune was one he knew, liked even; the recording wasn't doing it justice, and he found himself thinking that, if given a fiddle, he could offer a much more pleasing rendition. Rogan gave himself a mental shake, scolding himself inwardly for the thought. Not the time, or the place, and even if no sign of the distraction had shown on his face or in his movements, it was warning enough.
He could feel hunger and fatigue gnawing at him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he'd always been the sort of person who could readily ignore the demands of his body without too much effort. Often he even forgot to eat meals, simply because it didn't come to mind. Or at least, he had done, before his brother had decided to gift him with a navi that seemed to be one part secretary, one part nursemaid, and two parts over-enthusiastic child. She rarely let him miss a meal now, though he supposed that was probably a good thing. A part of him was even temped to order a light breakfast when he arrived at the bar; they served counter meals around the clock, according to the old-looking signs on two walls. He settled for a straight black coffee, then crossed the room to seat himself at one of the cosy private tables along the wall. The seating made a semicircle around the fixed table, and the backing was high enough to create the impression of an almost private room, with only a gap wide enough for two people side by side to slip in, at the front. He made himself comfortable on one side, relaxing with as much unconcern as he could manage.
Time seemed non-existent in this place, between the smooth music and the dim lighting. He knew it was the very early morning, but down here, it could as easily have been midday, or afternoon. The place rented rooms as well, further in back, and he wouldn't have been surprised if at least a few of the supposed patrons here hardly ever left. His coffee arrived, and a moment later a lady had slipped into the booth opposite him. She leaned on the table, fingers steepled in front of her.
"Mister O'Conaill. You are early, you know. I trust then, that you were successful, yes?" Her accent was rich, almost thick with the hallmarks of Sharo origins and she made no effort to smooth it. The self assured smile never reached her eyes as she watched him, but he could practically hear it on her voice instead. Her gaze was a hard grey-blue, beneath a wealth of straight hair that was a pure enough black to make her pale skin seem almost white by comparison.
"Varda," Rogan inclined his head to her in a polite gesture, then took a moment to sip his coffee, demurring for a carefully timed few moments. Standing up, the woman would have been called tall, and slender; she was at least as tall as he was. Seated like this, opposite each other, it became clear that much of her height was in her legs. It was unsurprising that she had a past working in a somewhat more hands-on position to the operation she seemed to be working for now. Just what that was, he hadn't had enough chance to work out yet, but he knew enough. Best not to let the moment drag on too long though. He looked up from his drink and reached for his inner breast coat pocket with a relaxed slowness. "Of course."
Varda's eyes darted towards his hand for the briefest fraction of a second before she caught herself, but he feigned not to notice, drawing out the binder he'd collected the previous night instead. He slipped it onto the table, sliding it halfway, though he kept his hand on the folder. Out the corner of his eye he caught sight of hint of blonde hair peeking out of his pocket again but he ignored her, keeping his own gaze fixed on the woman across from him.
"As requested." She reached for the folder but only rested her fingertips on it gently, waiting for him to pull back. He let his lips curl slightly, then continued in a casual tone. "An interesting selection of documents for a woman of your calibre to be seeking removed from such a small firm, I must say." The game was started now, no safe way to back down. Varda smiled in return and raised her eyebrows. She began to trace a small circle on the binder with one finger.
"Only to one without cause to know their purpose. I suppose one like this might find themselves with more questions than answers, and a wise man knows how... difficult, some questions can be, sometimes, you know. Last I checked, it was not the job of a Will o' the Wisp to chase others, hmm?" Testing the water, then. He didn't let his smile falter; Night-Wisp was his calling card, whenever one was necessary, but it would only have taken a moderately detailed background check to tie his name to the alias. If that was all she, or the ones she worked for, knew, he would be very surprised. Even so, a concession; he released the binder to her, drawing his hand back to lift his coffee for another sip. Varda's smile curled higher as she lifted the file and tucked it into a small carry case beside her. When her eyes returned to his he set his drink down again and tilted his head.
"As you asked, all digital copies they had of those have been purged and erased beyond retrieval as well." He raised a single eyebrow to her. "Of course, a conscientious business man would never let such a thing be truly lost, but, suffice to say, you can rest assured that they, at least, will have no means at all to recover what you now possess." His client had tensed at his remark, and her eyes glinted. An extra digital copy of every file he'd removed was stored neatly on a small chip in another pocket. Revealing its existence was dangerous, but worthwhile here. She had drawn a slim card from the same case, his payment, but hesitated now, turning it over in her fingers with an artistic skill that didn't match the hard set of her features.
"Careful mister O'Conaill. You make me think you have not, in fact, completed the task given to you, with talk like that, you know. I don't think I need to tell you that it would be unwise to deceive me or mine, and even more so to cross us, hmm?" The warning was as blunt as she was likely to get, but Rogan feigned unconcern, stretching slightly and settling back in an attempt to look as relaxed as possible.
"Perhaps, perhaps. My contract was quite precise though, and I've fulfilled it. You have the files, they do not, nothing more, nothing less." He winked at her, letting his teeth show for a moment as he grinned. "Besides, dear Varda. So, so many have wasted their lives chasing after wisps in the night. They never catch them, though. The harder a person chases, the less likely it will lead them to what they desire. They can be helpful, yes, but only with due respect." Lifting his coffee to sip it casually with his right hand, he held out his left, palm up, across the table to her. Her mouth tightened but she placed the card in his hand anyway and he tucked it into his coat, inclining his head politely to her. Varda wasn't finished though. She leaned across the table to bring her face closer to his.
"A warning, mister O'Conaill. It doesn't matter how useful a tool may be to us. You can rest assured that if it becomes more trouble than it is worth, it will be snuffed out, swiftly and without hesitation, yes?"
"And why would I be of any trouble to you? I'm just a whisper and a shadow; certainly no threat to your plans." Rogan slipped his hands behind his head, leaning back, then brought one back to stifle a yawn. Accidental it might have been, but it certainly helped maintain his mock surety, however fine a line he knew he was walking. Varda didn't appear placated, folding her arms in front of her with her expression hard.
"Yet one must wonder why then a shadow and a whisper might show any interest at all in what goes on in this, yes? Some are too many years in the world to believe in harmless curiosity, you know. Some would see instead one who thinks to be a whisper, whispering to others for further gain, and that, we cannot have." Something changed in the air as she spoke, and Rogan was sure he felt the attention of others about the room shift in their direction, even if he could see nothing of it from their private booth. The chatter hushed, replaced by a sense of waiting instead. It took all his control not to clench his teeth, or let his body tense. Now was the time to gamble.
"If I wanted to on sell what I've learned, of them... of you... I would not have come here and let you know that I can. I'm a sensible man, Varda; I would also not have come here thus, if I didn't have the right kind of insurance." It was his turn to sit forward again now, waxing as much presence as he could. He was pleased to see her expression falter for an instant as he spoke, but pushed on anyway. "I can promise you, that should anything happen to me, certain information will arrive in the hands of certain people, and I know you cannot afford that over something as petty as me... or, say, doubling this." He patted the pocket where he'd slipped the payment and grinned at her. "I think I'm being more than fair, Varda. I'm not greedy, but the information you sought is far, far more valuable than the pittance we agreed upon."
Opposite him, the woman's expression had shifted from hard surety to a more flat displeasure. Eventually she grimaced and gave a slight nod, holding out her hand. As he passed the card back to her, Varda retrieved what was most likely her own PET from her case, then slipped it into one of the device's slots. She glanced up as she tapped the buttons.
"You are a tiny mouse, playing dice with hungry cats, Rogan O'Conaill. If you lose, you will be devoured... and yet, if you win too often, you will fair no better, you know. Be wary how far you press your fortune, yes?" For a moment she showed him the screen, confirming the doubled amount, then pulled the card out and tossed it onto the table between them. He reclaimed it with a nod, and winked.
"Not a mouse, dear Varda, just a wisp in the night." Moments of silence stretched out between them for what felt like an age before she smiled, visibly relaxing. Slipping her PET back into the case, she resettled herself.
"One way or the other, you are shrewd, careful, cautious and clearly skilled at your work. All that was recommended to us, and if perhaps we we underestimated you, at least we shall learn from this, yes? I expect we may well hire your services again, Rogan, but as I said, do not press your fortune, you know?" She extended a hand to him and he shook it, their meeting concluded. She didn't release him right away, however, her grip tightening as she drew him in, their heads close together over the table. "Because you truly are a mouse amongst cats, and you are not the only one who researches, Rogan O'Conaill, only child of the late Mary and Jacob O'Conaill; no friends, no family, no loved ones, and none to miss you should you disappear. You will not always be as safe as you seem to think you are now. Remember this, yes?" She released his hand and stood, slipping out of the booth as silently as she'd arrived and leaving Rogan to bite his lip thoughtfully. He shook his head and finished his drink.
His mind was still ticking over as he left the club a few minutes alter. He maintained many layers of false identity, one buried beneath the next with increasing complexity and thoroughness. The information she had presented was only one layer from the truth, and that was quite a clever bit of digging to do for someone who was only going to be a contractor for hire. That she believed it was fact didn't matter, really; it was still a surprise.
"You lied to them! That was really dangerous, Rogan!" Lyntael had climbed out of his pocket and made her way up to his shoulder again by the time he was out in the main street. He glanced at the holographic image of the young girl.
"I was conducting business, nothing more. If I had nothing but suspicions and questions to barter with, it was enough for them to see more than was really there. Deception and bluffing is an important part of what I do." He heard her give a harsh sigh and glanced over to see her looking downcast and away from him. Not for the first time he wondered why Eric had chosen to program the navi with such a desire for honesty and forthrightness. He had to have known it would make things difficult for him. Despite himself he felt the urge to mollify the poor thing, AI or not.
"Besides which, it was necessary for me to learn what I did." She looked up, her brow furrowing.
"Learn, sir? The lady didn't tell you anything." The confusion in Lyntael's voice almost made Rogan chuckle aloud, and he did smirk quite broadly.
"Oh but she did, Lyntael. She confirmed very dramatically that there is something very big going on between whoever she represents, and whoever is really behind that little firm, and where there's something large enough to warrant small business fronts, cloak and dagger hiring, and threats on my life, well, that's something I want to learn more about, most definitely. The bonus was nice too. That will buy me some time to do more research in between other jobs, I should think." He began to realise that the prospect of chasing this string had him more than a little excited. The grin came back, more than a little wolfish now. "I've got a good feeling about this..." The little navi didn't seem to share his sentiment, worry creasing her brow, but Rogan paid it no heed as he made his way through the streets, disappearing into the lightening morning.
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((To => Another Night))