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Feb. 5th, 2020 11:28 amI’m going over papers at my desk in the front room when Midnight walks in the door with a briefcase. She’s not in costume, although there’s still a short skirt under her jacket and tall boots.
“I thought I’d bring my reports by and go over them - compare notes.” She pauses, looking around the place. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your actual agency before - you’re usually at the coffee shops or on a roof somewhere.”
“Uh-huh.” I’m half ignoring that, sorting out the files on the Villain Factory case.
“Do you rent this place or...?”
“I own it.” I can probably go over some of the unofficial notes with her - we’ll need to coordinate our reports anyway to leave out that it’s the same few “civilians” showing up regularly and getting involved, I know the few cops that come here are already on board.
She pauses, tilting her head to stare at me funny. “You own a house.”
“Yep.”
“You live in an apartment.”
“Mm-hm.” I’ve been finding my older files trying to trace earlier appearances of Trigger, we’re going to need those.
“You own a house but you rent an apartment a block away.”
I have a list of all registered speed quirks in a vague age range that might match our pain in the ass; definitely going to see if she can find another angle on that. “Yep.”
“Why do you rent an apartment?”
I look up over the folder I was sifting through. “Because there’s no way in Hell I’m sleeping here.” And I start sorting things into a spread across the desk; she’s taken a couple more steps in but she’s distracted peering around the front room.
“So why do you have this place if you don’t live here?”
“Because I inherited it.” I have my start on research on the old idiot who keeps getting into fights and obviously knows something; of course now that I want to find him, he’s vanishing. I set that aside.
“You know I think that’s the most you’ve said about your family since UA...”
Ignoring. I have the full statements from the augmented victims, not that they help much; all of them were pretty drugged up during the process, but those go out anyway.
“You know if you don’t want this place you could sell it.”
I bark a half-laugh; definitely not dumping this hellhole on someone else, not when I have no clue what might be in here.
She’s giving me an unimpressed stare as I dig out the notes on the groups that’ve turned up connected - that’s a mess and a half, whoever is coordinating this is keeping their actual organizational infrastructure buried deep and most of the component groups don’t even seem to know they’re part of something.
“You got brought into a mess.” I motion at the folders covering the desk. “This might be older than either of us.”
There’s a couple more seconds of pause and then she sighs and pulls up a chair with the briefcase.
“I thought I’d bring my reports by and go over them - compare notes.” She pauses, looking around the place. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your actual agency before - you’re usually at the coffee shops or on a roof somewhere.”
“Uh-huh.” I’m half ignoring that, sorting out the files on the Villain Factory case.
“Do you rent this place or...?”
“I own it.” I can probably go over some of the unofficial notes with her - we’ll need to coordinate our reports anyway to leave out that it’s the same few “civilians” showing up regularly and getting involved, I know the few cops that come here are already on board.
She pauses, tilting her head to stare at me funny. “You own a house.”
“Yep.”
“You live in an apartment.”
“Mm-hm.” I’ve been finding my older files trying to trace earlier appearances of Trigger, we’re going to need those.
“You own a house but you rent an apartment a block away.”
I have a list of all registered speed quirks in a vague age range that might match our pain in the ass; definitely going to see if she can find another angle on that. “Yep.”
“Why do you rent an apartment?”
I look up over the folder I was sifting through. “Because there’s no way in Hell I’m sleeping here.” And I start sorting things into a spread across the desk; she’s taken a couple more steps in but she’s distracted peering around the front room.
“So why do you have this place if you don’t live here?”
“Because I inherited it.” I have my start on research on the old idiot who keeps getting into fights and obviously knows something; of course now that I want to find him, he’s vanishing. I set that aside.
“You know I think that’s the most you’ve said about your family since UA...”
Ignoring. I have the full statements from the augmented victims, not that they help much; all of them were pretty drugged up during the process, but those go out anyway.
“You know if you don’t want this place you could sell it.”
I bark a half-laugh; definitely not dumping this hellhole on someone else, not when I have no clue what might be in here.
She’s giving me an unimpressed stare as I dig out the notes on the groups that’ve turned up connected - that’s a mess and a half, whoever is coordinating this is keeping their actual organizational infrastructure buried deep and most of the component groups don’t even seem to know they’re part of something.
“You got brought into a mess.” I motion at the folders covering the desk. “This might be older than either of us.”
There’s a couple more seconds of pause and then she sighs and pulls up a chair with the briefcase.
