[ Wise shuts the window once Hugo's come through it; he draws the blinds closed over the glass, then sighs, dismounting from his bed. ]
So you made me come up with names for your next heist instead?
[ He can't help himself: his tone is slightly surly. It's less that he's annoyed by Hugo's presence, and more that he's just annoyed that the man wasn't more straightforward with the ask. Why jerk him around with the threat of potential stalking if the goal was just to get inside? Always the games and unnecessary schemes... It isn't as if Wise had any reason to say no...
...He's also not sure when he started feeling comfortable enough with Hugo to be openly annoyed with him, and thinking about that is faintly vexing, too. Admittedly — deep, deep down — there is a part of Wise that prides himself on not developing attachments to others the way that Belle does. He tries not to be annoyed with people; he tries not to be too opinionated about them. It's not that he hates other people; it's just that he's never forgotten what they're trying to do, and he tells himself he needs to stay prepared to make sacrifices. As long as she was the one who managed their relationships, he could stand back and focus on the things that needed to be done. But now, with this — the very fact that he's let Hugo into his room this late at night feels like he's lost some piece of the castle of distance he constructed for himself —
Wise sighs and resolves to put his uncharacteristic annoyance away. He makes a valiant effort at playing a new role: composed and dignified host. ]
...Next time, just text or call. Even if you think Belle might be asleep, I'm usually awake, and my phone's always on for emergencies.
[ Wise had at least partly dressed down for bed, but he takes up his jacket from where it was draped over one of his armchairs, figuring that he's not going to get any sleep for as long as Hugo plans to be here. Pulling it on, one sleeve after the other, he sighs and nods towards the counter where he keeps his own (never-worn) hat. ]
You can put your things on the counter there. Do you want coffee? Tea? [ Oh, Belle mentioned something about sweets and Hugo once... ] I have chocolate on the tray near the TV.
[ It's not those chocolate coins from 141 Hugo's so fond of... no, it's something of a highly regarded convenience store brand. Something like Ghirardelli chocolate squares. Wise has fine taste on a budget price point. ]
[Oh, if the goal was just to get inside...then yes. It'd be a silly thing, wouldn't it? Stringing the host along with a silly conversation, and then an abrupt threat of stalking. As if the point were to play directly upon nerves. As if it being jarringly memorable...was a carefully deliberate thing.
(Because now it'll be hard to forget indeed, won't it? The chill in the heart, the too-real possibility. That a man who's fashioned himself the leader of a syndicate like Mockingbird could pull such a thing at any time for any reason--and that anyone else even vaguely near his caliber could do the same, with murkier intentions still. ...Calculated risks with security are always easier when they're weighed in relative safety, under the clarity of daylight. But now perhaps they'll be just a little less easy, in the murky dark of night. When anything and anyone could be watching, just beyond the window--)]
For the record, I found the recommended names a very helpful exchange! I really have burned through a terrific number of identities at once today. So your assistance truly is appreciated--both in that matter, and this one. [Hugo deposits his hat and suitcase on the counter that Wise so helpfully indicates; the hat is unsurprisingly soundless, while the suitcase settles with a heavily metallic thunk rather disproportionate to the ease its owner ever seems to have with carrying it...] Rest assured, by the way...I fully intend to compensate you for your time. I'm not actually so much in the habit of making my emergencies the emergencies of others, after all...
[Hugo's casually confident cheer doesn't waver for a moment, as if he hadn't caught the uncharacteristically surly note in Wise's tone to start--though he certainly did, and it's a note certainly being taken. On its own it's nothing terribly outlandish, honestly a pretty sensible reaction for anyone to have to being accosted before bed by an abrupt visitor through the window. But the far more interesting part, is the way Wise so swiftly puts away that annoyance afterwards. As if the role of composed host that he pulls on promptly after is an active choice being made. --Perhaps even the mask he would have preferred starting out with? Unfortunately for Wise, after all, Hugo knows a thing or several...about masks put on, masks taken off. How picking which to use tells so terribly much about a person all on its own.
Hugo's also well aware of the unkind methods he's just employed to earn the glimpse, and yet the bad habit that ever lives at the back of thought still takes a moment's great satisfaction in finding that crack. Why, this might just be the most open vulnerability yet, in that politely distant front Wise so often employs...which means he won't be getting another opportunity to spot that vulnerability again anytime soon, of course. At least, not with this particular method.
If you're so curious, then utilize it while it lasts, hums that unsavory part of thought, lots of means to milk this occasion to the fullest. Aren't there? Why, you're even already in the bedroom, any person's most vulnerable sanctuary. Plenty other ways to unbalance a pretty young man in here--
But intrusive thoughts are often quite ridiculous like this, and years of practice school Hugo's features accordingly. His glance doesn't linger at all on the novel glimpse of Wise's slender frame before it's obscured by his usual jacket again; instead he's promptly swinging his attention to the little tray near the TV, as chocolate's offered. Decent enough distraction. Huh, this sort of brand...it sure is the sort that a person buys when they're on a narrow budget but still can't help but enjoy some finer things. For some reason there's something almost comically charming about this--more importantly, though. There's the slightest pause after Wise's questions, in which Hugo idly adjusts his glove while seeming to consider something. (Ah, there...a tremor in the fingertips.) (Right, he hasn't had anything particularly sweet since this morning...)]
You'd even offer your snacking chocolate to this rude visitor? Truly you're too kind, dear Manager...I might just have a sampling. Though tea wouldn't be too objectionable either, if it really wouldn't be imposing too much. --Mind if I have a seat here? Need a moment to inspect the plunder. [Because if it truly isn't minded, then he's promptly--but very gracefully--settling himself down onto this little couch here about now, as a chocolate square is deftly unwrapped. Any other person half so leggy would probably have an awkward time with the position, yet somehow Hugo manages to create a very elegant draping of folded limbs here anyway. Popping back the entire chocolate square with one hand...and reaching into an inner jacket pocket with another, to pull out...
[ A "terrific" number of identities? The plunder...? Wise is terribly curious, but he decides, with an intellectual cautiousness likely befitting his name, that he doesn't want to know. Asking questions is the first step to getting involved in something you shouldn't be involved in — he knows that full well from his line of work as a Proxy. He resolves not to ask too many questions. Questions get people in trouble, that's how the game always goes.
His own thoughts are quite far away from what might happen when a pretty young man invites a beautiful older man into his room in the dead of night. Not that it's never occurred to him — not that his thoughts haven't lingered before, indulgently, on Hugo's handsome face or the elegance of his long limbs and fingers — but Wise wouldn't be himself if he let himself be overly moved by personal desire, and he really hasn't entertained it in years. Not since their time at Helios Academy ended so bitterly, in such spectacular fashion —
Wise keeps his mind on what he's doing with his own hands. It's well and good that Hugo asked for tea; if he wanted coffee, Wise would have had to duck out to the kitchen to make it, but he has a small kettle ensconced away in one of his storage boxes for late-night cups of warmth at his computer, so he's quiet for a moment, setting things up as Hugo gets settled on his couch and begins unwrapping his chocolate. Inwardly, Wise hopes Hugo isn't especially picky about his tea; the cheap packets of plain black tea that he keeps on hand for himself aren't nearly good enough for the likes of Victoria Housekeeping. But beggars can't be choosers, and —
...Wise's train of thought comes crashing to a halt when Hugo pulls out the thumb drive with a flourish. ]
What's that?
[ ...So much for not asking. It can't be helped. He never could resist a mystery. ]
[--It's pretty good chocolate, the way it promptly melts in the mouth, goes down smoothly. Doesn't quite scratch that humbly plain itch his preferred 141 coins do, exactly, but still ought to serve just as well. Though the pleased little humming sound that Hugo makes, right after Wise asks that question...has maybe less to do with the chocolate, yes. And more to do with the curiosity so clearly expressed over there. Hugo idly flicks the thumb drive between his fingertips like one of his coins, testing the utterly minimal weight of it, studying its black shell as if it were a gemstone.]
This...is the fruit of several months' painstaking toil. The apple of many a powerful eye. The key to quite a PubSec conspiracy. [His eyes flick up from the thumb drive to Wise across the way; a knowing smile curves on his features.] Let me guess, were you expecting a work of art? Perhaps a fine jewelry piece? Granted, it's not exactly as if Mockingbird's beyond such marks in undeserving hands too. But lies just so often shine ever brighter than any treasure...
[Interesting, isn't it? Intriguing, isn't it? Wise is given a prudent moment until his hands are free of tea-related items...and then, casual as can be, Hugo's lightly tossing the thumb drive his way. So he can have a look for himself, if he's so inclined! Isn't that nice? ...How good are you at catching things, Wise...]
The most difficult part's over, at least, but now there's still the matter of cracking this particular nut. Care to place some bets on how difficult it's going to be to decrypt? Hmm, I honestly almost wouldn't be surprised if it's primed to explode under too much duress or something... [How good are you at catching things, Wise--]
[ The tea is poured carefully, the sugar set out thoughtfully, and Wise — kind of has to bump it against one palm and then the other before he catches that thumb drive, but it's not too undignified a catch, at least. He looks it over with an analytical eye. The pins seem standard, but someone went through the trouble of giving it a custom cable clip and connector shell, which means whatever it is, it's important, and they had the budget to spend on little details — ]
...You came here because you wanted me to decrypt this for you?
[ Oh...
This is the kind of thing that gets his heart racing.
In some ways, Wise has been bored. Oh, sure, he does lots of things nowadays, but none of them are intellectually stimulating. Fairy does the bulk of the work that he and his sister used to handle jointly, and while Wise doesn't trust the AI in the least, he also can't fault Belle's logic in using her. Why not take advantage of her capabilities, seeing as she's already infiltrated their system? Why not use her, when she's seemingly obligated to help them?
So he gets it — but he doesn't. He'd be willing to admit that maybe he's the wrong one, between the two of them. Perhaps Belle has simply not forgotten that they became Proxies to investigate the Hollows, whereas he got mixed up in some sense of having pride in his own work as one half of the legendary Phaethon. Maybe he should never have developed this pride; it's irrelevant to their mission, he knows that himself. But even so, Wise — Wise wants to be something more than someone who relies on a supercomputer to get things done.
Wise wants to prove to himself that he's worth the money he's been chasing all this time.
He looks down at the thumb drive instead of at Hugo's devilishly handsome face (so strangely appraising; why is he always so evaluating? what is there to look at, with those eyes?). Flips it a few times between his fingers, not unlike the way Hugo himself often passes a coin between his digits. It's not an intentional mirroring. Wise is thinking. He doesn't sit down. He's forgotten about his tea. ]
What do I get for helping you?
[ The question sounds quietly cautious, a challenge in the tone of it: Tell me what I'm worth. But it's basically a formality. Wise is already looking at that thumb drive the way some men might look at a lover. ]
[Well well. Now wasn't that even easier than you thought it'd be? Captured already, with the barest hint of a morsel on the hook-- Not that he hadn't already had a couple of backup plans for worst-case scenarios just in case, but...]
Just as expected, you catch on sharply! We truly are on the same page in these matters of business, you and I.
[They really are terribly appraising, aren't they? Those off-color eyes always just a little too sharp, no matter the eccentric airs and acts Hugo might slip on and off, contrasting even now against his languid lounging upon the couch--the keen attention that currently follows Wise's every movement, every subtle shift in expression. Noting the fingertips that distractedly turn over the thumb drive in that amusingly familiar way; recognizing the particular sort of hunger in the examination already being leveled. Some lovers only wish they could capture this sort of fervor from their cherished, ha. ...It's even almost a bit of a pity, in a detached sort of way, that it isn't being turned Hugo's own way currently--but that was never part of the plan anyway, of course. Let's not secondhandedly envy a thumb drive, goodness.
...Call it a taste for the finely honed, the difficult to attain, the criminally overlooked. It's not as if he isn't fully aware, that the legendary Phaethon is two parts of the same whole. That they're likely quite evenly skilled at their favored craft. In terms of pure practicality, Hugo's been going maybe a bit too out of his way for a little while now--taking the road just a little too steeply difficult--in trying to get a feel of Wise specifically, instead of taking the objectively far smoother route of bubbly and outgoing Miss Belle's more freely-given favor. ...But maybe he didn't get this far in life taking the easy paths, you know? And maybe he truly does enjoy a good challenge. And maybe...he's been starting to glean a bit of an impression for himself, that Wise isn't quite entirely settled in his chosen place in Phaethon's backdrop--no matter how content with it he may claim to be.
After all, if he truly were, his demeanor surely wouldn't be sharpening the way it so charmingly does in this moment...all motions of a good host briefly forgotten, cup of tea left cooling on the table, a clear intrigue piqued at a worthwhile puzzle. No mention of Belle's candidacy being raised. Oh, Wise's tone certainly has that note of quiet caution, despite its challenge. But Hugo knows the greed of a heart glimpsing something it craves, when every person is capable of this sort of desire, and his work sees it plenty.
It's not a bad look on Wise. Not at all.
(Alas, any respectable member of Mockingbird cannot help but covet beautiful things too--)]
For helping me...why, perhaps you could get whatever you want. [It's an exceedingly brief sort of moment, of his tone dipping just so: the answer nearly a purr, lilting just on the edge of something almost salacious, a gloved thumb at a corner of his mouth in mock thought, smile curling into a smirk with fangs. And then--a chuckle, playfully tapering away the implications. With an idle shift of crossing legs, Hugo's posture straightens into something closer to professionally proper.] --Which always sounds nice, but that'd be far too vague, of course. Let's see...naturally, it could easily be a simply monetary compensation. I've yet to encounter a price I cannot pay for a service valued highly enough, rest assured. But this isn't exactly just a conventional sort of favor, is it? I could be dragging you into some pretty delicate business...so this needs to be worth your while, doesn't it? Something worth the risk, of indulging a shady man in his shady deeds. Hmmm...
[Hugo has already planned out plenty of different offerings, of course. But he does enjoy the theater, the act of a good pondering. Humming thoughtfully, he leans forward to start spooning some sugar into his own tea, his handling of the cup and utensils immaculately refined. (Muscle memory.)]
How about, alongside a certain sum...perhaps some assistance, too, with the physical security issue you seem to be facing recently?
So that's what all the theater at the beginning was about?
Wise levels Hugo with a look. Between his slim green eyes and the fact that he's still standing while Hugo is seated, it's quite the look. Disdainful, some would consider it. Annoyed, certainly. Almost pitying. It is a look that conveys the words How dare you? and You motherfucker in the same breath and in the same tone. In certain movies — never the sorts that Wise himself has liked — it is the kind of romantically-charged look of utter loathing that a plucky heroine might level at her roguishly teasing love interest before succumbing to sexual tension and pulling him in for a heated kiss.
Wise does no such thing, chiefly because Hugo is about fifteen feet away and looking very teethy on his couch. He is mostly irritated because he sees the scope of the scheme now, or at least he thinks he sees most of it, and he realizes now that Hugo has been manipulating him since the beginning of their conversation. It is less that he was ever afraid for his physical safety, and more that Wise is not a man who enjoys the sense that he is being manipulated. (Most people don't.)
...But fine. Whatever. The deal that Hugo is proposing is mutually beneficial, regardless of how he has attempted to sell and close it, and Wise quite clearly wants to do the work that is being asked of him. After a moment, he lets out a breath and relents. ]
...Take Belle out for some hot pot this week, too, and it's a deal.
[ It was never really about the money. Phaethon would not allow the Cunning Hares to be regular customers if money were truly a concern. It's more about the ask. All Wise cares to negotiate over, apparently, is 5000 more Dennies towards his sister's dinner plans — not even his own.
He sighs again and walks back to the counter where Hugo has temporarily set down his things. In the movies the young man is so fond of, the cinematographic thing to do would be for him to boot up that swanky-looking PC setup he's got, with its multiple screens and dead-silent fans and impressive monitor size. (Hugo might handle art pieces, primarily, but maybe he also has the keen eye to note that it's really quite state-of-the-art for a personal PC setup. It, of course, still pales in comparison to the actual supercomputer that the Phaethon siblings have in their vault on the first floor.) In a movie, Wise would pull up a large window, load it with infinite lines of code, tap at his keyboard with impressive speed until he magically isolated the data that Hugo, the movie's protagonist, has been searching for.
Nothing of that sort happens, of course, because real life is not a movie, and Wise is obviously not fool enough to plug potential malware into his personal network. Instead, he pulls out a burner laptop from his cabinets; it appears that he has several, but he doesn't comment on them as he closes the cabinet doors again and gets himself settled on the armchair near the couches.
He does realize that Hugo is the sort of man who appreciates a show, so Wise resolves to give at least some visual interest to the proceedings. He examines the thumb drive again as he boots up his laptop — looking it over again, no, there's no room for explosives in the device, not even any kind of self-corroding switch. Should be a purely digital battle to wage, then. He pushes the drive in, leans back, sighs, eyes closed. Rolls his neck, and then stretches out his hands, lacing his fingers together and pulling them backwards against his chest, and when his eyes flutter open, they flash an eerie electric blue past his dark silver lashes —
(Or — wait. What was that? It couldn't have been a trick of the light, it wasn't anything from outside —) ]
Make yourself comfortable. Even if it's easy for me, it's still going to take about fifteen minutes.
[ He doesn't even ask Hugo to elaborate on the matter of how he's going to address the physical security. Wise begins typing, not in the fast, rhythmic "fake hacker" pattern popularized by action movies — but it's a pretty steady pace, and he's fairly reliant on keyboard shortcuts. ]
And you should tell me up front what this actually is. It's easier when I have context.
[ Wise doesn't actually ponder the question of why Hugo chose him for this request over Belle. There could be many reasons, but all other things being equal, the only real difference between them, in Wise's mind, is gender. It's possible that Hugo is coming to Wise with this because he has determined, probably correctly, that Wise is better at keeping a secret, but the young man also just suspects that the matter is simply something which would not be appropriate for a self-professed gentleman to ask of a young lady. Not that Belle isn't herself familiar with what's on the dark web, but still. Could be snuff, could be porn, could be bad — and bad can be a lot of things. Whatever it is, he can stomach it — but it's better if he knows. ]
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So you made me come up with names for your next heist instead?
[ He can't help himself: his tone is slightly surly. It's less that he's annoyed by Hugo's presence, and more that he's just annoyed that the man wasn't more straightforward with the ask. Why jerk him around with the threat of potential stalking if the goal was just to get inside? Always the games and unnecessary schemes... It isn't as if Wise had any reason to say no...
...He's also not sure when he started feeling comfortable enough with Hugo to be openly annoyed with him, and thinking about that is faintly vexing, too. Admittedly — deep, deep down — there is a part of Wise that prides himself on not developing attachments to others the way that Belle does. He tries not to be annoyed with people; he tries not to be too opinionated about them. It's not that he hates other people; it's just that he's never forgotten what they're trying to do, and he tells himself he needs to stay prepared to make sacrifices. As long as she was the one who managed their relationships, he could stand back and focus on the things that needed to be done. But now, with this — the very fact that he's let Hugo into his room this late at night feels like he's lost some piece of the castle of distance he constructed for himself —
Wise sighs and resolves to put his uncharacteristic annoyance away. He makes a valiant effort at playing a new role: composed and dignified host. ]
...Next time, just text or call. Even if you think Belle might be asleep, I'm usually awake, and my phone's always on for emergencies.
[ Wise had at least partly dressed down for bed, but he takes up his jacket from where it was draped over one of his armchairs, figuring that he's not going to get any sleep for as long as Hugo plans to be here. Pulling it on, one sleeve after the other, he sighs and nods towards the counter where he keeps his own (never-worn) hat. ]
You can put your things on the counter there. Do you want coffee? Tea? [ Oh, Belle mentioned something about sweets and Hugo once... ] I have chocolate on the tray near the TV.
[ It's not those chocolate coins from 141 Hugo's so fond of... no, it's something of a highly regarded convenience store brand. Something like Ghirardelli chocolate squares. Wise has fine taste on a budget price point. ]
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(Because now it'll be hard to forget indeed, won't it? The chill in the heart, the too-real possibility. That a man who's fashioned himself the leader of a syndicate like Mockingbird could pull such a thing at any time for any reason--and that anyone else even vaguely near his caliber could do the same, with murkier intentions still. ...Calculated risks with security are always easier when they're weighed in relative safety, under the clarity of daylight. But now perhaps they'll be just a little less easy, in the murky dark of night. When anything and anyone could be watching, just beyond the window--)]
For the record, I found the recommended names a very helpful exchange! I really have burned through a terrific number of identities at once today. So your assistance truly is appreciated--both in that matter, and this one. [Hugo deposits his hat and suitcase on the counter that Wise so helpfully indicates; the hat is unsurprisingly soundless, while the suitcase settles with a heavily metallic thunk rather disproportionate to the ease its owner ever seems to have with carrying it...] Rest assured, by the way...I fully intend to compensate you for your time. I'm not actually so much in the habit of making my emergencies the emergencies of others, after all...
[Hugo's casually confident cheer doesn't waver for a moment, as if he hadn't caught the uncharacteristically surly note in Wise's tone to start--though he certainly did, and it's a note certainly being taken. On its own it's nothing terribly outlandish, honestly a pretty sensible reaction for anyone to have to being accosted before bed by an abrupt visitor through the window. But the far more interesting part, is the way Wise so swiftly puts away that annoyance afterwards. As if the role of composed host that he pulls on promptly after is an active choice being made. --Perhaps even the mask he would have preferred starting out with? Unfortunately for Wise, after all, Hugo knows a thing or several...about masks put on, masks taken off. How picking which to use tells so terribly much about a person all on its own.
Hugo's also well aware of the unkind methods he's just employed to earn the glimpse, and yet the bad habit that ever lives at the back of thought still takes a moment's great satisfaction in finding that crack. Why, this might just be the most open vulnerability yet, in that politely distant front Wise so often employs...which means he won't be getting another opportunity to spot that vulnerability again anytime soon, of course. At least, not with this particular method.
If you're so curious, then utilize it while it lasts, hums that unsavory part of thought, lots of means to milk this occasion to the fullest. Aren't there? Why, you're even already in the bedroom, any person's most vulnerable sanctuary. Plenty other ways to unbalance a pretty young man in here--
But intrusive thoughts are often quite ridiculous like this, and years of practice school Hugo's features accordingly. His glance doesn't linger at all on the novel glimpse of Wise's slender frame before it's obscured by his usual jacket again; instead he's promptly swinging his attention to the little tray near the TV, as chocolate's offered. Decent enough distraction. Huh, this sort of brand...it sure is the sort that a person buys when they're on a narrow budget but still can't help but enjoy some finer things. For some reason there's something almost comically charming about this--more importantly, though. There's the slightest pause after Wise's questions, in which Hugo idly adjusts his glove while seeming to consider something. (Ah, there...a tremor in the fingertips.) (Right, he hasn't had anything particularly sweet since this morning...)]
You'd even offer your snacking chocolate to this rude visitor? Truly you're too kind, dear Manager...I might just have a sampling. Though tea wouldn't be too objectionable either, if it really wouldn't be imposing too much. --Mind if I have a seat here? Need a moment to inspect the plunder. [Because if it truly isn't minded, then he's promptly--but very gracefully--settling himself down onto this little couch here about now, as a chocolate square is deftly unwrapped. Any other person half so leggy would probably have an awkward time with the position, yet somehow Hugo manages to create a very elegant draping of folded limbs here anyway. Popping back the entire chocolate square with one hand...and reaching into an inner jacket pocket with another, to pull out...
A thumb drive no larger than a quarter.]
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His own thoughts are quite far away from what might happen when a pretty young man invites a beautiful older man into his room in the dead of night. Not that it's never occurred to him — not that his thoughts haven't lingered before, indulgently, on Hugo's handsome face or the elegance of his long limbs and fingers — but Wise wouldn't be himself if he let himself be overly moved by personal desire, and he really hasn't entertained it in years. Not since their time at Helios Academy ended so bitterly, in such spectacular fashion —
Wise keeps his mind on what he's doing with his own hands. It's well and good that Hugo asked for tea; if he wanted coffee, Wise would have had to duck out to the kitchen to make it, but he has a small kettle ensconced away in one of his storage boxes for late-night cups of warmth at his computer, so he's quiet for a moment, setting things up as Hugo gets settled on his couch and begins unwrapping his chocolate. Inwardly, Wise hopes Hugo isn't especially picky about his tea; the cheap packets of plain black tea that he keeps on hand for himself aren't nearly good enough for the likes of Victoria Housekeeping. But beggars can't be choosers, and —
...Wise's train of thought comes crashing to a halt when Hugo pulls out the thumb drive with a flourish. ]
What's that?
[ ...So much for not asking. It can't be helped. He never could resist a mystery. ]
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This...is the fruit of several months' painstaking toil. The apple of many a powerful eye. The key to quite a PubSec conspiracy. [His eyes flick up from the thumb drive to Wise across the way; a knowing smile curves on his features.] Let me guess, were you expecting a work of art? Perhaps a fine jewelry piece? Granted, it's not exactly as if Mockingbird's beyond such marks in undeserving hands too. But lies just so often shine ever brighter than any treasure...
[Interesting, isn't it? Intriguing, isn't it? Wise is given a prudent moment until his hands are free of tea-related items...and then, casual as can be, Hugo's lightly tossing the thumb drive his way. So he can have a look for himself, if he's so inclined! Isn't that nice? ...How good are you at catching things, Wise...]
The most difficult part's over, at least, but now there's still the matter of cracking this particular nut. Care to place some bets on how difficult it's going to be to decrypt? Hmm, I honestly almost wouldn't be surprised if it's primed to explode under too much duress or something... [How good are you at catching things, Wise--]
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...You came here because you wanted me to decrypt this for you?
[ Oh...
This is the kind of thing that gets his heart racing.
In some ways, Wise has been bored. Oh, sure, he does lots of things nowadays, but none of them are intellectually stimulating. Fairy does the bulk of the work that he and his sister used to handle jointly, and while Wise doesn't trust the AI in the least, he also can't fault Belle's logic in using her. Why not take advantage of her capabilities, seeing as she's already infiltrated their system? Why not use her, when she's seemingly obligated to help them?
So he gets it — but he doesn't. He'd be willing to admit that maybe he's the wrong one, between the two of them. Perhaps Belle has simply not forgotten that they became Proxies to investigate the Hollows, whereas he got mixed up in some sense of having pride in his own work as one half of the legendary Phaethon. Maybe he should never have developed this pride; it's irrelevant to their mission, he knows that himself. But even so, Wise — Wise wants to be something more than someone who relies on a supercomputer to get things done.
Wise wants to prove to himself that he's worth the money he's been chasing all this time.
He looks down at the thumb drive instead of at Hugo's devilishly handsome face (so strangely appraising; why is he always so evaluating? what is there to look at, with those eyes?). Flips it a few times between his fingers, not unlike the way Hugo himself often passes a coin between his digits. It's not an intentional mirroring. Wise is thinking. He doesn't sit down. He's forgotten about his tea. ]
What do I get for helping you?
[ The question sounds quietly cautious, a challenge in the tone of it: Tell me what I'm worth. But it's basically a formality. Wise is already looking at that thumb drive the way some men might look at a lover. ]
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Just as expected, you catch on sharply! We truly are on the same page in these matters of business, you and I.
[They really are terribly appraising, aren't they? Those off-color eyes always just a little too sharp, no matter the eccentric airs and acts Hugo might slip on and off, contrasting even now against his languid lounging upon the couch--the keen attention that currently follows Wise's every movement, every subtle shift in expression. Noting the fingertips that distractedly turn over the thumb drive in that amusingly familiar way; recognizing the particular sort of hunger in the examination already being leveled. Some lovers only wish they could capture this sort of fervor from their cherished, ha. ...It's even almost a bit of a pity, in a detached sort of way, that it isn't being turned Hugo's own way currently--but that was never part of the plan anyway, of course. Let's not secondhandedly envy a thumb drive, goodness.
...Call it a taste for the finely honed, the difficult to attain, the criminally overlooked. It's not as if he isn't fully aware, that the legendary Phaethon is two parts of the same whole. That they're likely quite evenly skilled at their favored craft. In terms of pure practicality, Hugo's been going maybe a bit too out of his way for a little while now--taking the road just a little too steeply difficult--in trying to get a feel of Wise specifically, instead of taking the objectively far smoother route of bubbly and outgoing Miss Belle's more freely-given favor. ...But maybe he didn't get this far in life taking the easy paths, you know? And maybe he truly does enjoy a good challenge. And maybe...he's been starting to glean a bit of an impression for himself, that Wise isn't quite entirely settled in his chosen place in Phaethon's backdrop--no matter how content with it he may claim to be.
After all, if he truly were, his demeanor surely wouldn't be sharpening the way it so charmingly does in this moment...all motions of a good host briefly forgotten, cup of tea left cooling on the table, a clear intrigue piqued at a worthwhile puzzle. No mention of Belle's candidacy being raised. Oh, Wise's tone certainly has that note of quiet caution, despite its challenge. But Hugo knows the greed of a heart glimpsing something it craves, when every person is capable of this sort of desire, and his work sees it plenty.
It's not a bad look on Wise. Not at all.
(Alas, any respectable member of Mockingbird cannot help but covet beautiful things too--)]
For helping me...why, perhaps you could get whatever you want. [It's an exceedingly brief sort of moment, of his tone dipping just so: the answer nearly a purr, lilting just on the edge of something almost salacious, a gloved thumb at a corner of his mouth in mock thought, smile curling into a smirk with fangs. And then--a chuckle, playfully tapering away the implications. With an idle shift of crossing legs, Hugo's posture straightens into something closer to professionally proper.] --Which always sounds nice, but that'd be far too vague, of course. Let's see...naturally, it could easily be a simply monetary compensation. I've yet to encounter a price I cannot pay for a service valued highly enough, rest assured. But this isn't exactly just a conventional sort of favor, is it? I could be dragging you into some pretty delicate business...so this needs to be worth your while, doesn't it? Something worth the risk, of indulging a shady man in his shady deeds. Hmmm...
[Hugo has already planned out plenty of different offerings, of course. But he does enjoy the theater, the act of a good pondering. Humming thoughtfully, he leans forward to start spooning some sugar into his own tea, his handling of the cup and utensils immaculately refined. (Muscle memory.)]
How about, alongside a certain sum...perhaps some assistance, too, with the physical security issue you seem to be facing recently?
no subject
So that's what all the theater at the beginning was about?
Wise levels Hugo with a look. Between his slim green eyes and the fact that he's still standing while Hugo is seated, it's quite the look. Disdainful, some would consider it. Annoyed, certainly. Almost pitying. It is a look that conveys the words How dare you? and You motherfucker in the same breath and in the same tone. In certain movies — never the sorts that Wise himself has liked — it is the kind of romantically-charged look of utter loathing that a plucky heroine might level at her roguishly teasing love interest before succumbing to sexual tension and pulling him in for a heated kiss.
Wise does no such thing, chiefly because Hugo is about fifteen feet away and looking very teethy on his couch. He is mostly irritated because he sees the scope of the scheme now, or at least he thinks he sees most of it, and he realizes now that Hugo has been manipulating him since the beginning of their conversation. It is less that he was ever afraid for his physical safety, and more that Wise is not a man who enjoys the sense that he is being manipulated. (Most people don't.)
...But fine. Whatever. The deal that Hugo is proposing is mutually beneficial, regardless of how he has attempted to sell and close it, and Wise quite clearly wants to do the work that is being asked of him. After a moment, he lets out a breath and relents. ]
...Take Belle out for some hot pot this week, too, and it's a deal.
[ It was never really about the money. Phaethon would not allow the Cunning Hares to be regular customers if money were truly a concern. It's more about the ask. All Wise cares to negotiate over, apparently, is 5000 more Dennies towards his sister's dinner plans — not even his own.
He sighs again and walks back to the counter where Hugo has temporarily set down his things. In the movies the young man is so fond of, the cinematographic thing to do would be for him to boot up that swanky-looking PC setup he's got, with its multiple screens and dead-silent fans and impressive monitor size. (Hugo might handle art pieces, primarily, but maybe he also has the keen eye to note that it's really quite state-of-the-art for a personal PC setup. It, of course, still pales in comparison to the actual supercomputer that the Phaethon siblings have in their vault on the first floor.) In a movie, Wise would pull up a large window, load it with infinite lines of code, tap at his keyboard with impressive speed until he magically isolated the data that Hugo, the movie's protagonist, has been searching for.
Nothing of that sort happens, of course, because real life is not a movie, and Wise is obviously not fool enough to plug potential malware into his personal network. Instead, he pulls out a burner laptop from his cabinets; it appears that he has several, but he doesn't comment on them as he closes the cabinet doors again and gets himself settled on the armchair near the couches.
He does realize that Hugo is the sort of man who appreciates a show, so Wise resolves to give at least some visual interest to the proceedings. He examines the thumb drive again as he boots up his laptop — looking it over again, no, there's no room for explosives in the device, not even any kind of self-corroding switch. Should be a purely digital battle to wage, then. He pushes the drive in, leans back, sighs, eyes closed. Rolls his neck, and then stretches out his hands, lacing his fingers together and pulling them backwards against his chest, and when his eyes flutter open, they flash an eerie electric blue past his dark silver lashes —
(Or — wait. What was that? It couldn't have been a trick of the light, it wasn't anything from outside —) ]
Make yourself comfortable. Even if it's easy for me, it's still going to take about fifteen minutes.
[ He doesn't even ask Hugo to elaborate on the matter of how he's going to address the physical security. Wise begins typing, not in the fast, rhythmic "fake hacker" pattern popularized by action movies — but it's a pretty steady pace, and he's fairly reliant on keyboard shortcuts. ]
And you should tell me up front what this actually is. It's easier when I have context.
[ Wise doesn't actually ponder the question of why Hugo chose him for this request over Belle. There could be many reasons, but all other things being equal, the only real difference between them, in Wise's mind, is gender. It's possible that Hugo is coming to Wise with this because he has determined, probably correctly, that Wise is better at keeping a secret, but the young man also just suspects that the matter is simply something which would not be appropriate for a self-professed gentleman to ask of a young lady. Not that Belle isn't herself familiar with what's on the dark web, but still. Could be snuff, could be porn, could be bad — and bad can be a lot of things. Whatever it is, he can stomach it — but it's better if he knows. ]