[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
...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. ]
no subject
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. ]