tosbox | making my way downtown

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making my way downtown

[The big issue here isn't getting fired. No, Spy will be fine for now, considering all that he's saved. Losing a resource as powerful as RED and Mann Co in general is a blow indeed, but Spy can get by. Right now, he's more concerned about living and making sure none of his loose ends catch up to him.

Most of the things he's taking back with him are either essential or expensive. The weapon magazines and catalogues sent by RED are still sitting in his old quarters, along with some leisure books and even some pieces of his old uniform. The suit has always been a part of his look, so he keeps some of it; they make for some decent padding for the wine stored in the trunk of his car.

With his tie slung around his neck and his jacket over his arm, Spy makes a mental checklist of all he needs. His life is pretty much stowed away in his wallet: bank cards, multiple IDs, cash, miniature cloaking device, plane tickets... He pats his pants pocket for the only thing that doesn't fit in his wallet: his passport. Not that he'll need it for the flight, but it's good to have these things just in case.

A tiny part of his brain nags at him, urging him to feel sentimental about leaving his workplace of over four years. But to hell with that - god knows this won't be the last he's seen of them.

When Scout hobbles up to his car, a mess of stupidity and arm casts, Spy is tempted to slam the door in his face and make him eat his dust trail. But, of course, the little mongrel has to pull the mother card and all of a sudden Spy feels responsible.]

I have a jet leaving in fifty minutes. You've got twenty. Get in the car.

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[A short breath of surprise puffs out of Spy's mouth as his head is pushed onto Scout's shoulder. His arm and stomach tense, but once it's clear Scout isn't planning to inflict bodily harm upon him, he relaxes again.]

It's risky. We do not know where t'ey lead. In addition to t'at, we must consider t'e noise it would make to walk t'rough t'em. It is not a bad idea, considering I doubt security would assume it is anyt'ing beyond vermin. It might be wort' a try if I can figure out t'e networking of it.

[Is he getting sleepy? In any case, his voice is softer now, his words rumbling against Scout's chest.]

[ Spy relaxes, and as much as he's weirded out, he's also a little amused he can have that effect on someone who's the first to call him a idiotic brat. If he pretends like Spy's a nice, pretty girl, stroking his back is easy, like playing with the ends of long hair. ]

Yeah that's how they did it in da Great Escape. You ever seen dat one, Steve McQueen? Well, dey used tunnels, but same difference.

T'is is far from t'e movies, Scout. If t'is were a cinematic film, we would 'ave escaped by now.

[Okay, the back stroking is weird. Spy bristles at first, a short shiver going down his spine, though he makes no move to separate. It is a little nice, but it definitely wakes him up, his body more keenly aware of his teammate's, all warmth and solidity and confusion. He glances up at his teammate.]

Scout, why did you agree to t'is?

Edited 2014-11-28 08:03 (UTC)

[ Scout's eyes glint with a hint of triumph. ]

Why? You startin' to regret it?

[Right, this is a game, this is a game and Spy is determined to win--]

No. Of course not. T'ese snake veins of mine are quite toasty right now.

[At least that part is actually true. In fact, just to prove his point, he shifts closer so that his legs are pressed lightly against Scout's.]

[ no... His own legs twitch a little. He glances away. ]

It says right in da beginnin' of dat movie dat it's a true story. Hey, what if we dig a tunnel? Nah, that'd take way too long.

Consider that we are two men trained only to kill and steal intelligence, and t'e characters in t'e film not only 'ad power in numbers but t'eir own set of skills pertaining to their task.

[He shifts the arm on Scout's middle to rest more naturally on the curve of his stomach. Then he taps the toe of his shoe against Scout's heel.]

While it is a good idea to 'ave back up plans, we need to decide on what we will attempt first.

So you did see it.

[ There's some small satisfaction in that. Mostly it's taking all Scout's willpower to stay put. Why does it feel like Spy is starting to coil around him? ]

Ok, so where do we start?

[ Scout isn't gonna call Spy the brains of this operation, but... ]

[Spy is completely relaxed, though he does bring his smoking hand to his face to tap away his latest craving. At this point, if Scout throws him off or hits him, he figures he deserves it. Besides, it's actually pretty comfortable to leech heat off another, so he's not complaining. Sure, it's Scout, but it's also Scout-- if his teammate is uncomfortable, then Spy is winning.]

T'e main security room should be our first priority. I will investigate and try to determine where your little toys are. Once I 'ave more intel, it should be easier to narrow down which mode of escape would be ideal.

[ Scout thinks he can be okay as long as Spy's not doing a lot of moving, as long as he's not actively giving him wandering contact. The weight alone is surprisingly permissible, perhaps even disturbingly comfortable since Spy acts as a feedback loop of Scout's own heat. ]

You're definitely not gonna be able to show--

[ But hark, a sound down the hall that Scout is all too familiar with hits his ears: the food trolley is here. Suddenly, Scout is a flurry of action, attempting to pull Spy off of him by the back of his shirt and spring out of bed before any guard can catch sight of them. ]

[The tug on his jumpsuit is a clear enough signal for Spy to move. He rolls in the opposite direction. Once he comes to a stop, he curls his legs under him, sitting back and watching his teammate tend to the guard.]

You will be finishing t'at sentiment later, oui?

[ He collects their plates of food, leaning down to yammer through the food slot at the guard like any obvious liar with something to hide. Yeah yeah, they're trying switching bunks for a change... The guard, who hadn't asked and didn't care, moved on quickly.

Scout returns with the plates of food, eyeballing Spy before placing the man's food on the table pointedly and going to sit on the edge of his bed with his own plate. ]

You say somethin'? Well apparently Brick's gonna be ok, I guess, if you count walkin' with a limp fer da rest of his life as ok.

[ Scout scoops up what appears to be instant mashed potatoes. ]

Trade ya the white broccoli fer yer roll.

[ That's cauliflower, Scout... or really blanched broccoli, you might be right. ]

[Spy really doesn't care, so he doesn't comment. Instead, he busies himself with inspecting his food, contemplating the level of drugs in it. Probably enough to get him through a whole night of Scout kicking his bed, if his teammate would even be up for it after his own serving of drugs.

He takes a seat at the table, drawing his legs to his chest to try to preserve the warmth in his feet. Balancing his plate on his knees, he casts at glance over at his teammate.]

"White broccoli"? [Squinting at Scout's plate.] Whatever. If you want it, come get it.

[ Fine fine. With an exaggerated little sigh, Scout gets up again and comes to join Spy at the table, shoveling food into his mouth on the way. He was pretty much planning to sleep off the afternoon drugs after the months of pointedly trying to fight them to little reward. Since Spy said he'd help liberate Tom Jones, he's got no real reason to stay up kicking the man's bed. Not that reason always had a place in Scout's machinations, but... The prospect was unlikely at present.

He reaches for the roll he's trading for, or rather tries to pluck it up. ]

Gmmphh mmph ba mrarf orfefls fa bay befoda breymot.

Pour l'amour de dieu. [Spy waves a plastic fork in his teammate's face.] I can't understand you when you've got food in your mouth.

[ His brow furrows and he shuffles food into one cheek rather than waiting to swallow everything. ]

I've heard you sah dat afore. Dat's whaddif meams?

[Sigh.] "Pour l'amour de dieu" means "for t'e love of god".

Do any of t'e words t'at come out of your mout' matter if you're not even going to bot'er communicating t'em to me properly?

Now ain't dat a real hypocrinical queshon?

[ But he swallows what he has left, tearing open his roll. ]

I said I guess we're gonna have ta starve ourselves the day we bust out. Think we'll go through withdrawals?

T'ere's a difference between me saying t'ings in french and you lacking communication skills. T'e french is for me, not for you, if t'at wasn't already obvious.

I 'adn't considered wit'drawal. It may be possible, seeing as we're so regularly drugged, but I'm no expert. [Now nicotine withdrawal, that's a whole different story.] We would 'ave to be quick about t'e escape, in t'at case. I imagine we would suffer from vomiting and shakiness.

Edited 2014-11-30 01:37 (UTC)

[ Thumbing his nose at Spy and his french. La dee da. ]

Gross. Is there any way we could, I dunno, not do dat?

[ Scout didn't want to be vomiting any more than he wanted to spell the word itself. ]

If we wanted to detox, we would 'ave to avoid eating for a while. I 'ave no idea 'ow long t'at would take. T'at means it comes down to not eating and running on low energy, or trying to fight off or sleep off the drugs.

[He finishes his meal and pushes the plate aside.]

I suppose we could always just wait until t'e latest serving of drugs wear off and see if we can time it wit' an escape attempt.

What, like a fire drill?

[ He pushes the white vegetable that vaguely resembles little trees over towards Spy. He tears off bits of bread to eat in the meantime, but at least he's not keeping his mouth stuffed any more. ]

I meant in t'e final scheme of t'ings, but if you want to practice...

[Spy pauses, putting one of the white vegetables in his mouth. It's cauliflower. Really bland cauliflower.]

I'm not sure about doing t'at. Tipping off t'e guards to any of our plans is far from ideal.

You said they can't see in here.

[ Still, Scout doesn't even know what kind of thing you'd do in this case if not try to jog around and try to fight... He'd rather just have a nap. Shrug. ]

[There is definitely some miscommunication here. Spy gestures vaguely with his hands, his arms spread as he speaks more slowly.]

What I meant, my dear, idiotic friend, is t'at t'e next time we make an attempt, we time it wit' t'e drug dose, starting t'e plan as late as possible after 'aving eaten.

Unless you wanted to test for wit'drawal symptoms. In t'at case, go a'ead.

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bonking - 2014-11-30 06:07 (UTC) - Expand

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