Take your newfangled this, & your newfangled that; you can line them up & throw them overboard

[hacktivist]

WHO: Isaac (hypnosymphony) and Ghost (hacktivist)
WHERE: Isaac's MAC apartment
WHEN: Night of the 27th
WARNINGS: Two fail supervillains, probably nothing terrible.
SUMMARY: Breaking and entering becomes...bro-ing and entertaining?
FORMAT: Para to start



The Ghost wavered between what could be described as 'subtle infiltration' and 'very loud explosions' without very much in between - though in fairness, he hadn't destroyed a facility in months. In fact, currently he was in the famine stage of his feast or famine war on the evils of corporatocracy, but that didn't mean he wasn't constantly breaking the law. Or breaking and entering.

This Isaac Bowin he'd seen on the Network before. He seemed genial and friendly, he'd been in the City a long time--and he was working for one of the industrialists cut from similar cloth as Tony Stark (the one called Xanatos.) Xanatos hadn't given Ghost any reason to mistrust him, but he didn't need to; Ghost mistrusted all corporatists without exception.

And most, he distrusted.

But their employees were usually not the kind of people who had any place in his war. Collateral, not the top-men, and that was why he was nosing around the apartment of the musician, picking up papers and shuffling through them. The ex-engineer squinted at what appeared to be highly sophisticated blueprints for building some kind of instruments [?], then promptly dropped the paper when he heard the door. He could leave - but he didn't want to. He wanted to talk to Bowin, get a sense for who he was face-to-mask.

After all, Ghost worked with Stark, and Osborn. He would hate for someone to judge him by the company he kept.

Comments

[hypnosymphony]

Isaac's apartment is, simply put, a mess. He's never been the tidiest of people - subscribing to the 'organised mess' school of thought in college and never really curbing his tendency to absentmindedly drop a blueprint for something on a table in order to attend to something else currently taking pride of place on the fridge, or a chair - and now that he's actually working for someone his apartment looks like an oddly specific hurricane has whirled through it.

The only remotely organised items in sight are his folders - full of references and research - but even those are somewhat disorganised. He spends as much time flipping through them to find what he wants as he does putting new research in them, despite his unerring ability to remember where he's put everything in his apartment. He's somewhat old-fashioned, and finds taking notes by hand more appealing than typing them up.

Right now, though, he unlocks his door cheerfully, holding groceries, and starts packing them away without appearing to notice any disturbances.

"You know," he says, after a moment, "You could have just knocked. Unless you're an animal of some sort, though I consider that extremely unlikely, as my blueprints have been sorted through rather than trampled over in a search for food or a warm place to sleep."

[hacktivist]

Ghost lifted his head, touching the edge of the desk he was currently nearby to ensure he was still active in the world - still present and tangible. Sometimes he had trouble differentiating {nothing was real} but on the lucid days, the swings to the coherent side of the pendulum bade him check and make sure things were still where he'd left them.

He shifted phase to intangible with a pleasant buzz, and poked half through the wall to the kitchenette, hands and head and shoulders as he surveyed Isaac putting away his things.

"Your work is highly sophisticated."

As if this answers any of the aforementioned concerns like breaking in or rifling through things or anything even close to that.

[hypnosymphony]

He hardly blinks at Ghost's appearance, and it doesn't seem to give him pause as he finishes putting his groceries away.

"It is what I got hired for - though I admit it started off as more of a hobby than a passion. I had a knack. Very nice of you to say so, though."

It takes him a moment to prepare a cup of tea and wait for the water to boil before he actually says:

"Now, I'd like to know why you broke into my house while I was out instead of just using the door. It's not as if all this-" he indicates the mess with a sweeping hand gesture, "-is a secret, exactly."

[hacktivist]

He's secretly impressed (it's easy to be secretly everything when the only reveal is body language, face masked and voice distorted) by the utter aplomb with which Isaac handles his appearance. If the Fiddler's afraid he doesn't show it. Ghost drifts through the wall proper, and alights on the floor with a breathy laugh.

"Sorry. I didn't want to give you a chance to sanitize anything. This way I know I can trust you." But for that Isaac has no reason to trust him. "Your boss is an industrialist."

He says the word 'industrialist' like most people say 'cannibal'.

[hypnosymphony]

He's certainly seen stranger, and since it doesn't seem like he'll be harmed he has no reason to actually run out the door screaming.

"Ah. Well, it explains that, at least." He busies himself with the kettle as he talks, bizarrely cheerful for having an intruder ('unexpected guest', he'd say) in his house. He notes the tone of that one particular word. "Well, I've worked," he uses that word lightly, though, because Thinker was hardly his boss back then, "for less tolerable people. He's quite a nice man, all told."

[hacktivist]

"Hm." The 'hm' was careful, neutral, and then Ghost was darting back through the wall to retrieve one of the folded up blueprints, fingering across the lines, to straighten it out.

"I can get some parts for this."

It was both a statement and an offer, with reservation, though Isaac's friendliness was resonating with him already.

"...free of return obligation."

[hypnosymphony]

He watches Ghost zip through the wall with polite curiosity - some sort of technology, no doubt, but to be honest he wasn't very good with that sort of thing; sound was his passion and his expertise. It was still interesting to watch in action, though - technology really had advanced, and it was incredibly fascinating.

He looks surprised, when the other man offers. "Are you sure? I'm sure there's something I can do for you in return." He'd feel obligated anyway, even if he wasn't required to do Ghost a favour for getting him the parts.

[hacktivist]

"Nothing you wouldn't be doing. Keeping an eye on--your employer. Making sure you're prepared when he takes advantage of your creativity."

He sets the blueprints down delicately on the kitchen table, the ruby glinting optics fixing on the older gentleman.

"You are a genius. This world is hazardous to men like you."

[hypnosymphony]

"I appreciate your concern," he says, almost gently. That suit was certainly something extraordinary; by the way the other man is talking he wouldn't be surprised if it was something exclusively of his own design.

He does chuckle at the compliment, though - looking mildly embarrassed. "I'm no genius. As I said - I have a knack. The sciences and the arts overlap quite a bit in some areas, surprisingly.

And Xanatos...well. Time will tell - though I don't see a reason yet why he'd do so."

[hacktivist]

"You do not believe him to be a danger." Ghost says this in the manner of a man confirming a fact, rather than judging a perspective. Emotion is something that's hard for him to express overtly and even harder for him to understand in others. To evade this he drifts through the kitchen and snouts into a grocery bag.

"Hmmm..." He picks out an orange with both hands and holds it cupped there like it holds the secrets of the universe, fixing on the tiny produce label stuck on the skin before glancing over at Isaac again. "Is this what you eat regularly?"

[hypnosymphony]

"He has his secrets, yes, but I think we all do." He hadn't exactly had one big or secret enough to avoid the effects of Venezuela's delightful plague event, but still. They were there. "Some more than others. Besides, I made him a cake, and if I was the type of person to extract favours, he'd certainly owe me one."

He glances over at Ghost, who is now holding an orange and scrutinising it (he has to fight the urge to laugh). "Generally, yes. I like to cook - though not usually with fruit, unless it's a dessert. I find it relaxing."

[hacktivist]

Ghost chose not to acknowledge almost the whole part that humanized Xanatos in any way or form, because he was a man of extraordinarily specialized and stubborn prejudices. He threw the orange up into the air, tracked it intently and then caught it again, starting to cut off the peel of it with his clawtips.

"Local market or big chain? I recommend Foodtown. Retailers' cooperative." He wasn't explicitly ordering--he rarely did that. As much as he valued autonomy for himself he understood it for others, as well.

And finished unraveling the orange peel all in one big long string, holding out the orange proper to Isaac, "I have run a battery of scans on this. It is safe."

[hypnosymphony]

Isaac cheerfully doesn't notice, glancing over again as the orange is tossed up in the air.

"Oh, local. They usually have open-air markets on the weekend. It's quite nice, and I think it's good to support the local businesses. It's the least I can do, as an Import." He smiles, somewhat sheepishly; he's nothing if not sensitive to political climates, and while he's not easily identified as a non-native to the City, he knows how much trouble their presence has brought.

"Oh-- thank you." He takes the orange, idly tossing it from hand to hand, not wanting to eat it yet. He's not quite in the mood for fruit. "You know, I don't think you've told me your name yet."

[hacktivist]

"I-..."

Ghost hesitated, torn between continual aloofness which was easy for him, and trying to slot in what he had keyed into his suit as appropriate social banter. hello how are you fine how are you nice weather read any books on sociopolitical anarchism lately

And found that he was satisfied with the way this conversation was going. Enough to try.

"Ghost. What is your preferred designation?"

[hypnosymphony]

"Ghost. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, then - even if this was an unexpected meeting." He gives him another smile. "My name is Isaac - Isaac Bowin. Though seeing as you knew my apartment number and my job, I'm sure you would have divined my name by now. You can call me just Isaac, if you'd like."

He's settled now; the surprise has worn off. There's only an imperceptible change as he relaxes a little, leaning against the kitchen bench - holding the orange in one hand while he idly eases out a sheaf of sheet music from the unruly clutches of a fruit bowl with the other, rifling through it in a practiced way.