underline mastermind until your pencil breaks

[bestmachine.livejournal.com]

WHO: Two very swinging odd numbers. (bestmachine and tealnotburgundy)
WHERE: Cavil's apartment
WHEN: After this conversation, backdated to early last week.
SUMMARY: Cavil invites the newly arrived Doral to his apartment for one of those oh so classy Cylon meetings. They play catch-up. Schemes optional.
FORMAT: Quicklog

[Cavil's apartment - the real one - is located in a fairly respectable district on the south end of the city. It's far away from most of the shops and the distractions, but the streets are quiet and people don't ask questions. His apartment itself is sparsely, but thoughtfully decorated, with ultra-modern furniture and expensive wood floors. Each room has exactly what is needed of it. A single bed in the bedroom. A single couch in the living room. There are huge patches of empty floor. In that way, it resembles a Cylon Basestar, almost. Nearly empty, but entirely functional.

He waits on that single couch in the front room for the sound of the doorbell.]

Comments

[tealnotburgundy.livejournal.com]

[It doesn't take Doral too long to find the apartment, not after acquiring a street map at least. And after three flights of stairs, the cylon is finally in front of Cavil's apartment door. Knock, or doorbell? Doral briefly wonders if that's his way of coping with the logic of being dragged across time and space, before pressing the doorbell. Cavil was always good at explaining things, he was sure he'd get better answers than the ones he'd gotten on the network.]

[bestmachine.livejournal.com]

[He gets off the couch and checks the peephole first - no need to be sloppy. It's very satisfying to see the Five standing there, to know that he has at least one guaranteed ally. When he opens the door, he opens it just enough for Doral to slip inside.]

So glad that you could make it.

[tealnotburgundy.livejournal.com]

[Doral slips through the opening, automatically standing to one side. How strange it was that Cavil had apparently been in this place for eight months when he'd only just seen the cylon a few days ago. Any stranger and it would be headache inducing even for a cylon. Doral clasps his hands behind his back, peering over at the other and getting the feeling that he would be glad at least Cavil was around.]

It wasn't difficult to find. The streets here aren't that hard to navigate.

[bestmachine.livejournal.com]

[Cavil doesn't look all that different, either. If Doral pays attention, though, he might notice a scar peaking out from under his right sleeve. Remnants of a third degree burn, of an unfortunate failure after, admittedly, a very satisfying string of successes.

Cavil looks the other Cylon up and down. It's still a wonder, really, that the Porter brought him in. His gaze is critical, as though he can't quite believe his eyes, as though the Five in front of him could be a fake... but no, no, he's here. He's real. Cavil's posture relaxes. He closes the door.]

Mm. Very prompt, too. See, that's what I like about you Fives. Even in the face of great calamity, you're able to push forward. Get things done. Would you like to sit down?

[tealnotburgundy.livejournal.com]

[He lets the other cylon look him up and down without a sound; if he hadn't seen any other cylons for that long, he'd be doing exactly the same thing right about now. And as for the scar, it's easilly dismissed for the moment; it wouldn't be the first time a One had gotten into some sort of an issue with humans.]

No reason to be late. All my pressing engagements just got canceled. [The nicer way of saying ' I was busy and some frakking porter decided to drag me away from fixing the human race permanently'. He nods at the question, moving over towards the couch, but waiting for Cavil to sit first if the older cylon decides to.]

[bestmachine.livejournal.com]

[At Doral's response, he gives a brief, humorless laugh, and eases onto the couch.]

Very kind of the Porter, isn't it. Here we are, once again deemed slaves of the human race, told to fight for them as "heroes," to clean up a mess that doesn't belong to us. And by another machine, no less! It's almost too much. In fact, it is too much.

[tealnotburgundy.livejournal.com]

[Decides after a moment or two that he'll actually sit down, listening to Cavil's every word before putting his own opinion out there.]

It sounds like it. Though I don't recall agreeing to do anything when I arrived here. And the whole 'powers' thing sounds like a complete farce.


[ooc: Sorry for the late!]

[bestmachine.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on your situation - 'the whole powers thing' is completely true. The Porter - that's the machine that brought us here, by the way - has, for whatever reason, decided we'd all serve its needs best if we had some kind of supernatural, non-human ability under our belt. As it turns out, simply being a Cylon isn't good enough for it. We get something else.


[ooc: no prob!!]

[tealnotburgundy.livejournal.com]

[Looks just a little worried about that. Probably at the thought that he may possibly sprout two heads or something at some point. Settles for looking disturbed.]

I didn't even realize there was technology that could do that. Not that I feel much different from before arriving here. Perhaps we can use it to an advantage.

[bestmachine.livejournal.com]

[At 'use it to an advantage,' Cavil gives a knowing smirk. Advantage, indeed.]

Do me a favor, Five, and extend your right hand.

[tealnotburgundy.livejournal.com]

[Isn't suspicious at all, hasn't done anything that he knows of to piss Cavil off.]

Alright then. [Puts his right hand out.]

[bestmachine.livejournal.com]

[He leans forward to open the top drawer of the coffee table in front of them, and removes a single, steel tuning fork. He doesn't like to carry it around with him - the electronic version is far less messy - but it makes for a good practice, manipulating his powers with the weakest of notes.]

I'll tell you right now that this is going to feel a little strange, but it's nothing you can't handle.

[With that, he knocks the tuning fork against the table and rests it on its base, a steady A natural humming from the table. A split second later, and Doral might feel his right hand balling into a fist.]