ArchivedLogs:Aim to Misbehave

Aim to Misbehave
Dramatis Personae Anole, Tag
In Absentia	Friday, December 13, 2019 Anole and Tag make plans to decorate. Part of the Future Past TP.
Location <NYC> Clinton
Despite its rough and tumble reputation of old, Clinton has come far from the illegal gambling and shakedowns of Prohibition, and the gang warfare of West Side Story. Clinton has now become the industrial supply center for midtown Manhattan, with hospitals and the light industrial and commercial businesses required to support so many thousands of people. The neighborhood has become quite expensive, but many actors still cram together in small apartments due to its proximity to Broadway. The streets are quieter than they used to be. Not empty, not fully. Maybe later they will be, once it's after curfew, but for now there's still a few people, here and there, finishing up last-minute errands, returning home from work, getting in some holiday shopping while there's still time, grabbing dinner before the Sentinels start patrolling the streets in force. They're patrolling the streets already, of course. They always are, in smaller numbers, here and there -- more /there/ than /here/, just at the moment, which is why perhaps at the moment one lizardy shape feels emboldened to be lurking halfway up a wall near a bakery just about to close for the night. Anole is hard to make out, just at the moment, blended in to the dusty brown-black of the dirty brick, clothes and skin all mottled the same colours as the wall behind him. Motionless, except for the slow tick of his eyes as he watches the remainders of the days unsold food go into a dumpster. A small, slim man ambles across the rooftop of the bakery, hands stuck into the front pocket of his sky-blue Rainbow Dash hoodie as if hanging about on top of buildings were perfectly normal. His jeans are faded and threadbare, gaping holes at the knees exposing rainbow-striped leggings beneath, or perhaps very long socks. Red fringes fall across one of his eyes, and a closer look reveals locks of many other colors in the shadow of the hood. As he approaches the edge of the roof he crouches low so as to minimize his profile as seen from the ground, and he ducks even lower when the side door of the bakery opens and closes. His eyes linger on the dumpster longingly, but return to the street in short order as he produces a pair of binoculars from a pouch on his belt. These he aims over the low concrete wall and down the street, in the direction of a sentinel on patrol. The outline of a large dragonfly materializes on the robot's back as if drawn by an invisible hand. Shortly, this is filled in with shimmering iridescent blue, green, and purple. The Sentinel, none the wiser, trudges steadily on, and the man replaces his binoculars, re-settles the straps of his yellow backpack, and returns his attention to the bakery and its leavings. As he slinks down the fire escape, though, something catches his eye and he freezes, turning to scan the opposite wall for moment. Tag scampers down the rest of the way down, footfalls admirably quiet on the metal stairs. "Starving," he signs in reply, tucking himself beside the dumpster and looking up at Anole. "It's nowhere near like yours, but I've worked my own camouflage. No point breaking it out unless they're looking for me, though. Sentinels aren't programmed to look for bright colors alone." He pauses and extends a fist to bump. "Make any trouble lately?" The fist that bumps back against Tag's is enormous, armoured in thick scales and spiked at the tops of the knuckles with sharp spines. Anole slides down off the dumpster, unshouldering a large canvas sack from where it's slung over his back and opening up the bin to start pulling out plastic bags of pastries and sandwiches and shoving them in. "Pfft, you make trouble, I -- feel like I play more of a /support/ role in the --" He quiets, head tipping abruptly to listen to something in the distance; after a moment he speaks again. "-- troublemaking. Definitely helped /aim/ some trouble, though. What camoflauge?" "Hey, if you support the troublemaking, you're making trouble, too." Tag shrugs out of his backpack and begins stuffing it with discarded baked goods. "In case I never said before, you're welcome to aim me if you find a target I can paint. The camouflage..." He opts to show rather than tell, the the colors on his person from clothing to skin blurring subtly and shifting in irregular streams like a painting left out in the rain. It is gone as quickly as it started. "It screws with AI silhouette detection, but it draws attention from meat eyes. Also makes some people feel kinda sick." "How much trouble are you looking for? Because I found a way, um up? That gets you a real clear view of a whole charging station of Sentinels." Anole's smile is mischievous. "I think it'd be in range for -- woah." He does look a little disoriented at Tag's blurring, shaking his head slightly. "That's unreal." He slings the sack over his shoulder, closing the dumpster once it's emptied of its baked goods. "Could you screw with their optics? Because I could aim you at a whole lot of trouble while they're sleeping." Tag eyes flash from brown to magenta, and he grins bright and wide. "I am /so/ up for any trouble that doesn't involve tangling with Sentinels." He zips his backpack shut with tremendous enthusiasm and slings it back over his shoulder. "I could blind them all. Definitely worth it, even if only to keep them out of action for a little while." He bounces up onto tip toes. "I'm in." "Fantastic." Anole slips to the edge of the alley, eyes sliding one way then the other up the street before he scoots out to open a manhole cover. "C'mon. Food first I've got three families passing through to feed. /Then/ we'll redecorate." Tag falls in behind Anole, prancing more than walking. "If we got time, I'll paint their armor all up, too. They probably won't be able to afford replacing all that." He scampers down the ladder happily. "Make the season bright, eh?" "Got nothing but time." Anole grins, tucking the manhole cover back into place behind them. "And I'm feeling downright festive."