ArchivedLogs:Code Check

Code Check
Dramatis Personae Doug, Dusk	2013-08-12 '
Location <NYC> 503 {Doug} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is, for the most part, laid out like most of the others in the building. A small entryway opens up into a living area occupied by a worn-looking leather sofa covered in a multi-colored afghan. In front of that, a low cost-effective coffee table is generallly littered with tech and gaming magazines, post-it flags stuck to various pages. The kitchen is separated from the living area by a bar-island with two high stools. Down a small hallway, two doors stand face to face, vigilant in keeping the bedrooms beyond secure, while a third, facing the living room, leads to the bathroom. Throughout the apartment, various gaming posters have been framed and hung carefully, most of them classic arcade titles. The final stages of any project are exciting -- the thrill of seeing it all come together, and knowing that it works without a hitch. Or at least as few hitches as possible. Then it's time for kicking back and taking a moment to admire the result of your hard work. The Lofts security project is...not at that stage. Not quite, anyway. But it's close. Close enough that Doug has probably lost a little (not all) sleep over the last twenty-four hours, in an attempt to make up for time lost in Westchester. (The bonus of having gone to Westchester being the fact that his fridge is /packed/ with all kinds of home-made food. Seriously.) He's called in Dusk to work out the final bits and pieces with him, and now at least two of the three laptops on the coffee table are dedicated to this task, as well as the tablet the blonde is working on at his desk. Dressed in a pair of red soccer shorts and a thin white tank-style t-shirt, his face is a mask of concentration as he communes with the device in his hand -- and the others, probably, since they're on the same network. Currently, one of the engaged laptops on the coffee table is flashing random video feeds from Tompkins Square Park, tagging non-weapon items with pings in an open dialogue box at the bottom. /Every/ non-weapon item. "I can't get the FRS to make the distinctions," Doug mutters, frowning at the screen darkly. "The damned program is playing dumb." He makes a noise of frustration, and shakes the tablet. "Stop that. We /wrote/ you." Dusk is tucked up onto the arm of the couch as Doug sits at his desk; he's looking at much the same information on his own laptop. Dressed casual in camouflage cargo shorts, no shoes, no shirt, wings folded in against his back and their tips draped down over the side of the sofa's arm. The heavy shadows of his expression stand in sharp contrast to the pallor he otherwise wears, but his eyes are alert and focused. Possibly with the help of the bottle of Bawls in his hand; there are /several/ more empty ones gracing Doug's trashcan already. "And fuck, but we might need this to work sooner rather than later," he's half muttering to himself. His screen is cluttered, video streaming to one window, a terminal opened over top of it, a notepad over top of /that/ with long lines of Doug's code in a bright array of colours. "This is bullshit, man, you've got it /right/ here set to -- I don't see /any/ problem with your --" His words cut off in another chug of Bawls. "You know it's going to be some crap like a missing close paren," he says wryly, absently tapping at his keyboard to tab through lines. "Ugh," Doug rubs at his eyes, and reaches to slide open his desk drawer, pulling out a pair of thick-framed Buddy Holly glasses and slipping them on. "If we have to run through this code backwards, line by line, I'm not going to be pleased about it." Which is probably needless to say, but there it is. The teenager pokes his finger at his tablet's screen, sliding his own dialogue box a bit wider and beginning to scan through the information. Dusk's mutter gets a sharp glance at the couch, and a knit of Doug's eyebrows. "Things getting that bad?" he asks, his tone indicating that he might be reluctant to hear the answer. And, because it is what they do when people are frustrated, here is Alt, leaping over the back of the couch and sniffing at Dusk with a curious look. The calico works her way daintily down the arm of the couch to butt her tiny head against Dusk's laptop with a rumbly little purr. Doug's mouth twitches into a smile, but he keeps his conversation about the project at hand. "I'm also thinking of adding one more fish-eye camera on the roof," he says. "Pointing straight up. In case of helicopters or whatever." "Pissed off the military lately. They might actually /send/ helicopters." Dusk sounds tired at this. He gulps at the drink again. "But I don't know. Might be reluctant to make a /scene/ in the middle of the Village. /Ugh/." Ugh is coincidentally timed with Alt's arrival, but it's likely not directed /at/ the cat; her nuzzling earns a stretch of fuzzy wing to both gently nudge her away from his laptop but also rub in soft petting against her chin. "Gaah, fuck it." His fingers fly over the keyboard, "I apologize in advance don't /hit/ me when you look at this it is the hackiest piece of crap I have ever puked out. We can make it /pretty/ later. Well, okay, /you/ can make it pretty later, I don't think I'm good enough. -- Restart it, try again?" Alt is in cat heaven, extending her jaw to grind it against the fuzzy wingtip a few times. Then she's moving as if to step into Dusk's lap, peering at him curiously, as if she's seeking permission. "Pissed off the military?" Doug asks, his eyes on the screen as he skims fingers across the surface. "That doesn't sound promising." He wrinkles his nose. "I'll put the camera up there as soon as we get this sorted." When Dusk tells him to restart, there's a slide of his fingers, and every machine currently on the network reboots without warning, windows suddenly sliding closed in studied succession. When they come up again, the security program opens automatically, showing the same video thumbnails, only without the obnoxious pings. Doug's eyebrows pop, and he makes a 'huh' noise. "Hey, I think that's got it," he says, smiling suddenly. "What did you do..." the corners of his mouth tug downward thoughtfully as he opens the program. "No. But it was necessary. I don't -- think it --" Dusk exhales, tired, frustrated. "Flicker came home half-dead again. This is getting really --" He gulps down some of his soda, watching as the video feed on his screen reboots. "Holy /shit/ yes." This is exhausted but immensely /relieved/. He copies the section of code he added in, pasting it over to IM it to Doug with a /sheepish/ half-smile. "Sorry, it might hurt your brain. Like I said this is hacky as /shit/ but -- it kinda does sort of what we want for now? I -- can't actually tell if it's going to freak the hell out if it hits something it can't identify but we'll just have to let it run for a while and /see/." Doug looks up at the information on Flicker, and he furrows his brow deeply. "You guys...." he says, but lets whatever admonition he might have had die on his lips, shrugging a bit. "You should be more careful," he offers, instead; an earnest offering that comes with a tight smile. "I like my friends in the 'safe and healthy' category." When his IM opens, he looks back at the screen, and his face lights up. "Oh, shit," he says, like a gamer who's just stumbled on a hidden room. "Yeah, I see what you did, there." His fingers begin skimming over the surface of the laptop. "It's actually not that bad," he says. "I mean, it's a bit 'ugh ugh caveman', but if I move this over here, and add a clarifying string here...." he falls silent, and his gaze goes blank for a couple of minutes as his fingers slow on the tablet. There's a bit of a grimace that works across his face as it slowly darkens in a flush with the effort. By the time he finishes, his fingers are shaking on the tablet. When his gaze re-focuses wearily, he slides it over to Dusk and sighs deeply. "There," he says, and slides his fingers over the screen, sending the new code to Dusk. "Take a look at that, and tell me what you think. Same result, just...prettier." He offers a small smile, and sets the tablet on the desk before stands wobbily and heads for the kitchen. "Now I need an aspirin." "I know. I mean, it's -- he's --" Dusk hesitates, lifting his hand to rub his palm against his cheek. "He gets the worst of it, so often. Because he's /useful/ and sometimes -- sometimes really necessary. To get away quick. But the more he goes in after people the more he --" His wings fold in tight against his shoulders, and his pale face has managed still further pallor, something uncomfortably /nauseated/ in his expression. "Sorry. This -- he wasn't even /supposed/ to be in much fucking danger this time." His head shakes, his jaw tightening. His wing nudges at Alt gently, and he pushes his laptop further back on his knees to give her more space on his lap. As Doug looks over the code and makes his adjustments, he just focuses on the calico, fingers rubbing underneath her chin now. "Oh -- shit, yeah," he says, when Doug is done, "thaaaat's /way/ cleaner. And probably won't implode on us if someone strolls through with an unacceptably pointy umbrella. Now I guess we just let it run for a while and see /how/ sensitive it is. If it's pinging us on tennis racquets and super soakers we can tune it down somewhat. Sorry." This last he adds a little bit sheepishly, as Doug heads for the kitchen. "My code is usually a giant mess. I've never actually taken -- classes really." Alt makes herself at home in Dusk's lap, kneading her paws lightly and shoving her chin into those scratching fingers. Perhaps her happiness is a lure, because then Delete wanders out from the bedroom, offering a maiou before he's heading towards the couch to examine the newcomer by sniffing at his pants lightly. From the kitchen, Doug makes a pained noise. "I get why you guys do what you do," he says as he opens a cabinet and extracts a bottle of aspirin marked as being migraine-strength. "I mean, if I had more combatty powers, I would totally be right there with you. But still." He makes a face, and twists open the bottle to shake three pills into his hand and slaps his hand over his mouth, dry-swallowing them. "I think we'll be okay," he says wincing a bit as he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. "For self-taught, that code was pretty brilliant. But, like you said, we'll let it run for a couple of days, and see what it does. I added your phone to the contact numbers in its alert program, to make monitoring it easier." He makes a zooming motion with his hand. "Especially when you might not have your laptop handy." Dusk quirks a small fanged smile at Delete, shifting one foot to rub at the cat's belly with his toes. "Wait, when I don't have my laptop handy? What bizarre universe would /that/ be in?" There's a light joking note to his voice, his smile briefly pushing back the previous worry. "Oh -- oh, I'm not -- I mean, I've never taken a /formal/ class. I picked up a lot from my mom growing up. So -- kind of taught? But then I just started winging it." He rubs at Alt's chin again, relaxing as the cats close in on him. "Once it's been test-running a couple days I guess we figure out who else we have it alert." He closes his eyes, head stretching slow and lazy from one side to the other. "Thanks. This is -- pretty freaking awesome. You should sleep for, like, the next week." "Still," Doug says, uncapping the bottle and raising it. "You've got some serious raw talent. You should get a class or two more under your belt. Hell, /I/ can teach you, if you want." He grins, and takes a swig of his water before he saunters back into the living room. "Yeah," he says of the program, nodding and grinning at his cats, who are complete whores for Dusk-lovings. "I'll give you full admin status on the shadownet, so you can add other users as you guys think of them." The thanks gets a faint blush, and he lifts his shoulders. "Hey, like I said, I like helping my friends. If this is how I can use my abilities to keep all of us safe, I'm more than happy to do it." He chuckles. "Although, I /will/ probably sleep until classes start again." "I keep meaning to check out a few courses on coursera or MIT's open courses but just -- one thing after another and I don't seem to find the brainspace, you know?" Dusk continues his petting, falling into absent habit as his attention drifts away. "If you've got time I'd love to sit down and learn. You would probably cringe if you saw some of the spaghetti code I've turned out sometimes." His smile returns, wider than before, a quick flash of fangs. "I wouldn't blame you. I'll wake you up when the semester starts." His eyes track Doug's progress back to the living room, and then drop to the cat in his lap. "It's a pretty awesome way, really. Being a hero doesn't always have to be flashy and full of -- blood." Doug grins. "I've always got time to talk about computer nerd junk," he says. "And you just need some...fine tuning." He flops in an armchair, and kicks his feet out, nodding at the observation on heroes. "Oh, I know," he says. "It's just sometimes I feel like..." he wrinkles his nose. "Like people don't think much of me as a mutant, because my power's really passive, compared to others." He smiles, and holds up a hand. "And I know that it's not. It just feels that way, sometimes." There's a chuckle. "The freak among the freaks, or whatever." He waves a hand, and flashes teeth in his next grin. "Although, after hearing the stories you guys bring back, and seeing the aftermath...passive definitely has its advantages." "I don't think that's true," Dusk says, thoughtfully, "though I get how it can feel like that. There's definitely always this --" One of his wings lifts and falls in a shrug. "Disconnect? I don't know. Just everyone's experiences are so different, and I guess sometimes that's enough to make people forget all the places it's the same, too." His smile curls a little wider and a little more crooked at the last statement. "Oh god yeah. I mean -- we always need a tech guy. And there's a definite plus in making it through with all your body parts still attached." Doug grins. "Yeah, it's probably a habit out of high school," he says with a scrunch of his nose. "I'm getting better about it, though. Especially when I've done two awesome things in a row." He rests the bottle on his stomach, lacing his fingers around it. "Hey, I am intensely fond of all my parts," he says playfully. "I am glad to keep them around as long as I can." His stomach growls, then, and he furrows his brow. "Crap. What time is it?" He glances around for a clock, and comes up empty. "I'm starving. We should totally order Chinese food to celebrate, and wreck some old school Nintendo." "They're good parts." Dusk grins over at Doug. "You should keep 'em. -- Oh, /man/." His eyes light at the thought of dinner and video games, and he leans forward (producing a sliiiightly squished Alt) to swipe his finger across his mousepad, waking his computer screen up again so that he can pull up foodler and bring up a list of restaurants. "That sounds like pretty much the best thing ever. -- Hey, you busy tomorrow? I'm ditching being a teenager and my birthday's conveniently /on/ Game Night so I don't have to plan a party." He pages through menus, and then grins up at Doug. "/Tell/ me you have Contra." Doug blushes at the compliment, and shifts his attention towards his game center -- because that's all can really be called, with everything that's piled around the television. "I am totally free tomorrow," he says with a grin. "/Now/." He chuckles, and sits up. "I'll even bring some awesome snacks." He hops up at the question, and waves a hand. "My man, I have any Nintendo game worth having," he says, moving to his desk and opening the deepest drawer. "I have trolled many an ebay auction to find the /very/ best. I even have some Japanese games that never made it to the American company." He waggles his eyebrows, and waves a hand at the laptop. "You order the food, and I'll get the game set up." "Now. Right. OK, /after/ Game Night you gotta sleep for a month, though." Dusk flashes Doug a quick smile. His eyes skip over the game center, but then turn to the screen -- as irresistible as the call of gaming is, there is also a pressing need for gaming /fuel/. It's important to keep priorities straight.