ArchivedLogs:Ringtones and Bad Guy Files
| Ringtones and Bad Guy Files | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-02-16 Peter tracks down his purloined iPhone but Shelby is a dirty cheater. |
| Location
<NYC> Busboys and Poets - East Harlem | |
A quiet, artsy spot nestled away on a side street in East Harlem, Busboys and Poets combines cafe and bookstore in a way a Starbucks tacked on to a Barnes & Noble could never achieve. The food is a solid, multi-national cuisine menu that caters to all kinds of dietary choices, and its fair-trade tea menu is extensive. Its weekend brunch tends to draw a large crowd, but there is ample enough seating both at tables and on its many comfortable armchairs and couches that at other times of the week there is never a wait. The walls are adorned with the work of local artists, and tucked in among and alongside the couches are rows upon rows of books, with a definite slant towards the political and the bohemian.
In her hands? The iPhone she scored last night. It is clear she's not a long-time Apple fan. The girl is fiddling with the phone too much to be entirely comfortable with its functions. There are numerous puzzled pauses, time spent poking or swiping then swearing quietly before she backtracks to poke and swipe again. Every now and again the thing is shaken. As that will help. Ha. Two things become transparently obvious within a few minutes of fiddling with the phone: Someone has taken great pains to make sure there's *nothing* incriminating on it (not that Shelby would even know where to look! But the phone has been 'jail-breaked', which is a fancy way of saying that the warranty has been voided--and it can now run 'unapproved' software. Someone's run a lot of unapproved software on it--including software that makes identifying the original owner (contact information, phone numbers, even email addresses!) all but impossible. The second thing that becomes rather obvious: Whoever owns this thing is a *massive* nerd. We're talking ultra-nerd, here. The background is a shot of a LOTR poster; all the bookmarks are things like wikipedia articles on DC superheroes or something. The phone ring is the BATMAN theme song--the original one with Adam West ("NANANANANANAnananana... BATMAN!"). There are also a lot of links on it to 'SPIDERMAN' forums. Through hunting it curiously in a host of confusion, though, Shelby *may* come across a folder labeled 'TOP SECRET BAD GUY FILES'. No, seriously. That's what Peter calls it. Who could resist? It may take Shelby awhile to get to the TOP SECRET area of the phone, but there's something to be said for mindless swiping--sometimes it turns up the oddest things. After changing the ringtone to Taylor Swift's "Safe & Sound", further prodding brings her to something even better than fucking around with geeklove. The humming, melodic though it is, trails off to an unfinished end as she grows a little more intent on the phone's contents; the rest of the cafe may as well not even exist. Poke, swipe, shake, she's going to check those files out, thank you. And then... whoa. There's a lot of files in here. Just... *look* at them all! Most have more extensions than she even knew existed, but there's a file folder right at the top called 'HURGH BLURGH NORMAN OSBORN IS A JERK'. Yes, again: Peter actually named it that. If she clicks on that file folder (it's the only one that has a name she can probably recognize), she's immediately faced with an *.avi file entitled 'PROJECT SENTINEL'. Double-clicking on *that*... well. Whether she makes a move to do so, she'll hear a voice--suddenly, right above her: "That is *so* rude. And I totally saved your life, too! Okay, I guess I'm the one who put it in danger, but that *still* counts." He's... wearing that red ski-mask and set of yellow goggles again. A few people are staring at him, but they've probably seen weirder things than a short kid with a mask and a backpack. Shelby is a little slow with the clicking, since there's reading to be done. Most of it is Greek to her--and she lacks Doug's handy ability to read or speak nonsense--so there is a gradual crumpling of her forehead. "Fucking geeks," she mutters just as her thumb shifts to hover above the .avi file--and then bam, busted! The girl squeaks...and stuffs the phone down the front of her t-shirt, hiding it in her bra. Because if there's one place a teenage boy is least likely to go hunting, it is in a girl's bra. "What the fuck, so it's polite to sneak up on people? Jesus Christ, you scared me to death. /Again/." She proves it too, by folding her hands over heart and illicit iPhone, lest either try to escape in her panic. "Shouldn't you be like hiding from the cops or something, dude?" His mask and goggles are given the most skeptical and scornful of looks. "You're pretty shit at hiding, huh?" "What? I am *awesome* at hiding." When the kid sees where she puts the iphone, he *hops* backwards, landing on top of a chair in a crouch--on top of the *back* of the chair. It's a flimsy thing, probably quite capable of falling over at the slightest prompting--and yet somehow, he's remaining perfectly perched atop of it, like this sort of balancing act is the easiest thing in the world. He promptly points at her--well, at her bra. "That's--that's *cheating*!" he says. "No fair! You're not allowed--augh! Listen! I *need* that phone! It has all my stuff on it! Plus, evil bad guy files! Do you want the evil bad guys to win?!" Several more people are staring. As if noticing this for the first time, Peter hops off the back of the chair, back on his feet. "...right, right, not in public," he mutters to himself. "/Dude/!" Shelby sounds both startled and exasperated. Not for the accusations of cheating, because she clearly is, but for his chair-hopping antics. She flicks a more than nervous glance at the staring patrons. "What the fuck are you doing? You're gonna get us thrown out." Because that's the main issue here, right? She swings her feet around to the floor and bends down--the iPhone doesn't appear, it must be wedged in there good--to scoop up the jacket she'd left discarded on the ground. It's spun around her shoulders and shrugged into, adding one more layer between Peter's objective and his sticky fingers. "Look," Shelby is saying as she zips the coat up, "I don't even know that this /is/ your phone. Someone else could've dropped it and you could be trying to rip me off 'cause iPhones are sweet. Hell, I bet you don't even know what the ringtone is." "Look I'm new at this, alright? I mean, this is a learning process for me! So I'm making some mistakes--it's not like Superman never fried anyone with his heat vision before he figured out how this stuff works!" And then, cocking his head as she puts on that coat--gingerly hopping after her, slow and carefully. "Of *course* it's mine! I followed the GPS to here--and... ringtone? Well, *duh*! It's the best ring-tone *ever*. Nanananana-nananananana-nananananana-BATMAN!" He does the whole thing, right in the middle of the place, without a single ounce of shame. Even throws out his hands at the end with a little 'ta-da'. Shelby is unimpressed by his performance. She rolls her eyes to make the point. "No, it isn't." Ohh, the smug. It burns! With that parting shot, the girl shoves her hands into her pockets and proceeds towards the exit. She strolls as if she were a lady leaving a dainty pinky-in-the-air afternoon tea, rather than a klepto with a hugely important phone shoved into her bra. Teenage girls, man. Can't live with them, can't kill them and dump their body in the bay. "Besides," she's saying as she shoves the door open and exits into the chilly Saturday sunlight, fully expecting Hoppy back there to be following at close range, "even if it /was/ your phone, and it's not, but even if it /was/, I think maybe I deserve a little somethin' for having my Friday night completely fucking /ruined/. My tongue bled for like, /all/ night /and/ I didn't get to go dancing /and/ who's gonna hook up with a girl who's got a bloody fucking tongue? /No/ one, that's who. So it's your fault." Yes, Peter follows. Hopping after her like some hyperactive puppy, bouncing while waving his arms frantically. If she had it in a pocket, or in her hands, or *something*, he could just pluck it off of her--or at least try! He's been practicing his sleight-of-hand tricks. But while it's within the confines of that bra, he *dare* not make the attempt. "Oh my God you're *impossible*," he informs her, hopping along with her outside into that chill. "Okay! Fine! Compensation: You can totally be my sidekick. The amazing Spider and... whoever you are. We'll be a duo. I jump over cars, you steal phones. Together, we fight crime." Then: "I *really* need that phone back. Like, seriously. Those murder-drones were just the tip of the iceberg--look I realize you probably think I'm going all conspiracy-theory here, but I think," and now his voice drops lower as he bobs close, whispering: "I think those things are designed to kill *mutants*." His quarry is practiced at ignoring bouncing, flailing and waving--or she's really good at pretending those things aren't happening. It helps that she's a cheaty mccheaterson who is secure in the knowledge that he probably won't make a grab for the second holiest of holies. Ah, self-confidence. It is a good thing to have. But that goes out the window when Peter whispers what he does. Shelby comes to an abrupt stop--quickly enough he risks bumping into her--and spins around to study his face with slitted eyes. "I'm no one's sidekick, okay? This isn't a fucking comic book, dude. It isn't a /game/. You think some stupid costume makes you Batman? Jesus /fuck/, dude." This time it's Shelby who makes with the flailing, tossing her hands up in exasperation. "So, listen. If those things are meant to kill freaks, you're gonna tell me /why/ you think that, and what the hell last night was about, and /why/ I almost got blowed up, okay? And then /maybe/ I'll give you your stupid phone back." When she mentions that this isn't a comic book, Peter stops bouncing; when she mentions it isn't a game, he seems to deflate. And when she tells him he *isn't* Batman... ohman it's like she just kicked a puppy. "I--um, I know," he says, shuffling awkwardly, before adding: "Just--" Now, he's glancing nervously around the street. A few people look his way, but again--it's not like he's the *oddest* thing they've seen. "I don't have a lot of time to explain. I... I think I *am* in a lot of trouble. But--did you open the file, 'PROJECT SENTINEL'?" He adds, then: "Look, um, I'm really sorry about nearly blowing you up, I *totally* want to make that up to you, but I need to get the files on that phone to someone really important because he has to help his friends and I think something on there will tell him where they are." Shelby must roll strong against puppies because she is unmoved. She even folds her arms across her chest, further barring access. It's hard, being a nerd. "If you're in trouble, then tell me, dude. Look, I'm a freak too. If there's shit out there programmed to kill me? I wanna /know/." She lacks the mask, the physical mutations, /anything/ to prove her claim. But if he'll stop fidgeting and look at her, he will see a bird's head appear at the collar of her coat. It clings to her skin, skimming up her throat, her jaw and finally coming to rest against her cheek, its neck descending down to presumably meet with a body that would fit over her shoulder. It's a firebird, all soft oranges, reds, and yellows, with a sleepy ruby eye that opens to blink at the boy. "So convince me." Peter stops--and gawks. It's hard to see his eyes through those goggles, but he's *staring* at her--the image--transfixed. As it moves, she might catch him suck in a breath--then a quiet 'oh wow'--then, finally, a mumbled: "That's so cool..." For a while, he's just peering at it, bald-faced and brazen, making no bones about being transfixed. He seems to have even forgotten what they were talking about. Then, she says 'convince me', and he gives a start. "Huh? Oh--oh! Oh, oh it's..." Deep breath. "--there's a bunch of scary people doing experiments on mutants, but some of them escaped and they're living in the city but the people who captured them want them back and there's this company named Oscorp who works with them--the scary people--and last night I broke into their--Oscorp's--lab despite that being an *insanely* bad idea and they sent murder-drones after me but not before I got a bunch of their files and I think that the location of the scary people base where some of the ones who *didn't* escape is on those files and if anyone like the police finds out people might die and oh GOD there's a police car," Peter exclaims, and there suddenly is, just smoothly cruising down the street, but it is clear Peter is about two seconds from leaping up the side of a building. Staring is something she'd ordinarily welcome; at the moment she just tolerates that awe. And then it takes serious concentration to make sense of this babble. /Serious/. Fortunately Shelby is up to the task--until the word police. She shoots a look over her shoulder and then reaches out to grab Peter's hand. Nothing wrong with her reflexes, so long as murder-drones aren't involved. Or maybe it was the night blindness. Now, at least, she's quick enough to pull the boy around the corner of the cafe. It isn't the least suspicious move in the world but... Shelby ducks in after him, shoulder pressed to the wall and head tilted to follow the course of the squad car down the street. After a moment, she decides, "I don't think they saw us." Which means he's back on the hook. She pivots to study his mask-face again, forehead all scrunched up. "You're talking about the labs. Where they cage us up and poke at us like rats, huh? /You/ managed to get in and find all this?" He'll have to forgive her for sounding mildly skeptical. "You're what, twelve? Jesus. You're gonna get yourself fucking /killed/, man. You almost got /me/ killed, pulling this stunt. You shouldn't be doing this." "Ack!" Peter's pulled into the alleyway with only mild resistance--he is not used to being the one pulled around by people. He is very light--but also, very dense. Underneath the coat, he feels hard and lean. When he's pulled around that corner, caught against the wall, his eyes pop open wide beneath those goggles, and... "I'm *fifteen*!" he squeaks, sounding almost indignant. "--I don't think it was one of those laboratories. Not the *really* bad ones," he explains, taking in a slow breath. "I think it was... Oscorp is a military defense contractor. They build weapons and stuff. I think they're... they're using the data from the *other* places. To build... to build anti-mutant weapons?" Then: "I just... I just don't want anyone to get killed or prodded or poked and I had to do *something*, and I found a security card, and--and I didn't screw everything up, did I? Please tell me I didn't screw everything up," he says, and he sounds desperate, as if he is suddenly terrified that he might have made everything much, much worse. Shelby manages to keep the hard expression in place for a little longer but eventually the pathetic wears her down. She sighs, she glances away and she rubs at her eyes. "Jesus fuck," the teen mumbles. "Look...no. I mean, /yeah/, you kinda screwed up. You got the cops looking for you and that's a /big/ fucking screw up. You're not exactly hard to notice, y'know?" She indicates the mask and goggles combo with a flick of her hand. "And all that bouncing around...but if you got something good, and you have someone to give this shit to who can /do/ something about it," and it is clear here that she means he should not be doing something about it, "then maybe it'll be okay in the end. Even if /you/ end up getting /arrested/." Having given her judgment of the situation, she zips her coat down and plunges a hand into her shirt to retrieve the phone. When drawn out, it's wagged at him. "You maybe wanna think about laying low, Mister Spider. Seriously. /Without/ the mask. People /notice/ masks. You think anyone's gonna notice me? No. 'Cause I don't look like anything." "*I* think you look like something," he squeaks, and then suddenly his hand is snapping out--whoacrazyfast--to attempt and snag that phone right out of her waving hands, so quick it might come off like a magic trick. Then: "They're shipping some of the stuff to the *nasty* lab, I think. To test it? The anti-mutant stuff. And the shipment manifests--they're on here. Address, too, I think." Then: "I know I can't save everybody on my own, I'm not even gonna try, but I'm gonna do something, and I think the mask is *totally* awesome and so is your power and I have to go deliver this really fast but thank you for not turning it over to the police. And, um, maybe I'll see you... around?" And then suddenly he's... on the fire-escape, above her head. Swinging up on a railing, jumping up to the next railing, up to the next--jumping over to a window-sill, bouncing off *that*, up to a roof-top--like a pinball--and then he's gone. Shelby is left shaking her hand--owthatwasfast--and squinting upwards. "...way to totally miss my point, dude," she mumbles. The firebird's head disappears beneath her coat again and she is left to sigh--completely ignorant of the similarities between how she is left feeling at the moment and how her own acquaintances must often be left feeling. | |
