ArchivedLogs:Tech Support

Tech Support
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Samuel
In Absentia	2013-06-07 '
Location <NYC> Hellfire Clubhouse - Upper East Side
Monochrome elegance at its finest: the Hellfire Club plays home to New York's elite, and has spared no expense in making that clear. Black and white marble tiles the floor, the pattern distinctly that of a chessboard. Rich wood paneling lines the walls, and the alcoves of the entry hall hold statues reminiscent of chess pieces. Meeting and dining halls provide plentiful space for the club's members to congregate, whatever their needs. The Hellfire's library, while far smaller than its ballroom in size, is far more prized in content. Hundreds of volumes line the meticulously tended shelves, the rarest kept carefully in climate-controlled cases under the watchful eye of the mansion's librarian. High-backed leather chairs and plush couches provide quiet reading spaces beneath soft lighting, and tall windows look out to the mansion's gardens beyond. The main ballroom of the mansion is vast and opulent, its ceiling vaulted and the balconies above curving gracefully away from the grand staircase -- an ideal place from which to Make An Entrance. The hallways that branch off from the staircase run in opposing monochrome: the stark white court's quarters to one side, the dark black court's quarters to the other. The hellfire clubs dining area is busy with members looking to be seen and to see, hoping to push their social network that inch further or simply to use the facilities. Its hard to tell which of these groups Samuel belongs to. He sits quietly at a table, coffee resting on the table. A first edition of the grapes of wrath in his hand. He seems to be giving it only passing attention though, his focus not clearly directed to casual observers. In fact hes currently taking in the electronic information flitting around the room. Reading emails, listening in to phone calls. Generally gathering information on those considered worthy of a place in the Hellfire Club. Lucien is here, though currently not so much electronically tethered as physically tethered; he is finishing up -- lunch? drinks? He doesn't seem to have much /food/ in front of him, just a tall flute of something bubbly -- a conversation with an elegantly-dressed woman at least two decades his senior, though she wears it well. Perfectly manicured nails, perfectly groomed auburn hair, flawless skin to go with her flawless summer-light cream suit. She bids him farewell with a kiss on the cheek; he returns it with one placed chastely to her knuckles. It's only then that he takes out his own cellphone, opening up email. Someone (a member of the club; a partner at a large law firm) asking him if he has time to meet the following Friday; another person (also a club member, this one the CTO of a quiet but quietly very successful company specializing in digital security) asking him the same, only /this/ evening. He answers the first in the affirmative (after opening his calendar to shuffle around appointments and /make/ it affirmative); he answers the second with a polite regretful-sounding negative: can they meet the following week instead? Through these his eyes are scanning the room with absent interest, taking stock of the others eating there. He himself is a face frequently seen around the club these days, and he /looks/ at least like he belongs, neat-tailored dove-grey slacks, crisp dress shirt, jacket draped off the back of his chair. Samuel wouldn't have cared much for the arrangements, if not for the fact that the CTO is of mild interest. They share similiar professions. It's also worth noting someone with extensive connections amongst the club. Samuel for his part wears, simple yet obviously tailored black pants and a white long-sleeved shirt. This becomes more apparent as he rises from his seat. The down side to Samuel's method of information gathering is it makes few contacts. Usually this isn't a problem. But it makes introductions difficult. His hand going to his own phone Samuel's soon made himself a nasty piece of code that will kill Lucien's phone. He settles back in his seat finishing his coffee as he waits. Lucien finishes one email and starts to compose a third -- this one, conveniently, /also/ to a Club member! Though not in the New York branch. The wife of a Californian congressman, who will be in town with her husband at the end of the month and wants to know if he might care to spend an evening with them during their stay? But he is halfway through his reponse when his phone freezes, his email refuses to send. He gives a quiet sharp frustrated exhale, tapping at the screen only for the phone to die entirely. This earns a deeper grimace, as he tries turning it back on to no avail. His lips compress, irritably. He downs the rest of his drink in one quick swallow, standing with a quick scrape of his chair legs against the floor. Samuel had made sure he to had risen from his seat and was crossing the room as Lucien's phone begins to fail. He 'notices' the problem and his attention turns to the other member of the club and he offers a slow nod. "Phone trouble?" He speaks in a relaxed English accent that just hints at sympathy. It's almost like flipping a switch, the shift in Lucien's expression between scowling at his phone and actually being addressed by another person. The scowl smooths over instantly, replaced by -- it's not /quite/ cheer, there is definite lingering /frustration/ beneath, but his quick smile is unhesitating, touching his brilliant green eyes with a warmth they did not hold before. "It is usually so reliable," he laments, holding up the dead phone before slipping it into his pocket. "I suppose everyhing has their bad days, technology included." Shrugging Sam nods to Lucien. "It doesn't take much." He pauses a moment. "I'm Samuel Griffith. If you'd like I can take a look at the phone for you? I'm fairly good with such things." It's an understatement anyone who does their homework on the clubs members would know that. "Mr. Griffith," Lucien extends the hand that had just held his phone, for a handshake. "I do not believe we have met. Lucien Tessier. 'Fairly good' is hardly doing yourself justice, if your reputation is to be believed." His other hand is retrieving his phone again. "I'd hate to presume on your time, but I admit this thing is somewhat of a /lifeline/ for my work." Shaking the offered hand Samuel smiles faintly. "It's no trouble. It's what I do after all." He'll extend a hand to take the offered phone. "I'm better with software than I am hardware, but I'm pretty sure I can manage to figure out what's wrong with a phone." He shrugs a shoulder. "Though I probably shouldn't say too much until it's fixed." Lucien's handshake comes with a subtle thread of feeling, chemical rather than empathic; it's not easy to notice but it is quietly cheering, a faint whisper-trace of happiness, contentment, well-being. Easy enough to chalk up to his easy-warm smile, his easy-warm manner. "I would appreciate it, certainly," he says, turning the phone (a Galaxy S4) over to Samuel. "Better with software than with hardware, perhaps -- though from what I have heard of your genius with software, that still leaves quite a high bar." Samuel smiles faintly as he works on the phone. He opens it quickly enough checking the hardware and shaking his head. "I suspect it's a software issue." He sounds thoughtful for a moment. A faint frown forms as he attempts to consider how to resolve the problem. Then he's removing his own phone, it would seem he carries all the leads with him. "Hmm, I can probably reboot your system. You shouldn't lose any data, but I can't promise anything..." He frowns thoughtfully. "I've no way of knowing what I'm working with." He shrugs a shoulder. "Alternatively you can send it away and see what Samsaung can do." It's obvious by his tone that he thinks that would be a bad idea. Lucien's fingers flutter in a dismissive wave. "Google holds all the important information," he says with a hint of amusement, "if /they/ explode, my life will get a lot more difficult. But the phone itself has nothing irreplacable. Just a convenient /link/ to -- well. Basically," his tone skews a little wry, "my entire life. Honestly, I don't even know what happened. I was doing nothing out of the ordinary, it just up and died." Nodding Sam's soon got their phones connected via a wire. It's only a brief check before he's grinning. To the outside world it would seem he's cured the virus through the use of his phone, in practice however, he's simply made its anti-virus. He shrugs a shoulder. "There we go, everything should be fine." He smiles faintly. "However if you do have any more problems let me know." He removes one of his business cards as he puts his phone and the leads away. "-- That quickly?" Lucien's eyebrows raise, to all appearances impressed with his phone's speedy recovery. "Goodness, you might well be some sort of wizard." He reaches to take his phone back, his smile quick and warm again. "My thanks. You are somewhat of a lifesaver. I can see why people speak so highly of you. Though, ah," he adds, a little bit more sheepish, "the sorts of thing your /company/ does are far more impressive than mending a recalcitrant cellphone." Shrugging Sam smiles. "It was a simple bug.... Nasty, but simple." He then chuckles as he looks at Lucien. "We deal with secruity threats to systems. True phones aren't usually in that list, but it's the same field." He chuckles a little. "And I thought the whole point of this club was to make contacts who could help you?" "It is, indeed," Lucien answers that with a hint of amusement. He slips his wallet out of his pocket, his card out of his wallet, an elegant black business card with simple clean typeface. 'Lucien Tessier', and a phone number beneath in one corner, an email address -- @ hfc.org; he apparently /works/ for the club rather than is just a member -- at the other. "Which, it so happens, is something of /my/ specialty, around here. I work it --" There's the faintest hesitation before he finishes, "-- networking. I should let you return to your coffee, but if you need anything around the club, do not hesitate to contact me." His head tips in a thankful nod, smile still warm. He's already opening up his email again as he turns to collect his jacket from his seat. Work still calls.