Capture my best side.
Thursday, 17 January 2013 11:55![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouStewing about it's not gonna solve shit.
17 January, 2013
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (37% full).
Flint's on monitor duty at the moment, but he's not holed up in the office. Or reading a book. Today, Flint is drawing, with one of the monitors set up by the couch and the larger sketchbook across his lap. What he's drawing is recognisable as well, the Wyld-dragon from the Revel when he was a cub, an outline sketched in pencil and only starting to be shaded in, detail lines appearing. He's got his headphones in as well, but he's paying enough attention to the monitor, if not to his surroundings.
At the very least, Riley never seems to quite make it down to the ground floor of the building without putting on some manner of proper clothing. Her hair's still a little off-kilter from sleep, but she's in her typical attire when she makes her way down the stairs. She casts the rather empty area a brief look, then glances to ensure that someone's running security. She blinks towards Flint, scribbling away, and eases up behind him, peering over his shoulder. Her lips briefly purse in recognition. She reaches out and plucks one of the headphones an inch off of the Cliath's ear and murmurs, "Interesting choice."
The galliard's not quite as startled as he could be, with the camera view inside the lobby having alerted him to Riley's presence in the first place, but not to the fact that she was sneaking up on him. Flint drops the pencil into his lap, pulls out the other headphone and drapes them over his shoulder. "Not doing it justice," Flint responds, though it's not quite the truth, the drawing is good even if the teen isn't satisfied with it.
"Mmn," Riley noncommittally murmurs, appearing to scrutinize the drawing for a moment, "Yeah, I can tell. Of course, I really only did get a good look at the underside of the thing's foot and it's ass while I was riding its tail." A beat, and Riley crinkles her nose. "…In the literal sense, not in the sexual sense." She smacks the boy's shoulder as if it was him that made the lewd observation in the first place. "Sick, Flint."
Flint looks up at Riley, and it's an expression that the ragabash is well familiar with in terms of the teen's utter ignorance (perhaps, at this point, deliberate ignorance) of lewd things in general. "There's coffee. In the laundry room. Fresh pot," he offers, almost but not quite changing the subject before he picks up the pencil and starts to pencil in more of the scales and detail, vague shapes of the Garou fighting the thing around it.
Riley perks up. "Ooh." Without further delay, she goes and fetches herself a cup, briefly clattering around and returning with a steaming-hot mug in her hand, which she steals a sip from. One would think she'd burn her tongue on that shit. "Are those gonna be us? Just make sure you capture my good side when you have me splutted underneath the thing's foot."
Flint scoots so he's sitting up as he works on the drawing, carefully continuing, though there doesn't seem to be much logic to the way that Flint moves from one part of the page to another in adding details. Also so that there's more space on the couch, rather than the cliath sitting in the middle and taking up most of it. "Will be, eventually. Finishing the dragon first, but needed, the. Shapes there, so I know what I'm leaving space for."
"Well, it looks just as pretty and infuriating at I remember it. Which I do," She comments, "Often." She takes another long sip of coffee. When she again lowers her mug, she wanders away from Flint to pace around, "…So, you're still penned up in here until we knock the leech bitch out of town, right?" She inquires, despite seeming to know full well that this is, indeed, the case. "Well, guess that cuts you out. I was hopin' to have you help me run an errand, but considering it'd involve me needin' you out of my sight a fair bit, seems to be a no-go."
Flint bites his lower lip a little, and nods, setting the pencil down again. "Sorry," he offers to Riley. "Wish I could, but. Can't."
Glancing over to shake her head in Flint's direction, the Fostern lifts a hand and gently waves off Flint's apology. "No, no. You're good. Trust me, it's not like it would be really exciting stuff or anything," She shrugs, "Just pickin' fruit."
Flint nods again, and then carefully sets the sketchbook down to reach for his own cup of coffee near the table. "Okay. What are you, using it for? The, I. Maybe Charlene would, be able to help you? Or, some other people who are, out at the woods more. Lex might, too."
Getting a coy look on her face, Riley gives a throaty little chuckle that moves her shoulders exaggeratedly along with it, a hand briefly lifting to cup her chin between thumb and forefinger like a pondering detective. "Oh, I have my reasons." She keeps the mysterious air about her for a few moments before she offhandedly remarks, "Yeah, booze. It's for booze." Her hand drops.
Flint raises his eyebrows. "Can give you phone numbers, to get in touch with Charlene-rhya, or Lex," he offers, before wrapping both hands around his coffee cup, though not taking another sip. Just holding it, and looking a bit small, and tired, as he sits there on the couch.
Riley looks sidelong at Flint as though disappointed by his reaction, and then sighs deeply to confirm it. "You're not even gonna ask why I'm making booze out of it? Or tell me not to? Flint, you're the worst straight-man ever." She says, a small smile working its way onto her features. "…Anyway, no, no, don't worry about it. I've still got some tests to run before I'll risk people going on a romp about the bawn to collect bawnfruit, considering we'd have the wasps as competition… and I can do it on my own if I have to." She flashes her teeth and hums an annoying little series of notes under her breath.
The cliath gets a confused look for a moment and then huffs. "I figure," the boy points out slowly, "that you probably have reasons, and they're probably good ones, if you're not sneaking about the whole thing and such. So since I can't help anyway." There's a bit of an annoyed pout, though the teen's not nearly as stir-crazy as he's been in the past months. Flint takes a long sip from his coffee, and then actually starts winding the headphones to shove them into the pocket of his jeans.
Pursing her lips momentarily, Riley gives a more genuine sigh and shakes her head, "…Man, I know you're bummed out about being in here, but you need to lighten up. Believe me, I understand where you're coming from, because I've been benched before, too." Her lips give a little twitch, and she shrugs, "Stewing about it's not gonna solve shit. It's just going to make you look like the thing I'm guessin' you least want to. Like a petulant child throwin' a tantrum." She doesn't wait for him to clip back at her with anything before immediately transitioning into, "But it wasn't cool of me to poke at you, either. My bad."
Flint takes a deep breath, and then the last thing that Riley says seems to mollify him, and he resituates the sketchbook into his lap. "I'm keeping busy, as much as. As I can. I'm doing things that are useful, I'm… trying not to dwell on it," he says, quietly. "I'm just not good at not reacting when I get poked." To prove that he's not actually holding a grudge or anything, Flint sticks his tongue out at the fostern for a moment. "Plus if. Me doing cameras detail, means other people can go out and do useful things."
"…Exactly. You're freeing up tribal resources, so if you think about it, in terms of math and all that, you're not being any less helpful than any other member of this tribe." Riley folds her arms, "I know it's frustrating, and I'd be climbing the walls in your shoes, too, but just try to put a brave face on it. Whoever that bitch is, she's a real pain in the ass. I tried to track her down based on that E-mail from Topsy-rhya, but it felt wrong from the start and sure enough, I lost the trail in the middle of Dick's Sporting Goods. Somehow, I don't think I was ever really onto anything." She snorts, "Tracking gifts are a pain in the ass when they backfire."
Speaking of camera detail, a new face shows up at the Tenement's front door. A carefully dressed man in his mid-twenties, a large brief-case held loosely in his right hand.
Flint glances at the camera and hasn't even gotten to pick up the pencil yet, so sketchbook gets set down again. "We'll kill it, right? It'll. It'll get good and dead?" This is only half a question directed at Riley as Flint gets up, shrugging his sweatshirt on, the brief insecurity pushed aside by tugging down sweatshirt sleeves all the way to his wrist. "Literally climbing the, the walls," he informs the Ragabash, "would be more— interesting."
Flint opens the door, but not enough to be letting the newcomer in. "May I help you?" The words are slow, careful, enunciated, and Flint glances at the man.
"If there's anything we know, it's how to make things dead." Riley muses, and after some thought adds, "-er." She turns her focus over to the door when Flint cracks it open, curiously tilting her head to see who's there. She circles around to get a better view.
Peter looks a little uncomfortable, as he shifts his weight. "Uhh. Hello. I was given this address some time ago by Alexandra, but I haven't made the time to come by until now. Uhh. I'm Lex's 'Uncle Peter'."
Flint glances up, watches the man carefully, and nods, though there's a wary glance to Riley before Flint steps aside so that he can come inside. "It-it-it-it's, nice to meet you," Flint offers to Peter, the first word nervously repeated a moment until the galliard gets his bearings. "Flint. Lex's packmate. Cliath galliard, Glass Walker." Another pause. "There's some coffee, if, if you'd like?"
After a glance through the crack in the doorway, and upon hearing Peter's story, Riley gives a little nod to herself and retreats back out of view, sipping her coffee. When the door is opened to allow Peter inside, the ragabash gives a tight little nod of her head, along with a courteous smile. "Afternoon."
Peter offers up a nervous smile, as he is let in to the Tenement. Riley might remember the man, from the day she ran in to him flying a quad-copter in Harbor Park. "Thankyou, coffee would be nice," Peter says, then starts a little, clearly not having expected to see Riley. "Oh. Hello. I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name?"
Flint nods at Peter, and though the cliath makes for the laundry room, he goes to the couch first, grabbing his own cup from there, and comes back out to the main part of the lobby with his own cup refilled and a second cup that's offered to Peter. "Cream or sugar?" the galliard asks.
Oh, she certainly remembers. The ragabash might be awful with names, but she certainly has a good memory for faces tied to amusing events. She takes another small sip of coffee, leaning back against the nearby wall and offering a solemn shake of her head. Then, after some obvious thought, she smiles. "I don't remember yours either, so it's all good. It was awhile back. Riley Larson. How goes the drone business?"
"Thankyou," Peter says politely, as he is offered the coffee. "Just black is fine. Drone? Oh, my copter. It's fine. School is back in session, so teaching classes is taking up most of my time."
Flint takes a few sips of his own coffee, then glances at Riley. "More coffee?" he asks her, in the way of being mostly unobtrusive now, and then also glances at Peter. "Thanks for setting up those cameras," he says.
"Drone, copter, they all fly." Riley breezes, glancing over to Flint at his offer of more coffee. She peers down into her mug, considers, and then hands it over to him. "Yeah, fuck it. Fill it up. I'm running on fumes lately. Might as well add some caffeine to the fire."
"Well, I didn't set them up," Peter objects, mildly. "Lex and Ky did that. I just put them together. Even with the larger batteries, they still need the batteries switched out nearly daily. Need the extra power to get the signal strong enough to send out the images wirelessly. I did see some activity on them last night. Never would have expected to see people tromping through the sewers."
"Still," Flint points out, and nods. "Yeah. That. That is." He takes Riley's coffee cup, and disappears into the laundry room again. A minute later, there's the sound of a fresh pot of coffee being set up before Flint returns with Riley's mug, refilled, then hands it off and returns to the couch.
Riley's clearly waning attention kickstarts and lasers in on that last sentence from Peter. "…Wait, what? Who tromping through the what sewers?" She accepts her mug back from Flint while looking inquisitive and slightly lost.
"About a week ago," Peter says, sipping from his coffee. "Lex, Charlene, and Ky found evidence of a vampire using the sewers as a location to dump bodies. That and a pair of heavy duty rubber boots with steel toes. Lex said that they came here, to tell you guys?" Peter adds, sounding uncertain. "They've been cleaning some very ugly things out of the sewers during the day. Giant rats and slug-things," Peter continues, sounding more than a little disturbed and concerned. "They asked if I could make some wireless cameras for them, to keep an eye on the areas that they've cleaned out."
"The rats are nasty," Flint adds. "And the slugs, salt-water helps, but still, nasty. I've. Gone, some of the time, but. I was… wasn't, with it, when they came by? I think they… talked to Kavi-rhya?" There's a slight annoyed and tense tone to Flint's voice, but whatever's bothering him, he keeps to himself, adding a bit later. "Thomas was following one of the vampires that, that. It made. One of the baby vampires. Several of them, actually. He mentioned sewers, too." There's further silence from the cliath after that.
"No, no." Riley shakes her head, "Didn't need the recap, I was just… you mentioned something about seeing activity, right? Who'd you see on it, and when?"
"Well, some," Peter says, as he puts down his case and pulls out a smart phone, which he starts to tap away at. "There was some activity last night. I have the camera feeds going through a software recognition program that I designed. It sends me alerts and an image whenever it picks up a face. Few false alerts of course. The software isn't perfect."
Flint shoots Riley an apologetic glance, but stays quiet.
Riley migrates naturally behind Peter, peering over his shoulder as he tools around on his phone. "…Well, hell, too much intel's better than not enough, right? Not like we're not unaccustomed to staring at droves of useless information on a daily basis. Flint's up to his eyeballs in the stuff as we speak." She gestures with her head toward the security monitors.
Peter flips through the phone, switching from one image to the next with the flick of a finger. Eventually, he settles on one that is the slightly grainy-grey of a night vision camera. In the image, a man wearing a simple pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a crop of short hair can be seen in the sewers. "Here is one of them," Peter says, holding the phone up for Riley.
Flint watches this, glancing a few times to the monitors, then glances at Riley, waiting to see if there's reaction, or recognition.
Riley reaches out to take the phone so she can squint at the picture real close, as though trying to burn the likeness of the the guy into her memory. "Well, I don't recognize him, not that that means anything." She hands the phone back to Peter, shrugging. "Doesn't mean I can't try to take the picture and run with it. Maybe this dude's not as good at throwing me off my game as the other bitch." She breathes, "Or, maybe he's just a homeless dude and I'll end up back at Dick's Sporting Goods."
"Pardon?" Peter responds, looking confused at Riley's statement. "The following two images are the others that the cameras picked up." The remaining photos are of a white female in clubgear and medium-length frizzy hair, and the third looks like a homeless man, dressed in little more than rags.
Flint sips his coffee, settling crosslegged on the couch.
Riley gives a dismissive little shake of her head, "Uh, don't worry about it. Talkin' out loud." Her eyes cross. "Thinkin' out loud. Anyway." She peers carefully at the remaining two images and bobs her head. "Alright. You tried sifting through the stuff that wasn't a hit on the facial recognition?" She glances across to Peter, "Or is the software only rigged to save screencaps if it sees a face?"
"Well, no, it takes continuous video," Peter says, as he reclaims his phone. "The screencaps are sent to my phone, when it gets a hit. The rest is on a hard drive at home. I've been working to make to recognize the big rats, so Lex will have a better idea of where they are and when. I haven't had the time to go through the video."
Flint glances up. "If you can, put it on a drive and bring it here," Flint says, looking at Peter, and taking a deep breath after he's started. "I could. Can, go through it. I have time. And I. I've. Done, similar, with. Before, the. The video, security video, here. I, watch it periodically to make sure, things, anyway. If you could, that is."
Pointing toward Flint as though indicating she thinks that it's a solid idea, Riley nods. "Flint's a great choice for that kinda thing right now. Load him up with all the boring work you need to. He's totally down for it." The fostern helpfully volunteers her tribemate without an ounce of hesitation. She, on the other hand, eases the zipper of her coat onto the teeth and zips it up halfway. "Well, you two have fun. I was planning on heading out anyway. Maybe I'll see if I can get a hit on any of these guys. Sometimes a person's weakest link isn't the person themself, but the company they keep."
"If you think that would help," Peter says, as he finishes off his coffee. "Actually, I should probably get going. I'll bring by the hard drive when I have a moment. I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help," Peter adds, as he recollects his case.
"That will help," Flint says. "If. If nothing else, it will. Keep me busy." Flint sets down his coffee cup, gets up, and moves over to give Riley a quick hug, before going back to the couch.
The contact prompts a quick blink from Riley, but she nevertheless lifts an arm to clap Flint on the back before heading out the door.
Peter nods, then follows Riley out the door.
17 January, 2013
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (37% full).
Flint's on monitor duty at the moment, but he's not holed up in the office. Or reading a book. Today, Flint is drawing, with one of the monitors set up by the couch and the larger sketchbook across his lap. What he's drawing is recognisable as well, the Wyld-dragon from the Revel when he was a cub, an outline sketched in pencil and only starting to be shaded in, detail lines appearing. He's got his headphones in as well, but he's paying enough attention to the monitor, if not to his surroundings.
At the very least, Riley never seems to quite make it down to the ground floor of the building without putting on some manner of proper clothing. Her hair's still a little off-kilter from sleep, but she's in her typical attire when she makes her way down the stairs. She casts the rather empty area a brief look, then glances to ensure that someone's running security. She blinks towards Flint, scribbling away, and eases up behind him, peering over his shoulder. Her lips briefly purse in recognition. She reaches out and plucks one of the headphones an inch off of the Cliath's ear and murmurs, "Interesting choice."
The galliard's not quite as startled as he could be, with the camera view inside the lobby having alerted him to Riley's presence in the first place, but not to the fact that she was sneaking up on him. Flint drops the pencil into his lap, pulls out the other headphone and drapes them over his shoulder. "Not doing it justice," Flint responds, though it's not quite the truth, the drawing is good even if the teen isn't satisfied with it.
"Mmn," Riley noncommittally murmurs, appearing to scrutinize the drawing for a moment, "Yeah, I can tell. Of course, I really only did get a good look at the underside of the thing's foot and it's ass while I was riding its tail." A beat, and Riley crinkles her nose. "…In the literal sense, not in the sexual sense." She smacks the boy's shoulder as if it was him that made the lewd observation in the first place. "Sick, Flint."
Flint looks up at Riley, and it's an expression that the ragabash is well familiar with in terms of the teen's utter ignorance (perhaps, at this point, deliberate ignorance) of lewd things in general. "There's coffee. In the laundry room. Fresh pot," he offers, almost but not quite changing the subject before he picks up the pencil and starts to pencil in more of the scales and detail, vague shapes of the Garou fighting the thing around it.
Riley perks up. "Ooh." Without further delay, she goes and fetches herself a cup, briefly clattering around and returning with a steaming-hot mug in her hand, which she steals a sip from. One would think she'd burn her tongue on that shit. "Are those gonna be us? Just make sure you capture my good side when you have me splutted underneath the thing's foot."
Flint scoots so he's sitting up as he works on the drawing, carefully continuing, though there doesn't seem to be much logic to the way that Flint moves from one part of the page to another in adding details. Also so that there's more space on the couch, rather than the cliath sitting in the middle and taking up most of it. "Will be, eventually. Finishing the dragon first, but needed, the. Shapes there, so I know what I'm leaving space for."
"Well, it looks just as pretty and infuriating at I remember it. Which I do," She comments, "Often." She takes another long sip of coffee. When she again lowers her mug, she wanders away from Flint to pace around, "…So, you're still penned up in here until we knock the leech bitch out of town, right?" She inquires, despite seeming to know full well that this is, indeed, the case. "Well, guess that cuts you out. I was hopin' to have you help me run an errand, but considering it'd involve me needin' you out of my sight a fair bit, seems to be a no-go."
Flint bites his lower lip a little, and nods, setting the pencil down again. "Sorry," he offers to Riley. "Wish I could, but. Can't."
Glancing over to shake her head in Flint's direction, the Fostern lifts a hand and gently waves off Flint's apology. "No, no. You're good. Trust me, it's not like it would be really exciting stuff or anything," She shrugs, "Just pickin' fruit."
Flint nods again, and then carefully sets the sketchbook down to reach for his own cup of coffee near the table. "Okay. What are you, using it for? The, I. Maybe Charlene would, be able to help you? Or, some other people who are, out at the woods more. Lex might, too."
Getting a coy look on her face, Riley gives a throaty little chuckle that moves her shoulders exaggeratedly along with it, a hand briefly lifting to cup her chin between thumb and forefinger like a pondering detective. "Oh, I have my reasons." She keeps the mysterious air about her for a few moments before she offhandedly remarks, "Yeah, booze. It's for booze." Her hand drops.
Flint raises his eyebrows. "Can give you phone numbers, to get in touch with Charlene-rhya, or Lex," he offers, before wrapping both hands around his coffee cup, though not taking another sip. Just holding it, and looking a bit small, and tired, as he sits there on the couch.
Riley looks sidelong at Flint as though disappointed by his reaction, and then sighs deeply to confirm it. "You're not even gonna ask why I'm making booze out of it? Or tell me not to? Flint, you're the worst straight-man ever." She says, a small smile working its way onto her features. "…Anyway, no, no, don't worry about it. I've still got some tests to run before I'll risk people going on a romp about the bawn to collect bawnfruit, considering we'd have the wasps as competition… and I can do it on my own if I have to." She flashes her teeth and hums an annoying little series of notes under her breath.
The cliath gets a confused look for a moment and then huffs. "I figure," the boy points out slowly, "that you probably have reasons, and they're probably good ones, if you're not sneaking about the whole thing and such. So since I can't help anyway." There's a bit of an annoyed pout, though the teen's not nearly as stir-crazy as he's been in the past months. Flint takes a long sip from his coffee, and then actually starts winding the headphones to shove them into the pocket of his jeans.
Pursing her lips momentarily, Riley gives a more genuine sigh and shakes her head, "…Man, I know you're bummed out about being in here, but you need to lighten up. Believe me, I understand where you're coming from, because I've been benched before, too." Her lips give a little twitch, and she shrugs, "Stewing about it's not gonna solve shit. It's just going to make you look like the thing I'm guessin' you least want to. Like a petulant child throwin' a tantrum." She doesn't wait for him to clip back at her with anything before immediately transitioning into, "But it wasn't cool of me to poke at you, either. My bad."
Flint takes a deep breath, and then the last thing that Riley says seems to mollify him, and he resituates the sketchbook into his lap. "I'm keeping busy, as much as. As I can. I'm doing things that are useful, I'm… trying not to dwell on it," he says, quietly. "I'm just not good at not reacting when I get poked." To prove that he's not actually holding a grudge or anything, Flint sticks his tongue out at the fostern for a moment. "Plus if. Me doing cameras detail, means other people can go out and do useful things."
"…Exactly. You're freeing up tribal resources, so if you think about it, in terms of math and all that, you're not being any less helpful than any other member of this tribe." Riley folds her arms, "I know it's frustrating, and I'd be climbing the walls in your shoes, too, but just try to put a brave face on it. Whoever that bitch is, she's a real pain in the ass. I tried to track her down based on that E-mail from Topsy-rhya, but it felt wrong from the start and sure enough, I lost the trail in the middle of Dick's Sporting Goods. Somehow, I don't think I was ever really onto anything." She snorts, "Tracking gifts are a pain in the ass when they backfire."
Speaking of camera detail, a new face shows up at the Tenement's front door. A carefully dressed man in his mid-twenties, a large brief-case held loosely in his right hand.
Flint glances at the camera and hasn't even gotten to pick up the pencil yet, so sketchbook gets set down again. "We'll kill it, right? It'll. It'll get good and dead?" This is only half a question directed at Riley as Flint gets up, shrugging his sweatshirt on, the brief insecurity pushed aside by tugging down sweatshirt sleeves all the way to his wrist. "Literally climbing the, the walls," he informs the Ragabash, "would be more— interesting."
Flint opens the door, but not enough to be letting the newcomer in. "May I help you?" The words are slow, careful, enunciated, and Flint glances at the man.
"If there's anything we know, it's how to make things dead." Riley muses, and after some thought adds, "-er." She turns her focus over to the door when Flint cracks it open, curiously tilting her head to see who's there. She circles around to get a better view.
Peter looks a little uncomfortable, as he shifts his weight. "Uhh. Hello. I was given this address some time ago by Alexandra, but I haven't made the time to come by until now. Uhh. I'm Lex's 'Uncle Peter'."
Flint glances up, watches the man carefully, and nods, though there's a wary glance to Riley before Flint steps aside so that he can come inside. "It-it-it-it's, nice to meet you," Flint offers to Peter, the first word nervously repeated a moment until the galliard gets his bearings. "Flint. Lex's packmate. Cliath galliard, Glass Walker." Another pause. "There's some coffee, if, if you'd like?"
After a glance through the crack in the doorway, and upon hearing Peter's story, Riley gives a little nod to herself and retreats back out of view, sipping her coffee. When the door is opened to allow Peter inside, the ragabash gives a tight little nod of her head, along with a courteous smile. "Afternoon."
Peter offers up a nervous smile, as he is let in to the Tenement. Riley might remember the man, from the day she ran in to him flying a quad-copter in Harbor Park. "Thankyou, coffee would be nice," Peter says, then starts a little, clearly not having expected to see Riley. "Oh. Hello. I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name?"
Flint nods at Peter, and though the cliath makes for the laundry room, he goes to the couch first, grabbing his own cup from there, and comes back out to the main part of the lobby with his own cup refilled and a second cup that's offered to Peter. "Cream or sugar?" the galliard asks.
Oh, she certainly remembers. The ragabash might be awful with names, but she certainly has a good memory for faces tied to amusing events. She takes another small sip of coffee, leaning back against the nearby wall and offering a solemn shake of her head. Then, after some obvious thought, she smiles. "I don't remember yours either, so it's all good. It was awhile back. Riley Larson. How goes the drone business?"
"Thankyou," Peter says politely, as he is offered the coffee. "Just black is fine. Drone? Oh, my copter. It's fine. School is back in session, so teaching classes is taking up most of my time."
Flint takes a few sips of his own coffee, then glances at Riley. "More coffee?" he asks her, in the way of being mostly unobtrusive now, and then also glances at Peter. "Thanks for setting up those cameras," he says.
"Drone, copter, they all fly." Riley breezes, glancing over to Flint at his offer of more coffee. She peers down into her mug, considers, and then hands it over to him. "Yeah, fuck it. Fill it up. I'm running on fumes lately. Might as well add some caffeine to the fire."
"Well, I didn't set them up," Peter objects, mildly. "Lex and Ky did that. I just put them together. Even with the larger batteries, they still need the batteries switched out nearly daily. Need the extra power to get the signal strong enough to send out the images wirelessly. I did see some activity on them last night. Never would have expected to see people tromping through the sewers."
"Still," Flint points out, and nods. "Yeah. That. That is." He takes Riley's coffee cup, and disappears into the laundry room again. A minute later, there's the sound of a fresh pot of coffee being set up before Flint returns with Riley's mug, refilled, then hands it off and returns to the couch.
Riley's clearly waning attention kickstarts and lasers in on that last sentence from Peter. "…Wait, what? Who tromping through the what sewers?" She accepts her mug back from Flint while looking inquisitive and slightly lost.
"About a week ago," Peter says, sipping from his coffee. "Lex, Charlene, and Ky found evidence of a vampire using the sewers as a location to dump bodies. That and a pair of heavy duty rubber boots with steel toes. Lex said that they came here, to tell you guys?" Peter adds, sounding uncertain. "They've been cleaning some very ugly things out of the sewers during the day. Giant rats and slug-things," Peter continues, sounding more than a little disturbed and concerned. "They asked if I could make some wireless cameras for them, to keep an eye on the areas that they've cleaned out."
"The rats are nasty," Flint adds. "And the slugs, salt-water helps, but still, nasty. I've. Gone, some of the time, but. I was… wasn't, with it, when they came by? I think they… talked to Kavi-rhya?" There's a slight annoyed and tense tone to Flint's voice, but whatever's bothering him, he keeps to himself, adding a bit later. "Thomas was following one of the vampires that, that. It made. One of the baby vampires. Several of them, actually. He mentioned sewers, too." There's further silence from the cliath after that.
"No, no." Riley shakes her head, "Didn't need the recap, I was just… you mentioned something about seeing activity, right? Who'd you see on it, and when?"
"Well, some," Peter says, as he puts down his case and pulls out a smart phone, which he starts to tap away at. "There was some activity last night. I have the camera feeds going through a software recognition program that I designed. It sends me alerts and an image whenever it picks up a face. Few false alerts of course. The software isn't perfect."
Flint shoots Riley an apologetic glance, but stays quiet.
Riley migrates naturally behind Peter, peering over his shoulder as he tools around on his phone. "…Well, hell, too much intel's better than not enough, right? Not like we're not unaccustomed to staring at droves of useless information on a daily basis. Flint's up to his eyeballs in the stuff as we speak." She gestures with her head toward the security monitors.
Peter flips through the phone, switching from one image to the next with the flick of a finger. Eventually, he settles on one that is the slightly grainy-grey of a night vision camera. In the image, a man wearing a simple pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a crop of short hair can be seen in the sewers. "Here is one of them," Peter says, holding the phone up for Riley.
Flint watches this, glancing a few times to the monitors, then glances at Riley, waiting to see if there's reaction, or recognition.
Riley reaches out to take the phone so she can squint at the picture real close, as though trying to burn the likeness of the the guy into her memory. "Well, I don't recognize him, not that that means anything." She hands the phone back to Peter, shrugging. "Doesn't mean I can't try to take the picture and run with it. Maybe this dude's not as good at throwing me off my game as the other bitch." She breathes, "Or, maybe he's just a homeless dude and I'll end up back at Dick's Sporting Goods."
"Pardon?" Peter responds, looking confused at Riley's statement. "The following two images are the others that the cameras picked up." The remaining photos are of a white female in clubgear and medium-length frizzy hair, and the third looks like a homeless man, dressed in little more than rags.
Flint sips his coffee, settling crosslegged on the couch.
Riley gives a dismissive little shake of her head, "Uh, don't worry about it. Talkin' out loud." Her eyes cross. "Thinkin' out loud. Anyway." She peers carefully at the remaining two images and bobs her head. "Alright. You tried sifting through the stuff that wasn't a hit on the facial recognition?" She glances across to Peter, "Or is the software only rigged to save screencaps if it sees a face?"
"Well, no, it takes continuous video," Peter says, as he reclaims his phone. "The screencaps are sent to my phone, when it gets a hit. The rest is on a hard drive at home. I've been working to make to recognize the big rats, so Lex will have a better idea of where they are and when. I haven't had the time to go through the video."
Flint glances up. "If you can, put it on a drive and bring it here," Flint says, looking at Peter, and taking a deep breath after he's started. "I could. Can, go through it. I have time. And I. I've. Done, similar, with. Before, the. The video, security video, here. I, watch it periodically to make sure, things, anyway. If you could, that is."
Pointing toward Flint as though indicating she thinks that it's a solid idea, Riley nods. "Flint's a great choice for that kinda thing right now. Load him up with all the boring work you need to. He's totally down for it." The fostern helpfully volunteers her tribemate without an ounce of hesitation. She, on the other hand, eases the zipper of her coat onto the teeth and zips it up halfway. "Well, you two have fun. I was planning on heading out anyway. Maybe I'll see if I can get a hit on any of these guys. Sometimes a person's weakest link isn't the person themself, but the company they keep."
"If you think that would help," Peter says, as he finishes off his coffee. "Actually, I should probably get going. I'll bring by the hard drive when I have a moment. I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help," Peter adds, as he recollects his case.
"That will help," Flint says. "If. If nothing else, it will. Keep me busy." Flint sets down his coffee cup, gets up, and moves over to give Riley a quick hug, before going back to the couch.
The contact prompts a quick blink from Riley, but she nevertheless lifts an arm to clap Flint on the back before heading out the door.
Peter nods, then follows Riley out the door.