hagan_icon.gif huruma_icon.gif miles_icon.gif

Scene Title Boo
Synopsis Rupe will be needing a new couch someday. Hagan lets Huruma know about one of the Brill paintings, and in turn she lets Miles know of a different plan.
Date February 19, 2009

Carmichael Manor - Basement

The TV is on Discovery Channel. The Mythbusters are about to explode something, but the reason for the pyrotechnics is hard to make out given how low the volume is. Hagan's passed out on the couch. Nearby is an ashtray littered with butts and a half-empty bottle of beer. The palms of his hands are scratched and red - a bit of road-rash, and the lights in the basement are low.
There are some things in the world that you never want to sneak up on you while you are sleeping. Spiders, fire, Huruma- Hagan is quite unlucky, when you look at it in that way.

Her entrance to the basement is heralded only by the tiny beeps of the outside lock, and the momentary slip of light flickering in the door frame. It is gone as soon as it came, leaving a dimly lit pair of eyes. The movements from the television screen reflect off of them as Huruma approaches the sofa in front of it, footsteps silent and breath coming and going the same way.

The shadowy woman stops in front of the next cushion, eyes settling on the man sitting there, and the bits and pieces of litter that surround him. Leaning her head closer, it's only one more step for her to pick up a knee, brace her weight on the back of the sofa with one hand, and then put herself down slowly onto the space beside him, knee buckled underneath and one leg remaining out over the edge.

Like it was said- spiders, fire, Huruma; if he wakes up now, she is going to be… right there, looming somewhat overhead, peering quite dangerously down at him.

Hagan's relationship with Laura hasn't gotten very far, and it's been a long time since he's shared a bed with anyone with any regularity. So the sudden shift of weight and the feel of a warm body beside him jerks him out of sleep, though it takes a second for his eyes to open. He paws at his face and makes a sound of discontent. Then he opens his eyes blearily, coughs once, then his whole body twitches.

It takes a second for that involuntary nerve reaction to translate into an action. He sits up and curls into the arm of the couch. "Whh…hghg…nngh…?" He stares.

As soon as Hagan's eyes slip open just enough, Huruma is leaning closer again. And when he curls away from her, the arm at her free side lifts with its hand, languishing up until it gets close enough to stick out a finger- which immediately tries to touch to the center of his forehead.

Poink. You're dead.


"What the fuck Huruma?!" Hagan bats at the finger coming towards him, though it's more like a cat batting at string than anything true counterattack. He wriggles back and tries to get up off of the couch. "You enjoy scaring the shit out of me don't you? Jaysus."

"It is your own fault f'fallin'asleep where people can find you…" Her lips quirk up in a smile, barely showing some tips of white teeth. "I could'ave done worse than scare you." Huruma drawls out that one word longer, as if it were more of a joke. This time, instead of trying to follow him again, the woman tenses and stretches her shoulders and back, leaning down onto the couch with one arm still lain over the top, and one leg trailing the side of her foot on the floor.

"Bu'too answer th'question- yes, I do."

"This isn't a bloody bus station, it's a safehouse! There's locks on the door and video cameras and shit. If there's one place I can put my guard down it's…Jesus!" Hagan paces and takes deep breaths to calm his heart rate. He pushes fingers through his hair and ruffles it up quite dramatically. "Well you are a very scary woman. You don't have to expend so much effort. Next time just try saying 'boo.'"

"Safe house is relative." Huruma lids both eyes and peers over at Hagan while he paces. "I'll think about it." Boo? How stereotypical. Finally, the rest of her slinks up to the couch, and she leans down to cross her arms over the side, legs stretching out and the toe of one boot hooking over the other end. The other foot remains hovering in the air behind her and close to the other one. "Mmm. Still warm." Huruma smiles to herself again, perching her chin to the edge of a forearm.

Hagan stops dead still, looks at her, twitches, then paces again. He walks over and scoops up his warm beer and swallows a few steadying mouthfuls. "Listen. Do you know those paintings? The ones Rupe wants? I think I know where one is." Better to change the subject than to talk about how she makes him piss his pants.

Huruma seems to be examining her nails, but she is listening. "Mhmm." Then she pauses, blinking quietly over at the Irishman again. "So why'ave you not fetched it?" Ohh, unintentional Burn.

"I tried, but I'm not a fucking cat burglar. I worked my contacts, I found the guy's address. I tried to get in. But he has a fucking…little dog. So if I went into the shadows, it'd smell me and bark its fucking head off. And this guy's a recluse, so you can bet he sleeps with a shotgun under his bed." Hagan grits his jaw and kicks at the edge of the carpet. "I'm a bloody white-collar guy, Huruma. All his shit is new to me."

"So take a gun and shoot them both first." Then steal all his stuff to make it seem like a robbery. Huruma says this as easily as 'Make me a sandwich'. "Well, you're going t'ave t'learn, won't you?"

"Jesus Christ, I'm not going to beat the guy's door down and shoot him in the head! I don't even know if the painting's there for sure." Hagan bites the edge of his lip, then fumbles in his pocket for a cigarette.

"It wouldn't be a big loss. A hermit and his dog." Huruma's breath huffs out of her nose. "So… you're not sure, an'didn't bother looking because of a barking rat?"

"I couldn't get in! I climbed the fire escape, looked through the window. I couldn't see in it. The door was locked. Likely a chain lock on the other side, so even if I could pick it, I wouldn't get in. Fucker wouldn't come to the door when I knocked." Hagan puffs at the cigarette. "Do you want to go in and get it? I'll give you the address. Go have abloody field day. But Rupe says we're supposed to be invisible. A man and his dog murdered for a painting isn't exactly the definition of 'subtle.'"

"Chain cutters, glass cutters, blowtorch, steal th'rest o'his things f'burglary purposes-" Huruma immediately offers fixes, eyeing Hagan for another moment and probably realizing just how inept he is in this situation. "Is th'only thing keeping you visible there, that little dog?" She debates laughing out loud. Because, honestly, who wouldn't think about that? "You can go unseen, can't you?"

"Yes. I was thinking of waiting til the guy takes the dog for a walk. He's gotta take it, even if he's a recluse, right? I mean, the thing can't shit on his persian rug." Hagan's started pacing again. "Maybe get someone to sidetrack him. Make it so the dog gets away and he has to go chasing it. Give me enough time to somehow break the lock and get in to see if the painting's actually there."

"Dogwalker." See, he doesn't. Huruma knows. "A rich, hermit of a man is not apt t'take his own dog out for a break."

The woman's hands plant on the arm of the sofa, pushing her up so that she slinks closer to the corner with her body. "If you wait too long, it will be too late. You need help, obviously… but d'you want it?"

"Of course I want help! I'd rather just hand this whole mess off on to someone else. I can do the legwork, but the actual break and enter? I don't know what the fuck I'm doing." Hagan pinches the cigarette between tight lips. When he speaks, it's around it. "Even if there was a dog walker, I might actually be able to snoop around if the bloody mutt's not in the apartment."

So let's eat the dog! Or not. It all depends. "If you want help, I can give it t'you-" Huruma turns herself over onto her back, head leaning down over the edge of the arm. Her eyes are still unwavering on Hagan. "But you've got t'watch an'learn."

"You're not going to kill anyone, are you?" Hagan twitches again. He inhales from the cigarette slowly to calm his nerves.

"I don't know." Another way of Huruma saying 'yes, most likely'. There's no better insurance in getting secrets kept than Death, you know. "Whhhyyy?" She drawls, lips curling into a smirk.

"Because murder draws attention! And we're supposed to be stealthy, right? They'd know he was killed for that painting. Even if other shite was missing. If they're really prophetic like Rupe says they are." The cigarette is gone in record time. Hagan looks down at it, momentarily confused.

"No one would know who did it, an'besides- if anyone mentions a missing prophecy, everyone is going t'be up in arms. There will b'no mention of it. Just tha'he was robbed blind. Make enough of a mess- an'everyone will think it an amateur job." In truth, Huruma just wants to hurt someone. Something. The possibility of such already has her all excited. Nice job, Hagan.

Hagan aims to please. Well, not really. He aims to keep his own neck safe. "Can we try a plan where no one dies, first?" Please?

"Fiiine." Huruma lifts her chin at him, lowering her eyelids as if to say 'you've ruined my fun' without a word about it. Truthfully, she might look for a reason to kill someone anyway- or at least his dog, maybe rip out the guy's tongue- okay, getting ahead of herself. "We can try it your way first."

Hagan lifts up a hand towards Huruma. It folds into a fist. "…thank you." He manages to make that sound quite genuine. "I'd rather the first blood on my hands to be something more worthwhile than some paint on a canvas."

A mysterious man enters the basement of the Carmicheal Manor, well, perhaps not so mysterious since only a few certain privilaged individuals are aware of said place. The gangly and dorky looking young man looks barely strong enough to shove the heavy door open; he stops just beyond the door as he enters and begins to look around curiously.

"You are a black sheep, Hagan." Huruma is lounging on the side of the couch, head leaning back over the arm and eyes on Hagan, just a few feet away at most. "How d'you know tha'painting isn't so worth killing for?" Her eyes flicker momentarily towards the direction of the door, grazing over the one to enter next.

Say what you want about Hagan, but he's perceptive. The second an unfamiliar person goes through the door, he disappears. That's fairly easy to do in a windowless room. There's only the faint rustling, then the feel of something cold against Miles' neck. "You have five seconds." Hey. It's easier to sound tough when you're invisible.

"Five seconds for what?" The man responds rather immediately, fearlessly. He starts to turn his head, trying to get a look at what that cold object is and whom is holding it.

Huruma is not about to ruin Hagan's fun. He seems to have forgotten that only people that belong here actually… know the passcodes. For now, the dark woman slinks up to perch crossed arms on the back of the couch, head tilted only slightly to watch the newest face and feel at his invisible harasser.

Maybe, but there are telepaths out there and other people with Rupe's power. A few codes doesn't necessarily mean this place is secure - as Huruma herself so recently reminded Hagan. The cold object in his hand is just as invisible as he is. "To tell me who the fuck you are."

"Tell you who I am? It's not enough that being here is sufficient enough to know that I am supposed to be here?" The young man glances over at Huruma, grinning sheepishly,"Hey Huumy." He offers the woman a friendly social wave.

"And who're you supposed to be? The guard dog? Let's see, what was that word again that Rupe told me? .. Oh, Namaste." He chuckles,"Anyways. It's Miles."

Assuming that is enough to sedate Hagan's paranoia, the young man then moves into the room more, heading over to stand by Huruma and quizzically says to her, "You needed to see me bout something?"

Namaste as a password- anyone that takes yoga in all its Western glorification would probably know it. Huruma does too, but certainly not from yoga. She leans back on her heel where she sits on the couch, putting her palms together in front of her chest with a smirk. Right. Namaste.

"About an operation, concerning making some… individuals look…riotous." She ventures the word, chewing on it mentally.

Sigh. See, this is why he doesn't bother trying to be a badass. No one takes him seriously. Hagan fades back into view. For the curious? The cold item was the mouth of a long-necked beer bottle. He lowers it and murmurs, "It's Namaru." He looks Miles up and down. "Why'd you ditch the other body?"

"It was time for a change." Miles glances over toward Hagan. "Besides, you might as well get used to this one, as it is my prefered vessel." He shrugs his shoulders helplessly,"It's the one that most closely resembles that of what I used to have, that and there's no maintenance or upkeep involved." He chuckles lightly.

Miles then turns his attention back to Huruma,"Concerning whom? And what is my involvement?"

Huruma watches the new Miles curiously, making notes of this new body for her own memory. Her voice seems distant as she does so. "Concerning a frame-job… You probably won't die. But, a kid will."

"Vessel," Hagan murmurs. He's clearly not all that comfortable with what Miles does. He strides over to the fridge and pulls it open to retrieve a beer. Half an ear is trained on the conversation, but he doesn't offer any input. That's not a job he's ready to get involved in.

"A kid will?" Miles gives Huruma a quizzical look for a moment before glancing over at Hagan curiously, watching the man closely and oftenly. He then looks back to Huruma again,"You want me to do this, you got to fill me in on all the details.

February 19th: There is a Time for Everything
Previously in this storyline…
Godsend Bargain

Next in this storyline…
Favour for an Old Man

February 19th: The Hammer
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