(closed) Infiltration Log ↓

[larsenist]

Who: Akira (larsenist) & The Nasty Crimeboys
What: Quests + Events + Etc.
When: February-March
Where: Near/Far/Whereeeeever you are...
Warning(s): Human disasters + some violence.


(( cr meme comment can be found here, if you'd like to plot out something! c: ))

Comments

[desistor]

[Look, we can't all be stars, Akira.

He's quietly and more than half-seriously weighing the pros and cons of trying to kick the door in and risk explaining that later when Akira solves that problem with a flourish. It takes him a few odd seconds to recognize the lockpick for what it is—some of the strange shade of Cloudbank cluture-shock that still lingers, this long after they've moved out. But when he catches on to what Akira means to do, he steps obligingly to the side, watching with a cocked brow and his head canted curiously.

Wow.]

Nice. You'll have to show me that one.

[Not much in the way of judgment, apparently—he sure as hell isn't complaining. He steps up in front of Akira as the handle turns and takes the lead by default, carefully easing the door open. Voice pitched low, but mouth running, as if by habit—]

Sorry, Rich. Hope we're not interrupting—

[He trials off. Most of the time, Richie would come crash at their place next door for company, rather than the opposite. But they've seen the inside enough times to catch the red flags. Hell, even if they weren't—

The lights are out. The door was locked. But there's clear sign of struggle within the first glance inside. Chairs upended, records scattered, table knocked askew.]

[larsenist]

[ Not with that attitude you can't...!!! He grins faintly, giving the clever tool another spin around his fingers before tucking it out of sight. ]

Sure. Let's trade moves.

[ It's been awhile since they've had a boxing lesson...

—But the quips end there. Whatever quiet mirth he's wearing quickly turns cold on his face, smile lapsing into a wide-eyed frown. ]

...

[ He proceeds into the room cautiously, Third Eye open but seeing nothing of interest. (Whoever was here was a professional, leaving a mess and yet not a single trace leading back to his or herself.) He stoops down and carefully picks up one of the records, not really reading the cover despite how intently he stares at it. ]

Why would anyone...?

[ (Richie had a big mouth at times, but as far as Akira knows he doesn't have any mortal enemies here...) ]

[desistor]

[Apparently it doesn't take much. The apartment is intact, if a little trashed, but it manages to chill the carefully casual air, fast. Summons a thick cloud of foreboding to replace it. If there were any lingering hope that Richie was just out and about and screening his calls—

They'd have to be blind to ignore the signs. It's not a big apartment, but Boxer paces past Akira as he examines the fallen goods to check the corners to be sure. Ducks around and through the bedroom door, the empty halls. Not long enough to leave the kid alone for a while, just enough to see the state of things. Which is...more of the same. Less in the way of mess, even, the further you get in. Whatever happened, it happened quick.]

Empty. Must've come in the front door, gotten the jump on him. ...Whatever it was.

[Whoever. Despite the mess, nothing major seems broken, or forced, least of all the doors. Or they wouldn't have needed to finagle their way in, themselves. (Sure, they could have chanced a window...but with a hostage?)

Thinking in those terms already starts to put a sour taste in his mouth. The next logical leap is worse. (He thinks, briefly and inanely, back to the strangeness that had spooked Richie in the swamp. But that's another kettle of fish entirely, so—)

As it sinks in, almost to himself—]

This can't be a coincidence...

[Accidents, attacks. The mounting hostility to outsiders—stoked, condemned, and forced to simmer.]

[larsenist]

[ He straightens himself and traces practically the same route as Boxer, trying to take visual inventory for himself of everything he sees, even if he doesn't wish to come to terms with the implications. (None of this spells good news.)

He pulls at his fringe, a shadow crossing his expression as he tries to lay out their options.

...There's only one, really. ]

We have to find him.

[ Somehow. ]

...I'll check around the Institute. I've got a shift soon.

[ With no other solid leads or known motives (the entire city is in a bad state, a widespread scatter plot of unfortunate incidences), he'll have to work methodically. ...He goes quiet again, casting another dark glance around the disordered space.

(He's been shackled before, drugged and beaten—not as a hostage, but as a prisoner all the same. For any of his friends to have to suffer a similar fate—or worse...) ]

[desistor]

[He doesn't voice a disagreement—because he doesn't have one to voice. They could (should, likely will - or the rising numbers will beat them to it,) alert the guard in the town, but the native track record for giving a crap about the refugees has been starkly spotty, in his experience. Not the kind of thing that builds confidence.

But letting him vanish off into nothing like Farrah Yon-Dale or Hentor Jallaford or Wave Tennegan to never be questioned or found (gone off to the Country, they'd said, and no one had batted an eye) isn't on the table. So, options. He frowns briefly at nothing while the Transistor ticks at the back of his attention. (Uselessly. A cheeky >nights interrupted: 1 that he can't even know if he should chalk up to speculation bias or what.)

His attention swings back as Akira brings the hushed conversation back to the Institute. Which seems as good a place to start as any—no way the guys who'd jumped him and Red were still hanging around the Entertainment District. But—]

By yourself?

[The hesitation in it is audible. After the last few hours, he doesn't feel great about letting the kid head off alone on the trail. Can't hurt to have backup.]

[larsenist]

[ He gives a small shrug of his shoulders; he's never entirely alone. ]

I've got Arsene.

[ He doesn't know what exactly they're up against and so his own confidence hasn't been compromised yet. He should be able to dodge trouble, and he isn't exactly the sort to draw attention in the first place... (He could just as easily walk right into it, have his consciousness snuffed before he even has a chance to bring out his persona.) Whatever the possibilities are, though, he won't let them frighten him into inaction or dependence. ]

I'll keep in touch.

[ A periodic check-in, for both parties' peace of mind.. ]

[desistor]

I'd appreciate it.

[Keeping in touch. Mildly, but honestly. (It gives him some peace of mind to know they've got somewhere to turn if they need it...but he and Red haven't endeavored to take an authoritarian posture toward their younger roommates at all. In part because there's nothing saying the kids need to stick around and listen to them—but mostly it just doesn't seem their place, even if they were the right people to do it. That doesn't change the fact that they are still...kids. By Cloudbank standards, if not Nysan ones. Hard not to worry, at times like this.) He lifts his free hand to scrub at his face.

Weirdo superpowers considered, he knows enough to know Akira can take care of himself. Better, maybe, than some people twice his age. His fingers rap against the handle of the Transistor regardless, as if to vent his restless energy.]

Yeah, okay. Keep me posted. [And, wry—] Don't do anything I wouldn't.

[Says the guy who got himself killed doing the Heroic Thing. But y'know. Akira doesn't need to know that. At least he'll know where to find him in event of an SOS.]

I'll ask around. Think I'll swing back around the Entertainment District, too. [Which was, for the record, where he and Red ran into trouble.] See if anyone's heard anything fishy.

[There isn't much here to give them a lead...but maybe someone's seen something.]