Summary:Mick and Lena have a talk about the future. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
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Lena Snart leans over a make-shift desc. Goggles down, a flare flash of bright white-blue light shines now and then. She hunches over a gun, tools in each hand as she cants her head and works with a calm peace about her body. Sock-feet, boxers and a ratty tanktop, she hums to herself and gives a soft blow across the wiring as it sizzles and smokes brieftly. Her hair is up in a messy tail, kept mostly out of the way. Pizza waits on the kitchen counter, along with a bottle or three of beer. The radio hums out classic rock to create white noise and little more. The news comments something about a robbery at the Metro.
"Metro?" A voice comes from further in the appartment, an equally underdressed man coming from the direction of the refidgerator. "That's trains right. We didn't…you didn't rob a train without me?" Mick moves, yet another bottle of beer in his hands as he moves towards the collection and starts to reach for a piece of pizza once more. "Because I didn't think people even robbed trains anymore."
"No. Metropolitan Museum of Art." She corrects, still ticking away at her weapon before setting her tools down and sitting back. Gloves still on, she sets her goggles back and atop her head. Eyeing him, she smirks before putting her cold gun back into one piece. "Got you something." She mentions, nodding off toward the sofa. There is a rolled up object of some sort. A canvas, no doubt.
"Art museum?" He frowns, but there's a smirk as the man whacks the top of the bottle against the counter's edge, sending the cap skittering away. "Last time we tried one of those, we got attacked by a giant drug fiend…good times." The pyromaniac laughs again, looking towards the wrapped canvas and then setting the drink down. "Heh…nice. Should we pin it to the fridge or something?" he questions as he makes to unroll the picture.
"Just look at the present I got you, asshole." She watches down her sight, capturing the man in her gaze before putting the weapon down and flicking on its safety switch. "No drug fiend this time. Did meet a Spider, though. Didn't know we caught his attention, or even why the hell he was just there. Randomly." Standing, she moves his way and waits, crossing her arms casually under her chest. The picture is something of grand chaos. It was hot, of fire and brimstone, fury and death - it was the burning apocalypse, the end of all things, set ablaze in all its glory.
"Nice." It's a simple enough response from a simple enough man, but the man was simple himself. Still, there was a grin on his lips and a little chuckle from his throat before he exhales a breath. "I love it." Of course, a piece of that quality? It was probably worth a fair bit of money, but the reality was the thing was unlikely to ever be sold on.
It was going to hang in his room.
Lena Snart finds herself frowning gently at his response. It was simple, but she knew him as more than just, well, simple. Blinking, she smiles, stiffly, and at least nods at his comment of his love for it. "Good." She comments at length before moving back to the table with her cold gun and tools. Dragging her goggles back down, she clears her throat and shifts, making herself more comfortable.
"Girl there helped me pick it out. Was talking about what you make my heart do. She started with 'singing', then it went into yelling and growling. Commented about Klingon Mating Rites and, well, that seemed fitting. Poetry and breaking shit." She shrugs and rolls her shoulders, reaching for her gun to tear out another bit and busy herself with it. "I can get you another one if you want. Or something less…painted."
"Singing and yelling and growling?" he repeats, a little huff of amusement coming from the man as he moves to the other side of the table and then sits down to watch her work. His arm moves to rest atop the table before downing a gulp of his beer. Of course, the man was perfectly happy watching her work, right down to the quirk of her brow when she works. "Sounds like my kind of disney princess."
"Screw you. I'm no princess and you know it. Anyone calls me 'Elsa' again and I'll murder them." She grumbles, pressing a button, twisting a dial, sighing as she gives a shake of her head. "This isn't enough. I need to study more, go into cryo-cores, I think. A different type of cold. Use both." Now she was thinking aloud, muttering ideas passively to herself more so than the lug in the room watching her move. "Anyway, thought you'd like it," she talks to Mick again now. "You usually do like fire. I guess setting it is different than just seeing it expressed with oils." Pause, "We need to start a new job, too. That one heist isn't going to go. Computer girl never got back in touch. I'm letting that one fall to the side."
Another pull of his drink, the man puts his bottle down before stepping around the table, his big hands coming to thump lightly down on her shoulders and lazily massage while he leans past her to look at the gun. "Figures, probably off upgrading her RAM and complaining on reddit about something." A shake of his head, the man gives a shrug again and gives a little tilt of his head. "We cant do it without computer girl then? I mean…a little more smash-and-grab works."
Hidden behind her silver and azure specs, he couldn't see the lidding of her eyes to this touch. She doesn't tense or twitch, she sits there and her grip goes slack on her tools. "Well, didn't say that. Just might be louder than I'd like. I can deal with those systems, but they're changing how they do security. I'll need another look at the plan. Make it more fluid. It'd be a good hit," she pauses and rests her head back, just enough to look up toward his features, even if they were upside-down. "Does it seem weird to you that there's no one out there trying to stop us?"
"I mean, what's a good time without a few light shows and loud noises, right?" The man grins, squeezing a little and then looking down at the other woman. There's a momentary space where he rests his own forehead against hers before leaning back to meet her gaze and answer. "A little," he muses. "I mean, are we not doing things big and bad enough? Sure it means we're getting away with it but…hows a guy meant to compete with alien invasions?"
"I guess not. I'm just…having a hard time finding it fun anymore. Something's missing, don't you think?" She whispers, still watching up and toward his face, her eyes hidden by her goggles. "Maybe we need to do bigger. Badder. Something louder to get us a solid challenge." Shifting now, she moves and sits atop the desk, reaching up and pulling her visor back and studying the man's features. "Are you happy with just the score or do you want something…more out of it?"
"I'm all for it," he grins and then leans back to stand. "Y'know me Lena…I'm here for us to have a good time, and make a little money." A pause, the man laughs. "But if we're going for challenges? I've always wanted to boost the batmobile, or one of those bikes…or planes…or maybe we just rob whereever he keeps the money for that stuff. Maybe we'll warm up to it."
Lena Snart smiles. Her head cants and she blinks smoothly. There's a thought, an idea, a spark. Then, the girl nods. "Alright," she decides. "We target the Bat."