Shaw's trigger finger twitches when she sees something fly out of his sleeve. Some kind of a drone, maybe? She narrows her eyes and watches it fly out the door. She already knows it's not going to find anything, but doesn't bother to mention it. Finch sanitized the place a long time ago. He knows better than to leave any trace of himself in a place that's been compromised.
"If you really are in peril, you should be more careful who you talk to," she says with a brief smirk. You lucked out at least in Shaw: she won't imperil you any further than you already are. Assuming you're telling the truth, anyway.
"You can't really gain anything by not taking chances," Merlin says with a shrug. "Only people who land on their asses on goldmines get forward without paying something in advance. And I don't have time to stay in this place and build rapport and coterie and sweet talk you into giving me what I want."
He digs up a pack of cigarettes and lights one, shaking the pack invitingly towards her.
"And the thing is, you should be careful how long you let me linger here. I will bring trouble with me."
Shaw shakes her head, declining the cigs. That shit will kill you. Not that she's in any position to lecture anyone on safety. But not smoking will definitely extend her life more, if only to give her body the stamina to keep moving when it has to. In her line of work, you need every advantage you can get.
She moves to the window, beside the clearboard that Finch once used to display all the photos of their numbers. She rubs the dust off the pane and carefully peers out into the street below.
"You should work on your sweet-talk, you're crap at it."
She glances back at him, amused.
"What kind of trouble are we talking about here? I left my grenade launcher at home."
"Do you?" Merlin quirks his brows at her while he pockets the cigarettes. The smoke doesn't do much for an Amberite. Not everyone likes the taste of it, though.
And she might still not know what she's dealing with here. Has Finch told her?
His grin is a little wild when she claims he's crap at sweet-talk. She isn't wrong. "You could say that. I believe in mutual gain. Bargaining has always been more comfortable for me."
He taps the ashes from the burning tip of the cigarette to the coffee cup. Might as well not be rude and soil the floors.
"The kind that grenade launcher won't help with, I'm afraid. But I admit the idea that you have one kind of turns me on. Let's try this conversational gamble: It's going to be Chaos."
Of course. Trouble will always find a girl who keeps grenades in her refrigerator. If she doesn't go looking for it herself.
As for bargaining, she leaves that kind of thing up to the Machine. It used to be Finch, but she's calling the shots, now. It's not quite god-mode, but more open than before.
"Chaos?" She quirks her brow at that, as it's said in a way that's supposed to mean something. "Is that some kind of secret hacker codeword?"
Alright. Finch obviously hasn't told her much, if anything. Merlin doesn't want to be the one to make that decision. And Finch probably wouldn't thank him for it if he did.
He shrugs. "No, just that it'll be chaotic, you know, the kind of stuff that you wouldn't believe exists."
He takes a moment, just smoking and scratching the underside of his chin, trying to find a way out of this situation that doesn't require him to break the murky code of camaraderie that they have in place here.
"So, you don't have any way to contact him?" Just making sure here.
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purpleandgray) wrote2017-01-16 06:04 pm
no subject
"If you really are in peril, you should be more careful who you talk to," she says with a brief smirk. You lucked out at least in Shaw: she won't imperil you any further than you already are. Assuming you're telling the truth, anyway.
no subject
He digs up a pack of cigarettes and lights one, shaking the pack invitingly towards her.
"And the thing is, you should be careful how long you let me linger here. I will bring trouble with me."
no subject
Shaw shakes her head, declining the cigs. That shit will kill you. Not that she's in any position to lecture anyone on safety. But not smoking will definitely extend her life more, if only to give her body the stamina to keep moving when it has to. In her line of work, you need every advantage you can get.
She moves to the window, beside the clearboard that Finch once used to display all the photos of their numbers. She rubs the dust off the pane and carefully peers out into the street below.
"You should work on your sweet-talk, you're crap at it."
She glances back at him, amused.
"What kind of trouble are we talking about here? I left my grenade launcher at home."
no subject
And she might still not know what she's dealing with here. Has Finch told her?
His grin is a little wild when she claims he's crap at sweet-talk. She isn't wrong. "You could say that. I believe in mutual gain. Bargaining has always been more comfortable for me."
He taps the ashes from the burning tip of the cigarette to the coffee cup. Might as well not be rude and soil the floors.
"The kind that grenade launcher won't help with, I'm afraid. But I admit the idea that you have one kind of turns me on. Let's try this conversational gamble: It's going to be Chaos."
no subject
As for bargaining, she leaves that kind of thing up to the Machine. It used to be Finch, but she's calling the shots, now. It's not quite god-mode, but more open than before.
"Chaos?" She quirks her brow at that, as it's said in a way that's supposed to mean something. "Is that some kind of secret hacker codeword?"
no subject
He shrugs. "No, just that it'll be chaotic, you know, the kind of stuff that you wouldn't believe exists."
He takes a moment, just smoking and scratching the underside of his chin, trying to find a way out of this situation that doesn't require him to break the murky code of camaraderie that they have in place here.
"So, you don't have any way to contact him?" Just making sure here.