Everybody knows the deal fell through. I was hoping that I could just blame you.

[painhumbles]

[[OOC: Technically, Trickster Week ends with this post, so if you have something to say to the little bastard, say it now or forever hold your peace... Until he comes back. Whenever that will be. I know not everyone has gotten all the stuff they needed to do with this plot out of the way, so I fully support backdating and all that crap. I'm just

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[nosuchstar]

There's someone behind you, Topher, giggling into her hands. "What did you do?"

Suou can tell it's driving him crazy. She drifts in, peeking over his shoulder at the computer. "I didn't think you used it for music or anything."

[invitedthemin]

Argh. Why? Not that he doesn't appreciate New and Improved With Added Emotions Suou, buuut...

He pulls himself out from behind the computer where he's trying to cross some wires, his hair mussed, and his expression grumpy. "I didn't do anything," he protests through gritted teeth. "And I don't. Someone- and I have my suspicions who- hacked my system and now I'm doomed to... Squaredance Hell." The last part is punctuated by a violent flail in the direction of his computer.

[nosuchstar]

"This music is really bad." Suou is oh so observant. She crouches, bracing her elbows against her knees and resting her head on her hands. "Can't you jut turn off the speakers? Until you fix it, anyway?"

She has every confidence that he'll fix it--he's easily as smart as her dad when it comes to all this stuff.

[invitedthemin]

This is Topher's lineface. Fear the lineface, Suou. Fear it. It's so linefacey and intimidating.

"I tried that. I tried everything." He scrambles back behind the computer and yanks the plug, the music stops, but the whir and hum of a dozen different machines stops too. "I've tried that twice," he says, waving the plug at her. "And when I start it up, it's back again."

He exhales and rubs his face, flopping onto the floor in front of the computer and looking very clearly stressed out and aggravated by this whole thing. "She wants to drive me insane," he mutters, clearly to himself. "Well, it's working and... And now I'm muttering to myself. That's... definitely a bad sign."

[deepestindigo]

Whoa hey it's a Wanderer with brownies! And, given the way he's going at those brownies, it looks like he's got the kind of metabolism to rival a behemoth or an afreet or something.

Except for how any self-respecting demon would be somewhere inside where it's nice and warm.

"So here's what I'm wondering," she says, apropos of nothing, because an Indy not being a professional is an Indy who starts conversations in just this way, "do you not have anyplace warm to be, or are you just crazy enough to enjoy weather like this?"

Indy herself is wearing two pairs of tights, and fishnets over those, and a black skirt trimmed in fun-fur (deep blue), and her big warm leather coat over a hoodie over a sweater over a long-sleeved shirt. Also, a very cute and warm hat. Demons. Cold. Not friends.

"...'cause, you know, I could help with the first one, if you wanted, but if you're just crazy, there's not a lot I can do." She lights a cigarette, moving to where the smoke won't bother him, because some people and smoke and food... Not a good

[painhumbles]

Oh hey, look it's a demon. Of the non-black-eyed variety. Less annoying than the white-blooded freaks, who are just vaguely insulting, but still reason enough for him to want to tell whatever deity (or Dad, if he wants to give God that much credit) invented the multiverse to go fuck themselves so hard, because he liked his worldview. That alone is enough to almost make him miss the big red O HAY, HOOKER bells going off, because Dad knows there's nothing to sets off an angel's senses like a whore. Note the almost.

He looks up from his brownies and starts ticking off on his fingers. "One: Yes. I do." Because if he really cared about being somewhere not outside, he could just crash somewhere- more than likely in Murphy's theater, just to annoy her. "Two: Oh, it's cold outside? Damn. I knew this didn't feel like Mexico."

Which is Trickster!snark for, 'I don't rightly give a damn.'

[deepestindigo]

"Impressive use of lightning-fast snark, stranger," Indy says, giving the Trickster a look that's a parody of every gunfighter appraising an opponent ever. "But 'round these parts, there's some rules you gotta keep in mind."

And just like that, the faux-attitude's gone. "Like how people who snark too much at random strangers don't get any Pixy Stix."

She waves a selection of jumbo Pixy Stix from her bag at him, grinning. Some people might think that offering more sugar to a guy with brownies is overkill. Not Indy. Indy has behemoth metabolism, and she has a feeling that, given how this guy's got an entire plate of brownies, he might just be similarly equipped. And in that case, more sugar is always good.

[painhumbles]

The Trickster spreads his arms in a gesture that is universally accepted as the yes, I know I'm awesome gesture, although he drops it the minute he sees the pixie sticks.

"Hey, I have a condition," he says, expressing veering on something mock-pathetic. "I have to be a smartass at all times or I'll just keel over. No warning. Just... Bam." He claps his hands together and then leans back, sticking his lip out slightly.

Yes, Indy. He has a condition. Are you going to fault a guy whose livelihood is invested in snark? Are you?

[best_is_past]

It's hard not to notice the music coming from Topher's office. People across the building are probably wondering where that annoying music is coming from. It's actually pretty impressive.

Less noticeable, unless certain neuroscientists happen to be paying attention, is the creepy lady lurking briefly by the door to his office, peeking around the doorframe to watch him with a faint smirk.

And then she walks past the door and on down the hall. She was never here. Really. And she has no idea why this is happening to Topher.

[invitedthemin]

Topher just happens to look up from untangling himself in a mess of wiring to see a very familiar figure departing the scene of the crime... And does she have to be so lurky? Oh right, she's the phantom and this is what she does.

He disentangles himself from the wires and bolts after her, skidding to a stop in the hallway right behind her.

"What in the hell, Saunders?" He demands, even though he knows, because Saunders is Saunders, that she's just going to play innocent with those big doe eyes and that... That... Face. Thing.

[best_is_past]

Claire swings around, expression not so much innocent as carefully blank.

"Are you having trouble with your computers, Topher?" she asks. Her tone starts off high and innocent, but falls completely flat as she goes on, "And here I thought you were smarter than everyone in this building."

[invitedthemin]

"I am smarter than everyone in this building," Topher says, without even a slight pause, because if there is one thing he's sure of, it's that, and he will say it to anyone who will listen. "And what makes you think there's something wrong with my computers? You're the one being all... Lurky." He throws his arms up in the air. "Maybe I just woke up today with inescapable urge to square dance... And gouge my eardrums out with a pencil."

He drops his arms to his sides and frowns deeply, clearly... Well, not so much upset as deeply stressed out. He can't work if he's going to be jumping at shadows. This is not a suitable working environment, Saunders! "Seriously. You have got to stop messing with me."