(Untitled)

[bigreveal]

WHO: OLD PISSY FART, YOUNG PISSY GIRL
WHERE: The Zee designated safehouse.
SUMMARY: Amanda learns lots of new info, DeConnick is pissing her off, TIME FOR A PRIVATE TALK.
FORMAT: Whatevs.
WHEN: After acquiring future info from Cassie Holmes.
WARNINGS: Unless Waller goes all Bad Cop, nope.

Comments

[deconnate]

Candy was, despite temptation, not examining the room of Civil War memorabilia. As fascinating past wars and national history could be, her schedule was rather full already. Her laptop, its casing loose from having to pry out screws with surgical instruments to yank out its wifi card and other tracer bullshit hardware, was taking quite the beating from the speed at which her one hand was typing.

Nearby on the otherwise neglected table were two flat-opened paper notebooks, and in the third she was making small, slow notes. There was only so much multitasking a person could do, and Candy needed to do three times that work.

The sound of someone else in the building had her immediately alert, regardless of how safe it had been assured to be. And like hell she wanted to deal with someone coming after her over drugging and a hair cut. Behind her was a wall already, so that was good, and trading pen for pistol only splattered a couple spots of blue ink.

Course it wouldn't do much good against most ImPorts, but it was what she had to work

[bigreveal]

She probably wasn't getting any sleep. Paranoia building up in her. Amanda could hear the scuffling around.

Maybe that'd make her more willing to talk straight with her.

"DeConnick, it's Waller. This house is magically charmed, remember? Only people on the list Zee makes can get in or out."

But to make her feel more safe, instead of asking her to come out, Amanda just kept walking ahead. Running over every bit of information she had in her head to get Candy to start opening up beyond just wanting to fuck over Vulcanus.

And everything just seemed to keep coming back to Fugue.

[deconnate]

Oh. That was a good thing. Waller was one of the few ImPorts she'd managed a conversation with that didn't make her want to blow her own brains out. The gun was put back down on the table, still within easy reach. Even if the voice and data matched, they probably had telepathic shape-shifters immune to the rules somewhere.

But waiting around in tense anticipation was a stupid waste of time. "Dining room," she called, her attention already moving back to her work.

[bigreveal]

And Amanda's footsteps turned right into there.

Slowly, she sat herself down, taking a long breath, for a very, very long week.

"I wanted to get all our ducks in a row before we start moving on Vulcanus."

"Especially since I have new information - the kind that's pertinent to you."

She kept her voice quiet. Level. Professional.