Day 42: Bill's Hardware (Afternoon)

[secret_orchard]

The air had been even brisker for the walk from the restaurant to the store. Keeping up with his taller friend's longer strides had Armand breathless when they arrived. The exertion made him want to take off the heavy coat in the warmer indoors air, but he didn't want to carry or lose it.. As for the store itself, he was both fascinated and

Comments

[loyal_soldier]

The temperature difference between inside and out just another irritating reminder that he didn't have his armor with him. It seemed petty, but he did miss the temperature control that the sealed suit had given him.

"Possibly, but maybe some compact tools would be a help as well." He didn't recognize too much in the store, but all of the tools seemed a lot simpler than the ones he saw techs using on Imperial bases. That was probably for the best, really.

[secret_orchard]

"Do you know how to hide a tool?" Armand asked quietly. He kept close to his friend so he wouldn't have to raise his voice much. "I'm sure the staff will check our pockets."

[loyal_soldier]

622 shrugged. "There's parts of my jacket coming apart." He showed the places where the lining and hem were coming unstitched. "That might work."

[secret_orchard]

Armand stepped back so he could look without being too obvious. "I see. That would work for something smallish. What do you want?" Obviously something more useful than nails. "I wonder," he said softly, "if they have metal files." There were small tools that could be useful in modifying things found at the Institute or trying to subvert the locks.

[no_barbarian]

The worst thing about wasted nights was how much of the next day Teisel wasted moping about the fact that he'd wasted a night. Although there really hadn't been anything he could have done, it was still aggravating. He couldn't even touch base with anyone over the board, as he was once again stuck for the day in Doyleton, a town he was quickly finding to be spectacularly useless. Stuck in Doyleton and stuck in an unfortunate shirt that had Teisel wondering what 'Irish' meant, and why anyone would feel compelled to kiss him because of it. He was pretty sure he wasn't Irish, whatever it was, and he was beginning to suspect that his nurse had a small mean streak

[sixth_attack]

[Amateur haircut from Sechs coming right up...]

Sechs left the Tasty Burger with a chaotic heap of emotions swirling inside his head. He felt resolute on finding the purple-haired individual named 'Trunks', while the memory of Kibitoshin's enraptured grin over Sechs' agreement to help find his friend left the Replica feeling a tad satisfied with himself. However, that warm emotion was overshadowed by Sechs' bewilderment over his bizarre reaction to Kibitoshin's concern. It left him feeling mortified and furious with himself. Sechs didn't know what to feel. If only he had some book on this sort of issue... "Human Bodies for Cyborg Dummies: What to Expect and How to Deal with it." A book like that would beat risking the humiliation of asking someone else about what happened

[no_barbarian]

Teisel had been similarly enraptured by the saws on display, and the loud exclamation behind him gave him no time to react before someone starting ripping at his hair. With an alarmed shriek, he spun to face his attacker, eyes watering at a particularly hard yank and the sting of several strands being plucked out, as though they'd gotten caught in something. His good mood evaporated faster than a snowflake in a blast furnace; even the hallowed ground of a hardware store wasn't safe!

He wasn't in the clear when his assailant let go, either. Doing a decent impression of a slightly confused powder keg, Teisel blinked as the slightly smaller man gave him a piece of his mind. For what, exactly, it took Teisel a moment to process, but once he did he was ready to beat the rest of the guy's mind out through his ears. "What?! It's my fault you can't watch where you're walking, eh, you little shit?" he barked, fists clenched and practically quaking with rage. "You have the whole goddamn store to walk in but I have to make way for you?

[sixth_attack]

Any sort of calm tranquility that blessed the store with its presence was now officially out the window.

Geeze! This guy was loud! Sechs could practically feel the loose strands of his hair being blown away from his forehead as he was assailed by the bigger man's vocal outrage. His ears rung like they had been hit by a sonic boom! Dammit! Just when his headache was starting to get better...

"Who you calling a little shit?!" Sechs blared back with his left fist raised in a threatening gesture whilst keeping his braced hand behind and out of sight. He leaned in closer to the other man with his head tilted further back, directing his furious glare at the stranger's face instead of his chest.

Now that Sechs' vision wasn't being engulfed in grey hair, he was able to get a better look at who he was dealing with. Damn... Sechs definitely had a tendency to pick fights with big people, didn't he? This guy was just about as tall as Recluse. He wasn't as bulky in the muscle department but his build conveyed telltale signs of an experienced

[i_dont_paint]

A week ago, it would have felt a little strange to be intent on perusing the stock of a small town hardware store. A week ago, it would have felt even stranger to be intent on making off with some of that stock. A week ago, however, Tony had been certain that monsters didn't exist, that alternate realities were nothing more than an interesting physics problem, and that the inmates didn't usually run the asylum, no matter what common wisdom held.

Shoulders up and hands buried in his pockets against a chill that dissipated as he entered the store, he set off down one of the aisles. He didn't take too much note of anyone else in the store; as yet, no one appeared to be familiar. His attention was for the tools and bins of nails and the opportunities presented therein, and his expression had gone slightly abstracted as half of his mind hared off along paths wound up in plans and equations, half of which couldn't really be carried out without a budget and a proper workspace.

[for Conklin]

[saintoflangley]

While common thievery was, in theory, asset work and below the ambition of any case officer of the CIA, in practice, everyone knew that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. Such was the mindset of Alex Conklin as he limped into the hardware store of Doyleton. Giving the clerk on duty a friendly smile - in the clothes he'd been given for the day, Conklin looked like anyone's kindly grandpa, or perhaps eccentric great-uncle - he began looking at items with seemingly mild interest. It wouldn't do to seem too keen on anything here. That could arouse suspicion

[i_dont_paint]

"No," Tony admitted quietly. Even to his unpracticed eye, there were plenty of things on the shelves around them that could be used as weapons, even if half of them were far too large to be easily smuggled out under the watchful eye of the shopkeeper. "But if I focused on what I couldn't believe, I'd drive myself crazy."

He eyed a small screwdriver kit sidelong, pretending in a fit of whimsy to focus for a moment on the paintbrushes instead. The joke would be lost on anyone who wasn't privy to what he considered one of the more inane sobriquets he'd been stuck with, but at least the things looked harmless. "Having a productive day?"

[saintoflangley]

"The sad thing is," the spook said, glancing quickly at a ball-peen hammer - not too useful unless he was going to smash necrit skulls with it - "I think I'm getting used to the unbelievable stuff." Giant death monstrosities that could lurk around every corner? How passé.

Conklin shrugged his shoulders at the question. "Not exactly." Truth be told, he hated Doyleton days. It was like they were mocking the patients with a taste of freedom and at least the appearance of normalcy. Word traveled fast at the Institute - he'd heard someone had tried to steal a car and escape on the last trip here. He wondered who it had been.