It had to happen someday...

[totallytrustworthy]

Who: Chloe Frazer and Charlie Cutter
Where: BLOOD AND THUNDER THE ARENA
When: June 21st
Warnings: Charlie is an idiot; Chloe isn't much better

"When I said blend in with the locals I meant more like 'have a pint with them', 'talk about current events', 'tell them you grew up on the east end of things'." She's no more than a step behind him, hood pulled taut across the curve of her skull with both hands on the drawstrings, groaning out her best interpretation of a kid being dragged to the store by their currently least favorite parent. "I didn't mean actually turn into a giant fanatic."

A giant, geeky fanatic that seriously suggested this as a discreet place to meet up. 

Comments

[alittlesweptup]

It's a look that prompts a deep pull from his own cup. If she's not drunk enough for this yet, then he certainly isn't either. "Right, that's what I said." Subtle.

"Hypertech does fabbing, mostly military contracts. I've been putting in a lot of shipment hours and he might have taken notice." No word on the fact that he'd deliberately taken the position for just that reason, but she's a smart girl and he trusts her to either suss as much out or-- or it won't be an issue. Either way, he doesn't need to go spelling that particular bit out.

[totallytrustworthy]

Oh no, she's sussing, and it's definitely an issue.

"And I'm assuming you have a very good reason for supplying him with exactly what he's after?" All straight and sharp and to the point with a stare to match.

[alittlesweptup]

"Hold on--" he starts to raise his hand in protest, as when she puts it that way it sounds less well considered than it actually is. But then he changes tacks (never say Charlie Cutter doesn't learn from past mistakes) and smooths the line of his shoulder. He takes a quick sip from his lager, takes the moment to rearrange what he means to say, and then tries a second attempt.

"I've got a plan and it doesn't involve putting ordinance in the man's hand. More like the reverse of that, really."

[totallytrustworthy]

She quirks a skeptical eyebrow, slowwwly draining the glass in her hand that counters his short, sad little one. Waits till the announcer's done giving a countdown till the next match and then speaks up.

"All right. I'm listening..."

[alittlesweptup]

"Right." Which prompts a pause, a brief flicker of consideration. And then he shrugs, game enough, twisting about so he can shoulder out anyone who might theoretically be listening (no one is; the crackling announcement of the next match and the resultant howl that meets it makes that much obvious).

"So he and I had a bit of a run in --And before you get out ahead of me, it was perfectly cordial. The bastard only drew his gun once and never even pointed it in my direction which, from the sound of it, makes us best mates. He wants weapons from Hypertech and I told him point blank that I couldn't get him shit without elevated clearance which, ta-da--" He pats his jacket lapel for emphasis, likely meaning to indicate his breast pocket or some badge he isn't currently actually wearing. "--done and done. Which means I've got access to fab up something that can take your friend out without the serial numbers on it. Personally I was thinking a nice rocket launcher or an IED under his bed, but I'm open to ideas."

[totallytrustworthy]

He'd gone to meet with the bastard. He'd set it up, clearly, had been thinking about it for too bloody long, and Chloe never had the slightest idea-- he could have easily compromised her entire operation and for that she's on the verge of leaving with a few sharp words.

But the rest of it...the rest of it sounds right. Or at least better.

"Rocket launcher won't cut it." IED maybe. Give her what else you've got up your sleeve, Charlie: you started this mess, you pitch her some ideas.

[alittlesweptup]

"I'm not talking your basic old world RPG-7 here, Chloe. Nate should, theoretically, have some access to some higher grade munitions - something used to weaponize those fiddly little planes they send out into space against the Wadjit. We take one of those, turn it into something that can be aimed with a little more certainty from something that isn't a mech, and I think it'd blow the bastard into at least a few smaller pieces that'd be easier to deal with."

Colorful descriptors aside, he likes to think it isn't a bad plan. "Look, we cut the wanker down - literally - and then we only need a few minutes. His regeneration ability's got to have a limit. If we split the bastard into seven horcruxes or whatever, we can at least make sure he isn't ambulatory or likely to shoot us out of the air while we get the hell out of the fleet."

[totallytrustworthy]

Chloe pauses at that, clearly mulling over what he's told her (or possibly letting the lager settle in her stomach).

By their standards it's a good plan. Better than good, actually, it's genius compared to 'try not to die while leaping off a forty foot cliff holding c4'. And this? Well as it's worked so far, it can't last, Chloe knows that. Probably better to go all in than die huddled in a corner.

"Okay." No joke, no sass. Just the bottom line this time.

[alittlesweptup]

It's not what he's expecting from her. What he's expecting is a thorough dressing down, a slap maybe. And while he'd done this in public in an attempt to mitigate that likelihood, he certainly hadn't anticipated it going-- well, anything near this well actually.

Charlie blinks, shifting his fingers on the plastic cup. He takes a sip, clumsy, and quietly wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Really? That's it?"

[totallytrustworthy]

"Next round's up." She snorts, barely suppressing a smile against the edge of her glass. Followed by dimming lights and pyrotechnics and the booming sound of the announcer's voice.

Her elbow scuffs lightly across his.

[alittlesweptup]

So it is.

His look on her lingers, a distinct uncertainty in the line of his mouth as if he's waiting - giving her another few moments to change her mind, to let the other shoe drop. But when it doesn't come, he finally settles. Takes a generous swig from his cup (which...puts him down to dregs, officially). Alright then.

Empty cup or no, he offers his cup - clicking it neatly enough against hers. "Cheers, darling."