maskormenacelogs | You can steal from me, baby, that's just fine.

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You can steal from me, baby, that's just fine.

WHO: Job & Lucas Hood
WHERE: Maurtia Falls #002
WHEN: Hood's arrival day
WHAT: Bestest best friends reunited. Aww.
WARNINGS: Job has a mouth on him.

[The outfit today is subdued and ideal for breaking and entering. Well, not so much the breaking. Job doesn't need to break anything anymore, as locks respond to his intention faster than he can turn a key. Superpowers, he's finding, have been highly underrated by comic books everywhere. So much angst over something so useful. No, it's incredibly easy to get inside Hood's new living quarters. About five minutes after discovering its location, he walks right on in.

No one's home, which is good news for Job. He checks every room, anyway, before settling on the kitchen. There's a good view of it from the front door, which will make the surprise nice and dramatic. He takes his seat at the table and inspects his makeup and wig in his compact mirror. Flawless. Looking beautiful for his sweetheart.

The compact mirror disappears into his purse, swapped out for a switchblade, which Job then turns and turns over and over between his fingers while he waits.]

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[ The only reason Hood was out was because he wanted (needed) to have a good idea of the layout; exit routes, bottlenecks, overall security (not that the last mattered much as he had realized just how easily he could basically banish at will), and to pick up something to eat. Chinese takeout, he realizes, remains the same independently of the world you're in.

He has to stop his train of thought right there as he opens the door because it's so goddamned stupid he can barely deal with it. Superheroes and villains, what do you know.

Hood walks into the kitchen and stops for a fraction of a second, surprise barely reaching his eyes before he sighs and heads over the counter to deposite the food. It also gives him time to assess the situation, Job looks like his usual cocky, prideful self, which makes no sense considering he was a living wreck the last time he had seen him. The explanation someone offered about people being brought from different times comes to mind, and Hood can't help but to smile and shake his head.

Perfect. Just perfect. ]

If a crew comes out with cameras and expect me to smile and laugh along I swear to God, Job, I'm killing someone.

[Job taps the handle of his switchblade irritably against the surface of the table - one, two, three - before he can't contain himself anymore and springs to his feet.]

Nah-uh, baby.

[Heels clacking, Job circles around the table to join Hood at the counter. He slaps his hand down and leans against it until he's got a good view of Hood's face. That stupid, stupid face.]

Don't even try and act like all this ain't your fault.

[ This time, Hood blinks, clearly surprised. Surprised, then annoyed. He lifts a hand to his forehead, lips pursed. Then he drives it down on the counter. Hard. ]

How-- How is this my fault? The fuck I did now?

[ There's a lot of things he's screwed over the years, but this would set the bar on a completely different level. ]

This is not my doing. [ And he'll repeat it until it's the only thing that makes sense. ]

[Job purses his lips and fixes a hard stare on Hood. He raises his hand and tugs up his sleeve just enough to display that faintly glowing tattoo on his wrist. Does he need to say it out loud? He'd rather not, given the situation. Given that they're in government housing and there could be ears everywhere. The shit Hood was mixed up in before he was Lucas Hood - before he was even a thief. None of that seems related to this even a little? Job's arched eyebrow is asking.]

No. No. Of course not. Black Ops- yeah, shady as shit, but this is some sci-fi next level shit right here. Have you seen these people?

[ He feels like waving an arm to the invisible multitude of freaks playing hero right now. ]

I think a couple of them aren't even human to begin with. And yeah, this-- [ He stares at his own glowing tattoo. ] --this is a fucking tag, alright. But last I knew I'm still Hood and you're still Job. That has to count for something.

[It's unfair to accuse Hood of this, Job's aware. It's just easier to blame someone else than to blame himself. Because this could so easily be Job's fault, too. Governments around the world have been working for years to capture him. Hell, forget governments. Extremely wealthy individuals have wanted him just as much. And Job has seen just enough of what's out there to know he doesn't know half of what they're capable of.]

Mm, right.

[The skepticism doesn't drop even when Job's hand does.]

You still Hood.

[And why the fuck is that, exactly? Job doesn't need Lucas fucking Hood. He needs his partner. And as Job's eyes wander up and down the man standing before him, he has a feeling he's looking at someone who's more Lucas Hood than ever before.]

What's the matter witchu?

Right. Fuck.

[ That solved, Hood is left with the feeling he's moving to an equally dangerous terrain here. Still, answering that question isn't as complicated as he thought. ]

I'm still Hood because that's all they have on me, and that's all I'm giving them. So it suits me until I find a way out.

[ Never mind he's grown all too comfortable with being Hood, oops. ]

Mmhmm.

[Yes, Job is sure that's all there is to it. Not a freakish attachment to some dead guy's life and identity.]

But that ain't what I'm talking about.

[Let him say it a bit clearer:]

What. Is. The matter. With. You?

[Hood's drawn in a way that makes him look so much fucking older. He's lost the buzz-cut of a former-soldier-turned-thug and gone straight to scruffy small-town everyman in the less-than-72-hours since Job last saw him.

And something is simply... wrong. In the way Hood looks at him. When Job blamed him for this, he didn't simply brush it off with a laugh. Did Job actually detect guilt there? Either Hood actually is responsible for this fuckery or there's something deeper going on.]

Job-

[ Hood just. Lifts his hand again. God what a mess. ]

Leave it alone, this shit is complicated enough like this.

[ Damn you and your perceptiveness. It's not like he asked for the shitload that was Camp Genoa to go the way it did, or to run into Job before he got his life destroyed. And he knows he probably looks hella off, but how do you fight that? ]

Besides, I don't go telling people who I'm actually are back "home", I'm sure as hell not starting here.

...That said, the sooner we make money to leave these apartments, the best.

[Job's eyes widen subtly at being told to leave it alone. Fuck, there really is something. Some mess that'll come back to bite them both in the ass. He fucking knew it.

He also knows better than to keep pressing. Hood won't give an inch. He never does.]

Fine.

[Job reaches across to grab the takeout bag, slicing it open with his switchblade so he can sort through the contents. Bound to taste like garbage, but beggars can't be choosers.]

Two fucking hours and you already fixing a take. Okay, baby, let's hear it: What's the plan?

I'm not fixing anything. Yet. Still, crazy as this place is, everyone gets...powers. Abilities. I don't know.

[ He'll be pulling that food his direction now, thank you very much. ]

And I've got something just right for the job. We might actually be capable of pulling a hit in the middle of the day.

[ Content munching ensues. ]

What you've got, by the way?

[Job has settled on a perfectly innocuous box of fried rice, which he's now prodding at with chopsticks. He's not sure whether that should make him happy or not, the news that Hood's taking a moment before diving right back into a heist. Camp Genoa had not gone well at all. Job knows because he was just there, and this pink wig he's wearing is masking one nasty head wound.]

You first.

Hm.

[ How does one explain this kind of shit? ]

As far as I can tell, I can... not be there.

[ He takes out his phone (such a nice looking phone, Hood would never buy something like this) and turns on the camera facing him, so Job can look at the screen. ]

So you see me, and now...

[ Screen!Hood becomes a vaguely person-shaded blur. He then changes the mode to photograph and takes a quick picture, getting the same blur. ]

Same with audio. I tried other things, too.

[ He breaks a chopstick and gives his thumb a pinch with the sharp end, so a single drop of blood falls into the counter, only to up and dissolve in front of their eyes. ]

The guy I bought the food from, I used this power thing, and when I approached him again he didn't even remember talking to me.

[ He's a pretty damn thief, but apparently now he just got a lot better at not leaving a trace. ]

[Job takes all of it in: the phone screen, the vanishing blood... It does something funny to his head, like his brain feels like it ought to be hallucinating but it's well aware that this is reality. It's the same feeling Job has when he uses his own power.]

Look at you. The motherfucking Invisible Man.

[It'll be incredibly useful in their line of work. It also makes Job obsolete. This used to be his job, making his partner disappear. That thought leaves him looking glum.]

[ Kanyeshrug.jpg

But he can tell that Job is feeling a bit underappreciated and he's having none of it if he can help it. ]

So, what about you? I'm still going to need someone to actually open the doors for me, so to speak.

[Job doesn't exactly smile, but he perks up a little at that. Cocking his head, he takes a moment to consider the best way to demonstrate what he can do. The applications are so varied and yet so limited.

His eyes slide over to Hood's meal.]

How's the steak?

[Hood was not, in fact, eating steak a moment ago. He is now, though. The takeout boxes have been replaced by plates, chopsticks now forks and knives, and mediocre food now gourmet. The steak is perfect. Hood can still taste it in his mouth, like he just had a piece, even though he didn't.]

[ Silence, first because Hood is taking his time trying to wrap his head around it, then because this is a goddamn good steak. ]

You... hacked my food? Now that's something.

[ And not a moment later he's already considering all the implications. ]

What else can you change? Buildings? People?

Good question. I haven't tried people yet. Seems a little shady, don't it? Playing god on a whole other level.

[Unconscionable even for someone with a conscience as shriveled and dead as Job's. He does, however, give another demonstration: Job's suddenly dressed down. The pink wig is gone, replaced by long black hair knotted into a creative little bun, and the couture outfit is now a comfortable scarlet silk house kimono.]

I didn't have to pick your lock to get in here. I'm sure that works on bigger locks, too.

Interesting. If you're going to try with people, pick someone other than me.

[ Yeah, Hood can see how Job would love this particular power, considering he's just gotten an unlimited wardrobe to pick from. ]

Since Carrie's not around...there's the matter of the distance. If it's a bank safe... maybe something a little less crowded.

[ Oh, to find a mark. This is exciting. ]

[Job hums thoughtfully as he cuts himself a bite of magic steak.]

Probably wanna spend a couple weeks on recon. We ain't the only ones here with superpowers. If they don't got some kinda defense against that, I'll be surprised.

[Or maybe not. It's amazing how incompetent everyone in any world can be when it comes to security.]

They have motherfucking bona fide superheroes, with the capes and the spandex.

[ The fuck, right? ]

And maybe see if there's others low on the ridiculousness spectrum to network with. There's ought to be players in the field already.

[Job pauses to delicately touch two fingers to his temple, like he can feel a headache coming on already.]

My god. Will this ever stop feeling like a seven-year-old's fever dream?

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You can steal from me, baby, that's just fine.

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