gmlogbox | [Sandra] :: LOG :: More Politics (Reply)

The location he gives turns out to be basically an empty lot between two clusters of businesses which are themselves tucked behind a couple of warehouses. It's the kind of neighborhood where signage doesn't matter, so most of the businesses working back here have old, rusting, and quite small signs just above doors and the like. There's an autobody shop, a muffler place, a general mechanic, and some place with a lot of grinding and welding going on. For all the activity in the medium-ranged distance, the specific area Zach picked out is rather a hole, a sort of eye in the storm, perhaps some artifact of a prior economic downturn for St. Claire, perhaps just a cluster of lots that won't sell for whatever reason. The effect, however, is a comparatively quiet pocket in the midst of wildcat industrial activity.

Zach's Jeep looks almost at home here, and when Sandra finds Zach he's poking around at a shed, taking measurements, and examining the structure for reasons known only to him. The thing is practically waiting on a strong breeze to finish it off, at this point.

Sandra's Marauder looks a bit less at home when it pulls up, though given it screams 'cop car' vibes from the moment it's within line of sight-- in a way, maybe it does.
There's a slight pause once she pulls into the lot, as if she's debating whether or not this is the appropriate place to bother parking, but she ultimately, or rather, apparently, decides - before the pause becomes too noticeable, anyway - that it doesn't matter nearly as much as she may well think it does. The usual paranoia; easily guessed, even if the look of the woman is largely impassive, as always.
Stepping out of the vehicle, she's wearing clothes that are more casual than business-oriented, an olive drab jacket pulled over her shoulders to combat the humid chill in the air. She surveys what's being done on the shack - even if it is just measurements - with a note of curiosity, her brow raising as she notes the structure's condition.
"Are the rent prices in town really that bad?" she comments dryly, in lieu of a hello.

"Depends on what you want to do with the place," Zach answers, without really missing a beat or calling her on the lack of etiquette. The measuring ceases at the hail, however, and he pockets the tape measure as he turns to slowly meander in her direction. "Not that I have what you'd call a 'steady income' anyway. How've you been?" The pause between the transition and the actual greeting is much shorter than most folks would leave.

"Better," Sandra replies, pulling a cigarette from her coat pocket to light it, and take a slow drag off of it. She tilts the pack in Zach's direction as a formality, likely expecting him to decline, but-- whichever way it goes, "Yourself?" is asked. This, too, something of a formality, but at least she's polite about it.

"I'm good," he answers, at first to decline the cigarette as she predicted, and then adding a shrug at the end of it to extend the verbiage to the status of fully-fledged answer to the question. "Still pretty stoked about the results of our little study, not gonna lie. That what you're on about? Or is this a social call?"

"We never did make it to that motel," Sandra says, brow raised. "And you did say you owed me one." It's delivered straight enough that one *might*, for a moment, think she's being perfectly serious. She breezes past it, though, seeming to assume he'll catch on to the 'joke' even as she barely gives him time to respond, "This has to do with the plan of action we discussed after the fact, actually," --still, who knows, she could be completely serious. "About the Spirals."

Zach snorts, rolling his eyes at the first, and firing back with, "That'd be a waste of a favor." But there's actual business to discuss, apparently, and so that's where his attention immediately focuses. "Yeah? You got someone in mind you wanna ring up, already?" He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, the motion is stiff at first, but once they're sheltered from the chill of the wind, he settles back into something easier. The whole gesture presents a much less threatening guise and it may be a conscious choice on his end, or some kind of social tic.

The comment does at least earn a more facetious brow raise as if to ask if he's sure about that, suggesting that, yes, that was a joke. Thankfully.
"I went back to look at my notes," Sandra says, nonetheless, perfectly content to put the crass side of the conversation to rest. "At what I'd heard about the Spirals that visited Last Days after it was overtaken, just to verify for myself what I'd been told. The good news is that I know who they are, after a fashion." She takes a hit off her cigarette, slowly breathing out the smoke before saying, "The bad news," she says, ashing onto the blacktop, "is that it was one of their local leaders, and the rest of his pack."

"Local doesn't sound bad," Zach suggests, "means they're someone we can actually hunt down? Or is it bad because you've got history with 'em or something?" He talks freely of things he probably doesn't know, but then don't most dudes; he at least has the good grace to make clear this is a question from the start, not just idle chatter.

"We have history with them," Sandra replies. "A long and convoluted history, as you might imagine." A pause. "He goes by Renegade, but don't let the unoriginality of the name fool you. Spirals don't live long enough to gain the position of Alpha without being as cunning as they are thoroughly broken. Just not so much that they're incapable of leading."
There's a pause-- a hesitation, to some extent, her jaw shifting to worry at the inside of her lower lip. Then, "He doesn't have a history with me personally," she says, "for what little that's worth. Still-- I suppose I could use a bit of a primer on what all you can bring to the table, where it comes to worst case scenarios." For all that her tone is controlled, just the topic itself suggests the beginnings of cold feet.

Zach studies her a moment. Perhaps the evidence of self control is suggestive of some comment he might've made before deciding, in the end, that she probably doesn't need his sass right now. Instead, he starts with, "Well... you've seen what I'm capable of in the absolute worst case, from a 'providing personal security' standpoint. I'm assuming 'worst case' here is, he shows up with a pile of very well muscled help and looks to straight up kill us - possibly 'us' here meaning 'you' since, if I'm recalling correctly, you don't want me interfacing with folks on account of 'maybe famous enough to blow this.' I mean, what's the worst case that you're envisioning here?"

Sandra gives a slight shake of her head. "I don't recall implying that you should lay low," she says, "but given everything that preceded that conversation, it may have slipped my mind. Speaking frankly, your reputation could be put to use for us, regardless of how it's interpreted by these Spirals in particular. I'm not entirely certain that you'd need to remain in the background." A pause. "In any event, worst case extends beyond killing us," or just her, "or taking one of us prisoner," also probably just her, "which are both equally possible. Absoluete worst includes potentially breaching what's been more or less a tenuous ceasefire between the two sides, thus bringing another conflict straight into our backyard. Mind you, it's going to happen one way or another, eventually-- but I think it's safe to say that we've too much on our plate to consider inviting a war on two fronts, especially when one of those 'wars' isn't playing by any natural rules."

Zach's surprised by this, but not at all uncomfortable about the prospect. "Alright then. I can't do much if this goes beyond any consequences to you and I. That's tribal politics and that's out of scope for me. But if they're going to go down to just vanilla violence?" he shrugs. "I'm not too worried about a fight. Assuming they're going to be just as obsessed with taking giant fuzzy forms and relying on claws. If they're going to set up a proper killzone with guns... life will be more complicated. But I'm assuming this is a 'walk in fully prepared for violence' kind of thing?"

The comment on fuzzy forms earns another arched brow, though she doesn't comment on it immediately. Obsessed? Really? With a weapon that good, who wouldn't be? "It is," Sandra says, to his question. "But there's another problem, even if it doesn't come to that." Beat. "When we pack together," she says, "the totem I told you about before? It creates a link between us. A means of communicating with one another, over thought. It's not a constant view into each others' minds-- this method requires deliberately projecting. It's part of what makes packs as effective as they are, and Spirals have retained this. They do, after all, have their own totem spirits." Beat. "This means that, even if Renegade isn't present, he'll be alerted immediately to the meeting."

"And if things go south they can get word out," Zach nods, following along. "Basically telepathy-on-demand then?" He uses the term like it's standard fare for him. "How much concentration does it usually require? And are there common things that shut it down or interdict it?"

"Communication using that method is as simple as speaking normally," Sandra replies, herself not seeming all that surprised by the standard fare. Then again, she's the one that brought it up. "And, as I said, strong emotions can be communicated unintentionally. Pain responses, especially, though that may be more my own experience talking. Disruption, though-- short of cutting the link to their totem spirit, I don't know of any ways that could manage it."

"I could probably work something out," Zach says, unhelpfully, "but not in the kind of time frame we'd need it. It'd take some trial and error, and I'm guessing you really want to move faster than that, on this."

Sandra hesitates for a moment. Then, with a note of frustration, "I'd have to do a risk assessment on how fast is 'too fast,' in this case," she says. "I don't have a lot of avenues to speak to the others about what to expect without tipping my hand to even considering this in the first place, which would go over about as well as you'd expect." She frowns-- casting a glance in what's likely an arbitrary direction, her jaw shifting slightly. "And it's still possible that they'll either tell us nothing, or that what they do tell us is, ultimately, worthless. Means that taking some precautions would be in our-- or, at least, my best interests."

"We're probably talking months," Zach clarifies. "Like... spirit shit is a thing I've stayed the hell away from for as long as I could. Jamming something that's inherenly a link brokered by a spirit of some kind is the sort of thing I can maybe attack from the 'it's a link' angle, or from the 'it's telepathy' angle... but I'm not actually sure what of all that would work. I can stop someone from trying to talking into /my/ head, but cutting the line between two other people's minds? Never even heard of anyone trying it before."

There's something darker to the tinge of frustration that enters into that frown, into the furrow in Sandra's brow. Her energy's been up since she arrived, however subdued she appears, the subdued air itself faltering noticeably for all of a heartbeat. Even when the impassive look is reasserted, it's still there; something a little chaotic about it. Maybe even a little threatening, even if the threat itself is without direction.
"It may be best, then," she says carefully, "to consider it a last resort. With no way of knowing what the rewards might be, the risks aren't sitting particularly well with me."

Zach sighs, shrugging. "Wish I had better news for you, but like... unless you want to get some people with the same kind of link together for me to try disrupting that kind of connection? This is simply outside my area of expertise. I thought you were looking for someone who could hold his own in a fight was all."

"I was," Sandra says. "I am." A pause follows. "And I'm not entirely convinced it was a bad idea. Just-- inadvisable. And, at the time, more spur of the moment than it should have been." She pauses; considers a moment. Then says, "I'd say it's a sign that I should take a step back, that I'm getting overzealous about hunting down adequate information, but given how few people are stepping forward these days..." She shakes her head. "I don't mean to overstate my involvement, or my contributions, but I'm not sure I have the luxury or stepping back, at this point."

"Your show," Zach answers, shrugging. "If you change your mind though, it is as you say: I do owe you one." There's also some measure of genuine interest in all this, too - which he's terrible at hiding, even if he doesn't give it explicit voice.

Sandra gives a little wave of her hand at the 'owe you one,' seeming to dismiss it in spite of not looking explicitly ungrateful. Which she does actually bother to follow up with, "Involving myself was as necessary for me as it was for you. I'd say the only thing you owe me is a solemn promise that you won't forget what we're up against if I didn't already know for certain that you're as deep in this as anyone rightly could be." She shakes her head. "No. As I said, it wasn't a bad idea on its face, and it may still be viable, but finding a pack that would submit to a trial like that would take a great deal of convincing. More importantly, it'd require an explanation. About why I'm that so determined to attempt it, and, similarly: 'who the hell is this guy?'"

"Yeah," Zach agrees. "More politics." These are not things that amuse or interest Zach overly much, to be sure. "But I get it. So what's your next move then?" She might not be the only one feeling frustrated and fidgety.

"I don't know," Sandra admits, finally seeming to remember she's got a cigarette in hand, her attention turning back to it to take a long drag. Breathing it out, she pinches off the cherry at the end, stubs it under her heel, and pockets the butt to be disposed of later. "Figuring out a means of luring Mercy out, which will, as always, take time. If she *is* half there, there might be something that can draw her out. Preferred prey. Or prey whose mere presence drives her mad enough to come out of hiding. Assuming she even thinks of those things anymore."

"I mean, I know how to get their attention in one helluva hurry," Zach offers, "But that's not necessarily a precise instrument. If you're okay with some borderline violate-y stuff, and you can get me something linked to her - personal effect, that sort of thing - I might be able to tune it in to just her... but that's a /big/ if. I don't even really understand how their psychology works."

It gets Sandra's attention, at least, her gaze finally turning back to Zach after focusing on the middle distance for some time.
"I'd argue that any violation you put forward is nothing compared to what the Nothing's done to her," she says. "Again-- assuming there's anything left of her, which is what we're banking on. If not--" A pause. "Well. I've already backed out of one possibility for one day. I'm not itching to shoot down another with hand-wringing conjecture." Beat. "I'll look around for any personal affects she might have had. Chances are, they were all on her person when Last Days was destroyed, but she was of a high enough rank that she may have passed items on to others over the years. Something that's still attached to her, in some way."

(scene fades)

[Sandra] :: LOG :: More Politics

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