Quentin & Hope, Monday morning
Apr. 25th, 2022 09:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsDuring an investigation, Quentin and Hope encounter a city-led conspiracy to force mutants out of their homes.
The Manhattan Register's Office. Just the name sent shivers down Quentin's spine. Every minute spent there aged him, and he feared he wouldn't leave before reaching his next birthday, emerging a shriveled old husk of a 25 year-old.
But a job was a job, and he and Hope had been sent here to retrieve some property records they could not access online. Another case of a big faceless developer corporation trying to buy up land, kick the current tenants to the curb, and price them out of their neighborhood with luxury condos that would remain forever vacant, because who can possibly afford $10k+ per month and would want to live in this part of the city? X-Factor needed something to avert the sale.
The pair knew their way around the building, having come here for so many other cases. Quentin nearly telepathed them to the front of the queue, desperate to minimize how long they'd have to be here, until his companion reminded him of the security cameras; recorded evidence of mind control would surely get them barred from here, or more likely thrown in prison. He didn't want to have to teep his way out of that, too. So to make the wait less soul-sucking, he popped in his earbuds and perused the videos on his phone, deciding which one he would upload next to his JustMutants account.
Maybe browsing homemade pornography in public would thin out the line a little and speed things up.
Hope efficiently scanned several quotes from caterers for a Victorian style charity gala that she was planning as they waited, frowning at some of the truly idiotic dishes they had come up with. One even had gone for the Titanic menu, completely forgetting that this was from the Edwardian period. Glancing up at QQ, she noticed he was focused on his phone as well. They never spoke much when they were sent out together and things had become even weirder after she'd become trapped in his head. Yet when she tossed him another glance and noticed two men writhing on the phone screen, Hope could not stop herself from sending him an incredulous: "Seriously?!?"
Quentin plucked out an earbud and glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't think this one is gonna get many views, either. He wasn't particularly good, just kind of pushing rope. Oh, don't give me that look. It's the least offensive thing you'll see here in this flatscan bureaucracy hell today."
Rolling her eyes at him, Hope hissed in a low voice: "Watch whatever of that stuff you like. Just not here, because if you get us kicked out and I have to get back into this line alone or even navigate this bureaucratic hell alone, I will ruin your online reputation in whatever way I can."
"That sounds like a challenge. I would love to see it." Still, he put his phone away and decided to spend his queue time perusing the thoughts of the thankless clerks at the counter. Nothing intrusive, just an assessment of the day's troubles and what to expect when they got called up. "Ugh, she won't stop thinking about how her husband is leaving her," he muttered, eyeing one of the clerks. "If she keeps blubbering over that guy she's helping, then I can see why he's packing up. Still, I'm sure she's desperate to please someone. She might not ask too many questions."
"Or she might just decide to take it out upon her customers." Hope commented cynically, having tucked her own phone in her tote. "The man over there is telephoning his wife about not being able to get the papers because an initial is out of place?" Glancing over at the other clerks, she spotted a sour faced woman with a tight bun and black glasses. "And behold, is that not the woman you managed to get in an argument with the last time. Something about being a hoodlum?"
"How could she have called me that when my shoes alone cost more than her whole Dress Barn wardrobe? These are Louboutin!" Which he was wasting standing in this infernal line. It felt like an eternity before they were finally called up, thankfully not to either clerk they had clocked as a screaming match waiting to happen. Instead, just a generic civil service schlub. Nothing interesting going on in his brain, just waiting out the clock until his lunch break. Quentin felt a modicum of something approaching sympathy, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. After all, if this person had any self-respect, then he would have taken literally any other job.
Hope immediately pulled out her business smile and removed a neat folder from her tote. "Good afternoon. We would like to request the property records for the following three properties since they were not available digitally." Removing three forms from the folder she quickly gave them a final once over before handing over the forms. "I believe that is everything that is required?"
The civic automaton wordlessly took the forms and turned to his computer. He paused after a few seconds, something approaching an actual human emotion passing over his face before he erased it just as quickly. "One moment, please," he said, standing up. "I need to speak with a colleague."
Quentin raised an eyebrow at Hope as the man retreated, and then extended his mind to follow him into a back office. "Well, this is fucking fishy," he said. "Did you use the wrong color pen?"
"Not unless blue ink suddenly is an issue." Hope stared at the door the man had vanished through. "It is all double checked, initialized and filled out in triplicate. No, something more is going on here. He did not even have the time to look at the forms properly. He barely glanced at the properties we wanted information on..." She took a quick glance around her and lowered her voice: "You better take a peek at what's going on. I cannot... not here in the open."
It was snooping for a good cause, Quentin told himself as he got comfortable in the uncomfortable chair this side of the desk. To any observer, he just looked like he was patiently awaiting service. The bureaucrat's mind was not particularly distinguishable from the other drones, except for the tinge of nervousness that manifested from the duo's request. He linked his mind to Hope's, too, so he wouldn't have to repeat himself later.
"...the 'revitalization program,' right?" they heard the man say. The quotation marks around the term were clear through his voice and his thoughts. "O'Toole wanted to know about any inquiries."
"Give them the last ten years, no further back," an older stern-looking woman replied. "No records are available from before 2012, right?"
The man paused, the nervousness colored by apprehension, but he nodded, anyway. "Right. Sure."
What happened before 2012 they don't want us knowing? Quentin pondered. The bitch knows something. Let me poke around her brain now...
What I would like to know is who this Mister or Ms. O'Toole is. Hope frowned, considering. The name rings a bell. Any chance you can get a picture?
Quentin shook his head. Just their boss. You've probably suffered him one of the other hundred times you've been here. Don't know what the hell he wants, though. All he told his peons is to tell him if they get any inquiries about certain properties. Hmm. She has suspicions but doesn't care enough to look into them.
At least the local spider in this little misinformation web. It will be interesting to see to whom our friend reaches out. Hope commented as one of the men moved off to retrieve some records, while the woman took the forms, pulled out a phone and dialed. I would bet she is calling O'Toole to make her report.
She's not saying much, Quentin reported, frowning. She's going to forward him our forms. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, priming himself to extend the range of his telepathy. I don't sense anyone in this whole building with that name. Fuck. He must not be here today. And she doesn't know where he lives, so I can't track the fucker. It's a fucking dead end.
"Not per se..." Hope murmured out loud, pulling out her tablet. She moved quickly into a separate section of files, shielded with another password. Hacking friends do come in handy sometimes... I've had to do some background checks before and I have all the basic employee data of this department... so if he works here... Quickly she brought up a custom database program and within seconds she had his address, phone number and other basic data in front of her.
Her quick work was very impressive, not that Quentin would admit that out loud. Still, his tone of psychic voice lacked the usual edge to it when he responded. Looks like we have another stop to make after this. This is fucked, and I'm going to . . . we're going to unfuck it.
That sounds like a perfectly doable challenge. Hope lifted her eyes. And look... something is coming back. I wonder what wonderful excuse they have come up with.
It was exactly as they predicted from their eavesdropping. So sorry, this is all we have, there are no more records, maybe they were lost before they could be digitized. Never mind that the city had abandoned paper records well before 2012. But Quentin bared his teeth in a predator's smile and thanked him, anyway, before taking the proffered documents and leaving without even looking at them.
He's going to have nightmares all week about being chased down by the Paw Patrol. If we're lucky, even a full-blown panic attack the next time his kid turns on the TV.
Isn't there something about cruel and unjust punishments in the psi ethics classes the professor used to give? i seem to remember them pretty well... Hope commented with a small grin. "But if you drive, let me see what I can get from these documents before we get to Mr O'Toole's house."
Quentin mirrored her expression. The unethical thing is hiding these records from us so some capitalist pig developer can gentrify mutants out of Mutant Town. He's getting off easy. If Chuckles has a problem with it, well, it's not like he can do anything about it, can he? I'm the omega telepath, not him. Now let's go show this big boss man how mutants handle our problems.
The Manhattan Register's Office. Just the name sent shivers down Quentin's spine. Every minute spent there aged him, and he feared he wouldn't leave before reaching his next birthday, emerging a shriveled old husk of a 25 year-old.
But a job was a job, and he and Hope had been sent here to retrieve some property records they could not access online. Another case of a big faceless developer corporation trying to buy up land, kick the current tenants to the curb, and price them out of their neighborhood with luxury condos that would remain forever vacant, because who can possibly afford $10k+ per month and would want to live in this part of the city? X-Factor needed something to avert the sale.
The pair knew their way around the building, having come here for so many other cases. Quentin nearly telepathed them to the front of the queue, desperate to minimize how long they'd have to be here, until his companion reminded him of the security cameras; recorded evidence of mind control would surely get them barred from here, or more likely thrown in prison. He didn't want to have to teep his way out of that, too. So to make the wait less soul-sucking, he popped in his earbuds and perused the videos on his phone, deciding which one he would upload next to his JustMutants account.
Maybe browsing homemade pornography in public would thin out the line a little and speed things up.
Hope efficiently scanned several quotes from caterers for a Victorian style charity gala that she was planning as they waited, frowning at some of the truly idiotic dishes they had come up with. One even had gone for the Titanic menu, completely forgetting that this was from the Edwardian period. Glancing up at QQ, she noticed he was focused on his phone as well. They never spoke much when they were sent out together and things had become even weirder after she'd become trapped in his head. Yet when she tossed him another glance and noticed two men writhing on the phone screen, Hope could not stop herself from sending him an incredulous: "Seriously?!?"
Quentin plucked out an earbud and glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't think this one is gonna get many views, either. He wasn't particularly good, just kind of pushing rope. Oh, don't give me that look. It's the least offensive thing you'll see here in this flatscan bureaucracy hell today."
Rolling her eyes at him, Hope hissed in a low voice: "Watch whatever of that stuff you like. Just not here, because if you get us kicked out and I have to get back into this line alone or even navigate this bureaucratic hell alone, I will ruin your online reputation in whatever way I can."
"That sounds like a challenge. I would love to see it." Still, he put his phone away and decided to spend his queue time perusing the thoughts of the thankless clerks at the counter. Nothing intrusive, just an assessment of the day's troubles and what to expect when they got called up. "Ugh, she won't stop thinking about how her husband is leaving her," he muttered, eyeing one of the clerks. "If she keeps blubbering over that guy she's helping, then I can see why he's packing up. Still, I'm sure she's desperate to please someone. She might not ask too many questions."
"Or she might just decide to take it out upon her customers." Hope commented cynically, having tucked her own phone in her tote. "The man over there is telephoning his wife about not being able to get the papers because an initial is out of place?" Glancing over at the other clerks, she spotted a sour faced woman with a tight bun and black glasses. "And behold, is that not the woman you managed to get in an argument with the last time. Something about being a hoodlum?"
"How could she have called me that when my shoes alone cost more than her whole Dress Barn wardrobe? These are Louboutin!" Which he was wasting standing in this infernal line. It felt like an eternity before they were finally called up, thankfully not to either clerk they had clocked as a screaming match waiting to happen. Instead, just a generic civil service schlub. Nothing interesting going on in his brain, just waiting out the clock until his lunch break. Quentin felt a modicum of something approaching sympathy, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. After all, if this person had any self-respect, then he would have taken literally any other job.
Hope immediately pulled out her business smile and removed a neat folder from her tote. "Good afternoon. We would like to request the property records for the following three properties since they were not available digitally." Removing three forms from the folder she quickly gave them a final once over before handing over the forms. "I believe that is everything that is required?"
The civic automaton wordlessly took the forms and turned to his computer. He paused after a few seconds, something approaching an actual human emotion passing over his face before he erased it just as quickly. "One moment, please," he said, standing up. "I need to speak with a colleague."
Quentin raised an eyebrow at Hope as the man retreated, and then extended his mind to follow him into a back office. "Well, this is fucking fishy," he said. "Did you use the wrong color pen?"
"Not unless blue ink suddenly is an issue." Hope stared at the door the man had vanished through. "It is all double checked, initialized and filled out in triplicate. No, something more is going on here. He did not even have the time to look at the forms properly. He barely glanced at the properties we wanted information on..." She took a quick glance around her and lowered her voice: "You better take a peek at what's going on. I cannot... not here in the open."
It was snooping for a good cause, Quentin told himself as he got comfortable in the uncomfortable chair this side of the desk. To any observer, he just looked like he was patiently awaiting service. The bureaucrat's mind was not particularly distinguishable from the other drones, except for the tinge of nervousness that manifested from the duo's request. He linked his mind to Hope's, too, so he wouldn't have to repeat himself later.
"...the 'revitalization program,' right?" they heard the man say. The quotation marks around the term were clear through his voice and his thoughts. "O'Toole wanted to know about any inquiries."
"Give them the last ten years, no further back," an older stern-looking woman replied. "No records are available from before 2012, right?"
The man paused, the nervousness colored by apprehension, but he nodded, anyway. "Right. Sure."
What happened before 2012 they don't want us knowing? Quentin pondered. The bitch knows something. Let me poke around her brain now...
What I would like to know is who this Mister or Ms. O'Toole is. Hope frowned, considering. The name rings a bell. Any chance you can get a picture?
Quentin shook his head. Just their boss. You've probably suffered him one of the other hundred times you've been here. Don't know what the hell he wants, though. All he told his peons is to tell him if they get any inquiries about certain properties. Hmm. She has suspicions but doesn't care enough to look into them.
At least the local spider in this little misinformation web. It will be interesting to see to whom our friend reaches out. Hope commented as one of the men moved off to retrieve some records, while the woman took the forms, pulled out a phone and dialed. I would bet she is calling O'Toole to make her report.
She's not saying much, Quentin reported, frowning. She's going to forward him our forms. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, priming himself to extend the range of his telepathy. I don't sense anyone in this whole building with that name. Fuck. He must not be here today. And she doesn't know where he lives, so I can't track the fucker. It's a fucking dead end.
"Not per se..." Hope murmured out loud, pulling out her tablet. She moved quickly into a separate section of files, shielded with another password. Hacking friends do come in handy sometimes... I've had to do some background checks before and I have all the basic employee data of this department... so if he works here... Quickly she brought up a custom database program and within seconds she had his address, phone number and other basic data in front of her.
Her quick work was very impressive, not that Quentin would admit that out loud. Still, his tone of psychic voice lacked the usual edge to it when he responded. Looks like we have another stop to make after this. This is fucked, and I'm going to . . . we're going to unfuck it.
That sounds like a perfectly doable challenge. Hope lifted her eyes. And look... something is coming back. I wonder what wonderful excuse they have come up with.
It was exactly as they predicted from their eavesdropping. So sorry, this is all we have, there are no more records, maybe they were lost before they could be digitized. Never mind that the city had abandoned paper records well before 2012. But Quentin bared his teeth in a predator's smile and thanked him, anyway, before taking the proffered documents and leaving without even looking at them.
He's going to have nightmares all week about being chased down by the Paw Patrol. If we're lucky, even a full-blown panic attack the next time his kid turns on the TV.
Isn't there something about cruel and unjust punishments in the psi ethics classes the professor used to give? i seem to remember them pretty well... Hope commented with a small grin. "But if you drive, let me see what I can get from these documents before we get to Mr O'Toole's house."
Quentin mirrored her expression. The unethical thing is hiding these records from us so some capitalist pig developer can gentrify mutants out of Mutant Town. He's getting off easy. If Chuckles has a problem with it, well, it's not like he can do anything about it, can he? I'm the omega telepath, not him. Now let's go show this big boss man how mutants handle our problems.
