I've got a dark alley and a bad idea

[bigdamnhiro]

[Hiro's really, actually sneaking into a bar called the Mean-Eyed Cat. The irony doesn't escape him.

He could be at home, at The Lucky Cat, but no. Mean-Eyed Cat it is.

That he even manages to sneak in behind a couple of conversationalists in ill-fitting suits is dumb luck; it's freezing out (it's snowing, it hasn't snowed in years), business is slow, whatever bouncer should be watching the door is hanging out at the counter instead where he doesn't have to deal with the drafts from the door. That he makes it to the other opposite end of the taproom and into the back hall before the bartender manages to mutter a hey wait is because he's small and knows how to duck behind obstacles and look inconspicuous.

Nobody comes after him, so that's a plus. He pauses at a corridor corner to get a good look around and listen to the noise, see if he can get some kind of direction.

He has a small port of Baymax's scanner, but it doesn't have the power to give him more than a general location. From there it was always going to take his own resourcefulness to find the guy. But he's definitely in this building - Hiro asked around, got some incredulous talk about the old-timer, yōkai, guy with the metal creepies, doesn't talk much, at that one bar down the street - stuff like that.

There's a couple of empty rooms - couches and televisions and darts, chipped paint and cracked baseboards, low hanging ceiling bulbs and so much dust and secondhand smoke he fights off a coughing fit - and then there's one with voices, near the back. He peers through the cracked door and finds who he's looking for, skulking on a couch in the back. Between the two of them, though, there's a couple of thugs playing pool and talking shit at each other.

Okay. He was sort of hoping Callaghan would be alone.

He tightens his grip on the folded duster tucked under his arm and stuffs the other in his pocket, fingers tightening around the solid metal object inside. And then he shoulders his way through the door.]

Hey. Delivery for the guy with the metal creepies.

Comments

[pushtheboundaries]

[in Callaghan's defense, he didn't choose the bar. and he's mulling over how he decidedly didn't /choose/ the circumstances he's in, slouched on the couch, flexing his fingers and watching as the microbots shift back and forth upon it. with his face shadowed by the hood a grouping of have formed - what's now become a familiar weight of the blanket upon his shoulders and head - it's hard to read him, but the general attitude he's projecting is one of irate boredom.

they invited him to play pool with them. he declined. so now they're passing the time in their own ways, waiting for a few others to arrive so that they can get things started. in his case, it's working a bit on his control, nuances of commands, the signal, whatever methods have bonded him with these stolen things that have proven to be almost more trouble than they're worth...

some subtle probing of boundaries, that is to say. if he closes his eyes and keeps his hand still, he can practically visualize it just by the feel of the microbots moving over it- but he's not sure if that's because of his own sense of touch and pressure, or because he's picking something off of them. he'll have to experiment a bit more...

only his fist grips as the door opens, eyes opening, and for a moment there's only the three of them staring at Hiro in surprise. it wouldn't be the first time that there's been a kid used as a messenger - they're usually overlooked - so the thugs, while surprise, only react with so much hostility other than looking at each other and then towards Yokai.

Yokai, mind, is gripping his fist, the sudden writhing of microbots the only warning before they lunge off him for Hiro himself.

ever seen a dog leaping to attack? it's not so dissimilar. though the snarl is purely Callaghan's, as he starts to get to his feet]