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fandomhighdorms2005-09-20 11:12 pm
krycek-rat.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhighdorms2005-09-20 11:12 pm
Krycek Visits His Boss [Completed Scene, sort of]
[OOC: Sorry for the abrupt beginning and end. We went from normal conversation to RP in a blink of an eye. Fandom High will take over everything, no joke. Takes place Tuesday evening, before Krycek heads down to the the bar for his hot hot date.]
Spider: Bring me adults, damn it! And porn!
Krycek: ...Would I even want to know what kind of porn you'd like?
Spider: Porn is porn. Any extras are just sideshow hype
Spider: Which reminds me. Find that Han Solo guy and ask him about the gifties he left me... and take him a couple of bottles of that purple stuff to thank him.
Krycek: I don't think I'm ready to step over the boundaries of "animals are friends" into "animals are extra-special friends".
Spider: Not my thing.
Krycek: Yes, sir. *Too bad he wasn't assigned that earlier, before he actually went over there.* What is the purple stuff? --And now that you mention it, what the hell is the green stuff? *Scowls*
Spider *WIDE INNOCENT EYES*: Health drink?
((And yes, he can do that expression... and yes, it is BLOODY DISTURBING))
Krycek: *VERY DISTURBED, he sputters a moment* --Health drink my ass! You'd think you'd put a warning label on- *He stops, realizing that -Spider- giving you a gift is just as much warning as anyone should need* ...God dammit. *Scowls again* Just give him a coffee gift card next time. Some people have secrets they'd rather not shared around.
Spider *eyebrows going up as he looks over the top of his glasses*: Oh reaaaaally? Now, I heard something about his reactions to coffee... therefore I thought that abstaining would probably be wise. If this was anything like that ... I don't need to know.
Krycek: Docile housecat is better than disturbingly drunk housecat. *Eyes narrow* And that remote is -dangerous-.
Spider: What, the G-Reader? *the glasses were suddenly once again between them as a lazy, shit-eating grin spread across his face* Maps right down to the individual strands of DNA... including that of anyone you've been... sharing with. I never leave home without one.
Krycek: Did Gavin win a raffle or are you handing them out to all the kids who fall on scorpions for you? *When the eyes disappear behind Spider's glasses, it occurs to him that he's not sure he's ever actually seen them before. Making another face, he rubs at his arm without realizing he's doing so, feeling off-balanced for no damn good reason*
Spider: The scorpion pit one. *he paused* Jake's a nice kid. He deserved something to make up for it. It's not as if he signed up for scorpion pits. *the lazy grin resurfaced as produced a pack of cigarettes and lit up* Not like some other people I could mention.
Krycek: *Sighs, trying not to let it sound as deeply teenager as it wants to be. And the fact that everytime he does something in frustration makes him come off as a student rather than an adult only serves to frustrate him a little more.* He is. Weird, but nice. And okay, I signed up for it. *Smirking lop-sidedly, he shakes his head* Maybe you'd better not give him coffee. He'd sign his soul over for a few mochas.
Spider: Only a few? Imagine what he'd do for a cappucino machine of his very own? ... then again, we'd probably never see him outside his room again.
((.. .and man, that sounded far sleazier than I meant it to...))
((We can watch the stars together, from down here in the gutter. *grins*))
((waaay down here.))
((*snickers*))
((With our periscope))
Krycek: *beat* ...Mind if I have a cigarette?
Spider *grins and tosses him the pack, which is nearly intercepted by the cat* Stop that, foul beast. You'll only spit them out again. *to Krycek* She only smokes unfiltered Black Russians. There are a couple in there, but don't give them to her. She'll only beg. The rest are Carcinoma Angels... and *he rose to his feet, disappearing into the tiny kitchen* you need a drink.
Krycek: *He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it. Pulling out a cigarette (Black Russian? Sure, why not.) he eyes the cat as if she might jump him, lighting up a moment later with a Zippo that he eyes as well - disturbingly familiar and he's sure he didn't lift it from the old man before he pushed the bastard down the stairs. After a pull off the cigarette, he winces, managing to suppress a cough just barely* ...Nice.
Spider *returning with a bottle of pills and a glass of water*: If you're going to smoke those, you'll want these. Anti-cancer prescription - and not for sharing.
Krycek: *He nods and downs a pill, then some water, swallowing hard.* Cancer's cured where you come from and still no utopia? *Smirking, he takes another drag, managing this time without more than a slight shudder*
Spider *passing him to drop into a sprawl on the couch*: Cancer's dealt with but we've got other interesting things. You wouldn't believe what they put me through before letting me teach here. Two full medical loads, emission suppressor, the lot. *He breathed a lazy plume of smoke into the air* I'm probably the healthiest person you know.
Krycek: *Taking a seat wherever seems least likely to jump up and bite him, he leans forward, resting elbows on knees, feeling oddly gangly. He looks Spider over, eyes narrowed again, and smirks* That's a disturbing thought.
Spider: Isn't it just? *the maniacal grin has made a sudden reappearance* How many forms of id do you carry?
Krycek: Right now and actually applicable? Student ID. *His mouth twists in a wry smirk. He's got his FBI ID somewhere and a passport that he could maybe pass off as his father's, but nothing that matches his current physical state*
Spider: *He removed the cigarette from his mouth and swung it mockingly* Sloppy. Very sloppy. Every good journalist - or intern - needs fake id.
Krycek: *Shrugging, he looks thoughtful* I could make some, as long as I've got something to work off of. I might have something that'd work until then, if no one looks too hard at it. But what good would fake id be if I've got no idea where we're headed? American or Russian id wouldn't be much help somewhere that America or Russia don't even -exist-. *He gives Spider a meaningful look, as though asking for some clue as to future field trips*
Spider: *Producing a smug look, he slouches down further on the couch* Talk to the maker. It'll dream something up.
Krycek: Maker? *He glances around the room like it might just jump out on command, pulling another lungful of toxic smoke and breathing it out slowly. Good thing about the pills - he can practically feel the smoke coating his lungs and larynx*
Spider: The square thingie in the kitchen. It's got a holo-head, but I turned it off. Damn mob-produced hardware.... *He shrugged, scowling a little.* Anyway, it works - usually. I've moved six times and haven't managed to get rid of the damn, drug-addicted thing. Which reminds me, again, that I need to find another intern.
Krycek: *Gets up, walking into the kitchen to poke at the maker curiously. He raises his voice slightly when he speaks, leaning around one side of the machine, trying to figure if there's a switch or something* How about Gavin?
Spider: Oh, I can see that conversation now. 'Hey, Gavin. Want to travel exciting places? See new things? Wanna be an intern?' *Pitching his voice slightly higher, he continued,* 'What, are you fucking INSANE?' *He turned to look over the back of the couch at Krycek, eyebrows raised* He sounds just like one of my Filthy Assistants, actually. Go forth, Intern. Make peace overtures with your future partner in crime. *He paused* Take coffee.
Krycek: *Chuckling, he finally smacks the machine, staring at it challengingly for a moment* Way ahead of you, boss. *Leaning out of the kitchen, he grins* So all I have to do to win your favor is swear profusely and tell you you're a lunatic?
Spider: It is mildly comforting, I'll admit. *He slouched down again, only the back of his head and one arm visible as he gestured* Running errands and providing porn on command also helps.
Krycek: I've got this damn body-snatcher cell phone for a reason, boss. Haven't your grating, smoke-laden voice in my ears yet. *He turns back to the maker, voice muffled before he raises it again* This thing makes whatever you want, right? I feel like I should figure it out -- FBI rookies know nothing if not how to fetch coffee.
Spider: *Raising his voice* Maker, give the man standing in front of you a couple of forms of id. Something that sounds impressive! *A moment later, a series of red beams appear, crawling across Krycek's skin and mapping his face*
Krycek: That's it? *He scowls, watching the machine suspiciously* Fucking thing. *Picking up the first id it spits out, he snorts* I'm not sure I can pass for the Queen of Sheba, Boss. Not without some impressive prosthetics.
Spider: Godfuckingdamnit! *He rose from the couch with impressive speed, vaulting over the back and heading toward the kitchen* Out of the way, kid.
Krycek: *Backs off, snickering as he reads his supposed age of a hundred and fifty days and weight of 300 pounds* It's got a sense of humor anyway.
Spider: It's fucking stoned out of its goddamn electronic MIND, that's what it is! *Sprawling half across the plain, black appliance, he rocked it back and forth, cursing as he worked it away from the wall and got both arms behind it* Goddamn whoreson motherfucker....
Krycek: ...It makes it's own drugs? How does it consume-- nevermind. *He grins, watching Spider sprawl comically* Guess it must be past its warranty.
Spider: The goddamn thing was on drugs the day I GOT it. *There is further rummaging and cursing before he pulls back, a complicated looking circuit in his hands. The machine actually bursts into tears as he tosses it over his shoulder and manhandles it back against the wall.* Stop that you stupid, mafia-produced shithead, and give the man his id!
Krycek: *Grinning in an uncharacteristically manic way (which he'd blame on Spider, did he realize he was doing it), he leans against the counter, leaning over to pick up the next id that's spit out in a way he'd almost describe as sulky* Liaison to the Embassador of Siberia? *Eyebrows arch* Closer, anyway. As much as I'd like to be 29 again, I'm not sure I could pass.
Spider : *Giving the maker a hearty kick* Give it about five minutes and we can try again. Fucker. *He paused and cast a curious look over one shoulder* Say what? Been taking rejuvination treatments on the sly or just indulging in a bit of body snatching? Or... *a completely paranoid and suspicious look* You're my ex-wife, aren't you!? You got out of that damned cannister and someone revived you before I was actually dead!
Krycek: *He gives Spider a look comprised of derision and surprise* I wouldn't be your wife if you paid me! *Flipping the id closed, he shakes his head, smirking as he realizes he's actually taken -Spider- by surprise* No, we don't have rejuvenation treatments that good. I'm just your run of the mill government agent brought back from the dead for who knows what reason.
Spider: Oh. Well, that's a relief. *It obviously and genuinely was and he sighed as he turned to lean against the maker* So's my ex-wife, thankfully. She was planning on coming back but, well... these things happen sometimes.
Krycek: Since you sound so sure, I'm going to take your word for it. *Pursing his lips, still amused* I thought you would have read all our profiles, sir. Not knowing all about the kids you're working with doesn't seem like the paranoid thing to do. *He flips the id open again, noting that it seems to have correctly listed his height and weight this time. Only contacts could make his eyes blue, though*
Spider: No offense, kid, but have you actually SEEN some of the students in this place? The demonic warrior, the Eternal, the other demon, the vampire, that... homonucleus creature... someone come back from the dead just doesn't register against that sort of backdrop.
Krycek: *Snorts and shrugs slightly, wondering how many more times he'd have this conversation during his term here* True enough. Though I wasn't exactly expecting it. Still has a bit of novelty to it, I guess. *Noticing his cig for the first time in a few minutes, he scowls at the column of wasted ash and flicks it into the sink*
Spider: ... so what the fuck are you doing in the hell that is high school?
Krycek: *That earns a dark look at nothing in particular.* Hell if I know. Maybe the aliens liked me enough to make me their own personally rejuvenated host.
Spider: *Not bothering to hide his amusement* Sucks to be you.
Spider: Bring me adults, damn it! And porn!
Krycek: ...Would I even want to know what kind of porn you'd like?
Spider: Porn is porn. Any extras are just sideshow hype
Spider: Which reminds me. Find that Han Solo guy and ask him about the gifties he left me... and take him a couple of bottles of that purple stuff to thank him.
Krycek: I don't think I'm ready to step over the boundaries of "animals are friends" into "animals are extra-special friends".
Spider: Not my thing.
Krycek: Yes, sir. *Too bad he wasn't assigned that earlier, before he actually went over there.* What is the purple stuff? --And now that you mention it, what the hell is the green stuff? *Scowls*
Spider *WIDE INNOCENT EYES*: Health drink?
((And yes, he can do that expression... and yes, it is BLOODY DISTURBING))
Krycek: *VERY DISTURBED, he sputters a moment* --Health drink my ass! You'd think you'd put a warning label on- *He stops, realizing that -Spider- giving you a gift is just as much warning as anyone should need* ...God dammit. *Scowls again* Just give him a coffee gift card next time. Some people have secrets they'd rather not shared around.
Spider *eyebrows going up as he looks over the top of his glasses*: Oh reaaaaally? Now, I heard something about his reactions to coffee... therefore I thought that abstaining would probably be wise. If this was anything like that ... I don't need to know.
Krycek: Docile housecat is better than disturbingly drunk housecat. *Eyes narrow* And that remote is -dangerous-.
Spider: What, the G-Reader? *the glasses were suddenly once again between them as a lazy, shit-eating grin spread across his face* Maps right down to the individual strands of DNA... including that of anyone you've been... sharing with. I never leave home without one.
Krycek: Did Gavin win a raffle or are you handing them out to all the kids who fall on scorpions for you? *When the eyes disappear behind Spider's glasses, it occurs to him that he's not sure he's ever actually seen them before. Making another face, he rubs at his arm without realizing he's doing so, feeling off-balanced for no damn good reason*
Spider: The scorpion pit one. *he paused* Jake's a nice kid. He deserved something to make up for it. It's not as if he signed up for scorpion pits. *the lazy grin resurfaced as produced a pack of cigarettes and lit up* Not like some other people I could mention.
Krycek: *Sighs, trying not to let it sound as deeply teenager as it wants to be. And the fact that everytime he does something in frustration makes him come off as a student rather than an adult only serves to frustrate him a little more.* He is. Weird, but nice. And okay, I signed up for it. *Smirking lop-sidedly, he shakes his head* Maybe you'd better not give him coffee. He'd sign his soul over for a few mochas.
Spider: Only a few? Imagine what he'd do for a cappucino machine of his very own? ... then again, we'd probably never see him outside his room again.
((.. .and man, that sounded far sleazier than I meant it to...))
((We can watch the stars together, from down here in the gutter. *grins*))
((waaay down here.))
((*snickers*))
((With our periscope))
Krycek: *beat* ...Mind if I have a cigarette?
Spider *grins and tosses him the pack, which is nearly intercepted by the cat* Stop that, foul beast. You'll only spit them out again. *to Krycek* She only smokes unfiltered Black Russians. There are a couple in there, but don't give them to her. She'll only beg. The rest are Carcinoma Angels... and *he rose to his feet, disappearing into the tiny kitchen* you need a drink.
Krycek: *He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it. Pulling out a cigarette (Black Russian? Sure, why not.) he eyes the cat as if she might jump him, lighting up a moment later with a Zippo that he eyes as well - disturbingly familiar and he's sure he didn't lift it from the old man before he pushed the bastard down the stairs. After a pull off the cigarette, he winces, managing to suppress a cough just barely* ...Nice.
Spider *returning with a bottle of pills and a glass of water*: If you're going to smoke those, you'll want these. Anti-cancer prescription - and not for sharing.
Krycek: *He nods and downs a pill, then some water, swallowing hard.* Cancer's cured where you come from and still no utopia? *Smirking, he takes another drag, managing this time without more than a slight shudder*
Spider *passing him to drop into a sprawl on the couch*: Cancer's dealt with but we've got other interesting things. You wouldn't believe what they put me through before letting me teach here. Two full medical loads, emission suppressor, the lot. *He breathed a lazy plume of smoke into the air* I'm probably the healthiest person you know.
Krycek: *Taking a seat wherever seems least likely to jump up and bite him, he leans forward, resting elbows on knees, feeling oddly gangly. He looks Spider over, eyes narrowed again, and smirks* That's a disturbing thought.
Spider: Isn't it just? *the maniacal grin has made a sudden reappearance* How many forms of id do you carry?
Krycek: Right now and actually applicable? Student ID. *His mouth twists in a wry smirk. He's got his FBI ID somewhere and a passport that he could maybe pass off as his father's, but nothing that matches his current physical state*
Spider: *He removed the cigarette from his mouth and swung it mockingly* Sloppy. Very sloppy. Every good journalist - or intern - needs fake id.
Krycek: *Shrugging, he looks thoughtful* I could make some, as long as I've got something to work off of. I might have something that'd work until then, if no one looks too hard at it. But what good would fake id be if I've got no idea where we're headed? American or Russian id wouldn't be much help somewhere that America or Russia don't even -exist-. *He gives Spider a meaningful look, as though asking for some clue as to future field trips*
Spider: *Producing a smug look, he slouches down further on the couch* Talk to the maker. It'll dream something up.
Krycek: Maker? *He glances around the room like it might just jump out on command, pulling another lungful of toxic smoke and breathing it out slowly. Good thing about the pills - he can practically feel the smoke coating his lungs and larynx*
Spider: The square thingie in the kitchen. It's got a holo-head, but I turned it off. Damn mob-produced hardware.... *He shrugged, scowling a little.* Anyway, it works - usually. I've moved six times and haven't managed to get rid of the damn, drug-addicted thing. Which reminds me, again, that I need to find another intern.
Krycek: *Gets up, walking into the kitchen to poke at the maker curiously. He raises his voice slightly when he speaks, leaning around one side of the machine, trying to figure if there's a switch or something* How about Gavin?
Spider: Oh, I can see that conversation now. 'Hey, Gavin. Want to travel exciting places? See new things? Wanna be an intern?' *Pitching his voice slightly higher, he continued,* 'What, are you fucking INSANE?' *He turned to look over the back of the couch at Krycek, eyebrows raised* He sounds just like one of my Filthy Assistants, actually. Go forth, Intern. Make peace overtures with your future partner in crime. *He paused* Take coffee.
Krycek: *Chuckling, he finally smacks the machine, staring at it challengingly for a moment* Way ahead of you, boss. *Leaning out of the kitchen, he grins* So all I have to do to win your favor is swear profusely and tell you you're a lunatic?
Spider: It is mildly comforting, I'll admit. *He slouched down again, only the back of his head and one arm visible as he gestured* Running errands and providing porn on command also helps.
Krycek: I've got this damn body-snatcher cell phone for a reason, boss. Haven't your grating, smoke-laden voice in my ears yet. *He turns back to the maker, voice muffled before he raises it again* This thing makes whatever you want, right? I feel like I should figure it out -- FBI rookies know nothing if not how to fetch coffee.
Spider: *Raising his voice* Maker, give the man standing in front of you a couple of forms of id. Something that sounds impressive! *A moment later, a series of red beams appear, crawling across Krycek's skin and mapping his face*
Krycek: That's it? *He scowls, watching the machine suspiciously* Fucking thing. *Picking up the first id it spits out, he snorts* I'm not sure I can pass for the Queen of Sheba, Boss. Not without some impressive prosthetics.
Spider: Godfuckingdamnit! *He rose from the couch with impressive speed, vaulting over the back and heading toward the kitchen* Out of the way, kid.
Krycek: *Backs off, snickering as he reads his supposed age of a hundred and fifty days and weight of 300 pounds* It's got a sense of humor anyway.
Spider: It's fucking stoned out of its goddamn electronic MIND, that's what it is! *Sprawling half across the plain, black appliance, he rocked it back and forth, cursing as he worked it away from the wall and got both arms behind it* Goddamn whoreson motherfucker....
Krycek: ...It makes it's own drugs? How does it consume-- nevermind. *He grins, watching Spider sprawl comically* Guess it must be past its warranty.
Spider: The goddamn thing was on drugs the day I GOT it. *There is further rummaging and cursing before he pulls back, a complicated looking circuit in his hands. The machine actually bursts into tears as he tosses it over his shoulder and manhandles it back against the wall.* Stop that you stupid, mafia-produced shithead, and give the man his id!
Krycek: *Grinning in an uncharacteristically manic way (which he'd blame on Spider, did he realize he was doing it), he leans against the counter, leaning over to pick up the next id that's spit out in a way he'd almost describe as sulky* Liaison to the Embassador of Siberia? *Eyebrows arch* Closer, anyway. As much as I'd like to be 29 again, I'm not sure I could pass.
Spider : *Giving the maker a hearty kick* Give it about five minutes and we can try again. Fucker. *He paused and cast a curious look over one shoulder* Say what? Been taking rejuvination treatments on the sly or just indulging in a bit of body snatching? Or... *a completely paranoid and suspicious look* You're my ex-wife, aren't you!? You got out of that damned cannister and someone revived you before I was actually dead!
Krycek: *He gives Spider a look comprised of derision and surprise* I wouldn't be your wife if you paid me! *Flipping the id closed, he shakes his head, smirking as he realizes he's actually taken -Spider- by surprise* No, we don't have rejuvenation treatments that good. I'm just your run of the mill government agent brought back from the dead for who knows what reason.
Spider: Oh. Well, that's a relief. *It obviously and genuinely was and he sighed as he turned to lean against the maker* So's my ex-wife, thankfully. She was planning on coming back but, well... these things happen sometimes.
Krycek: Since you sound so sure, I'm going to take your word for it. *Pursing his lips, still amused* I thought you would have read all our profiles, sir. Not knowing all about the kids you're working with doesn't seem like the paranoid thing to do. *He flips the id open again, noting that it seems to have correctly listed his height and weight this time. Only contacts could make his eyes blue, though*
Spider: No offense, kid, but have you actually SEEN some of the students in this place? The demonic warrior, the Eternal, the other demon, the vampire, that... homonucleus creature... someone come back from the dead just doesn't register against that sort of backdrop.
Krycek: *Snorts and shrugs slightly, wondering how many more times he'd have this conversation during his term here* True enough. Though I wasn't exactly expecting it. Still has a bit of novelty to it, I guess. *Noticing his cig for the first time in a few minutes, he scowls at the column of wasted ash and flicks it into the sink*
Spider: ... so what the fuck are you doing in the hell that is high school?
Krycek: *That earns a dark look at nothing in particular.* Hell if I know. Maybe the aliens liked me enough to make me their own personally rejuvenated host.
Spider: *Not bothering to hide his amusement* Sucks to be you.
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Let's not traumatize poor Jake. That would be bad.))
no subject
*snickers*))