"Whose turn was it?" Damien mutters into a lull in the conversation, and never mind the fact that he immediately leans further away from the chess board in front of him, squirming as he tries to dip his fingers in his pocket at just the wrong angle. It's another uncomfortable minute of doing (and a miracle of concrete that he doesn't flip the table) before he comes up with a half-crushed pack of cigarettes and lighter. He pulls a cigarette out of the box, sticking it between his teeth before he leans back in, trying to shield it from the breeze that's been blowing through the park all day, so he can light the damn thing. When he manages, he slips the lighter back into his pocket, and takes a drag off the thing, resettling as he exhales smoke, and --
-- well, the look on Aiden Pearce's face, something hard behind bright green eyes, gives him pause. He frowns immediately. It's not like Aiden's ever had a problem with his little vice before. "What?"
Aiden eyes flick downwards, finding his face, and Damien realizes, then, that he wasn't frowning at him. He lets himself relax again, taking another drag off of his cigarette, and when Aiden nods to the hotel looming behind them, he follows his gaze on the breath out. When he turns back to Aiden, he asks, "You ever think of hitting that place?"
"What, the Merlaut?" Damien throws another glance back over his shoulder. "I might have considered it -- and then I remembered that anyone who could actually afford to stay there is probably more trouble than they're worth." A beat, and he clarifies, "Blume's been moving a lot of people in and out of the city, lately, and guess where most of them have been staying."
"Yeah," Aiden hums, after a moment's thought. He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable again on the concrete benches, and reaches for one of his pieces. He rolls it between his fingers, seemingly debating what to do with it, and without looking up from the board, asks, "Yeah, how much do you owe Christina, this month?"
"I should never have fucking told you about her," Damien grumbles darkly, passing the cigarette from one hand to the other so he can use his free hand to reach for his phone, sitting beside him and the board carved into the table. He takes another drag off of the cigarette as he starts to stand, the ash burning as bright and hot as his apparent hurt.
"Router's on the first floor," Aiden blurts out, setting the chess piece down as he starts to get to his feet, too. "I go in, you piggyback off my phone, and we can hit anyone connected to the hotel's wi-fi from the lobby." That's enough to get Damien's attention and he pauses, expression softening into something more thoughtful. Aiden, sensing an opening, repeats, "From the lobby, Damien."
"You've thought about this, haven't you?"
"Nobody with that kind of money is gonna miss a few thousand dollars -- not Blume, not the Club, not anyone else hanging out in there," Aiden answers, shaking his head faintly. "If we work fast enough, no one will even know were were there."
"And you and Sis gets to take the kids to Disneyland," Damien shoots back, a jab for a jab. Aiden allows it, grunting in response but otherwise silent, and Damien sighs slowly settling back down into his seat. He ashes his cigarette absently, as he works through the logistics in his head.
On one hand, if Aiden is right it should be an easy job. Hotel cyber-security is notoriously bad across the board (there's a reason why there's usually a disclaimer, once you've logged on, the hotel shall not be responsible and all that), and people traveling with that kind of money usually rack up hundreds of thousands of dollars in charges a day. A bar tab here, an order down to room service there, a town car rental, complete with driver, because God forbid they be seen in a cab, and so on. It would be easy to siphon a few thousand dollars out of every account running off the wi-fi, and if some of Blume's money gets snapped up in the process? He's not really opposed, not really afraid of Blume, even if they make things more difficult.
On the other hand, though -- well, now that he thinks about it, he really can't think of a downside. If they can do this from the lobby, and if they're careful, afterwards, which he will be, they'll make bank. He does actually owe the ex a check, this month, still, and he's always tried to be on time with those, if only for his son's sake.
"Fine," he relents, then, on a breath out. He takes another hit of nicotine before waving the thing at Aiden. "But not today -- not anytime soon. We need to think this through, actually have a plan in place, in case something goes wrong, you understand?"
Aiden stares at him for a moment before barking out a laugh, and immediately, Damien flips him off. He doesn't try to get up and storm off again, however, the gesture largely token, if only because, "Yes, yes. I realized I was talking to Mr. Patience is a Virtue after that came out of my mouth. Fuck you."
Of the two of them, Aiden is and always has been infinitely more patient, cautious, something. Either way, when he lowers his hand, it's not before jabbing a finger in the direction of the board, and with a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Take your fucking turn."
outside the merlaut hotel; june 2012 (tifa)
-- well, the look on Aiden Pearce's face, something hard behind bright green eyes, gives him pause. He frowns immediately. It's not like Aiden's ever had a problem with his little vice before. "What?"
Aiden eyes flick downwards, finding his face, and Damien realizes, then, that he wasn't frowning at him. He lets himself relax again, taking another drag off of his cigarette, and when Aiden nods to the hotel looming behind them, he follows his gaze on the breath out. When he turns back to Aiden, he asks, "You ever think of hitting that place?"
"What, the Merlaut?" Damien throws another glance back over his shoulder. "I might have considered it -- and then I remembered that anyone who could actually afford to stay there is probably more trouble than they're worth." A beat, and he clarifies, "Blume's been moving a lot of people in and out of the city, lately, and guess where most of them have been staying."
"Yeah," Aiden hums, after a moment's thought. He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable again on the concrete benches, and reaches for one of his pieces. He rolls it between his fingers, seemingly debating what to do with it, and without looking up from the board, asks, "Yeah, how much do you owe Christina, this month?"
"I should never have fucking told you about her," Damien grumbles darkly, passing the cigarette from one hand to the other so he can use his free hand to reach for his phone, sitting beside him and the board carved into the table. He takes another drag off of the cigarette as he starts to stand, the ash burning as bright and hot as his apparent hurt.
"Router's on the first floor," Aiden blurts out, setting the chess piece down as he starts to get to his feet, too. "I go in, you piggyback off my phone, and we can hit anyone connected to the hotel's wi-fi from the lobby." That's enough to get Damien's attention and he pauses, expression softening into something more thoughtful. Aiden, sensing an opening, repeats, "From the lobby, Damien."
"You've thought about this, haven't you?"
"Nobody with that kind of money is gonna miss a few thousand dollars -- not Blume, not the Club, not anyone else hanging out in there," Aiden answers, shaking his head faintly. "If we work fast enough, no one will even know were were there."
"And you and Sis gets to take the kids to Disneyland," Damien shoots back, a jab for a jab. Aiden allows it, grunting in response but otherwise silent, and Damien sighs slowly settling back down into his seat. He ashes his cigarette absently, as he works through the logistics in his head.
On one hand, if Aiden is right it should be an easy job. Hotel cyber-security is notoriously bad across the board (there's a reason why there's usually a disclaimer, once you've logged on, the hotel shall not be responsible and all that), and people traveling with that kind of money usually rack up hundreds of thousands of dollars in charges a day. A bar tab here, an order down to room service there, a town car rental, complete with driver, because God forbid they be seen in a cab, and so on. It would be easy to siphon a few thousand dollars out of every account running off the wi-fi, and if some of Blume's money gets snapped up in the process? He's not really opposed, not really afraid of Blume, even if they make things more difficult.
On the other hand, though -- well, now that he thinks about it, he really can't think of a downside. If they can do this from the lobby, and if they're careful, afterwards, which he will be, they'll make bank. He does actually owe the ex a check, this month, still, and he's always tried to be on time with those, if only for his son's sake.
"Fine," he relents, then, on a breath out. He takes another hit of nicotine before waving the thing at Aiden. "But not today -- not anytime soon. We need to think this through, actually have a plan in place, in case something goes wrong, you understand?"
Aiden stares at him for a moment before barking out a laugh, and immediately, Damien flips him off. He doesn't try to get up and storm off again, however, the gesture largely token, if only because, "Yes, yes. I realized I was talking to Mr. Patience is a Virtue after that came out of my mouth. Fuck you."
Of the two of them, Aiden is and always has been infinitely more patient, cautious, something. Either way, when he lowers his hand, it's not before jabbing a finger in the direction of the board, and with a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Take your fucking turn."
And so he does.