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Hunter in the Forest [IC]


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Trevor raised his hands in exaggerated surrender. "Point taken. Historically, honesty hasn't worked out very well for me, but as you already noted, I'm not much of a liar regardless." He didn't really have any terrible secrets he was keeping from Erin, just topics he avoided discussing. Whether that was actually an better was naturally open to debate. "At the moment we're just taking things slow. Assuming that's alright with you," he added in an immaculate deadpan.

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  • 2 weeks later...
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"Probably isn't but I suppose I'll have to put up with it," grinned Liz, leaning back against the workbench. "So, I suppose you'll be wanting a tour of the base, then? Apart from a couple of places where you need to watch your step or get sucked into a giant puddle of mud, it's perfectly safe."

She frowned momentarily. "Or that weird bit in the bathroom which keeps throwing up electric sparks when you flush the toilet. Never did figure that out."

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"Well, it beats romantic advice from Mark or James," Trevor said dryly, giving Liz a small shrug. For all its unconventionality, the relationship between his hosts seemed to be built on a rock solid foundation the dark haired youth found vaguely comforting. "But yes, a tour would be appreciated, certainly. I'll just, ah, skip the washroom, then."

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"Probably advisable, agreed Liz, leading Trevor out of the workroom and shutting the heavy door behind her. It hissed a little as she pressed a button to seal it closed. "Just a security precaution, there were a few small explosions one week and we came back to find the cheap wooden door embedded in the computer monitors."

"Speaking of," she continued, leading him over to the part of the main control room where the computer was. "The mainframe is behind the screens, embedded in an extra level of metal, in case of explosion. The nine screens are capable of operating independently, but by default are all just logged in to the main profile. It's got internet, webcam, various databases, reference materials, and if I can crack the last few encryption keys, can tap into every camera in the city. As-is, all we're currently getting is the parking lot of a mall. Well, one floor of a parking lot."

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"Has it occurred to you that explosions are staring to form a pattern here?" Trevor asked dryly as he looked about the room. "Screen set-up is nice." Somewhat embarrassingly, he didn't have much to contribute to a discussion of computers. The Midnight Manor's systems had been beyond cutting edge in their time, but there was a reason he relied largely on more traditional means of information gathering; traditional here being a euphemism for terrorizing informants. Trevor himself was simply more inclined toward moving parts than binary bits.

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"Yeah, well, sometimes to make an omelette you've got to be willing to explode a few eggs," said Liz briskly. She seemingly ignored Trevor's lack of contribution to the computer discussion for now, leading him over to a small metal door set into the side of the room. Pushing it open, she strode forward into a well-lit room with a floor covered in concrete slabs.

In the middle of the floor was what appeared to be a unique model of sports car, low slung but possessing large enough wheels to not get stuck on speed bumps. The front and read were thick with armour, yet still sleek-looking, and the roof and doors, while not as armoured, still looked very, very tough. The whole thing was painted a dark green colour, apart from the large yellow Gs on the front and roof of the car. "This more to your liking?"

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Trevor responded by taking a running start before falling backward and sliding with surprising ease under the car, demonstrating both an acrobatic grace and a knack for disappearing abruptly from view. His secondary mutation allowed him to perceive the underside of the vehicle in sharp detail, and a series of metallic noises emerged as he intently examined its workings. "Good parts, definitely. Hmm? Oh, that's clever... This here is going to cost you some speed, and this, let's see... ah, over here, alright." Long, thin fingers reappeared along the car's bumper moments before Trevor hauled himself back into view, his legs still under the car as he addressed Liz solemnly. "This is good work."

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"Having fun down there?" smiled Liz sardonically. "Because I've got a skateboard you can lie on if you want it."

"Although I don't need it fast, I need it armoured. It's got a very niche purpose, and that's not anything to do with speed, we've got the airship for that. The fact that it turns into a non-descript green sedan at the touch of a button is its real purpose." She looked off as if looking far into the distance for a while. "That, and we needed a car so we can go away on winter break..."

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Trevor considered the undercarriage of the car. "Pretty low-slung; probably wouldn't fit with a skateboard." His toneless inflection made it tough to tell if he'd simply missed the humour in his words or if he was joking in his own way. "Anyway, if its 'purpose' wasn't to go fast, you'd have made it the Gecko-Mini Van," he pointed out. "Explains the extra equipment down here, though. Dynamic re-paneling?"

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"Probably not, minivans aren't inconspicuous. Old sedans are," Liz said, getting a little irked at her work being criticised. "And I'd hardly call a 250 MPH top speed slow. The repanelling does slow it, yes, but when you get down to it, much of the parts aren't switched, they simply flip around. It cuts costs, and it cuts down on weight. The majority of the extra mass is from the parts neded to turn it all around."

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"Hmm," Trevor grunted thoughtfully as he slid himself forcibly back under the car. "Went with a morpic molecule paint job on the Night Cycle," he offered conversationally as he continued to tap a various parts with little regard to politeness. "Run an electrical current through it, colour changes. Still trying to get the decals right, though." The lean young man finally rolled out the other side of the vehicle, apparently unbothered by the dust and grime he'd acquired over his dark clothing. "Pannels hold up to closer scrutiny, but... it's all so green."

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  • 2 weeks later...

"Yeah," agreed Liz. "Chris does like green. And yellow. I'm not quite sure why. There's probably some tenuous reasoning behind it, but I'm not sure I want to hear it." She rapped on the paintwork. "I was going to go for black and chrome. Say what you like about them, but they don't go out of style."

"Take it you're the kind of wears black, then?"

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"Exactly," Trevor replied with surprising emphasis, absently brushing some dust off of his hands. The fixation some of his peers had with bright, primary colours simply escaped his comprehension. "Well. It's thematic," he responded to Liz's question with a light cough. He was pretty sure Chris hadn't explicitly told his girlfriend which of Young Freedom's associates was visiting the base, and hesitated to make that leap. "Black is good. Functional and elegant."

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"Quite," said Liz dryly. "Although I wouldn't say that functional, even for hiding. If you wore black in a pitch black cellar maybe. At night... it's still darker than shadows, and pretty easy to see." At that point, her mobile started ringing. She pulled it out, and flipped it open. "Hey, hun. What's up? Yeah, the main hangar's still open. See you in a sec."

She put the phone away again. "Alright, that's Chris back. I figure I can give you a rundown on the Pitchoo now. Sound OK?"

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"Shadows tend to get... darker when I'm around," Trevor explained dryly. If Liz hadn't been such an excellent judge of character, she might have thought there was a subtle undercurrent of smug satisfaction to the statement. In response to her question, he nodded deeply enough to border on a stiff bow and gestured with one hand for her to lead the way back to the hanger to examine the returned airship.

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  • 3 weeks later...

"Then why bother wearing black if the shadows are that dark?" commented Liz. "Heck, Chris is pretty damned sneaky when he wants to be, and look at what he's wearing." She led them through a side door, bypassing the main room to go straight into the hangar to see the Pitchoo raising itself up through a gap in the rocks to land in front of them.

Geckoman walked out, holding a shopping bag with one hand and pressing a cold cloth to a bullet wound with the other. "Now, can I say in my defence that this time, I wasn't actively looking for trouble?"

"Oh my god! Are you OK?" Liz was already fussing over Chris, checking out the wound even as it scabbed over in front of their eyes. "What happened?" "I'm fi-" "You're bleeding!" Lil' bit."

Then, without warning, Liz slapped Chris in the face. Hard enough to echo. "Don't you ever do that again! It's something you mention on the phone!"

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"...thematic," Trevor insisted following after Liz in a relaxed saunter, his hands resting in his pockets. When a bleeding Chris appeared from the Pitchoo, the lanky youth hung back, letting the brown haired inventor rush forward. At the prodigious slap, however, his athletic form was suddenly beside the pair, looming several inches over either of them. "While I'm told that's a common reaction to Chris," he suggested calmly, "perhaps after?" Trevor regretted interfering in the awkward situation almost immediately, but the die had been cast. "Bullet pass through?" he asked the other young man.

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It took Chris and Liz a second to register Trevor was even speaking, because in the few seconds it had taken for him to come over and talk, they'd gone into an embrace and kissed. Pulling away, Chris flapped a hand to show he was fine. "Yeah, it came flying out of my back. Trouble is, it hit a glass table behind me and collapsed a load of display boxes onto me." He shrugged helplessly.

"How..." Liz struggled for words. "How do you manage these things?" He looked somewhat offended.

"Trevor! You tell her! Things explode! Often multiple times!"

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Trevor looked between the pair for a silent moment before flatly repeating, "...explodes." Spreading his hands slightly in what was the generally reserved teen's equivalent of throwing his hands up in the air in surrender, he turned and walked back away for the exasperating couple. "Made for each other," he noted quietly, although his dry tone made it unclear whether or not he was being complimentary.

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  • 3 weeks later...

"Anyway," said Liz, pulling away from Chris and sighing deeply for a second. "I said I'd show Trevor the airship. So I'm going to. And you're not going to mess around with remote piloting, are you Chris?"

He feigned outrage for a second, before kissing her on the cheek and wandering into the main room. "Yes, ma'am." Liz shook her head and led Trevor forward to the big green spherical airship. "OK, rough summary," she said, pointing with one finger at various sections. The front; "Control panelling and main weapons turrets," the back; "fusion-fission engine couplings," the bottom; "Anti-gravity lifting devices," and the middle; "Pilotting bay and Chris's... modifications. Some of which are quite scary," she added thoughtfully.

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Leaving the eccentric couple's antics studiously uncommented upon, Trevor observed each section of the airship Liz pointed out with an almost owlish intensity behind his oval shaped sunglasses. He seemed most interested in the airship's propulsion system and its practically self-sustaining power source. "Hnn..." he rumbled in a thoughtful baritone as he stepped forward to get a better look at the vessel's underbelly. "Been stuck of a... project. Could be a solution."

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  • 1 month later...

"You want some anti grav stuff?" asked Chris, looking at Trevor happily. "Yay, you're no longer unreasonably fixated with being stuck on tarmac!" He went to pat Trevor heartily on the back when he saw Liz hurriedly shaking her head at him. "Or..."

Liz, exasperatedly trying to pull Chris out of this jam, stepped in at this point. "What project would this be, Trevor?" She pointedly put a hand on each of Trevor's shoulders and pointed him at the ship as Chris tried to slope off.

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Trevor make a sound in the back of his throat that might have been something akin to an amused chuckle at Chris' chipper comment, but his shoulder muscles instantly tensed when Liz reached up to place her hands upon them, only slowly relaxing after a clearly conscious decision as more dramatic reflexes were denied. Gently stepping away, the lanky youth cleared his throat quietly. "Something Erin inspired. Ran into power limits," he elaborated with a slight hint of a frown. "Working fusion-fission engine... hnn." His eyes seemed to unfocus behind his sunglasses as blueprints drew themselves in his mind.

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  • 3 weeks later...

"What proje-" began Liz, before clearing her throat and shifting her voice up a few notches. "Sorry, what project? Ahem." She started undoing a few bolts set into the side of the Pitchoo's hull, before flipping open a tall thin hatch, which had about twenty smaller bolts housed inside. "Word of warning, though... the reactor is efficient, but it's not necessarily fast." She started unbolting with a quick, practiced movement, eventually having to pull up a stepladder to reach the higher ones. "You'll get a lot of power out of it, but to get a lot of power in a shorter space of time, you're looking at, well... This."

She flipped open the hatch, revealing a complex mess of machinery, green glowing tubes of glass, and what looked alarmingly like half-chewed chewing gum immersed in liquid nitrogen. "That's about a quarter of the ship's mass, give or take."

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"Hrn. That's not going to work," Trevor murmured largely to himself as he looked into the opened hatch Liz indicated, his tone disappointed. Turning his attention back to the ship's designer, he inclined his head gratefully. "Still. Suggests new options. Thank you." Rubbing the back of his black hair, his stoic expression turned a touch wry. "Ah, keeping things under wraps for now. Not you, just an inherited weakness for dramatic reveals."

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