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The Nominal Probably Temporary Wiggin Hideout, Thursday

Peter was back in today.

He was clearing out his desk. It was a periodical activity - he never liked to leave anything lying around where it could be found. So: gathering up large amounts of paper that was... probably edible (but like he was going to eat that?) and dragging it out to the center of the room to put it through the shredder.

After shredding, he was probably going to burn it somewhere controllable.

But right now: shredding.

[[ open for interacting with peter and with one another, la ]]

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Admittedly, it had been a while since Sparkle had bothered to trip his way into one of the hideouts. After all, when there was so much shit-stirring to be done, and it was difficult to check in when you were breaking into people's places and stealing their junk.

Or, rather, their somewhat useful supplies.

"Pastry, today," he reported as he ambled in with his bookbag crammed full of things. "Fresh out of the trash behind J,GoB. And bandages, some ointment, needle and thread, a lighter, half-full. What I wouldn't give for some gasoline, though. Take it right to the inside of that castle."

No powers necessary for that sort of chaos. That was definitely Sparkle's speed.

"Remind me never to let you talk to Ace," Peter said.

Shred, said the shredder. Or something. Peter's knack for words had better things to occupy itself with than coming up with onomatopoeias. "You know where to put it."

"Oh, you know Ace and I would be a great team," Sparkle replied, grinning crookedly as he found a place to start unpacking his bag. "I promise we wouldn't even blow up the whole damn island."

... Tempting as it sometimes was.

"Any special requests for my next run out? I found this one empty house? Full of booze and smokes."

Needless to say, Sparkle had stuck around that place for a while.

"I'm sure booze would be good for morale," Peter mused, "If taken within reason. Aren't cigarettes supposed to be carcinogenic?"

He didn't know. Ancient history.

"Yeah," Sparkle replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "So what? How many of us you realistically expect to make it through the weekend?"

Sparkle liked to think of himself as a realist. When he wasn't busy being a pathological liar, or a flat-out asshole.

"Oh, we're going to kick their asses," Peter said, with confidence that wasn't actually entirely feigned but sounded very sarcastic. "Get the alcohol. We can drink it and then use the bottles for bludgeoning, or whatever it is the combat-ready guys like to do."

"Booze it is," Sparkle replied, firing off a half-assed salute before just up-ending his bag to empty out the rest, and then snatching his lockpicks from the heap.

He'd keep the smokes for himself, thanks.

"That all, boss?"

"Actually, no," Peter said thoughtfully. "So we're attacking on Saturday--" Yes, Sparkle was probably aware of that, "--and we'll have plenty of people hosting distractions. And while 'let's attack detention' is a great plan, I'm thinking that if it does go south, we should... capitalize on that distraction in other ways."

Oh, Peter. Those were the magic words, right there. Sparkle glanced up at him with a bit of a crooked grin on his face, tucking his lockpicks back into his back and then crossing his arms over his chest.

"I like capitalizing. What did you have in mind?"

"Most of Umbridge's goons should be out where the fighting is, if they're not running after our distractions," Peter said lightly. "I think that's an excellent time to rifle through their things, don't you?"

"Honestly, I couldn't think of a better time to go and trash their shit and make off with their shiny things," Sparkle mused, slinging his bag over his shoulder again. "Should I leave them some kind of calling card? Ace and I might not be regular chums, but I could probably fuck some shit up while I'm in there, just so long as someone's watching my ass while I'm doing it."

"Probably not a good idea if one of them comes back," Peter mused. "Though maybe you should just take some back-up, work it out from there."

He wasn't the combat tactics guy. He was the 'make sure we have everything we need and everyone is where we need them to be' guy.

Sparkle pursed his lips for a moment in thought, and then grinned and shrugged.

"I'd say the more the merrier, but if I grab too many people, I'm bound to get busted. And like hell I'm going to get dragged down to their glorified holding pen just for the sake of stirring up shit. I'll grab a guy, I know someone who'll watch my ass if I tell him it's worthwhile."

Well, there might be some bribing involved.

"And we'll see what kind of shit the mouse can stir up while the cat's away."

"Cupcake delivery!" Ace lied cheerfully as she shouldered through the door, hands full. There were bakery boxes from Jeff, God of Biscuits in those hands, but nothing remotely edible within them.

Not, mind you, because she couldn't make edible things; she hadn't learned her lab skills from Karla, after all, and cooking was just chemistry that didn't (usually) explode. These just... weren't. Most of them didn't even look like cupcakes, though there were a few fake ones in the top box for camo just in case she got stopped.

Edited 2012-07-26 21:17 (UTC)

"Took you a while," Peter said. Because clearly he knew how to make explosives better than Ace did.

Ace shrugged and dropped the boxes on the corner of Peter's desk.... relatively carefully. "Happens when you pause for things like food, sleep, and not blowing up other people's shit." By special request from Kate, that last one.

"The resistance thanks you for your restraint," Peter said dryly. He pushed the top off of one box. "Now that's the tastiest-looking muffin I've ever seen."

"That's what she s--

"I bet you say that to all the g--

"Be still my trembling heart." Ace peered over his shoulder. "That one's cranberry." No, it wasn't. "Or something else that starts with a C. I forget."

"It's kind of a pity there's no such thing as a muffin starting with an N," Peter said. "It demonstrates a real lack of foresight."

Ace lifted the box he'd been admiring to display the one underneath it, which contained a supply of pastries flavoured with NEW Lady 'Stache Off with triple beauty action^TM.

"Non-fat nut." Duh.

"Nice work."

That started with an 'n', too.

"I'll try to scrape up another batch before Saturday." Hopefully not off the basement walls. "But I reckoned I'd best bring this lot over while the streets were clearish."

Because Sheriff Sounds-Irish-But-Isn't was teaching his class today instead of roaming them looking for troublemakers.

Not that Ace knew any of those.

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The Nominal Probably Temporary Wiggin Hideout, Thursday

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