Just another way to survive [Mecha]

[Quinn Cavanagh]

This would be simple. Just because the basement room was taken, didn't mean she couldn't have access to the underground areas below the apartments. Of course, she was still a little peeved about someone else getting the darkest, quietest, most remote room in the whole complex. Life could be so unfair. At least she wasn't completely blocked off from the tunnels.

The elevator down to the first basement level was a slow-moving, rickety thing that gave off altogether too much noise. Whoever lived in the basement apartment would have to put in a conscious effort not to hear it descending, unless they were listening to raucous death metal or something. The noise made Quinn uncomfortable. The elevator was also quite dirty, though she was sure it was nothing compared to what she would find in the tunnels. That was why she was wearing a pair of light leather gloves, as well as her black, ankle-high lace-up boots. In fact, she was wearing all black, with a leather motorcycle jacket to top it all off. It was something of a habit to wear black while doing illicit things, especially when those things were to take place in very dark areas.

Finally, the elevator came to a shuddering halt and the doors opened to reveal a lot of concrete and yet more noise. Quinn stepped out onto it, her heels making a light click-clacking as she made her way toward the stairwell to the lower levels. The sounds was utterly consumed by the blowing of a furnace which sounded overworked. Quinn glanced around the room and found, to her utter amazement, a row of computers on one side and vast quantities of motorcycles and engines scattered about the room.

For a moment, she simply stood still, basking in all the glory of the room. This whole place was a paradise, especially when compared with the rest of the wretched apartments. Though the lack of organization bothered her, it was only the briefest of thoughts as she considered the immense possibilities.

All thoughts of exploration temporarily banished from her head, Quinn began to look around. She couldn't hear anyone nearby, so she figured whoever resided in these rooms had to be away, making it safe for her to touch whatever she pleased. She started with the computers.

One of the computers was quite old, one of the oldest she had seen. Those computers tended to be quite fun, plus they were easy to hack. She pressed the power button nimbly, and settled in to wait for it to turn on.

((Let me know if any of the details of the basements are off - I tried to find some information, but it's pretty limited right now.))

[TETRIS]

In the back-room, Mecha wiped his fingers off on a piece of oil cloth before flexing his prosthetic arm, grunting in grudging approving at the way the light gleamed off of the over-lapping gill-like structures. He had to fine-tune them; one joint was getting awkward and in the way, so he'd replaced it with two parts that slid one under another when he bent his arm at the elbow.

The metallic rattle of elevator chains did not elude him this time; dark eyes furrowing even darker, he cursed, kicked the corner of the table, then started toward the heavy double doors, prying them open. Another visitor. There were far too many for his liking these days. First Reese - well, he couldn't blame her entirely; she wasn't curious, just looking for her puppy - and well, now this one.

But after all, Mecha's idea of company was talking aloud to himself. There was a female, standing at the terminal, touching his computers. She was ill-dressed for the basement; ridiculous lace-up boots, gloves, but she was touching his computers.

"What the hell are you doing?" He picked up a dead bolt handy, and threw it precisely across the room, not really aimed at her (God forbid she duck and he hit his precious computer) but close enough to crack resoundingly against the cement and brick.

Across the room, Quinn was a small, unimposing figure. She looked like a child, which would explain the curiosity and inability to respect his property. "fug off... I said, fug off!"

He crossed the room in several bounds, then pushed Quinn away, seizing her offending hand in his own, glaring down at her wildly. Unable to select, from the teeming interrogative questions that he was mentally shouting, one particularly outstanding demand, Mecha scowled, his lips curling away from his teeth, his eyes asking everything.

He'd calmed down a bit, registered more fully that she was a girl, and shoved her roughly (but not as brusquely) away, letting go of her. "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

[Quinn Cavanagh]

The small computer was a thing of beauty, almost an antique. It was difficult to believe that there was someone else living in these apartments who could appreciate the value of the unassuming machine. In fact, the likelihood was so small that Quinn was certain the computer would be better off in her hands. She was contemplating the best way to lift the thing without anyone seeing her on the way back to her room when someone shouted at her and threw something heavy and metal her way. She turned quickly, her head jerking to the side even though she could hear that the object was too far away to hit her. There, standing not far away, was a man. Or, at least he looked like a man.

He was very skinny and appeared somewhat malnourished. Of course, being skinny was hardly an abnormal trait in Quinn's mind. However, having an arm made of metal was an abnormal trait. She took a small step back, mostly out of surprise, but had no time to do anything else because before she could blink he was running towards her, grabbing her hand, and pushing her away.

After the initial shock had passed, Quinn took stock of the situation. She had been wrong. That was unusual. It would seem this place was fond of throwing her through loops, since before she moved to the Verge apartments, it had been rare to see her surprised about anything. Fortunately, her ability to analyze was still intact. It took her mere seconds to decide to do something she rarely did: simply tell the truth.

"I came down to check out the tunnels," she waved toward the entrance, her eyes holding just a hint of defiance. "When I got down here I saw all of your stuff and got a little... distracted. I didn't know anyone was down here, so I figured I would take a look around. I didn't mean any harm by it," ok, maybe not the whole truth. "Your computer is beautiful, though. I haven't seen one like this since..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment as she thought about the last time she had seen a computer that old. It had belonged to her grandfather, and it was the first computer she had ever used. No wonder she liked the things. She shook her head, dislodging the thought and focusing on getting the very dangerous looking man to calm down a bit. "Well, not in a very long time. Are you a programmer or something?"

She looked around at the floor and all the mechanical parts strewn haphazardly about the room. "Or a uh... a mechanic or something? Also, just a thought, do you think you could not throw stuff at me?" She cut the edge in that last comment with her best attempt at an innocent smile. She had been told once before that she had an angelic face, so even though the attempt was not quite sincere, it proved rather effective.

[TETRIS]

Tche. An unlikely alibi. What pint-sized girl could actually appreciate the value of his adored machine? All the more prized because it was built hard to re-program, un-user friendly, and therefore, much more suited to illicit wifi pirating and federal tracking. Most people these days had no idea where the monitor on these things were, let alone how to coax information from it. Clearly, this girl had an idea of both, though Mecha wasn't going to allow her the title of expert.

"Are you from the government?" It wasn't a practical question but it couldn't hurt to ask; let the girl know he was onto her. Still, even as he stepped forwards, closer, she was slight, thin, and her eyes seemed older than her silhouette had seemed. He was at once more suspicious of her, and berating himself for his brief outburst of rage. To think that he'd let a girl get him that excited was... was... well, was unthinkable.

He made a rueful noise in the back of his throat, the closest she would get to an apology. Before he figured he might as well point out that, "I wasn't throwing it at you. I don't miss."

That sounded like a threat. He decided he'd rather change the subject, acknowledging the compliment and questions with silence.

"Used to be a mechanic. Then I worked part-time as a hacker until the fuzz got wise to me." His lip curled with disdain as he thought of the police, heading to the wall to retrieve the dead bolt he'd thrown. "Now I stay here to fix the water 'nd light works, earn my keep." He wasn't going to tell her about his other activities. Not until he was certain she wasn't with the fuzz.

"Most people dun come to the basement." He watched her to assess her reaction. Would she be content to cut and run, now that she'd met the denizen of Verge's underground? Or would she continue to probe and dog him. His instincts told him, with a sinking feeling, that the latter was more likely.

Something about her intrigued him, though, he wouldn't lie. Her hard eyes, hard face, sly and quick and savvy despite her attempts to assemble her features into a more banally girlish expression. The thick sweep of black bangs across her forehead were fascinating. Shockingly regular in their evenness, as though traced by a ruler. Cold blue eyes - precise, like LED display lights. She seemed very clever. If he tread carefully, he could potentially find someone here that he might even like to talk to. Reese was nice, but he doubted she would be returning; the entire ambience of the place seemed to rattle her.

"Who are you?" He didn't recall seeing her on the few occasions he went above. Not that he knew anyone in the apartment, but most of them had become familiar faces by this point, with a surprise once in a while. This was one of them.

[Quinn Cavanagh]

The brief exchange had been plenty of time for Quinn to get her thoughts in order. She knew that she had plenty of options in respect to how she could handle the situation. The obvious one was to apologize and leave. Quinn rarely chose the obvious option. Besides, she was quite intrigued by the man in front of her. His arm was quite impressive, and not something she had ever seen before. A voice in the back of her mind whispered to her about how valuable that technology could be, and how much she could make by stealing it. She hushed it for the time being, as she found herself wondering if he was interesting and intelligent enough for her to actually talk to him. So far, she had found no one in the apartments who was.

Quinn couldn't hold back her laughter when he asked if she was from the government. Hopefully he wouldn't ask, because she really didn't want to maneuver her way through the lie she would have to tell to cover it. She covered her mouth with one hand, eye wrinkling at the sheer irony of the question. When she had regained control, her hand dropped to the side and she replied, "I'm not from the government. No law enforcement or anything like that. Quite the suspicious question, though... I can respect that."

He was right, though: most people didn't go into the basement. That was one of the biggest draws it held for her. In her short stay, Quinn had only seen one person take the rattling elevator, and she was fairly certain it was a one-time thing. The solitude was good. It meant no one to bother her, no one to bang on her door and ask if she had toilet paper or barge in while she was trying to watch TV in the living room. It was much more like home for her than even the wreck she called her room.

"I'm Quinn." She considered extending her hand, but thought the better of it. Even with gloves on, it was difficult for her to trust the cleanliness of the basement or anyone who lived in it. She knew she would be washing her hands a lot when she finally returned to her room. "I just moved in a little while ago... well, I don't really like it here. Too crowded. Too many people coming and going and making noise. I wanted to be alone so I came down here to see where the tunnels lead and... I guess you know the rest." Her frustration was apparent in her knitted eyebrows and the stiffness of her stance. It was difficult for her to adjust to a new home, in this case a new life. The dark, stale air was oddly comforting.

Suddenly, and idea occurred to Quinn. "You know, I have a motorcycle that's been having a few issues with the brakes. I like machines, but I'm no mechanic. Would you take a look at it? I can pay..." It was at this point that Quinn decided finally to drop all pretenses. The haggard look on the man's face was enough to assure her that he meant her no harm. Anyway, there was a sort of spark in his eye, one she recognized. She couldn't put her finger on exactly where she had seen it or what it was, but it was familiar somehow and she wanted to remember it. And, if worst came to worst she could always scope out the place and take the computer later.

[TETRIS]

He had an urge to ruffle defensively and ask the girl what she was laughing at, but on second thoughts, Mecha decided that the apparent hilarity of his question was a good sign; at least it proved conclusively she wasn't law enforcement, God knows what else she might be.

"Mecha." He didn't offer his hand, a habit learned when he'd observed how most shied away from grease-stained fingers. Not that he had grease on his fingers at the moment, but he rather liked the way it unsettled normal people accustomed to normal social cues. That this girl didn't make an attempt to exchange a full greeting either both amused, and irked, him.

Deciding not to point out how obviously not alone she was right now, and curbing the urge to tell her to get packing, he decided he'd correct the most obvious problem with her statement. "The tunnels don't lead here. This building was built here to connect to the water and gas lines. Since it was reinstalled with electricity - "

He stopped abruptly, scowled at the dead bolt in his hand, and glanced back at Quinn. " - tunnels are useless now."

For the longest time, he'd planned on excavating the rubble near the open ducts. There wasn't terribly much of it; maybe a single thin layer of concrete in the way, and then passageways, cleared and free. Except that he wasn't exactly compact enough to crawl for long through the system. But Quinn, well, she was the perfect size. If they tried together, he could get her a light and feed her a line or something so she wouldn't need to worry about batteries.

But there were three majour problems, as he saw it. For one, he didn't fully trust this hard-eyed girl. For two, if she was anywhere as wily as she looked, he could hardly imagine her trusting him with her back, climbing into a tight space. And three - and really, this was quintessential - he didn't want to show her the sub-basement, because that was his space. And the abandoned tunnel entrances were in the sub-basement.

She asked about her bike then, and that provided a good opportunity for him to regroup and collect his thoughts. He shook his head fiercely when she mentioned pay, cutting her short; he didn't do pay. That would impose too much... regularity on what he did. Sort of like a job. It gave him responsibility he hardly cared to shoulder. Even if it didn't, the entire notion of transactions did. If anything, he bartered, but never sold or bought (beer being a notable exception).

"If you bring your bike here, I can. I don't like the sun. And I don't like running into the other people." He needed time to work out the tunnel conundrum, carefully mull over the cost-benefit analysis of the possibility...

[Quinn Cavanagh]

While Quinn knew that it was customary to reply to an introduction with something like 'nice to meet you,' she really had no interest in social cues. It was so much easier to just say what you wanted to say and be done with it. Based on the lack of formal introduction by this Mecha, she figured he probably didn't care.

The news that the tunnels didn't lead anywhere was both surprising and disappointing. "Oh... when I moved here they told me they were blocked off, so I guess I just thought there was no use blocking them if there wasn't something interesting back there. Guess I was wrong." She started picking absentmindedly at a fingernail, letting her eyes wander around the room. It really was an interesting place. There was all kinds of machinery and mechanical bits pretty much everywhere she looked, though she really found the computer wall the most interesting. There were all sorts of computers lined up side-by-side, all of which piqued her interest. None more than the old one, but there were certainly a few other gems among them.

She still wasn't sure about Mecha, but she also wasn't yet sure it would be wise to steal from him. He seemed to be quite intelligent and attentive, which automatically set him in her mind as a bad mark. Still, he had some very valuable equipment, and if the tunnels were useless there would have to be some other pay-out if she was going to forgo stealing from him. Fixing her motorcycle would be a start.

Besides, the more time spent with the man, the more opportunity she would have to answer the two questions she had about him: what was it that she recognized, and should she wait to see if he had anything else to offer (like a clue about the tunnels, since his story didn't quite add up) before stealing from him. "Alright, well I can bring it down whenever you want. Since it hasn't been working, I've just been taking the bus. My pass is good through next month so take your time."

The exchange was surprisingly pleasant, considering he had found her looking through his stuff. Evidently, as long as she was not law enforcement, it was ok for her to be found rifling around in his room. She wasn't sure whether to find this reassuring or suspicious. Only time would tell.

[TETRIS]

"Sooner the better. It's winter, and Gladstone wants me to fix the hot water lines."

Mecha kept his answers short, scanning the aforementioned lines pensively, really hoping that the girl would just go and grab her bike, or something. He was not at all settled about the way she had been checking his room out earlier, but with types like her, the more he acted like something was important, the more likely she'd be curious about it.

Experience, after all. He couldn't blame her; it's how he thought about it himself. On the other hand, he could take all the stuff into the back room and bolt the doors, probably wire some minimal alarm system in place as well. There used to be one; if he hooked it up to some lights, or a buzzer... the siren was far too raucous, overkill for something like this.

Practically teeming with ideas about his other options, he kept silent, hoping that the uncomfortable tension it created would cause Quinn to retreat. It worked on most people; even the shy ones who liked quiet were compelled to become talkative with taciturn company. Social customs and habits trained into them to override nature.

He kept quiet about the tunnels too. Let that drop as a dead end of conversation. There was something else he wanted to look into first - this basement was almost half as large as the first floor, built underneath the lobby and living room. Which hardly made sense; what had happened to the space underneath the residential rooms? There were another five floors stacked above ground; surely, there had to be something underneath.

He'd meant to check, but never got around to doing it, as was the case with so many of his unfinished projects strewn around the area. Mecha was full of ideas, but exceptionally critical of his own work (though he was loathe to let anyone else criticize him either). Frustrated when he wasn't making headway in the direction he'd envisioned, he'd usually give up, kicking the scraps of whatever crippled, half-completed contraption he'd put together across the room, and move onto something more.

Now that the girl was here - maybe it wasn't even this girl, just the presence of someone, else, though he had an inkling that Quinn's sharp eyes were mostly the source - he was extra motivated to do what he planned but never done. If it was only to save his own privacy.

[Quinn Cavanagh]

((Sorry this took me so long :c ))

Mecha was a very aloof presence. It might throw off someone more sociable, but Quinn was comfortable in the silence. She wanted to keep looking around the area, but that was clearly impossible, so se decided the most logical way to gain access to the basement was simply to bring her motorcycle down. That way, she could use checking up on it as an excuse.

"Well, I'll just go get it, then." She turned on her heel, foregoing a proper farewell, and headed back towards the elevator. How she was going to get the bike down there was currently a mystery, considering she would have to push it through the lobby and she wasn't entirely sure that was allowed, but that bridge would have to be crossed when she came to it.

The elevator ride was a short, noisy one, but soon Quinn was in the lobby, walking towards the door to the street. Her motorcycle was parked around the corner. She scoped out the lobby as she walked through it. There was no one there, but a few doors were open and the elevators were in full working order, so anyone could come in at any time. She would have to be cautious.

Her motorcycle was a small, sleek thing; black with ample exposed chrome on the sides. The leather seat was set towards the back, so she had to lean over quite a bit to reach the handlebars. It was designed for speed, not necessarily for comfort. Though there was space for saddlebags, Quinn required little storage, so there was nothing hanging off the sides. It made it quite a bit easier to weave through the cars in traffic.

She wheeled the vehicle around the corner and towards the door of the apartments, all the while looking for anyone inside. Fortunately, the lobby was still empty. It was probably just a slow day. Lucky break. Still, Quinn knew not to use luck as a crutch. She was very cerful as she wheeled the bike to the elevator. Home safe. The ride down was quite the same as the ride up, and soon enough she was standing in front of Mecha once again.

"Here he is," was all she could think to say.

[TETRIS]

MICAH "MECHA" DEAN

---

He didn't wait for Quinn to get out of earshot before he turned to 'tamper-proof' the basement space; an unfortunate leaden feeling told him he hadn't seen the last of the girl. Judging from the speed she'd rifled through his computers, she clearly was adept, if not a quasi-expert, with computers.

Besides, Mecha had no intention of bypassing firewall layer after layer every time he wanted to use the machine. So he decided to use the girl's small size to his advantage. If he couldn't take the time right now to block the thing properly, he'd bar her from physical access.

With calculated precision, completely sure of his next step (as he'd been planning half of these measures since he caught her touching his crap), Mecha had already decided what was 'valuable', and what was not. Antique large, iron, filing cabinets that he'd been hired to remove lurked in the corner, as he hadn't gotten around to taking them apart. Picking several of the drawers up, he tipped them over the computers as a temporary cover.

The only other real valuables that remained were his workbenches in the back. Tables were already soldered and bolted to the floor, since he had a bad habit of kicking the legs when frustrated, and after inadvertently destroying a half day's work in one of those fits, the mechanic decided it was easier to prevent a recurrence - damned if he tried to correct his attitude, or other such nonsense.

For now, he draped large sheets of sintered wire mesh, two-ply, over the tables, and tied the corners to the table legs with cable, scowling as the ragged edges of the mesh sliced across his right arm, scoring a dull streak on the otherwise bright gauntlets.

But fug, he was going to a lot of trouble for the girl. It would have been easier to simply lock the doors and kick her ass out of the basement. Somewhere along the line, his thoughts had transitioned from that initial reaction, to a sudden inexplicable whim... but just to be sure, since he didn't want her roaming altogether freely, Mecha secured a clamp to the edge of the sub-basement lift, which he would screw in later.

"He?" She'd addressed her motorcycle, which struck the mechanic as amusing. He always thought of his engines as women, taut and slick and shiny. "Does, uh, he have a name?"

Mecha motioned for Quinn to bring the bike and follow him, towards the back of the room. One, the entry space was prone to theft and now that she'd put the vehicle in his care, damned if he was going to incur any liability. And two, this was a suitable opportunity to show her the rooms below, without seeming either desperate for company, or giving her the (false) impression that they were anything near friends. Acquaintances, they were, and a business relationship at that.

He picked it up when they came to the lift, and stepped in, tipping "him" back on the tail to accommodate room for Quinn. The lift protested, sinking a few inches and he scowled up at the cable, mentally noting to reinforce it later.

There was another reason he was taking it downstairs. The sub-basement was much less easily accessed, really possible only through the lift at the moment. He didn't trust this sharp-eyed girl, and if she tried anything, he had a hostage. One that apparently she cared enough about to assign a gender to, as well.

[Quinn Cavanagh]

The moment she stepped back into the basement, Quinn noticed a few changes. The computers were barred by some old filing cabinets, clearly a quick-fix, and the workbenches in the back were covered in some sort of wire. There was even a small clamp on the elevator, probably intended to keep her from using it at her discretion. She couldn't hide a small smirk as she thought about how utterly futile this last attempt was. In her room, she kept hidden a wide variety of harnesses and ropes made for repelling down buildings, even some specifically designed for elevator shafts. She was a thief, for christsakes! The man clearly both underestimated and distrusted her. Both were perfectly fine, in her book.

Quinn completely missed the skepticism in Mecha's voice when he inquired about her bike's gender. She turned her attention back to him, answering without even a hint of embarrassment, "Gosling. After James Gosling." She didn't bother explaining who that was, seeing as she really didn't care if Mecha knew. If he was truly interested, and didn't already know (which she suspected he did, considering his past), he could look him up. "Treat him nicely please."

Without another word, she followed the man to the lift, wheeling Gosling along with her. She didn't question their travels to the lower level, though she couldn't help but feel a bit giddy. Whether she was wanted there or not, Quinn would find a way to explore the sub-basement. As far as she was concerned, there was little Mecha could do to stop her. Even if he upgraded his nonexistent security, Quinn could bypass some of the toughest systems in her sleep. His underestimating her would only make that easier.

As the lift fell even lower into the earth, Quinn was given some time to appreciate the terse conversation. It was straightforward, without any sort of fluff or unnecessary manners, and left her feeling reasonably at-ease with the situation. Or, as 'at-ease' as it was possible for her to be with a complete stranger in an isolated setting, particularly a stranger with a mechanical arm that could literally snap her in half. Still, it was pleasant.

[TETRIS]

MICAH "MECHA" DEAN

---

Quinn's darting survey of his "corrections" didn't escape Mecha, and he scowled slightly at the quirk of her lips; no doubt she'd hatched some scheme to make his life difficult. But since she'd re-entered the basement, Mecha had carefully examined his inventory mentally, and decided that with the exception of his mechanised right arm, there was nothing here that he was particularly attached to, emotionally or functionally.

If she fugged up his computer systems, it wasn't really his place to give a damn. If Gladstone had issues with the sudden loss of wireless, Mecha'd point him straight to the culprit.

No, the closest thing he had ever had to a pet project was his arm. He just wasn't the sort who invested himself, heart and soul, into a brain-child. If that were the case, he might as well go and work for Microsoft, Apple, IBM, or any one of those other electronics magnates. Speaking of computer magnates...

"Tche," he scoffed. "I have more respect for Simon Gosling. Good ol' 'Jimmy' is a deluded, modern-day Prometheus, making a precious gift easily accessible to hoi palloi. The bastard." Waving one hand to blow off his criticism, Mecha smirked in turn, touching the headlights of Quinn's motorcycle. "I think 'Gosling' could use an addition of a horn that honks, y'know..."

He took over the bike and wheeled it over to the same corner where his cot was, before pointing to the round grill on one wall, and the prematurely shortened stairway which led down to a pothole. "Those lead to the sewer and ancient gas-lines, respectively," he mentioned, pointing at the stair and grill.