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Jun. 23rd, 2023 05:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
strange_naturesTitle: Honeypot
Original Universe: Strange Natures
Rating: gen.
Summary: the prompt was 'Nerdy Honeypots'. K'teffrik gets dragged out of his workshop for a very different operational role.
Warnings/Triggers: None
Toby pauses his fussing to look over to Blythe, and says, “Are we absolutely sure I can’t do this instead?”
To be honest, Blythe isn’t sure, but Diyab speaks up before she can respond: “She’s not some party-girl shopping for baubles; she’d spot the sheep’s clothing and want to know why you’re wearing it. We need prey.” She offers their ‘prey’ a wolfish smile, and adds, “No offense, Kit.”
“None taken.” Kit only glances across at Blythe and Diyab for a millisecond, then his gaze flicks back to the floor. He’s so far out of his natural element it’s palpable, as though yanking him from his lab has removed a protective shell, and all he wants to do is scuttle off to find better shelter than the back room of this bar. “I do have things to get back to…”
“Yes, you do,” Toby replies smoothly, making another doomed attempt at corralling Kit's hair, “but Diyab’s right: as much as I’d like to do my one job on this team, we need you here. We’ve all seen this woman’s exes, and you, my sweet, are pure catnip.” He boops Kit on the nose and grins wide enough to show fangs, and Blythe sees a flicker of a smile cross Kit’s lips before the embarrassment kicks in.
How does he always know how to calm people down? she wonders again as she watches them. Toby shrugs personas on and off like they’re costumes, tailoring himself to what the people around him find most comfortable, even shifting shape if necessary. He’s exaggerating when he says being a honey-pot is his one job - it might be a role that normally falls to him, but his species of vampire has all kinds of useful traits, and he was a competent officer even before being infected.
Of the two men standing in front of her, he’s the far more obvious candidate for undercover work.
She examines them again: they’re both strikingly good looking, at least to her non-expert eye; both have generous, expressive features, and the kind of green eyes that would have a National Geographic photographer scrambling for a camera to get that magical portrait shot. Peridot for Toby, bottle-glass for Kit. Both are tall, straight-backed, and slender, but Toby’s an athletic redhead who brims with an easy confidence, and wears his sex appeal like a light spritz of good cologne. Kit, by contrast, seems almost delicate. Worn, with dusky skin stretched over fine bones, a shock of unruly black hair that seems resistant to brushing, and dark bruising around his eyes from lack of sleep. His good posture is a result of childhood deportment lessons, and it was weirdly obvious to Blythe once she’d been told. He practically radiates ‘please let me melt into the wall’ energy, and at first she was mystified as to how such a good looking guy could be so shy. A late bloomer, maybe?
No, Witman had told her, a refugee from an entirely different world. In his culture men were expected to be demure, and the only women who were ever supposed to see his face were his mother, wife, and underage sisters and daughters. He’s stopped wearing his veil to avoid attracting attention in his new home, but to his sensibilities he’s walking around naked, and he doesn’t like it one little bit.
Toby slides a long finger beneath Kit’s chin, tilting his face up so he can examine it. “You are a complete disaster,” he murmurs, his tone gentler than his words would suggest, “but at least you’re a hot disaster. I know you can do this, okay? We’re all rooting for you, and we’re on standby if anything goes tits up.”
Blythe watches as he fusses over Kit’s hair again, and wonders what she’d have thought of this scene just a few months ago, before she joined the Odd Squad.
“Here’s the amulet,” Diyab says, stepping forwards. “You’re sure it’s decommissioned?”
Kit nods, his eyes resting on her for another brief flicker, then dropping to the small locket as he takes it from her. “The original soul is in a vhemsi flask back in my workshop. To simulate the power source I've run a drop of my own blood through a two gen herkimer diamond, then bound it with ruby dust, powdered crow-beak, and copper to get the tri-directional vibration of four-seven-qon; then I've reproduced the sense of age by insulating it with an eight-three-one alloy of aluminium, tefta dragonscale, and dried autumn oak leaf, then-” His face lights up as he goes on, explaining his craft to three people who have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s an expert though, a master artificer that they're lucky to have - Blythe's been reliably informed that it takes ten times as much skill to safely dismantle an amulet as it does to create one, and fifty times more than that to falsify thaumic signatures in a harmless reproduction. Kit is well practiced at both.
She's been assured that any counterfeit he creates will pass muster; she has to believe that it's true.
“Right.” Toby glances across to Blythe for her nod. She might only have a vague handle on the details of the black-market in magical artifacts, but an undercover op is still an undercover op, and she's the ranking officer.
She gives it, and he turns back to Kit. “Here's a book, your scarf, glasses, there's an empty bar stool at your one o’clock - it'll give her a great view of you when she walks through the door. That pretty face will get her attention, then just work her until you hit a point where you can bring up the sparkly.”
A look of sheer panic crosses Kit’s face. “What do you mean by 'work' her?!”
“Talk nerdy to her, unlike us she’ll actually be able to follow. Trust me, for this one you’re a natural.” He grabs Kit’s shoulders and physically turns him around, then gently shoves him out into the bar.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Diyab murmurs, “She’s gonna eat him alive.”
Toby gives her a pained look. “Let’s be honest with ourselves, that’s kind of the idea.”
Original Universe: Strange Natures
Rating: gen.
Summary: the prompt was 'Nerdy Honeypots'. K'teffrik gets dragged out of his workshop for a very different operational role.
Warnings/Triggers: None
Toby pauses his fussing to look over to Blythe, and says, “Are we absolutely sure I can’t do this instead?”
To be honest, Blythe isn’t sure, but Diyab speaks up before she can respond: “She’s not some party-girl shopping for baubles; she’d spot the sheep’s clothing and want to know why you’re wearing it. We need prey.” She offers their ‘prey’ a wolfish smile, and adds, “No offense, Kit.”
“None taken.” Kit only glances across at Blythe and Diyab for a millisecond, then his gaze flicks back to the floor. He’s so far out of his natural element it’s palpable, as though yanking him from his lab has removed a protective shell, and all he wants to do is scuttle off to find better shelter than the back room of this bar. “I do have things to get back to…”
“Yes, you do,” Toby replies smoothly, making another doomed attempt at corralling Kit's hair, “but Diyab’s right: as much as I’d like to do my one job on this team, we need you here. We’ve all seen this woman’s exes, and you, my sweet, are pure catnip.” He boops Kit on the nose and grins wide enough to show fangs, and Blythe sees a flicker of a smile cross Kit’s lips before the embarrassment kicks in.
How does he always know how to calm people down? she wonders again as she watches them. Toby shrugs personas on and off like they’re costumes, tailoring himself to what the people around him find most comfortable, even shifting shape if necessary. He’s exaggerating when he says being a honey-pot is his one job - it might be a role that normally falls to him, but his species of vampire has all kinds of useful traits, and he was a competent officer even before being infected.
Of the two men standing in front of her, he’s the far more obvious candidate for undercover work.
She examines them again: they’re both strikingly good looking, at least to her non-expert eye; both have generous, expressive features, and the kind of green eyes that would have a National Geographic photographer scrambling for a camera to get that magical portrait shot. Peridot for Toby, bottle-glass for Kit. Both are tall, straight-backed, and slender, but Toby’s an athletic redhead who brims with an easy confidence, and wears his sex appeal like a light spritz of good cologne. Kit, by contrast, seems almost delicate. Worn, with dusky skin stretched over fine bones, a shock of unruly black hair that seems resistant to brushing, and dark bruising around his eyes from lack of sleep. His good posture is a result of childhood deportment lessons, and it was weirdly obvious to Blythe once she’d been told. He practically radiates ‘please let me melt into the wall’ energy, and at first she was mystified as to how such a good looking guy could be so shy. A late bloomer, maybe?
No, Witman had told her, a refugee from an entirely different world. In his culture men were expected to be demure, and the only women who were ever supposed to see his face were his mother, wife, and underage sisters and daughters. He’s stopped wearing his veil to avoid attracting attention in his new home, but to his sensibilities he’s walking around naked, and he doesn’t like it one little bit.
Toby slides a long finger beneath Kit’s chin, tilting his face up so he can examine it. “You are a complete disaster,” he murmurs, his tone gentler than his words would suggest, “but at least you’re a hot disaster. I know you can do this, okay? We’re all rooting for you, and we’re on standby if anything goes tits up.”
Blythe watches as he fusses over Kit’s hair again, and wonders what she’d have thought of this scene just a few months ago, before she joined the Odd Squad.
“Here’s the amulet,” Diyab says, stepping forwards. “You’re sure it’s decommissioned?”
Kit nods, his eyes resting on her for another brief flicker, then dropping to the small locket as he takes it from her. “The original soul is in a vhemsi flask back in my workshop. To simulate the power source I've run a drop of my own blood through a two gen herkimer diamond, then bound it with ruby dust, powdered crow-beak, and copper to get the tri-directional vibration of four-seven-qon; then I've reproduced the sense of age by insulating it with an eight-three-one alloy of aluminium, tefta dragonscale, and dried autumn oak leaf, then-” His face lights up as he goes on, explaining his craft to three people who have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s an expert though, a master artificer that they're lucky to have - Blythe's been reliably informed that it takes ten times as much skill to safely dismantle an amulet as it does to create one, and fifty times more than that to falsify thaumic signatures in a harmless reproduction. Kit is well practiced at both.
She's been assured that any counterfeit he creates will pass muster; she has to believe that it's true.
“Right.” Toby glances across to Blythe for her nod. She might only have a vague handle on the details of the black-market in magical artifacts, but an undercover op is still an undercover op, and she's the ranking officer.
She gives it, and he turns back to Kit. “Here's a book, your scarf, glasses, there's an empty bar stool at your one o’clock - it'll give her a great view of you when she walks through the door. That pretty face will get her attention, then just work her until you hit a point where you can bring up the sparkly.”
A look of sheer panic crosses Kit’s face. “What do you mean by 'work' her?!”
“Talk nerdy to her, unlike us she’ll actually be able to follow. Trust me, for this one you’re a natural.” He grabs Kit’s shoulders and physically turns him around, then gently shoves him out into the bar.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Diyab murmurs, “She’s gonna eat him alive.”
Toby gives her a pained look. “Let’s be honest with ourselves, that’s kind of the idea.”
