PI LOG: Work Bell -- Mystique and Remy
After a relatively long and peaceful break, Gambit finds his sleep disrupted at six in the morning as work calls. The shapeshifter and the Cajun go over an attack plan in their concise, professional manner.
Remy's Apartment -- Greenwood Properties
It's early in the morning. Not so early that the sun isn't up - light is bleeding all over the city, leaking morning like a disease that no-one wants to admit to contracting - but it's still early enough that the air is only just starting to be touched by the scents of toast and coffee. Not just any morning: it's a Monday morning. Bunny looks vaguely sleepworn as she clomps to Remy's door, ruffling a hand through her disarrayed spikes and then curling a loose fist to rap on the panel. There's a heavy bag looped over her thin shoulders, a sheepskin jacket with a faded, slightly grubby fur collar warding off the late winter chill. As she waits for an answer, she hooks one thumb in the beltloop of her jeans so that they slide a little further down on her hips, that much closer to slipping right off. If the door isn't opened within a reasonable pause, she'll rap again, louder. Hello, lazy Cajun?
For the love of little green apples. The first rap on the door does indeed rouse Remy--who is by some parts necessity generally a light sleeper--but there's a long pause where the Cajun rolls over, stares at the display on his alarm clock, and scowls at it as if he's sorely tempted to charge the thing and send it through the window. But then there's another rapping, and Gambit rolls grumbling to his feet. At least he has the grace to find his sweatpants and step into them before he opens the door, eyes squinted from sleeping and one hand trying to unsuccessfully wrange the chaos that is his hair. It's pretty clear he doesn't recognize Bunny from the scowl he gives her; he's also to groggy to really be paying attention to those slipping jeans. "Que?"
"Mornin'." Bunny's spreading grin is all sly amusement at having roused the Cajun. Poor boy. "Gotta message for ya, from your boss. Y'gonna stand in the doorway all mornin', or y'gonna move your sleepy ass an' lemme in?" Eyebrows lift and her head cants to the side as she considers him, waiting for room to step into the apartment.
He's tempted to offer a third option in which the girl goes away and lets him get back to sleep, but Remy knows better when one's boss is Mystique. There's a grunt of clear displeasure and the Cajun steps back, chasing his hand through his hair again. "Mind de dog in de kitchen." He mutters, softly, before turning for the bedroom. "Be righ' back." Remy wants, at least, something resembling clothing.
Bunny steps inside and looks around the apartment with quick, sharp glances, then flicks a little grin back at Remy. "Gotcha." Good! You go get clothes on, though from the look in the girl's eyes, she's not minding the view. She casts the dog a glance, and she'll give her a pat if the creature strays close enough, but otherwise she goes to take over the largest table in the apartment. Whatever is on there is pushed aside and she puts her bag down on top. Out of it come plans, blueprints, sketches and there are other bulky things left inside of it. By the time that Remy returns, the kid is gone, replaced in a quick shift by a tall, blue lady with bright red hair dressed in white leather. She looks over the plans with a thoughtful expression.
He probably on some level, expected this. If surprize flickers through Remy's eyes at the change, it's brief and mostly hidden; he's returned from the bedroom in jeans and a t-shirt that claims 'blunt force trauma enthusiast', tugging at his hair to pull it back and out of his eyes. Immediately, the Cajun steps around the table so that he can consider the plans and blueprints, fingers ghosting towards them without touching. "What's it dis time?"
Mystique looks up when Remy returns and her own wandering fingers draw back to herself as she straightens. "I need some information, and I need you to get it for me. These-" a sweep of one hand indicates the sprawl of plans, which aren't arranged in any particular order, but seem to depict an entire installation- "-are the blueprints to the headquarters of the Icarus Corporation." She's sure that he remembers their last trip there, to free her son. "My last source of information there has been cut off, and it's important that we know what they're doing."
"T'ought we blew dat place to kindgom come," Remy says, his voice soft and a little suspicious, as he wanders away from the table only long enough to bed down and pat Jolie's head and start a pot of coffee. "Dey sho' do rebound quick. Dare I ask what happened to de mole?" Once back at the table, Gambit leans to give the blueprints a little more serious consideration. The planning wheels of his thiefly mind are already spinning.
"The surface of it, yes. There's a lot more that we didn't get to." Many of the sheets are labelled as subterranean levels, and some are of buildings adjoining the one that they exploded. Mystique's yellow eyes flick up from the plans to Remy's face with a twitch of a grim smile in the corners of her mouth. "Which part of the mole, exactly?" There were many, all separate and chunky.
Red eyes flicker up to meet the yellow ones, and Gambit says in the most deadpan voice possible, "I'm pretty sho' what you're 'lludin' to is really damn disgustin'." Note to Self; do not piss off the bosslady. "So I 'ssume I ain't dere to make sho' all dese ot'er buildin's go boom, too." Remy leans a little closer to the blueprints, tracing a line of something with one finger.
Mystique didn't chew up her own mole! Why would she do that? It was the other guys that chunkified her source! "No, we need information more than destruction. Though if the opportunity arises, it wouldn't hurt our interests to bring some of them down. It would be better if they didn't know what your priority is." She looks down and puts a fingertip on one large sheet, sliding it free of the overlaps of others. "This is the secondary basement. It's where they keep their central servers. There are two things that I need you to do. The first, is to make a copy of their main filestore." She taps at a small box near the centre of the diagram, outlined with the details of many security measures.
"Aight." Remy acknowledges, his attention fully on where Mystique points rather than on the coffee that's brewing. "A good, t'orough rundown on what 'xactly deir serves is woul' be real nice." He's already shifting through the papers looking for one; most of the time with Mystique as his boss, Remy has to do very little in the way of his own research. It's more trust than he's used to allotting, but a lot of things have changed since his arrival in Beacon Harbor.
"There is a full detailing of the server and its room on one of these sheets." Mystique isn't usually short on information, and she likes to be sure that her workers have at least enough to get the job done successfully. "Motion sensors, pressure-sensitive floor, sound receptors... all of the usual awkwardness. Nothing that you can't deal with, I'm sure." She smiles, briefly, then reaches a slender hand into the gaping black bag on the end of the table. She draws out a sleek cylinder a couple of inches in diameter and places it on top of the plans carefully. "This will take a copy of the filestore. All you need to do is link it up to the appropriate server and give it three minutes."
Low-maitenance hacking; that's the nicest kind. Gambit almost grins, briefly, as he tilts his head to examine the cylinder without actually touching it. "T'ree minutes, bien." He agrees, shuffling through papers. "What 'bout failsafes on all dose security measures?" He's going to have to take some of them down, although if he can access the right panel long enough, he can make them think they're still seeing everything as status quo.
Mystique watches Remy shuffle through the paper, then reaches out to pluck a particular sheet from the pile. "The floor is rigged on a collapsable circuit. The motion and sound sensors might be bypassed." She looks over the specs and frowns. "The servers themselves are heat sensitive, so you can't touch them for long - a few seconds at a time, at most." The sheet is abruptly reversed and held out to the Cajun.
"I ain't gonna need to use de floor, seein' how dey got dese big vents here for keepin' de place cool, so dat ain't a problem. So 'less your l'il toy dere ain't plug an' chug, I don't got a problem with touching on the servers either. What's de ot'er t'ing you wanted?" Remy takes the sheet from Mystique to skim it with concentrating eyes. It's a fairly routine sting for the Cajun, at least on the surface.
"You will need to connect the copier into the server. You'll just have to be careful about it," Mystique says matter-of-factly, again with that slip of a smile. She likes to give the Cajun a challenge. Then she moves onto the new subject, sifting the sheets until she locates one of another of the sub-levels, closer to the surface. "Their communications hub. I want a link in there - I have a unit for you to use. You need to connect it into their hub and hide it in such a way that it won't be found easily."
Mystique is lucky she has a Cajun to challenge, as he is one of the few people capable of pulling off such heists. His mouth flattens a little into a line of concentration as Remy sets the one sheet aside to consider the blueprints again, eyes narrowed. "How big's dis t'ing? An' dey do sweeps of dis hub? How likely are dey to be lookin' for it on a regular basis?" This is, indeed, a little harder than 'routine', with the second task.
Mystique shifts her weight back and lets her fingertips rest on the edge of the table, giving Remy chance and room to examine the plans in his own way. Then she reaches for the bag again, pulling out a flat, almost square unit with a spray of wires tangling from it. "They do check it every now and then, and there's regular maintenance. The longer this can stay undetected, the better. There are links here for the surveillance, data lines, and other communications." She indicates the various wires tipped with needle-sharp connectors. "You will need to attach it without interrupting any of the data flows; their monitoring systems will pick that up. Just slide the tip in through the wire sheaths until it touches the core of the wire." It's that easy!
It would probably be easier for a common man to wrestle crocodiles, but Remy LeBeau is far from the common man. "It matter which wire goes into what?" He asks, peering at those sharp connection points dubiously. Carefully, the Cajun reaches out to heft the box itself, estimating its weight and where it might be able to be hidden, might be able to be suspended.
It's not a large box, roughly half to a third of the size of the average slim laptop, and the wires seem to be colour-coded in pairs. It weighs a little more than it looks like it might. Mystique shakes her head in response to the question. "There are ones for ingoing and outgoing for each type, so just keep the pairs together and it should be fine. It works on a remote connection, so you don't need to link up an output."
"So, I put bot' red wires in one of de hub wires, bot' green into anot'er, so on, an' it don't matter which color goes where 'long as both wires of each color go in de same wire?" The easier, the better; Remy will have a lot on his mind as it is. "An' den I gotta hide dis t'ing. Where was de layout of dat room, 'gain?" Papers are once more shuffled, after the box is set aside.
Mystique nods in agreement of the assessment. "That's right. Some systems will have separate lines for internal and external data-streams, as well." A fingertip drops unerringly down on the appropriate plan and slides it out for the Cajun. At least there aren't any telltale blinky lights on the outside of the box.
Remy nods, skimming his eyes over the plan critically. After a moment's thought, he taps on the plan with one finger and searches around on the table briefly for the grease-pencil he frequently uses the mark up his plans; it's easier to smear into obscurity than some other writing utensils. "I figure I can keep de lines on de hub itself sep'rate." He isn't completely computer-stupid, after all. "Anyt'in' else I gotta have a heads-up 'bout? Timeframe? Guard shifts? Live t'ings you wan' me to bring back?" The last is almost a joke, for all that Gambit says it off the cuff. He very much likes the live-thing he got from Mystique, although he'd never have expected to be a dog owner.
"I am not opening an animal adoption agency," Mystique says with an edge of a drawl to her voice. She's almost seeming relaxed about this, if intent. Things haven't gone horribly wrong, though it's close to that; she'll feel better when the job is done and she has what she needs from Icarus. But the competence of the Cajun and the notion that so many of her former enemies are now in her employ can go a long way to easing her grumpiness about losing an important informant. "I need this done as soon as possible. If you need to make noise, make it *away* from these areas; it's better if they didn't know you were *there* at all. If you can't avoid making the break-in completely silent, destroy a few of the labs as cover. The guards are all on regular rotations, all normal human." There's a derisive undertone to her voice in that last bit.
Somehow that's better than knowing there are metas out there betraying their own kind. "Bein' quiet shouldn' be a problem. You leave dose here wit' me an' I oughta be able to get dis done day after t'morrow. Hope dat's quick 'nough." Mystique has eliminated the need for much of the time Remy takes up on a job, but that doesn't mean he won't do a little corroberation and a lot of planning on his own.
Mystique nods slowly, her gaze wandering over the plans for a moment. "Sounds reasonable. Call me when you go." It's not a request. Her gaze flicks up to Remy's face with that wisp of a sneaking smile in her expression. "So I know if I have to send in a rescue party."
"Pfft," The dismissive sound hisses through the Cajun's teeth before his classic grin spreads across his face. "You ain't gonna need t'send no rescue party. Mais, bien sur. If it makes y'feel better." Remy straightens from the table, but only to go to the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee from the pot that is finished brewing. "I call jus' b'fore I leave."
"Good. There are some other things there, which might come in handy." Mystique flicks a blue hand at the bag, then settles it on her white-clad hip. "Did you have any other questions?"
Wrapping his fingers around his mug as he returns, the Cajun peers into the bag. "Well, what's in dere, f'starters. I'm assumin' you wan' me to make wit' de sneakin' rat'er dan de infiltratin', considerin' what we talked 'bout 'lready." Remy sips at the coffee with one hand as he tilts his head. "An' jus' t'make sho' I ain't bringin' not'in' back but a baton full of data."
"Yes, sneaking is better. Better if they don't know you were there at all. But as I said, if you can arrange suitable cover...." Mystique shrugs gracefully. She reaches over to flip things out of the bag in turn. Lock decoder. Data-stream detector. Motion-sensor dampener. Sonic flare. Ear plugs to defend against sonic flare. A couple of other similar useful spy-type goodies.
Ooh, pretties. There's a ten year old inside Remy with a deep-rooted Bond Complex who is going crazy over the contents of the bag just about now. Sometimes Mystique is like his own personal Q. "Rat'er sneak anyway. Easier t'get out by sneakin' den tryin' to pretend I don't know not'in' 'bout why anyt'in's blowin' up." He's a thief first, an actor second, and he'd really rather it stay that way.
"I'll leave that up to you." There's a note of a drawl in Mystique's voice as she watches Remy go over the equipment like a small child with a ray gun that lights up *and* beeps. "Let me know if there are any problems." There's a soft, whispering rasp as she shifts form again, shrinking down into the short, cheeky Bunny that arrived on the Cajun's doorstep.
That'd be really unnerving if Remy wasn't relatively used to it. He finishes nosing through the bag to look up at Mystique--now Bunny--and nod. "Willdo. 'Spect t'hear from me 'xactly twice--once goin' in an' once when I come back out 'gain. Don't t'ink dis'll be much trouble." Of course, in some cases Gambit is a lot bravado and ego.
Bunny nods curtly, a sneaky smile fitting in her expression much more easily than it does on the shapeshifter's natural features. "I'll look forward to hearing from you, then." That said, she gives him a nod and turns on her heel to head to the door.
Finis!
Remy's Apartment -- Greenwood Properties
It's early in the morning. Not so early that the sun isn't up - light is bleeding all over the city, leaking morning like a disease that no-one wants to admit to contracting - but it's still early enough that the air is only just starting to be touched by the scents of toast and coffee. Not just any morning: it's a Monday morning. Bunny looks vaguely sleepworn as she clomps to Remy's door, ruffling a hand through her disarrayed spikes and then curling a loose fist to rap on the panel. There's a heavy bag looped over her thin shoulders, a sheepskin jacket with a faded, slightly grubby fur collar warding off the late winter chill. As she waits for an answer, she hooks one thumb in the beltloop of her jeans so that they slide a little further down on her hips, that much closer to slipping right off. If the door isn't opened within a reasonable pause, she'll rap again, louder. Hello, lazy Cajun?
For the love of little green apples. The first rap on the door does indeed rouse Remy--who is by some parts necessity generally a light sleeper--but there's a long pause where the Cajun rolls over, stares at the display on his alarm clock, and scowls at it as if he's sorely tempted to charge the thing and send it through the window. But then there's another rapping, and Gambit rolls grumbling to his feet. At least he has the grace to find his sweatpants and step into them before he opens the door, eyes squinted from sleeping and one hand trying to unsuccessfully wrange the chaos that is his hair. It's pretty clear he doesn't recognize Bunny from the scowl he gives her; he's also to groggy to really be paying attention to those slipping jeans. "Que?"
"Mornin'." Bunny's spreading grin is all sly amusement at having roused the Cajun. Poor boy. "Gotta message for ya, from your boss. Y'gonna stand in the doorway all mornin', or y'gonna move your sleepy ass an' lemme in?" Eyebrows lift and her head cants to the side as she considers him, waiting for room to step into the apartment.
He's tempted to offer a third option in which the girl goes away and lets him get back to sleep, but Remy knows better when one's boss is Mystique. There's a grunt of clear displeasure and the Cajun steps back, chasing his hand through his hair again. "Mind de dog in de kitchen." He mutters, softly, before turning for the bedroom. "Be righ' back." Remy wants, at least, something resembling clothing.
Bunny steps inside and looks around the apartment with quick, sharp glances, then flicks a little grin back at Remy. "Gotcha." Good! You go get clothes on, though from the look in the girl's eyes, she's not minding the view. She casts the dog a glance, and she'll give her a pat if the creature strays close enough, but otherwise she goes to take over the largest table in the apartment. Whatever is on there is pushed aside and she puts her bag down on top. Out of it come plans, blueprints, sketches and there are other bulky things left inside of it. By the time that Remy returns, the kid is gone, replaced in a quick shift by a tall, blue lady with bright red hair dressed in white leather. She looks over the plans with a thoughtful expression.
He probably on some level, expected this. If surprize flickers through Remy's eyes at the change, it's brief and mostly hidden; he's returned from the bedroom in jeans and a t-shirt that claims 'blunt force trauma enthusiast', tugging at his hair to pull it back and out of his eyes. Immediately, the Cajun steps around the table so that he can consider the plans and blueprints, fingers ghosting towards them without touching. "What's it dis time?"
Mystique looks up when Remy returns and her own wandering fingers draw back to herself as she straightens. "I need some information, and I need you to get it for me. These-" a sweep of one hand indicates the sprawl of plans, which aren't arranged in any particular order, but seem to depict an entire installation- "-are the blueprints to the headquarters of the Icarus Corporation." She's sure that he remembers their last trip there, to free her son. "My last source of information there has been cut off, and it's important that we know what they're doing."
"T'ought we blew dat place to kindgom come," Remy says, his voice soft and a little suspicious, as he wanders away from the table only long enough to bed down and pat Jolie's head and start a pot of coffee. "Dey sho' do rebound quick. Dare I ask what happened to de mole?" Once back at the table, Gambit leans to give the blueprints a little more serious consideration. The planning wheels of his thiefly mind are already spinning.
"The surface of it, yes. There's a lot more that we didn't get to." Many of the sheets are labelled as subterranean levels, and some are of buildings adjoining the one that they exploded. Mystique's yellow eyes flick up from the plans to Remy's face with a twitch of a grim smile in the corners of her mouth. "Which part of the mole, exactly?" There were many, all separate and chunky.
Red eyes flicker up to meet the yellow ones, and Gambit says in the most deadpan voice possible, "I'm pretty sho' what you're 'lludin' to is really damn disgustin'." Note to Self; do not piss off the bosslady. "So I 'ssume I ain't dere to make sho' all dese ot'er buildin's go boom, too." Remy leans a little closer to the blueprints, tracing a line of something with one finger.
Mystique didn't chew up her own mole! Why would she do that? It was the other guys that chunkified her source! "No, we need information more than destruction. Though if the opportunity arises, it wouldn't hurt our interests to bring some of them down. It would be better if they didn't know what your priority is." She looks down and puts a fingertip on one large sheet, sliding it free of the overlaps of others. "This is the secondary basement. It's where they keep their central servers. There are two things that I need you to do. The first, is to make a copy of their main filestore." She taps at a small box near the centre of the diagram, outlined with the details of many security measures.
"Aight." Remy acknowledges, his attention fully on where Mystique points rather than on the coffee that's brewing. "A good, t'orough rundown on what 'xactly deir serves is woul' be real nice." He's already shifting through the papers looking for one; most of the time with Mystique as his boss, Remy has to do very little in the way of his own research. It's more trust than he's used to allotting, but a lot of things have changed since his arrival in Beacon Harbor.
"There is a full detailing of the server and its room on one of these sheets." Mystique isn't usually short on information, and she likes to be sure that her workers have at least enough to get the job done successfully. "Motion sensors, pressure-sensitive floor, sound receptors... all of the usual awkwardness. Nothing that you can't deal with, I'm sure." She smiles, briefly, then reaches a slender hand into the gaping black bag on the end of the table. She draws out a sleek cylinder a couple of inches in diameter and places it on top of the plans carefully. "This will take a copy of the filestore. All you need to do is link it up to the appropriate server and give it three minutes."
Low-maitenance hacking; that's the nicest kind. Gambit almost grins, briefly, as he tilts his head to examine the cylinder without actually touching it. "T'ree minutes, bien." He agrees, shuffling through papers. "What 'bout failsafes on all dose security measures?" He's going to have to take some of them down, although if he can access the right panel long enough, he can make them think they're still seeing everything as status quo.
Mystique watches Remy shuffle through the paper, then reaches out to pluck a particular sheet from the pile. "The floor is rigged on a collapsable circuit. The motion and sound sensors might be bypassed." She looks over the specs and frowns. "The servers themselves are heat sensitive, so you can't touch them for long - a few seconds at a time, at most." The sheet is abruptly reversed and held out to the Cajun.
"I ain't gonna need to use de floor, seein' how dey got dese big vents here for keepin' de place cool, so dat ain't a problem. So 'less your l'il toy dere ain't plug an' chug, I don't got a problem with touching on the servers either. What's de ot'er t'ing you wanted?" Remy takes the sheet from Mystique to skim it with concentrating eyes. It's a fairly routine sting for the Cajun, at least on the surface.
"You will need to connect the copier into the server. You'll just have to be careful about it," Mystique says matter-of-factly, again with that slip of a smile. She likes to give the Cajun a challenge. Then she moves onto the new subject, sifting the sheets until she locates one of another of the sub-levels, closer to the surface. "Their communications hub. I want a link in there - I have a unit for you to use. You need to connect it into their hub and hide it in such a way that it won't be found easily."
Mystique is lucky she has a Cajun to challenge, as he is one of the few people capable of pulling off such heists. His mouth flattens a little into a line of concentration as Remy sets the one sheet aside to consider the blueprints again, eyes narrowed. "How big's dis t'ing? An' dey do sweeps of dis hub? How likely are dey to be lookin' for it on a regular basis?" This is, indeed, a little harder than 'routine', with the second task.
Mystique shifts her weight back and lets her fingertips rest on the edge of the table, giving Remy chance and room to examine the plans in his own way. Then she reaches for the bag again, pulling out a flat, almost square unit with a spray of wires tangling from it. "They do check it every now and then, and there's regular maintenance. The longer this can stay undetected, the better. There are links here for the surveillance, data lines, and other communications." She indicates the various wires tipped with needle-sharp connectors. "You will need to attach it without interrupting any of the data flows; their monitoring systems will pick that up. Just slide the tip in through the wire sheaths until it touches the core of the wire." It's that easy!
It would probably be easier for a common man to wrestle crocodiles, but Remy LeBeau is far from the common man. "It matter which wire goes into what?" He asks, peering at those sharp connection points dubiously. Carefully, the Cajun reaches out to heft the box itself, estimating its weight and where it might be able to be hidden, might be able to be suspended.
It's not a large box, roughly half to a third of the size of the average slim laptop, and the wires seem to be colour-coded in pairs. It weighs a little more than it looks like it might. Mystique shakes her head in response to the question. "There are ones for ingoing and outgoing for each type, so just keep the pairs together and it should be fine. It works on a remote connection, so you don't need to link up an output."
"So, I put bot' red wires in one of de hub wires, bot' green into anot'er, so on, an' it don't matter which color goes where 'long as both wires of each color go in de same wire?" The easier, the better; Remy will have a lot on his mind as it is. "An' den I gotta hide dis t'ing. Where was de layout of dat room, 'gain?" Papers are once more shuffled, after the box is set aside.
Mystique nods in agreement of the assessment. "That's right. Some systems will have separate lines for internal and external data-streams, as well." A fingertip drops unerringly down on the appropriate plan and slides it out for the Cajun. At least there aren't any telltale blinky lights on the outside of the box.
Remy nods, skimming his eyes over the plan critically. After a moment's thought, he taps on the plan with one finger and searches around on the table briefly for the grease-pencil he frequently uses the mark up his plans; it's easier to smear into obscurity than some other writing utensils. "I figure I can keep de lines on de hub itself sep'rate." He isn't completely computer-stupid, after all. "Anyt'in' else I gotta have a heads-up 'bout? Timeframe? Guard shifts? Live t'ings you wan' me to bring back?" The last is almost a joke, for all that Gambit says it off the cuff. He very much likes the live-thing he got from Mystique, although he'd never have expected to be a dog owner.
"I am not opening an animal adoption agency," Mystique says with an edge of a drawl to her voice. She's almost seeming relaxed about this, if intent. Things haven't gone horribly wrong, though it's close to that; she'll feel better when the job is done and she has what she needs from Icarus. But the competence of the Cajun and the notion that so many of her former enemies are now in her employ can go a long way to easing her grumpiness about losing an important informant. "I need this done as soon as possible. If you need to make noise, make it *away* from these areas; it's better if they didn't know you were *there* at all. If you can't avoid making the break-in completely silent, destroy a few of the labs as cover. The guards are all on regular rotations, all normal human." There's a derisive undertone to her voice in that last bit.
Somehow that's better than knowing there are metas out there betraying their own kind. "Bein' quiet shouldn' be a problem. You leave dose here wit' me an' I oughta be able to get dis done day after t'morrow. Hope dat's quick 'nough." Mystique has eliminated the need for much of the time Remy takes up on a job, but that doesn't mean he won't do a little corroberation and a lot of planning on his own.
Mystique nods slowly, her gaze wandering over the plans for a moment. "Sounds reasonable. Call me when you go." It's not a request. Her gaze flicks up to Remy's face with that wisp of a sneaking smile in her expression. "So I know if I have to send in a rescue party."
"Pfft," The dismissive sound hisses through the Cajun's teeth before his classic grin spreads across his face. "You ain't gonna need t'send no rescue party. Mais, bien sur. If it makes y'feel better." Remy straightens from the table, but only to go to the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee from the pot that is finished brewing. "I call jus' b'fore I leave."
"Good. There are some other things there, which might come in handy." Mystique flicks a blue hand at the bag, then settles it on her white-clad hip. "Did you have any other questions?"
Wrapping his fingers around his mug as he returns, the Cajun peers into the bag. "Well, what's in dere, f'starters. I'm assumin' you wan' me to make wit' de sneakin' rat'er dan de infiltratin', considerin' what we talked 'bout 'lready." Remy sips at the coffee with one hand as he tilts his head. "An' jus' t'make sho' I ain't bringin' not'in' back but a baton full of data."
"Yes, sneaking is better. Better if they don't know you were there at all. But as I said, if you can arrange suitable cover...." Mystique shrugs gracefully. She reaches over to flip things out of the bag in turn. Lock decoder. Data-stream detector. Motion-sensor dampener. Sonic flare. Ear plugs to defend against sonic flare. A couple of other similar useful spy-type goodies.
Ooh, pretties. There's a ten year old inside Remy with a deep-rooted Bond Complex who is going crazy over the contents of the bag just about now. Sometimes Mystique is like his own personal Q. "Rat'er sneak anyway. Easier t'get out by sneakin' den tryin' to pretend I don't know not'in' 'bout why anyt'in's blowin' up." He's a thief first, an actor second, and he'd really rather it stay that way.
"I'll leave that up to you." There's a note of a drawl in Mystique's voice as she watches Remy go over the equipment like a small child with a ray gun that lights up *and* beeps. "Let me know if there are any problems." There's a soft, whispering rasp as she shifts form again, shrinking down into the short, cheeky Bunny that arrived on the Cajun's doorstep.
That'd be really unnerving if Remy wasn't relatively used to it. He finishes nosing through the bag to look up at Mystique--now Bunny--and nod. "Willdo. 'Spect t'hear from me 'xactly twice--once goin' in an' once when I come back out 'gain. Don't t'ink dis'll be much trouble." Of course, in some cases Gambit is a lot bravado and ego.
Bunny nods curtly, a sneaky smile fitting in her expression much more easily than it does on the shapeshifter's natural features. "I'll look forward to hearing from you, then." That said, she gives him a nod and turns on her heel to head to the door.
Finis!