( no, there is no art. this hallway doesn't even boast a fresh coat of paint or clean floors. it's sticky and dim and the light above is flickering every so often, which only adds to the cast-off quality of the experience.
but there is an unassuming blue cat-6 port on the far wall, a wall that just so happens to also fence in the security office. she leans against said wall for a moment, hands splaying out as if feeling for an imperfection. in reality, she's just looking for a weird bit of texture to pick off with her nails while she thinks. )
The point, stalker, is not getting caught. ( which is why daisy oh-so-casually slides down to the floor, perhaps a smidge more sensually than the spy act calls for, before fishing a box and cord combination out of her crossbody bag. unsurprisingly, said cord fits the port. ) I'm just reprogramming their DVR.
( eyes blink innocently up towards the inquisitor. totally above board behavior here. )
I know what a DVR is. [ He lets exasperation bleed into his voice. Part of him is impressed with her resourcefulness, using her already assigned tail as a lookout. But given that he never volunteered for the role, the rest of him is feeling used. ]
( flippant, not agitated. she doesn't think it does — not to him, anyway, when a misdeed is a misdeed no matter the justification she might give. )
I'm looping their video feed to the last fifteen minutes. ( thumbs flash across her phone screen, her glance darting down. not a text; she can do that by memory. thank you t9. ) The security guard on the fifth floor mentioned something about having to wait until now before he could eat — that's usually indication of a shift change.
( the lone status light on the small box begins to blink blue. a low hum of satisfaction. )
If it's okay with you, I'd prefer to not get caught.
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no subject
but there is an unassuming blue cat-6 port on the far wall, a wall that just so happens to also fence in the security office. she leans against said wall for a moment, hands splaying out as if feeling for an imperfection. in reality, she's just looking for a weird bit of texture to pick off with her nails while she thinks. )
The point, stalker, is not getting caught. ( which is why daisy oh-so-casually slides down to the floor, perhaps a smidge more sensually than the spy act calls for, before fishing a box and cord combination out of her crossbody bag. unsurprisingly, said cord fits the port. ) I'm just reprogramming their DVR.
( eyes blink innocently up towards the inquisitor. totally above board behavior here. )
You do remember DVRs, right?
no subject
What are you up to?
no subject
( flippant, not agitated. she doesn't think it does — not to him, anyway, when a misdeed is a misdeed no matter the justification she might give. )
I'm looping their video feed to the last fifteen minutes. ( thumbs flash across her phone screen, her glance darting down. not a text; she can do that by memory. thank you t9. ) The security guard on the fifth floor mentioned something about having to wait until now before he could eat — that's usually indication of a shift change.
( the lone status light on the small box begins to blink blue. a low hum of satisfaction. )
If it's okay with you, I'd prefer to not get caught.