Can I borrow a toy?

February 28, 2017:

Caitlin approaches her adopted brother to ask about some spare gear

Peabody's Apartment

Characters

NPCs: Peabody (Emitted by Deathstroke)

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

"Hey Peanut. Can you get me a gun?"

A weirdly chipper conversation for the odd topic, and one that Peabody likely never would have suspected Caitlin would /ask/ for. Nevermind that the woman could shrug off small arms fire that'd down a tank— it just didn't seem much in her nature.

Needless to say, 'We should talk' had been a stall as much for time as to think.

Still, promptly on time, Caitlin trudges up to Peabody's townhouse— a new one— and checks the address written on her palm to make sure she's at the right place. She rings the doorbell, is buzzed in, and heads inside the house.

"Peanut, you here? Did I get the address right?" she calls, walking into the apartment. She's dressed… almost like a real person today, with a midweight hoodie in lime green and comfortable, warm leggings under a short skirt. Moccasin style boots cover to her lower calf, and she's even got her wealth of flaming red hair somewhat styled. She also is at least an inch taller than she was a few months prior, and from the heavy tread of her boots (and creak of the floorboards), she's almost certianly packed more muscle on.

*

Peabody is in the kitchen, which is oddly where he usually holds his meetings with her, and he's working what looks like a steak on a cast iron skillet, the smell of cooking beef and rosemary filling the place with yummy smells, "Yup!" he calls out, his voice letting her follow him. His suit coat is tossed over the island and there's a towel over his shoulder as he is found, indeed, working the stove idly, spooning a butter herb mix inside the pan back over the steak. "Beer?" he asks, nodding at the fridge.

*

Caitlin walks up behind Peabody, and picks him up in a hug. "Haaaaaaaai," she says, swinging him back and forth with his toes scraping the ground for purchase. She kisses his cheek in a sisterly fashion, making a face at the suggestion of beer. "Eww. I'll steal a soda, though," she says, nose twiching hungrily at the scent of steak. She moves to the fridge with a bit of a limp, and pulls out a two-liter of soda and a beer for Peabody. She pops the cap with a thumbnail and hands it to him, then starts chugging the soda down as she finds the sturdiest looking stool and leans herself against it, carefully.

"You're cooking me dinner? You /do/ love me," she teases. "How are you liking the new apartment? This is a new one, right?" she inquires, looking around the kitchen.

*

Peabody uhguhguhguhguhgs as hes lifted and wriggled about, his focus on not slinging a hot skillet of boiling butter all over the fragile things in the kitchen. Like himself. He smirks, "We'll make a man of you yet." he quips lightly as she gets him a beer and herself something more sugary. He sets the steak down and tips his bottle her way in appreciation. "It is." he says, glancing around, "Investing in real estate in the city is almost always a good move. One thing they're not making more of." Land he means. Then his brow quirks, "Gun?" he asks curiously.

*

"We'll need to masculate /you/ first," Caitlin says, with a roll of her green eyes. She wiggles her shoulders at Peabody's question.

"I was on a mission last week, and Captain America had to carry me out. Of all the people in the friggin' world who should /have/ a gun, he doesn't," Caitlin says, rolling her eyes. "And I'm starting to realize that running up and punching every problem doesn't give me a lot of alternatives, like if I fracture my hip again," she says, rubbing at her left pelvic spur absently. "So I figure— a gun, yeah?" she says, making a finger-pistol motion at Peabody. "A pistol would be good, and maybe a big, um," she gestures vaguely, "longer-gun for the distance shots?"

*

Peabody chuckles and continues to baste the steak, "There was a rumor about that, went around the usual haunts. Said you were fighting Aquaman or something." he shoots her a look, "Please tell me you're not." he doesn't extrapolate on the gun just yet, hes clearly busy with the food! Or just using it to occupy his hands. Whatever.

*

"No. Well, kinda. Atlanteans," Caitlin explains. "One of them chucked a harpoon at me at about a million miles an hour, and it fractured my pelvis," she says. She sets the soda and lifts her hoodie hem, and just above her waistline on the left side, there's an angry, ugly wound that'll surely have a nice scar once it's all healed up. "Bam, hit the pelvis and cracked it. Oh my goooosh it hurt," she says, dropping her shirt down.

"So yeah. Captain Beefcake had to carry me out until I could heal on my own. And that kinda left me without much for long-range options except some harsh language, and I'm not much for being mean," she says, chattering blithely.

*

Peabody takes a long slow breath and shakes his head, "You-Know-Who would prolly mention a bunch of 'duh' at the whole 'you getting hurt fighting Atlantis' stuff. There any beef with you and the King? Because if there is I can disappear you pretty good, get you to a dessert villa or something." he smirks her way to show he's… mostly kidding. "And so now you think a gun is a good idea." he concludes.

*

"What, Aquaman? Oh goodness no," Caitlin says, shaking her head in alarm. "He asked me to come along and help," she explains. "It was a whole team operation. Not… Atlantis Atlanteans. Just some bad guys who are /from/ Atlantis."

She frowns. "I can't go into a ton of detail, it's all kinda classified," she apologizes, inhaling more soda. Glug glug. "But if I /do/ run into trouble, you know you're the first person I'd call," she says, with a brilliant smile.

*

Peabody grins at her a bit, "Classified. Yeah." and then lifts the steak from the pan to put it onto a waiting plate. He cuts two thick slabs of butter from a nearby stick and sets them on top, letting them start to melt and sets the steak aside. Eyes Cait, then sets it further aside and lifts a finger, "No touchie." he says, pulling another thick steak from a platter and setting it into the pan with a sudden sizzle, "I'd better fucking be the first." he says, pointing a pair of tongs her direction and snapping them once. "So here's my question, why didn't you let the guy with the unbreakable shield take the spear throw instead? I mean, that is /literally/ the purpose of a shield. Likely it's very first purpose upon invention."

*

"He was protecting someone much squishier," Caitlin explains. The moment Peabody's back turns, she leans waaaaay over and swipes a fingerful of melting butter and sticks her index finger into her cheek. "Mrrfgph," she says, eyes rolling a little in delight.

"Anyway, re: gun," she says. "With my hip busted, I couldn't do anything but scream and flail like a bad Disney princess. I need /something/ I can use in a pinch, and the League isn't big on handing firearms out to metahumans. Something about PR. I could go /buy/ one, but I figured you'd at least have a suggestion for me."

*

Peabody nods his head at that in the manner of someone who heard more or less what he expected to hear and throws a fresh sprig of rosemary into the pan, filling the room with a new burst of aroma, "Buy a gun." he says the three words the same way most people would say 'genocide', as if it were an afront to him personally. "You know I can get you whatever you want, better even, then what you could afford to buy. The real problem isn't getting you a gun, it's what that step means." he turns around, leaving the steak to sizzle and not touching it as it does so. He leans back against the edge of the countertop, a hand pulling the towel from his shoulder so he can wipe his fingers clean. "Are you ready for that?"

*

Caitlin shifts uncomfortably. "I— I mean, I'm not wild about it," she admits, evasively. "But it's not like— I mean, I've had to do some kinda ugly things," she admits, her voice small. "Fighting with my bare hands gets kind of… gross," she sighs. "And it's all up close and personal. But," she says, her voice returning. "It's not about me. It's about the team. I was completely helpless," she says. "Dead weight, even. What good am I to the League if I can get taken down like that? What good am I if I'm immobilized?"

*

Peabody eyes her for a long moment, the towel in his hands and he looks down at it, "You know I'll support you whatever you choose, it's what I do." he grins warmly. Supporting metas is, literally, what he was trained for from birth. Sure, it was supposed to be the one guy, but luckily for everyone Peabody is a good multitasker, "But let's work through this." he tosses the towel back down onto the countertop, "The difference between a soldier and a hero is almost purely defined by the body count in this day and age. If you want to be a soldier you know I can do that for you. I can show you a world of purpose and comraderie as fulfilling as the League and in it you can carry whatever weapon you want to. Sure, there will be a few regulations you have to follow, but they're notoriously lax on things like haircuts with their meta and spec ops teams. Sure, you won't be able to walk around in brightly colored spandex and let the TV cameras blast your image everywhere so the adoring crowds can fawn over you, but that's not why soldiers do the work to begin with."

He pushes off of the countertop and swigs his beer again using the action to buy a moment to form his words, "If you want to be a hero, and all that implies, then you're going to have to come to terms with a few realities. Thing the first, killing is a giant no-no. That's like… the big one. That and wearing your underwear on the outside as a must." he shrugs and makes a 'take it or leave it' gesture with his hands, "Thing the second, you're going to be fighting people who want to kill you. Most of the time they'll even be capable of it, which I'm not sure you're used to anymore." he grins, but the smile fades, "Thing the third, and this really applies to both professions, your friends are going to die. Period." he looks away from her and returns to the steak checking it though it clearly doesn't need checking. Cait remembers Grant, if not super clearly, then as the boy that Alex looked up to. Blond, blue eyes, shockingly good looking, best athlete anyone had ever seen. He had IT, whatever IT was. That thing that made everyone like him. Then he died. All the details are of course muddled by time and lack of talking about it, but it hit Alex hard. Hard enough for him to leave the Rangers and return to civilian life. "They'll die because you're not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, and there is nothing you can do about that. It's the nature of the work."

He shoots her a look from the corner of his eye, "I can get you a gun, a scary as fuck thing, LexCorp makes some that will shave Superman's spitcurl right off his forehead, but if you had it, then you'd use it. Useing it would mean they don't let you in the club house, a few might even try to lock you up." he shrugs, "Unless you think I'm wrong. I admit, my run ins with the League are uh… third or fourth hand at best."

*

Caitlin heaves to her feet, walks over to Peabody (looking down), and rests her heavy hands on his shoulders. "Peanut," she says, fondly. "I'm not a hundred and ten pounds of allergies and myopia anymore," she reminds him. "I've been with the League almost two years now. They have me running missions— even leading them sometimes. I'm good at it. I was— well, I was literally /made/ for this," she says, wryly.

"This is what I want to do, is be in the Leauge. It's all I've /ever/ wanted to do. I've learned hand to hand combat from gods, immortals, and super-humans," she says, hobbling a little to retake her seat. "I don't have any illusions about getting the job done, and I'm not— I'm not gonna go around /shooting/ everything. But I need to have some kind of option between 'run up and punch' and 'lay on the ground completely useless'," she explains, wryly.

*

Peabody reaches up to patpat her cheek lightly with his knuckles, like he was punching her only you know, not at all. "I know." he says, turning back to flip the steak once and basting it again, "I've been keeping tabs on you." because of course he fucking has been. That's one of his jobs, keeping an eye on his baby sister. "You don't need a gun." he says after a long moment, "And I want you to realize it's me saying this." he shoots her a look because she knows damned well he's carrying at least three firearms, two knives, and likely something that explodes all on him at this exact moment. "You need to talk to Him." though saying that twists his lips a little, "Or not Him. Someone at least /like/ Him." captial letters before pronouns usually only mean one guy when it comes from Peabody.

Slade.

Alex sighs and turns to face her once more, "He's basically Captain America but without backup, no League to call in, no friends running about to cover him in a fight, and he hurls himself face first against entire nations, against metas who outclass him on levels that would stagger your understanding." he purses his lips, "He's beaten the entire Gotham crowd at one time or another and single handedly turned the Titans inside out and handed them their own asses. On an open field. In the middle of nowhere." he shakes his head, "I mean, you get that right? A guy with a /sword/ beat an entire team of people who shoot lasers from their whatevers and have weapons of mass destruction literally built into their parts. He /had/ guns. He didn't use them. Not because he couldn't, but because he didn't need them. THAT's what you need." Peabody smirks, "Or you know, I could just get you a shoulder mounted laser cannon. Usually it's mounted to some power armor Luthor makes, but-" he waves a hand at her like 'who the fuck needs power armor?'.

*

Loki arrives from The Crossroads.

*

Loki heads out to Brooklyn.

*

Caitlin's face grows somber, and she shakes her head uneasily. "I— look, Alex, I know our family… I know what we owe him," she says, unwilling to invoke He Who Shall Not Be Named. "What he's done is… I mean, I can't pay him back for that."

She twists at her fingers. "But he's also not a good guy, Alex," she says, finally. "I've read a bit about him. He's a mercenary— at /best/ he's a mercenary," she says. "Maybe he has a couple of soft spots but— gee whiz, I /know/ he's not a nice person. I mean, Titans? Batman? I don't /like/ Batman, but I get along with some of his kids. And the Titans invited me on a few missions. These are good people, and— and it'd be wrong for me to go to -him- and ask for advice. For training."

*

Peabody eyes her and smirks, "He's a bad guy." he says, admitting it without question, "Or, perhaps more accurately, he's the most neutral combatant I've met. He is not a villain or a hero, he's not even a soldier anymore, he's just… Him." he shrugs, "But putting that aside the one thing you cannot deny is that he is the best at what he does. That guy with the claws from the X-men is scary as shit, Batman is terrifying, theres the ninja girl who works for the Hand sometimes and sometimes dosen't, that fucking psychopath Bullseye, I could go on, there's plenty of people out there who're good. But he's the best. And it's because he's smarter. I'm not saying adopt his life style, please don't do that, I'm not saying adopt his ethical compass or his lack of morality, don't take on his color scheme for the love of god, but putting all that aside there are things you can learn from him. And he owes you." that last bit is a stretch. He owes her father, but it all amounts to the same thing. "Ask and he'll have to. I mean, you won't like /how/ he does it, trust me, but he will train you. Or," Alex grins, "you can ask the others who think in the same vein that he does. Ask Batman or see if you can't get Fury to give you one of his betters," and his grin grows down right wicked, "or you could always ask the Captain. He's got a mind for tactics too. I mean," PEabody turns back to the stove and pulls the dripping steak from the iron, "I remember the posters on your wall. You have a thing for Captain Cleft Chin, maybe get some of that sweet sweet one on one time. Get all sweaty in a gym. Or whatever it is you spandex types do."

*

Caitlin rolls her eyes a little and holds up a hand. "Captain Marvel. Captain America. Lady Sif. Thor. Diana of Themyscira— /Artemis/ of Themyscira— Supergirl— I've trained with some of the heaviest hitters in the League /and/ Avengers," she tells Peabody. "Spears and bows with the Amazons, sword and shield with Sif. I used to go rounds with the Hulk when I needed a workout."

"I don't know what you think the League girls do with our downtime, but it's not just painting each other's nails," Caitlin says, wryly— then promptly hides her fresh manicure from Peabodyh.

*

Peabody eyes her, "Great." he says, "But none of them taught you to think outside the box. You've just named an Air Force Colonel, a goddess from a land of tactically challenged bezerkers, a Prince from same land, a warrior known for her hot temper more then her skill, a Kryptonian who's never had to bother with tactics, literally a giant who speaks in monosylables, and Captain America. Who was on my suggested list." he consider, "I'd Wonder Woman too. I've seen her footage, she's not a rage monkey like a lot of those you listed." he eyes her, "All that training with all those experts, you took a painful shot and suddenly felt helpless. Did none of them teach you about pain? About how to overcome? What to do when you're down and there's nothing left? Or are they all a bunch of impervious super strong people who've only been hurt two or three times in their entire lives?" he asks curiously.

"Two weeks ago He took nine bullets in Gana while protecting a mission from some rebels who think Catholisism is ruining their tribal way of life. Nine. When it was over he was standing on a mountain of corpses and the survivers were fleeing. He didn't lose so much as the missions milking goat." Alex carries an impressed tone that eh doesn't have when listing of the others. Well. Maybe Captain America. "You're tough kiddo, stronger then I thought too, but you're not impervious like half of those people, don't heal as fast as the others." he sighs and turns around to slide her a plate with a fork and a knife, there's a tomahawk steak on it as big as her head along with some bright green garlic and butter broccoli. He gets his own plate and settles up across the island from her, "I know you count yourself among them, and you are, but you scare the shit out of me when you do stuff like this. You got hurt one time and came to me for a gun." he spears some veggies and points at her with the green mini tree dripping butter, "Which I will still get for you if you want." he clarifies, "I'd just be more comfortable if you thought stuff through more then you do. You're very…." he searches for the right word, "girlie. All emotional and impulsive. Which is weird! Cause you're so rational when you're doing the whole hair bun pencil thing." he swirls a hand over his head as if he were trying to find something floating there.

*

Caitlin rolls her eyes and throws a wadded up napkin at Peabody. "You— argh, you aren't /listening/," she growls. "You're such a /guy/ sometimes. I didn't get /booboo'd/. I've been hit with Parademon plasma rifles and punched by people who give the Kryptonians a case of the ouchies."

"I got /hit/ with an Atlantean /spear/ in my /pelvis/," she says, pointing at her hipbone for emphasis. "I /fractured/ my /pelvis/. You know how hard it is to /walk/ with a FRACTURED. PELVIS?" she asks. She leans over the table, eyes wide and intent on Peabody.

"Dooyah? Huh? Huh?" she asks, leaning forward with each syllable until she almost falls over. With an 'ack' she rights herself.

"He threw a five pound javelin at me at about twice the speed of sound, /and/ it was some kinda Atlantean magical whoozits. It probably would have put a hole in a battleship," she says, wryly. "And left me without a whole lot of options beyond trying to walk on my hands."

*

Peabody tilts his head to eye her after a long moment, "Atlantis doesn't use much magic in their weaponry save for the big artifact stuff. They have a hard water technology I can't figure out. Been working on…" shiftyeye, "Aaaaaaaanyway! Point taken. Did you try to tear up the floor and throw it at them? Use it as a sheild?" he asks curiously with a shrug, "Look. All I'm saying is you're going zero to one hundred really fast here and I'd prefer you thought it through." he smirks, "Not that having a gun would have done you much good anyway. Atlanteans are more or less bullet proof." he reminds her. "Laser cannons on the other hand!"

*

Caitlin snappoints at Peabody. "See, laser cannons, that's what I'm thinking. I need something accurate and hard hitting, and something that'll hang in the weight classes I punch in," she says, swinging her fists in short, emphatic arcs. "Rail gun, laser gun, /something/. Whatcha got for me? I knoooow you can hook me up," she says, simpering at him with her most devastating Do It For Your Favorite Sister expression.

*

Nathaniel Richards arrives from New York Airspace.

*

Nathaniel Richards heads out to Midtown Manhattan.

*

Peabody nods his head, "Yeah yeah. Big gun." he sounds somewhat disappointed but eats more food to console himself, "I'm not getting you a rail gun." he says flatly, eyeing her as if she were insane, "You walk into walls like a doofus and knock over bookshelves on the regular, I'm not giving you a gun that levels buildings in a single shot. I'm not suicidal. But there are, yes, more … refined weapons that would work." he reaches behind himself and pulls out a small weapon, the kind that he could easily hide in his hand if he needed to. Down right tiny. He ejects the mag and pops the one in the pipe free, setting it all aside before handing her the one round that came free. "That would kill you." he says simply. It's about the side of the tip of a crayon. A blunt one.

*

Caitlin eyes the bullet suspiciously, then takes it between her fingers and examines it more closely. She shakes her head at Peabody and hands it back. "Seriously? How?" she asks, doubtfully. "I can shake off anti-tank rounds. We've tested it," she remarks. "I don't /like/ it, but I can. How's that little thing possibly got enough momentum to hurt me?"

*

Peabody uses his fork to point to the tip, "Extremely illegal Antarican anti-metal Vibranium tips." he says, and if she looks close enough she can see a white dot of metal at the front of the round, roughly the size of a sharpened beebee. "I'm not /certain/, but there's a small chance that little thing could make Superman bleed. Maybe." he shrugs, "Not willing to test it since every one of those rounds," he motions at the mag, "costs half a mil." munch munch munch. "But it's more then enough to crack your bones like plate glass, which would leave a peice of steel bouncing around inside your otherwise bulletproofe skull." he points out, letting her get a good picture of how the bullet works. The tip is just the door opener, its the metal behind it that turns brains into soup while still inside someone's body. It's not a bullet that would work on normal people, would just plow clean through them. It's designed to kill the people that bullets can't kill. On purpose. And Alex carries it with him.

"So it doesn't have to be big sis, just well designed. That's a .25 pocket pistol, hardly worth anything in my circles, but little ol' me could drop Ironman with it." he plucks up the mag and sighs staring down at the wee bullets, "But you'd have to be close and accurate with it. Like crazy accurate. Head shots are way harder then people think." he holds his hand out for the bullet she's still eyeballing, "So yeah. Laser cannon. Luthor makes a real nice one for military contracts. His private version is better, I'll pull some strings see if I can't get my hands on one of his upgraded options for ya. It'll be cumbersome, so I wouldn't suggest running into a melee with it, but standing outside and zapping people ought to work just fine. Burn a hole the size of your fist through anything shy of Ironman and it would prolly make him wish he was at home doing body shots off of Miranda Kerr."

*

Caitlin's pretty good at counting. "Good golly, Peanut, you've got three million dollars worth of gun in your back pocket?" she gawks. "That's insane! You could build… ten houses for that much money! Or put a hundred kids through four years at Harvard, or— I mean— geeee whiz," she says, shaking her head, and obviously, completely dumbfounded. She hands the bullet back to Peabody.

"I— I don't need a big gun. A pistol, even, would be fine, just something I can carry on my belt. Just in case I need it," she hastens to add.

*

Peabody reloads the pistol and tucks it back into it's place as he eyes her, "What is it that you think I do for a living exactly?" he asks curiously, "Because you realize I'm rich, right? I mean… like really rich?" he seems to consider her for a moment as he thinks on this before nodding his head, "Okay. Let's look at what I call my Penial Enlargement section. It's not for professionals honestly, no real user needs anything that big, but you get the tourists who think carring a stupid large gun is best and hey, their money spends as good as anyone elses, right?" he asks before he reaches under the countertop and two of the cabinets behind him open oddly to show a rack of guns in custom foam cut outs. Most are pistols common pistols, but there's a couple of weird sci-fi looking weapons as well, one even has little blue lights on it. "So if you want something that'll make people take notice, you can't go smaller then .50, unless you get a serious hot .44 in a revolver or something. Otherwise you might as well be shooting what the cops are shooting and we all know that if you're at the scene it's because the cops are useless."

*

"I don't … I try not to think about it too much," Caitlin admits, quietly. Perhaps too quietly to hear— and she doesn't press the issue when he starts dragging out the toys.

"I don't … I'm not compensating for something, Peanut," she tells Alex. She picks up a Desert Eagle, drops the magazine, and racks the slide, then almost absent of thought, field-strips the firearm and sets the components down. She seems unaware that she's done it.

"I mean, there's not a lot of substitute for me punching something down, but a raygun, or something, a real working gun, that's what I need."

*

Peabody watches her closely and pretends not to notice when her conditioning kicks in, going on about it as if everything were normal… which for them this kinda is. "Here's a Judge." he says, handing her the biggest damned revolver, "I can get that barrel more manageable if you like, and given it's size I know some people that can make you some real doozies when it comes to load out." then he picks up the ray gun looking thing that's not lit up and checks it carefully, eyeing her, then puts it back, "Naw. Hrm." he eyes the weapon again. Eyes her. "I had an idea."

*

"Okay… I mean, a revolver's not a bad idea," Caitlin muses. "Simple. Nothing to mess with." She ejects the cylinder, whirrs it around the crane once, and rolls it back into the shut position. "What about ammunition? I can't afford half a berjillion bucks on ammo," she warns Peabody. "And whatever I have has to be able to hold up to some pretty serious abuse. I don't think an off the shelf option is the right call here."

*

Peabody nods his head, "Agreed. I can help you with that, though that might be frowned upon by some of your new friends." little smile, "I'd suggest talking to…" he thinks for a moment, then snaps his fingers, "Roy Harper." he says, beaming a bit, "He's done some work with us in the past, has an open mind in general. Decent solid opperator and he has access to all the gimicks and knowledge required to make you personalized and custom rounds. He was Green Arrow's protege' for awhile back in the day. He and You Know Who have a working understanding. He'd be more likely to accept this change in you then some of the others I imagine." shrug, "Or a lot of the others. Jsut not the Bat. He has a gun thing."

*

"Roy Harper— I know him. Kind of a weird guy," Caitlin says, "but he's got a good reputation. I'll drop him a line," she nods at Peabody. "Maybe he's got some suggestions. I think— revolvers have some less-lethal options too, right? That'd be nice to have, a payload that I can configure for the mission. Only bring out the big gun when I /need/ a big gun," she brightens.

"And I don't /hang out/ with Batman socially," she admonishes Peabody. "I see him in the halls, I walk the other way, because he's freaky to be around."

*

Peabody nods his agreement to almost everything she's said, "What if I made you something custom?" he asks curiously. "I'm having an idea here and I wanna play around with it a bit. Something that… might work for you if I can get it to function right."

*

"Iiii don't know,

*

"Iiii don't know," Caitlin hems, a bit dramatically. SHe pivots back on forth on the stool, eyes rolling back and forth in far too much idle thought. "I mean, if you /can/, even, I know that's— like, that's a ton of work, and it'd be really expensive, and I can just /barely/ afford my apartment in Metropolis," she says, her shoulders moving like a landslide as she heaves a dramatic sigh. She even toys with her red hair, idly— if she had bubblegum, she'd blow a bubble just to really ham it up.

*

Peabody whacks her in the forehead with the barrel of the Judge, "Give me a week." he says with a big grin on his face, "I think I have an idea that will make the most of our conflicting options here." he then fits the gun back into it's spot in the foam and turns to head back to his steak. "So other then letting a fish man spear you like a tuna, what have you been up to?"

*

Fairchild sticks her tongue out at Peabody, the whap to her face literally not even registering as pain. One could probably break a brick on her skull with the same result.

Also, she stole his steak while he wasn't looking, and swallows the second ginormous bite that's effectively demolished half his meal. "Mphhr? Well," she says, swallowing heavily. "The Fabricator is a few weeks from major release. I've got some great feedback on it and we're putting the final adjustments on it. We'll be deploying some to India and South America as goodwill donations, and selling the rest to help offset the loss. Karen says there's gonna be biiig money in it, and she cut me a really good deal on the royalties, as lead engineer."

*

Peabody nods his head at that, "I heard something about that. Bought some stocks a few months back." he says, grinning widely, "You could make me a richer man, sis. It's about time you started pulling your own weight. So you think it'll do all the stuff the hype promises?" he asks curiously, "I've seen some weird shit in my time, so I'm not a doubter, just curious."

*

"Well, yeah," Caitlin blinks. "I designed it. You probably wouldn't want to make precision equipment out of it— the resolution's just not high enough. But it's meant to fabricate factories, not make actual end user items. Drop it in a desert, hook it up to a generator, feed it scrap metal— you can make all the tools you need to build a factory on the spot," she explains, swigging the last of the soda. "Wrenches, pipes, hammers, even calipers, if you don't need a ton of precision."

*

Peabody nods his head, "Good to know. Don't have it make my calipers." he grins again and sighs at all of his lost steak, "Why do I put up with you?" he asks as he pushes himself back from the island, "It's been fun sis but I gotta head out. Got a meeting with a broker in Midtown and then a date with a lovely actress to follow up so much as I'd love to stick around and mock you shamelessly for not being as awesome as I am, I'm gonna bail. Feel free to finish eating, door will lock itself on the way out." he slides the rest of his plate at her, "And you get to do dishes." beam. He leans up to muss her hair lightly with a hand, "See you around kiddo." and then heads for the door, "I'll call you in a week with a prototype!"

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