The lab, for once, was quiet. Only a few of the essential staff remained toiling away at their stations on Andromeda’s orders. Usually the building bustled with activity, day and night, and just now the change over to the night team would have been happening if she hadn’t given them all a break. It wasn’t out of the goodness of her heart - she never had much of that to begin with - but because she didn’t want too many prying eyes. It had taken her longer than she cared to admit to track Nyx down in the first place, and she wasn’t about to scare her off with a bunch of idiots asking questions.
It had been years since they’d last seen each other, but even back then Nyx had a gift. At the time Andromeda had been jealous; her competitive nature drove it, but she had never been quite as good with computers as she was with chemicals. Even now she still felt a twinge of something ugly and green in her stomach. But she recognised the company’s need for talent, especially now, and despite the unknown events that had passed between their childhood rivalry and now, she could only assume that Nyx’s talents had grown the same as her own.
She waited just inside the entrance to the building, on one of the plush leather seats that littered the foyer, half illuminated by dim lamp light. Even the receptionist had been allowed to take the night off, so Andromeda was the solitary figure, surrounded by a silence that was broken only by the frequent buzz of her tablet and tap of her shoe. Any minute now, she thought, offering an occasional glance at the large metal clock that adorned the far wall, watching the minute hand slowly move inch by inch. She detested poor timekeeping almost as much as she detested the loss of working hours the tour would cost her. But, with any luck, she was about to secure an asset worth far more than most of her workers combined. Any minute now.
Andromeda.
When that name flashed across Nyx's screen, reaching out to speak with her about some kind of business proposal, it was as if it had burst from the grave of a lifetime forgotten, one that Nyx hardly felt that she had any right to still claim. She'd had a family back then; loving parents and a bright future, a comfortable home in the heart of the city and stickers haphazardly placed on her very own bedroom door. As clear as day, she could remember how she'd admired Andromeda, when their families would mingle at some Meridian hosted function, how she looked up to her and wondered sometimes what it'd be like to have a sister just like her.
Over the years, curiosity drove Nyx to keep tabs on her career. She'd watched Andromeda's ambition and genius grow into something that, she was convinced could one day become a true rival against Meridian Industries. That alone made what to do with Andromeda's invitation a no-brainer, agreeing to meet and hear what it was she had swirling around in that brilliant mind of hers.
The sliding doors of the lab's entrance open automatically at Nyx's approach, and she steps inside. The boots she was wearing were filthy from the trek up from the slums; a fact that she wouldn't have otherwise noticed had it not been for the jarring contrast between them standing atop the pristine white flooring of the foyer. A chunk of gravel must have been stuck between the treads of one of them, it clicked with every step she took, and Nyx couldn't quite decide if that was better or worse than the other, which seemed to kinda stick a bit ( though she couldn't recall stepping in anything particularly sticky recently. )
Oh, well.
Nyx finally looks up from her boots, her eyes slowly adjusting to the florescent brightness of inside, and there finds Andromeda sitting, waiting.
"Long time, no see," she says, an unsure little smile convincing her lips to curve upwards just slightly to one side. "Real uh... shiny place you got here."
“Hey, hey– open up, it’s your good ol’ pal.” The volume of which he yelled at wasn’t needed, and neither was the banging from his fist. Yet Marc did it anyways just simply because he could. “C’mon, don’t make me wail like a grieving widow. I’ll do it and wake up the entire street. You know I’m good for it, too.”
Nyx didn't expect visitors. Not ever.
She was napping when the pounding at the door startles her awake her from her place within the tangled nest of wires, monitors, and tech-debris that had accidently somehow morphed into something of an interior design aesthetic ( not just a testament to her inability to keep things tidy. ) After a quick check to confirm it wasn't anyone best ignored ( though the sheer volume of Marc's voice was enough of a giveaway ), she stumbles her way over the graveyard of spare parts and old food wrappers to unlock and open her door, trying usher him inside as quickly as possible.
"You've got to be kidding me, Marc; you know how to contact me. What the fuck are you actually doing here?"
he’d never admit just how long it took him to find the spectre– let’s say it was much longer than he anticipated devoting time to finding a singular ghost. as they say though, good things come to those who wait and the spectre’s help had been… well, invaluable. ripley had never been much for working with other Before but experience breeds wisdom and whatever else people say; maybe it was the fact that he didn’t know who the one behind the screen was that made it easier– didn’t feel quite like he was relying on someone else. that’s what made it easier to part with what he declared their share of the profit, at least– credits moved as anonymously as possible between two people in hiding. the spectre’s work held value, it was due compensation.
he couldn’t remember if the spectre had ever been the first to engage in contact– it had always been him reaching out first. the location and time had his interest piquing and while he left the message unanswered- they saw that he had received it, his silence should be confirmation enough- ripley approached this meeting with the same level of caution and preparation as he did with any potential client.
the message had been vague but ripley recognized it for what it was: this was a meeting about a job.
he’d arrived over an hour earlier, establishing his presence at the club, taking a silent inventory of every patron who walked in and out until the crowd grew almost too thick to notice anyone coming in or out– almost. the glasses on his face were remotely connected to the security cameras and while one lens remained clear, showing only the scene directly in front of him- the bartender behind the crowded bar, the cute blonde in the seat next to him who was trying to coax him onto the floor, the group of people screaming with laughter to his left when another round of shots was presented to him- the other was oscillating between the various security feeds, feeding images of patrons slipping into the door and stumbling out, hallways with dancers moving between acts, bouncers flexing at the various entryways and moving along the edges of the crowd.
the closer it got to one, the more alert ripley seemed to be. the blonde lost her interest when she realized he wouldn’t be moving from that seat and left it blessedly empty again– right on schedule. another glass was set in front of him though he only made shows at touching it, his attention firmly ahead of him as one eye flickered through security feeds, trying to identify the spectre the moment they walked through the door– having absolutely zero frame of reference for them of course.
imagine his surprise- which, for the briefest of seconds does flash across his face- when she settled down across from him, immediately chattering about people stench and nearly being trampled. he examined her curiously for the briefest of seconds before understanding swept over his expression, the lines smoothing back into that mask.
“the ghost in the machine,” he mused quietly, mostly to himself before inclining his head towards nyx from across the small hightop table, “the pleasure is mine, nyx.” ripley hadn’t missed the gravity of what had just passed between them– he had her face. he had her name. for someone who cherished their anonymity as deeply as the spectre did- whose entire operation depended on remaining unseen and unknown– this had to be one hell of a job.
a hand lifted almost lazily by his side, signaling a waitress over, “another round for me– and whatever the lady will have.” those blue eyes met hers, silently trying to communicate to her to order something– ( you don’t have to drink– it’s part of the ruse. ) when the waitress turned back towards the bar- a safe distance out of earshot, though with the noise around them, nearly everywhere was out of earshot ( good. )- he turned his full attention back to her, his head cocking slightly to the side, “to what do i owe the pleasure?” ( what’s the job? )
There was only so much nuance one could garner from someone's face across the static glow of a pixelated camera feed. Ripley's was one that she had studied for awhile now. The focus and precision of it, the tempered confidence that ( paired with undeniable skill and a success rate to back it up ), over time, had earmarked him as one she knew she would be able to pull of the otherwise suicidal task she was planning. Nyx finds that all present now, with nothing between them but the shifting rainbow of neon lights and sweat-scented air. But there was more to him in person that her tech had failed to translate. She can see it all now without filter : that flash of curiosity, the vivid awareness of all that bustled on around them that brought to mind the weight of the phrase, 'having eyes at the back of your head.'
There was something else there that she couldn't quite put a label on; something quiet, and innately understanding. It lingers on the weight of his words as his head tips in greeting, making her feel as though she'd stumbled upon the impossible intersection between safety and unnerving vulnerability.
"In the flesh," she confirms, knowing full well that there was no going back now.
The waitress comes by at the gesture of his hand. Uninvested in the drinks, but understanding the expectation of ordering one anyway, she simply doubles whatever it was that Ripley had already chosen. Privacy restored, Nyx shifts in her seat to pluck from her back pocket a small hand-held device. Her eyes flicker upwards to his then, the gleam behind their ice-bright layers sparkling with excitement, as if to say, 'I thought you'd never ask.' The screen brightens in her hands, and for a moment Nyx's entire attention disappears into it's glow as the pad of her finger glides and taps across it's surface.
Just then, for the span of a breath, Paradisco's security feed goes black. It flickers right back up, all at once, replaying a recorded loop from from ten minutes prior — plenty of time. The very last thing Nyx wanted was a stray security guard reviewing the feed and looking in over their shoulders ( especially after the job's completed, there could be no trace to either of them if everything went according to plan. ) She hands the device to Ripley, where she's secured all of the snippets of information she's gathered on Meridian's newest infuriating fucking stunt. In particular, data on one of their secure off-network server locations, where, she suspected, they were keeping the data on Soteria and Salus' eligible citizens : their target.
"You've heard about the lottery by now, haven't you?" Nyx asks, her gaze lifting to return to Ripley's face, her own betraying the depth of the mischief she had in store.
If Luke had any idea the sort of energy that was taking up space on the other side of the screen, he might be filled with immediate regret. He’s considered who he might be talking to, a world of possibilities. It could be a sting operation, or a middle-aged man that rarely moves from his screens. Could be some savvy Salus local ready to clap his ass into oblivion, too. His gut says the Specter is none of these things.
Question is, who are they.
Not figuring that out, tonight.
It’s with a brief smile that he nods his agreement, watching the screen return to it’s intended function out of the corner of his eye. The work day is long. Tedious, even, with the knowledge that come eight that night he’d be having a chat with someone notorious. He pulls through, though. Barely. The trip home before expediting himself to Doc’s is wrought with anticipation, and he swears the lock on his door is being intentionally difficult.
Finally, Doc’s.
He walks into the well-lit building, immediately giving a sweeping look around before proceeding down the hallway lined with glass walls — a preview of the salons in which patrons dream. It’s sinister and dangerous, what this place offers, and he is a constant victim to it’s pull.
Luke pays his hourly rate, choosing not to hide himself but instead present just as he is within the virtual servers, and is led through a series of winding hallways to a private salon. The chair is cool as he sits, and with the click of the door closing, Luke dons his headset and begins to pour through the servers in search for his date.
While Nyx trusted Doc's servers well enough, herself ( as the Spectre, of course ) having been hired on a rotating basis to test and improve it's security, she knew more intimately than anyone where it's weaknesses still lingered. Were she meeting anyone else, she may not have bothered with extra precautions, but this was Luke Clark himself, Meridian's very own boogey man — and she wasn't about to gamble the outcome of this fun little game of cat and mouse between them on something as silly as an oversight.
She settles into the chair, her legs curled up beneath her as the floor surrounding lay strewn with wires, connecting the headset she wore to the briefcase she'd brought with her. It sits opened next to her chair, quietly humming as a steady stream of information pulls across it's screen, monitoring her place in the server; a rip cord, should their time together be interrupted.
The simulation begins, eight o'clock sharp. Soteria, in all of it's neon glory stretches wide below, details sharpening layer after layer as glowing blues and purples pulse against the pure black of a night sky. Nyx's feet dangle over the edge of a scaffolding, suspended high into the air to give the most perfect view of Meridian Industries straight ahead ( hopefully Luke wasn't afraid of heights. )
As her consciousness orients to the manufactured reality, she kicks her legs slowly, back in forth in lazy alternation, getting accustomed to the proportions of the avatar she's decided to begin with. A chime, then, signals his arrival; right on time. Nyx looks upwards from her seat, a smile spreading across foreign features, "watch your step, you don't want to slip off, it's a loooooong, long way down. Have you ever died in one of these sims before? I haven't myself, but I hear it's really wild." She maneuvers to stand, then, turning to face him with an out stretched hand offered in greeting.
where : Paradisco
who : closed for Ripley @hommcfatalc
Nyx couldn't quite remember how long ago it was that he'd found her — well, that he'd found the Spectre. It was a request, simple and straight forward, with just enough mischief sprinkled on top that she'd found herself intrigued, compelled to reach out and see what would come of it. The jobs he had for her were fun, always something new and interesting. They were lucrative, as well; paid without fail, without fuss. And, almost more importantly, her anonymity was respected — protected, even. The count of those who thought they were owed her identity after repeat business was laughable, and always ended the same; her credits secured, and her presence, like her namesake : an apparition, gone as if it had never existed in the first place.
It set him apart. And so when the time finally came that she found herself in need of his specific brand of talents, his name was one on a very short list of those she was willing to reach out to.
It was always a jarring experience, emerging from her sanctuary of glowing screens and the soothing hum of electricity and tech to venture into the city. She has grown so accustomed to having vision that stretched across the entirety of Soteria's network, of having near-instant access to any slice of obscure information she may need, that standing on her own two feet she felt heavy. Bound by gravity, blinded by the limited scope of her own gaze, entirely more vunerable than she was comfortable with.
She felt.. well, what she imagined most people felt like all the time.
And it was, objectively, awful.
Best to get this over with as quickly as she could.
Nyx spots him sitting at one of the high-tops, strategically placed between the bar and the makeshift dancefloor, where distraction was in abundance, guaranteeing them the plain-sight privacy she was hoping for. She elbows her way through the crowd as it threatens to swallow her whole, to the empty chair across from him, which she claims with an exasperated huff. "And people come to these places for fun? Blows my mind. Between nearly getting trampled to death and that sweaty-people smell? I just don't get it."
Her head shakes dismissively in judgement of the venue as her eyes lift to his face, glacial blue eyes finding kin as a bright smile spreads playfully across her lips. "Hi, Ripley. I'm Nyx. Nice to finally meet you."
“Ah ––” He cursed at the sound of her screaming his name in his ear, finicking with his earpiece in frustration. “You trying to make me go deaf?” He said beneath his breath, just audible enough that she could hear. Or so he thought. Apparently one of the guests overheard his muttering.
“Just talking to myself, you know.” Jarek said aloud, finessing it. “I like to say a little prayer… before I attend events like these.”
Whether or not they bought it didn’t matter to him. The person who’d overheard him was peripheral anyway, background noise. What did matter was Nyx’s tinny little voice sounding off in his ear again, telling him something important–– something about energy companies and seedy reputations and oh. Yea. The real reason he was here: the big three.
He moved through the crowded room in their direction, hand extended at the ready to greet them. “Cynthia, right?” Should he have led with that, like he knew her? Oh well. Too late. “Got quite the reputation I hear.” He said giving her hand a polite squeeze. “Getting in business with Emblem and Solar…” He began, listing off the names of some of the biggest energy companies in Soteria. “Bet they got you working around the clock, huh? That whole fucking fiasco with–– sorry. Language.” He said, assuming the face Cynthia was making was in response to his cursing. In reality it was his bringing up a sensitive topic that made her balk. “Not here.” She hissed at him, grabbing him by the arm suddenly to drag him to a more secluded corner of the room, leaving her two cronies behind. “What, they aren’t coming…?” Jarek said, looking between her and the two men she’d been deep in conversation with. Shit. Had he fucked this up already?
"JAREK SHHH." Comes the sharp correction over the headpiece as her companion draws the attention of a person lingering nearby. Luckily for him ( for them both, actually ), the guest didn't seem all that eager to engage in the potentially crazy man talking to himself, and quickly excuses themselves from his proximity with an uncomfortable smile. Nyx sighs with relief : they were off to a golden start. "Rule number one, remember? We DON’T talk back to the voices in our head. Not out loud, at least."
As Jarek then moves to engage Cynthia, who quickly seeks privacy with him as he mentions her newest ( and most questionable ) clients, Nyx struggles open a crinkling bag of chips with one hand, the other remaining busy at work across the keyboard. "Don't worry, she's the one that really matters. Win her over and Lester's in the bag."
Through a mouthful of crunching, she continues, "as for the other guy... There, I found him! ...Oh, shit." The positive facial recognition flashes finally onto the screen, the information pulled from Soteria's very own Institute of Corrections : maximum security, no less. "Yikes. So that's Cynthia's brother, Wyatt. And there's a, uh, very good reason he didn't come up in her files... he, you know what? Honestly the specifics don't even matter. Just... uh.. Don't worry about it? Just be very nice, specifically very non-threatening if he does come over. And, oh, this looks important : no sudden, jerky movements, either -- apparently that really sets him off."
"Just focus," she says, taking her own advice while licking the cheese-dust from her fingers. "Lead with Emblem." A few clicks, and her prior research pulls up, "James Callaghan invested a lot of money with them shortly before his oculus fatally 'malfunctioned,' " one could hear in the tone of her voice the full roll of her eyes at the word. "It's likely she's scrambling to cover up that connection, and it's very possible that’s the money she plans to pay us with if we get this job."
where : Salus very late at night ! ( I am just as surprised as you are ! )
who : closed for Priest @vandaals
The old woman at the orphanage always warned that if you fed they strays, you would never be rid of them.
Turns out, she was right.
Nyx has long forgotten the first time she had crossed Priest's path in Soteria's slums, a greasy paper bag in her hand, wafting golden brown and delectably salty. But over time, it had grown into a routine, of sorts; one that started with sharing her meal, eventually leading to Priest staying over, pillaging her stash of snacks and candy in exchange for... uh, well... Nothing, really. She had honestly just come to enjoy his company, strange though it was.
It had been pure luck that as the trucks from Meridian tear across the city, through the slums, out into Salus ( where her digitally-fed vision abruptly went blind ) that Priest happened to be with her ( she could tell he was still around, the crinkling bags and crunching sounds were always a give away. ) Not once before in her entire life had she found a reason good enough to venture into Salus, but with as much going on lately, there was simply too much to gleam from their discarded tech to pass up the opportunity to at least have a look.
It was with a generous bribe of snacks, a perfect pout and the explanation of the sheer gravity behind a pinky promise, that she finds herself behind him now, taking two quick steps to his every one, following him towards the junkyard.
"Why.. why are you walking so fast?" She groans, trying to keep pace as peripherally a small shadow hurries past them and slides underneath a pile of rubbish, which topples over with a loud C R A S H ! launching Nyx straight into the air out of skittish surprise, before latching herself onto her companion’s arm with a death grip. "DID YOU SEE THAT?!? I HATE IT OUT HEREEE WHAT THE FUCK."
There’s a certain feeling one gets when they’re being watched. A sixth sense — like a nagging in the back of your head. There’s a cloudly feeling that comes with it, though he’d hardly show it. Instead, Luke bows his head, unfastening the cuffs on his sleeves and rolling them up meticulously, one by one. He’s biding his time now, watching that screen.
Letting out a sigh, Luke talks down to his handiwork with full faith that the techy ghost would hear him. “You’re getting bolder.” Her question is left unanswered, the only response shown being the slightest twitch at the as the corner of his mouth turned upward. To buy more time, he fusses with some gifted watch device on his arm.
“And more clever.”
One of these days…
“All the better. I’ve been thinking about you.” There’s something about the way he says it, a fondness coating each word that is oddly displaced when matched with the tone. “I was hoping you might have a drink with me. Plenty of privacy at Doc’s. Specters choice. What do you say?”
"WHAT!" Nyx gleefully yelps at the screen as she hops up from her chair. It rolls a moment before it's one faulty wheel catches, causing it to topple sideways behind her with a CRASH. She pays it entirely no mind, instead trying exhaust the spike of excitement bubbling up in her stomach, shaking out her hands and teetering her weight back and forth from one foot to the other.
Okay! Okay. OK. Be cool. BE COOL.
A slow, steadying breath exhales from her lungs, and she returns to the screen. Crouching there ( woefully chairless ), her chin rests against the top of the desk while her fingers find their place above the keys, playfully tapping a series of commands:
Before she can continue, a small flash from an adjacent screen catches the corner of her eye, indicating the time she's spent inside the network is nearing her comfortable limit — time to go. It was risky enough contacting him this way in the first place, and one did not stay a thorn in Meridian's side for as long as she has been without some measure of caution.
As quickly as she had arrived, she was gone again. The screen blackens, before shortly returning to it's regular cycling program.
Thrilled though she was to meet Meridian's head of security face to face ( well, almost face to face, at least ), she wasn't about to let that cloud her mind. Despite the layer of privacy Doc's offered, Nyx wasn't about to trust their systems with her own safety. There was a lot to prepare before their meeting.
( ... and, maybe, she'd even wash her hair for this. It's been a while. )
where : office building in the heart of soteria ( via the slums )
who : closed for @jxnovak
tap.
tap-tap-TAP.
Nyx's finger assaults the microphone attached to her headpiece. The device was her only tether to Jarek, who at this very moment was meeting with their newly acquired clients for a contract who's payday was enough to make even her eyes sparkle with ambition. That being the case, they probably should have tested the setup beforehand.
"Jarek?" Her voice tries to come through beneath layers of hazy static. No good.
Hindsight always was 20/20, wasn't it? Whoops. Oh, well. Nothing they could do about it now.
TAP TAP TAP.
"JAREK?" Miraculously clearer now after that little dose of violence, she seeks confirmation on his end. "Hey, can you hear me now? WAIT. Don't actually answer that. Just, uh... Grunt once for yes, or... well, I guess I'll just assume we're fucked if you don't."
As she waits for his response, Nyx pulls up the building's cctv feed to confirm the identities of those in the room with him. There were two suits, both of whom she'd expected; the short man with the obnoxiously curling moustache was the money of the duo, one Lester Holtz. The second, Lester's comically taller companion, was the brains of the operation — Cynthia Kincaid, a PR tycoon with a list of contacts so deep it made the Mariana trench look like a kiddie pool.
But there was a third person with them, and that's who Nyx was working on trying to identify still. "I'll have info on the party crasher soon, hold tight. But hey — it look like Cynthia's been working closely with some big energy companies lately, and they've got some real seedy reputations. Nothing public has come out about it yet, so lead with that."
Pidgeons and rats are creatures to be admired. At least, Nyx always thought so. They're adaptable, nearly indestructible, and they have the charming habit of inviting themselves into places they don't belong. Nyx sometimes would even picture herself as a little rodent as she sat before the screens of her computers, imagining her ribs collapsing flat so she could scamper into the smallest spaces of network wiring and information databases. Or sometimes she'd daydream as a pigeon, gliding on greasy, tattered wings along the current of encrypted data that passes unrestrained by gravity across the whole of the city. The above and below of it all, inaccessible but for the vermin — herself, of course, included among them.
From the safety of her sanctuary, tucked like a hidden oasis of technology within the desolate dregs of Soteria's slums, Nyx finds her vision through the lens of a security feed. One, to the other, to the one after that, following a man she probably shouldn't be. Which was precisely why she couldn't resist.
( Curiosity killed cats, after all, not birds and rats — so she should be just fine. Right? )
The man stopped walking adjacent to a small advertisement screen along the sidewalk, and Nyx found that she couldn't help herself. Without removing her gaze from the feed, her fingers glide across the keyboard in front of her, and within just seconds of a few taps, she was in.
status: closed ft. @nyxgreaves
location: some bar in the slums of Soteria
She’d spotted the other woman only minutes earlier, hidden in the corner as to be overlooked by the untrained eye. Except Nyx still looked out of place inside the bar, at least in Shay’s mind. Hell she was the real one out of place here, in a city that had long ago made it clear she was not welcome. It wasn’t just the lack of eyes glued to a screen held close to her face, or the fact that she didn’t have a glazed look on her face as she read whatever information that came through the meridian occular implant most people from the city had. This was the outskirts, the places where the Soteria rejects lived and were exiled from that technology. It was her downright dingy appearance that gave it away. Travel and a lack of clean clothes made it real clear she was the outsider here. Which is why she couldn’t meet the woman somewhere else. Hell just being in Soteria was risky enough, at least here no one would question it.
“Now how come I always have to meet you?” Sliding into the opposite side of the booth after another few minutes of scanning the crowd inside. There already were enough people drunk enough that she might even have fun on her way home. Turning her attention back towards the raven haired woman across from her, Shay smiled and poked fun again. “And in a place like this? You do know I am dressed for a formal night out. I mean look at me, I don’t belong here. I should be schmoozing with those fancy software guys and trying to pretend they are gods gift to Soteria for keeping them out of the dark ages.”
.
The chipped black polish of her nails click one after the other against the just-as-chipped highball glass sitting before her. It was half-empty of the bright-blue concoction within, and imprinted with dusty fingerprints, only a few of which belonged to her. Nyx never knew what to do with her hands between sips ( at home they'd be busy at a keyboard or working loose a nest of tangled wire ), and so instead they clicked again, one after another, again and again, until she finally catches the approach of the familiar face she'd been expecting.
"Shay!" She chirps, her hands now tapping excitedly against the table as the other woman slides into place across from her. Nyx's head tilts the slightest bit to one side at her question, figuring the answer was an obvious one : Salus was a wasteland, and for as out o f place as Nyx felt in the tech-deprived bar in the slums, there was no chance she'd venture further from the hum and potential of technology. There was nothing out there for her. At least, not usually. Which was the precise reason she'd asked Shay here today in the first place. "This is as close to Salus as I get," she explains with a flippant roll of the eyes, before giggling over the comment on her attire, "I won't keep you long, so there will be plenty of time for schmoozing and flipping the fashion industry here upside down afterwards."
"Speaking of the dark ages, though, I wanted to see if you could dig up some old-tech relics for me? You see! I need something long distance and untraceable because ---" Nyx cuts her rambling off abruptly, remembering the last time she'd spilled too many details and had to disable an entire fleet of police cruisers to escape capture. " ...because of.. uh.. reasons," she concludes instead, her eyes flickering up expectantly toward her friend, "so? Are you free? Have the time for a scavenger hunt?"
