"Ah- hello. Are you two Specs and Trapper? I was um... told... you would be able to help me with some specialized needs I have." He straightened his fedora (a REAL one, not whatever it was they were selling in strip malls nowadays, thank-you-very-much) and pushed the uncomfortable, dark glasses up the bridge of his hooked nose.
The boys turned around in their chairs. Trapper’s skinny neck craned over so he could see who was coming in. “I think someone else followed you from your hometown, Mr. Specs. He sounds a little east coast,” the blonde commented.
Specs fumbled with his glasses, trying to make sure they didn’t fall off. He’d mouthed off a guy at the supermarket the other day and got in a fist fight. In the tussle, his glasses frames were bent. “You’ve found us,” Specs insisted, holding out a free hand to shake with this guy. “Who referred you, though?”
The Meister had at least enough powers of reasoning to know when he was being mocked, and he knew that revealing anything to these two could have potentially cacophonous effects.
He shrugged off the younger man’s hand, beginning to pace slowly around the room in a manner so exaggerated it was almost a march.
"You said yourselves you don’t have the access I need," he goaded, "so there’s no reason for me to tell you what I would need it for. And I have the feeling our goals are not harmonious."
It was more a tease and taunt rather than a full on mock, but with these two, that would probably take months of getting to know them before anyone could differentiate that kind of a minute difference. Still, the Gotham City criminals were a colorful, theatrical bunch. The folks in Dakota didn’t hold a candle. The closest they had in this regard were the old Soul Power rogues who helped keep the city lively back in the 60s—but neither one of these guys were originally from here.
This was like an awkward calling card from home for Specs. The Delaney family had been yuppies living in Gotham suburbia until the city came with its own dark reminder on which city it actually was. All the flashy and vibrant outfits felt like home sweet home, alright. Joy. “We don’t have carte blanche,” Specs corrected him, “but we do know someone in charge of the medical records who owes us a huge favor.” If this guy was looking for a specific meta-ability in someone, Dakota truly was the place to look for that—and it wasn’t like either Specs or Trapper were all that attached to any of them.
“But we’d need to do be more discrete about that sort of thing,” Trapper interrupted. “Our boss has a way of finding out every little thing we try to pull.”
"I can have your boss singing a different tune very quickly and easily," the Meister said blithely, waving off the concern. His plan (like most of his plans) was simple; he wanted a new army of metahumans, one he'd already programmed, so that no Batman or sonic screams could wake them from their pre-suggested task. Slowly, the Meister was learning the value of backup plans.
"Ideally, I would have access to all of them, for only a brief period of time. That would be all I'd need." It wouldn't be hard to convince them to move to Gotham. Right?
... well he'd make sure to really belt that particular set of instructions...
"The sooner the better."
