9864/Casework in the Cave

Casework in the Cave
Date of Scene:	28 January 2022
Location:	Arrowcave
Synopsis:	Felicity and Ollie get to work on a case
Cast of Characters:	Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak

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Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen is just finishing up his usual training routine, the salmon ladder having been set aside for now. He's shirtless and throwing reps on the bags, kickboxing with the heavy bag, putting together a decent sweat. He's going to go hit the patrol in a couple of hours, just getting his blood pumping and getting limber as best he can.

He hears the notification of Felicity's arrival and grabs a towel, wiping his dirty blonde hair down and calling out, "Good, I could use some company. Drinking a whole pot of coffee by myself is definitely bad for me."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
And on cue, because timing really is everything, Felicity appears, dressed in a surplus of 'damn it's cold outside' wear. Hat, scarf, gloves, and a jacket that apparently isn't keeping her warm enough because she makes the little 'brrrrrrr' noises with each step towards her computer set up. "Is there a way to put up the he-- oh, no. Probably not." She gets a look at Oliver, his sweatiness, and exhales in one of those //sighs//. "I'll break out the space heater."

Still, the hat comes off, though static really isn't her friend, so she's trying to keep her hair from being too messy, and failing. With that given up on, the rest of it comes off, everything laid on an empty table off to the side. "It is most definitely bad. You being awake at all hours of the night keeps me awake." There's a pause as she considers her words, and she sits down in her chair.

"You know it's freezing outside, right?" Felicity spins the chair around so she can see Oliver. She does stare for a moment, hiding it behind pushing up her glasses, and continues, "I'm not entirely sure bad guys will be out. I think everyone stays in under 32 degrees. It's some sort of law. Or should be."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen smiles, "I know I'm not as good with tech as you are, Felicity, but I do get weather reports, right on my phone even. You should know, you got me this one," he says. "I used to fight guys in Siberian prison wearing less than this and on colder days. They don't much bother with things like furnaces up there. Think it makes you soft."

He does, however, grab a sweatshirt, pulling it up over his head. "I promise, I'll wear the fur-lined suit. I'm just feeling a little cooped up. If you have anything else to keep me busy, though, I'm more than happy to listen."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"There used to be this weather guy from one of the weather stations out in Jersey. Always gave weather advice with each of his warnings. You know, not only the 'check on the old people' sort of suggestions, but the 'time to go out and buy food' sort. I really should start doing that for you. I'll embed it in the weather reports from now on." Felicity wears something of a smirk; the chances are better than even, then, that Oliver's weather reports are going to call him out by name. "Yeah, but I bet that you didn't like it." She lowers her voice, almost to a mumble, but it's theatric, "Mr 'I walked both ways uphill in the snow'."

When he does make the grab for the sweatshirt, another sigh exits the woman. What?! Cake. Eating it too. "Good. Fur lined suit. For me, I'm actually looking forward to staying put for a little bit. Just got back from laying cameras in Gotham." Remember? "I borrowed a white van from a friend, and we got all the cameras lined up and in place." Buuuut, that's not really on the docket for tonight, nope.

"Now, actually.. I do. Remember that auction I went to? The one where I was really, really out of place for, and had all that amazing stuff that no one really should have? I tracked down a couple of transceivers that were up for sale. A guy named William Goodson bought them. And Mr Goodson?"

Felicity wheels around, and within three keystrokes, an entire file comes up on the man. FBI, CIA.. NSA.. "Someone shouldn't be playing with restricted communications."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen shrugs, "I didn't, but if I just did what I liked all the time, crime would go wild, supervillains would run roughshod over the city and you'd be stuck watching Hallmark movies instead of enjoying my dazzling company," he says, running a hand over the moustache he's been cultivating lately.

He sits up a bit more as Felicity starts getting down to business, getting a protein bar out of a little stash he keeps on the desk. "Welll, we're hardly innocent in that regards either. Well, you aren't. I'm as pure as the driven snow, of course," he says. "So what's up with Mr. Goodson, other than that he's probably not very good?"

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity gives Oliver a long look, her eyes narrowing slightly, "Uh huh.." is drawn out slowly and distinctly. "There are some really good Hallmark movies out there, I'll have you know. And not just the ones that make me ugly cry.. because no one needs to see that." She puts a hand up, palm facing Ollie, "I don't even want to know what you'd do." She lowers it while lowering her voice, "I have a feeling I already know."

A breath escapes the blonde, and she swings around to the screens again, and waits for him to approach, if he is. "Ouch.. Right. After it's been driven through more than a few times." Blue eyes don't come off the screens, however, and the list of Mr Goodman's accomplishments are listed: blackmail, extortion, money laundering, weapons sales, dealing with antiquities.. everything BUT drugs. "See, I have a problem with restricted communications. I actually have to //find// them before I can tap into them. That means, right now, there are bad guys around and I don't know what they're saying. And when I say 'bad'?" She turns her gaze towards Oliver, "I mean 'bad'."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen gives Felicity a measured look that is perhaps spiced by raised eyebrows of a particularly saucy sort. "I bet you know, too, and you should be ashamed of yourself," he says.

He comes over to the terminal she's at and leans over to one side, looming across her shoulder while munching on his protein bar. "Well, how much can you tell from what you can get to now? If you can't tap their lines from a distance, maybe I can help you tap them up close. Put a bug in the phone, fire a transceiver into the wall, that sort of thing," he says. "That or you can just, like, hack it? That's what you do right? Hacking. Hack it up. Hack-a-roonie," he says, making a meaningless spinning gesture with one finger.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Oliver is regaled with an eyeroll behind thick lenses, and coupled with a smirked sigh, she's ready to elbow him when he gets into closer contact. She doesn't, however. She'll resist the urge. This time.

"What I can tell," Felicity begins, but she pauses and changes tack quickly, "Don't get crumbs in my keyboard, please.. but what I can tell," she starts up again without missing a beat, "Is that he's setting himself up, setting something up. I've got a few of his accounts located, and he's moving some serious money around. At least, what I'd consider serious. You, maybe not. But.." Felicity starts hitting some keys, bringing up CCTV images of the man in a bank, on the docks, coming out of apartment complexes. "What I want is the frequency. I can tap his phones, that's easy. He's not doing anything on them. I think he //knows// that he's safe on that radio. So.." She exhales in another quick sigh, and shakes her head.

"As much as I'd love to, I have a feeling this is going to be one of those 'time to go in' sort of things."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen claps his hands together, "Hey, you, me, an unmarked van, the brisk winter air - match made in heaven, says I. You know where this guy frequents or have anything close to a base of operations for him? Do we even know what items in this auction were, exactly? Or did you already tell me that and I just forgot?" he says.

He does try to keep crumbs out of the keyboard, at least, mostly by scarfing it down quickly and crumpling up the wrapper to dispose in the can under the desk.

"If he's shifting the money that much, he's laundering it for some reason. Can you backtrace the movements to get back to the money source or has he skipped the rock too many times?"

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"You know, I got picked on for borrowing a white panel van. Thea said that it looked like a government van, so... I had some friends spray paint some tags on it before I gave it back." Felicity bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile too much, "It may be a little bit before they'll let me borrow it again. But!" She holds a finger up, "I think I might be able to convince them."

She considers the words, however; cold.. and chuffs a breath. "I.. me.. outside? Again? Oliver, I'm not an outside girl. I thought you knew this about me." Sitting back in her seat, she bobs her head, "I did actually mention it. There were lots of little things. Lots of odds and ends. A crime bible, some docile gas, the transceivers, some guns.."

The displays are reset back to watch the CCTVs in Starling, blinking in blacks/whites/greys as it switches angles and positions. "I can track it, sure. I can even try and locate where it's going. But for what? You have no idea how much it's bugging me that I can't get at that frequency. I'm ready to go in myself and throttle the guy until he tells me." And she's not an outside girl!

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen shakes his head, "I can't believe we can just say 'crime bible' with a straight face," he sighs. "But yeah, lots of shady stuff. Probably should find out who got a little bit of everything," he says.

"Look, I'm just trying to help. You want to get the frequency, I want to help you get the frequency, I just want to get it done so that you can sleep well at night in your big comfy bed full of plushies," he says, taking a sip of a bottle of water as he takes a chair next to her.

"Just track him for a day or two, see if you can find any pattern connecting things. Check it against known criminal organizations and individuals. Maybe he's here to see someone. If I can get something, anything on him, I can always dangle him off a roof and ask for his password."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"No one has ever made a 'crime Torah'," Felicity reminds. "Always picking on the bible.

"As for who got a little bit of everything? I have the entire auction recorded. I just haven't gone through everything, and voice recognition is a bear. I have to basically make my own library because the Alphabet Agencies don't know how to do it yet." Felicity sounds.. annoyed, disappointed. "I really wish they'd keep up. I'm tired of doing everything for them."

That is said with a pretty straight face!

"I want.. don't you pick on my stuffed animals." Them's fightin' words! Felicity watches Oliver as he takes a seat in the chair beside her, and she scowls at him briefly before she looks back at the bank of monitors. "Sure.. will do. In my copious free time. I'll see if I can't write an algorithm to pull key components out. Then, compare them with a non-existant database, thus actually //creating// said database." She smirks as she looks beside her, at Oliver, the smile becoming more amused, "Looks like a night in, then."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen smiles, "Guess I really had better get you a cup of that coffee, then," he says. "I'll stay and keep you company, since you're so intent on me not getting frostbite and going out tonight. Just promise you won't try to explain any of that algorithm stuff to me, just the word alone gives me the willies," he says with a faux shiver.

"And I wouldn't dream of mocking your plushies. Mr. Bearvedere slept in my bed til I was twelve," he grins.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity Smoak says, "Looks like we're going to be keeping each other up. I'm going to need that coffee, because if I fall asleep?" Felicity shakes her head, looking a little self-deprecating. "I drool." How's that for confession? "And I swear," she finishes up, "I won't even ask you to spell it."

Spinning in her chair to face the monitors once more, fingers fly over the keyboards, the monitors changing pictures, each flashing for a half of a second before the next comes up, and the next. Eyes of blue are watching the screens, the readouts, the routes until there's one spot where she's lingering for more than a few seconds. A finger comes up so she can worry at the nail, biting it lightly.

"Oh no... no.. no. Not so fast." Another couple of keystrokes, and Felicity is back to work.

"Wait," and she turns finally, staring at her cave companion. "Mr Bearvedere?"
"

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen brings back the cups of coffee, setting one down beside Felicity, "I figured. You look like a drooler," he says. What that means exactly, he isn't going to elaborate.

He kicks up his feet and scrolls through his phone, letting Felicity do her work and mostly just there for moral support. He is keeping up on the police feed, though, just in case some crook gets antsy in the cold weather and decides to test the limits of their endurance of hypothermia.

"He was adorable and he wore a little tuxedo like a little bear butler," Ollie says nonchalantly.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"I knew I was going to end up regretting that," is murmured even as the coffee is delivered. "Just sooner than I expected." The java, however, honestly looks like it was made the way she likes it, and Felicity gives Oliver a geniune, no strings attached sort of smile. "Thanks for the coffee."

With Oliver seated nearby, his feet up and comfortable, she's more than ready to get back to work in comfortable silence. It feels good, it feels //right// to be back to work like this. It's been missed; they've been missing each other like a couple of ships, and to tell the truth? She's been a little bit lonely in it as well. Things are actually heading back to the way things //should// be.

"A bear butler," is murmured as she goes through a Canadian bank, scrolling through account charts, shifting things to the next screen and the next. "Of course. All of mine? Got 'em in undergrad. The Student Center used to have sales, and I bought the ones I thought were cute." Little teddybears with tutus, little dragon stuffed animals, a chicken, a cow.. a pig.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen sends a text to Thea, just generally checking in on his sister, while flicking through his social media feed. He might find most of the social crap boring, but Oliver Queen had to be present on Instagram and all the other stuff even if he thought most of it was stupid.

"Mom wouldn't let us get a real butler, said we'd get spoiled, so that was the closest I ever got," he says. "I'm sure they're absolutely adorable in a very grown-up and not at all embarrassing way," he teases.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity barks a laugh, and she pauses in her work to actually turn her chair to look at Oliver. "She said you'd be spoiled if you got a butler. But..." she waves a hand as if to encompass all of those things that would mark Oliver, and for a part Thea, as terribly spoiled rich kids. "Okay."

It's a thing, and even Oliver can admit that he was spoiled when he was younger!

Spinning her seat back to face the bank of monitors, she's working once more, her fingers flying over that keyboard. "They're very cute," she insists. "In a very grown-up and not at all embarrassing way." Felicity glances towards Oliver again, and theatrically whispers, "You'll never see them. I'd box them up before that happens." Maybe a little embarrassing, then?

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen narrows his eyes playfully, "Oh, I'll see them. You can't hide them away from me, Felicity Smoak. I'll track them down like criminals," he jokes.

"And yeah, I know, like, I got a Lambo for my sixteenth birthday, Thea probably owned an entire herd of ponies. We were spoiled rotten as it was, but Mom felt like having servants made you start treating people like objects. I don't know if that's entirely true, but I appreciate that she gave a damn enough to try and make us decent people, even if we often didn't live up to her expectations."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"None have tracking on them." Which... actually is a lie. Felicity does have tracking in each and every one of them, from a childhood of her mother giving away her toys while she was at school because 'she didn't play with them enough', read: didn't spend every waking hour with them. And she didn't have many to begin with.

"Well, that was good, at least." Of course, she won't mention the whole 'playboy' thing, and the 'can't go to spring training because of the women'.. nope. Not at all. Still, she glances back and forth from the screens to Oliver, and back, "You turned out okay."