Owner	Pose
Crazy Jane	It's never particularly well-lit in the library, but that just adds to the cozy atmosphere. It's not that they couldn't install bright LED lighting, it's just that it would clash with the decor. The dark leather of so many old books and the leather-covered sofas, the mahogany woodwork and general antique vibe just demands a warmer and dimmer sort of lighting. Even the tall windows seem not to let in all that much light, as if the sun itself feels the atmosphere of the room and tries to respect it.     Even at times like now, where it's day outside, there are always shadows here, and it's from the shadowed ceiling that a thread of strong yarn with a hook on the end is slowly lowered by unseen hands. Slowly and carefully the line of yarn is swung until the hook catches on the metal clasp where the two halves of the wooden globe meet. It is given a testing tug, and then a faint voice in the rafters whispers "heave!" to its companions. Slowly the top of the globe rises until it reaches the tipping point and the voice calls "Hold!" It remains frozen there for a few moments before the wielders of the yarn start to pay it back out very cautiously, allowing the lid to drop backwards very gently and noiselessly. Once it has settled into place the room goes still for a whole minute.     Then, with a sudden sound of scampering, a half-dozen mice wearing tiny black bandit masks and red capes scurries out from the corners of the room and runs up the sides of the globe. They start wrestling with an expensive bottle of single malt scotch whiskey, trying to lever it out of the storage space within the globe. The mice are well regimented, but the bottle is significantly larger than they are and it's quite a struggle.     The efforts to remove the bottle is interrupted by a footsteps coming down the staircase outside at speed, and a human voice. "Okay, who the FUCK has been messing with my stuff? Rita? Cliff?"     The mice freeze. With a sudden scurrying of motion they dart away in every direction for the safety of the skirting boards. The door swings open, and Jane steps in, looking furious. "Larry? Casey? Chief? Where the FUCK is everyone?"
Cliff Steele	Wandering out of the kitchen with one finger curled to hold the plastic ring of a six-pack (half of whose cans are still locked in the remaining rings), Cliff tilts his head to one side. "Jeez, inside voice much? Besides, why would I even WANT to take your stuff? Why not ask one of your nine hundred special roommates?" He pauses, removing another can of beer before slowly working the pop-top to snap it open. "Ahhh," he says softly. "Always did love that sound. Of course, if I could actually, you know, taste or smell it ... then we'd be getting somewhere." He sets the full can on a nearby shelf, oblivious to the mouse hugging the wall inches away. "What did you even lose, anyway?" Cliff asks with an upward nod of his chin toward Jane. "Certainly not that rosy demeanor we all know and love so well."
Larry Trainor	Larry likes the libary- it is one of the few places here where he feels at home- outside of his own room. He is often found there, when he isn't hiding in said aforementioned quarters, or in those few spots in the house that are the perfect Venn Diagram that encompasses the negative space of everybody's usual routes. It isn't that Larry is anti-social. It's just that he doesn't like to be in the vicinity of shouting when he doesn't have to- and every route that intersects Jane often ends up with her shouting. And she also tends to be the cause of shouting in others. This time, though, he's not in the library- he already was there earlier today for the purpose of retrieving the book he has been trying to read in a quiet nook. It's really a rather interesting book titled 'The Silent Gondoliers', and he had actually been about to chuckle quietly to himself while reading, something that SELDOM happens. It doesn't happen now, either. He sighs and emerges from said nook, bookmark carefully placed between the pages (only supervillains dog-ear the page.) The book is placed carefully on a little table by one of the couches as he approaches the duo. Cliff has already covered the snark, so it falls to him to cover the deadpan stare. That's something he can easily do, consisting of the blank stare of goggles and a completely inexpressive bandage-covered face. And the sigh. You have to give it to him, he has a sigh that is more eloquent in exasperation than most people's tirades. It follows seamlessly into a: "-Yes?" He knows monosyllabic responses tend to annoy Jane. This is what is known as Poking The Bear.
Crazy Jane	Jane stares furiously at the pair of them for a few very long seconds before giving a sigh considerably more melodramatic and thus equally less eloquent than Larry's. "One of my sketchbooks has gone. And a couple of tubes of paint. Cobalt blue and rose madder, do you have any idea how fucking /expensive/ those are? I had them this morning, now they're gone. Also some of... of my clothes."     Even Jane has enough self-awareness to realize that the likelihood of anyone stealing her clothes is low. It's unlikely she has anything that would fit Cliff or Larry, Rita wouldn't be seen dead in anything that belonged to Jane, and Casey isn't at the manor today. "Look, I'm not accusing either of you fuck-knuckles of stealing my stuff. But /someone/ has been."     The now-open globe and the uncovered treasures within are now too much in view of the three to be a sensible target for mice bandits. However one brave mouse scales the leg of the side table, creeps stealthily over to the copy of The Silent Gondoliers Larry had left in his nook, and starts shoving it cautiously towards the edge of the table. Meanwhile three more mice come scurrying along the edges of the bookshelf to intercept Cliff's temporarily abandoned can of beer.
Cliff Steele	"See?" Cliff asks, gesturing with one hand toward Larry and causing the few beer cans still in the six-pack rings to burble and clonk against one another as a result. "Even he wonders what the ever-living fuck you're on about! And Cliff, man, way to unload both barrels there. Really showed her! Who needs to get any madder when you're already this upset, Jane?" Cliff pulls another can free and offers it to Larry, speaking in as quite an aside as he can--which is still pretty loud, thanks to the limitations of his voice synthesizer. "Here you go--for your troubles. Maybe you or the spirit wanna get a little buzz on." Unfortunately, Cliff doesn't even notice two /more/ bandit mice climbing his back like intrepid mountaineers, complete with tiny daggers held in their tiny mouths and similarly tiny grappling hooks secured on the rear of his jacket's collar. "Think maybe the Chief's decided to update his fashion sense? For all we know, he's the one rocking whatever's missing. That or, you know, maybe he's getting the laundry done?"
Larry Trainor	A deadpan stare at Cliff - because it would be a shame to let a good stare go to waste - and Larry is already pivoting back to Jane, missing the little Mount Cliff expedition party, the offered beer getting the cold shoulder. "Look," he says, his hands up in what he clearly hopes is a calming gesture, against all hope, "Cliff is right, maybe the Chief's getting... the... laundry done." He pauses and contemplates this. "Maybe Rita? I can't imagine anyone wanting to take your... clothes. Your fashion sense is pretty... unique. You probably misplaced your clothes." "With your paints. And Sketchbook." And this is where his argument snaps under its own weight. "Cliff did bring up a good point, though. Maybe one of... you used it and forgot about it? Maybe the Daughter?" Forming a theory now- "She could have used the sketchbook. The paints to paint and... the clothes to-" what? "... clean the brushes?" He reaches over for his book now, eyes still on Jane.
Crazy Jane	"Chief broke into my room and took some of my clothes to put into the laundry?" Jane asks incredulously. "That's what you're going with, Cliff? That seems likely to you?" She tilts her head sharply to one side. "And what, he thought a couple of tubes of oil paint would be a good thing to add to the wash? I mean we all know he went temporarily insane when he designed /your/ rusty ass, but he got better. Ish."     She glares at Cliff for a few moments, turning to face Larry and grace him with the same glare just a fraction of a moment before the knife-wielding mice make it to the top of Mount Cliff and crest his shoulders. "You think I wouldn't /ask/?" she asks Larry, as he gropes vainly for the book that is no longer there. "You think it didn't occur to me to ask the rest if they'd seen the stuff that had gone missing? Do you have any idea how fucking often I'd be coming down here saying things had gone missing if I did it every time one of the others had moved something? Because it would be a lot. Nobody knows where the stuff is, because someone has been fucking with my stuff, and whoever it was, it wasn't me."     As a quartet of mice stealthily stalk Jane from behind, trailing cords they intend to tie to the laces of her Converse boots, she throws her hands in the air with exasperation. "How is this not fucking getting /through/ to you guys? Someone has been messing with my stuff. If it's not any of you guys, and I agree that none of you have enough damn taste for that to be likely, that means that someone else has broken into the Manor. Hello?"
Cliff Steele	"This is the rare occasion I should be happy I can't smell anything," Cliff adds with a shrug, his arms dropping to his sides. "For all I know, this place absolutely reeks! Fuck, maybe any old nasty clothes just got burned up or something. We're spitballing ideas here--like a team should! Aren't all ideas initially welcome or something?" Then, one of the bandits climbing his back makes it up to the jacket collar--and then scrambles around onto his face. "OH SHIT!" Cliff exclaims, flailing. "Watch out for the giant rat!" He starts swinging and kicking as wildly as he can, which makes his robotic form wobble off-balance. "Shit shit fuck shit fuck shit shit shit fuck!" He careens shoulder-first perilously close toward the wooden globe.
Larry Trainor	"C'mon, Cliff, do you really think Rita would let this place stink? She may tolerate some things but that's certainly not-" Void grope. "-let's be a little reasonable here, do you really think someone could break into the mansion and be completely unno-" He glares (not that anyone would notice) and looks down at the empty space his fingers are trying to convince him should have a book. "Oh, very funny, Jane. Did you do something with-" That's when Cliff starts the motorboat profanity express. He glances up quicky, realizing that his team might actually be in trouble. And what does he get in exchange for his team spirit? A face-full of rodent, as one of the climbers had been hanging on for dear life to Cliff's arm but, unfortunately, couldn't hang on any longer. It hits Larry's face with a loud 'squeak' (Larry will forever deny that he was the actual cause of the squeak), and then the next sound that is heard is Larry Trainor hitting the floor as he careens back, hands coming up to try and pry the rodent clinging to the bandages around his head. "MOTHERFU-" Thud.
Crazy Jane	"The only thing that reeks around here is that fucking jacket of yours Cliff," Jane counters. "I'm sure Rita would do something about that if she could, but it's probably like /welded on/ by now. "     She turns to face him just as the flailing starts, and stares open-mouthed at the scene. Cliff flailing, Larry getting a face-full of mouse. Jane shakes her head slowly.     "Stop struggling, tin man!" a squeaky voice on his shoulder tells Cliff. "Stand still or I'll cut you! Do everything we say and you might just get to walk away from this in one piece, capisce?"     With a dramatic flourish of his red cape, the largest of the mice leaps up on a table and gives a sweeping bow. "Ladies and gentlemen! You are now our prisoners. I recommend you refrain from making any sudden moves! If I may introduce myself, I am the dread mouse-bandit Lord Caspian, and these are my men! You will be unharmed if you do not resist, but cross me and you shall die! I am not a cruel mouse..." from around the room this comment is accompanied by a chorus of rodenty snickering. "USUALLY! But be in no doubt I will be leaving this mansion with all the booty I desire, and any who stand in my way shall be dealt with most severely."     "What the actual fuuuuuck?" Jane asks.     "Now then, if you will all remain calm and empty your pockets of all valuables... "Caspian continues.     "No. Fuck off," Jane says. "You're fucking mice. She raises a fist, takes two steps towards Caspian and crashes to the floor thanks to her shoelaces being tied to the legs of a sofa.
Cliff Steele	Cliff strains, back against the globe, to put distance between himself and the mouse latched onto his face. He's unsuccessful. After a moment, finally realizing that the rodent isn't oversized but just incredibly close to him, Cliff wraps one metal hand around it and flings it across the library. "Fuck you, Mickey!" he cries. As Lord Caspian offers their demands, Cliff glances back and forth to Larry and Jane. "What the SHIT is going on here?" he asks, pushing himself slowly back to his feet. "Did anybody piss off the world's most sadistic exterminators? We're not going along with this, right?" Cliff tries to grasp at the mouse squeaking at him from his shoulder. He's too slow, however, and the mouse that would have become applesauce uses its cape as a means of gliding down to safety like a basejumper.
Larry Trainor	"I - *what*? No!" Larry sits up, the rodent scurrying about his face. The little buggers have tiny little claws that would otherwise be very uncomfortable, little needles that would poke through most regular bandages. Fortunately, for the sake of everybody's safety, Larry's bandages are made of sterner stuff and therefore do not suffer any significant punctures. "Get OFF me you little sh-" Unlike Cliff, Larry isn't one to indiscriminately attempt to squash a creature- especially if it's intelligent. It could be argued that anyone trying to steal from the Doom Patrol is not showing a great deal of intelligence, but that is drawing too fine a line, and Larry isn't in any mood to argue fine points when one such rodent is crawling about his face. His fingers finally find what they had been looking for- the book, which had been abandoned mid-heist on the floor. It describes a graceful ark as his hand heads towards his head to try and knock the creature silly. Unfortunately, the bandit is faster than Larry, and all he ends up doing is smack himself in the face as the creature jumps off him. "SHIT!"