Alec Hardison [Leverage] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillageek) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
makingthisupasigo2018-07-24 12:53 pm
stillageek) wrote in makingthisupasigo2018-07-24 12:53 pm
And the Inside Job - for Eliot Spencer
One of the many advantages of being the hacker is you don't have to deal with your co-workers all that much. Which can be a literal lifesaver when your co-workers are the deadliest people on the planet.
Hardison is camped out in his server room, pulling up information and data for the various jobs that are coming up for the assassins. And, as usual, looking into the online habits of his co-workers. It's his way to protect himself, digging up dirt on all these guys to keep them at bay. So far it's been working. He hasn't been in Moreau's services for very long and it hasn't been pleasant (no, sir, it has not been pleasant at all) and in the beginning nobody expects him to survive very long.
But then Hardison lives up to his reputation and starts making things happen, digs up information that is thought to be impossible to get, gets a hold of people who are impossible to find, gets into systems they used to work around before because they're impossible to hack. And people take note. If Moreau's personal e-mails can be believed (which of course Hardison totally doesn't read) the boss even wants him to work with Spencer on one of the next jobs. He hasn't met Moreau's favorite yet but what he found out about the guy so far has him nervous in advance.
There's an alert and one of his screens light up, revealing a window with an online poker webpage. There's a second window next to it with code running in the corner. The webpage informs him that beefboy has entered the lobby.
Hardison rolls over in his swiveling chair, grabbing one of the keyboards. "Now what you up to, Brett, my man? You gonna play a little? Spend some of that hard-earned cash? Come on then."
There's just something incredibly satisfying about having these murderjerks lose their blood money on his fake gambling sites. Hardison watches the game unfold for a while, upping Brett's chances here and there, giving him a couple of good runs and waits until the assassin gets greedy. Then he quickly types a line of commands, causing the AI's cards to flip around right before Brett calls. The screen blinks and then the poker site informs that beefboy's winnings have just dropped down to a big fat 0.
There's an enraged howl coming from somewhere in the mansion and Hardison grins, clapping his hands together and giggling. "Ohh yeah, I got you. I got you good! In your face. Where's your beef now, huh? Where's your beef!? At the butchers, that's where it's at!"
While his analyzing programs run some calculations for his actual work he gets up to get himself some food from the kitchen. It's gonna be a long day of pulling data and getting ready for his meeting with Spencer, so he'd probably better grab some snacks while he's still got the chance.
Stepping outside he slows when he passes by a very angry assassin in the hallway. Hardison knows he probably shouldn't be pushing his luck too much but that angry vein that looks like it's about to pop is just too tempting. "Yo, Brett, what's the matter? You having a bad day, my man? Did I hear you scream earlier?"
There's murder in Brett's eyes (but then again when is there not?) and that tower of a man steps up to him. "You looking for a beating there, geek?"
"Yeah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. See, a little birdy told me that you've been using the company's credit card for some little personal shopping. ... The birdy is my computer, by the way. It's, I call it birdy, it's like a..." He trails off when Brett looks at him like he's going to snap his face in two.
"I'm gonna put your head underwater until you beg me to put a knife between your eyes."
Hardison frowns. "Uh, no you won't. Come on, b-boy, you know the drill? The moment something happens to me there's like an e-mail that goes straight to the boss. It's called automatic forwarding. You should look it up."
Brett looms and pushes past him very closely, growling. "You better watch your back, Hardison."
"Oh! Oh! No. What's that? No touching. You know the rules. No, there's no touch, you don't touch me." He holds up his hands, turning in a half-circle while Brett stomps past him and calls after him. "Can't touch this, baby! Yeah, I'm teflon! I'm the teflon man, they call me Mr. T. And the t is for teflon!"
The grin drops off his face once Brett disappears around the corner. God, he is scared to death of these guys.
It doesn't stop him from humming a little tune as he walks into the kitchen, though. Seems empty but there's something simmering on the stove. Hardison randomly sticks his hand inside to grab some of the food, tossing it in his mouth as he walks past it.
Stops.
Walks backwards until he's back at the pot and stares at it because damn. Damn, baby.
He grabs a small bowl from the cabinet, helping himself to some more.
no subject
Hey man, whatever floats your boat. As long as you're happy Moreau is happy which means Hardison lives which means Hardison is very happy.
"Alright then, what's your stich, you more of a low-carb guy, going more the Weight Watchers routine, are we doing some monster mammoth paeleo here?"
no subject
"Definitely more low-carb, but I'm all about continuing to enjoy food, y'know? Smaller portions, less calories, but you can still enjoy the taste of full-fat meat, cheese, butter...you gotta make things that people want to taste and eat. Meals are meant to be enjoyed. Food is fuel, but food is also life. It's life." He's just really, really passionate about food, his eyes take on the same intensity they do when he's beating people up.
no subject
But that's also good and he grabs a little handheld device, typing away. "FiL – Food is life. That's great, that's gonna be it, we can use that. Tell you what, I'mma set up a blog for you where you can share tips and recipes and all that."
no subject
Okay, maybe a lot intense.
"Yes--wait, a blog? Like...seriously, a blog?" This is all a little bit much but then again that sounds kind of great?
no subject
He holds up the tablet to show a preliminary layout of Eliot's new and shiny foodie/health blog.
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"That's so cool, man! You did that all in like five seconds? It looks totally legit, this is great!"
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"Yeah, you like it? I'm gonna generate you some traffic and index it on Google so people find it."
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"Hey man, maybe it'll actually help people? Which would be cool, y'know..." Not like anything he did was actually helping people ever, besides Moreau, but the thought was nice, at least.
no subject
Type type type.
"We could set up a newsletter thingy, too?"
no subject
A beat.
"You mean like stuff that gets emailed to people regularly? Yeah, man, that sounds pretty cool..."
no subject
"Yeah, could be like, monthly recipes or explaining different foods or '10 reasons why self-made smoothies are a better deal', you know, stuff like that."
no subject
"You should put in something there about easy to make meals and recipes, cause everybody should learn to cook, y'know? Easy to make, healthy stuff."
no subject
For some reason there's a picture of Eliiot, grinning into the camera and giving a big thumbs up. Food is life is framing the picture with big, funky letters. The two os in food are a lemon and a kiwi slice.