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What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

. . . Yes.

bespectacled grouch-face, angled grouch-face
Eliot Spencer vdistinctive
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75 Godiva Street, Sunday afternoon
Eliot didn't sleep much on a good day (his claim to "90 minutes a night" wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't that much of an exaggeration). The day he found out someone had broken into his team's headquarters and stolen a hard drive full of extremely valuable information was not a good day. He'd already been planning some new security measures on his house, plans which had made him miss out on the fun that had happened on the island yesterday. Hearing about the missing Black Book just meant he had to move up his time table, get his place secured up so he could start working on the headquarters.

He'd worked straight through the night. The tech he'd picked up at the pawn shops on the mainland wasn't the easiest to work with, all bulky and clunky, needing to be hardwired together to be networked, but the supplies from the military surplus store just brought back some fond memories. Laser grids and motion sensors were great and all, but there was no way Eliot would ever be able to set up a system with those that Hardison and Parker couldn't crack. No, his surveillance and traps were going to have to go old school to keep them out.

They were getting suspicious, and they were clever; they'd figure out the necklace eventually. He couldn't let that happen, and if they got too close, he couldn't guarantee anymore that he wouldn't hurt them. Some well-hidden snares and disguised cameras meant he hopefully wouldn't have to.

[ooc: Booby-trapping NFB, please. Open, if anyone wants to trip an old school hunting trap or two.]

Or, you know, someone could test it for him. Without knowing that's what she was doing.

Look, going through the attic *is* normal for Parker, okay?

As Eliot was well aware. The roof access had two new locks on it -- not that that would keep Parker out for long. The thin trip wire just by the door to the rest of the house, attached to a fishing net? That would probably at least be a distraction.

"What is he doing?" Parker muttered aloud, undoing the locks with annoyance, mostly by reflex. "What, we get robbed, and now he thinks someone wants his spatulas?"

Also, she felt the trip wire just in time to somersault away from the fishing net.


Eliot looked up from his book (a collection of short fiction by Jack London) when he heard movement in the attic. He looked over at his newly set up monitors (how about that, Hardison? 0 to six televisions in a single weekend!) and spotted Parker's familiar form in the camera mounted just under the roof access.

She'd cleared the net. He wondered if she'd try for the vents (converted commercial properties unfortunately tended to have pretty large ones) or the stairs next.

The vents, definitely. She hadn't even checked for cameras, because why would he even have those? And when had he gotten so security-crazy, anyway?

Gee, maybe when intel they had to fake their own deaths to acquire went missing. Or, you know, when he started being poisoned by a cursed necklace. One of those two.

Eliot didn't have cameras in the vents -- they were too bulky, impossible to hide in a small space like that. He did, however, have more netting. Stretched about teen feet in from every entrance to the ventilation system. Air could pass through just fine. A squirrel might be able to wriggle through, if it was determined. Parker would probably have to cut through them.

"In the ventilation system?!"

Eliot, you're beginning to make Parker feel unwanted. Also, you were out one net.

Eliot smiled a little when he heard her shout. What? It just showed how well he knew you, Parker.

He listened a little longer, checking the monitors to see if she'd come back out. She was actually cutting through the nets. Damn. Eliot set the book aside and stood, listening for where she might head next. There was an exit over the stairwell, or she could've headed off to the side towards his bedroom.

To the bedroom! Although she was being extra quiet about it now. Because if he was taking a nap, she was going to throw soft things at him to wake him up. From far enough away not to hurt anyone, of course.

Right. Because Eliot totally took naps (when it wasn't a theme of the day on the island). Dammit, he couldn't tell which way she was going. He headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time and skipping easily over the pressure plate rigged to a snare. He paused at the top, listening again.

Val trotted after him, too light to set off the pressure plate. It wasn't like he wanted to accidentally catch his puppy in his new security system.

That was the quiet(ish) sound of a vent cover being removed in the bedroom, Eliot. Parker poked her head out of the shaft and looked around, suspicious, before flipping down to land on the edge of the bed. Hmm. No Eliot.

Maybe she should play the Floor Is Lava all the way downstairs?

It wouldn't be a bad idea -- except that Eliot didn't have that much furniture along the way.

Eliot and Val's heads both snapped towards that vent cover shifting. Eliot narrowed his eyes, set to wait -- until Val let out a happy yip and dashed towards the bedroom to go say hi to one of her three favorite people.

"Wh -- dammit -- Val --" Eliot grabbed for her, but didn't catch her in time. Apparently his puppy training still needed some work.

Ha! Dogs as a security system! Classic! ... And now Parker was on the floor, forgetting about any lava, in order to greet Val.

"Hi! Did you miss me? Did you, hunh? Shhhhh. We're hunting Eliots."

"Yeah," Eliot said, coming into the doorway. "'Cause the way you were bangin' around up there is definitely a hunting strategy."

Parker grimaced at him, and didn't leave off petting Val when she demanded, "Nets? In the vents? Are you trying to catch gremlins, or squirrels?"

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