The search, it was all about the search, always always about the search. Their secrets shone clear as day to him, even on this moonlight night.

Not all secrets are equal, some shine bright, others only flicker, and some are dull & weak. He would not suffice with something petty & dull, not tonight, no no no no no, nothing petty, nothing dull.

Nightclubs. Those always had a good pick of secrets. Those desperate for relaxation and distraction and vice. Tonight he has found his way downtown, a cluster of nightclubs and bars spread across several city blocks. Peering from the darkness, rooftops, alleys, amongst tree branches & power poles, he peers down. searching.

Drug dealers. Cheating spouses. Pickpockets. An Off-duty Cop... dull dull dull dull dull. Infuriatingly so.

Hm.. He peers closer down through a skylight at the lights and sounds below.

A potential conspirator.. Disheveled clothes but only just arrived. Gait implies a nervous energy. Aura of light from his coat indicates object in right coat pocket. Several pounds at least with how fabric is drooping. Searching for someone? Ah a meeting with somebody. DAMNATION. dull dull dull, just another drug dealer.

Stepping away from the skylight, standing to his full height, well over 8ft tall currently. He paces. too many chitinous limbs clicking on the rough roofing material. was there any prior leads he could follow up on instead? think think think think. Claws & Pedipalps clicking with frantic anxiousness.

In such a state of anxious tunnel vision, he abandons his hidden perch, choosing to pace along the edge of the rooftop, hopping to the next roof with a thud, then pacing that one, rinsing and repeating. Pace Pace Pace. Hop. Pace Pace Pace. Hop.

He knows it'd not be too difficult to see him as is, from the street or from above. But he was not overly concerned, concern was for later. concern was for after he was calm & focused. concern was after he found a secret. he needed to burn off some of this energy.

Pacing helped some. cold night air & pacing. he'd search after. always searching. always searching.. but later.

Cruach thrums with energy. Despite her awareness, despite her control, she just can't seem to sit still. A bouncing leg, a tapping finger, a string of insect-like crawling things that die as fast as they're made from the inefficiencies. Nothing helps.

Her costume, stifling but necessary, covers her as she runs. Legs eat distance at a relentless pace, something no normal human could keep up with. She flows across, under, over, or around any obstacle. The flow state helps her focus, helps her work. Joints shift between steps, senses sharpen, parts of her costume that aren't so much costume twitch and move. The restless energy abates, if only a little.

So lost in her own power was she that she didn't notice the other roof hopping individual until she was only a few rooves away. She's quiet, and whatever this thing is, isn't. She approaches, cautious curiosity overriding nervous energy as she watches the limbs move and adjust. As she closes in, she makes a few deliberate slips, a couple missteps causing noise. Surprising an unknown cape or biotinker creation is never a great idea, but that doesn't mean she can't have some fun with it.

All at once his movement ceases. under his shawl hundreds of eyes, feelers, and the more prehensile of auditory organs adjust & pivot. He stays still for a long moment, slowly straightening his 'back' drinking in the bright shine of secrets from the parahuman.

Direct confrontation was alien compared to watching & waiting, of quiet distant observation, but he knew well that capes were far more paranoid than those without abilities. Improvisation, Innovation, yes that could work to supplement his tried and true tactics.

He had some familiarity with his cape name, of what people called him 'Hatman' so odd they latched onto his fondness of headwear, but he'd not given much to work with he supposed.

From a slit in his extends a long long limb like that of a fly, with a wide flat brimmed bolero hat gripped in it, it was rather rumpled, so he took a moment to smooth some creases it'd gained from being crumpled in a coat pocket. Placing it on his head, he turns his 'front' a nebulous thing when your eyes were on all sides, towards the owl masked parahuman. Owls. Fascinating. versatile symbolism. wisdom? perception? perhaps indicating flight or a carnivorous diet?

"Hello." His voice had a strange resonance to it, coming from his center rather than his 'head' almost the closest he'd found to describing it was 'like an electronic larynx made of buzzing chitin' which he thought very uncharacteristically poetic.

Cruach continues her gradual approach, only stopping once they share a rooftop. She's deliberate in her positioning, taking a nonthreatening posture while maintaining enough distance that she should be out of reach, and even if she isn't she'll have enough time to react if the other cape lunges or makes any other aggressive move.

With that many sensory organs trained on a singular focus, it would be apparent to Hatman with a bit of deduction that Cruach departs from the norm of human physiology in a number of rather major ways. Her breathing doesn't follow the normal pattern, her chest doesn't rise and fall, expand and contract, as it should. The usual noises of motion, the shifting of cloth, the creaking of joints, all of it is muted if not totally absent.

Cruach examines him in turn. Something shifts under her hood, a brief motion where usually there wouldn't be any. Behind her mask, her eyes follow the motion of the limb, the hat, the fabric, everything. She listens for what she's familiar with, respiration, heartbeat, motion. She feels, the open environment and distance leaves something to be desired in terms of acuity, but the motions produce currents, eddies in the air. She sees what she needs to, the flash and ripple of the fabric in segments of the EM spectrum most people will never get to experience, the heat of whatever is under the sheet, the invisible patterns of the limb. She tastes the air evens as she feels it, the chemical waste of the city a usual background she can block out in favor of the enigma in front of her.

Her head quirks at the greeting. "Hello." She pauses, evaluating his voice and actions. "Nice hat." Her voice is smooth and even, quiet, but it carries well. There's some sort of accent, faint and strange enough to be relatively unidentifiable. It doesn't seem like she needs to pause for breath.

From Hatman comes neither signs of breathing, nor heartbeat. Motion on the other-hand there is a great deal. Other than the slight breeze tugging against his shawl, there isn't much in the way of outward movement, but underneath chitin against chitin moves in undulating motions, limbs folding, unfolding, refolding constantly, like insectoid clockwork.

His body is warm, the extremities roughly as warm as a human should, but towards the center it gets warmer and warmer from the constant friction of chitin against chitin. His scent is very very faint, with that dry almost fishy smell so distinctive to chitin.

His eyes and his power searches over the cape in front of him. hm. auras indicate concealed equipment. primarily around waist & small of the back. Equipment is not unexpected from parahuman. weapon likely, maybe wound dressing & tools also common.

Analyze deeper connotations later. Large gaps in discussion are considered disconcerting to social people.

They speak up again, their voice coming not from a larynx or throat, but from vibration of his strange fractal center of mass. "Thank you. I am fond of it. The name most use to refer to me is Hatman." Introductions were largely new ground for him. His arm still sticking out from placing his hat, fidgets slightly before hesitantly giving a rather stilted wave.

There's a subtle shift in bearing, in costume positioning and the way things move and hang in the slight breeze. The faint sounds of flesh moving, of wings and legs and other such parts shifting and settling is briefly apparent. A faint smell, of chitin, but also of rot and decay, of old waterlogged wood and overripe fruit, of odd organic compounds, some novel some not, would be apparent for a brief moment before being blown away by the wind. The moment is over quickly, the silence returns, though not quite as all encompassing. With some evaluation, it would be deducible that there's more mass under the costume than previously.

"It brings the look together. Most call me Cruach." She cocks her head slightly, following the motion of the limb closely, though she seems to be paying slightly less rapt attention than before, likely committing the name to memory. "What brings you here tonight?" Her tone is even, hinting at idle curiosity, and her body language stays as consistently unreadable as it has been.

"I believe the term is people watching." His arm shifts pointing down and away, where a couple, a man and a woman, are walking down the sidewalk away from one of the street's bars.

"The man is a recovering alcoholic and a drug dealer, magic mushrooms and cannabis to be specific, rather tame compared to other's I've witnessed tonight, he is carrying himself with confidence for not partaking in drink this evening."

The arms shifts slightly "The Woman is intending to bed the man, and has a weapon in case he turns out to be a creep, a short knife I believe in her purse, she is well acquainted with this area, while he is not fond of the area, perhaps having a poor prior experience in the neighborhood with how he checks corners."

Hatman's tone quickly picks up enthusiasm as he rattles off details, he didn't get the chance to share his observations often. This might actually be the first time upon second thought.

Cruach's gaze follows the motion of the arm, at first tracking it to make sure the motion isn't aggressive, then following the direction until she picks out the couple. She nods along with the observations, focusing in with her own senses to try and verify if there are any clues that corroborate what Hatman is saying.

"You do this a lot." It's not a question in the slightest, she's confident given the detail of the description and the interest shown. "How do you pick up on all of that? I can get some, but nothing close to the detail you have." She sounds impressed, and slightly nervous. There are a few shifting noises from under her costume as she changes posture, the weight shifting oddly. There's a slight rustling which doesn't quite sound like it would come from fabric.

In lieu of words, he nods his confirmation.

Pondering the second question, he pulls his arm back under the shawl, his 'head' tilting slightly as he considers. "I see with more than flesh, difficult to clarify, no words accurately convey sensation."

"I simply know information regarding what I observe. connections. meaning. significance. Is best I can convey."

The head twitches slightly as though refocusing onto Cruach. "And what of you? Cruach; to stack or pile. alternative meanings relating to steel, hills and mountains, haystacks. Owl theme provides interesting implications, potential red herring aside."

"Polite and unobtrusive. Approached myself with no clear ill intent, despite cautious approach and demeanor. Interesting."

She nods in response. "So you're a Thinker." The impression of nervousness increases somewhat, but she doesn't seem to be any more agressive.

She pauses, slumping slightly as though resigned. As she begins speaking, however, her posture straightens. "It's not a red herring, though it certainly isn't direct. Cruach was a name, or a part of one. Associating myself with the whole thing wouldn't have been a great idea, but the secondary meanings and theming fit well enough from a certain angle. The costume, practicality aside, is similar." She shrugs. "I'm a mercenary, it's useful to keep people guessing, to be careful. But sill, if I'm going to be going by a name and wearing an outfit for so much of my life, I'd prefer that it have some actual significance."

"And what of you? Hatman seems like an interesting choice of name, with so much else to work with thematically. I'm sure you can understand my curiosity."

"It is an admittedly pleasant costume, If it pleases you to know, you have my personal approval of your aesthetic choices."

"Hatman is not my chosen name, head-ware is one of few personal accessory options available to me without endangering others." A long scorpion pincer arm rustles out from under the shawl holding a Kentucky Protectorate baseball cap, for emphasis.

"From my usual observation distance a distinctive hat makes my silhouette seem more human, and is subsequently one of the few notable features that can typically be gleaned by those catching partial glimpses of me. Hence the name given to me."

"Hm. Mercenary. Elaborate on that please? I have only observed unpowered hit-men previously, and that is only superficially similar. Would that be more akin to the career of soldier or detective? and do you find it engaging and or stimulating?" His tone takes on a slightly more eager tint, clearly quite interested, his whole mass lowering slightly as he relaxes his limbs.

"Thank you, it took a while to settle on and to make everything work." She looks over his own costume with a slightly more critical eye, even as she takes in his words regarding his own aesthetic choices. "I hope I'm not in significant danger, being here." There's a bit of levity to her tone, and she nods along with his explanation. "Why not pattern the sheet a bit? If you're going to be interacting more with people, I mean."

She pauses slightly, thinking over how best to summarize what a mercenary is. "It's closer to being a detective, at least insofar as what I do generally, though by nature of being a cape and being involved in cape business violence is more likely. On the scale of hero to villain, it's somewhere in the grey area in-between. I could be hired to protect an important shipment for a company, and I could just as easily be hired to scope out a potential gang meeting area." Where there would normally be a pause for breath, there isn't, as she continues through responses to his questions. "There's an element of dynamic problem solving to it that manages to keep it interesting. Some elements are the same throughout, but no job is ever exactly the same as the last. It keeps me engaged, and it lets me use my power."

She seems similarly engaged, though there's a slight tensing of her posture as his form relaxes, it quickly abates. "What would you describe yourself as? In relation to the cape scene, I mean."

Hatman listens enthralled by the mercenary's explanations, he so rarely got to ask questions directly it was very freeing.

"The PRT call it a stranger effect, I prefer cognito-hazard though as its less impersonal, unless you suddenly develop a way to see through clothes you should be perfectly fine. I don't particularly enjoy giving people migraines."

"Difficult Question. This conversation is the single longest direct interaction with a cape I've experienced." He retracts all his limbs into his cloak, and crouch-sits down on the roof.

"Legally classified as a villain, my observation and investigations technically constitute criminal harassment, intimidation and stalking. Potentially espionage. If I had to self-identify.. Investigator or Detective perhaps."

"Have never investigated on behalf of another before. Intrigued by your mention of you being hired to scope out locations. Was intellectually aware of this career option, but never considered viability before." From deep in his chest, a deep hum of consideration echoes, like a faint muffled machine idling.

"I don't make a habit of looking under or through clothes, even if I could. It would be a violation of both privacy and the unwritten rules." There's a hard note of deep seriousness to her tone when she mentions the unwritten rules. "Cognito-hazard? So if I see it I'll get a migraine every time I think about it?"

"Fair enough." She pauses as he continues, clearly caught slightly off guard by his admission. "I wouldn't go around admitting that to just anyone, but there's a lot that can be gained by knowing things depending on where you are or want to be operating in regards to the law. I could point you to some resources to get yourself started, if you're interested?"

Something under her hood shifts in response to the noise. "I'll admit, with all you've said and done, I am curious what's under the sheet. It doesn't sound or smell like anything I've come across before."

"No, migraines are only with direct observation, but its my understanding you would be unable to recall nor describe much in the way of my physical details after the fact. Tragically that does not turn-off, nor does the rest of my non-standard anatomy."

"I am not overly fond of the idea of lying to new acquaintances, even by omission." He inclines his 'head' towards her.

"It is a matter of public record, unfortunate since intentions are non-malicious. I am simply incapable of not using my abilities regularly, like many parahumans, sadly that civilian public and private organizations fail to understand or accommodate that fact."

"I confess that I cannot find words to properly describe my center of mass, but non-euclidean insectoid fractal is about as concise of a description as I can find in english."

"As to your offer, I would indeed be interested. I am intrigued at the prospect of assisting another person with my abilities, and potentially being paid is a pleasant idea, I enjoy feeding the stray felines, and stealing catfood is tiresome."

"That must make things difficult. I'm sure you've noticed mine isn't exactly standard either, though I have the luxury of choice. Maybe if you put yourself out there in the cape scene a bit more you can find someone able to help? It's a risky gamble, but it might help."

She nods along. "I appreciate that, and I make a point of not lying while conducting business. That said, discretion can't be ignored. The way I'm positioned in the cape scene, the more people know about me, the less they have to guess, the worse my jobs go and the more likely I am to be seriously hurt or even killed." There's a twinge of anxiety to her voice, and it would be relatively clear that this is something she's given quite a bit of though to. "That said, you don't have to set yourself up the same way."

"Huh." She pauses, picturing what he's described, before nodding slightly. "That will afford you some leeway, but you'll still be starting from a not-great position. Like anything worthwhile, it'll take time."

She quirks her head. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"It can be troublesome, but has its benefits. Assistive devices potentially useful." The idea of fixing his body had not actually occurred until now, but the idea felt deeply wrong somehow, which is admittedly strange in and of itself, worth further reflection

"I will take your advice into consideration. The words of a professional are appreciated." He nods his 'head' miming his appreciation, and truthfully he felt direct input was genuinely quite appreciated after so long of lonesome extrapolation.

"Time I have in great abundance. Nothing approaching permanent residence. I have few belongings I cannot carry easily."

"I'll keep an eye out." She pauses just long enough for it to be slightly uncomfortable, clearly thinking of how to word what she wants to say. "I'm less averse to that sort of thing than most, I think. If it's not something you want to do, don't." It's clear she's being genuine based on her tone and posture.

"Thank you. Though I would take what I say with a grain of salt, we only just met after all."

"That's something I can help with, if you want. I know a few places that won't ask questions that owe me a favor or two, and I'm stronger than I look." There's another nearly awkward pause. "No strings attached."

"Power suggests a grain of salt may be unnecessary." Head tilting forward slightly in a slightly stilted nod of acknowledgment.

"I will research what you suggest regardless. I trust but shall verify according to best practices."

"Time for research, and consideration will be necessary to reflect on my priorities." "Provide contact details for future correspondence? I will obtain cellular telephone when able." He asks, tone somehow more somber at the prospect of self-reflection.

Jittering slightly as a bird lands on a awning on an adjacent roof, before returning to stillness.

There's a quick huff, likely an aborted laugh. "Right, good. Important decisions take time, I won't rush you."

She nods. One of her hands reaches into a pocket on her belt and withdraws what looks to be a simple but well made business card. It bears her cape name, a phone number, and a handle to an online chat board which is distinctly not PHO. She hands it over. "Use the phone number for emergencies only, otherwise use the chat board, please."

Her head snaps towards the bird as he jitters, before returning to him. There are enough hints in the whole series of motion to tell that she's rather on edge, but is well accustomed to portraying professional calm.

Taking the card with a long spindly limb, that pulls it into the shawl. "Hm. Thank you.. Much to consider."

Hatman stands onto his multitude of legs. "Pleased to have spoken to you Cruach."

"Excuse me for leaving abruptly. I am unaccustomed to conversation, and I must attend to my thoughts with less stimulus." He begins slowly trundling to the far edge of the roof.

"It was a pleasure to meet and speak with you as well."

She nods in understanding, and gives a small wave as he goes. "Take care of yourself, don't be a stranger."

She too turns and begins to walk towards to opposite side of the roof.

[END]