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[END]

Hatman nods his 'head' slightly at the bit about maintaining composure. "You lack credentials, so why Psychologist?"

"Not Therapist, Counselor, nor Psychiatrist." A low hum "Names are fascinating. Did not choose my own, please humor me."

Olfactory organs of all sorts unfold from deep inside his fractal body, breathing deep the scents of Psychologist. Skin oils, shampoo & soaps, clothing detergent, all the little things that may serve to distinguish a person.

Rarely did he get the chance to get close enough for scent tracking to be useful.

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.

"Psychologist, study of cognitive, emotional, and social processes. Intriguing." Mind a blur with theories and implications of Psychologist as a chosen name, and whether or not he should actually explain to this person.

"Investigation is eased by a vertical observation post." He steps a bit closer.

"You are. remarkably composed.." A low hum from his core, as he tries to connect dots.

"Tell me Miss Psychologist. are you admitting patients?"

"No. I do not. But you do evidently." His voice had a strange uncanny resonance to it, originating not from his hat adorned 'head' but more from his center. the closest analogy would be something like an electronic larynx, and the kind of background hum of insects you see in the summer in warmer climates.

To the young thinker-trump, it would be evident that Hatman's power is working to influence him, the strong baseline level of artificially inflated curiosity is being amped up in regard to her presence.

Interestingly, while it is quickly amping up in focus towards her, the power is letting focus on other things slowly dip towards the baseline level. The power clearly actively in-use, the weight of the power's observation of the surroundings is almost a tangible feeling. somewhere between a heavy blanket and direct unbroken eyecontact.

"Speak your name."

Footsteps approaching, at a cautious stride, the motorist from before. Being deprived of intel is so frustrating.

Query is this location significant to the interloper? Hm. Familiar with the location. No personal significant beyond utility. Query is the interloper familiar with self? Interesting. Searching for and attributing significance to myself. but unfamiliar.

He waits for a moment, doing his best to piece together positioning with his assorted senses. letting out one last quick series of clicks for his echolocation to hone in on, limbs tensing, before stepping out from behind the van for a direct confrontation.

"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.

A rising tide of frustrated anxiety ripples through him, hundreds of chitinous appendages clicking as he resorts to his old fallback, nervous jittering to try and bleed off he energy. The clicking, chattering, and hum of legs, mandibles, and small wings is noticeable compared to the silence moments before. "pointless, boring, uninteresting quarry."

All at once his jittering and chittering stops as he feels the frustration dying out. And he is still for a long long moment. Why had he suddenly felt so anxious? dissatisfaction with his current investigation? no. Mr. Foxxe warranted investigating. Had he gotten enough sleep? Impatience? it'd only been a week.. outside factors? weather? illness? interlopers?

Before all at once his body starts shifting under his cloak, unfolding additional sensory organs from within his fractal center, paranoia was a close cousin of curiosity, and he was well acquainted. a few additional limbs wouldn't hurt either.

Tucking his bird watching books into his shawl, wouldn't do to forget those.

Innumerable ears perk-up at the sound of a motorbike, quickly tuning it in favor of observing its current quarry lie to the site foreman, reading lips was useful, as was the aura of deception flaring with what were presumably lies or fudged truths.

Perking up once more as the motorbike draws closer to his position. he throws a couple cursory inquiry at the vehicle. used for transportation, personal enjoyment as a project to work on, excellent condition, not especially interesting.

His quarry had assuaged the foreman and was chatting with some other construction workers. nothing new.

Oh! a Black-Billed Magpie! "Delightful simply delightful" he vocalizes to himself. His voice reverberating strangely. From within the folds and pockets of his massive shawl six arms unfurl with a notebook & sketchbook along with some pens. Using a few arms each to write his observations, and to quickly sketch out the bird.

Parking garages were a marvelous invention, aside from a more generalized appreciation for construction methods (bearing the weight quantity of automobiles without issue is to be applauded, even if it seems mundane to some) Hatman appreciated that they provided cover from the rain and the wind. something encountered far too frequently when observing his quarry.

In this case the wind had been chilling him beyond his comfortable tolerance, and he'd found a good perch overlooking his quarry's workplace, a construction site building the steel beam frame of what would become yet another office building or retail outlet.

He crouched by the concrete Bannister, distance and a bland colored shawl would protect him from being seen from street level,

While an abandoned panel van that had been here long enough to accumulate dust AND four stolen tires provided adequate cover from cars driving past in search of empty spots higher in the garage. actually hm. a glance back and an inquiry with his power confirmed it was missing its catalytic converter also. amusing but expected.

"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."

"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."

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.

APPROVED

"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.

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."

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Hey there.