that was you.

he hears a thump from below. it's soft, barely perceptible, but enough to make him freeze where he is, hidden by the slant of the rooftop.

( 'you should probably go check that out.' )

"i probably should," he agrees, and climbs back down; he has the grace to look mildly sheepish when he realises his mistake, this time actually closing it behind him as he slides back in, though the deed has already been done. the air around him shimmers, mana coalesces into green-blue threads, a thread-thin borealis, around his hands as he approaches the unconscious emerson.

"right, my bad," he tells the ocelot by way of apology, already dragging emerson towards his desk, and propping him up in the chair. it shouldn't be too difficult, considering that these people should scarcely have training blocking out an athenian, and the fact that the incident is still fresh. he closes his eyes, and for a moment, seems to stop breathing.

it is a process that takes longer than he would like, delving into the man's recent memories and impressing upon them a version of his own. nothing suspicious here. perhaps it is fortunate that emerson is preoccupied by the shifting mechanics within his own group; maddox overlays any suspicion of spies with that of cavanagh, of davidson, of aleah; not a particularly difficult task: the sentiments are already there, and he needs only to tug them into place, drawing wool over his eyes. he withdraws as soon as he can ( less is more, he is told ) careful not to make the thoughts seem to unnatural, having drawn upon only existing suspicions.

by the time he looks up, hands falling to his side and emerson manouevered into some semblance of a casual nap ( head propped up by an arm, other hand curled loosely around a pen ), kasimir is already there. maddox looks vaguely guilty. "no worries here, problem solved." a pause. "also, a thing -- his documents are encrypted, but he's hidden the key in those books like the paranoid shit he is."

he tilts his head slightly, genuinely curious. "wait, how did you get here so quickly? i thought you were hiding out in the vents?" maddox isn't quite sure how flexible kasimir is, but what he's imagining far surpasses the human capacity for agility.

that was you.

"oh." right. walking, duh.

( 'not everyone feels the need to crawl along window ledges.' )

he consults the interface once more, the threads unravelling and disappearing on his dismissal as the hologram reappears. "i've got most of it down," maddox informs him, but he's already scrambling to look for the rest of the documents. whatever is left is quickly copied down ( the nagging pain at the back of his head starts to get more annoying ), the files returned to their original place. "right, right, done there."

"should i knock out aleah also?"

maddox stares. looks at the unconscious emerson. looks back at kasimir. looks at the wall, presumably behind which aleah sits. "might as well. it'd blow all our plans if he strolls in and finds everyone else unconscious." he pauses, brushes an errant strand of hair out of his face, and asks before the assassin leaves, "so should i--" he waves his hands, wiggles his fingers around in what one would assume to refer to the process of rearranging memories, "--deal with cavanagh and davidson too? i'll drop by and finish up with aleah -- after you knock him out -- before we leave."

that was you.

climbing out of windows / walking along the sides of the buildings is quickly becoming a trend. he waits for kasimir to disappear around the corner before he climbs out, edging along aided by small bursts of air, until he slips into davidson's office. the threads have reformed around his fingers by the time he stands behind them, reaching out into their minds to begin adjusting the memories.

belatedly, he realises that he will likely regret this, or, no, he does regret it, but circumstance leaves him with no alternative. the headache escalates to a dull throb at his temple by the time he is done with both davidson and cavanagh, but at least when they wake up, they'll have matching headaches.

lesser, actually, for the sake of unobtrusiveness, but maddox takes comfort in the knowledge that they will at least experience some pain. like a mild hangover, perhaps.

( 'hey, idiot, you've forgotten someone.' )

maddox thinks, remembers, mentally screams at himself for his carelessness, and hauls himself back out of the window ( this time remembering to close it behind him ) to look for alessi's office. who knew that locating offices from outside a building, where there is an unsurprising lack of nameplates, would be so difficult.

( 'up one, left two.' )

he slips in through the window, and for a moment simply remains perched there, motionless. but it is not him that knocks the politician out; there is a blur, then the slight thump of him falling unconscious, and maddox gives the ocelot a grateful ( in a generous sense of the word ) nod. a moment later, he is rearranged in some semblance of normality, and maddox begins once more. it is fortunate that neither cavanagh, davidson, nor alessi had actually laid eyes on the two witches -- it is considerably more difficult to twist the reality of seeing someone.

that was you.

he opens his eyes, memory altered to a satisfactory level, just in time to watch the ocelot leap back into the air vents in a single, fluid motion.

"if you could replace the cover," she says, and maddox obliges with a nod, bracing against a shelf and stretching upwards to set the cover back into place. he scarcely hears her move away, but assumes she does nonetheless, lowering himself to the ground and, after a moment, out of the window once more. he shuts it behind him carefully, consciously, and sets off to find aleah's office. 'moosely, help a buddy out.'

there is silence on the other end, then, begrudgingly, after a pointed pause, the directions are given.

the man in question is already unconscious by the time he gets there ( as expected ), with the assassin going through the documents. "find anything interesting?" he spends a second peering over kasimir's shoulder before he sets to work, lines of mana spinning around aleah's head, closing his eyes in concentration. it is an art that requires a delicate touch, and by that definition, far more effort on maddox's part to be something he is not particularly inclined towards.

that was you.

the headache has only gotten worse, and it shows in the oddly taut line of his smile, a change from the easy grins not a few moments before. or perhaps it is because of the information he receives, the papers tangible proof of their dealings. storm-grey eyes darken, almost imperceptibly, and the moment is over. "'busy' is one way to describe it, i suppose," he says, already summoning up the interface to transfer the information over.

he really needs to get his hands on one of those scanning spells -- manual input is a pain. ( he can hear moosely laughing at him. )

for a moment, he looks over at the unconscious aleah; wonders why they haven't just killed him outright ( and, moosely adds, it would be so easy ). alas, there is a job to be done. but one day, perhaps.

"anything else?" the transference takes longer than he would like, but he is determined to get every little detail correct. not only for the sake of having a job well done, but personal ammunition -- he has a feeling that marx himself may be hiding something. he hands the papers back to kasimir and waits expectantly.

that was you.

he takes the liberty of resting his weight against the table, closes his eyes and tries to will the headache away, but to no avail -- it persists, an annoying painful reminder of his unfamiliarity with this particular affinity. taken in a better light, it is a sign for him to step up his training in affinities other than his natural one, but frankly, nothing is more satisfying than successfully dispelling a fireball aimed at your face.

"just these," kasimir tells him, offering more papers. "there is nothing more, i think." maddox's smile, always the type to linger at the corners of his mouth, curves upwards in distinct relief. the papers are scanned, copied over shortly after, and he hands them back to kasimir after he is done.

"honestly, he starts; pauses, reconsiders, "in all sirius-ness," he corrects himself, though there's definite distaste in his expression when he regards aleah, "what a bunch of assholes."

he sweeps a hand across the air in front of him, dismisses the interface, and falls back on a more familiar affinity: the mana swirls back into place, undisturbed, traces of the witches' tampering disappearing should anyone decide to check. maddox turns to his partner, looks to the window, and then to the door in a deliberate consideration of which would be the best exit route. "well, shall we?"

that was you.

"window or door?"

maddox blinks, almost in genuine surprise. "is that even a question?" in half a breath he is at the window, in the next, he is scanning for any potential onlookers and, seeing none, takes a flying leap off the edge. there is no need for the accuracy of edging across the ledges, not when the goal is simply to leave.

for a moment, he is content to fall freely ( spins in midair with the fluidity of one far too used to stunts like this and gives kasimir a thumbs up ). one would wonder why this level of grace is seldom shown in literally every other activity -- perhaps it is a special ability unlocked only when tossing oneself out of a window.

with practised ease, he catches himself with the air -- not as comfortable nor as smooth as a cushion, but a fairly abrupt halt. for a moment he hovers above the ground, then he frees the element from his control and lands neatly. he readjusts his suit, straightens the tie, gives up completely on the mess he's made of his hair, and waits for kasimir to catch up ( it's not a long wait ).

"right-o. where did he say he'd meet us, again?"