Behind closed doors

Got mail

Chapter 1:
Please note if you have read this before it has undergone multiple changes as of 13/7/23
This fic was first released 14/1/23

A bead of sweat rolls down the brow of a ninja. The air is thick with humidity, holding in the air unpleasantly. A remote furthers between his fingers, staring at the aircon as a green button is held. The response is slow, but it's a relief non the less.

The crackling of said vents fills his ears, followed by the all too patient gusting of cold, sanctioned breeze to rid the man of his lacked appreciation. A sigh rolls from his parted lips, relishing in the colder oxygen more favourable to his lungs.

This moment of serenity is not held on to long, as something shakes the coffee table, jingling like the hunk of data had a mind of its own. Shadowsan does not look up, but a groan displaying his irritation surfaces.

A less pleasant sigh fills the cold, wistful air as he gently sits up, leaning forward to the phone of his he's placed so far.

He has half a mind to read the CALLER ID. It would be Player checking in or Carmen reporting she would be home late...

Or Player reporting Carmen would be home late.

For all her talk of team building and equality, the thief appeared to have more solo whims than he would prefer. Whether she was scaling a museum or clothes shopping, she was free, and safe within her abilities.

...and that's all that matters.

His eyes snap to his phone at the last minute, realising his mistake as another green button is briefly held... but it's enough.

"Hello?" The voice is grainy, reasonably so with the context of a phone call. But the ask he hears was more of a demand, unwelcoming but exactly what he'd expect from the text now shuttering him in the face with failure.

ACME
Failure to Answer is a Felony Offence.

A solution catches his eye, sound erasing material cased in a simple sliver tube. It was something short of a dog's favourite chew toy... but only by appearance.

Shadowsan fires up a red laptop in the same second he's trapped his phone in said humbly named 'Mute Box'.

"Sha-,"

The kid is immediately shooshed with a silencing finger. As expected, the hacker in question is offended; at least until his eyes lock to a familiar silencing tube and a nod traps him in understanding.

Unfortunately for them, before he may remove said phone from captivity the cap already unscrewed, a pair of Boston locals waltz loudly into the kitchen.

"Oooo!" One of them— Zack, reels happily at the dispense of colder air. The boy's arms stretch high above his head, the crack unheard from such a distance.

Ivy's just as much, both parties holding a book or a video game for their respective whims. Shadowsan is quick to hiss at them, demanding the return of tranquility.

They too (stubbornly) do not take too kindly to being interrupted, "What is-,"

The mute box is made clear— if his wild gesturing was any indication "...your problem?"

They approach, leaning on either side of the Japanese man while their stomach's lurch from the other side of the couch. Ivy slinks herself onto the wide armrest as the phone is once more held to the light.