Logs:Crime Lore

Crime Lore
Dramatis Personae Roscoe, Skye	2024-01-20 There's all kinds of ways to hide, right?
Location <XAV> Conservatory - Xs First Floor
Tall panes of glass and a many-gabled glass ceiling protect this large indoor garden from the elements, while welcoming in sunlight to keep it warm year-round. Adjoined to the southern face of the venerable mansion and surrounded by more conventional gardens beyond, the conservatory is all Old World elegance from the outside. Within, however, it is lush and green and in certain corners--whether despite its careful tending by the groundskeeper or because of it--seems practically wild. Footpaths and a burbling artificial steam wind through the space, connecting its disparate parts. Benches are scattered throughout, thorough soft grasses or mosses under certain trees also invite rest. The outside wall is lined with tropical and subtropical plants. The ferns and cycads and epiphytes are kept moist by artfully hidden misters that also give the place a sort of magical ambiance, dense foliage wreathed at times with drifting patches of mist. Nearest the building is a desert in miniature, with a few impressively sized cacti as well as palo verde and other trees adapted to arid climes. Between these, and by far the largest section, is dedicated temperate zone plantlife from around the world, the beds growing more carefully manicured and the pads less winding as one approaches the center, where a clearing with a small ring of seats is a popular spot for some teachers to hold court. One does not simply walk into Xavier’s. Unless one is faculty, staff, student, family, alumni, X-Men, or...something. Skye is “or something”, probably, since she’s been a somewhat frequent face around here and fits none of the other categories. Today she’s under the banyan tree carefully partitioned into one corner of the conservatory, sitting cross-legged on some of its prop roots either accidentally forming or intentionally trained into a surprisingly comfortable bench. She’s wearing retro wide-legged blue jeans and a black hoodie with bright green circuitry markings. The laptop she’s working on is large enough to actually balance comfortably on her legs like that, and is almost completely covered in stickers with topics ranging from anarchy to obscure bands to video games to subtle hacking references to extremely obvious hacking references (one reads, simply, “im a hacker lol”). There’s a large black messenger bag leaning against the roots at her feet, maybe surprisingly devoid of patches except the factory standard one that identifies it as a “Bag of Holding”. Did Skye come here to be alone while she works? Too bad -- a teenager is tromping into this clearing, dressed casually in a hoodie and side-stripe joggers and a black beanie, holding a peeled clementine in one hand that he's been eating one section at a time. He pulls up to a stop opposite Skye, eyebrows quirking upward as he chews on his latest bit of orange. He points to the back of her laptop -- "Are you actually a hacker?" he says. "Or do you just do, like, nerd competitions." Skye looks less annoyed at being accosted by Random Teenager than certain other "or somethings" who have been hanging out at the school. Maybe she's internalized the fact that it is a school. For youngsters. Gifted ones. She doesn't immediately stop typing when she looks up. "Yes," she says matter-of-factly. "You got something against hacking? Or nerd competitions? Or..." She leans forward conspiratorially and lowers her voice not nearly enough for actual discretion. "...hacking at nerd competitions?" Roscoe shrugs, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, shifting the remaining half of his clementine between his hands. "No," he says. "I mean, it's whatever. I just feel like if I was a real hacker, I wouldn't, like, advertise it. Or --" he's talking himself out of this now -- "I guess maybe doing nerd competitions would throw people off the scent? Like hiding in plain sight. But --" just as swiftly, he talks himself back to, "wouldn't it be easier to hide, like, not in plain sight?" "Sure." What part of all that was Skye answering? Unclear. "There's all kinds of ways to hide, right? Not all hackers hide their identities. Not all the ones who do have 'anything to hide'." She puts scare quotes around the last part. "Security culture isn't all or nothing, and like. Literally just existing on social media is a way bigger security risk than running around loudly introducing yourself as a hacker to everyone you meet." Roscoe rolls his ankles sideways onto the edges of his shoes, his mouth pulling into a sudden, toothy grin; almost as suddenly, it is wiped away. "Sure," he echoes, "you can get away with a lot if you act like you have nothing to hide, I just..." His eyebrows pinch down over his eyes, but he still looks, if anything, amused-neutral. "I don't like social media either," he says, then tacks immediately and drastically -- "Is it hard? Hacking?" Skye's smile doesn't go away nearly as fast. She leans back, bracing her hands on the root(trunk?)(branch?!) bench. "I guess it depends on what you're hacking. And what you consider hard. Nerd competition stuff can be pretty hard. Like, that's supposed to be a challenge. But when it comes down to it, it's just like most other things people do." Her shrug looks tight because her hands are still braced. "If you have the right skills and the right tools, it gets a lot less hard." She sits up again. "You trying to learn how to hack?" "No," comes out half word, half disparaging snort, like this is a ridiculous thing to accuse him of. This would be a lot more convincing if Roscoe didn't explain, a moment later, all in a rush, "I don't have my own computer, and the ones the school has are all -- you know, they're school property, can't the school see everything I do anyway?" "Oh yeah, the school can definitely see everything you do." Skye doesn't sound either sympathetic or alarmed about this. "Well, no. The sysadmin can, but I don't think he gives a lot of fucks what you get up to as long as it's not dangerous for yourself or the school. I think you have to put X-spyware on your own devices, anyway." Her shrug this time is tight for no apparent posture reason. "But, if you want your own non-X-computer, I could sign you up for a free one..." She grins wide. "...from some nerd competition-type hackers." Roscoe's eyebrows scrunch inward for a moment, then smooth out again. "Oh, right, the panic button. I always forget about that." He rolls his ankles to stand flat on his feet again, tilting his head. "Really? That would be cool. What would be dangerous? Hypothetically." "Hypothetically?" Skye drums her fingers lightly on her rainbow backlit keyboard. That, or she's typing something really weird. Rhythmically. "I dunno. Posting about your wild adventures at Hogwarts, Except for Mutants? Hacking the NSA? Probably any kind of cybersecurity shenanigans that's going to draw the feds' attention. So like your lucrative scam email operation is gonna have to wait until you graduate." She squints up at the glass ceiling as if looking for more Dangerous Electronic Activities up there. "But if you wanna pirate movies or whatever, I don't think the sysadmin will rat you out. Do kids still do that?" "People still do email scams?" This is not really an answer -- Roscoe tilts his head to the other side, his blandly amused expression twisting quizzically. His eyes dart down to her computer and then flick from side to side; he pops another segment of orange in his mouth and chews it contemplatively. "I'm not gonna do anything illegal," he says finally, in a super reassuring tone -- he grins wide again, his cheeks dimpling. "I was just curious." Skye actually laughs out loud. No comment on the email scams, though. Her fingers start tapping again, in different rhythm that still does not sound like actual typing. "Dude," she says, shaking her head. "I know you live at a school so every adult seems like a cop, but I also do not give a lot of fucks if you do something illegal. I do so many crimes, but." She taps her head. "Be smart about it, you know? Get the right tool and skills, know the risks, know who's got your back." Roscoe's nose wrinkles rabbitlike over his smile. "This place has the least cops per capita I've lived with in years. But okay, I'll keep it in mind. Thanks." This is with quite a bit of effort to make his tone breezy and casual, which just brings it back around to sarcastic. "I think," is more sincere, "I got a good bead already on who's got my back."