Kabal shoves one of the tablets at Carlisle, who nearly drops it halfway out of his fear of technology, and halfway because he's not sure he wants it at all, whatever it is. He watches as his masked companion fiddles with the device, which seems to be asking for his network ID.
"I'm fairly certain it is not possible to truly own something so intangible," Carlisle mutters, Kabal's meaning lost somewhere to his own, pedantic nature.
Given Carlisle can hardly remember his credentials his own communicator, he decides to tuck the one he was handed (tossed, rather) into his bag for now, figuring he can choose whether or not he actually wants the black, technological slab later. Looking up the information would require finding it written in his journal, and he's uncertain if Kabal would take that as an invitation to steal his precious notes, or use them against him, or hold his book as collateral for his continued service -- something like that. There has been nothing in the man's moral choices thus far to suggest he would do otherwise.
The other device looks less ominous, despite its obvious buttons and mechanical bits -- something about being able to tell it is a machine sits better with him than the black slab, which had hidden its nature until activated. With a tentative grasp as though it may bite him, he reaches around Kabal and carefully picks up one, giving it a surveying glance. The masked man doesn't seem to know what it is, and Carlisle himself has no clue, but maybe he can ask someone else. Peter, perhaps. Or Qubit, the technomancer. He would know, assuming he does not immediately accuse him of theft.
no subject
"I'm fairly certain it is not possible to truly own something so intangible," Carlisle mutters, Kabal's meaning lost somewhere to his own, pedantic nature.
Given Carlisle can hardly remember his credentials his own communicator, he decides to tuck the one he was handed (tossed, rather) into his bag for now, figuring he can choose whether or not he actually wants the black, technological slab later. Looking up the information would require finding it written in his journal, and he's uncertain if Kabal would take that as an invitation to steal his precious notes, or use them against him, or hold his book as collateral for his continued service -- something like that. There has been nothing in the man's moral choices thus far to suggest he would do otherwise.
The other device looks less ominous, despite its obvious buttons and mechanical bits -- something about being able to tell it is a machine sits better with him than the black slab, which had hidden its nature until activated. With a tentative grasp as though it may bite him, he reaches around Kabal and carefully picks up one, giving it a surveying glance. The masked man doesn't seem to know what it is, and Carlisle himself has no clue, but maybe he can ask someone else. Peter, perhaps. Or Qubit, the technomancer. He would know, assuming he does not immediately accuse him of theft.