Work Text:
{Enter IAGO}
IAGO:
In this age stories begin only when
someone does utter aloud 'Once upon
a time.' But my own tale is not to be
Fetter'd by Father Time, covers all ages
to span eons through eternity.
Alec knew he should be concentrating on running his lines, because those suckers were difficult with all the 'thees' and 'thous,' but all he could think about were the tights. They were just so clingy. His legs felt like they were there for the world to see, not to mention the way his junk was clearly outlined. He hadn't felt that way since he was a kid.
I came from nowhere, no one and no when.
A spirit seeking his sustenance: vengeance.
The first, and last, time he had worn tights had been when he was 10 years old. Nana had made him a Superman costume. Not just one of those pre-made t-shirts either, which was some of the first proof Alec had that she was good people. The bottom half hadn't been made of shiny spandex, though. No, they were blue tights Nana had found in the girls' section, some left over stock that had probably been sitting on shelf since the 80s. Over them were a pair of red biker shorts, too long on his skinny legs.
Alec had smiled when he tried it on, ran circles around the house, red cape floating out behind him. Of course, once he got to school, his fondness for the costume had faded. The jokes about ballet lessons were not funny the first time, much less the tenth.
A picture had made it into the elementary school newsletter. One of the first things Hardison hacked when he was older was the school newsletter database. He hooked up an alert just in case anyone tried to archive it.
For dis-content was my only name til he,
The Bard, did name me.
'Mal, are you with me?'
Iago's voice cut through his internal monologue. Shit, he was being as moody as Anakin. Alec picked at the tights again, felt the snap of the fabric against his skin. Right, he had been running lines with Iago - a nice enough guy, even if he was pretentious enough to only want to be referred to by his character name. In fact, Alec wasn't sure he knew his real name.
The chaos of the room filtered back in. Alec shook his head. He had to stay focused. He didn't have back-up.
The crew was wandering around in all black while the costume designer glared at him even as he fit Sarah into her dress. Alec's dislike for the outfit must be apparent. He glared back, trying to convey his disdain.
Alec Hardison was an hacker, and a damn good one. So how the hell had he ended up here in tights?
I came forth, called here by Alec's pure ire,
and saw the chance for some amusement there.
To play myself, to seem what I do be.
Hardison twisted the cap, felt as much as heard the snap of the seal breaking on the on the orange soda bottle. It was echoed in a second by Inara's theme ringing out on one of his secondary systems.
Someone somewhere on the internet had mentioned Sophie, or one of the many aliases Alec had managed to tag. He wandered back over to the desk to see what his alert had pulled up.
He let the music carry on for a minute. Sometimes he felt guilty about the choice of song, seeing as Sophie was not a prostitute (Alec had opinions on the role of companions) but really, the analogy worked.
He scanned over the contents of the alert, a play review from the looks of it. The North Playhouse in Wisconsin. The critic apparently thought he was funny.
Ms. Ming was atrocious as the older theatre dame. Her performance brought to mind the legendary Sophie Devereaux, an actress so horrible Wisconsin's North Playhouse prememptively banner her from auditioning, a policy that many theaters before and since wish they had employed.
Now that was just cruel. People like that deserved a bit of payback, not even letting Sophie audition. Alec shifted forward and poised his fingers over the keys. Time to give them hell.
I drew the hacker here by me, to see
what I wrought. I did stymie his first plan.
"Walk with me."
"What?" Alec looked up at Iago. His face was currently framed by the trailing feather in his cap, but he managed to pull it off. "Wait, was that a line? Because I don't think you are supposed to say that there."
Iago laughed. "No, I was asking if you would like to get out of here. No offense, I know you have a 'process'," he stretched the word out almost to the point of incomprehension, "but you don't seem to be able to concentrate here."
Alec thought it over. It might not be dialogue, but it sure sounded like a line to him. He looked over at Iago, whose legs were also covered in only a thin stretchy fabric. Worked for him. (Also, Alec was willing to do just about anything right now that involved the removal of tights from his body.)
He got up and winced at the squeaky sound of his legs rubbing together. He heard a wolf whistle and turned around. Sarah, still being ministered to by the costume designers, grinned and gave him a thumbs up. "Looking good, Mal."
That alias was proving too apt - Captain Tightpants indeed.
He followed after Iago, weaving through the rows of scenery stacked up backstage until they reached the administration area. Iago pulled out a key ring, opening a semi-hidden door in the back wall and ushering Alec in.
Iago flipped the light on. Maybe this actually was just more rehearsal. Now that he wasn't focused on a possible hookup, he took in his surroundings. There were filing cabinets looming over the desk, and the nameplate on the desk reading 'Financial Director.'
There was a PC sitting on the desk. Score. Maybe he wouldn't need to memorize those lines after all. He had finally reached where he wanted to go.
I watch'd him act, on stage and off, to see
when best the time would be to give
up my plot, to reveal myself, Iago.
Alec knew he was good. So there was no reason why all the subtle changes he had made to the finances of that podunk theater should have been caught and reverted so quickly. He could hack things harder than this before breakfast, hell, while eating breakfast. So what the heck was going on?
He got to work looking through the code, hacking the theater's network, then their ISP - any place he could think of. He searched for loopholes, for security systems. How had they done it? It was like the changes Alec had made never occurred.
He spent hours on it. It had taken him less time to hack RTD's email and find out who would be the eleventh Doctor fate. He looked at the portrait of Nate staring down at him from the wall and thought for a moment.
"Guess it's time to try some alternate methods."
At first Alec had tried the construction ruse. He had even gone so far as to bring his coveralls with him. That plan was foiled by the fact that the theater was out in the middle of a field. A field! Alec thought that this was beyond the call of duty. There was no way he could 'accidentally' wander into the wrong building. He shook his head. Google Earth had failed him.
He began scouting the area, very surreptitiously if he dared say so himself. He was the subtlest black man to ever sneak around in a field in Wisconsin. But then he saw the flyer and got a better idea. Time to work from the inside.
The resume wasn't too hard to fake. He still had copies of Sophie's old resumes from which he spliced and diced his new history. These theater people wouldn't know what hit them. He even came up with an amazing accent.
Of course, the accent only lasted about 5 minutes into the audition. The portly gentleman in the front waved him to stop him mid-word. "You know, while we are doing the traditional setting for this production, we are not requiring accents."
Alec was about to inform them to let that he, Mal Washburne was truly British, no need for feigned accents, when the man continued. "So just please stop that. Whatever that is."
Alec glared and made sure to note his name, George Peterson, for some personal retribution of the financial kind. He might not be trying to get the part, but still, that was harsh.
He waited a moment before continuing on doing his best HAL impression. "Just what do you think you're doing Dave? Dave, I really think I'm entitled to an answer to that question. "
He really worked on selling it too. After all, Mal Washburne was a Theatre Actor, with the 'r' before the 'e.' The auditioners might be wincing, but Alec knew he was killing it in this role.
When they stopped him for the second time, and told him to leave, it was really showtime. He began his attempt to find the offices. While he was waiting to be called he had done some preliminary scouting, and tried to access the network wirelessly without success. So now he needed to gain access to one of their computers. No way could anyone stop him when he was linked into their system. No one.
Of course, what they did do was stop him from getting to the offices. Every time he tried to sneak back to where they should be located based on the blueprints, something or someone would stop him. The first time it was a fallen lighting rig and the second time this pretty girl named Sarah wanted a chat. No way Alec was saying no to that.
When some lady with a clipboard started to shoo people out of the building, Alec was almost resigned. Nothing was going right with this con.
When the cast list went up, he thought he was golden. Obviously they had been awed by his acting prowess. (Alec pointedly did not think about the fact that it might be based on his looks. After all, how many man in Wisconsin looked right to play Othello?)
But the important thing was, there would be plenty of opportunities to find the network.
Unfortunately, he underestimated how much time was taken up when you were cast as the title character. People actually seemed to expect him to be around during rehearsals, and trips to the little boys room were almost like a social hour with these folks.
Also, not that he would ever ever admit it to anyone, much less Sophie, or god forbid, Elliot, he actually was kinda having fun. Most of the time he stayed in the background, didn't do any long term cons. But here he was enjoying standing up on stage reciting lines in a grandiose voice that was totally awesome, no matter how disparaging the director was of it.
Alec was making friends with some of the cast and crew, too. He started hanging with some of them in between rehearsals, bitching about former productions they had been a part of. They all seem amused by his stories of playing a Nigerian prince.
Everything was going so well he considered leaving the con until after the performance. Of course, that was before he saw the costume designs and realized they actually wanted him to stand in front of an audience wearing those things. No damn way that was going to happen.
While I did delight in my new/old role,
the time for fun was drawing to a close.
Alec looked that the desk again, then back at Iago. "Hey, I think I need a soda or something. I'm parched. Can you help a brother out?" It wasn't his most subtle line, but hey, some things are classic for a reason.
Iago smiled him at him widely. "Orange, right?"
"You are the man."
Alec watched as Iago left. He was a really nice dude, if more than a little weird. He was always around, smiling and happy. Alec thought it made his villainy on the stage all the more freaky.
But he didn't have time to worry about that now. He had work to do. He slid into the desk chair at the computer. "Time to talk to me, baby."
Something was off. There was nothing special about this system at all. The protections were laughable. Nothing on this network could be responsible for blocking and undoing all the mischief he had played. He kept looking, but there was nothing there to explain it. Plus, he didn't think it was something manual, because no computer geek worth his weight in tribbles would use a Microsoft system, much less Vista.
Whatever. Maybe it was a fluke. Alec didn't think so, but at this point there wasn't really another explanation. Quickly he went through the files, replacing all the donor lists with lists of registered sex offenders (though there was obviously some overlap between the two.) For good measure, he started funneling the funds they did have into theater programs for inner city kids. Well, mostly. He did save a chunk for himself. After all, he had had to work for this.
For part of the joy of villainy is based
on someone knowing what all you have done.
"It won't work, Mr. Hardison." Alec looked up, startled. Iago was standing in the doorway, two orange sodas in his hands. He was still smiling, but his eyes looked hard.
"Who is Hardison? For I am Malcom Washburne, as you are well aware. Also, I just happen to be checking my email." Maybe that was laying it on a bit thick, but Alec was freaked. Was this a sting? It couldn't be. Iago was cast way before Hardison showed up.
Iago laughed. "I'm not trying to stop you. I just thought this would be a fun little diversion, and I don't want your retribution to stop it too soon. I actually like your plan: financial ruin just because this theater rightly won't hire your friend. It was what brought my attention to this place."
"Okay, not to upset the crazy man, but you are seriously unhinged. And possibly a stalker. Are you stalking me?"
"No, I am stalking retribution. You are merely incidental."
"Okay, so we are definitely clear on the crazy part of the equation."
"This isn't crazy. Why don't you listen to my story." Iago set the soda bottles on the edge of the desk as he went around to the other side. Alec wheeled the desk chair back as far as he could in response, but couldn't seem to break eye contact.
"Suppose one day there was writer, just a human, of course, but the writer had such power to his words, power to enthrall, entice. His skill was such that it drew things to him, things most people aren't aware even exist. They came to this bard, an unseen fascinated audience."
Iago was sure a good actor, Alec thought to himself. He was saying the words like he meant them, intensity in his eyes. Crazy, Alec reminded himself, around the bend so far he lapped even Parker. Like Joker level crazy. He oh so cautiously slid the chair another couple inches.
"And one vengeance spirit listened to the words, so enticed he let the bard see him. Then the author wrote about fantastical creatures, but not the discontent spirit. He was overlooked, passed by. In his anger, he killed the writer's son.
"The bard then attempted to make sense of this, to understand the character by writing his motivations. But still, he never understood them, the rage, the excitement that comes from controlling others action." Iago was almost glowing with happiness as he gave the recitation, voice rolling out in a smooth cadence.
"Ok, lovely as this chat has been, you are psycho, and I am going to exit stage left." Alec stood up from where he had wheeled the chair all the way around the desk, inch by inch as Iago told his story.
Iago was still smiling at him. Alec did the prudent thing: he ran. The skritch of the tights and the flopping of his junk reminded him of just what he was wearing. But there was no way he was going back, not even if it meant running into town in these damn tights.
He regretted that decision when they ripped less than a minute before a cop car rolled by.
So I had had my bit of fun again,
stav'd off the boredom to grow my legend more.
"Indecent exposure? While we split up you were arrested for indecent exposure?"
Two months later, Parker was giggling on the couch, hanging upside-down from the top of it.
"How the hell did you manage that?" Elliot said, his face scrunched up in a grin.
Alec looked up from the computer screen, where he had been doing one of his intermittent searches for Iago, and laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He got up and joined the others on the couch, preparing to tell them all about it.
And now I rest, until next I seek to find
a soul with retribution on the mind.
{Exit IAGO}