After a quick search for removable panels above his bed, Blackie decides that a garrotte would be a far too traditional and slightly kitsch death for a place like this. Gas would be the preferred method, or perhaps they would blast him out in the morning with a high pressure hose like the rest of the trash. He kicks off his actioneer faux snake-skin boots and tossess himself onto bed with his duffel and case.

Blackie lays a box ammo beside him and fishes in his bag for his colt and some clips "Adhesive electrical capacitance munitions - almost guaranteed to be "Less Than Lethal" in an independent study by the taz0r lobby group! The first choice for PRO-ACTIVE family protection." Blackie scoffs, and hopes the marketing slug who came up with that drek got the guillotine. Blackie had a run-in with the Taz0r group, he was working with a trid pirate team in of Phuket, and they did an expose on a small Taz0r commisioned facility that enlisted it's "test subjects" from the mentally disabled metahuman population, mainly kids who drank the contaminated water. The place made Mengele's Chilean ranch look like a day spa. Blackie remembers the girl who worked anchor as he picks up the last stick and shock round, she was vibrant and sharp, and idealistic. The idealism died for Blackie when she was found in a dumpster in Seoul, eyes wide, mouth open, covered in electrical burns, cooked for the rats. He remembers Meta Vaskiadis aswell. SINless too, that's why the cops do nothing, not even here in L.A. It's about being a bigger number than the rest. Blackie fumbles with the round. It rolls under the bed. He's gone fuzzy. He needs a hit.

He dials his Korean connection. Within moments a chubby, japanese baby with a topnot and a tiny kimono appears at the foot of his bed, flickering in black and white like a vintage film. "How's the L.A, chummer? Got you pale self a skin tan yet?" This of course was irony, given that the only lights in his life were from a myriad of computer displays and linked firewall boxes. He was the modern equivalent of living under a rock his hole life. His broken english was grating, so Blackie fired back in natural Japanese, just like Diagoru taught him.
"I need some help Diagoru"
"Like always. You ok after that bhudapest gig?"
"It was just my finger-nails. Amateurs" It was true, it had been better than most times Blackie had been caught with his nose where it didn't belong. He had only just paid Diagoru back for his Synthacardium, inserted during an emergency with a bio-toxin grafted to Blackie's pericardium.
"Anyway, diagoru, I'm coming up empty in this town. I've got no connections with any journos or trid hackers here in L.A., Vaskiadis was the last one I knew, and I'm broke. I can afford soya-protein bars and a maybe a few days rent, but I need some starting funds. I don't care what it is. I'll do Shadow work, even private investigating, photos on cheating spouses if I have to. It's a big city. And I'm pretty desperate. The only lead I've got is some rave here in Van Nuys, which as you know, is totally my style."
Diagoru's VR persona had been playing with a toy ball while he talked, finally he said "Your korean sarcasm serves you well. Things are pretty hot in Seoul right now, so you'll owe me a cut, but I might be able to get back to you if I get around to some digging."
"Solid. You know I owe you for getting me on that plane here. I'll hear from you soon."
"Sayonara" said the little baby, in the voice of a middle-aged korean, and floated out through the wall.

Blackie unplugged the cord from his neck, His plascrete slab of a room coming back to meet him. He laid his Colt down beside him, and leaning against the plascrete wall, legs sprawled across the hard bed he tried to get his first sleep in several days. It would be a few hours until sunlight pierced the L.A. Haze.

Carroway smiles at the compliment of his work, Thanks, I decided to throw something up. New to the area need to spread the word. He grins slightly at the over dressed comment. After speaking with her for a few minutes he sent her his comm-code. Just in case.

After finishing his drink he gets up and starts to dance gyrating in time with the music. Two songs later he gets glomped by the two elven girls, which he enjoyed greatly. After an hour more of dancing he slumps back to the back to the bar and drinks for a bit, surveying the crowd for anyone interesting.

I wonder what type of work Mr. Bones associate has lined up. Hopefully not wet-work, I would do it but its always better not to. Maybe a nice extraction or B&E. No use wonder aimlessly, I will find out soon enough.

Carroway getting glomped

Blackie

As the first rays of the sun pierced through the thin, cheap curtains, Blackie became aware that he had an encoded message waiting for him from Diagoru.

"Guy called Rosen is auditioning talent. He's shy about his number, and likes to meet talent in the meat. You might be able to catch him at a party tonight...birthday for some trid star. I barely know the guy, but it's the first thing that came up. Party should be easy to crash...dress like you're trying to get laid and you'll be fine."

The sun looked greasy and pale behind the haze of smog. The party was that night. Plenty of time to prepare...a little basic legwork turns up the address of the party and the name of the birthday girl.

Carroway & Dancer

The rave wears on for another hour before Goldie arrives. Even before she introduces herself, it's obvious what her name is. She is of an average, unremarkable height, and human. Her hair is shiny and black, and short into a pixie cut with gold highlights that seem to catch even the smallest bit of light on the room. Her eyes are a solid gold pane, a deep rich gold that looks like matching pools set into her face. Her teeth, surprisingly, look more platinum than gold, bright and shiny but clearly metal, and possibly quite sharp. Dressed sharply in a form-hugging suit of black and gold, she smiles like a mannequin at Kate.

"Evening, Dancer. I'm your ride. Whippet sent me. I'm also here for someone else...have you seen this man?" she says holding her right hand face up and projecting a small hologram picture that looks an awful lot like Carroway.

"It's okay if you haven't. I'm sure I can find him quickly." she says, holding that strange mannequin smile for a few seconds before relaxing again.

DD

DD's quick scan turns up two small, fly-sized drones within listening distance. Richard seems to straighten up a little as the conversation turns to biz.

"I've been combing through recent arrivals for the past couple of days. The client was specific in their request for unknowns. I have some prospects that I'll be meeting tonight. Assuming that all goes well, I'll arrange a meeting for you with the client, who can fill in the details. I'm not going to promise you a milk run, because experience has taught me not to make those guarantees, but from my end this looks like something well within your abilities. Other than that...well, enjoy the party. Knowing Grant, he's likely already entangled, but that's never stopped him from being congenial. You also might want to say hello to the birthday girl. Her stage name was Lusty Loades, but I wouldn't call her that if I were you. Just call her Lainie."

Dagda

The house in question is actually a small mansion. Valet parking is handled by a localized grid guide system. There are no visible security guards to the untrained eye, but suspiciously muscular people dressed in poorly-fitting, yet trendy clothing. They politely request that guests leave their weapons in the foyer, and can be seen handing out gift bags to people who are on their way out.

„Lainie it is, ’oney.“ DD knows a dismissal when she hears one, even if it is as politely worded as this one. But she got a job, or at least a job offer. The currently green-haired woman stands up, and flashes Richard another smile before moving away, hips swaying. „You ’ave my number, ’oney.“

Time to enjoy the party, indeed. DD leans against a wall and finishes her drink, looking around for the birthday girl – Lainie. The girl is inside a cluster of people, but there are less than there have been some time before. In part of DD’s field of vision, windows open, showing the live feeds on Grant’s blog. Ah, there he is, busy with Tammie on the upper floor. DD ponders leaving some comment on the blog, but decides against it.

Seeing Tammie reminds her of the pills the girl took, and DD feels a slight craving again.



Richard has told her to enjoy the party, and lots of the people present are hopped up on something or the other. She knows from experience that it is easier to be friendly, social, and nice to people one doesn’t really want to be friendly (or even really friendly) to with some chemical help, and given the scene here, no one wants to be seen as unfriendly. Bad for business. Better to get something then, to give her an edge, DD rationalises.

She decides to chat to Lainie, then get herself some eX or similar party pills. Then… she’ll take that as it comes. It’s a party, and who knows what’ll happen? Grant’s a looker (and a sleaze), but this is L.A., everyone’s supposed to be a looker.

Picture

Dagda - The Party

Dagda reaches into his jacket, ejecting his clip and opening the action with radiopathy over his DNI and sliding it into his jacket's concealed pocket before he walks up to the counter the unobtrusive security is storing bags behind. He catches the eye of one of the security guards, who nods and hands him one of the brightly decorated pink bags. Taking the pink.. thing.. with a wry grin, Dagda slips his demonstrably unloaded SMG out of his shoulder holster and into the bag, only exposing the weapon for half a second, then sliding the bag across the table to the guard.

Curious. I expected a shakedown going into the building. Wonder were the MAD detector is?

Walking into the seething mass of humanity that is the party, Dagda already feels uncomfortable. People are too close, people are watching him.

Guess I've gotta find Richard then.

Dagda then puts his AR sunglasses back on, glancing over the parties AR tagging, not seeing Richard. Radiopathically he asks the agent 'Tell me where Richard Rosen's AR tag is at this party, and mark him.' While waiting for the agents search function to complete, Dagda slips a gold plated hip flask, covered in minutely detailed inscriptions, out of his jacket, unscrews the top, and takes a swig. An electronic voice grates in his ear 'Directions marked in AR.' and a man is tagged with a green outline. Dagda heads over, watching the man and the woman he is talking to carefully, letting his his senses slide into the astral.



Snapping back to reality, Dagda grins Nice ass on that one. Wonder what Richard wants with her? Mixing business and pleasure?

Lurking in the background as Richard finishes his discussion, he radiopathically transmits a copy of his business card to Richard prefaced with a brief message "I'm here with regards to your discussion with Johnno the hatchet for security contracting. Can we talk when you have a moment?" at the same time he calls up DD's profile, wondering exactly what they might have been talking about. The tainted aura from modifications screams that she's business, but that ass and those looks say pleasure is business.

Watching the crowd, DD spots a huge pale ... Ork? The build and muscles say ork, but he's lacking tusks, and the size is getting closer to a small troll. Not the usual tanned beach boy, that's for sure. Exotic. She looks the tall man over, not hiding her scrutinity - L.A. is not much for subtility in her eyes.



Expensive clothes. And if that's an Ork with cosmetic surgery, then the bodymods he took were expensive too. Really big though. She smiles at him, never hurts to be friendly, especially to rich people, and reads his profile, running a matrix search afterwards out of habit.

Dancer

Dancer has barely gotten home before there is a knock on her door, and she opens it to see Goldie there.

"Evening, Dancer. I'm your ride. Whippet sent me. I'm also here for someone else...have you seen this man?" she says holding her right hand face up and projecting a small hologram picture that looks an awful lot like Carroway.

"It's okay if you haven't. I'm sure I can find him quickly." she says, holding that strange mannequin smile for a few seconds before relaxing again.

Dancer nods. "Yeah, he was back at this rave I was at. Probably still there. Ah... "

She looks slightly flustered for once.

"Um, I just got back, let me change..."

Goldie smiles that unnerving smile again.

"It's a birthday party for a porn star, hon. What you're wearing is just fine."

Dancer shrugs, deciding not to make Goldie wait, and grabs another jacket to follow her. In the limo, she gives her quick directions to the rave, and settles back, trying to get her mind firmly on business.

Carroway spots Goldie as she walks in, she is definitively interesting, especially as she seems to be heading straight towards him. He looks her up and down as she tilts her head and smiles.

“Carroway I presume. I have been advised for you to come with me to meet a perspective employer�

He nods once and picks up his coat before heading back out. He hops into the back of the limo with Dancer who he grins at. Looking up and down himself Carroway sighs I should really change Carroway closed his eyes for a second and pulls in the threads of mana flowing it through his current outfit which slowly starts to change into a sharp black suit with a bright red shirt open at the throat.

“Much better� Grinning at the other two ladies…

Dagda - The Crush Bar

Dagda nods as the barkeep informs him he'll keep an eye out, then slides back into the crowd to finish his drink, killing time until the party is kicking into gear.

Dagda - The Party

Dagda catches the girl watching him intently as she walks away from Richard, and he looks levelly back, meeting her eyes as he waits for Richard to summon him. His suit is immediately recognizable to fashion sensitive eyes as one of the increasingly popular 'bullet resistant' lines being put out by fashion houses from the unusual, but subtle, degree of padding over vital areas. It's been carefully tailored to his accentuate his height and conceal the contents of his pockets, but the large shoulder holster tucked up in his armpit still prints slightly against the suit, only noticeable to a trained eye.





Puzzling. She looks like a security guard checking me out, rather than anything else.

He decides he should do something in an effort to meet some people, and transmits leaves his card and commcode without a note, figuring that if she is just as a starlet, she'll ignore him. If she is in the biz, she'll probably give him some sort of of response atleast.

Dancer

Dancer freshens up in the back of the limo as they head to the rave to pick Carroway up, at the same time mentally revving herself up for the meeting with a potential employer. As an adept, she has preternatural control over her own facial expressions and unconscious mannerisms; she asserts that control now. To all eyes she would seem languidly composed, leaning back in the seat with her jacket open, enjoying the limo's air conditioning.

When Goldie goes in to fetch Carroway, she relaxes her control and allows herself to fidget slightly as her thoughts become more scattered. The party itself sounds intriguing. She hopes she will have time to mingle after her business is transacted. If she had a choice, though, she would rather have come dressed for the meet than dressed for the party. Unless the Johnson is dressed in similar party attire... a sudden vision of a stern middle-aged man in a thong and assless chaps, like that bishonen elf was wearing, makes the corners of her mouth twitch up.

Carroway seemed nice - a lot of the mages she has met have seemed a bit loopy. And he didn't seem like the Karl Kombatmage type, either. So hopefully that means this won't be a wetwork run. And speaking of Carroway, there he is.

Picture

As the mage slides into the back of the limo with an easy grin, she returns the smile. As the mage sits down, he seems to concentrate, and his clothing changes, morphing into a completely different outfit. She feels a twinge of envy - now that would be a useful ability to have.

For the ride over, she leans towards him attentively, but doesn't invade his space, and makes innocuous small talk for the most part, resolving not to be the first one to bring up business. As they pull up to the posh residence, her sense of anticipation builds.

DD smiles as the pale man looks straight at her, reading his profile at the same time. Vasilii Ivanov Gubin is a provider of magical security and services according to that. It explains the wealth visible in the expensive and armored suit he’s wearing. Nothing off the rack. And the exotic looks – magic. The flask the Ork is drinking from catches DD’s eyes too. Gold, and those patterns… it looks magical to her not so trained eyes.

DD winces internally, remembering the rumors and glimpses of the voodoo practitioners she caught in New Orleans. Scary. A blinking icon informs her that Gubin has sent her a message. Opening it, she finds his business card, and a commcode. Nothing else. What does that mean? And what does he want?

The russians she met in the past were usually a bit more talkative, especially after drinking. Just getting a commcode and nothing else was slightly unnerving, especially from a mage. And simply ignoring it might make the mage mad. And a mage mad at you is something that’s not conductive to a long career (or life).

On a whim, DD loads up one of her old business cards, deleting the logo of her old employer and the escort services it advertised, replacing the lines with „DD Data Services“ and her comm number, sending it back with another smile.



Picture

Dagda

Richard takes a sip from his drink, a gimlet from the looks of it, while he waits for Dagda to take a seat.

"You didn't have any trouble finding the place, did you?" he asks, setting down the glass.

"You look like a man who appreciates the direct approach, so I won't waste your time. I've got a good sense of your resume as it is. So I just need to know two things from you. The first is how you feel about acquisition gigs. The second is how well you work with groups. There's no wrong answer here, I just need to know what I've got to work when if I'm going to place you. Even if you're not right for the job I'm arranging at the moment, I've got a lot of other pots on the stove."

DD

Grant's live video feed from the party is still going on his P2.0 blog; much as Richard predicted, he is engaged in his specialty, but not with the woman DD saw him with earlier, and not in the upstairs room. It's a little disorienting because the POV is first-person, but it appears that he's giving the birthday girl her present out back in the hot tub. Apparently he can hold his breath for a remarkable period of time.




The Limo


Goldie is not a very talkative woman, but she answers quickly if asked a question. She lacks certain obvious human mannerisms that cybernetically enhanced people usually try to fake: she does not pretend to blink, for example. Though she is "driving" the car, she never touches the wheel, and if you look closely, her lips seem to move in a barely perceptible manner, as though she's subvocalizing.

During the drive, however, Whippet calls, projecting his image on the glass partition between the front and back of the limo.

"Hello Dancer, and...Carroway, is it? I hear good things about you...Dancer I already know. I wish I knew her better though, looking at that outfit...next time I'll pick you up myself." he says with a playful leer. "In any case, I'm a busy man, but I want to make sure you get off to a good start in the biz here. You're meeting a friend of a friend called Richard Rosen. It'll be quick, he just needs to vet that you aren't a flake or a nutcase. You'll meet a client, and do some work. Don't embarass us. If you have any questions, you've got time for one each before I have to go."

Dagda - The party

Dagda pulls up a chair at Richards glance, sitting close for a conspiratorial conversational, smiling in response to Richards question "Easily enough, technology shows the way."

Dagda sloshes his vodka around in the flask as Richard gets down to business, then screws the top back on and slides it into his jacket as Richard finishes speaking.

Curious choice of drink. Wonder if its vodka, of if he's a traditionalist.

"I do low key, discreet work for clients with matching tastes, so acquisitions are certainly not an issue. Neither is teamwork, unless there is a significant clash in.. work ethos, but I understand its often difficult to recruit a perfect fit team. I've got prior experience with ad-hoc teams on the east coast so I do not anticipate any problems, and I can work with whatever assets you have ready to go." He pauses and slides his physical card across the small stylish table. "Is the lady you were talking to before a security consultant as well? She certainly seems like it, so I'd like to get some professional networking in, but I don't want to upset any apple carts if my impression is wrong." he finishes with a grin, watching Richard carefully, trying to sound out the promising contact.

Dancer - The Limo

Dancer converses amiably with Carroway, choosing not to try and draw out the taciturn Goldie, who doesn't seem as if she wants any unnecessary distractions.

She smiles impishly and waves when Whippet's image is projected on the limo partition, but is more serious and attentive when he speaks. With a more professional, but still warm, smile, she affirms,

"I'll do a good job for the client. And I appreciate getting called on this job."

She gives a slight shake of her head in the negative when he asks if she has any questions, and turns slightly to see if Carroway does. Truth be told, she wishes she knew a bit more about the particulars of the job, but Whippet seems to be the go-between for another go-between in this situation, and she will get the information from the Johnson shortly in any case. A lot of middle men in this... but it smells like a lot of money in it, too, so there might be a decent cut of pay for her even after the fixers get their share.

DD - Party

The white russian – DD still has not decided if he’s an Ork, human or troll with surgery – is joining Richard Rosen at his table. Talking business. An AR window from Grant’s live feed catches her attention.

Aha. That’s where Lainie is, and Grant. DD mentally smirks. L.A. was not just hedonistic, but voyeristic and exhibitionistic as well, with live feeds such as these. They are having fun, and Grant is showing he knows what he is doing, but both seem a bit too occupied to help with getting her some mood booster. Besides, they’d probably have her join them, and such stuff almost always feels better (and in some cases, only feels good) with some chemical help. DD rapidly flips through different windows displaying the drone feeds from the party to look for Tammie. That girl should know where to get some eX.

Although… with this crowd, there might be no need to go through Tammie. DD walks up to the bar, propping her elbows on the top and leans forward, smiling brightly at the bartender. Handsome guy, but that seems to be the norm in town. Dressed according to the latest fad too.

„’ello ’oney. A white russian please.“ Coining he moniker for the pale man made her pick the drink too. She hasn’t had one of those for some time. While the bartender starts to mix Vodka, Kahlua and cream, DD drops her modulator’s volume to a whisper, and continues „I am also feeling the …jetlag a bit. Do you 'ave a pill that could 'elp with that, ’oney?“ She sends him 30 Nuyen, three times the going rate for a hit of eX, through the commlink as a „tip“.


Sipping from her white russian, DD leans with her back to the bar, her attention divided between the AR and live feeds and the actual room. Lots of stuff going on, lots of information to keep track of.

Richard idly taps the side of the class, considering Dagda's words carefully. He nods almost imperceptibly, then continues. "I think it's best of the lady were to speak for herself. I imagine your impression of her is fairly accurate, however. Will you be needing any supplies? I may be able to arrange something. Otherwise, please enjoy the festivities. I have a few more people to meet with, then I will inform my associate that his project is ready to get underway."

Whippet smiles. "I know you will. I'm seldom disappointed in my associates. Nice thing about this part of the job is, it's just a quick meet and greet. He'll likely be done with you in less than five minutes, and then you've still got a party to enjoy. Lots of pretty little things with loose morals. I'd say I was jealous, but I've got plenty of that to look forward to tonight myself. Life is good, eh?"

Deposited next to the drink is a small, hermetically sealed plastic pouch. A small sticker identifies the drug. The bartender, a reasonably well built man dressed in tight leather pants, stylish boots, and a translucent top covered in animated glowing designs. Every minute or so, the shirt briefly displays a list of drinks and their prices. He smiles at the tip but makes no other indication about the drugs. You'd almost think they were on the drink list.

Looking around the room, most of the people here in the "basement" are paired up with conversation partners, but there are a few wallflowers, and a few others whose eyes seem to linger on DD for an extra moment. A lanky elf of indeterminate gender is seated at the end of the bar, and winks. A stoutly built but incredibly confident dwarven man with a truly magnificent beard sits comfortably across the room, and seems to have been watching DD for a couple of minutes now. Lastly, a girl who looks like she must have crashed the party (not quite spruced up enough to pass for "talent" in this town, but she definitely has potential) is standing awkwardly near the stairs, trying to look natural.

DD palms the pouch, and opens it with an ease born of long practise. Finally. Pretending to cough, she slips the pill into her mouth, then swallows it with a sip from her drink. The drug does not take long to take effect, and DD feels herself relax, her body shifting just a bit, losing the hint of tension it had had before. Richard has said to enjoy the party, after all, and that is what she’ll be doing.

She smiles at the people present, especially those she has seen watching her before, reading their profiles as she looks them over in turn. She winks at the elf, and licks her lips when she’s looking at the new girl, just to see if it makes her blush. With eX in her blood she feels like the center of the room, as if she can feel their gazes on her skin.

Smiling broadly, DD finishes her drink and wonders who’ll approach her first. Spotting a parazzi drone passing the bar she subtly changes her pose, hoping for a second of fame.

Picture

Dagda, talking to Richard

A wink is as good as a nod, eh? So she's a professional. Have to make my presence known, even if she doesn't have anything useful, she'll know someone who might, and a lead is a lead.

Dagda shakes his head at Richards question, "I've ample for the moment unless your proposal calls for specalist equipment." When Rosen dismisses him, he slides his chair back, stands up, shakes Richards hand and says "I'll expect to hear from you soon then" before walking away with an evening to kill. The party, the people, and the fashionably obnxious bass beat still has have teeth on edge so enjoying it isn't really an option.

Dagda - At the party

His instincts scream to stake out Richard and see who else he talks to, and the paparrazi drones buzzing about would give his flyspies perfect cover, but that seems unlikely to endear him to a future employer. What else to do? Ah, the girl.

He briefly dashes off a e-note to DD "If you'd like to discuss our professional impressions of L.A, I'd certainly have time for a coffee at a mutally convient moment with an eye to establishing future oppotunities." and a thank you for Johnno would probably be in order, an e-mail so as not to immediately prompt a reply "Meeting went well, Rosen seems receptive. I'm still open for other oppotunities. Regards, Skriatok."

Then, listless, he folds up his AR glasses and tucks them into his top pocket, before sliding his flask from his jacket again, unscrews the top, and knocks back about half of it. He then lets his perception subtly unfocus so he can perceive the astral world and wanders around, looking for anything or anyone that strikes him as intresting, using his earbuds to keep him informed about the electronic world buzzing around him, now completely unseen.

Dancer - The Limo

Dancer smiles and nods at Whippet's last remark - life is looking good about now. But this first job will be very important in establishing her fledgling reputation. Her mind wants to wander off in several different directions - she makes herself focus on Carroway's reply to Whippet before she goes back to pondering the upcoming meeting.

Whippet's playful leer was actually reassuring in a way, in that he didn't seem shocked or disapproving - maybe her attire won't stand out too much. Must be a wild party indeed. But she'll have to offset her attire with a professional attitude. Friendly, but politely reserved, so this Richard guy won't think she's nothing but eye candy. After that, she'll be able to mingle with all of those "pretty little things with loose morals". Sounds like her kind of crowd.

DD - The Party

A message from the russian mage. "If you'd like to discuss our professional impressions of L.A, I'd certainly have time for a coffee at a mutally convient moment with an eye to establishing future oppotunities." Even in DD’s slightly drug-enhanced mood that doesn’t sound like innuendo, but business. Although maybe he means her old business. Hard to say with russians. She’s still sorting through the profiles of the other people in the room, so she sends a short reply, dipping into corp-speak.

„Such a discussion does seem to offer a lot of opportunities for mutual advancement. Do you have a specific location and date/time in mind?“

DD mentally sends the e-note, and looks if the russian is near her, holding her glass with her white russian ready for a semi-ironic salute/toast should she spot him. If he's like all the other russians she knows - and judging by how expensive his booze flask looked, he is - he'll get to the bar sooner rather than later anyway.

The sun is setting on the boulevarde, falling slowly through the vile zenith of L.A's horizon. The heat of the day still emanates from the baking asphalt and plascrete, and not just from the L.A sun. Drug dealers wipe the sweat from under the brims of their panama hats, and the sweat glistens off the skin of naieve american home-town damsels and the prostitutes flying their flags. Blackie passes a boutique, Brianna's Fantasies, that normally would not catch his interest, but for the scores of women loitering out front and the movement from inside. Too attractive to have this much time on their hands, and none of them seem to reek of affluence like the other wastrels in this town, he thinks. Deciding there could be something to this, if only a small story or front, Blackie makes a note to do some digging, once he gets his head on straight. His cyber-eyes flick to the dealers again as he walks, he's feeling too dull, he needs to sharpen up, sniff out some leads, put some eyes and ears and ideas to this town. He's been walking the streets of Van Nuys all day, recording with his suite of cyber senses, and found nothing but the smell of the pollution and vacant stares.

As he punches the code on his concrete 2x4 , an ARO flashes into his vision, indicating that his credit is running low. He throws off his shirt and jacket and begins unbuttoning his holster. Running his fingers through his hair, and seeing the his actioneer power-suit crumpled in the corner, he knows he has to go to the party. He'll need some Psyche soon, and he hasn't got the cash, the trust or the taste for cheap kick stimulants that rave-scene dealers have to offer. And with his simple, neutral wardrobe, he's lacking the neon abrasiveness that is the standard in such scenes. After chewing down a flavourless SoyaProteinPower bar, He throws on a clean shirt and buttons himself into the Actioneer, ramming a clip into his Colt America and slipping it into the suit's concealable holster after a quick AR diagnostic. He slips his nicest ear-rings in and adjusts the tie as the smart materials in the actioneer flatten out the kinks and creases, and crisping his collar. He throws a light trench-coat over the suit and lights a cigarette on his way out the door, and feeling too impoverished for a cab, heads to a bus station. How bad can the public transport be in this town, anyway?

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A few hours and a deck of cigarettes later, Blackie's making his way past the homogenous mini-mansions on his way to the party. The transport system seems designed to make it as hard as possible for the masses to get anywhere near the enclaves of beautiful people. Standing at the threshold of the birthday house, gazing over the drone-sculpted topiaries, past a tiny elf in a tinier cocktail dress juggling a martini and dancing amongst the sprinkler streams, he observes the security. There's money in their movements, and their suits are tailored wide in the shoulders. Blackie gulps down the lump in his throat, feeling like a monkey in a suit on the threshold of the cage. Don't worry, he reassures himself, tonight I'm a Shadowrunner, I'm nothing to them anyway. He sends a command to his collar to re-crisp and strides through the gate.

He gives a cursory glance to the security stooge at the door, pulling the back up on his suit jacket, revealing the Colt A36 holstered flat in the small of his back. He removes it clearly and confidently by the slide and places it across the table. Confidence, Blackie. You are busy, affluent scum. You don't have time for their drek. "Tell Rosen I'm here to see him." he says in a half scowl and he slides into the party.

Grinning Carroway watches the exchange between Whippet and Dancer. At least they seem to get along, can’t be that bad a guy He looks out of the limo and watches the LA sky line. After a few seconds of silence he looks around and tilts his head slightly.

“Nah, I’m fine mate, will get the full details from Richard. Just a quick one though, what’s the policy on magic in the party? I usually like to throw some entertainment around but if it’s not wanted don’t worry.�

He takes a cigarette out of his pocket and pops it into his mouth before lighting it. Taking a long drag and blowing the smoke up into the air which forms a small ship which 'sails' around the limo.

The Limo

Whippet shrugs at Carroway's question. "Probably not worth the time or trouble. Most of the people at this party aren't the sort to appreciate that kind of talent. Obviously, if Rosen asks for a demo, go for it."

The limo pulls up outside to the mansion, passing a man on foot walking through the open gate. Goldie must have called ahead, because one of the door guards (a young one; looks to be straight out of highschool) approaches to open the door for Dancer and Carroway. His eyes are glued to Dancer the whole time, a little to awestruck to properly leer. "W-welcome to the party. Please check your weapons at the door." he says, his voice cracking a little.

The Front Door

There is a simple weapon scanner set up in front of the door. The guards wave Dancer through, under the assumption that she can't possibly be hiding much of anything under those clothes. Carroway gets a little scrutiny, but not much. Clearly they aren't expecting much trouble here.

Later, when Blackie arrives at the door, the guards regard him with a little confusion. He's been...walking? Who walks in this town? The leader of the group, a muscular ork with a thick brown moustache, starts to question him until the mention of Rosen. The guards get quiet very quickly, accept his weapon, and wave him through the scanner.

The Party
Inside the mansion, it appears that the party has three parts. The main floor has been converted into a large dance floor, complete with a DJ booth, bar, and mind-numbingly loud music. Occasionally groups of two or more "close individuals" head upstairs for a bit of (relative) privacy. Downstairs is a bit more quiet, and has a separate bar and lots of seating. Either of the bartenders can direct new arrivals to Richard Rosen, who has a quiet spot picked out downstairs. Other noticeable people downstairs include a tall, pale, ork(?) who seems bereft of tusks, and an attractive, stunningly magnetic young human woman who seems to have the attention of about half the room. She's seated at the bar, nursing a white russian.

As for the party itself, which is mostly located on the main floor, it's status can be summed up by an announcement from the DJ:

"Attention all people on the dance floor: This is an emergency. We are going to code pink in 5 minutes. Anyone fully dressed on the dancefloor must strip or be removed. We will be going to code sexy in an hour."

Richard Rosen rolls his eyes and takes a long drink from his cocktail.