Second Stringers, Run like you got a pair! Options

[Dakka]

The pawnshop is such a collection of refuse that it tends to spill from the shelves onto the aisle floors. There is a myrid of items, from scratched up blenders and old trid sets to gaudy jewlry in cases, this place has it all. Yes, even a selection of guns behind the counter and a plexi-mesh combination barrier.

The meeting's set for 11 pm and by the looks of the location your in, you get the feeling this isnt going to be a high payout job, but then if it was it wouldnt have gotten past to you now would it, chummer?

The burly ork who met you at the door, wearing an armored coat over a stained wife-beater leads you to the backroom.

[last_of_the_grea...]

Mitchel looks at the ork appraisingly as he approches, comparing him to the ork teammates on the school MMA team. 'He's pretty big,' he thinks to himself. As he's lead to the back room he peers about the shop, looking to see if anything neat catches his eye. He smiles as he sees the guns, doubting there was anything as cool as his own. 'Aw, crap," he thought, 'I was gonna wait and see who else was gonna be here first. I don't wanna look like some keener dweeb on my very first job! Dammit! Well, too late now. I wonder if this shop's a place where a guy could score some stim.'

*ooc* Perception test to observe in detail. 6 dice. 4,4,5,5,6,3. That's 3 hits...or do you do the dice rolling, Dakka? If so, just ignore that and roll for me. *end ooc*

[Ellipsis]

St. Damian (Anders)

Sighing as he surveys the street outside the pawnshop Anders reaches underneath his lined coat into the pack at his waist pulling out a pair of hemp fiber gloves. Pulling them on tightly he clenches his ham sized fists and peers through the dusty front door.

Alright, all frosty, this is going to be just like the premiere, just play the big silent guy it'll be fine.

Grasping the handle, and ducking down to enter the building he stops dead halfway through the door noting the onslaught of trash strewn haphazardly about. Without thinking he reaches back into his handy pack and locates the pouch with his masks withdrawing one and pulling it snug over his face tusks pressed prominently against the straining fabric.

Noting the Ork in the dirty shirt eying him standing in the doorway Anders collects himself and pushes the door closed gently behind him and straightens up remembering he's supposed to be a warrior. He nods silently to the ork and follows him without a word weaving through the curios, crap and assorted items.

These guys are just asking for mold spores to infest this place! Jesus maybe they don't know about the upper respiratory problems that this environment can cause...

Remembering the ork's stained shirt his thought process stops, and sends a quick message to his kitchen to make sure he has some fennel and licorice root for tea. Walking into the back room he sees Mitchel and observes the space. Decides not to sit and takes up a position against the wall opposite the man with the door in view to his left.

Well, at least he looks like he knows what he's doing...looks a little like a baby though, maybe Scottie was right, maybe I am too old to be doing this shit for real...too late now.

Nodding at the other and using a deep gravelly voice, trying to be as chill and composed as possible, forgetting he has a cloth mask on says down to Mitchel, "Hoi." He then crosses his arms, brings up the stats on the Hammerli up his sleeve and tries to look relaxed.

[last_of_the_grea...]

Mitchel turns to look as the big troll ducks under the doorjam. 'Okay, now he's big! I better make sure he's on my side. Hell, just the sight of him'll scare away the average dweeb!'

Deciding to turn on the charm, he spreads his lips wide, showing shiny, gleaming white teeth. "You must be the new guy." Mitchel adjusts his rather ordinary, brand new, height of high school fashion jacket that his parents bought for him, showing off his clothing coolness. He looks St. Damien up and down appraisingly, stopping when he sees the troll's shoes. "Hey, where'd you get those kicks? That's a pretty wiz lookin' set o' footwear."

'Always start with a compliment. Especially on hot chicks. The same principal works on most anybody and I hope it works on this guy.' He doesn't think to offer his name or his hand. He's too used to everyone just knowing who he is and being too cool to shake hands.

[crizh]

A strange musty smell has been hovering on the edge of your consciousness since you entered the backroom. You think you've located the source as a misshapen pile of mouldering old boots and overalls mouldering in one dark corner.

Until the pile starts to speak in a halting, sibilant whisper.

Folks call me Scab. Haven't had a chance to shower today. Hot waters on the blink at the Sheraton. So's I'll just stay back here outta all your wayz, k?

Peering into the gloom you realize that the pile of old laundry is in fact a filthy street urchin in dirty overalls huddled on some sort of little stool. Shiny white corneas, flickering as their owner blinks nervously, are the only truly 'human' feature you can discern.

[last_of_the_grea...]

When Mitchel sees the pile of refuse speaking to them he is horrified! He actually takes a few steps back from it before actually realizing that it's a person. "What the hell?!" He instinctively recoils from such a vulgar display of gross lack of hygene. 'Good gawd I hope this guy's not one of this group! If I have to be around this dweeb the first thing that's gonna happen is I'm gonna toss him into a soap filled lake! What could someone this disgusting possibly have to offer a group of actual shadowrunners?' The fact that he is not actually a shadowrunner yet, of course, eludes Mitchel. He turns toward St. Damien with a look of utter disgust on his face and a question in his eyes.

[Ellipsis]

Looking back again at the young guy sitting at the table Anders grins imperceptibly under his breath mask.

"Aye, pretty hot huh? All three times recycled components! Probably three or four thousand miles on these puppies!"


Scab: Taken aback as much or more than Mitchel Anders involuntarily takes a step away from the rag pile man as well. "Nice...to meet ya. Uhm..." catching Mitchel's glance he shrugs slightly and remembering his manners against all else, "Damian, St. Damian, and maybe you should get a new room then. I mean, I'd just be worried about parasites if I were you...Scab."

[gobogen]

Of course, Handsome was going to be fashionably late. He liked the attention and he had to show everyone that he was more important then them and that his time was more precious.

Handsome looks mostly like a human, 5 foot 9, a bit scrawny though, but he also has elf ears, which clash a bit with the general allure of the man. His clothes are very fancy and made mostly of bright urban colors. He wears a fancy little hat that truly makes him look silly. And he doesn't seem to mind at all. Actually, Handsome - who's not quite good looking - seems to be proud of his appearance, boasting with the chin up as he introduces himself.

(Sperethiel) Hi, my name is Amaeth, nice to meet you.

And then, when no one answers, he switches to English, with a derogatory look. Oh, I see you don't seem to speak fluent Sperethiel... Hi, my name is Amaeth, but I guess you can just call me Handsome.

[last_of_the_grea...]

Mitchel turns to see who spoke, apprasing the "elf." He doesn't understand a single word of his initial greeting, but when the elfboy switches to English he can hear the attitude resonating from the guy's mouth. "Ya know, Handy, when you're in a place where you know everyone speaks English because they're in an English speaking country and you probably heard them speaking English, you might want to consider maybe, just maybe you should speak English? After all, how many of the people here that you see are elves? Even if some of us were elves, we're in an English speaking city and we're strangers, so why not start in the language we are most likely to speak? I mean how rude!"

[crizh]

The pile of filthy rags in the corner snorts and grunts with amusement.

{Sperethiel}Forgive him, Humans can be such uncultured boors. I am Val'ash'Inneth, Shamen, Artificer and seeker of Truth. Please ignore those that know no better that we all might get paid.

{English}Everybody call me Scab, though.

{Or'Zet}So at least one of us has a Streetname that isn't dripping with irony.

[gobogen]

Handsome answers Mitchel with disdain. Maybe you should learn it then, might make you better for it. I'd rather speak for the cultured and more advanced beings then to settle for the common denominator. So what's your name anyway? And what could possibly be your specialty?

Ignoring the comment about language entirely, he turns to Scab, {Sperethiel}Well met sir Val'ash'Inneth. I'll be looking forward to working with you. Although I would have expected an elf such as yourself to be more presentable for a business meeting.

Handsome speaks impeccable English, but his Sperethiel is heavily accented and quite imperfect.

[crizh]

{Sperethiel}Appearance is an illusion that can obscure truth. One must learn to see through the surface before one can perceive reality.

[gobogen]

{Sperethiel}Well, you have your mojo fantasy world to live in. And I'm happiest in virtual reality. We have in common that we are foreigners to this flesh world and its stupid limitations, and that as of elven kind, we're obviously superior beings. Looking good in this world just goes to show how fragging brilliant I am in the world that really matters.

[Ellipsis]

While watching the back and forth between the other three Anders rolls his eyes,

Two of them are so prideful they're likely to try and settle each other right now, and this other one with..., he shudders a bit while casting his glance at Scab who knows whats living in him. What would Stix do?

Anders then clears his throat enough to draw Scab and Handsome from their discussion, "St. Damian and I don't understand ya either Hand-some." letting the boulders in his larynx do their job he splits the name into two words, "Ya don't sound more cultured, or advanced to me neither." again he lets his gaze trail to Scab including him in the statement for effect while suppressing the urge to gag . "So how 'bout we get used to calling each others assholes" he looks to Mitchel, "in the same language for the time being, scan?" He finishes off by cracking his neck and cocking his massive head towards Handsome.

WHAT AM I DOING!?!?! This isn't a game, or a show, these are assholes with real guns and real bullets...just...like...you. Hmmm. Hold it together. God I need to wash my hands again.

[crizh]

{English}The Assholes. An excellent name for a group of wannabe Shadowrunners. I'm sure it will stick.

[last_of_the_grea...]

Mitchel glares at the elves and puffs out his chest. All the pep talks he'd recieved from all his coaches came to mind and he decided now was the time for this team to get a captain. The fact that he's a teenager and way underexperienced for such a position completely escapes him. He summons his courage and deepens his voice just a touch as he goes off on a rant. "Okay, this ain't fantasy elf-land! This is a freaking shadowrun! We gotta be a team! Do you two morons have any idea what that means? Have you ever been a part of a team in your life? It means everyone's gotta be on the same page! One goal, one path. In order to do that everyone's gotta speak the same freaking language! There's no room for cliques on a team, especially a small one. So, I suggest you set your elitist snootyism aside and focus on what we're all here for! Got it?" He expects and hopes the big troll will back him up, though there was something about the way he talked that was disturbing. Did he really just refer to himself in the third person?

[Ellipsis]

Scab: "I been called worse"

"Okay, this ain't fantasy elf-land! This is a freaking shadowrun! We gotta be a team! Do you two morons have any idea what that means? Have you ever been a part of a team in your life? It means everyone's gotta be on the same page! One goal, one path. In order to do that everyone's gotta speak the same freaking language! There's no room for cliques on a team, especially a small one. So, I suggest you set your elitist snootyism aside and focus on what we're all here for! Got it?

Scrunching up his brow Anders replies, "Yeaaaah, well that's pretty much the idea, minus the Rah Rah Rah!"

Is he gonna try and get us to Run one for Big D next?

[gobogen]

Handsome is a little annoyed, but decides to cooperate - for now. Yeah, yeah. Team-stuff, gotta speak the same language, got it. Well to actually be a team, we need a network. Let me just register all of you guys and set this up.

< Handsome@Team :: Use this channel for secure communications. >

[Dakka]

The greasy ork walks to the very back of the back room and knocks then broadcasts "Lookz like all that's coming iz 'ere boz." The door opens sharply, emerging from the back office is the squat form of a dwarf. The dwarf is attired in a jumpsuit at least 5 years out of fashion, it is tight in areas that show off his pudginess and his balding hairline gives a general appearance of slobbishness. In his fat ringed fingers is a lit and half smoked cigar, looking at the team "This all that showed? Who'd have thought them other bums had something better to do."

The dwarf almost waddles as he walks, his belly as the center point of his movement "Lets get this straight from the get-go, you guys" points his cigar in all yours general direction "aint my first choice, everyone who'se worth a damn is busy." The dwarf puffs on the cigar "Now that the pleseantries are over, down to the biz at hand. I need you track down some merchandise of mine, and the slots that have it. Dont worry its nothing to strenious, i wont be upsetting any of your delicate sensibilities either. Pay is 250 per item you recover."

[Digital Heroin]

22:25L - Seattle - Meeting Day : Night Shift

The battered looking old Hermes, with the plates half rusted and two hubcaps missing, pulls to a stop three blocks from the meet, its grime covered windows not betraying who might be at the wheel. Always show up early to a meet, if gives you a chance to scope out the neighborhood, and to catch a nap. The later, especially for someone with Sylas'... issues... was essential. He had ratcheted back the seat to almost horizontal, set his commlink to buzz him in twenty minutes, and laid back for a little shut-eye. A power nap is the perfect thing to lead up to a meet because it leaves the mind refreshed, and the eyes sharp.

Or it leaves your alarm whispering with growing intensity in your ear until you wake up three minutes late for the meet with a five minute walk still to go.

In the end he had given up thoughts of walking, not wanting to get hastled on a block he wasn't familiar with, and he'd driven the three blocks, parking right in front. Five minutes late for the meet, and thus ruining his chances of making a good impression, Sylas steps into the pawn shop, his eyes instantly flickering back and forth for hidden gems. He keeps walking through the aisles almost until he runs into the ork with the dirty shirt. A flashed grin, and a shrug, and the guy simply grabs him by the collar of his jumpsuit and shoves him forward.

If it weren't for the case of bed-head the dwarf that gets shoved into the room at the end of their employer's speach was sporting, he would look quite the traditional runner image. His jumpsuit is plain black, with empty Velcro spots where patches could be placed for various companies and services, and he has a few whiz looking pieces of tech about his person. He doesn't do much to draw attention to himself, instead stepping to the side and leaning his hearty frame against a wall. He'd caught the sum, and while it didn't seem like real pay, he couldn't be quite choosy. He'd slept through the beginning of the picth, after all.

[last_of_the_grea...]

Now that the meet with Johnson was happening Mitchel was not sure quite what to do. Here he was, at his first ever Mr. Johnson meet and suddenly he had to fight off a fanboy attack! 'This is it! I'm actually in a shadowrun! I rule!' he thinks to himself. 'Okay, money! He wants us to do stuff for money. Recover lost stuff. $250 nuyen per item. I hope there's a lot of items.' For a moment he looks to the other guys, waiting for one of them to say or do something. Then the ork shoves a dwarf into the room, totally distracting him. That gives him just enough stimulus to recover from fanboy mode.

Mitchel assumes the dwarf is a latecomer to the team. He draws up his confidence and puts on what he hopes is a good, professional front."Well, Mr. Johnson, Before we agree to a price we need to know what these items are, or at least how we'll recognize them, who has them and how far we'll have to go to get them for you."

[Dakka]

The dwarf gives a coughing like laugh, most likely a result of long time smoking "You aint as dumb as you look kid, I got files including any serial numbers that might be on the items. And, the price stays at 250 each, your street cred is so low that turds are prime runners in comparison."

[gobogen]

Handsome boils with anger. My street cred?? Who cares about my street cred? I'm a hacking genius! I'm the best of the best. Ameth, the handsome elf! I'm all over the matrix - at least the parts that really matter.

Realizing he probably needs the job anyway, he tries to change his attitude and to ask practical questions instead. 250 per item.. pff.. how many items are we talking about here? And how big/what type? And who would we be "recovering" from?

[Ellipsis]

Anders/ St. Damian

St. Damian's face goes a little sour at the price presented to them while blushing a little at being outed as an amateur at the same time. Well, at least now I don't have to pretend quite so hard anymore. Maybe I should offer this guy some Thyme for his cough sure sounds like he could use it. On second thought, he probably doesn't care. Reaching into his pack he removes a stick of natural gum and slips it into his mouth behind the mask and then pulls it tight again. He remains silent as the unnamed dwarf enters the room looking like he just rolled out of a cot in a security booth.

Listening to the Johnson go on he thinks to himself, At least this probably isn't going to be that dangerous if he's willing to let some untested rejects handle it. Like he'd get anybody better with the out of work, over the hill porn sim look he's got going on. I'm not shaking his hand though.

As the dirty dwarf finishes handing out disparaging remarks about them Damian gets an remembers a meet scene from Lazer Crew and speaks up leveling his gaze at the petulant little man, "Fine Mr. J, I'm in, for now, but if things get hairy, we talk bigger yen s'okay?"

[last_of_the_grea...]

"250 nuyen I am willing to accept as a starting point, but as I said, there are things we need to know. We need to make a strategy. Strategy might incur expenses. Besides, my street cred is on the rise! 250 Nuyen per item, plus an amount for expenses not to exceed an additional 500 nuyen."

Inside Mitchel is a bundle of nerves. 'Please don't let him fire me! I need to be a shadowrunner! I can't wait to tell all my friends on the team and at school Yhat I was in a shadowrun! Shit! How can I prove it? I gotta record it somehow so I can show it to everybody!'

*OOC* Negotiation time! I got 7 dice to roll. 6, 5, 2, 1, 4, 5 ,5. That's 4 hits. Damn, I'm rolling well! I like this die (I'm actually rolling 1 six-sider repeatedly). *end OOC*