IC: Dawn of the Artifacts., In Character Thread. Options

[SincereAgape]

Saturday, April 7th. 1330 Hours. Seattle, UCAS.

This story begins in Seattle. And of course the rain is falling. It is not a simple drizzle either, rather another continual downpour of acid, making travel on this dreary day a pain in the ass. Seems like every other job these days has to do with tempo, drugs, or the fallout from the recent "restructuring" of the criminal underworld. It's been a dangerous past few months, with every major and minor player in the sprawl fighting tooth-and-nail for their place. Even the news is obsessed with tempo, and it seems like right now, every trid channel is covering yet another tempo -fueled crime spree. Governor Brackhaven promises a end to all of this violence soon, what a crock. You know that's not true.

Wouldn't it be nice to get away from it all? The Emerald City is not looking so crystal right now, and the only green that can be seen is smog congregating in the sky above. In between the cracks, alley ways, drug dens, squats, penthouses, jail cells, bar backrooms, and corporate megaliths; four conversations are about to occur. Four conversations which will hopefully kick off this tale.

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Dexter Pope barges through his apartment door. While arguing with his landlord about the latest rent amount, Dexter heard his commlink signal from inside of his room. He wanted to answer it, but the fat slob insisted that this apartment in the Redmond Barrens had 'character' and thus would be increasing Dexter's rent...again. Dexter swore to himself just as he entered. He was already to late. He went over to the commlink and operated the voice recording menu. Finding the missed call.

<<"Sigh. Dexter, are you there? It's Sue. Pickup if you're there.">> there was a slight pause. <<"Guess not. Listen. Your child support is due in a week, and I need it early. Catherine's college tuition is not going to pay itself. Gosh. If you had been a good father to her....*Another sigh*. Just get it to me when you actually have the money, God knows when that will be. By the way, Emma is being difficult with me again. She's always like this after seeing you. What the heck are you doing with her? Forget I asked. Bye Dexter. Bye.>>

Where the heck are you going to get the money Dexter? Rent is due. Utilities are due. Child support is due. Those midnight excursions to Tickler's aren't helping. That Gauss rifle you've been dreaming of is looking very far away my friend.

Hey the commlink is beeping again. Maybe it’s work. Your hopes are soon dashed. It’s only Bennie. You answer. Bennie looks like shit. He’s out of breath, talking incoherently, and anxious.

<<”Dexter! Glad I was able to contact you. You have to hear this. Let me catch my breath first. *Huff Huff*. Okay. Better now. I just spoke to Mr. T and he has a special request from a Ms. Johnson. Seems she has a need for a team to accompany here on a trip overseas. Somplace tropical, she says. If you’re interested she wants to meet you tonight at the club 77 in Renton. She’s got a room reserved for 1700 hours. Here is the address, and a code to broadcast when you get there. Let me know if you’re interested, because I might take the damn offer myself.>>

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Heads turn. Sun glasses fall to the bridge of their noses as she walks by. She brings sunlight to all of the men while walking through the Seattle rain. Vera Renczi. A woman of many faces. A woman of many talents. And a drek hot Shadowrunner in all meanings of the word. Running the Seattle Shadows has been tedious and irritating recently. It seems all your targets have been sleezy drug dealers or over-sexed mobsters recently. Where is the challenge? Where is the entertainment? Where is the appreciation of your art? You have been feeling like Da Vinchi painting a scene of the Brooklyn Bridge, when you should be translating something like the Eiffel tower.

Your commlink beeps. The user tag identifies the caller as “Orion.” A former ex Mossad military officer. Street Samurai. And one of the few men who has never oogled over you. You provide him a pleasent smile, who knows if it’s genuine. He answers.

“Vera.” His handsome Mediterranean features ever so prominent. “It looks like I was able to contact you. As usual, it is about business, not pleasure. A affluent Ms. Johnson recently contacted me, and asked if I knew anyone with international connections. Naturally I thought of you. She’s looking to formulate a team, one that will be traveling. If you are interested..I can send you information on the meet.”

[Orion sends you the same information Bennie provides Dexter. 1700 Hours, at the Club 77 in Renton. It is a high class club, so dress appropriately. You are also provided a code for an RFID tag to let you in.]

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“Fucking Belloq. ‘Bout time you got to Seattle.” John Smith barked over your commlink. The man’s bald head, eye patch, and long scar running down his left cheek did not match with his 2,000 nuyen glowing white Vashon Suit.

Hoddler, you find yourself in a middle class Westin’ Hotel somewhere in Downtown. John Smith is not really high on your “If I have an extra Seattle Seadogs ticket I’d give him a call right away list” but you do know he is connected, that is the reason why you tolerate him sometimes.

“Remember how I told you that the meet wasn’t for another three days? Well, I was wrong. It’s tonight at the Club 77. 1700 Hours sharp. Seeing what time it is, I’d say you have four hours to get your little beady halfer legs over to Renton. Serves you right for not taking a morning flight. Here is the RFID code that you’ll need to get in. By the way, I heard it’s a Ms. Johnson. Should be right up your alley right? Hehehe.”


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Hawkeye.

The man holding the sign at the airport was taking you to Renton. Of course you didn’t know that. You find yourself in the back seat of a Euro Car Westwind. Thus far the car ride hasn’t been bad. You look outside the window and notice the various metahumans loitering the streets. Orks, dwarfs, elves, trolls, and more orks. In Japan you never saw this many. They were all dressed in various fashions and attires. Beverly Hills meets Compton. The chauffer hasn’t been sleezy either. Once in awhile he asks you if you are comfortable in the back seat, or if you would the music changed. You even find the silence in between the two of you comfortable. Perhaps you knew this gentlemen in the past? Perhaps he was your friend? But probably not. Most likely is being hired to act as your initial liason in this metroplex and was simply being professional about everything.

On your left you pass a large factory and airfield, noticing the signs “Federated Boeing Renton Facility” in glowing AR. The advertisement has various roto drones of all shapes and sizes buzzing around like bees. You arrive at the underground parking garage. Mr. “Turned Out Not to Be So Sleezy” hands you a magcard and then points to a motorcycle in the garage. You step out of the car with all of your gear. Right before you slam the door shut, he speaks.

“Hey kid. One more thing. Here catch.”

He tosses, you a small chip which could be played in your commlink. It looks like a visual recording of some kind. The Eurocar Westwind, slowly drives away, and you wonder if you’ll ever see the driver again. When you play the chip, a visual recording pops up in a private display for you. What you see is you.

There she is Hawkeye. Dressed in casual clothing, sitting on a stool in a garage. Beside her is a table, littered with firearms of all assortments. To no surprise you see yourself cleaning and taking apart THE RIFLE before speaking.

“Good. Looks like you made it this far, so some people can still be trusted. Remember that.” You smile up at yourself a bit. “You're in Seattle, I've got one last thing for you, and then you're on your own.”

A set of alphanumerical numbers appear in the corner display of your commlink.

“Those are a set of RFID codes that will get you into Club 77 in Renton. Be there at 1700 Hours. You need nuyen and a place to lay low for awhile. This particular Ms. Johnson contacted me about a week ago, and explained that she needed to gather a team together for a run in Lagos. I told her you would hear her out. Good luck.”

The call ends. But hopefully a story begins.

[pbangarth]

Downtown Westin Hotel

Hodder flopped onto the bed and listens to his messages.

"Fracking Smith. Still calling me Belloq. What is with this guy and his obsession with those old 'movies'? And only four hours to the meet. I finally get my hands on the right materials and now I don't have time to bind a spirit. Why do I put up with him?

"Because you haven't worked your way up to someone better, fool," he answered himself.

"Club 77,huh? Well, the best I have is the Synergist suit. That'll have to do."

"Roger, John. I'll be there."

Hodder showered, had a bite to eat and dressed for the meet. He wore his suit and the PPP system underneath. Never know. No need for a spirit now, but he maintained the Boosted Willpower spell himself and the Boosted Charisma through his Focus. He headed out for the club in tome to arrive about a quarter of an hour early.

[pbangarth]

Club 77, Seattle, 16:45

"Drek. Wards." Hodder drops the spells he has sustained on himself. He feels naked. He approaches the doormen and broadcasts the entry code provided by Smith. He is closely checked out by the security... clearly there is MAD involved.

"Welcome, sir. Please enter, your party is waiting for you." The doorman is extremely courteous, but Hodder can tell by his physique and subtle body language that that could change in an instant.

Hodder mounts the stairs and enters the building, into a dark wood and leather fantasy of male fraternity. He opens his mind to the astral space. "Let's see what goes on inside the wards. Maybe I can raise the spells again."

[ Spoiler ]

He takes a look around in astral space. If there is something of interest within sight, he Assenses it: MAG 5 + Assensing 1 = 6 dice ==> [Hmm. I can't connect to Invisible Castle at the moment, so let me just buy 1 success.]

[Karoline]

Renton

Hawkeye couldn't help but wonder if she had actually sat there before, or if it was simply some image manipulation on the part of her AR... The place didn't seem familiar, so it was hard to say. She'd already discovered some things about herself, her augmentations for the most part, on the trip here, but now it was time to go through her bags properly, to see what all she had.. and of course to get her new place in order.

Each item got a few moments of recognition, going over what it was, her subconscious providing the answers that her conscious asked about the equipment, knowing the difference between the flash-bang and the smoke grenade with innate familiarity. Despite the time spent remembering each object, she was still unpacked fairly quickly, with the apartment looking as ordered as if she'd been picking out spots for her gear for ages.

She didn't know anything about Club 77, and her subconscious wasn't providing any answers, so she decided to have a quick look on the Matrix to figure out what it was about, what kind of place it was and how she might fit in there. While she let her program run the search and sort the findings and do all that other stuff it did, she took the time to take a shower. A quick affair, enough to clean herself and wash her hair, but no extra luxury in it. Her search was long done, likely done before she'd even turned on the water.

It figured that it would be a posh sort of place, most of the clothing she'd unpacked was very ordinary, very non-descript, very 'blend in anywhere' sort of things, the sort of things that would be really hard to describe to a cop after the fact her subconscious provided. But there was one outfit that looked picked out for just such a place. It was a formal sort of gown, more along the lines of a kimono actually, with colorful but not overly done patterns over the length. It is quite conservative as far as how revealing it is, with only the arms and part of the shoulders being particularly exposed apart from the slit in the gown for her leg so that she could at least move properly.

The dress leaves much to be desired in the 'gun concealment' department, but that hopefully shouldn't matter too much. Perhaps the biggest problem is in getting there. Riding her bike with the gown seemed like a bad idea, as did changing when she go there, so eventually she decided to call a cab to get her there. She set up her hair to match the dress, putting it into an elegant bun and sticking it in place with a pair of needles.

Finally the cab arrived and she got in, taking little with her besides her commlink. By the time she stepped out of the cab roughly half an hour early, she had a tasteful and rather colorful oriental dragon tattoo going down her right arm, terminating with the head on the back of her hand. The dragon started somewhere under her gown, and finding out where exactly would require its removal.

Her eyes passed over the bouncer as she was admitted in with her code, offering him a small smile as she was let in. She quickly found a quiet table to sit at, to wait, and to watch, seeing if she could pick out who might be the Ms. Johnson or the other people for this 'team'. They'll carry themselves differently her subconscious told her.

[Chrysalis]

Vera checked her beauty mark for the second time with her compact. She had her hair dyed white for tonight, large open curls piled up on top of her head in a Marie Antoinette weave, slung with white pearls. Red lips accented piercing blue eyes. The black bustier pushed her body into the position of a poised ballerina, while her artfully torn black silk dress was festooned in black pearls. The black taffeta roiled from under the artful tears, revealing two legs covered in lace stockings. Vashoun Island was going to debut the dress next week, but sometimes you have to hire a thief to get the right look.

The diamonds pressed against her lightly gasping bosom and the ring on her opera gloved finger were a loan. The black silverwork diamonds and the diamond engagement ring were part of a Bvlgari line that will be auctioned off in a few weeks. A few choice pictures with the right man, meant a few thousand in her account and about five hundred thousand to the auction house.

She carefully fanned herself with her lace fan. Smiling behind it at her date for today. Mark Casperson was a rising sim-star. Already there had been two attempts by Horizon this month on having him kidnapped and placed into their stables, but until the Wuxing subsidiary he belonded to decide on his final contract, he can bask in the media limelight. Enjoy all the hip clubs and have Bubbles, the bodyguard to the stars, as his shadow. Vera always did like bubbles.

Vera smiled a bit more, sipping her champagne as they came to a stop at club 77. Mark would be deep in negotiations with an Ares rep, while she handled her own business. Later on they would hit all the fashionable clubs to make sure he was correctly media visible.

She slid out behind Mark Casperson. Her RFID got them all in without a problem. The open area was filled with mob bosses, movie stars, and fixers. She nodded to a few, smiled at some and ignored most.

[pbangarth]

Club 77, Seattle, 16:55

Hodder's astral sense was overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and desires among the crowd in the common room. Such a cacophony was rare even in a wildly partying club, but here it seemed completely out of place. Then he saw her.

A transplant from the 18th century, in the latest(?)( Hodder really didn't know) fashion, she moved through the room like a shark through a school of cod. Waves of emotion and lust flowed among the club goers, beating in and out from her like a pulse. She was on the arm of a beautiful young man, but he paled to insignificance beside her. His aura was the typical vapid hollow of the besotted and self-absorbed, but hers... so many angles and shadows and convolutions, it would take weeks to Assense her properly. A dangerous one, that. Hodder wondered how long the young man would last before she consumed him.

He took the opportunity she provided, for surely every attention mundane and magical was focussed on her, to ensorcel himself again. In the same room as one such as she, he thought he might need every ounce of willpower and personality just to survive the night.

[ Spoiler ]

Increase CHA, F3, 12 dice (into F3 Focus) ==>5 hits
CHA increased from 4 to 7.
Increase WIL, F4, 12 Dice, sustained (countered by Heightened Concentration) ==>7 hits!
WIL increased from 4 to 8.

Now, to find Ms. Johnson. "Oh God! Let it not be her!"

[Mister Juan]

Saturday, April 7th. 1330 Hours. Dexter's Place, Redmond, Seattle, UCAS

“Bennie, you know real fraggin' well you can't do half the shit I can well, and the half you can, you don't do it half as good. Don't you go a thinkin' in that brain o' yours you can take my spot. Hell, I've got...”

And then he cuts me off. Of course he cuts me off. He always cuts me off; like what he has to say is a hell of a lot more important than what I've got. The kid's been raised with the sweet pats on the back of a velvet glove. Bennie gets on my fragging nerves all the time. He's got the smartmouth of a fifteen year old California valley girl. Makes me think of Emma. But just sometimes... She's a great kid. Contrary to some.

“Yea yea yea; you've got a pair of socks older than me. You've said it like a million times Dex!”

And he exagerates all the damn time. There's no way in hell I've told him that before. The fact does remain tho; I do have a pair of socks older than him. Bought them in a little corner store, in Florida, when it was still Florida, and my passport still said USA. What has the world come to.

I grunt, and I probably frown. I've never gotten used to those vid phones thingy. Sure, they were already somewhat commonplace, when I was younger. But I didn't spend all that much time in the so called civilized world. And even then, these things weren't really popular on base, or in any of the postings I had.

“You know what Bennie? Frag you Bennie!”

“Chill pops before you blow one!” he says back, chuckling like the asshole he is. Why do all assholes chuckle like that? I mean, I've never met one who actually laughed; not ever. They all have this damn chuckle.

“So, you want the job or what?”

I give a quick look around my place. It's a shit hole. I couldn't be more frank about it if my name was Frank. Had an old buddy from Caracas hook me up with the place when I came up, a few months ago. Said it was “prime real estate”. Actually, now that I think about it, he's not my buddy anymore... and if I ever get my hands on him, I'm ripping his balls out and shoving them down his throat. Never heard him laugh. I hope he already chuckled himself to death.

“Yea... I'll take the job”.

It worries me when Emma stays over. The place is nastier then some flophouses I've been in Aztlan. I need some new furniture, cause this drek really isn't cutting it out.

“If you've got a suit, you better dust it out.”

My kids say I'm a grumpy guy. My wife... Well, my ex-wife says I'm a bitter worn out burnt out asshole. God forgive me, and I love the woman, but she's got it all wrong. For starters, I don't even chuckle.

"You telling me the place's a fancy joint? Shit...”

I haven't worn a suit since Pa died... and that must've been some thirty years ago.

"Aright Pope, I gotta go. See ya”.

And he hangs up. Doesn't even let me tell him bye. Kid has no manner. None, what so ever. He might actually be better off hanging up; had gotten quite an urge to tell him to blow me. A fancy joint. Well frag me. I have know I have a pair of fancy shoes, somewhere, in a box... but there's no way in hell I've got anything to play dress up. When you spend most of life in fatigues, knee deep in jungle mudd, you don't tend to buy tuxedos. Frag me; tuxedos might not even be what's fancy now a days. For sure, things have never been going real slow in my life; but the speed at which the world turns now, it just makes me motion sick. People live fast. People consume fast. They go every where in twice as much of a hurry as they should. When I was a kid, you could sit down, write a letter on actual paper and mail it to someone. Now they've got that insta-drek going, and I here some who still moan about broadband thingamagy being too slow. Screw them kids.

I haven't shaved in months. The landlord ratios the water. If I take a 3 minute hot water shower, he gives me a bill. There are days when I'm not quite sure why I don't rip his head off. God knowns I can, and he knows all to well I have.

I kick a few boxes on the floor. The carpet's yellow. Kinda like that dog who died in the alley last week. That sort of dirty golden sick retriever color. I've always wondered who's job it is to pick names for color. I'm sure Horizon has a whole team of people doing that drek all day long, while honest hard working people pay their tabs.

I know there's a razor somewhere around here. I've spent most of my life in the jungle, fighting to defend people who never knew I existed. For the past 15 years, I haven't even really existed anywhere. Everything I've done has never happened. All the people I've killed have simply died. You can't be killed by someone who doesn't exist.

Well, here's a razor. A dull piece of metal compared to the three fifteen inch long double edge spurs I've got in my right hand. Sue always hated my arm. Ever since I came back home with it, she's hated it. She hated me. Said they had stuffed me so full of wires I wasn't a real person anymore. She'd say that, Sue, when she was angry and I was drunk. I did it for her. I did all of it for them. Every piece of me I gave up... it was so that they wouldn't have to do it. Someone had to keep the civies safe.

Last time I shaved clean.... I think the japs weren't even in NoCal.

Those damn japs.

Saturday, April 7th. 1532 Hours. Dexter's Place, Redmond, Seattle, UCAS

Turns out I do own something that could qualify as fancy dress. I found that navy polo I got when I went to Credenhill for 3 weeks of cross training. Now, those were the days. I was going to wear a shirt, of which I only own one, but the damn thing was full of wrinkles. And, do I look like the sort of guy who owns an iron? Hell no. With the polo on top tho, you can't really tell. Wish I had something that zips up.... There's just no way to carry my Deputy with a nice fitted polo. I even feel like the form fitting armor shows. After a few tries, I finally fit my backup piece in the small of my back. Not real fancy, or quick to draw, but it'll have to get the job done.

Part of me hopes I don't have to shoot anyone tonight. Blood is a bitch to get off clothes. Especially this nice navy blue polo. I wonder how many fragging names Horizon cames out for their line of blue colour wall paint. Probably twenty times the same colour, just different names. I heard once thats actually what they do with beer. Different label, same drek in the bottle.


Club 77, Renton, Seattle, 16:55So much fragging trouble to fit my backup. The guy at the door jerks his thumb towards the back. They ain't the kind of folks who like guns, I guess. They make me turn it in. Frag you prick; I once clubed a guy to death with an oar. You think I need a gun to be dangerous? I drum my fingers on the check-in counter; the fingers on my right hand. They click on the counter like the legs of a freak metal caterpillar. I don't even hear it anymore. Makes the skin of most people crawl up and off their body... which is something I still don't get. People have a ton of ware now a days; probably more than me. They just hide it. Mine's just a little more on the obvious side of thing. Obvious wasn't an option back in the days. Obvious was state of the art. Obvious was all there was.

If these folks don't like obvious, they sure as hell aren't going to like me.

I haven't done “real subtle” since Reciprocity.

Now, how the frag do they do this shit up here? They don't know me. I don't know them. And why is that bartender chuckling when I sit at the bar. I swear, if he does anything but serve me my scotch, I'm stabbing him in the eye with one of these toothpicks.

[SincereAgape]

77 SW Sunset Boulevard, Club 77, Renton, Seattle, 17:00

The club looks unassuming from the outside, but you realize that you're being scrutinized the moment you step through the door. Inside, they request you check your guns and other weapons.

[ Spoiler ]

Security is very tight. At the door there are five guards, all dressed in high designer clothing. There are two sets of MAD detectors. The first one picks up two weapons that you are carrying. And the second picks up two as well. (Given you guys are carrying anything, which I don't think Hawkeye, Vera, or Belloq are. at the moment.) The guards also 'ask' you in a polite yet firm tone to shut off all recording devices that you have on your persona.

The place is quiet, and the aroma of cigar smoke, expensive rum, and money drifts through the air. The main room houses a very luxurious dining area. The tables are filled with many of the movers and shakers of the Seattle Shadow World. This is indeed a place where the underground community comes for privacy. The entire club has a feel of ambiance to it. Any yabo who tries to make a scene in this exclusive club would find his street reputation in the gutter by the next morning. Augmented Reality is minimal; a menu is available, but it appears that most of the club's patrons are relying on the metahuman staff for the service. There is probably a reason for that. The staff is apart of the underground community as much as the patrons.

The only public nodes that can be seen are those of the staff; most of the patrons appear to have their commlinks in hidden mode or turned off all together.

(Sample of one portion of the dining area in Club 77)

A tall thin troll approaches each of you. He first gathers Hoddler, then Hawkeye. He slaps Dexter on the back and pays for his drink, and then he finally gathers the lovely Vera, drawing her away from Casperson. The four of you are lead down a hallway towards one of the back rooms. Since most of the commlinks at Club 77 are either turned off or set to private, the music provided to the patrons is broadcasted over a good old speaker. An old Maria Mercurial song is on. It is actually a remake she did of an old song from the 1990s. It was on her first album, which still to this date holds the record for total sales in the history of music. A few years ago, the press reported that "Witness." was one of the few songs Maria performed while in her "Schoolmistress" personality. Some consider her music under this mask as some of her best.

Make me a witness
take me out
out of darkness
out of doubt

I won't weigh you down
with good intention
won't make fire out of clay
or other inventions

Will we burn in heaven
like we do down here
will the change come
while we're waiting

Everyone is waiting

And when we're done
soul searching
and we carried the weight
and died for a cause
is misery
made beautiful
right before our eyes
will mercy be revealed
or blind us where we stand

Will we burn in heaven
like we do down here
will the change come while we're waiting
everyone is waiting
-"Witness" Cirque Maria Mercurial 2048 and Sarah Mclachlan 1997.

In private rooms you catch a few glimpses of a few famous -- Mafia dons rubbing elbows with trid stars and high ranking corporate officials. The thin troll continues to lead you down a hallway, to the room at the end of it. The door is open. And standing an guard is a elf with short dark hair, and a black business suit. There is an earring dangling from his left ear. His eyes remain cool and collected. He nods as Vera, Hawkeye, and Hoddler. But when Dexter comes around the corner he gives him the major case of the "Stink Eye." The troll and the elf beckon for the four of you to enter.

Spoiler for Belloq

[ Spoiler ]

Belloq. Before, you notice the hallways are filled with watcher spirits and in the main room there were two very large fiery humanoid figures who resembled Atlas in the astral world. The moment you enter the meeting room, you experience the sensation of walking through a very powerful ward. Sadly, your increased will power sustained spell has dropped. Increased Charisma is still on however.

[SincereAgape]

The room is set up like an old old-fashioned parlor out of a period trid. Two small couches and a variety of comfortable chairs are set up in the room, along with a real wooden dining table, set with a white linen tablecloth and crystal glass. A real fire in a hearth warms the room, and the flicking firelight sparkles off the crystal on the table. Sitting casually in one chair is a brown-haired human woman with fair skin and blue eyes. She's wearing a pale-blue tailored suit and some unusual jewelry, including a large dragon-shaped ring. She's sipping a glass of wine when you enter, but she smiles and stands when the hostess closes the door behind you.

The black haired elf who was guarding the doorway enters as well.

When she stands to greet you, you realize she's much taller than a normal human woman, and sher slender figure clues you in; she's an elf. She's attractive, but not in the same class as one of the hot hostess outside -- until she smiles at you. Her smiles lights up her face, transforming her from simply attractive to suddenly stunning.

"Hello," she says, greeting you all. "I'm Miss Johnson. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. Please, sit down."

"I trust that your fixers and friends mentioned that I'm looking for some traveling companions? Yes? I've been hired by a private antiquities collector who recently lost an item from his collection. His only clue is this man, who apparently has been hired by a rival collector to find the item first. He's an elf who goes by the name of Samriel Lockwood. One or both of those names might be false."

The elf behind you turns on his Fairlight Caliban. A large projection image of Samriel broadcasts in front of you. He is a tall elf with close cropped grey. His eyes are the color of a metallic silver. His eyes are oval shaped like almonds, and his ears stretch out fair horizontally. He has a heavily-muscled physique and is slightly under 6 feet or 1.8 meters. There are a few images of him, like a movie clip. The first one shows him wearing a business suit, shaking hands with two black men. Another image shows him holding a large sword, cutting off the heads of a few Lone Star Agents. Another one shows an image of him dressed with an armored jacket, firing a Savalette Guardian from the top of a building in water filled LA. There is a set of tribal neon--tattoos curing down his entire right arm.

Miss Johnson continues.

"We've been tracking him, but it now appears he's gone to Lagos. We need to locate him quickly and trail him to this item. Now, normally I work alone, but Lagos....well it's not exactly a safe city for a single woman. If you're amendable, I'd like to hire you to accompany me as security, and as partners in search of the missing item."

She pauses, before speaking again.

"As you can imagine, the trail grows colder with every hour, so I'd like to leave as soon as possible. In the morning in fact. I'm willing to pay 3,000 nuyen per person, per day, plus a per diem of 400 nuyen with a guaranteed minimum of five days paid upfront. I'll also cover lodging in Lagos, plus the cost of travel to and from Nigeria. If we find the lost item, and you assist me in recovering it, I'll also split the 'finder's fee' with you--which would be 60,000 nuyen for the entire team."

After Miss Johnson finishes, you hear the Elf behind you scoff. That's a lot of money on the table. The forum is open for everyone to speak, gripe, ask, negotiate, charm, bull shit, etc.

[pbangarth]

Hodder [OOC: not Belloq, not Hoddler, dammit!! (IMG:style_emoticons/default/wink.gif) ] still has his astral perception open when he enters the room, especially considering what he has seen so far. As she speaks, he Assenses Ms. Johnson to learn what he can of her character, truthfulness, intentions.

[ Spoiler ]

Assense: INT (4) + Assensing (1) + active search (3) = 8 dice ==> 5 hits !

Before saying anything, he figures it would be a good idea to know something. Concentrating to overcome the distraction of astral perception [OOC: Heightened Concentration, now that the Increase WIL is dropped], Hodder wracks his mind, searching his knowledge of the antiquities trade, looking for any clue to Samriel Lockwood.

[ Spoiler ]

INT (4) + Antiquities market Knowledge Skill (3) = 7 dice ==> 3 hits
EDIT2: Damn. His Antiquities skill is only 2. The last number was a hit, so make it only 2 hits.

EDIT: [OOC: Sooner or later I'm going to pay for those good rolls.]

[pbangarth]

"Samriel Lockwood? Never heard of him. I'll have to check the dealers later. By the looks of him, this is a guy who could be serious competition. Maybe THE competition.

"This woman is clear of magic and tech. How does she survive in such a business? Maybe a little parley will dig something up."

"3000 nuyen a day? Sounds like you think Lagos lives down to its reputation and that either we find your mark quickly, or we quickly stop being able to collect. I assume that should we accept this position you will give us some information about the item we will be helping you find?"

[Mister Juan]

Strangely enough for someone in my line of work, I've never been in Africa. I've never decided where I was going, ever. Decisions were always way above my pay grade. They don't pay people like me to think anyways, we do. I ain't never been a planner. Travel's good tho. I fucking hate the rain here. I mean, it ain't like I don't like rain itself; but the shit they got here ain't rain at all. Tears fucking holes in your clothes if you stand round doing nothing too much. I bet my piss' got more water in it than the stuff that falls from the sky here. God damn mega sprawl and their polution. So yea; sitting in a room with Alice who wants to drag us to Wonderland, apparently. Hope she knows what the fuck she's doing. Giving a quick once around the room, I realize that I hope the others know what the fuck they're doing as well. Sizing everyone up in a fancy joint when they'll have to operate in the brush ain't an easy thing. Got a guy who weights less than my chromed arm. Got a girl who... what the hell is she doing here. She looks about as old as Emma. If this is what those rejuvenation commercials on the trid were about I'm going to have a hearth attack. Nigeria ain't no place for some white kid. I mean, sure, they probably have child soldiers over there, but thats out of raw necessity. Teenage girls are supposed to.... What exactly do teenage girls do these days? Fuck me if I know.

Oh yea, and there's that chick. If she's got as much brawn as her ass is nice, than I guess we're golden.

I raise my hand a bit. I've got a rotten feeling like I'm back in grade school. Only this time around, if the schoolyard bully tries to take my lunch again, I'm sending him back to his mama in tiny little parcels.

I clear my throat once.

“'scuse me mam'; who's doing the exact planning on this op? Your client? You? Us? I ain't really the picking kind. I just like knowing who's hands my ass in going to be into, if I sign up. Mam. ”

[SincereAgape]

"I was hoping it would be a joint venture Mr. Pope. I am somewhat familiar with the Lagos territory, as one of my good friends is a native of the area. Yet, as I said at the beginning of this conversation. I am a companion of yours and will be traveling with you. I can arrange transportation to and from Lagos, and my employees will assist us with board, as long as it is reasonable. If the four of you choose to join me in this venture, perhaps we can discuss planning together."

She then turns to Hodder.

"Then perhaps a fixed rate would be more suitable Mr. Hodder? We are to search for the artifact and attempt to track down Samriel. For this I will offer each of you 15,000 nuyen, 5,000 of which will be up front. There will still be the possible reward, if we do recover the artifact. How does this suit everyone?"

Behind all of you. The other elf seems livid. Turning his gaze to the side.

[Karoline]

The music is mostly lost on Hawkeye, just another background noise. Nothing in her head was clicking to the music, so she figured 'music appreciation' hadn't been something she'd ever had. The song didn't make much sense either, so it got pushed to the back of her mind. She sized up the elven guard as she approached the door, her trained eyes instinctively looking for the telltale bulge of a hidden weapon or how much armor he might be wearing under his suit. She isn't sure -why- she bothers paying it any attention, but she finds her eyes doing so of their own accord.

She returns the nod as she walks into the room, performing a similar visual examination of the woman, looking for any sign of arm or armor under her suit. She listens to the explanation, not saying anything, instead focusing her attention on the pictures of the elf, taking in everything from his height to his build, his facial structure to his eyes, his hairline, nose, mouth, anything that would allow her to recognize him again, even if under disguise. She finds herself wishing that there was a moving image of some kind so she could examine how he walks and carries himself.

Is that alot? Six times what I have now a day, so I guess so. That or I'm really broke. With the images gone and the conversation moving on, Hawkeye turns her attention more to the others she will supposedly be working with.

An old man... she didn't know why but she had a distinct distrust of him.. it wasn't the arm or the eyes... she'd seen worse I think... but something on a deeper level, maybe something to do with her past... Maybe I know him? He looked uncomfortable in this environment The armor he is wearing likely doesn't help. Form fitting?

A man, Not non-descript, but compared to the other two... Once again a seemingly inate reason to distrust the man, though it isn't nearly as strong. Do I know all these people? Still, the armor he wears under his suit is fairly obvious, that's two of her fellows wearing armor. PPP.

Finally a woman who looks completely in her element in this place. She doesn't have that sense of distrust for this woman. She isn't sure if it is something she is seeing in how they hold themselves, or why she has these strong gut reactions, just that she does. It seems surprising that someone so obviously accustomed to the high life is in a meeting like this, and perhaps even more so that she might consider going to Lagos... it seems more like she should be the one hiring others for protection.

Her attention quickly returns to the dealings "3,000 a day with a 5,000 acceptance bonus and minimum contract time of five days, along with the covered costs you mentioned." It isn't so much a negotiation offer as it is a statement of fact. That is if I understand the objectives properly. We are to protect and support you while you search for this person and the artifact he has taken. In the case of a conflict of interest between your safety and the artifact, I presume your safety should be considered the higher priority?" Her tone is fairly cool when she says this, somewhat unemotional as her training kicks in, clarifying mission objectives and parameters.

[pbangarth]

The young Asian girl's comment struck a chord deep in Hodder. "That could depend on the artifact," he thought to himself. Immediately he felt guilty about the thought. "Where did that come from?"

The old guy seemed at first glance to be the only one qualified to go into some hell-hole like Lagos. Probably lived most of his life in a few. "God knows I don't look like much. And the women... hmmm... the Asian seems odd. Not all there. Maybe one of those programmed things you see in the trids. Childlike, till she starts ripping heads off. And the babe. Totally off the wall. But probably she could eat three or four of us for lunch if we let her into our heads. Or more accurately, our gonads."

"Well, you obviously know something of us already, Ms. Johnson. So it won't come as a surprise that I am always up for a treasure hunt. My two potential teammates are correct, though, in wanting to be clear about the objectives. Do we need to do something in particular to Mr. Lockwood, or simply divest him of the artifact?"

[SincereAgape]

The bodyguard spoke before Ms. Johnson could utter a word. Everyone notices a nano-tattoo on his neck, in the shape of a Phoenix . The tattoo began to radiate, throbbing, as he spoke.


"Her safety is of the utmost priority. If she dies, you will not see the rest of your payment." Turning to Hodder. "Lockwood must pay for his heinous crimes..."

Ms. Johnson Interrupted.

"Durlan. Lle tela?"

The guard nodded. Ms. Johnson continued, answering the questions, thus far.

"Recovering the artifact takes precedence. There is no specific fate which is set for Samriel. If he stands in our way, then we can either go around him or go through him. Whatever accomplishes the job."

[pbangarth]

"I'm assuming that the transportation you provide will allow us to bring our own ... tools ... along and not have to worry about inconveniences such as border security checks. That, along with the young lady's contractual terminology, 3000 nuyen per day, 5 days minimum, 5000 nuyen up front, 400 nuyen per diem, accommodations and return travel, it all looks good to me.

"If, after we all return," Hodder looks at the guard pointedly," with the item in question, Ms. Johnson, you see fit to introduce me to a first class talismonger, I would be most appreciative."

He turns and walks up to the guard, stretches himself as tall as he can be, and looks uuuppp into the face of Durlan. "Because I think she matters to you. The lady becomes a part of my team, then if she doesn't come back, I don't come back. You have my word."

"Fucking right!" he thinks to himself. "If she dies, Durlan and about ten like him won't be satisfied with cutting off just your pay!"

He turns back to the room. "How about the rest of you?"

[Karoline]

Talon... Hawkeye blinks and shakes her head a moment after the guard's outburst, but doesn't say anything. What was that?

His word... why don't I trust that? she thinks to herself as the words echo around inside her head for a moment, shifting tone.

"Well, I'm hardly big enough to stop a bullet flying at her. That's more along his lines." she says, pointing towards Pope. Her voice is far warmer and more emotional than it was just previously, and while not quite the tone of a joke, it is on those lines. But if they're within...1.5km...fifteen hundred meters, there won't be second chances for them. The tone of a joke is missing for the second statement, but still, it has that level of feeling that you would expect in a normal person. Perhaps not quite the level of seriousness one might expect from a 16 year old, but much closer than when she was clarifying the mission objectives.

[Chrysalis]

Vera reposed in her chair, her fingers playing with the diamond necklace. She grasped an empty wine glass from the table and ran her finger around its lip. It was a natural scene, the kind painted with oils centuries past, except that her companions were certainly not from history, but definitely from this century.

Hodder, the dwarf in the jacket looked like he might be fun, but only in the sense of playing off the big branwed man who if he wasn't so twisted around himself could be an interesting addition. He was scared of her, what she represented, not what she was.

The girl in the kimono behaved as if she was lost, but once she came in contact with something that involved a skill, she went back to her muscle memory. Needful of acceptance, but most likely a time bomb if blindly trusted. Autonomous learning meant that often friend and foe would be over-ridden by fight or flight responses.

"What about medical considerations, such as vaccinations? I would also wish that you extend a line of credit to one of the better medical facilities... Last I remember the WHO still had travel warnings about VITAS III among other less infectious diseases in the region."

"As for getting shot, I do not plan to, but I might be of help with medical considerations, not that I hope we are ever in that situation."

Vera stopped playing with the wine glass and placed it at the edge of the table, perfectly balanced.

"I also have a few contacts that might be willing to help us out in Lagos... For a fee of course, if you are interested?"

Vera looked past Ms Johnson at her male guard with the nano-tattoo with the last sentence, she let her necklace drop back on top of her breasts.

[SincereAgape]

Durlan smirks at Hodder. "I'll hold you to that halfer." Durlan looks up, just in time to catch Vera's gesture. Taking more then a glance at her.

Ms. Johnson spoke.

"Do not mind Durlan...he can be overzealous. To answer your question Mr. Hodder. Getting into the country should not be much of a problem. One of my contacts has recommended a bush pilot who will assist us with getting past security. However, the pilot has informed me he has cargo in addition to transporting all of us. Thus, we may not have room for ALL of your tools. I suggest packing light, and bringing your most important items. We wouldn't want to draw to much attention by displaying a heavy arsenal upon arrival."

She turns her attention to Vera.

"Yes. You are correct. Vaccinations and other medical supplies should be gathered before we leave. Can I trust you to handle this endeavor? Once you find out the information, concerning what we need get back to me, and I will offer you the extent of how much I can offer for the medical supplies. Concerning your contacts in Lagos, that is entirely negotiable. I maybe interested and would be willing to pay a fee, depending on what they can offer."

Spoiler for Vera.

[ Spoiler ]

You know that many of the nastier diseases in Lagos have no preventative option, so traveling with some powerful antibiotics and a high-rating medkit is crucial.

At a minimum, you’ll want to get an immunization against malaria, yellow and typhoid fevers, cholera, rabies, and the Hep series. For the team.

There’s a slew of other diseases, such as Trypanosomiasis (sleeping sickness), that are transmitted by bugs, so pack some good bug repellant, wear long sleeves, and make sure you sleep in a treated bug-net.

VITAS III is also a major problem, and there are several anti-viral treatments available, but expect to pay signifi cantly higher rates in Lagos than
elsewhere. You’ll want to make sure your medkit is stocked with antiviral, antibiotics, and antiparasitics tailored to what you’ll encounter
in Lagos,

Unfortunately, outside genetech, there’s little you can do about exposure to environmental poisons, You such as lead or mercury, which are found in high concentrations in the Lagoon and elsewhere around the sprawl.

-You estimate the cost for vaccinations for each person is 400 nuyen, and a med kits for this particular case cost rating X 150 nuyen. If you decide to obtain all of these in Lagos, expect higher prices.

Ms. Johnson turns to Hawkeye and Dexter. Smiling.

"It appears Mr. Hodder and Miss Vera have approved of my conditions. How about the two of you?"

[Mister Juan]

Everyone asks a question or two, which I guess is a good thing. Only idiots accept to walk into a situation blindly. So, for the time being, everyone seems to have their heads screwed on tightly. Guess its a good enough start. But then again, in my line of work, things have a tendency to go from fine to FUBAR pretty fast.
The kid passes some comment and jerks a finger towards me. Didn't her mama ever told her it ain't polite to point at people. And while we're at it; didn't she also tell her it ain't polite to assume thing about her elders?

I lean a bit forward in my seat. This fucking polo is way too tight. Feels like its going to strangle me. I pull on the neck a bit. She might joking, but I ain't in the joking mood. Especially not tonight. My head is buzzing, and I feel like some fist sized midget is trying to kick the back of my eyes out of my skull. That and my left hand is twitching a bit, again.

“Listen kid” I start “Don't go pretending you know what the fuck I do, before I start doing it, ok?”

I clear my throat a bit. Sue says I always give everyone a hard time. Well, thats too bad. Life hard. Better learn it now. I pull on the polo's collar again. I swear, these fancy meetings are going to kill me one day.

The chick finally pipes up; and what comes out of her mouth, well... thats exactly what was roaming around in my brain. Nothing fucks up your day more than getting the shit while on an op. Nothing. Beside steping on a bouncing betty. Maybe. I know I've already got most of my shot up to date, but you ain't ever too sure.

When the J looks at me, and smile, I know now is the make or break time. Yes or No. Gotta make my mind up, cause people are looking at me.

“Like the lady said” I nod my head towards the elf broad “as long as we can get all the shots we need, I'm in, Mam.”

[Karoline]

Hawkeye smiles at Dexter disarmingly, the sort of smile that a sixteen year old should give. "I was just saying that you're bigger than me." she point at her lithe body "I wouldn't provide much cover for someone hiding behind me." She certainly seems honest enough about what she meant, but she could just be trying to cover up an insult... the shifts in how she acts make her hard to pin. Having already gone from hardened professional to child.

Turning back to Mrs. J, she nods "I already said I'd accept if I had interpreted the objectives correctly. I don't know much about Lagos though Or anywhere so how much weaponry would it be alright to show? I already know a few things I'll have to bring, but I'm curious at what point we'll start drawing too much attention." Her tone isn't quite as young sounding as it was a moment ago, but is far from the coolness of earlier, sounding perhaps like a sixteen year old that has seen a bit more of life than she really should have.

Having asked her question of Mrs. Johnson, she turns to look at Vera again, who seems to be at least somewhat informed about the area, and who might be able to answer the question.

[SincereAgape]

Ms. Johnson speaks to Hawkeye. "No more then two suitcases of luggage along with one carry-on. And you bring up an excellent point Miss Yamamoto" Ms. Johnson speaks, using the young Japanese girls name for the first time. "Lagos. Or even Africa is a foreign realm to some of us. Allow me to provide you with some information on the city. Durlan?" She concludes beckoning to the guard.

Durlan takes his eyes away from the runners and nods. Punching in a few commands into his commlink the augmented reality image of a large travel guide beams into the center of the room. There is an augmented male voice which reads the following, from the travel guide for you.

<<Good evening.

Today is Saturday April 7th, 2072.
Today's weather in Lagos: 34 Deg C (Daytime High) with heavy sustained winds.
Guide map of the area surrounding Lagos.

Population of Lagos: 20 million, maybe more,
maybe less
Area: 3,500 square kilometers, give or take a
few hundred more (lagoons cover about 25
percent of the total area)
Predominate Tribes: Yoruba (35%), Igbo (15%),
Awori (5%), Egun (5%)
Metatypes:
Human: 60%
Ork: 20%
Dwarf: 8%
Elf: 5%
Troll: 2%
Other: 5%
Currency Exchange Rate: 20 Naira (coinage) to 1 nuyen.

Lagos is a feral city on the coast of West Africa. The city itself is home to 10-20 million people, most of whom live in conditions that make the Redmond Barrens look luxurious. Immensely powerful and richer warlords rule the city from the secure enclave in Lagos Island. Corporate investment in the city is high, since it is the primary outlet for all of the oil pumped in the Nigeria delta and serves as a no-hold-barred playground for everything from cheap consumer goods to consumer black-market bioweapons. Almost any goods with value can be bought and sold in Lagos, be it weapons, metahumans, or technology. With no police force (Or city wide infrastructure), the rich and powerful write their own rules--and the corporations enjoying having no rules at all.

The city is built around large, shallow lagoons of brackish polluted water. About a quarter of the sprawl area is actually water, and much of the city is built upon a swamp. During the rainy season, streets become waterways and entire neighborhoods are flooded. Homes built over the swamps and lagoons balance precariously on stilts, while wooden or plastic slats connect homes. In the drier areas of the city, homes are often build on cinder blocks, and multi-story apartments complexes are common in the dense slums. Everywhere, people collect acidic rainwater on rooftops and in barrels, and many families have rooftop 'gardens' of ediable fungi and hardy plants. The water from the lagoon, rivers, and streams is too polluted with toxic chemicals and metahuman waste to be drinkable (in fact, just falling into the water can cause a metahuman to become seriously ill). Less than one percent of the population has access to clean water or plumbing, thus sterilized bags of water are common at markets and roadside vendors. Shamans with sterilize spell are such valued commodities that gangs and neighborhoods have been known to go to war to acquire one.

Food is another danger; fish from the lagoons can be toxic, and vegetables and fruit are often washed in polluted water. Food-borne illness is rampart, especially amongst visitors. There are a few soy or soy based products. Devil rats are also a staple.

In December and February, the strong Harmattan winds blows from the Sahara, bringing a warm, dry period and coating everything in the city with a fine, red dust. There is little to no rain during this time, and drinkable water becomes scarce.

There are estimates that there are over 100 different languages spoken in Lagos. Many residents speak a Lagos-specific type of city speak, which combines several tribal languages with English and Frech. Other major languages are Yoruba and Igbo. While Horizon's Life-line linguasoft service has Yoruba linguasofts available, there are no linguasofts on the market for the unique Lagosian city speak, Igbo, or any of the other tribal languages. However between, Yoruba, English, and French, most foreigners can make themselves understood, as long as they remember not to speak Yoruba to an Igbo, unless they're spoiling for a fight.

Common Prices For Gear and Services in Lagos.

Ak-97 - 1,000 Naira
Ares Predator - 3,500 Naira
Regular Ammo (10) - 200 Naira
Hotel (Porto Novo) 1,000 Naira
Hotel (Lagos Island) 1,000 nuyen, plus (Naira not accepted)

Cab ride (1 hour) - 100 Naira
Roadside Vendor Breakfast/Lunch - 5-10 Naira
Dinner (Buka) - 20 Naira
Dinner (Nice restaurant) - 200 Plus Naira

-End Transmission. Thank you.>>

Looking around at everyone. Miss Johnson seems pleased.

"To get us to Africa, I've arranged a private flight from here to Cairo, and then to Accra -- the Capital of Asante, and the closest real airport to Lagos. That way we don't have to deal with any airport security or other travel issues. From there we meet our bush pilot, who will take us to Lagos. Our flight leaves from the Seattle -Tacoma International Airport tomorrow at 0500 hours. I shall be around this club for about another hour or two, and will help anyone with questions, concerns, or help with other traveling details."


[The next time everyone checks their bank accounts, they will find it 5,000 nuyen heavier.]

[Mister Juan]

I must've made some sort of sound when I raised my brow, cause I got a few looks. Well screw me over. 0500. Thats a short 12 hours from this very instant. Not a whole lot of time to prep up, before its boots off the ground. Better get things moving on now. The commlink comes off from my waist as I start thumbing through the menus.“Wheels off in 12 hours. Thats real short. We can share stories on the flight. Lets introduce each other real fuckin' quick. Names and OS."

The chromed fingers of my right hand find the commlink's stylet. The thing might look bulky, but it works with the precision of a swiss clock.

“I'm Dexter. Dexter Pope. Y'all can call me Dex, Dexter, Pope, or Sir, if you fancy it. I've got about 30 years of soldering behind me, with more than half of those in Spec Ops, mostly Maritime and Jungle ops. I know and can operate pretty much every single weapon system that exists. That being said,” I tap the plastic pen on the commlink's screen “once y'all made up your mind, I'm gonna need your weapon kit list. With ammo count.”

[pbangarth]

Hodder chuckles. "Fancy that. An AK-97 costs 50 nuyen. And a Predator like mine costs almost four times as much. 'Oh, look. The little man carries an expensive, easy to hide weapon. Let's go say hello to the little tourist.'

"Where do we go at the airpor.... ah, thank you, Durlan. You're a good man."

Hodder seems in excellent spirits.(Hah. I made a funny!) Almost as if he were going off on an adventure.

"Well, Dexter, I'm glad to see the military man is taking charge of logistics. I feel better already. My armament consists of one Ares Predator IV and 90 rounds of ammunition. That's it. Shouldn't be any problem, it appears, to get more ammo in Lagos. Oh, and I have a few spells and spirits on my side, too, but I can fill you in on those details during the flights.

"Speaking of spirits, I have some preparation to do before we set out, so if it doesn't seem too rude, I would like to take my leave of you all and go home to pack and bind. Here's a secure commcode by which to contact me if necessary. I may be in the middle of a binding ritual, so please be patient for my response. I look forward to a very profitable venture. And some heady planning on the flight. Ms. Johnson, I am particularly eager to learn all about this artifact we will recover from the dastardly thief.

"See you at the airport!"

Hodder will wait to see if there is more conversation involving him, then head out. He winks at Durlan and gives him a thumbs up sign on the way out.