Crimson Assets Options

[Blitz]

Cowboy Jack:
:: While running a standard search online, a small message icon begins to flash on your field of view. The icon makes no sense to you, as it's design is alien to the node you are currently occupying. Your curiosity takes control and with a flick of your digital wrist, the message unfolds like an oragami swan, then opens up to a slightly transparent note. It's a strange invitation... ::

"Greetings Jack. I have a business proposition for you that could lead to lucritive ventures in the future. You would be an asset to the team. Please arrive promptly at 8pm at the Velvet Garage, Downtown."

Sully:
:: Arriving to your apartment dirty, sweaty and with an impressive gash on your left shoulder after your recent trip into the Barrens, you drop your gear in a heap on the couch and head directly to the bathroom to shower and dress your wound. ::

:: As you step out of your shower and step towards the telecom, the phone buzzes slightly indicating a waiting message. A deep sultry voice responds as you hit the button. ::

"Greetings Sullivan. I have a business proposition for you that could lead to lucritive ventures in the future. You would be an asset to the team. Please arrive promptly at 8pm at the Velvet Garage, Downtown."

Trace:
:: Sitting in a dark bar in a dark part of town, you stare into the bottom of yet another shot of whisky. The memory of choosing to spend your last bit of cred on a night of numbness, rather than rent, already a distant memory. As you wave the barman over for a refill, he hands you a small folded note telling you that the woman at the end of the bar asked him to deliver it. Looking down at his indicated direction, however, no woman is present. As the tender fills the glass again, you flip open the note to see very beautiful script. ::

"Greetings Trace. I have a business proposition for you that could lead to lucritive ventures in the future. You would be an asset to the team. Please arrive promptly t 8pm at the Velvet Garage, Downtown."

PD:
:: Sitting at your desk one night, you sift through fan mail recently delivered from the paper. It's never much, but your column has definately struck a cord with the metahuman population. Between emails asking for advice, suggestions on future subjects and the occasional insult, you find an unusual note with no postmark and simply PD scrawled on the front. Opening the letter, you find the following message. ::

"Greetings PD. I have a business proposition for you that could lead to lucritive ventures in the future. You would be an asset to the team. Please arrive promptly at 8pm at the Velvet Garage, Downtown."

Trickster:
:: Waking up in the run down coffin hotel, you barely remember not to hit your head on the ceiling as you wake from your nightmare. That panic every morning of being trapped in a room covered in blood a one huge orkish finger pointing right at you. You shiver and then shake off the already fading imagry and set out into the light of morning. Squinting your eyes, you look down and notice a strange little oragami note that seems to have fallen out of the crack of your door. Stooping down, you carefully unfold the strange bird to see an unusual note scrawled on the inside. ::

"Greetings Trickster. I have a business proposition for you that could lead to lucritive ventures in the future. You would be an asset to the team. Please arrive promptly at 8pm at the Velvet Garage, Downtown."

[Buddha72]

:: Sully flexes her shoulder, making sure the dressing will hold.

"I need to practice harder, that was just plain sloppy. Good thing I heal quick, but no head would still put a cramp in my style."

:: Her voice echoes through the lightless room. She moves through the darkened room towards her small office. ::

"I am still talking out loud to myself, sure sign that I need to get a real life."

:: She punches a few keys and an accented voice answers, a woman. ::

"Sully......good to hear from you. Is our problem solved?"

"That squat is cleared out and shouldn't be a problem for awhile. I have paying work coming up so take me off the schedule till I get back to you.

"Will do."

:: The phone line goes dead and the telecom quiet. She moves to a small bedroom and lays down. She fishes out a small cell phone. ::

"Koge."

:: The phone dials itself, and a few minutes go by. ::

"Hey it's me. I made it back this time so auntie lives a little longer. I'll be taking some more work tomorrow so the clock has been reset. Give me 1 week to surface. Thanks."

:: She tosses the phone into the darkness, a sound of it landing in a trash bin echoes back. She takes a deep breath and rolls over to get some sleep. ::

[Shadow]

"That's it Jack, I have to cut you off till you pay the tab." The gruff voice of the troll bartender spoke sullenly. Trace nodded, he knew it was coming. Six months, six lousy months since he had left the Bureau and he had struck dirt in the Emerald City. As an agent he had investigated countless crimes committed all over the country. He figured it would be easy to slip into the shadows and find work, after all he was an experienced professional. apparently, he was the only one. Three teams he had worked for had broken up because the members couldn't agree how to do the job. The other two fell apart during the run. As soon as they met opposition they scattered and went crazy. Not working together or trying to communicate.

Now this offer stood starring him in the face. Another chance to make some money, another chance to make it. But if it failed, he would have to bag it, and find a real job and that meant dealing with the Azzies. That wasn't something Trace was willing to deal with just now.

He knocked the last of his whiskey back and slammed the shot glass down. "Next time I'm in, I'll settle," he said to the troll, who nodded in response. Trace stood and then grabbed the back of the chair, the room was spinning just a little. He didn't have much time and he had to clean up before 8. He walked out, realizing his mistake to late. This was a bad part of town to be caught in. Let alone when he could barely walk a strait line.

It didn't take long, two blocks before he had a tail. Three before they were ready to make a move. The four orc gangers wore yellow jackets with red sashes, nothing familiar to him. They started normal enough, the leader getting beside Trace, "got some change pall?" The young meta looked espectantly. Trace shook his head, he didn't have any, not that it would make a difference. "Just a few pal, not to much to ask." THe orcs hand was on his shoulder, the other three began to circle him. He stopped, stood up strait and looked the ganger in the eye. He could see his haggard expression in the boys mirrored cyber eys. Ruffled brown hair, bloodshot eyes the same color, and a five a clock shadow, he looked like a real winner. "Listen kid, I'm sorry, but I don't have anything, they kicked me out of the bar 'cause I couldn't pay my tab." He wasn't sure but he though he was slurring his words. "You got a coat don't you, we will take that."

Trace shook his head again, "I need the coat, tell you what, you can have this." He reached into his coat and gripped the heavy handle of his Colt Manhunter. The gun was out and pointing at the kids head in the blink of an eye. "Here you go," the boy started to move, but Trace was faster, the gun barked in his hands, the bang echoing off the close walls. The bullet caught the kid in the side of the head splashing his skull across the street. He turned fast already moving, his guess had been right. The other three had produced weapons while the fourth distracted him. They stood in stunned silence as their friend fell lifeless to the floor.

"Anyone else want some?" The only reply was their weapons clattering to the ground. "Go." he said. They ran. He put his gun away and replaced it with his phone. He dialed the Emerald City Taxi service and gave them an address a few blocks away. He had to hurry if he wanted to get that far in time. He didn't have much time to get ready.

[Loki Spirit]

Kyle Deacon gazed across the table at his opponent, his light green eyes dancing in amusement. The massive troll stared back at him. Kyle flashed him a grin.

“You’re going down, trog,” he said.

The troll snorted. “Don’t be so sure, skinny boy. You ain’t winnin’ this one.”

Wanna bet? “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind doubling the stakes?”

The troll looked hard at him. “Fine by me.”

Kyle slid another credstick to the center of the table, and his opponent did likewise. The pile of money scattered on the tabletop now amounted to 150 nuyen. The two hands of cards still lied face down on the table.

The two players were sitting across from each other in a filthy old bar. There was a cage fight taking place on the other side of the room, with the usual crowd of shouting spectators swarming around the arena. A nude elven woman way past her prime was pole dancing on a little stage to the right of the entrance. The air was coated with a thin cloud of smoke, and the room bathed in the stench of sweat and grime. Some of the patrons were sitting at the counter watching the tiny television set attached to the upper wall. Others were at the tables, telling their friends how many heads they smashed this past week. Still others were gambling with whatever little money they managed to scrap up, hoping to score big and win enough cash to buy a few grams of the drugs a dealer was selling right outside the door.

Kyle would belong to this latter category, except for two things. One, he didn’t need the money for drugs…he needed it to rent himself an apartment. And two, he didn’t hope to win…he knew he was going to win. He flashed the troll another smile just to irritate him before he picked up his cards.

Two of clubs, three of hearts, five of clubs, five of spades, six of diamonds. Shit. He shot a quick glance across the table, and saw the troll’s eyes light up in triumph as he picked up his own hand. God damn you.

His opponent grinned at him, showing his rotting yellow teeth. “I know yer big on risk-takin’, so what say we put up everything we’ve got? All or nothing?”

“Uh…”

“Whaddaya, scared?” the troll mocked. He started clucking like a chicken. “Bawk, bawk bawk BAWK!”

Kyle glared at him. “Alright, you have permission to shut the hell up. All or nothing, then. Your lost, big man.”

He pulled out another credstick from his longcoat and tossed it into the stack. His opponent emptied all his remaining money onto the table as well, his grin growing wider the whole time. Kyle watched his opponent’s eyes…as soon as they fell to the money, he folded his cards with one fluid motion and flicked them inside his sleeve. Simultaneously, five new cards came out of the other sleeve into his hand.

The troll smirked when he was done. “Ya can have the honor of showing yer cards first.”

Kyle smiled, and tossed his cards on the table, face up. Heart ace, spade ace, spade king, heart queen, diamond ace. “Can you beat that, Godzilla?”

The troll didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at the cards. Hah! Eat that, sucker. Slowly, he looked back up at Kyle…there was death in his eyes. He put down his own hand on the table while glaring at him with fury. Kyle looked at his cards…heart ace, spade king, heart king, diamond king, spade ten. Heart ace. Spade king. Same as his. Oops.

“You…were…fragging…with…me…this…whole…time…?” the troll’s eyes sparked as he spat out each word. His face was turning red, and veins were bulging out noticeably underneath the skin of his neck.

The whole bar became silent. Kyle knew that this troll was a regular here, and was well known for his hot temper and aptitude at breaking skulls. Anyone who dared to mess with him ends up in either the hospital or the morgue. The other patrons watched silently to see which one he would be sent to.

Kyle offered him an apologetic smile. “Hey, no need to get pissed off. Biz is biz. Here, just to make up for it, you can have all the money.”

The troll roared in rage, and his burly arms shot across the table to strangle him. He ducked under his arms, and jumped out of the seat. Kyle gave him a snappy two-finger salute as he turned to smash his face in.

“Sorry honey, gotta run,” he said with a grin, and vanished.

Dead silence. Everyone who witnessed the spectacle was staring at the spot where Kyle stood before, unable to believe what they had just seen. The murderous rage in the troll’s eyes was replaced by confusion as he looked around for his would-be victim.

“What the frag…?” he muttered to himself. “Where did that drekhead go?”

“Hey man, your dough is gone,” someone suddenly called out.

The trolled turned back to the table. He breathed in surprise at what he saw…or rather, the lack thereof. The credsticks that were lying on the table a second ago were, indeed, gone.


Kyle chuckled to himself, dropping his invisibility spell as he emerged out of a dark alley next to the bar. He pulled the money out of his pocket and counted it as he walked down the street. He was now the proud owner of 370 nuyen - not bad for a day’s work. Too bad the troll discovered his trick though…he’d left it up to luck for once, and didn’t bother to figure out his opponent’s hand before playing his own. And it screwed him over. Oh well. He’ll just have to play somewhere else next time. The five cards he originally had appeared in Kyle’s hand, and he tossed them into a garbage bin by the sidewalk.

Orange and pink oozed out in waves across the sky as the sun began to set. Suddenly, Kyle remembered that strange note he had received early that morning. The one about the business preposition. He still didn't know who they are or how they managed to find him, but hell. It sounds like there's going to be money involved, and there's nothing he needs more right now. The note mentioned that the meeting place will be some joint called the Velvet Garage...he had never heard of it, but it doesn't sound like the type of place where he would fit in. Hopefully the guys at the pad know about his invite when he shows up.

As he passed a laundromat, he shot a quick glance inside. The clock hanging on the wall revealed that it was 7:31 PM. What the...oh shit, I'm gonna be late! Kyle looked around for a taxi, but few cabbies dared brave streets like these when the darkness begins to settle in. Ohhhh crap. He did a quick scan of area...it was empty at the moment. Kyle took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, his body was levitating three feet above the pavement. Kyle grinned.

Time to fly.

Three seconds later, he was invisible.

Three seconds after that, he was shooting through the air like a bullet.

[Dashifen]

PD checks his watch, 5:30pm. Time enough to get through some of this, he thinks as his grabs a stack of a bout five or so pieces of mail. Nice part about having a bi-weekly column is that you have two weeks to deal with all of your mail.

Putting the job offer aside for a moment, PD opens his first letter: "Joe, my name is Gecko and I'm an Ork like you! I wanted to know how you beat the system and got to where you are today." PD snorts for a moment and begins to write a response thinking to himself, I should really get a pocket secretary for all this. "Gecko, I know this isn't the answer you want to hear, but I didn't really beat the system. I worked within it and made sure to keep my eyes open for any opportunity that came by. You spend to much time trying to beat the system, and more often than not the system beats you. Be smart and don't let anyone else tell you how to do your thing." Wonder if Ugluck could track this kid down and give him a hand ....

Answering a few more letters, he looks at his watch again: 6:25pm. Okay, time to get serious. PD stands up from his desk and moves over to a small table where he opens up a chip-box. Inside, an array of different know-, data-, and lingua-softs are waiting for him. Grabbing, and slotting, knowsofts for psyhology, lip reading, and a datasoft seattle streets map.

Pausing for a moment, PD looks at a cabinet next to the table. Velvet Garage, huh. Never been there. Grabbing his cell phone, and checking to make sure that it's on vibrate (it is), he quickly dials the number for the Vixen Bar and Grille.

"The Vixen Bar and Grille, what can I do for you?" asks the man who picks up the phone.

"Hello, is Niere available. Tell her it's the Terrible Tusker."

"Terrible Tusker, huh? That some sort of pet name."

"Something like that. Just get her will ya?" PD hears the guy walking away from the phone. Pinching it between his ear and his shoulder, he lets go of the phone and opens the cabinet. Inside there are a number of small shelves. Pulling a Secure Ultra-Vest from it's hook, PD slides into it, and then pulls on a leather jacket over top.

He's looking at his throwing knives when Niere picks up the phone, "Joe! How the hell you been?"

"Good, Niere. How's business?"

"Same old, same old. Had a few fights last week and Uncle Bob wasn't too happy about that. The bouncer we had, the troll -- Max, left us to married so we hired a new guy who was a little too eager to bust heads. He's gone already. You should meet the new security guy, though. Real smooth character. An Elf, if you believe that, name of Lasher. You'd like him."

"I'll come by and meet him later. Listen, I just got a job offer. I've been asked to meet at the Velvet Garage Downtown. Never been there myself; what can you tell me about it?"

[Blitz]

PD:
:: Niere pauses a moment to pull something from memory. ::

"Not much, pretty exclusive, but not in that hoity-toity sort of way. Definately a place for professionals only and by invitation only. Someone by the name of Crimson runs the place, but I've never met him. Let me know what it's like..."

[Dashifen]

"Professionals only, huh." He pauses for a moment. "Okay. Sounds good. Thanks a buch, Irish. I'll stop by and let you know all about it."

"Sounds good. You take care of yourself."

"Always. Tell Lasher I'll be personally annoyed if he lets the bar get broken. Oh -- can you give me the address for the Velvet Garage?"

She does, and then continues, "I'll give Lasher your message. Bye!"

Professional, huh.... he thinks to himself .... can't be too careful. PD takes out a pair of khaki cargo pants. Around the left leg, there's a small flap attached. The right, however, doesn't have such a flap. Pulling a bandolier of 12 throwing knives out of the cabinet, he expertly straps them to his right leg and then folds over a concealing flap. Now both pant legs match and his knives are concealed. Won't pass a MAD, but the eye misses them sometimes. he things to himself.

One more thing to do. Pulling a data cable out of a drawer in the cabinet and a optical chip burner out of another one, PD inserts the cable into his datajack and the other end into the burner. He pauses for a moment and dumps his headware memory to a chip, setting it aside for next week's column.

Thinking to himself for a moment, he nods to himself and then exits the apartment. Looking around the Underground for a moment, he snaps his fingers. Heading back into his place, he grabs his cell phone from the table where he set it down to finish preparing, chuckling to himself, "It's always something," he says to no one in particular.

Re-exiting his apartment, he heads for an Underground exit in the Downtown area. Once there, he'll just try to ask for directions. Accessing the datasoft for the Seattle City Streets, he heads off in the right direction.

[Shadow]

Trace stepped out of the shower feeling, and looking like a new man. The three day old growth on his face was gone, as was the smell of alcohol. He felt good, and he had a good feeling about this job. He whistled while he got dressed, unfolding his FFBA and checking it to make sure it was still good. Over that brown slacks, his brown loafers, a button up shirt and a black tie, followed by his brown secure jacket. He looked like a fed still. He grimaced a little, 10 years of dressing like one and he couldn't escape the look. Maybe it was his shoes, if he got paid, and after he took care of rent, he would have to invest in some new shoes. His watch told him it was time to go and he called a cab.

It didn't take long for him to ge to the club. He exited the cab at 7:30pm and a block away, he wanted time to scout it out first. He found a dark corner and sat down. His muscles went limp as his astral form left his body. The brightly colored world of the astral replaced the perpetual grey skyline of Seattle. Not wanting to be gone to long Trace quickly flew a circle around the club. Satisfied he knew the layout he returned to his body.
Dusting himself off he approached the front door hoping he didn't have to grease any palms to get in.

[Blitz]

Shadow:
:: As you arrive, the street is unusually quiet. The club stands on the border between the good part of downtown and the bad. It has a sparse population of street scum mingled with a few corp types cautiously making their way to whatever they call home. Finding a relatively safe spot for a momentary nap, you jump into the astral zone and make your way around the club. You are quite surprised to see an astral mage, looking just as burly and imposing flanking the meat body bouncer in front of the club. He watches you with a wary gaze, but makes no attempt to stop or hinder your scout. The club itself sparkles through the few windows with astral energy. That’s one heck of a ward protecting the club. ::

:: As you return to your body, you notice a few squatters eyeing your limp self, but the moment you reanimate, they shuffle away. Approaching the club physically, you see a standalone building the size of a mid-sized suburban home. In fact, it looks like a leftover from a century before, but god only knows how it survived the renovation projects of the late 40’s. The building’s windows seem heavily curtained, yet not blackened like standard clubs, but in the bleaching yellow light of the sodium lamps you can’t tell their color. ::

:: Walking up to the front entrance, the physical bouncer eyes you and shakes his head. ::

“Your appointment isn’t until 8pm.”

[Buddha72]

:: Sully staggers out of bed, groping for the alarm clock on the opposite side of the room. She slides on some sweats and a tank top. Padding out into the main room, she begins to do a series of slow stretches. ::

"Terminal on." The computer's screen flickers to life. "Matrix search, keyword Velvet Garage. Secondary values Seattle and downtown. Begin search." The screen starts a series of operations.

:: She stands and begins flowing through the katas. Her speed increases and her body glows with a light sheen of sweat. Her movements are sure and precise. After an hour she ends in the position she started. She heads for the shower. About 10 minutes later she steps out showered and fresh. Pausing in front of the mirror she runs her hands through the curly mess on her head. She thinks for a sec and goes with the blue contacts. She enters her bedroom and heads for the closet. She grabs a half body FFBA, and a set of secure clothing. Black slacks and a grey turtleneck. Turning around she pulls a case from under the bed. Popping it open, she grabs some forearms guards and two extendable batons. Standing up, she closes the case with her foot and slides it back under the bed, tossing everything on the bed. That with my longcoat should do it. She heads back to the living room ::

"Print." The computer begins to spit out paper.

:: She heads for the kitchen and begins breakfast. I'll read up, arrange a cab, and hopefully make a little cash. Time passes and she finds herself stepping out of a cab in front of the Velvet Garage at 7:55 pm, longcoat on and sunglasses in place. ::

[Shadow]

"So I'm early. Does that mean I can't go in?"

[Loki Spirit]

7:58 PM

A squatter was nursing a cup of coffee on the sidewalk a block down from the club when Kyle suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The bum's eyes widened in shock, and the styrofoam cup slipped through his motionless hand. The lid popped off as the cup hit his lap, splattering brown liquid all over the poor guy's pants.

"Hey man, sorry about that," Kyle said apologetically. "Here, you can buy another one."

He fished a nuyen out of his pocket, and offered it to the squatter. The man slowly took it without taking his eyes off him. Kyle gave him a nod before he turned and made his way down the street. A minute later, he arrived at the club. He craned his neck as he approached the entrance and gave the building a once over.

Weird place. Hope I'm not late.

"Hey, is this the Velvet Garage? I got an invite from someone," Kyle said, turning his attention to the bouncer at the door.

[Grey]

7:45PM

Wraith parks the car out in the lot and kills the engine. He sits there for a minute smoking his cigarette and watches the club as people mill in and out. I wonder what I'm about to get myself into...

Stepping out of the car, he closes the door and sets the alarm. Taking a moment to adjust his long coat, the man who can only be described as "that guy with the jeans, shirt, and long coat" makes his way towards the front door.

Stopping short at the door, Wraith looks up at the bouncer. "I'm expected."

[Fenris]

If he'd had eyebrows, they would have arched in surprise at the seemingly random message. As it was, some electrons swirled, his persona tilted a Stetson back a bit further on his head, and he swung up into the saddle of a pinto stallion, moving off through the star-studded landscape that represented satellite systems dancing gracefully far above the planets surface.

A few hours later Jack sat, rubbing his eyes and giving himself a moment to scroll through the data he'd dumped into the deck during this last run.

Not exactly world shaking conspiracies, but it should get me enough cred for another few weeks, and make things uncomfortable for Ares with a few vendors...

He stripped the disposable webbing from the skeletal fingers of the portable dish with a practiced motion, folding it all down and packing it into the bulletproof twin of the case that protected his deck. The starred flag of the "Lone Star" state glinted a bit in the moonlight as he latched the case closed, and he couldn't help but give a crooked little grin as he headed down into the apartment building.

A few hours and a lukewarm shower later, he chugged a cold synth-beer while dialed into Shadowland, leaving a post in an area frequented by the type that bought the paydata he had. They'd contact him, or not, but without a real contact in Seattle, it was the best he could do.

Hopefully this'll introduce me to a few people here.

He jerked awake a few hours later, the strains of some 20th century country and western band blaring through the speakers attached to his deck, and he grumbled as he plugged in, flashing across the screamsheets and checking his local haunts in less time then it would take most to have coffee. No note in the drop box, which meant there were probably no buyers. The origami swan was looking more and more inviting all the time. 6:30, frag...

He parked the bike near a few other vehicles outside the club, glancing around as the distinctive rumble of the Harley's pipes died away. Setting the security code, he unjacked, settling the leather duster across his shoulders and the Form-Fit beneath with a shrug as he dug a battered Stetson out of one saddlebag. An old girlfriend had once made a comment about how close Jack looked to his persona, but he'd shrugged it off as hysterical ranting. He had been hauling her and her friends off to jail at the time.

He'd left Betsy at home, and the Deputy as well, as much as it bothered him. Going to a meeting loaded down with firearms didn't seem like such a good idea, even to someone that hadn't been running the shadows long. However, the custom Cougar he wore at his back wouldn't show up on most metal detectors, and the coating they'd put on it made it more lethal then some of the 12" Bowie knives he'd used as a kid. If nothing else, working for the law provided some knowledge on how to circumvent it.

The time ticked 7:59 in the lower corner of his vision as he stepped up to the bouncer, offering a trademark crooked grin and a touch at the brim of his hat. His voice held a hint of that slow, Southern drawl as he spoke.

"Evenin', friend. I've been invited to a meetin' inside?"

[Blitz]

Trace:
The bouncer, a huge black man with muscles as large as your leg looks straight at you with unreadable black cybereyes. ::

"That's exactly what I mean."

Wraith:
:: As you step up to the club, there's a rather good looking guy angrily glaring at the huge bouncer. The man is almost as black as the T-shirt and slacks he's wearing and he stands as still as stoic as the Queen's Royal Guard. ::

"You're expected at 8pm. You can wait with this gentleman."

Sully:
:: The cabbie watches you learily throughout the cab ride, once he even made a face and stuck out his tounge at you, thinking you wouldn't see his immature antics, but you supernaturally attuned senses detected the subtle movement. The barb wasn't anywhere close to your potential, but it kept him from trying anything else throughtout the ride. ::

:: Arriving in front of the renovated house, you see an unusual sight. They all had to smell of the shadows to you, maybe it was the gun oil, or the peculiar smell armor gives off. Unusually, they two of them stood mumbling at each other about the ridiculousness of the bouncer. You turn your attention towards him and your immediate assumption is, Troll. As the details expressed themselves to you, you notice the lack of horny protrusions and the set of the jaw is impossible for a troll or ork. But damn if that Bouncer wasn't huge. ::

:: He looks at his watch at your approach and then unfolds his arms to open the door. ::

"In the future, you are not to arrive earlier than 5 minutes before or one minute after your appointment time."

Jack and Kyle:
:: The huge bouncer says not a word to either of you as you arrive almost simultaneously. He simply opens the door and lets you proceed inside. ::

PD:
:: As you arrive slightly late, cursing at the lazy taxi driver, you head up to the bar where the huge bouncer grimaces at you. ::

"Here's your one and only warning. You are to arrive earlier than 5 minutes before or one minute after your appointment time. Otherwise, you will not be allowed admittance. Tardiness is not tolerated."

:: Despite his gruff warning however, he lets you inside. ::

Everyone:
:: Inside what used to me the main foyer is a well designed bar space. The bar itself aligned half and half next to the large front double doors. The decor is polished oak and dark jewel tones, burgandy carpet, green earlier and purple velvet arm chairs instead of dining chairs. There are two large ornate staircases traveling up in an arc from either side of the large entry hall. There are two doors on either side of the hall as well as two back doors leading out just behind the stairs. ::

:: The occupation of this sitting room is low, but it seems that everyone in here is a bodyguard or professional type and the conversation is exceptionally low. In both rear corners, there are ornate waterfalls which seem to give off just the right amount of white noise to make any sort of recording difficult at best. ::

:: After milling about uneasily, you each begin to feel like a bug under a microscope, Sully most so due to her heightened senses and precicely at 8pm, the first door to the left opens revealing a crimson velvet curtain behind the door which prevents anyone from even stealing a peak inside. ::

:: A tall and exceptionally handsome man approaches the group. His dress is impeccible with a tailored doublebrested suit, diamond cufflinks and a strangly tied crimson silk tie at his throat. His perfectly sculpted head is shaved and his ears are distinctly human despite his breathtaking appearance. He speaks in a voice so low and deep it's almost subtonal. ::

"If you will please follow me."

:: He leads you to the first door on the right, and again the interior of the door is covered in the heavy velvet drapes and the light level is low with warm tones. The sitting room is very well decorated with two couches, and about a half dozen armchairs as well as a writing desk in the corner. The odd thing, is each of the windows displays a breathtaking view of the ocean at dusk, and the high tech speakers fill the room with a soft wash of ocean waves, again creating a soft subtle white noise background. ::

:: Seated at the dominant armchair sits a striking woman in her mid thirties. In many ways, she reminds you of the escort who showed you into the room. Her deep black hair hangs in glamourous waves over her shoulder and spilling about her ivory skinned arms. Her face is strong and very non-elf like in it's beauty. Her skin a delicate ivory and her lips a deep crimson to perfectly match the deep red of her expertly tailored business suit. The outfit is not without sensuality however, due to the lack of under blouse, her daring cleavage hidden only by the second skin body armor that shimmers up to her throat. Her valet comes to stand protectively behind her as her dark smokey eyes take each of you in as you enter. ::

"Please, have a seat. Rumi, would you please bring our guests some wine and nibblets?"

:: Rumi silently slips away from his mistress and disappears behind a curtain on another wall of the room. It's just now you realize how many decorative curtains there seemed in the foyer, and entry hall and at the top of those two staircases. Just how many conceal doors, you wonder. ::

"I know you've all been asked to come in unusual manners, but as you see, I tend to operate in an unusual manner as well. I have need expand my base of assets and have been toying with the idea of putting together a group to act as agents for me on a fairly regular basis."

"Now, this is an unusual proposition for each of you. Each of you has worked shadows alone for the most part, but I have chosen you each very carefully to built a well balanced team. This will also not be a contract assignment, but almost akin to salary work. As my retainers, you will earn a steady 10k a month when idle. That's solely to keep you from needing to take any additional work. If we are to begin building trust, I want to ensure your loyalty is always to me and your comrades first."

"When I do have assignments, they will be assigned a bonus. Upon completion of those missions, you will receive that bonus. You are always welcome to decline a mission since, as assets loyal to me, I can trust you to forget the job you were offered. Let me add this last warning however, I deal with traitors very harshly. If you are ever discovered to be working the shadows outside of my knowledge, the repercussions will be severe."

:: She glances to Sully a moment and quietly adds, ::

"We'll speak later."

:: Turning a smile up to Rumi as he enters the room once more with a platter of real cheese, crackers and 6 goblets of dark red wine to which he sets on the low round coffee table that sits in the center of the room. ::

"I welcome any questions you have, but I will need a decision before going into more detail."

[Buddha72]

:: Sully will take a slow and even breath, trying to take in as much as she can. ::

"I could always use steady work but the big question for me if what exactly would we be doing for you? What kind of jobs would we be sent on?"

[Fenris]

Jack mosies into the room with the rest, resisting the urge to whistle as he glances around the at the furnishings. It almost makes him wish he'd polished his boots. Almost.

He doffs his hat though, tucking it into the crook of an arm as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against one of the window frames as the woman speaks. He glances at Sully as she speaks, and stays silent, considering it a decent enough question.

10k a month, and she's talking about months of down time...and I wouldn't be working the shadows...

[Shadow]

Trace let's out a low whistle in his head. 10k a month. What did Rick used to say, if it's to good to be true it probably is. Well let's see. Trace leans back in his chair and get's comfortable. He lets his vision slip into the astral and takes a good look at the women who is offering such a dramatic change in lifestyle. After a few moments he blinks and his vision is back to normal.

"You speak of trust, and I can certainly appreciate this. I would hope that trust runs both ways, I for one have had enough of being hung out to dry by my employers. I offer you this caveat, I will take the job, and I will take the money, but I reserve the right to walk at any moment, for any reason. Anything I have learned up to that point will of course be confidential. If we can agree upon that, then you have yourself a mage. Know I don't say this lightly, Crimson." Using her name was a calculated guess, but he figured he got it right. "I say it because there are some things I won't do. Not for ten thousand, not for a hundred thousand."

He leaned back, ready to accept her judgement, either to walk, or to stay. He hoped it was to stay.

[Loki Spirit]

Kyle just nods towards Trace. "I'm with him. Same deal here."

[Dashifen]

PD walks into the room, and looks carefully at those around him at the table. Taking a good look at his potential employer, he tries to gauge the reactions of those around him as he wracks his brain for any knowledge or stories that he may have heard about this woman. He doesn't have much to go on ... yet. "A question, my dear, if I may?" PD says to get her attentioned.

She looks at him and nods politely. "You say that we work for you. But, what if we are already involved in a job. If you've performed your research on us, as you say you have, you undoubtadle know that I write for the Seattle Times." He glances around at this point to see how the others react to this information. "If I were to suddenly cease my column, then it would be noticed ... and questioned. The same could be said for some of the people that I keep in touch with. Are we to continue living as we have or do you want us to disappear?"

[Loki Spirit]

Kyle stiffens slightly as PD walks into the room. He watches him warily for a second before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the hostess of this meeting. He seem to have muttered something to himself underneath his breath, but it was far too soft to be heard.

[Blitz]

:: Crimson unfolds her legs and leans forward enough to take up one of the glasses of wine, taking a moment to savor the flavor, she settles back in her chair. ::

"Sully, a very good question. The types of jobs I typically fill are typical shadow fare. I stay away from wetwork and try to avoid high collateral damage deals. Many times your role will be a lesser part of a larger plan and I have other teams also working as assets which is why I am more than willing to tailor your jobs to your group. You are never required to participate in a job and you are never required to tell me why you choose to decline."

:: She turns her eyes to Trace. ::

"You will always have the choice, but you will have the unusual advantage to know ALL the details of a job before making your decision. However, to provide this additional benefit, you will NOT be able to walk away from my employment without notice or explaination. This is necessary to protect YOU from a teammate using knowledge learned against you. If you find that your ideals and my own no longer work well, you are always welcome to speak with me during a period of downtime between missions. If I am unable to adjust your employment to your liking, you will be free to discontinue your participation. Any departure during the sensitive duration of any ongoing missions will result in reprecussions. This is non-negotiable. If you are uncomfortable with this situation, you are welcome to decline."

:: Turning her attention to PD with a smile at his polite address. ::

"My caveat was that you perform no shadow work. Your column is a very important part of metahuman media and I would hate to see anything happen to it. As long as knowledge learned in my employ does not find itself in your copy, you are free to continue. My only concern is confidentiality and loyalty. Only when I can guarantee that from my assets, can I provide you with the safest working environment for the sinless."

:: Crimson's eyes bore into Kyle's and for a moment, which makes him wonder if she heard his comment. She holds the gaze just long enough for him to squirm slightly under her attention before her eyes slide over the group as a whole. ::

"Are there any other questions?"

[Shadow]

"No more for me, I have heard enough. Your conditions are acceptable, you got yourself a mage." Trace leans back and gives her a small smile.

[Fenris]

Jack reaches up to tip his hat back, and then seems to remember that he's already taken it off.

He nods instead, accent obvious in the quiet voice, and the grin creeps back onto his lips. "I think it sounds like a fine deal, Miss. You've got yerself an asset ."

[Blitz]

:: Crimson's smile begins as a ghostly figment, but cements slightly with the second acceptance. Her eyebrow raises slightly as she expectantly looks at the remaining potentials. ::