2072: Game World, IC thread for 2072: Recruitment always open! Options

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

"Get your indulgences! Step right up and let Holy Church absolve your sins! You sir! You look weary with life! Leave a penance for Holy Church and you or a loved one can be absolved in the life hereafter!" Father Anselm eyes his mark as Gemeaux passes on a leisurely stroll obviously quite aware that he has a very unskilled tail following a few hundred feet behind. The take from selling the priories weekly quota of indulgences had been quite good for the few hours that Anselm had been planted within eye-shot of Gemeaux's favorite brothel, perhaps in response to many a guilty conscience which the place produced, however well satisfied its clients may have been.

However, waiting was still waiting and as young as Anselm still felt, it was too long by half. The wait had paid off however, and quite possibly would turn out better than Anselm had anticipated if the open intentions written on the lead troll's face were accurate. He kept up his spiel, even attracting the attention for a moment of both Gemeaux and his overly conspicuous company before they passed on, one's rate of movement controlled by the other. Anselm mentally sighed and figured that perhaps he should have found Gemeaux a little earlier to avoid the coming trouble. He watched as Gemeaux rounded the corner and saw the group of orks coming up on the other side, the ones he had not noticed before, rushing up to join the three originally tailing the erstwhile shadowrunner.

Hmmm this may get a bit too interesting for my needs. Anselm silently activated his three foci which he was very thankful he had brought along and mentally uttered a quick prayer for an angel of vengeance, "My Lord, aid me against those that would disrupt your Holy work this night, send me one of your Legion, mighty with justice and wrath."

As Anselm hurried to the corridor which the party had rounded he sent several more prayers skyward, warding himself against the surprises of the devil and asking for divine intervention in the coming trial of faith. He paused for a moment to ascertain that the group had gone sufficiently far down the passage, about 20 meters and then rounded the corner as Gemeaux turned and replied to the order to put his hands up.

"Grant me your wrath my Lord" Anselm ordered the Angel to attack and destroy the party threatening Gemeaux and launched a stunbolt of his own, sending painful sleep coursing into the Trolls tiny, narrow mind.

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Vory Warehouse, Seattle]

Copperhead swaggered boldly up to the eastern european with the bad crewcut and worse breath.

Slater had actually come through on this one, although it did mean working with the Vory. She thought back to her recent call with the elf.

"Vory?"

"Yes, Vory."

"But don't dey kill you and your family, and yer dog and...."

"No, that's the Albanians. The Vory are trying to go legit, so they keep their dodgy dealings quiet. Plus, your friend Dealer's in tight with them."

"Huh?"

"Here. Look!"

<<poor quality video of two men in a sauna, one of whom could possibly be Dealer>>

"I guess that could be him"

"And the other is Zhukov. He's a fixer, but he's also Vory."

Her attention is brought back to the present, as the man with bad breath grunts something in what she assumes is Russian, then repeats it in broken English.

Go 'way trog. You not welcome here."

The Russian is tall and probably cybered, but so is she. She draws herself up to her full height and stares squarely into his eyes, drawing just enough mana to activate her shamanic mask.

"Lissen up breeder. I'm sshotgun number two for a truckload of BTLs dat's going to ssshicago. So unlesss you wants to tell your boss why da sshipment iss late, youse better letss me in, neh?"

To his credit, the thug stands his ground and even manages to spit, although he carefully avoids hitting her. He mutters under his breath in Russian but lets her in.

She swaggers past him, spotting Dealer by the truck's cab.

Hey, Dealer. How's it hanging? You oughtta let yer boss know dat security in dis place is lousy. Day let any trog jus' walk in off da street."

[Aria]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The quiet of the night is shattered, not so much by the silent phutts of Gemeaux's pistol but by the hysterical screaming that follows the moment of stunned silence...they clearly hadn't been expecting much resistance against the eight of them...

From behind the air ripples with barely visible energy and the leader, a trog of gargantuan proportions, slams into the side wall of the alley with a messy display of blood and gore errupting from his nose, ears and eyes...although the spell was designed to stun, cast with that amount of ferocity was akin to being dropped head first off a five storey building.

Standing beside the shrouded figure of the priest is a figure straight out of legend, the angelic form is radiant in the dimmness of the alleyway. It gestures with an imperious finger and another of the assailants is rendered mute...

[sabs]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

"What ever you say Girlie." He gives her a big toothy grin, and then holsters his handgun turning towards Sammy. "You must be Sammy. Lead the way young man."

Fractal follows along, his attention slightly distracted as he's using his mind's eye display to take over the Girl's commlink. It would be good to know exactly what kind of orders she is getting.

[Trigger]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

<<Ælias: I have some work involving a trip out of Seattle in connection with some of your work with the Refugees charity. Please contact me if you are available in the next couple of days for a period of a couple of weeks and we can discuss the details in a secure node.A.>>

Ælias looked the message over again as he browsed his upcoming schedule in one window, confirming that was indeed free for the next few weeks. There was a scheduled guild grouping for a stream ride next month, but he figured he might be done by then, if not there was always another one coming up sometime. He turned from the message for a moment as he reached into the exceptional resonance of his studio, compiling a being of pure Data before him. It appeared as floating head composed of millions of flickering, constantly changing images, each one a pixel of the face. It looked Ælias over and then at the vibrant 'Trix space around him, and nodded in approval, seeming content in the Resonance well that was the living room of Ælias' studio.

< What do you seek? It is my pleasure to delve the ether from here. >

< I seek information on the one who calls itself Argent. > Responds Ælias with a nod to the spirte as he works out a response to Argent.

<<Argent: I am interested in hearing the details. Where should we meet? >>

Ælias sends the response off with a thought and then turns his mind back to preparing a backup for the meeting. One could never be too safe. Enmeshing himself back with the currents of the Resonance, Ælias begins pulling together another being of coding, this one built from the remnants of destroyed programs, rended firewalls, and pure processing firepower; this was his bodyguard, Tank. The sprite appeared in a with an audible thump in the 'Trix, appearing in the guise of a stout Troll in a smooth black suit, like a professional bodyguard, except behind his black shades were spinning orbs of ones and zeroes, and what skin was exposed was laced with veins like fiber-optic cables. Tank gave Ælias a blank stare, simply standing and waiting for a command, but Ælias was not completed yet. He extended his mind into his link with Tank and fell into a meditative trance, locked in mind with the sprite. It was part contest of will, part restructuring of code, and part fistfight; he was registering Tank to himself, tying the sprite to him for more than just this day.

Six hours later and Ælias sat up, returned to himself, a little worse for wear but now with a very strong arm at his side for as long as he could keep the sprite compelled.

Now let's see if anyone has gotten back to me.

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux smiles in macabre satisfaction as his shots hammer home with adequate lethality. He swiftly slips into cover behind a collection of trash cans and an unfortunately pungent dumpster. He frowns in disgust as the odor assaults his nostrils.

Such is the price for discretion---of a limited level, it seems. He still is not quite sure what to make of the magician and his spirit. Strangely enough, it seems that the uninvited third party is the pandering priest. He does not have an answer to the question of whether or not the man is friend or foe, but he decides not to dwell on it right now. After all, the man is helping even out the odds. He might not even have to change clips at this current pace of goon culling.

He sees one of the voyous closer to him trying to line up a shot, and decides to explain to him why that is a very bad idea...

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

...and he grins wickedly as his salvos hit home. The goon goes down, and then he tallies two more having fallen to the mysterious priest and his summoned spirit.

This is damned peculiar. I don't often run across such bloodthirsty Good Samaritans. I wonder if this is simply a battle between bounty hunters. Tut, tut, Damien, you are becoming too popular for your own good...

He looks at the two remaining thugs, and stifles a chuckle. Their faces register defeat and their postures are those of defeated men. They look as if they are ready to flee the scene.

Too bad you will not get that opportunity, you stupid, petty fools...

[Aria]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

Clearly stunned by the rapid escalation in violence the two standing bounty hunters make a bid for freedom. The first, a burly orc slams his back against the nearest door off the alley...the stale smells of warm bear that waft out indicate it is the rear entrance to one of the local bars...he is not without some fight left in him however as he unleashes a blast of shot from a sawn off shotgun down the alley to discourage persuit...

The other, a scrawny disheveled individual who was the screamer moments before, takes off in a more unlikely way, literally scrambling up the side of the alley wall and then impossibly disappearing from view...boiling out of a sewer grate a stream of rats cascade out and hurl themselves against the glowing angelic icon...

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

The assassin is taken aback by the screaming would-be bounty hunter who scrambles up the wall. The entire display strikes him as unnatural and arcane.

More mages...merde...

However, his training and Shiawase's hardware force him to zero in on the one remaining enemy he can actually affect. When the orc dashes for the doorway, Gemeaux leaps into action and gets ready to follow suit. As the orc levels the shotgun at him, he feels adrenaline start to surge through his body and time seems to slow down.

No. You. Don't.

He somehow weaves his way through the blast field unscathed. He levels his own weapon at the fleeing orc, and lets his smartgun system play across his vision. Various trajectory paths and models offer predictions on how to best guarantee a hit. Something within the shadows of his subconscious tells him to follow the third option. He goes with his gut, takes his two shots, and watches the exploding shells slam into the shocked voyou.

I do so love it when I am right.

With that one loose end cut free from the land of the living, he turns his attention towards the priest and his spirit. A swarm of sewer rats rush towards the ethereal angel. He wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought of where those rats have been, and what that mage had to do to make them so vicious. Part of him thinks this would be the ideal time to give the priest---and potential "would be bounty hunter"---the slip. However, another part of him is curious as to why the priest took the time and effort to help him in his time of need. He looks around for the last of his would-be captors, but sees no sign of the wall-crawler. He pulls out a cigarette, deftly lights it with a stainless steel lighter which he slips back into his pocket, and casually leans against the cleanest part of a backalley building wall he can find.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I am all out of rat traps and I do not think I have enough bullets to dispose of that vermin," he says to the priest. "Though I think that your cherubic ally should be able to dispose of them without much trouble, oui? If you can point me towards their master, perhaps I can do something about him."

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The action seems to swirl around Anselm as he focuses on being a rod of Divine Wrath, invoking the powers of the souls to seperate the empty husks of the goons minds from their bodies. In what seems like minutes, the goons are either down, dead or reeling on the pavement, except for the screamer and a badly shaken ork with a shotgun.

Too rapidly to catch, the fleeing ork disappears in fine red mist and chunks on the bar door while the unexpected demon worshipper attempts to scamper up the wall, to be covered by an unholy swarm of rats, all seething towards Anselm's Angel.

The slightly bewildered and disheveled Gemeaux looks back and forth for the now apparently absent satanist and, in a change of mein which speaks to his experience in the shadows, leans up against a less foul section of wall, deftly lighting a somewhat worse for wear cigarette which has appeared in his hands with a stainless steel lighter.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I am all out of rat traps and I do not think I have enough bullets to dispose of that vermin, Though I think that your cherubic ally should be able to dispose of them without much trouble, oui? If you can point me towards their master, perhaps I can do something about him."

Anselm pauses for a split second to register the comment, still caught in the whirlwind of divine wrath and looks at the spot the demon spawn had just occupied, it took all his will but he caught sight of the mage about 6 meters up, climbing rapidly towards the top of the 8 story tenement and whorehouse.

Mentally commanding his soldier of the Lord to destroy the filth if he could not, Anselm points to the rapidly departing damned and begins chanting the framework for a lance of divine light to sear the scum before he could make good on his getaway.

[Aria]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The scurrying shaman can dimly be heard whimpering to himself as he flings himself up the side of the building. Reaching a likely window he thrusts out his hand and sends shards of glass whirling into the night air before he tumbles inside. Having pierced the fog of his concealment, however, Anselm is able to unleash the fury of the heavens against the fleeing scum and the air of the alley is burnt as the incandescent stream of light blasts into the retreating form.

The angelic spirit pursues with the rats defying gravity to run hotly up the wall behind him. As he reaches the window he is confronted by a single rat-like figure standing on its hind legs and chittering in a threatening way and blocking the path to it's shaman summoner.

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux looks up just in time to see the ethereal display. He nonchalantly shields his eyes and face from the shattered glass with his free hand, and squints as the bright effects of the priest's magic briefly flare about the alley. Seeing the shaman slip outside of his immediate firing range, he looks back to the alleyway where the angel is engaged with now two rats. Amidst the wizard's duel, the remaining thugs are groaning as they vacillate between life and death.

The fewer witnesses, the better. I hope you paid the priest for his services before you made this fatally wrong choice...

He raises his gun and begins the dirty business of killing the wounded...

[Aria]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

You breeze through the negligible protection on the girl’s commlink and rifle through its contents. Seems to be very little on here, Sarah’s details, although the SIN is so blatantly fake that you wonder why anyone would bother with it (perhaps enough to ride a bus and not stand out in a mall), a few contact numbers and the call log – that’s about the only thing of interest because it shows that there haven’t been any calls received for three days and the only outgoing one seems to have been made by a Fetch. Either she’s got a transceiver on her, although that seems unlikely, or she’s got some magical way of receiving orders…or perhaps technomantic? That might be more probably given the nature of the gang.

Sammy looks you over nervously and then waves you onwards towards the centre of the gang’s influence…most of it is in the ‘trix but they still defend, defended, a small patch of turf centred around a group of apartment blocks. There is evidence all around you of gang violence, too much in fact, it looks planted and you are hardly a forensic expert. There are also bodies which your guide carefully avoids looking at…it seems there aren’t even enough of them left to clear their dead from the street…

You are led to one of the larger units and then down a service stairs towards the basement…seems like Prospero lives under a rock…

[sabs]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

Fractal sighed to himself, Technomancers. He let his coprocessor collect all the information and record it for later analysis. He had a pretty good forensics program back home he might be able to run the information through.

The kid was amusing, young and obviously way over his head. "Lead on McDuff"

[Trigger]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

<I have found what you seek. Do you require another task of me?> The Data sprite queries as Ælias returns from his registration trance with Tank. It transfers the data package on Argent to the link on Ælias' hip, his external memory source for things he want to hold onto. Ælias browses through the collected data with a quick eye, picking out the important details as he scans... She's a straight shooter, hmm... married? Awakened husband, gotta be extra careful not to leave a trace behind... she seems legit though. Well, I will see what she has to say when she gets back to me.

Ælias turns back to the Data sprite after browsing the file, <Thank you for the good work, I have no other tasks for you right now.>, he responds with a nod the sprite as it begins returning to the Resonance, returning to the primary data forms it was created from.

Oh, crap, she said something about leaving Seattle for a few weeks for this run... I need some things before I go, if I go...

Ælias quickly summons up another window, this one to the tiny VPN that the Refugees created for easier mass guild communication.

<< Subject: Going Outta Town for a bit -
Hey guys, I got a job coming up, and I was wondering if any of you could help a brotha out with a couple of things.
First, if any of you have a spare, external simrig, I would like to borrow it for a few days. Seriously, just borrow. I heard about a new technique someone came up with, emulating the software of the thing into a form for us to use. I wanna try that out, I even have some change for a renter's fee and security deposit if you want (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)
Second, this one is a bit more difficult, but I still got some savings, so if you can hook me up it will be worth it. I need another name if I'm leaving town, if you get my drift. Something that will pass inspection on a plane if needed. And I might need it ASAP.
Send me a message if you can help.

Thanks,
~Ælias >>

With his message sent off, Ælias finally pulls himself out of VR, back into his meat, and the small amount of blood dried on his upper lip and chin. He pulls himself up off his old, but comfortable, green couch and stumbles across the studio to the little closet that is his bathroom. Made up of a sink above a toilet across from a standing plexiglass box shower, the room is barely large enough for his small ork frame to turn around in, but at least the water is always hot. He washes his face off and runs his hands through his greasy black hair in a semblance of brushing it, and then nearly doubles over when his stomach wakes up with a mighty gurgle that reverberates throughout the studio.

<< You know, you might think about eating sometime. I hear that is a necessity for you living things. >> remarks Sphinx through the studio's CHN, the AI's digital voice projected from the 9.1 surround sound speakers Ælias had delivered for his 'premium' upgrade to his Trideo subscription. Wanderer, another Refugee, had pointed him towards the backdoor he had left in the providers node; he, like Ælias, liked to say 'why pay for something when you can just spoof it?'.

"Thanks Sphinx, I don't think I had realized that yet."

Glancing at the timestamp in his vision, he winced at the time: 10:46 PM. Where did all the time go? At least the Stuffer is still open.

Grabbing his armor underclothes and Greatcoat, Ælias tosses his link onto his wrist (loading up his Simon Trent SIN), and his Predator into the under shoulder hidden holster and heads out into the night to find something to eat.

[Aria]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; ShadowSEA Private Meeting Node, Seattle Matrix]

The icon facing you is of an imposing looking female elf with a tell-tale silver white streak through the front of her hair. The resolution is good and made to make you feel as if this is what the user looks like in the flesh…of course you know better than most that the matrix is as full of lies as of truths…

“Ah, Ælias, thank you for joining me. I take it that you are at the very least interested in the proposal and are free for the coming couple of weeks? Good, then I will introduce you to your Johnson and allow you to discuss the terms with her. If you require further assistance then you have my contact details. This is Ms. Novac from the Stillwater Community…”

And her icon fades from the node as another steps into place. You have heard of Novac by reputation from your conversations with VectΩr. She’s an old school decker and Sysop for the Community…seems she’s branching out as Johnson now. The icon is crudely rendered by contrast with Argent’s but you can see that this is a deliberate statement rather than a lack of investment…on closer inspection each angular facet is made up of countless more down to a sub molecular level. For a mundane she shows some skill and is probably worthy of respect.

“Ælias? I’ll be brief as I understand you have your own commitments to see to. There is a small sub group of the Stillwater Community set up in Chicago dedicated to hiding technomancers from those who would exploit or otherwise hurt them. In this I gather this tallies with your own agenda and that of the Refugees? The Blackwater group is about to be compromised, we don’t know how yet, and we need to get the people out of there and back here to Seattle where they can be protected. I have already arranged for another two runners to meet up with you in Chicago, Dealer and Copperhead are both competent individuals but they lack your matrix expertise. I have a couple of other teams en route and between you we will split the Blackwater Group and have you each take a different path back to Seattle to avoid trying to move too big a group across the borders. This data package will give you information on your charges. Now, do you have any questions before we move onto the details of payment?”

The data burst is short, two SINs and some additional details on Kathy, and Dave, both young, a human and an orc and presumably both gifted like yourself…

[Aria]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Apartment Block Basement, Prospero’s Lair, Touristville, Redmond]

Sammy leaves you at a door in the sub basement nodding at the blinking red light on the CCTV camera looking down at you. The door opens with a hiss and your optics automatically adjust to the gloom inside. The place is full of dust and allows you to make out the projectors that are producing the holographic rendering of a withered husk of a human male supported by a plethora of medical equipment. Seems he’s not prepared to meet you in the flesh after all. The voice when it emerges is dry but was clearly once able to sway people with its softness and tone

“Fractal, thank you for being here. I apologise for the brashness of my guardians but they have suffered greatly in the last few hours so I am sure you will make allowances for their grief as well as their youth. You have seen the data file and the bodies in the street…nothing has been touched since the attack, I insisted…I need to know who is responsible and why they came. They have escaped my grasp and my followers are in no fit state to find this knowledge so I must look to the outside…to you… If you can find nothing here then I suggest you track down Summer and find out what she knows…she has meddled here and clearly knows more…I don’t care how you extract the information! Find me the truth and I will reward you well!”

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

"In mortem a vita ... Mitto ego te ad infernum unde venistis!" The bolt of heavenly wrath which shot from Anselm's work scarred hands was a molten arc of light, blinding its intensity, which filled the alleyway with a garish noon-day glare and left arcing spots across the vision of those who could observe. The smell of sulfur and ozone left in its trail as it slammed into the departing heathen spoke volumes of the source from which it had been pulled.

At the sight disappearance of their masters and the oncoming onslaught of the Angel, the spirits fell back, their main purpose achieved, though from their disappearance as rapidly as they had come, Anselm could tell that at least the satanist was no longer conscious, and most likely extremely charred. Anselm dismissed the Angel with a prayer of thanks and immediately the divine light seemed to flow from his person, leaving him the slightly geriatric looking bent priest in a torn robe flapping about his legs.

The unseemly stench which filled the vacuum left by the lance reminded him that channeling so much divine favor was unwise to engage in or plead for as a common habit. I really should've cornered this Gemeaux earlier, when I found out about his trip... too much time was wasted and this ordeal has forced my hand too much into the open... Now to dissemble before this wencher and show myself to be another vagrant in this changing world...

Pushing his cowl even further up to shield himself from being fully scanned, he hobbled back to where he had been selling his indulgences, but not before he said in a querulous voice, "My son, you should take more care as to the company you keep. A man such as you would do well to find work in another place... be content for now that God set you in my path this night, for it seems he has plans for you yet, Madame Liane would be sorely upset to find her favorite companion assaulted by so many again..."

[Trigger]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; ShadowSEA Private Meeting Node, Seattle Matrix]

Ælias' gives Argent a nod as she leaves, a mental thanks for the setting up of this meeting. His icon is currently that of a skinny, teenage human, a unspiked flopped over the left side of his face, and his body dressed in a fine Vashon Line Steampunk suit, a virtual dichotomy of status. Whatever will throw them off the trail.

He listens intently to the Johnson's, to Novac's description of the job, letting himself analyze the details she has already presented and what details he can infer from what she hasn't said. Blackwater? That sounds much more ominous than Stillwater, though admittedly, neither name is very reassuring sounding. She also assumes I am going to agree, she already has people on the ground there, I am just the final, crucial it seems, player. Maybe I can use that to my advantage...

"Yeah, I have a question... are the charges willing to be extracted and moved? Are they aware of what is going to happen, or are they going to need to be restrained as well as babysat? Outside of that detail, I am interested in this job; you guys over at Stillwater have been cooperative with us Refugees over the last few years, I like to think that we are each benefiting from the other."

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

As the wizard's duel unfolds between the priest and the goon's spirit, Gemeaux thinks back to Shiawase's instruction concerning magical threats.

"The first rule for combating spirits: Don't. Run if you can. If that option is nonexistent, then hit the mage with everything you have and more. Most mages don't expect "mundanes" to resist. If that's not an option, target the spirit and shoot to annihilate." Time to put that last theory to the test. He loads a full cartridge into his gun and switches over to burst fire mode.

<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, my dear, set up a targeting equation optimized for damage on that swarm of rats please.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Of course, Damien. Processing... Hmm, that is odd. Those "rats" are not giving off usual life signs.>>

<<[Gemeaux]: That is because it is a spirit masquerading as a pack of sewer rodents.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Ah... I see. Targeting equation established, you may fire when ready.>>

Time to put my training to the test... He focuses on the smartgun data playing across his vision, watching the "rats" combat the "angel", and then fires a three-shot burst into the swarm. He grins in satisfaction as he hears the otherworldly beast howl in pain. He continues to unload salvos into the spirits, assisting the mage's servant in disrupting the hostile spirits.

When the dust finally settles from the astral-tinged firefight, Gemeaux notices that his cigarette has burned out. He disposes of it with a nicotine addict's practiced flick, and immediately draws and lights a new cigarette. He reloads his gun and looks back at the mage, a world-weary---and now battle-weary---priest wearing some church's denominational paraphernalia. When the man pulls his hood down, it only underlines his prior skepticism with well-placed suspicion.

"My son, you should take more care as to the company you keep. A man such as you would do well to find work in another place... be content for now that God set you in my path this night, for it seems he has plans for you yet, Madame Liane would be sorely upset to find her favorite companion assaulted by so many again..."

Gemeaux gives a congenial chuckle, albeit tinged with an uncomfortably palpable hint of mockery.

"I appreciate the assist," he says nonchalantly in English, gesturing to the downed gunmen. "Whether I am grateful all depends on what your 'Providence' has in plans for me. I would be twice foolish tonight if I did not ask you this question---especially since you seem to have issue pronouncing 'Madame Lianne's' name: What do you want from me?"

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@ Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:24:00 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

The bustling atmosphere of this mid-sized establishment on the corner of Pacific Avenue and South 19th Street was always a comfort for Jack, he felt at home here in this Vory-run poker den which siphoned the hard-earned, or hardly-earned in the case of a few, wages of the local dock workers and students sentenced to live in this section of town. Something about the old world feel that the Vory had worked so hard to instill in the place, despite its obviously seedy surroundings gave the impression that you might just strike wealth here, and that impression always lent itself to lucky individuals scooping up the wages of the unskilled who plunked everything they had on a single flop of the cards.

It was an early and productive night for Jack, who had already raked in a good seven thousand nuyen from the round-robin tournament which had concluded minutes ago with a stunning stroke of luck revealing a flush to top out the pair of Aces which had been the hope of a younger, and very much unrefined dockhand.

"That's drek man! You got no Hez!" The admittedly large ork was still very agitated and physically threatening as the guards for the business restrained him and tossed him out into the already pitch black night. The nuisance settled, Jack returned to the bar and ordered a real- draft beer. No nutri-brew for me tonight. Not when lady luck has been so kind to me. Jack shuddered at the remembered taste of the soy-based fungal brew that was his drink of desperation when the chips were down. Thankfully though, tonights winnings meant he'd be in the black for some time to come... so long as he could hold onto what he had won.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

Anselm's occasional slur from his partially malformed tongue made his pronunciation of Lianne's name sound even more clumsy than he had anticipated and Gemeaux was quick to mock the priests sillibant speech, "I appreciate the assist. Whether I am grateful all depends on what your 'Providence' has in plans for me. I would be twice foolish tonight if I did not ask you this question---especially since you seem to have issue pronouncing 'Madame Lianne's' name: What do you want from me?"

Anselm frowned beneath his cloak, he was one who liked to keep his tools in the dark until they needed to know things, but his usual theatrics seemed to be at a disconcerting lack of efficacy these past few weeks, Damn... I have to acquire his services now or he may well shoot me. This last thought was emphasized by the slightly elevated tilt of the freshly reloaded gun in Gemeaux's deadly and capable hands.

He raised his hands and removed the cowl from his head to show he meant no harm.

"I meant no offense my son. I simply was informed that you were a man who might benefit from a timely absence in this country with skills that I would greatly desire on a business trip. I had been told that you frequented this venue as often as I have and meant to speek to you earlier after I had finished selling my wares for the day but I believe you found this intrusion into your privacy acceptable for the time being? Believe me, I have no interest in you in the way these unbound souls did, you are merely a man with talents I desire."

[Gortrek Bloodspl...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:25:37 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

The beer wasn't the best Jack had ever had, but it tasted like victory in this place both dark and rich. The winnings would inevitably go mostly into the next tournament buy-in or at least most of them, but that was a worry for another time. It was the first time he had a decent victory and didn't spend the entire night drowning himself trying to forget about his father's murder. Life was too short, he popped one of his pills while reading the label to himself, "Do not take with alcohol" Jack smiled and finished off his beer. He would have ordered another but saw Hawke walking toward him, most like to congratulate his new friend. Jack had been a fairly new arrival to the area, but had already made and lost small fortunes at this fine establishment. Jack stood up and made his way over politely leaving his empty glass at the bar.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:27:15 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

Hawke, who's alias readily described his slavic features, was generally a genial medium-built man who ran the day-to-day operations of the floor tournaments and was rumored to be able to point any serious inquiries into the more dubious side of tacoma towards the proper authorities, those authorities of course, varied greatly depending on the party doing the inquiring.

So Jack had heard anyways, from the few "friends" he had made in the bare month since he had been relocated off of his family's quarters in the small condo by the Horizon Creative Focus Retreat for "further expansion of his creative nature and in the company's best interests due to the mentally destabilizing effects of sudden loss". Expansion of my creative nature my ass! What they really mean is to keep me on hook line and sinker for mom, wherever she is... and probably so they have a convenient scape-goat if they find real evidence to pin on me.

"Jack, my young friend! Welcome back!" Smiling as if he too had just profited greatly from being in the same room as Jack and he was some long-lost cousin, Hawke barked a few orders in russian to a passing server who immediately disappeared to return moments later with a freshly refilled glass of beer. "I see you have had a new date with you tonight? Lady luck must be well charmed indeed to spend so much good fortune on one young man."

As Hawke deftly steers the slightly non-plussed Jack back towards the poker tables with a friendly but iron-clad grip, Jack realizes he probably wont leave tonight with all of his winnings intact.

[Gortrek Bloodspl...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:27:44 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

"Hawke, good to see you around. I was hoping to make use of your facilities next door, though I realize it is after hours. I would be happy to compensate you with some of my recent winnings for the inconvenience." Jack fell prey to the same trap he typically did after winning a game with a decent payout, the curse of generosity. Maybe combining pills and alcohol isn't such a great idea. So let's throw guns into the equation to help balance it out. Jack realized he must have drifted off for a moment after talking to Hawke and quickly came back to reality. Jack was hoping his pills would kick in a bit faster, he had felt his grip slipping towards the end of the game but didn't want to show weakness to his ork opponent. Luckily for Jack that nuisance had already been dealt with.

"I was also wondering if you knew of any other games in the area, preferably with a 5,000 nuyen buy-in?" He wasn't going to make any money at the big games until he worked up to it with the small ones. The major game Jack had been trying to earn the cred for was a 100,000 nuyen buy-in and he was no where near the kind of cash to play at those tables. Just breathe and wait for a few man, they just need time to work.. Jack took a sip of the beer Hawke had so generously offered him.