Hunting in the Smoke IC, British Shadows are dark... mostly... Options

[DrJest]

"Normally I'd be right alongside the idea of pissing in Marchment's beer," said Poet. "But I do think we ought to at least find out some more about what this stuff is; if only to assess the likelihood that we're going to face serious repercussions."

[Blitz]

"Agreed. But first, ve need to make new base to begin."

:: She looks through the rear view window long enough to make eye contact with Poet before continuing. She definitely doesn't trust this latest member of the group. His sudden involvement in the middle of the chaotic nightclub battle was unexpected and suspicious. Why would he choose to join in the fight, why did he choose the side he chose and why does he seem like the only team member that understands the level of danger they are in? ::

"You are new. Your.....link...to dat case and it's contents is...um, weak. Newer, unexpected. Maybe harder for enemies to track or know your assets. Make sense? You 'ave safe place, vork place, not home? Like my place?"

:: She definitely seems to struggle with the English, limited to simple words to express the detailed ideas in her mind. While her trust in the newcomer was limited at best, she felt uncomfortable revealing another one of her safehouses to the group with this level of distrust. ::

:: Sandy had been uncharacteristically quiet since the discussion had begun, Deuce seemed to have no fear of our employer and may just be stupid enough to try and sell out the group. He wouldn't live through the encounter one way or the other, but she doubted he had that sort of foresight. Natasha was mostly useless for the most part. She was just a small time street tramp, yet active enough in the underworld that every asset at her disposal was most likely already known and monitored by the suits. That left Poet, who was just as questionable as the rest of them at this time, but who's late appearance into the game may give the group a head start as their enemies scrambled to gather info on him. ::

[DrJest]

Poet's mouth twisted into the wry grin that was becoming familiar to the others. "I can see where you're going with this, cariad, and under normal circumstances I'd be the first to agree. But it's Marchment we're dealing with here, and the Lord Bastard may well have been keeping a weather eye on me from time to time. I'd prefer not to trust my usual safe haunts."

A thought struck him then. "But there is one place we could go. Somewhere even the Templars fear to tread, at least openly." He looked round the group. "Lambeth."

[Blitz]

:: Tyen follows the logic of their latest addition and nods, redirecting the vehicle towards the wrong side of the tracks. Pulling up her GPS system, she loads the mapping programs for the districts between where she currently is and Lambeth and flips the car's autonav on while she concentrates on the maps. after about 15 mins, she programed an unusual route to the outskirts of the run down zone. The way consisted of several back tracks, many direction changes and a few loops designed to make tailing them difficult. ::

:: At one stoplight. Tyen closed her eyes and call forth a willowy form from the surrounding shadows and silently bade it guard their vehicle as well as alert her should there be any small drones following them from the skies. With a nod, the city spirit floats up and out of the car to trail behind them like a small dark cloud. ::

[Mysterio]

Deuce remained cool and quiet for the remainder of the trip. He knew he was out numbered here. He'd dealt with paranoid runner before, but this was unreal. He knew people like the Lord, and what they could do, and this group was asking for trouble by going beyond their call of duty. But he wanted to be paid.

[DrJest]

"We'd better find somewhere to hole up when we get there," said Poet. "And I think I know just the lad to help us."

He pulled out a mobile phone - cheap, disposable, anonymous - and dialed a number from memory. It rang a few times, then someone answered. "Good evening," said Poet. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Lynch.

A faint tinny noise from the phone, recognisable as speech but incomprehensible unless you had the phone against your ear.

"That's your decision of course, boyo, but you just go and tell him Poet's calling."