Living in the Shadows: IC, Jan 8th-14th Options

[WinterRat1]

22:15:00 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Klassy Kat, Second and Virginia, Downtown Seattle

When O'Halloran turns around and sees Lana standing there, the only appropriate word to describe his expression is 'leer'. As in, he leered at Lana, blatantly checking her out as if she was a new shirt at a store or something.

"Well babe," he answers, focusing on her chest, "if you'd like to have a private conversation with me, I'm sure my friends won't mind." His tone takes all the subtlety out of his cheap come on, and is practially dripping with innuendo. It's all Lana can do to prevent herself from smacking the jerk in the face then and there. "So...what kind of conversation do you have in mind? I mean, don't get me wrong, I know lots of ways to have a conversation, if you know what I'm saying." A sleazy grin and exaggerated wink have Lana wondering how the heck anyone could stand to let themselves be connected to this guy.

He stops with his blatantly overplayed attempts at subtlety long enough to look her up and down again before to continuing to talk to her chest. "I'm flattered that you're so forward, and you're fine as hell, so I figure you must have an idea of what you want. Don't get me wrong, if you don't, I'll be happy to...assist you in coming up with new ways to talk, but I thought I'd be a gentleman and ask what you're up for first. And if you can't decide what you're up for first, I already can tell you what I'm up for, or maybe should I say what's up on me."

[Vegas]

22:16:16 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Klassy Kat, Second and Virginia, Downtown Seattle

It was all Lana could do to keep from rolling her eyes or wanting to hurl. This guy’s come ons were worse than most of the drunken frat boys on campus. She plastered a smile on her lips that she hoped came off more seductive than forced.

At least this asshole thinks with the head in his pants as opposed to the one on his shoulders. That’ll come in handy later, I hope.

She tossed her hair and arched her brows as her eyes pulled away from O’Halloran’s face for an instant as she scoped out the club, looking for a open booth that she could pull him away from his “friends” for their discussion. Spotting one only a few down from Aidan gave her another boost to her confidence knowing he’d only be a few feet away if things went south. She took a step back from O’Halloran and crooked her finger.

“C’mon sugar, I think privacy is just what we need.”

She played into his ego and his libido at the same time, a subtle shift of leather-clad hips and a tease of a bare midriff was the icing on the cake. She waited for him to rise to his feet before she started her trek across the club to the open booth. The rush of pseudo power washed over her and it was a heady high. She could, for an instant, understand why Kat subjected herself to this situation night after night to “get by.”

She stood beside the booth as she ushered O’Halloran to get comfortable. She paused as she weighed her options of what to do next. She let her hips sway slightly to the next dancer’s music, she’d seen enough movies on the TriD to know how private dances worked, while she had never in her wildest dreams thought about giving anyone one, she sure enough had the dancer’s background to draw from. She struggled to keep her hands still while she moved in towards O’Halloran hoping to god she didn’t just open the door for more trouble.

She went through the motions, giving him a spectacular view of her as she did everything she could to make it anything but a lapdance. She placed her hands on either side of him on the plush bench of the booth and slid her body up his until her face was just a few inches from his.

“So what’s your interest in Kat exactly?”

[grendel]

04:25:28 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments

Tony opened his eyes to an active smartgun link, his fingers already putting pressure on the trigger of his pistol. The apartment, though, was hollow and empty, chill in the darkness of four a.m. He eased off on the trigger, letting the weapon drop to a low ready. Something had woken him, and he listened intently. Outside, the city grumbled beneath the biting winter wind. Cars slouched through the streets, slower now that the gutters ran with snow and slush. Sirens called from the distance, punctuated at times by gunfire. That was just normal background radiation, though, nothing to arouse this level of paranoia in him. Was it something else? Reign? Red Queen? The sheets were tangled about his legs and he realized that the chill he felt was sweat drying on his skin. What the frag was going on?

[grendel]

10:41:09 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Huskie Brand Management, 55051 Corporate Drive, Seattle UCAS

Almost lunchtime grinned Litany, fast forwarding through another segment of surveillance footage. The time stamp in the lower right hand corner of the image flickered past at eight times speed. Wind driven snow cascaded past the drone's eyes, cars snapping past at what would have been defiantly unsafe speeds. The facade of the store sat unmoving, the occasional light or shadow darkening momentarily the front display window. But the dim translucency of the storefront did not betray even the hint of a shape, certainly nothing that Litany found useful. She sighed, glancing once more at the clock and then back to the small display screen. And froze. Stilled the feed. Rewound. Pressed play. And watched again in surpise as the two figures exited the doorway, turned right down the sidewalk, and disappeared into the snow filled air as if they were mirages.

[bclements]

04:40:28 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments

What the frag was that? Tony thought, placing his index finger on the outside of the trigger guard and panting from the adrenaline surge called by the perceived threat. Was it a dream? Tony couldn’t remember dreaming anything before waking up, just snapping upright and yanking the silenced Browning from underneath his pillow.

Unwrapping himself from the sheet, Tony pulled on a robe, kept the pistol ready in his right hand, winced a bit as his feet hit the ice cold hard floor and checked out the apartment, flicking the lights on in every room to assuage…whatever had woken him up Trying to listen to the apartement, he looked over at the time on the microwave. No way you’re going to go on that little sleep, noticing he’d only been asleep for a few hours.

After a few minutes of looking and not finding anything, Tony grabbed a bottle, took a couple of swigs of whiskey, and tried to go back to sleep.

10:18:40 Sunday, 14 January 2063 Weapons World, corner of 6th Ave and Olive St, Seattle, UCAS

crAAAck crAAAck crAAAck
Tony looked up from the sights down the range at the plastic target. Little fragger jumps he thought, tightening up the grip on the MP5 and firing off another short burst.

Tony had never really worked with too many automatic weapons; he’d usually been in too close (and used a pistol) or too far away (and used a nice scoped rifle) for something like the MP5 to be useful. Upon hearing of the buyout (and who was actually doing the buying out), that and the Semopal were the only things he could get out of Agricola’s armory without attracting any attention. He’d not had much chance of practicing with either in his time, other than a qualifying range way back at the Academy.

Right now, it was showing even after about 50 rounds. Could just be lack of sleep too he thought, looking at the board. At 20 meters, the recoil on the subgun was getting the better of him, and he was barely able to actually hit the background, much less the target outline. His pistol board hung up in the firing booth next to him, apprasing his lack of aim with a smiling face he’d put on it with the Browning as a warm up.

At least the ID and license still work. And it does feel good to shoot, Tony thought, reeling in the board to 10 meters to see if that helped. With that license, he was able to not only legally carry the gun and pay for several hours of booth time, but to get a complementary 50 standard rounds. Of course, you had to buy your ammo there, but it was still better than setting up shop in Snohomish. Not like I’m going to waste the EX-EX on trying to learn anyway he thought, slapping a fresh clip into the MP5 and resighting.

[WinterRat1]

22:23:03 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Klassy Kat, Second and Virginia, Downtown Seattle

Apparently he didn't quite understand the gist of the question. Spreading his arms out across the back of the booth and leaning back, soaking in her nearness and overpowering feminine charms, he grinned lustfully at her. "Mmm...babe, you're my kind of woman. I like the way you think. If you're digging her too, I can tell my guys to bring her over, or even arrange somewhere more private for the three of us. How does that sound to you?" His leer told her exactly what he thought her interest was in Kat, and did absolutely nothing to dispel the notion that if nothing else, one thing he definitely wanted from Kat was her body.

That in and of itself wasn't really surprising, since pretty much any guy who was interested in women and had a pulse would feel the same way. It was the lengths to which he was willing to go that was disturbing, and the smile he gave Lana when he said Kat's name creeped her out further. She was starting to think that maybe calling this guy a stalker was an insult to stalkers everywhere. And here she was giving him an almost lapdance...

[WinterRat1]

double post

[Vegas]

22:23:38 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Klassy Kat, Second and Virginia, Downtown Seattle

Lana actually threw up a little in her mouth at the sleaziness of the guy sprawled out on the booth before her. He honestly thought he was god’s gift to women and that they’d all want to strip off their clothes the second he flashed that creepy smile, and with that lecherous leer they’d cater to his every illicit desire.

Not her however, not here, not ever.

She swallowed hard as she moved just that much closer, moving as if she was about to straddle him and really give him a true lap dance when at the last moment she shifted her weight just slightly and brought her leather-clad knee right up into his crotch and applied firm pressure as she leaned into his ear.

“I don’t think you understood me, why are you following her.”

He may have found her thickening Russian accent even more “sexy” but she was becoming more and more impatient as well as quite scared. A million thoughts were racing through her head at that very moment, thinking of all the ways this could go so very wrong before Aidan would be able to make it to her side.

[DireRadiant]

10:41:25 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Huskie Brand Management, 55051 Corporate Drive, Seattle UCAS

Maybe she could get herself a treat at lunch to reward herself, there was a place that was making fresh real hot chocolate, the chocolate grinding machinery right there around the room, so you could see it all processing as you sat and waited for your hot cup. Of course it was worth it just for the fresh chocolate smells. But business first.

//@Gabriel Enhance the image and see if it's a match the Target. See if you can get a match to the talismonger.
//@Gabriel Mark the time on the visual capture.
//@Gabriel Let's finish processing the rest of this data

With a distracted air, not unusual with high speed visual playback overlaying most her normal sight window, Litany logged out of the facility and marked herself on the status board as "out shopping". It wasn't much to go on, but now things felt like they were moving, and being in motion always made her feel much better.

[bclements]

17:25:28 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments

Shooting helped Tony thought, sipping the last of the real coffee he’d not moved to his doss in Bellvue while looking at the map of…whatever this place was supposed to be. Black clinic like this has got to have some customers. Isn’t that the whole point of them? Tony thought, trying to figure out why not going straight through the front door was such a bad idea in this seemingly abandoned place.

Shooting had helped to calm him down, and while the subgun felt nowhere near the extension of his hand the pistol felt like, he had gotten better during the 4 hours of shooting. He’d forgotten how calming and meditative it felt to fire off a couple of boxes of ammo at a target, constantly adjusting head position, grip and breathing to improve his aim. The three hour, Doze & Wake assisted nap (the last sleep he’d have in this apartment for awhile, he thought) hadn’t hurt either. He didn’t want to have any more dreams like this morning, and needed the sleep for tonight.

Why anyone gets this stuff implaned anyway is beyond me he almost said out loud while looking tracing the shortest route to what looked to be the computer room, and from there to the storage rooms. Xayide was indicative of what he’d run into up here, and it was totally alien from what Tony had been raised around. He knew why they did it, of course, but he wondered at the why of it. Hopefully, I don’t have to face that kind of decision he thought, knowing full well that cyber and magic didn’t go together like soy butter and jelly.

Hope Reign’s ok, was the last idle thought he had, then he set his mind to memorizing the floorplan and entrance/escape routing for tonight.

[grendel]

23:35:08 Sunday 24 December 2062 - Cal Free State, UCAS

Gunfire rattled, so close that Vegas could hear the ricochets as they whined through a darkened alleyway. From her blind on the second floor of the abandoned building, she tapped nervously on her leg with her left hand, a silent twitch that willed the intrusion team faster. A second round of gunfire, a staccato series of sharp bursts that her combat mind broke apart into a pair of six round point salvos followed by an answering saw of suppression fire. The scream that followed this most recent gunfire stilled her hand, and she broke her scan from the three approach alleyways to the open square in front of her own building.

The child was filthy, draped in a makeshift collection of rags more effective at camouflage than anything store-bought could hope to be. Only the frantic motion of the girl, clawing her way from her hiding spot and stumbling over the broken, frozen ground, betrayed her presence. Vegas cursed under her breath. At the same time, her commlink whispered "outgoing."

The flash of light as the mortar round left the tube leaked through the baffling tarp Quill had setup, but should have been too brief and faint to be detectable by the surveillance assets levied against the team. The round itself would be airborne for only a second before shedding its sensor cover, allowing the laser seeker inside to scan for the correctly coded reflected energy.

Vegas felt herself reaching out, almost without conscious direction, and extending her protection to the nameless child cowering in the open field that was about to become a killing ground.

I will not let her be harmed. I swear it.

As she whispered the words, though, she knew the futility of it all. Flickering shadows down the easternmost alley indicated that escape route was closed off. A squad, ten all told, of armed and armored corporate shock troops were moving down the street. The fireteams leap-frogged forward, covering one another like seasoned pros. Someone had broken out the varsity team this time. Motion drew their eyes and the muzzles of their assault rifles. The girl looked up in fear and Vegas unleashed the fires of Hell.

She screamed, although it would only become apparent in the post-engagement debrief when they played the audio transcripts, her flesh on fire as she tapped the power of the Manasphere. Raw energy, shaped by her will alone, detonated in an eight meter wide fireball. Even as the blast wave formed, clawing for the corporate soldiers, Caska and Fulton crested the shallow rise of the open lot, weapons already shouldered. For seconds the air of the street resounded to the hammer of the guns and the screams of the dying. The fire shrieked like a hungry banshee.

"COME ON!" roared Quill over the commlink, the Roadmaster skidding to a halt by the side of the building. Karnak had the doors open while the roof mounted guns snarled a dazzling arc of suppressive fire down the alleyway. Vegas was down the stairs, the mortar tube slung on her back. The heat from the recent firing would be enough to singe the cloth cover off her armor. She threw the weapon into the back of the van, unmindful of the optics or the zero on the tube, turning back towards the open lot. Fulton backed past her into the open cargo bay, his weapon snarling out another six round burst that her earbuds damped out to save her hearing. Caska was a step behind him, the ragged child clutched in his arms. He passed her to Vegas, using the move to carry both into the vehicle. Quill accelerated away from the carnage, the silent signal passed over the link even before the doors were shut. The van buttoned up on its egress, going dark on visual and electronic emissions.

Vegas brushed the matted hair from the little girl's eyes, her Sight providing a heartbreakingly clear picture of the girl's health even in the darkness of the van.

"What are we going to do with her?" she asked, fearing the answer. She glanced up at where Caska knelt, swapping magazines in his Ares Alpha. He looked back at her, his face an unreadable mask.

"Same thing you do with any child on Christmas Eve. Buy her a present."

[bclements]

19:47:28 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments

Not much else left to plan. Until we get there. Speaking of which Tony thought, stretching up and back from his hunched over position staring at the datapad on the table. A couple of entry routes, a couple of exit routes, the place didn’t look too complex. Of course, not that much looked really complex from a map; the real test would be trying to get in and out in the (probably) dark and (possibly) lead filled hallways of this place.

Finishing his stretching and yawning, Tony dug out his psec and padded down to Xayide’s contact information and hit the call button.
Time to see if she’s still in

[Cthulhu449]

02:15:44 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Abandoned Residential, Z-Zone, Redmond Barrens

Leonid Karpovtsev

A buzzing fly had roused him from sleep, and Leo watched from his pallet as the insect glided lazily over head, pitch warbling as it moved closer then further in the near-darkness. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink as the fly drifted down, down, and landed on his left eye, the cybernetic replacement registering the contact, but not painfully, and not intrusive enough to be bothersome in Leo’s numb haze.

Leo could feel the vomit on his face – he was sure it had attracted the scavenger to dance its multi-legged ballad on his eye, which was now rezzing and derezzing in an effort to focus on such a near object – and his cyberlimb was still gripping the culprit: a plastic bottle of bad scotch. He hated scotch. Even the best stuff tasted like rubbing alcohol, and what he had tasted like wood mixed with liquid pain, yet the container in his hand was near empty, a transient state of being as he finished the rest in a few quick gulps.

The fly, disturbed by the movement, hummed angrily into the air and drifted across the small room and landed on the only other furniture around, a shoddy wooden dresser with a stained mirror. Leo watched its path, hypnotized; somehow the whole thing triggering his memory.

Nastasya? Wasn’t I supposed to call Nastasya last night? Frag.

He tossed the bottle onto a small collection of similar bottles that littered the wood floor, tried to sit up, then thought better of it.

Tomorrow he thought to himself, always tomorrow.
In a few moments he had drifted back to sleep.

[Cthulhu449]

09:01:01 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Abandoned Residential, Z-Zone, Redmond Barrens

Leo looked into the foggy, mildew stained mirror, standing at his dresser. He felt like drek, and his reflection told the same story; his vending machine shirt was spattered with spilt liquid, his grey-white hair was ragged, and his beard, something that he used to take pride in, was unkempt and clogged with bits of brown-yellow vomit. He picked up a jug of water and a bucket resting nearby, the servos in his arms whirring almost imperceptibly, and poured some into his synth-skin hand, using the water to rinse his face and the bucket to catch the runoff. It worked well enough.

Setting the improvised washing tools aside, a picture in a seashell frame caught his eye, the same one that captured his attention each morning. It was a hard copy, honest-to-god developed film photograph, the kind that Leo liked to keep, that displayed three people. Two - the two that normally engaged all his focus – were Dasha and Anastasya, his wife and daughter. Often he would sit on his hard mattress and weep or rage at their deaths with whatever passion was fueled or simply not drowned by the drink that always accompanied his bitter remembrances. But this time he focused on the man in the picture, himself. Leo looked hard, then back to the mirror, then to the clean cut soldier that seemed to smile sadly at him from the frozen past.

“Frag!” Leo bellowed, and smashed his fist into the mirror, splintering the glass into sharp fragments. Removing his hand, he could see that a few pieces had pierced the synth-skin of his knuckles. His limb was informing him of the damage with a pain facsimile that almost reminded him of what it used to feel like when he cut his real hand, the recollection like a fading dream from the night before.

I’m tired of this, he thought to himself, rotating his hand in front of his view, I’m tired.

He looked at his reflection in the shattered glass for a few moments, taking time to consider a quicker way to accomplish the task he had begun soon after his family was taken from him.

The home is inviolate, that’s what they always told me. “The home is inviolate,” Leo said aloud, “to trespass is an insult, to take of it a wound,” he softly repeated the words he had heard during the Siberian uprising.

He nodded to himself, agreeing with the final decision he had silently made in his head.

I’m going to need money.

Putting on his last clean set of clothes that well concealed his artificial arms and legs and slipping on a pair of gloves, he grabbed his credstick, and walked outside into the heart of the barrens.

[Cthulhu449]

12:47:00 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Theatre of War Army Surplus Store, Touristville

Leo looked over the items he had collected from the surplus store, assembled before him on the front counter. It would cost most of the money he had left, but hopefully Nastasya would come through. He had called her from a terminal in Touristville where he was now “shopping,” but had only gotten a machine, forcing him to leave a message to get back to him if she had any work at a forwarding service he could access from another dataterm – and apologizing profusely for missing her last night, making up “other work” he had to do.

“That all you need?” the shop owner, a portly elf with multiple piercings, asked gesturing at the goods. He resembled a member of one of those “punk” bands from the 2050s.

Leo double checked; two weeks of MREs, a duffle bag, a shower kit and portable shower, and some rugged clothes.

“That too,” Leo said, pointing into the glass case at a large survival knife, the kind with all the bells and whistles, “how much is that going to be?”

[grendel]

19:47:36 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS

Having a face to go with the name still doesn't allow Tony to read any emotion into the smooth electronic voice that answers after the third buzz.

"I've been expecting your call. Where are we meeting?"

[bclements]

12:47:20 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Theatre of War Army Surplus Store, Touristville

The shopkeeper backed up a bit to see the knife; his gut had obscured the view. Through the polycarbonate case, Leonid could see that the scabbard was stained, and the edge was a bit rusty. Nothing that he couldn’t clean up or that would damage the functionality of the knife, but nothing to pay full price over either.

“¥60,” the elf said, ignoring the much-scribbled plastic tag on the scabbard. Compared to the other rif-raf he saw in here, the man before him wasn’t much different, just a little better dressed. Same unkempt appearance, same blank stare in his eyes. Easy money he thought, opening up the bargaining . There wasn’t much profit to be had in the other goods the man wanted, and he wanted something out of this.

[bclements]

19:47:48 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

"There's a coffee shop about 10 blocks south of the Azzie Pyramid, on Mercer. Called The Grounds. Meet me there at 10, we'll go over the plan. Deal?" Tony asked. Well, I guess if your eyes are electronic, your voice isn't that much more. Can come in handy as well, he thought.

[Cthulhu449]

12:47:40 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Theatre of War Army Surplus Store, Touristville

Leonid stared at the knife, then the equipment he had assembled, coldly assessing the value of the lot. After an uncomfortable pause, he nodded his head and slotted his cred stick, the 60 nuyen shaved off the stick's thin balance. The owner retrieved the blade and placed it on top of the rest of the goods.

"Thanks," Leo said after another awkward pause, while packing the purchased goods into the camoflauge patterned duffle.

The elf had already busied himself with some packing crates in a nearby shelf. "Yeah, sure," came the muffled reply, accompanied by a casual wave behind the back. Leonid seemed to consider if any further polite niceties were required of him, then shouldered the bag and headed back out onto the street. The building next door had an external public terminal, around which a few orks had gathered, probably in their teens. Leo gave them a once over as he approached, then walked up to the computer.

"'Ey chummer, you wanna play a quick game?" one of the youths asked as Leo began punching in the digits to the digital drop he was hoping Nastasya had left some news in, "real simple, chance to win some money,"

Leonid glanced over and saw they had a three card game set up.

"Yeah, s'good," another helpfully offered.

Leo reached into his pocket and tossed the nearest ork ten cred.

"I pick card number one," he said after a moment, eyes still on the computer terminal.

"Uh, that's not the rules, man, you gotta'"

"Guess I lose then, shame. Thanks for the game, I have to work now."

The dataterm finally flicked to the correct page, and Leo checked to see if there was anything of interest.

[grendel]

19:48:02 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS

"2200 at The Grounds, Mercer south of the Pyramid. See you there."

Xayide disconnected from the call, her commlink already displaying an overhead map of the selected location. She would add information about possible surveillance from nearby buildings, as well as Lone Star zone rating and response times as soon as she was on site. The engine of her coupe snarled as she changed lanes, heading for the crosstown. She had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it in.

[bclements]

12:48:30 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 - Theatre of War Army Surplus Store, Touristville, Redmond, Seattle, UCAS

Leonoid I'llich, good to hear you have had work, Nastasya's voice in Russian came through the receiver, with a heavy ladle of sarcasm. A stylized white Siberian leopard accompanied the voice on the dataterminal's scratched and fading screen.

I cannot imagine what kind of work I could find for someone of your newfound riches, but perhaps I can manage. she continued. Meet me at Pasha's at 1900 hours. I do not have to tell you to be prompt, but please clean yourself up; I don't want you calling any more attention to yourself than necessary.. The leopard disappeared from the screen as the voice stopped.

[Cthulhu449]

18:51:07 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 – Pasha’s, 3900 Bryn Mawr Road, S Downtown Seattle

Pasha’s was just a few blocks from the Skyway, tucked into an area hidden from the brightest lights that downtown had to offer, but within walking distance of some shopping centers and cultural interests, making it a popular choice for anyone seeking a quiet, respectable pace to get together. Leo had taken the time to clean himself up, but was glad that the establishment permitted casual clothing – he didn’t have much more from which to choose.

The interior was how he remembered it; Pasha’s was a hookah bar with a collection of small, private tables scattered about an open room. The air had the sharp scents of flavored tobacco, and was filled with smoke, both natural and fabricated. A few machines scattered along the walls belched forth an artificial fog that further obscured vision down to a handful of meters, assisted by colored lighting and clever use of holographics as well. Once you sat down it was easy to avoid notice, and at the same time notice the meandering searchings of any unwanted guests.

“Table for two, please,” Leonid told the woman who waited in the entry alcove to assist customers, “I’ll be expecting a woman asking for Leo,”

She nodded to him, and took the information down on a palm computer. Leo gave her a subtle once over; she was around thirty, in good physical shape, and attired in a full black dress that went well with the neo-noir feel of the bar. As far as he could tell there weren’t any weapons on her person or nearby. The hostess seemed to misunderstand the askew glance, tilted her head a bit, and put one hand on her hip; however, when Leonid gave no response except to wait patiently for an answer, she took the computer stylus and tapped the digital screen in her hand.

“Table six,” the hostess said, a smirk on her mulberry lips.

“Thank you, miss,” Leo answered as a low energy laser light emanated out from the mist of the common room, giving him a reference point to better locate his table. He blinked awkwardly for a moment as the beam happened to strike him right in his cybernetic eye, throwing the focus out of whack, before moving to the table and taking a seat. All around him was the gentle murmur of conversation, mixing in with the smooth, dark synth-vocals of a female artist Leonid didn’t recognize, but he enjoyed the placid, morose song. It reminded him of his first visit to a hookah like this after deployment in Afghanistan.

Another attractive woman in a black dress, this time an elf with brown hair cut just below the ear and a tear-drop tattoo below her right eye, approached the table.

“Welcome, sir, I’m Carmen. Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked.

“Double whiskey and water, with ice,” Leo told her.

Eventually his drink arrived, and he nursed the alcohol while waiting for Nastasya to arrive.

[Cthulhu449]

19:01:01 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 – Pasha’s, 3900 Bryn Mawr Road, S Downtown Seattle

The final drag of Leo’s second whiskey slid down his throat, a warm burn that didn’t mix well with the bellyful of butterflies that had him on edge. Nastasya was late; only a little late, sure, but tardiness wasn’t in the woman’s M.O. Still, he was sure that one more glass would drown those winged devils wreaking havoc in his stomach.

“Waiting for someone?”

Leo looked up to see his waitress standing beside the table, slowly scanning the room as if searching for an unknown guest.

“You’ve been rubber necking since you got here, I just thought you seemed kinda anxious.”

“Oh,” was all Leo answered after a slight pause. "Drek," he thought to himself, "here I am waiting for a contact and I look like a fragging green recruit!"

To his surprise the girl pulled out a seat and sat down, resting her arms on the faux wood.

“Must be serious, cheating on your wife or something,” she wondered aloud, smiling, “robbing a bank, that might be interesting,”

Leo scowled and cocked one eyebrow, “No, I’m not robbing a bank,” he responded. This only caused Carmen to laugh lightly.

“God, you’re serious, just making conversation. Bad day?

“Yes, bad day,” Leo grumbled, glancing around the room for something to rescue him from the unexpected conversation but coming up empty. He sighed and rested his forehead in his hand.

“Sorry, I’m just on break, but not really supposed to be, get me?” She reached into a small purse and pulled out a pack of Aztech Slims, the cigarette with twice the flavor™, and tapped one out. She placed it between her lips and breathed in, the self lighter at the tip reacting and igniting. “Want one?” she reached the box across the table, bumping one of the empty glasses and sending it falling towards the floor. Leo shot his hand out with impressive alacrity, and grabbed it in mid air, causing Carmen to gasp. The glass cracked in his hand, nearly shattering from the excessive pressure Leo had put on it. "Never would have broken it in the past," he thought to himself, disappointed.

“Wow, nice catch, too bad it broke,” Carmen said, a note of respect in her voice, “those things are hardened plastic, the owner’s too cheap for real glass, how did you…” she spotted a dull sheen of metal in the subdued lighting of the bar that poked out from Leo’s overextended shirt, “Oh, wow, hey…I’m sorry I didn’t mean, you know…”

“It’s nothing,” Leo stated, placing the tumbler back on the table in front of him and shaking his head.

“How did you, you know?”

“Degenerative nerve disease, I was young,”

“Bummer,”

“Yes,” he said softly, “yes it was,” He tossed his head once, “Why the tattoo?”

Carmen laughed uneasily and pulled her cigarette from her mouth, holding it between two fingers and breathing out a puff of smoke that blended with the haze of the room, “Wow, this is getting kinda depressing,”

“You say ‘wow’ a lot,” Leo said. He wasn’t sure why he had said it and regretted the comment immediately. It didn’t seem to faze the girl, however.

“Heh, I guess I do. My mom – I got it for my mom I mean – when she died. I know what it actually means, but it seemed right.”

“Sorry,”

“It’s ok, I came to terms with it. It was hard, but you have to find a productive way to deal with it, you know what I mean?

“No,” Leo answered, not sure what they were talking about any longer, “I mean yeah, productive,”

They sat in silence for a long while, the burning nic-stick in the waitress' mouth ticking away time with its slow burn until it finally ran to the filter. Carmen stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and pushed away from the table. “Anyway, work calls you know. Thanks for covering for my break, I hope I didn't bother you too much, Mr...”

“No, no trouble; it's Leonid” he said as she stood and walked away.

“Interesting name. I’ll get you another drink, Leonid, and don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about that bank,”

“I’m not…” he tried to counter, but Carmen had already disappeared into the thick smoke of the room. The whole conversation had been rather confusing, but at least for a while he had something to ponder besides his truent friend, Nastasya.

[bclements]

19:12:01 Wednesday, 10 January 2063 – Pasha’s, 3900 Bryn Mawr Road, S Downtown Seattle

Carmen had brought the promised drink, and Leonid was halfway though it before Nastasya appeared, alone, in the archway connecting the entrance to the main café area. Searching through the aromatic shisha haze, she waved off the hostess, and walked over. Draping an expensive, shimmery and fur-collared Mortimer cloak over the back of the chair, she sat down. Carmen reappeared, knowing smirk on her face.

“Turkish coffee, no sugar” Nastasya said in very lightly accented English, eyes flickering between Leo’s eyes and the tumbler of whiskey at his hand. Carmen nodded, smile still pulling at the corners of her mouth as she disappeared to get the order.

Flicking an imaginary piece of lint from her expensive (and to Leo’s eyes, subtly armored) blouse, she lapsed into Russian as she asked him “Apologies for being tardy. People here panic when they see a snowflake. You look good Leonid I’llich. I trust that work went well, da?”

[bclements]

19:47:48 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

Tony had a bit of time on his hands. Some whiskey sounded good, but the better part of his head got through this time. Sipping a nukable, plastic (and quite horrible tasting, he thought) cup of soycaf that was the only thing non-alcoholic drink left in the house besides tapwater. Turning the trideo on to a news and weather broadcast (partly cloudy and cold, same as last night the weatherchica said), by 20:30 he was already kinda bored again. Nothing interesting popping up around the sprawl.

Going through his bag, he made sure that the weaponry he had was clean and loaded. 2 clips apiece of gels and the good stuff he counted in his head, double checking the clips to make sure they were fully loaded, and replacing the 2 gels he fired last night with Reign. Put her out of your head, boy. Not the time, not the place, he thought, smiling as he imagined Sam’s gruff voice telling him to get on with the prep. Shaking his head, he stripped down both the MP5 and the pistol, laid the parts across the coffee table, and proceeded to clean and oil the weapons. Nothing else to do for a bit he thought, putting the planning out of his head and mindlessly tending to the weapons and letting the equally mindless newscast wash over him.


21:50:17 Sunday, 14 January 2063 – The Grounds, 2810B Mercer Ave. Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Tony shivered as he walking into the coffee shop, trying to shake off the cold of the two block walk from his parking spot. The car hadn’t even had the time to warm up on the short drive from his apartment, and the wind cut through the longcoat he wore. Cleaning the guns hadn’t taken as much time as he thought, so he’d had time to (mostly) clean off the gel residue from the coat. It was still there, but you had to look close to see it.