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

[Vegas]

9:37:42 Thursday, 12 January 2063, A coffin motel in the Seattle Entertainment Corridor

As she rolled over inside the capsule she rented, instead of finding a Mr. Whats-his-name from the club she was thankfully greeted only by the sterile smell of overly cleaned densiplast and a splitting headache. Lana could barely remember much of the evening after getting past security with her new ID, she couldn’t even remember making it back to the coffin motel.

She wanted a hot shower as soon as it was possible, she reeked of smoke from the club and her mouth was as dry and rough as sandpaper. Grabbing the essentials to change clothes and various toiletries along with her credstick she made her way down to the level’s women’s “locker room� and bought enough time to grab a long hot shower in private along with a clean towel to finish it off.

Once she was clean she tossed her things back into the cubicle trading them out for her jacket. While the club last night did much to quell her loneliness, it did so only temporarily and a hangover hardly made for good company. She figured word of the cops showing up at the Uni and chasing after had to have gotten back to Kat and in turn Aidan by now and she was itching to hear a familiar voice, someone who might give her advice.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and fingered the slim cell phone that resided in one of them. She pulled it out after only a few moments of hesitation and looked at the screen. Instinctively she flipped to the phone book expecting to see only the “Emergency Only� entry staring her in the face, instead she found more than a couple “calling cards� of the guys she obviously met at the club last night. Shaking her head she shoved the phone back into her pocket and headed away from the coffin motel to a public dataterm a couple of blocks away. Slotting her credstick, she dialed up Kat’s cell number and waited for her friend’s familiar voice to come across the line.

[WinterRat1]

9:38:03 Thursday, 12 January 2063,
Pay Telecom near Lana's current coffin motel in the Seattle Entertainment Corridor

After a few rings, Kat picks up, obviously awoken by the call. She blinks a few times and stares blearily into the telecom screen. When she sees who it is, she bolts upright, eyes wide open. "Lana! Oh my god! Babe where are you? Are you ok? What's going on with you? What happened to your phone? Why did the cops come by looking for you yesterday?"

The questions are pouring from Kat's mouth, but Lana already knew what they'd be before they were even asked. Figuring she better just start explaining before she was buried under an avalanche of questions, some she might not want to answer, she quickly cuts Kat off to explain the situation.

[bclements]

01:35:55 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

The large human slowed to normal walking speed, hands out forward of his body with the palms facing down in show of non-threatening (and non-weapon-carrying) deamenor more suited to a bodyguard than to a Vory collection guy approaching someone that owed his boss money.

‘Mister Roderick,’ the man asked in decent English with a Russian accent (and I’m not even surprised Leo thought) , not even breathing hard in the cheap suit he wore, “we would like you to be coming upstairs now, just to be talking� Roderick looked at Leo. Leo shrugged in a Why not? gesture. The suspension of the car again groaned itself up as both of the swung the creaky doors of the old coupe out, the Vory man close to the car keeping a professional distance away, but otherwise made no move to a gun.

“What happens now?� Roderick asked nervously as the trio crunched their way thru the ice-crusted gravel parking lot. He was shaking a bit, not necessarly from the cold, and kept almost putting his hands in his pockets before thinking better of it.

“Just talking, like I said,� Leo replied, noting the distance that the Vory man kept, and his partner who appeared in the doorway. Probably. But they could have gotten us in the car easily.. This didn’t look like a shootout, but he tried and somehow found the relaxed calm he remembered from what seemed like two lifetimes ago.

“You did say probably,� Roderick said while biting his thumbnail, as the second Vory opened the door. His friend, striding forward, held it from the outside, and remained there as Leo and Roderick entered. “To your apartment, Mr. Roderick,� the second one (a bit shorter and not as broad, but just as competent looking as his partner ) said, motioning forward with his hand. The cheap suit jacket we wore slipped open a bit with the movement, giving Leo a glimpse of a chrome-handled Predator in battered looking holster.

As the door opened to the apartment, Leo wasn’t sure what would happen. He tensed slightly, shifting his weight in case he needed to leap back and knock Roderick back out of the door, and hopefully use the momentum to take himself out the line of fire. Leo had taken a shot before, and Roderick didn’t look like he’d do as well if it came to that, but he wasn’t exactly looking to take a round if he didn’t have to.

As it was though, the old wooden door opened to a sedate scene, even a bit cleaner than Leo had left it. A balding man, thick around the waist with middle age, looked up with owlish, naturally brown eyes, sitting in one of the chairs that had been moved off the direct line-of-fire from the door over to a more indirect position. Another man flanked him, pale ,blonde headed and slim , relaxed on one of the table chairs in the kitchenette looking at a tea set that hadn’t been there when Leo left, and yet another large, cheap-suited human stood flank on the hallway down to the bath and bedrooms.

“Mr. Roderick, good to see you again,� the man in the kitchen said, in slightly Russian accented English, looking over at the pair. “And your friend is?� he added, looking at Leo.

[Cthulhu449]

01:36:13 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

Leonid considered the man addressing him with a thousand stuttering stares, eyes picking out each available detail one at a time, in rapid succession, and then assembling the information into an individual threat assessment. Combining this with his estimations of the rest of the skill assembled in the room, Leo adjusted his positioning and stance ever so slightly before nodding in acknowledgment.

"Denisov," he answered, using the name of the first person that came to mind, an old friend from back in the Siberian uprising. Of course, Denisov had taken a bullet in the gut a few kliks out of Irkutsk, and Leo mentally grimaced at the poor situational choice of identities.

Whether any of the Vory recognized who he was didn't really matter; if so they would probably understand the change or dismiss it as relatively unimportant, what with a shakedown in progress, and if not, all the better. If there was trouble, he'd prefer to be perceived as just another bodyguard off the streets, especially considering they must know all to well that Roderick wouldn't be offering too much resistance.

The mage next to Leo wasn't doing much right, paying too much attention to what must be a damn stubborn hangnail and looking small and caught. Leonid was pretty sure he'd have to do the talking in the early going based on Roderick's body language.

A drop of sweat meandered over the tattoo on the back of Leo's neck - someone had turned the heat up in the apartment to uncomfortable levels - and he bounced his coat up on his shoulders a bit so the collar wiped away the offending liquid.

"What can we do for you?" Leo asked the man, starting with a question in an attempt to grab whatever control of the conversation he could.

[bclements]

01:36:59 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

The man, casually dressed in an expensive looking charcoal grey (and probably real wool, Leo thought) sweater and jeans cocked his head. “Denisov?� He looked at Leo for a moment, then shrugged.

“Someone like you, I think I would know. Or know of. You from around here? Oh, and Rod: don't try any of that crazy mage shit around here. Demitri," he nodded to the balding man in the chair, "will peel you both apart. I'm here to offer you something. Sit down with me and have some tea and talk," the man said, sitting back down at the table.

[Vegas]

9:42:09 Thursday, 12 January 2063,
Pay Telecom near Lana's current coffin motel in the Seattle Entertainment Corridor

The speed at which questions were leaving Kat’s mouth would normally have made Lana laugh, however under the gravity of the situation she tried to remain calm but cut her friend off before she could become too overwhelmed to give Kat the answers she needed to hear, and to possibly keep her safe.

“Hold up and I’ll explain as best as I can. First of all I’m downtown, I’m safe and ok, I just needed some time to try to clear my head. The cops showed up at class yesterday and I just freaked out under the stress I guess. Had it in my head that since I’m still a minor and Niki’s… well yeah, I figured they were going to ship me back to Moscow, or put me into some foster family hellhole. Kat, they flipping chased me through Meany Hall…I probably just made it worse running but…� Lana paused to compose herself and lower her voice that had risen to a volume loud enough that it was garnering her some stares from passerbys.

“I just wanted to let you all know I’m fine and I should have figured the cops would be harassing all of you guys for my whereabouts. Just tell Aidan I’m ok… And don’t tell the cops you talked to me, I promise I’ll keep in touch, but right now I just need to sort things out on my own… Y’know, without the cops interfering.� She tried to smile but it came off half-hearted and flat. Instead of trying to answer anything else she changed the subject and turned it back on her friend.

“What about you? Everything ok with you and the club creep?�

She knew that her friend was a bit narcissistic, but wondered if it was enough to steer the conversation away from the mess that had become her own life.

[grendel]

17:54:43 Monday January 8, 2063 - Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

Erebus frowned as he pulled off Bishop street into the parking lot behind the two story building that his GPS identified as 810. The sign out front, strangely subdued, had read only 'DOMAIN' in plain black letters. He'd never heard of this club before, but it seemed like he had the right place. Elan's nightsky idled at one of the back parking spots. Erebus backed his vehicle into place next to the sleek limousine, glancing around at the neighboring buildings more out of habit than any sense of paranoia. He knew Elan would have checked beforehand, and that the fixer was running active drone cover right now. His scan told him a lot, though, and he raised a questioning eyebrow to the fixer as he stepped out of the vehicle. Elan quirked a grim smile.

"The club profits not only from the services it offers, but from the privacy in which it offers them."

Erebus nodded. His question arose from the fact that none of the surrounding structures had security cameras that faced into the parking lot. And no one on the street would be able to see either, due to the narrow bend in the entrance driveway. He followed his fixer around to the rear of the vehicle, glancing down into the open trunk at the pair of heavy plastic transport cases. Elan popped the latches so he could inventory them. Switching on the jammers to stand-by, Erebus let them run through their systems checks, looking for the green LEDs before powering them down. He did the same with the cameras. Securing the tops of the cases, he moved them to the trunk of his own vehicle.

"Everything good?" It was more of a rhetorical question his fixer asked. Erebus nodded, transferring the agreed upon fee. As his credstick displayed the adjusted balance, he hid a grimace. With any luck, this job with Dragon would more than make up for the money he'd lost so far this month.

[Cthulhu449]

01:36:59 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

"No, not from around here," Leo said, keeping his accent neutral. He looked to Roderick, gave one nod that was returned by the mage, and helped his disheveled ward take a seat at the neatly appointed table. Two glasses of tea were poured into porcelain cups, set on saucers and relasing lazy tendrils of steam into the air. Roderick smelled the contents with a brief sniff, the white clouds curling around his face and neck before he pulled away.

Leo remained standing, taking position just behind Roderick and to the left, not sure if the "host" had intended him to sit or not. Getting a read on the grey-suited Vory wasn't easy, like catching reflections in turbulent water, and Leo wasn't sure he could identify this particular member of the syndicate. They all seemed to play the same game though, and it always went civility before violence, tea before torture as it were, like some natural law that required a calm before the storm.

"I'm not sure you'd find anything I've done very interesting," Leo continued, still looking for a hint of betrayed recognition in the man's blue eyes. "just the sort of work you'd expect from an old veteran, trivial at best."

[Sedna]

WinterRat and Cedric: stay out! I'll de-spoiler it when we get to the right time.

[ Spoiler ]

??? - ???

Tell it to the Barrows of the Dead -- run ahead!
Shout it so the Women’s Side can hear!
This is the Buyer of the Blade -- be afraid!
This is the great God [url= http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...-Tiwaz_rune.png]Tyr[/url]!

Darkness came as something of a surprise. Actual darkness. His eyes were open, but he couldn't see, and couldn't feel.

"Hssh," whispered a low voice in his ear. "You don’t know me, but I’m a friend. You could even say we follow the same path."

"I can't see." Scarcely Virgil recognised his own voice, cracked and dry and setting him to coughing, until the cool taste of water wet his lips and eased his throat. He reached up, grasped the cheap plastic of a disposable cup as the other helped him to sit up. It came to him slowly that he could feel. He just hadn’t known it for the absence of pain.

His head was coming clear, for what seemed the first time in -- how long? How much time had passed? "When --?"

"Ten hours you've been here," said the voice in the darkness. "I don't know how much longer you lost before that. You were very sick."

Vague -- memories? A girl's voice, yes -- Julia? "No, Sarah," she’d said matter-of-factly, barely tall enough to peer over the dashboard of the car she was driving. "I'm his padawan." And the rest dissolved even as he tried to take and follow the thread of it. Virgil shook his head -- realised that he could do so without it hurting. It felt wonderful.

"I can’t see," Virgil said again.

"It's dark, we don’t want to disturb the others. Here --" and the small, cupped flame of a disposable lighter flicked to life, illuminating lively dark eyes in a young, mongrel, native face creased from an early lifetime on the streets and a tendency to a quick grin: "It's against the rules, of course. Oh good, it did spare your eyes."

Bit of an accent, the kind that comes from everywhere and nowhere. A fringed native jacket that had definitely seen better days. Disreputable hat rimmed with -- teeth? Too bright, too quickly. Virgil shook his head again, trying to shield his eyes from the small, almost hidden flame: "I know this place."

"Good memory," said the other. "You weren't here all that long the last time, it was daylight, and you would have seen it from a completely different angle."

And that last finally makes the connections in Virgil's mind: “The Open Arms shelter." And then -- "You were here?"

A shrug. "Isn't it strange that although the smallpox spread so quickly through so much of the Barrens, this place has been utterly untouched? and a growing circle outwards from it? It doesn't strike everyone either. Near as I can tell, there has to have been some sort of astral contact, which means it's gotta be Awakened. But as to how or why, I got no clue."

Which, Virgil suddenly realised, might well have been the only reason why Dragon had been spared ... so far. A shudder went through him. It was entirely possible that the whole time they had been only a single healing spell away from disaster -- Juliette! "We have to get to the clinic."

The other shook his head. "They won’t catch it, now, though it was a near thing. They'd fragging near worked themselves into exhaustion. But they've got at least some serum now. But you were beyond even that."

-- blind sobbing agony, terror (i can’t die like this){i], dark sweeping robes between him and the light, obscuring someone who knelt beside him, dark, bloody tears dripping circles of clawing fire onto his skin, and somewhere the girl Sarah: "It's not working this time, Master" --[/i]

Virgil closed his eyes, centring, accepting the memory, mastering it. "Are you the Jedi?"

A quick, silent laugh: "Not likely!"

That probably let out Jonah as well. Nothing of hunted about this guy! "Then what's your interest in this?"

Hesitation, then: "A friend owes him a favour. I'm repaying it."

"Must be one hell of a friend," and the other laughed easily: "Not your concern. Can you get up?"

With help Virgil managed it, slightly lightheaded in the way that told him he’d been without substantial food for far too long. One step. Another, taking much more energy than it should. His eyes still refused to focus properly. His balance was starting to come back, though. His strength would follow quickly. And his magic --

-- a dark, feline voice ("are you sure you are strong enough yet, Sorxtl?"), and then the river of bloody fire rushing at his eyes, pouring itself into him, taking mere agony into somewhere white --

I was possessed.

Maybe it had been sheer coincidence that someone among those first infected had been available when the tortured, escaped spirit needed a hiding place and a place to heal -- but the spirit energies had merged with and bolstered Julia's just enough that she could survive -- and in her survival, become a source of survival for others.

"What's your interest in her?"

"Same as yours. Father Bremen knew that Julia was important, but he didn't know why. He --" and without being told, Virgil caught the shift of person "-- understood before anyone that once the corps heard of this, they'd try to cage her in for themselves. I wouldn't put it past someone to use her blood to try to re-engineer the thing. So he set himself up as her protector. We need her. Them."

They'd come full circle, back to the cot where Virgil had first found himself. "You okay on your own now? I gotta get going. There's a storm coming, and you'll need all your strength."

Virgil nodded, the sleep already taking him again.

Life. It felt very good.

[bclements]

01:37:44 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

The man smiled, but to Leo his eyes didn’t give any mirth, or betray any human feeling. Leo half-wondered if they were real, given the lack of emotion. Still seated in his chair, he snapped his fingers; the muscle by the door hustled to bring another tea-place, and set it gently in front of the third place setting of the old bamboo-and-steel dinette. Leo tried to make eye contact with the man, but he studiously concentrated on his task, then moved back to the entryway, standing at ease against the molding at the entry kitchen. Leo heard the mage raise himself from the deep side chair, and saw him settle himself on the couch in line of sight of the kitchen. The muscle at the didn’t move to his hearing, and stayed in the line of sight to the group. Neither did Leo hear the tell-tale creak of floorboards in the old building that would indicate the man outside the door had left.

Leo suppressed a sigh, taking in the movements. The man at the table was relaxed and confident in his movements, as would someone with two guns and a mage in easy distance, Leo thought. More theater Leo mentally sighed, but he knew enough to pay attention to it; this looked like a talking to, but he’d been in enough of these to know what could happen.

“You’d be surprised, I think. I had an uncle in the Eurowars. Wasn’t quite the life for me, and while I have many…disagreements with the government, I do honor those who serve the Rodnia. Where did you serve? Also, sit and enjoy your tea. Roderick, well, we’ll get to him in a bit,� the man said, pouring still steaming tea into the new place setting. Roderick, for his part, seemed to shrink in his seat, as if to forstall any upcoming storm of words directed his way.

[WinterRat1]

01:00:10 Wednesday, 10 January, 2063 - A Warehouse in the Barrens

A hailstorm of bullets continued to rain down on Scrapheap’s position, forcing him to stay down lest he get hit. Carefully, he crouched behind the half wall of the office as the glass panes were shattered into hundreds of tiny fragments. Turning to Nora and Lady Dove, he hissed, “When I say ‘go’, fraggin’ run to the stairs!� The two women nodded in understanding as he carefully clutched his Ingram and waited for the right time.

Absently, he noted that two of the goons down the catwalk to his left were trying to climb back up, one boosting the other back up. He had no idea how the thin waif had managed to get them to jump down there, but he was glad she did, or he’d have been caught in a crossfire that probably would have been game, set, and match.

The spray of fire from the submachine gunner stopped, and before Scrapheap could do anything, he ripped off another wide spray of bullets, picking up where he left off. One of them punched through the thin wall and ripped at John's arm, but fortunately his armor prevented any serious damage. The gunner stopped firing for a moment, and it was obvious he was either trying to reload or unjam his gun, because he was fumbling around with it, trying to fix some kind of problem.

Immediately rising up behind the wall, Scrapheap brought the Ingram to bear on the shotgun-wielding foe, who had his shotgun leveled at John. The two of them traded shots in a millisecond of guts and terror, Scrapheap’s bursts igniting sparks as they slammed against the catwalk railing and floor, the shotgun’s shells smashing into the support beams around John. As John dived back down behind cover in response to the return fire, his foe mimicked him, lowering his body to make himself less of a target. With growing frustration and disappointment, John noted he hadn’t even been able to put this one guy down yet, and he was rapidly getting boxed in.

On the southern end of the catwalks, Alleycat was already planning her next move when she was startled by one of the goons skidding to a complete stop before jumping over the railing. Without hesitation, he turned, aimed his SMG at Alleycat, and then cut loose with a long burst that almost tore her in half. Frantically she threw herself to the other side of the catwalk, just out of the stream of bullets.

Scrambling to her feet, she moved sideways to give Scrapheap a clear line of fire, but moved closer, within easy throwing distance. Coolly, she palmed another flash bang even as she called out in calming voice, “Toss me the gun, friend!� While he was still processing the command, she casually let the flash-bang drop out of her hand.

Snarling to himself, John rose to his feet and fired again at the shotgunner, but the wind, rain, and general chaos, plus the now crouching shotgunner made getting a clean shot difficult. As he ducked back behind cover though, he felt a familiar sensation wash over him. Rosa had taught him to ‘feel’ when a spirit was doing something to him, and while he wasn’t perfect at it, not by a long shot, he definitely could tell there was a spirit with him now. Looking at Lady Dove, he saw her saying something to someone he couldn’t see, confirming his suspicions. Despite the situation, he smiled tightly to himself. Well now, looks like we’ve got spirit backup. That changes things quite a bit. Guess she’s not a total liability in a fight after all. Thank God.

Alleycat was slowly walking towards the mercenary(?), still trying to remain nonthreatening, when she suddenly felt a bolt of energy course through her body. Instantly, she recognized a combat spell slamming into her and steeled herself to resist, hoping it would be enough. Even as she did so, her mind whirled, trying to process this new threat and how best to deal with it.

Downstairs, Max crawled, scrambled, ran, and ultimately just dived right into ETG’s pillbox. Quickly moving behind cover, he ordered his spirit to drop its Concealment (he definitely didn’t want to get hit by his own people at this point!) and switch to using Guard, to protect him from any of the hostile spirits he’d seen out there.

Noting the sudden appearance of the out of sorts professor by his side, ETG bellowed, “Where your friends at? Get ‘em down here!�

To punctuate his rather large friend’s command, Blaze ducked behind cover and yelled, “Go upstairs and help them get back here, we’ll cover you!�

[Slipshade]

01:00:13 Wednesday, 10 January, 2063 - A Warehouse in the Barrens

Max’s chest heaved from the exertion as he lay in the pillbox concealed for the moment by his spirit. His arm still throbbed in pain from the gunshot wound he had taken, he could feel the blood soaking his black sweatshirt causing it’s material to stick to the wound. He had seen the attackers summoned spirits prowling the warehouse and asked his own to guard his astral presence. He knew it would make him visible to those around him, but at least he was safe for the moment. The spirit did as it was asked and swirled away from his body to stand guard.

Noting the sudden appearance of the out of sorts professor by his side, ETG bellowed, “Where your friends at? Get ‘em down here!�

To punctuate his rather large friend’s command, Blaze ducked behind cover and yelled, “Go upstairs and help them get back here, we’ll cover you!�

Max looked up at the two runners through the hair that had fallen out of his pony tail and hung disheveled around his face. His eyes didn’t register understanding at first. He was still trying desperately to collect himself. As the words of what they were asking him to do sank in he almost asked them if they were out of their fraggin’ minds, but he was no dummy, that troll could and probably would use him as a toothpick if Max didn’t make himself scares. Max struggles into a crouch, keeping his body low. His limbs screamed in protest at having to move again. Max eyed the stairway and tensed, awaiting the gunfire that would signal his need to move.

[Mister Juan]

21:25:02 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - One of many coffin motels, Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

Above her parked car, the diffused light from the streetlight blinked on and off a few times, as is struggling with something only it could see. With her window only slightly cracked open, her seat reclined ever so slightly backwards, Ludmilla exhaled deeply. She had been sitting there, smoking cigarette after cigarette, the black hard plastic case sitting next to her. Between short black strands of rebellious hair, she watched Seattle's night traffic pass by; the white and blue light from their head lights dancing on her hard features. She brought the cigarette to her lips once again, pulling long and hard on it, the tip flaring to life. The Russian woman held the burning smoke in her lungs for as long as she could. She fought against the urge to release it for a breath of air. Finally, when tears had began to fill her eyes, she exhaled deeply, trying vainly to breath out her worries.

A few days ago, everything was fine. She wasn't fighting too much with Zina. Lana was doing good in school. Sure, she hadn't seen Miki in some time, but it happened... he was a busy man. But all in all, everything was doing alright. And then, out of nowhere, a drek storm had hit her full frontal. For one of the rare time in her life, Ludmilla had found herself in a spot so tight she wondered how she'd get out of it. Her free hand went up and started to massage the bridge of her nose as she sighed to herself. She wasn't a thinker. She'd never been one. She didn't ponder. She didn't mull over. She acted. When she had been kicked out of Officer Candidate School, the very last speech she had gotten from her instructor had been “I don't know what you're doing here Soren. You're a shooter, not a planner.� At least, they had been right about something.

Crushing the cigarette in the car's ashtray, she clicked shut the case and tucked it under the back seat. Across the half empty parking lot, she could see the coffin motel's neon sign flicker on and off, just like the streetlamp. Apparently, people were akin to not changing lightbulbs anymore.

21:28:17 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - One of many coffin motels, Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

Ludi was rather glad the place was automated up drek creek. She wasn't in the mood to deal with any sort of teller a place like this could have employed. Sure, she hadn't picked some drek hole in the barrens, but it didn't mean the place was any nicer. Still wearing her business suit, but with her trusty chapka stuck on her head, Ludmilla made her way down the aisle of coffins until she'd found a free one, and slotted her credstick. With a faint hum, the tiny opaque glass door seemed to unpressure itself as it pop ever so slightly open, letting Ludi slide in. She hated coffins. Not that she was claustrophobic or anything. They were just always poorly ventilated... like people didn't smoke anymore. She cursed silently, slipping out of her jacket and emptying the contents of her pockets in one of the corner of the small space. Beside the “bed�, the only other piece of “furniture� in the coffin was the small telecom screen. Nothing fancy, but it would do the trick.

Pulling the jack cord next to the unit, she flipped her hair away from her right ear and popped the jack in. She'd heard of Matrix clubs before, and knew what they were in the general sense of things.... but she'd never been to one before. As she connected herself to the local grid, all she hoped was that the meeting would be quick and fruitful. Ludi still had plenty of things to do before sunrise... and needed to be ready for the job.

[Cthulhu449]

01:38:14 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

"Thank you," Leo said, pulling the second chair out from the table and sliding into the faux wood seat. He brought the saucer with the cup closer to himself, but waited to drink, aware of the eyes watching him demanding answers. A few details wouldn't hurt if chosen carefully.

"I joined during the Uprising, like a lot of young men at the time. Saw action outside Irkutsk and areas north from there, almost through the whole conflict, up until the Nightwraith Incident. Stayed on with the service afterward, a few operations in Europe, more at home; perhaps similar to your trouble with the government, I had my own disagreements with the military and ended up here." Leo gave the brief history in a cold litany, the pieces of his story uttered like a mantra that long ago lost any interest to its speaker. He brought the cup up and took a sip, and rolled the tea in his mouth from front to back as if to taste it more fully, or to rinse a taste from the tongue.

"This is very good," Leo said, nodding his head towards his drink before continuing, "my story is a common one, as you can see, but if there's anything more specific you would like me to cover feel free to ask."

[grendel]

22:04:17 Sunday, 14 January 2063 – Seattle LTG

One of the major reasons why Ludmilla disliked matrix clubs was the knowledge that none of the arsenal of physical combat skills she commanded would be of use. The realms of the matrix obeyed the laws of hardware, for all intents and purposes ambivalent to the nature of the flesh and blood which commanded them. This knowledge only added to her growing frustration as she bounced from one address to another, fruitless in her search for the individual known as Oracle.

Oh, people were helpful enough. Someone had always seen it at Avalon or Nexus or Tesseract. But none of those leads panned out, Ludi always seeming to be a step behind the elusive Oracle.

She held out little hope at what would probably be her last stop, a hacker hangout going by the name Palatine. The digital façade was one of an ancient Roman villa, fluted columns rising up from a low set of stairs beyond which a darkened doorway beckoned. The icons running security were clothed in the armor of Roman legionaries, and, although Ludi knew it was just the artifice of their programs, she could tell they were of a high quality. No one hassled her, though, as she stalked past, having already scanned her stock icon and determined she presented no serious threat.

The interior gives the impression of torch-lit vastness, vaulted stone ceilings concealed by a haze of data. Figures fade in and out, clustering briefly about bronze braziers, trading megapulses of information like salt and coinage. One of them breaks away from its group, moving silently across the mosaic floor. As it approaches, Ludi can see that it's a pale humanoid figure, faceless, with only the barest of shadows to suggest eyebrows and a nose. The icon is dressed in a simple leather jerkin and boots.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me. My name is Oracle.�

[Mister Juan]

22:04:20 Sunday, 14 January 2063 – Seattle LTG

The flow of digital imagery fed directly into her optic nerves was already starting to give her a throbbing headache... and no matter how far her physical envelop might have been, she felt the craving for nicotine creep on into her brain. As the icon approached her, Ludi had the distinct feeling that whomever was behind the deck, they already knew where she was, and maybe even part of who she was. Hopefully, she had dodged enough to the motel's cameras to conceal part of her identity.

As she formulated the very words into her mouth, some rather canned sounding synth voice transmited them over the matrix.

“A common friend has recommended your services. I need information.�

[bclements]

01:41:54 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

“Spaisba� the man said, taking a sip from his cup of tea. “Even for us, it’s hard to find good stuff these days. Good people as well, which brings us to the business of today,� he looked to Roderick, still hunched over the teacup. For his part, Roderick at least somewhat composed himself, but still was trying to draw as little attention as possible, as if he thought that not being noticed might postpone or even hold off the Vory man’s attention by not moving.

Leo, studiously not paying attention but catching it in his peripheral vision, recognized his charge’s posture; he’d seen it before, not quite as obviously as Rod was displaying it, but the same fear of being asked for something that he didn’t have (and the consequences of not providing it) mixed with the just-get-this-over-with resignation of his position. Be careful of wolves in traps a sergeant once told Leo, but Rod was more like a defanged lapdog compared to any of the real Siberian wolves he’d encountered, canine or metahuman. He’d need to be cautious to keep this from spiraling out of control.

“Rod,� the man said sharply, causing Roderick’s body to almost physically snap to attention “why do you make yourself hard to get hold of? You don’t answer my calls, you don’t stop by, you make yourself scarce from where you normally are. That makes us nervous, as if a child has not come home from school at the time they should have. Do you have children, Mr.Denisov?� the man asked, softening his voice as he switched his attention (but not his eyes) to Leo from Roderick.

[grendel]

22:04:47 Sunday, 14 January 2063 – Seattle LTG

The faceless icon's posture doesn't waver, but Ludi has the distinct impression that it smiles.

"My primary purpose is as a research tool. You may employ my skills for a modest price and we can establish a regular meeting schedule. Or you may deliver a list of specific questions you desire answers to and I will contact you when I have a sufficiently detailed report. In either case, the cost is proportional to the time required to arrive at answers which satisfy you."

[Mister Juan]

22:04:51 Sunday, 14 January 2063 – Seattle LTG

Whomever this decker type was, he was actually beginning to fall on Ludmilla's good side. He was clear and to the point. Her kind of man.... or woman....

"I need the list of all incoming and outgoing commcalls from this location" she started, sending over The Bakery's physical address.

"I only require the numbers coming in and out for the eleventh, as well as their physical location."

Ludi felt a bit guilty about sending some unknown party snoop around what was after all her very own backyard. Sascha might have been an asshole, but he was still Vory. Thinking of the Vory lieutenant, the young woman held back a sigh.

[Cthulhu449]

01:42:19 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS

Leo couldn't quite stop the low hiss that passed through his clenched teeth, nor the almost imperceptable growl that caught in the lower part of his throat. The noise was mostly covered by the grind-pop of the plastic synth wood of his chair cracking in his unconscious grip.

"No," Leo said slowly; he couldn't tell if his words shook as he tried to control their tempo, "I have no children." The statement had a certain finality to it that made even Roderick shoot an askew glance towards his body guard.

He couldn't be certain if the Vory was simply asking the question to intimidate, or if the gray suited man was sending a personal message, but Leo's assessment of the current situation suddenly rang all the more true in his mind; he would have take the rest of the meeting very cautiously, or everything could go drekstorm in a hurry.

[bclements]

01:46:44 Thursday, 11 January 2063-1878 N. Boylston Ave., Downtown, Seattle, UCAS


The Vory man turned his head to Leo at his response, appraising him for a moment before taking a sip from his tea. “Well, Mr. Denisov,� he said softly in the odd sentence cadence that English accented Russian sometimes carries while setting down his teacup on the saucer “,when you have wayward children, you’ve got to bring them back into the fold, as it were,� he said, miming a hug.

“Now, you can punish the child physically,� he continued, making a fist and lightly pounding it on the table once “,and certainly there are those of my profession that use that tactic first. While that is one way of discipline, I prefer to make the child realize their actions, their situation, and try to make amends for their digression.�

The man turned his attention back to Roderick. “You know, I’m losing confidence every time you don’t say ‘I have the money, Anatoly’,�

“You know,� Roderick began, almost squeaking the words out before clearing his throat and returning to his normal nasal tones, “You know I don’t have that money. But I will,�

Anatoly cut him off with a small slicing motion of his other hand. “But, but, but. All I’ve heard out of you is that you are good for the nuyen. And I know what you and your group are trying to get out. Oh, you don’t think that Gar and Isir haven’t been sniffing around, asking people questions? I keep my ear to the ground Rod,� Anatoly said, pulling one earlobe “, and I know what you are taking isn’t going to be enough to get the money you are going to need to pay me this time. No one that you’re going to talk to at this point, one day before a run, is going to…well, let’s just say you aren’t going to enough for your cut to make your payment.�

“You’ll get your money Anatoly,� Roderick said. Leo, even still a bit blinded from the anger of asking about his children, kept enough of his wits to not catch any real confidence in his response.

“I don’t think so, at least not the way you’re going,� Anatoly said. “You think Gar is going to fork over her share? Tory? Last week he was saying that he was going to enjoy taking your head off with his bare hands. Or so he told one of the bartenders in one of my bars. In more colorful language that I can play back for you, if you…�

“No,� Roderick croaked, looking visibly shaken. He didn’t know what way this was going, but it wasn’t going the way he had planned when he walked up the stairs, and defiantly not the way he saw it when he and Leo left the flat this morning.

“So you see why I don’t have much confidence in getting my money back that way. You know what would? What would give me some reassurance? What would wipe your slate clean? What would give you what your team won’t? Do you know what that is, Rod?� Anatoly said, leaning in to Rod’s side of the table.

“What?� Rod asked.

“Rod, I want the container number. The one you are supposed to get of the that yard tomorrow,� Anatoly said.

[grendel]

22:05:39 Sunday, 14 January 2063 – Seattle LTG

Oracle nodded.

"PacRim jealously guards their databases. It will be easy enough if the numbers are associated with physical addresses, but something else entirely if they are personal comm units. Triangulating the current location of commlinks is time consuming and resource intensive. The cost is commensurate. Fifteen hundred nuyen for the fixed locations, an additional six thousand for locating any commlinks."

[Morgannah]

00:22:06 Thursday 11 January 2063 - 862 Lucile Ave, Apt. 2C, Los Angeles, CFS

""What do I think? I think you should make tracks for the hills as soon as possible. I think you're mixed up in something big and when the last domino falls it's going to fall hard. I've got some suspicions but I've got more fact checking to do. When I know more, you'll know more."

There was no way to tell if HardBitten's words bothered her at all. If anything, the soft breath that escaped her seemed calm. Halfway serene. Cosmo smiled ruefully, glad to experience a bit of something familiar after all this time, even if it was a chat with her cantankerous contact from "the good ol days." It was possible that he'd even help a bit, so long as her cash reserves held out. She nodded briefly, knowing he wouldn't speculate with her at this point, and offered a quick salute to the trid screen.

"Duly noted. We'll discuss how much I owe you later."

Of course she was leaving Los Angeles as soon as she found a way out of this.

A week and a half, tops. Better start getting used to the idea, eh toots?

Cosmo turned quickly, hiding the confused lowering of perfect blonde eyebrows. She was leaving, right?

The apartment seemed suddenly smaller as she paced to the end of the room and braced her palms against the now-spotless wall. Her eyes drifted shut, long dark lashes sweeping across pale cheeks as a familiar image slipped, unbidden, into her mind's eye.

.... For a moment, silence connected them, broken only by the steady rumble of the Roadmaster's diesel. Caska's expressions, so minute as to be missed by one less skilled than she, were a bonfire in the dim half-light. She could feel the nova of will inside him, the relentless energies capable of so much damage, held in check by such a narrow margin. His voice was a low, vicious snarl, fueled by adrenaline and passion.

"I would burn the world down for you. If you call, I will find you. Nothing will stop me."

She shuddered. All the old arguments came to mind as well; she was not like other people and couldn't afford to fall prey to what another woman would embrace with open arms. There had always been men, would always be men, so why waste a second thinking about this one? Cosmo frowned, lowering her forehead until it touched the wall. She pressed harder, lithe muscles straining as if to fight an answer she couldn't deny.

There had been other men, certainly, but they were (with only a few exceptions) clay in her hands; weak creatures she could manipulate at will, their attraction to her blinding them to her true intentions. Some thought they could control her, some were even allowed to do so for a while, but in the end she took what she wanted and left without a backward glance. In spite of the apparent differences in the men she'd pursued, they were all so painfully similar that she'd developed a certain degree of cynicism regarding the "stronger" sex. Caska, though, had seen through her maneuvering almost immediately and joined in her Game, offering a challenge (and a distraction) too enticing to resist.

Had she won? Or was the victory his?

Long strands of satiny hair fell across her face as she gave her head a shake and groaned quietly. What did it matter? All she knew was that she could still feel his hands on her if she thought about it enough and that for one glorious night she had felt completely secure, a luxury she had not enjoyed since waking in a the streets of Seattle so many years ago. If she missed him this much after six days, what could she expect the in weeks and months ahead? Leaving, even for the sake of her own hide, was a bleak prospect but staying in spite of what she'd learned would be foolish.

There were more than just the Kalds and their machinations to consider. Others hunted her for reasons she didn't understand.

Bringing others into her fight here put them at a greater than normal risk, clearly, but then she could trust Scrye and Hardbitten to remain objective and back out when things go badly. Caska might not.

It was a compelling argument to leave her lover behind and simply carry on alone. She could hire some muscle to help her out of Death Valley, pay a small fortune for an extraction to Seattle, and start all over again. He'd be in no more danger than he was right now with the added benefit of not entangling himself with some crazy amnesiac slitch from the Emerald City.

Now you're just feeling sorry for yourself. You trust the fragger as much as you've trusted anyone out here and we might need someone that's not going to give up on you before this is all over. Just deal with it.

Cosmo grimaced, hoping that the trid screen had gone blank by now.

Trembling fingers plucked a seldom-used psec from the kitchen counter. It took four tries for her shaking hands to get the number right.

This post has been edited by Morgannah: Feb 18 2008, 06:59 PM

[grendel]

00:22:11 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS

"Call for you, boss."

Caska cocked his head to the side in some confusion in response to Karnak's message over the net. He wasn't expecting a call from anyone, especially now that they were in the execution phase of the operation. Sensing his leader's hesitation, the slim decker provided amplifying information.

"It's her."

"Oh!" said Vegas, out loud. Caska shot her a look, but she didn't try and hide the expression of glee which painted her face.

"Switch me up and vet the transmission. Make sure no one's shadowing her."

Caska stepped outside onto the narrow balcony, closing the door behind him, cutting off the decker's affirmitive.

"Well, well, sleeping beauty. I was hoping I'd hear from you again."

[Morgannah]

00:22:24 Thursday 11 January 2063 - 862 Lucile Ave, Apt. 2C, Los Angeles, CFS

Cosmo smiled slightly.

"Hope? I thought I'd made it clear that I was a sure thing, Watchdog."