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

[grendel]

18:22:16 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Eastbound Hwy 220, Renton, Seattle

Kovacs glances over at Mac, his eyes narrowing as he reads the fatigue crowding the corners of her eyes for the first time.

"We can wait until tomorrow on it, it'll give us a chance to stop and see Zeyda. When we get home why don't you take a nap for a bit. We can hit weapon maintenance later in the evening."

Mac was about to protest that she could handle it when she was seized by a monstrous yawn. She folded her arms across her chest.

"Fine. But only an hour."

Kovacs shrugs. "Up to you."

20:41:26 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac awoke with a start, rolling upright in confusion as she blinked away the sleep clouding her eyes. The shadows slowly resolved themselves into the newly familiar lines of Kovacs' bedroom. Running a hand through tangled hair, she glanced at the clock.

"Drek!" Throwing off the covers, she rummaged in the dim light for her clothes. Exiting the bedroom, she pulled up short. Across the hall in the practice room, Tristan and Kovacs sparred. Each was stripped to the waist, broad muscular torsos dappled with sweat and the blotchy red marks that would darken to bruises overnight. Mac leaned against the doorway, fascinated.

She already knew that Kovacs was fast, his neuromuscular system accelerated by technology to superhuman speeds. His fighting style was short and brutal, quick efficient strikes and blocks dealing out the maximum amount of damage with a minimum of motion. Tristan, though, was equally as fast, his own body clearly enhanced. He was more fluid, though, his arms and legs curving in graceful, whiplike motions as he flowed over, around, and through Kovacs' defenses.

After a minute, both fighters separated, each breathing hard.

"You've been practicing," observed Tristan, his hands resting on top of his head. Kovacs examined an abrasion over his ribs where a crossing atemi strike had scraped through.

"Clearly not enough."

Tristan laughed, turning to scoop up his shirt and sword from where they lay against the wall. "Don't sell yourself short, there aren't that many that can go one on one against me. Not even in the Hall. You're still sharp."

Mac was still leaning against the door jamb when he glanced over and caught her watching them.

"Oh hey, sleepyhead. I hope we didn't wake you?"

[Vegas]

20:43:02 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac shook her head as she smiled softly. "No, not at all. Thanks for letting me sleep a couple of extra hours, I obviously needed it."

She pushed off the doorway and steeped a little further into the training room, her bare feet making hardly a sound against the tatami floor.

"Obviously the two of you have kept yourselves occupied. I guess now I don't have an excuse not to get to work myself?" She raised a brow in question and looked towards Kovacs. "I believe I owe you a date with a few weapons, no?" Mac smiled warmly, the few hours of sleep doing wonders for her outlook on things and her eagerness to take in more education.

[DeliciousD]

16:47:40 Tuesday, 09 January 2063 - Jimmy John's Gourmet Sandwiches, Fall City Road, Redmond, Seattle

"They're not paying you?" Joslyn asks with mock surprise, cracking a grin at Remy's shocked look.

"I was telling most of the truth when we first met, that Winternight group most likely took out a guy and I'm looking into it, he wasn't a chummer though. Dead man's employer hired me to find the details," he laughs and shakes his head "I think he wanted something a bit more subtle."

"I've got a guy who can look at that goop for us, you want to tell Xade? Maybe you can sound impoverished and she'll take pity." Joslyn glances at his commlink again "University of Washington, he'll meet us at nine, probably best get there a bit early." his eye twitches as he talks and he sighs "I'm gonna feel like drek by then."

Taking a sip of his OJ, he taps out a quick reply to Zeyda

Nice one Z, I'm keeping well away from the drek...not good enough to die young. We'll be there at 9, thanks.

[grendel]

21:07:33 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Tristan shrugs as he makes his way past Mac towards the shower. "We work when we can. The division of labor isn't always equal."

Kovacs gestures Mac out ahead of him towards the living room. She blinked in surprise as she stepped out of the hallway. During her nap the front room and the dining area of the kitchen had been transformed. Instead of the spartan neatness she was accustomed to, now gear lay strewn about haphazardly. A majority of it was weapons: four different swords, a machete, combat axe, half a dozen knives, four pistols, three submachine guns, three assault rifles, two heavy weapons of a type she couldn't identify, something that looked like a missile launcher, and several boxes of grenades. Stacks of unmarked plastic boxes and canisters lay about as well, along with canvas tool rolls, and three large military style backpacks overflowing with stuff.

The tall samurai scooped up a pistol which was a mirror image of her own, only with significantly more scuff marks along the slide.

"We'll work at the table, it's got the best light." He hooked a chair out for her with his leg before taking a seat at the head. Random gear which was in their way got pushed aside or piled on the floor, leaving only a faded blue plastic mat along with several bottles of solvent and lubricant.

"First rule of firearm safety is treat every weapon as if it were loaded. Every time. It's too easy to forget this when you're cleaning weapons, so ensure that your work area is ammunition sterile." Suiting actions to words, Kovacs ejected the magazine from his weapon and cycled the slide, locking it open to verify the chamber clear. The clip went into one of the bellows pockets on his pants. Mac followed suit, collecting the round that was ejected from the chamber of her weapon and reloading it before stowing it in Kovacs' pocket. He glanced at her, then at her pocketless sweatpants, before continuing.

"Now, to disassemble the weapon for cleaning we send the slide forward, then press up on the external safety lever. While doing so, feel that bump on the right side of the frame? That's the slide stop. Push it in as far as you can, then pull it out the left side of the frame. It's a captive pin so it won't come all the way out. All right, make sure you've got a grip on the slide now as you lower the safety catch. The recoil spring will try and push the slide forward off the frame. Guide the slide forward and up a bit and it should come right off. Then you can press the recoil spring onto its guide and pull both out before removing the barrel. That's all you need to do for field stripping the weapon."

Kovacs arranged the components side by side with their long sides vertical.

"The easiest way to clean is to do the barrel first. Grab a patch and soak it in Carbon Killer and run it back and forth through the barrel a few times. Then we'll leave it to soak while we clean the rest of the weapon. Use another patch and some more CK on the inside of the slide, especially around the chamber. Then we'll just wipe it off and put on a light, very light, coating of protective oil. Make sure you get it in the channels where the slide mates to the frame as well. As for the frame, use a brush to clean out the action, then lightly oil the metal parts. Try and keep oil away from the electronics of the smartlink."

Mac followed along, closely observing the movements of the samurai's hands as he manipulated the weapon, pointing out the spots to check for wear as well as the areas most likely to collect dirt and grime.

"Now that the Carbon Killer has had a chance to soak, we can use clean patches to scrub the barrel. Run 'em through until they're dirty then swap 'em out for clean ones. Keep going until they come out clean. Then put a light coating of oil inside and out on the barrel. Reassembly is the opposite of disassembly."

Kovacs dropped the barrel into the slide, wedged the recoil spring into its channel, then fed the slide back onto the frame of the pistol.

"To function check the weapon, cycle the slide and ensure nothing binds. Then, with the safety on, pull the trigger. Nothing should happen. Disengage the safety, pull the trigger, the hammer will fall. Pull the trigger again, nothing should happen. Cycle the slide and feel the trigger reset. Engage the safety. You're good to go."

Kovacs retrieved the loaded magazines from his pants pocket, passing one to Mac before loading and chambering a round in the pistol.

[Vegas]

21:15:51 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac followed suit, chambering a round and almost immediately ejecting it and clearing the weapon. Instead of setting it down, she repeated at a slower pace what Kovacs had just taught her, minus the cleaning, field striping and laying the pieces out as she had been shown before putting it back together and chambering the round. She repeated the process once again at a normal pace before setting her Browning back down, barrel facing away from them.

“Sorry, it’s the way I process things. Repetition makes it stick.” She offered in explanation to Kovacs’ questioning glance as he patiently waited for her to finish.

Her eyes moved over the piles of gear surrounding them at the table and over what she could see into the living room and she let out a slow, long breath.

“It looks like Baen and Locus’ places had a lovechild out there.” She drew another slow breath before she continued. “It’s all going to become necessary in some way with this…Isn’t it?”

Mac shook her head slightly, realizing she really had to stop asking questions she didn’t totally want the answers to.

[grendel]

21:32:07 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

"No apologies necessary, we learn by doing." Kovacs replaced the Browning on the table with the other pistols, drawing his own P93 from the stack of weapons. He'd already cleaned it since its use at the club, the trigger pull which had set in motion all these other dominos. Again, his first motions were to remove the magazine and cycle open the action to clear the chamber. Mac follows suit, reloading the off-white caseless round that emerges into the magazine before setting it aside.

"All right," began Kovacs, "to start the field strip, pull the recoil lock pin out to the left. It's a captive pin so it won't come free. Then swing the butt plate down and remove the recoiling system from within. Next we'll need to pull the trigger mechanism out. To release it, pull the two mechanic lock pins on the left hand side out to the left. They're captive as well. The housing will hinge out, then just reach up inside and wiggle the trigger out. It's a block unit so all it requires is a wipe down and re-lube. The recoiling system needs further disassembly, though. Push the buffer spring in until it unseats from the guide, then snap it free. Then pull out the bolt retaining pin, and that frees the firing pin and bolt. These will need a bit of a scrub, although the gas piston operation keeps the action pretty clean. To get the barrel, though, you've got to use either a rod and patches or what I prefer, a bore snake. Put a little carbon killer on the front half, then drop the lead cable through from the breech end and pull through. Maybe three or four times should be enough to get everything clean. If it's been a while or the weapon has seen some heavy use, you might need to run a patch through first and let the barrel soak for a bit before snaking it. Reassembly is in the reverse order. Just remember that the notch in the bolt has to go at the seven o'clock when you look at the bolt face."

The tall samurai demonstrated while Mac followed along, then sat back and watched her go through the entire process again, twice.

"Good."

[Vegas]

21:33:39 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac assumed they would move on to their rifles next and looked over the piles of gear to where hers might be located.

"So I remember that Locus had said that our weapons would manage to hold up through tens of thousands of rounds before failing if they're well maintained, but what about the jams and other malfunctions? What is the likelihood of that happening, or is it just completely fate?"

[grendel]

21:38:27 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Kovacs retained his P93 as Mac asked her question, nodding in response. "Most malfunctions occur due to human error, but a certain percentage will be due to mechanical failure or defect. Usually not in the weapon itself, although we can't rule that out. That's one of the strongest arguments for regular periodic cleaning and maintenance: taking the time to examine the action for wear and tear indicative of an impending material failure. I was planning on going over first and second order malfunction drills tomorrow when we talk CQB, but now is as good a time as any."

The samurai ejects the magazine and clears the weapon again, before retrieving a pair of empty magazines from the gear pile in the front room.

"When you're training for this, beyond the four basic safety rules of weapon handling, it's important to have an ammunition pure area. No live rounds are allowed." He very deliberately places the loaded magazine on the kitchen counter.

"Normally we try and use snap caps for this, which are dummy rounds, but I can't find any right now. They're in there somewhere." He gestures to the haphazard stack of gear littering the front room before loading the magazine and sending the bolt home on an empty chamber. "Anyway, first order malfunctions happen when you pull the trigger and you hear and or feel a 'click' but nothing else happens. This means that the hammer was able to fall, but the firing pin did not engage the primer on the round, either because there's no round in the chamber or the round has a bad primer. If you're firing cased weapons it might also mean a failure to eject, but since all of our weapons are caseless, we won't worry about that right now. So, the corrective action for a first order malfunction is TAP, RACK, REASSES, and it looks like this."

Kovacs butted the submachinegun to his shoulder, settling into the familiar firing stance he'd taught her two days previously. Pointing the weapon at the wall the dining area shared with the garage, he pulled the trigger with an audible click.

"Now, keeping your right hand in position, roll the weapon outboard one or two clock positions to bring the magazine towards your off hand. Tap the bottom of the magazine." His left hand hammered into the bottom of the magazine.

"Rack the charging handle back using the meat of the palm." He hooked the charging handle on the front left side of the weapon, yanking it backwards before letting it go forward.

"Now because there aren't any rounds in the magazine, the bolt has locked to the rear so I'm going to administratively send it forward. In live fire training, and if we were using snap caps, the bolt would cycle and chamber a round."

Kovacs put the weapon back into battery.

"And last step is reasses. Get up behind the sights and determine if you still need to send rounds downrange." He returned the weapon to its position in his fighting stance.

"All right? Your turn."

[Vegas]

21:52:49 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac nodded and picked back up her P93, taking great care to clear the weapon and release the loaded magazine before driving an empty mag home.

As she did with the previous drills, she ran through the process three times before she felt comfortable with clearing her weapon should the need arise.

"You mentioned earlier going to see Zeyda tomorrow. Does he have work for us?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, committing the details to memory before she loaded the weapon and set it back on the table. Her voice was soft as she heard the bathroom door open.

"I'm guessing based on something you said, that I need to have a contingency plan through all of this," She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Something you know nothing about?" Her voice trailed off, flat and almost cold.

[grendel]

22:01:37 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

"Yeah, you should have a few contingency plans in place just in case this goes further south than I anticipated." Kovacs slammed home a magazine into the P93's well, cycling the bolt with a sound of lethal finality. Standing, he moved into the living room.

"No, we've got to talk business with Zeyda. He's got a part to play in our plans."

Tristan stuck his head out of the bathroom. "Hey. I need to go talk to some people. Back me?"

Kovacs hefted the P93 in his hand, instead of setting it back on the pile, he clipped it to his tac harness. "Sure."

He glanced back towards Mac, who was already out of her seat with gear in hand, then back to Tristan.

"You'll probably want to put some pants on."

Tristan shrugged. "Whatever."

22:29:09 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac didn't need the phalanx of Auroras and Blitzens to let her know what kind of bar they pulled up behind. She'd seen the distinctive circle A on the blocks approaching.

[Vegas]

22:31:34 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac was glad she had taken a couple of moments while Tristan had finished changing to throw on more appropriate clothing for the occasion. Her choice of a pair of ripped jeans and her motorcycle boots from the other night seemed to be a good one given their destination.

She turned towards Tristan in the back seat as Kovacs pulled to a stop behind the bar.

"Are you going in friendly at least, or are we here looking for trouble?"

She flashed the Trickster a dangerous smile as she buttoned her coat and made sure her knife was in easy reach.

"What's your play gentlemen?"

[grendel]

22:45:04 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Tristan grinned, straightening his jacket. "I never go looking for trouble. It always just seems to find me."

Together the three of them stepped out of the truck. The crowd around the entrance to the bar didn't pay them much attention, except for the handful of gangers acting as bouncers. The elves bristled at Kovacs, responding to his obvious predatory nature. But several recognized Tristan, and their stamp of approval was enough to get the three of them through the door.

Inside was even more raucous than outside, the music turned up to the point where it was mostly noise that still had to compete to be heard over the shouting and cheering from the crowd. Mac counted three separate fights underway, four different tables gambling using four different games, and half a dozen sex acts, only two of them hetero. Kovacs nudged her towards the bar, where she wormed her way in between a pair of burly elves in flak jackets with cut off sleeves and chrome spikes. One turned, a curse on his lips that died when he met the samurai's flat gaze. Tristan disappeared into the crowd, smiling and greeting people on the way.

"Whaddya want?" shouted the bartender, leaning over the bar so Mac could read his lips.

[Vegas]

22:56:22 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac raised herself up against the bar, enough that she could lean in and yell into the bartender’s ear.

“Beer, anything bottled and cold.” She held up two fingers before she thumbed off enough cred to cover the pair of beverages. Once they were placed before her she grabbed one, bringing it to her lips before she turned her back against the bar and leaned comfortably against it. She offered the second towards Kovacs as her eyes moved rapidly around the bar.

Her dark eyes paused on the various “entertainment” around the space, both the fights as well as the sex ignited her blood equally, that slow, sly smile spreading across her lips, her desire telegraphed directly in Kovacs’ direction in the process.

Fairly convinced Kovacs could hear her whisper across the crowded club, let alone across the mere feet that separated them, she brought her beer just below her lips and dropped her voice to just barely a whisper.

“Any idea why he’s here?” She took a casual sip of her beer and lifted her gaze to watch Kovacs from beneath her lashes.

[grendel]

23:02:08 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Kovacs took a sip of the tepid brew, pursing his lips at the bitter aftertaste before answering Mac's question.

"Distraction services, safehouses, safe conduct, supplies, courier runs. Any or all of the above. A tier one organization like the Ancients can be useful in a variety of ways."

He took another drink.

"We'll have one or two more stops to make after this one, then close it down for the night. Tomorrow we start weapon drills and we've got to lay on our ops center for this run. I may have to send you out on your own when we're doing supply runs. We don't have a lot of time to get our assets organized."

Mac shrugged, her own taste buds stinging from the bitter brew. "Whatever you need done, you know I'm in this until the end."

Kovacs' reply was preempted by a stocky elven ganger who pushed his way in between the two runners.

"Hey, sweetmeat," he grinned at Mac, revealing a mouth full of glittering chrome. "What's say you and I step out back and get better acquainted?"

[Vegas]

23:03:15 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Her eyes raked over the ganger, noting the way the lo-glow of the bar danced against the chrome in his mouth. Mac’s eyes lingered for an extra long second just below his belt as she reflexively slipped her hand inside her coat pocket, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her blade stashed inside. Her index finger remained poised on the button that would let the blade free as she stepped up toe-to-toe with the Elf, spurred on by her own need for the adrenaline rush as much as because she could practically feel Kovacs tense slightly behind the ganger.

Mac pursed her lips as she crooked her finger to make her next words for the Ancient’s member alone and delivered her stinging rejection with a throaty purr along with a desire to keep this from having to escalate to a level involving bloodshed and complicating anything Tristan was trying to accomplish towards the back of the bar.

“How about we don’t,” She smiled dangerously against the ganger’s pointy ear, “And you keep breathing.”

[grendel]

23:04:03 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

The ganger barked a laugh, bowing up a set of wiry tattooed muscles that might have been impressive had the image of Kovacs and Tristan been fresh in her mind.

"You think so, sweetmeat? Why don't you try it and - OOFF!"

A pair of bodies slammed into the ganger at full speed, the three crashing sideways down the bar and taking out half a dozen other gangers. Shouts of rage and excitement rang out from the melee, and the air was suddenly full of flailing fists and various melee implements. Mac heard the tinkle of at least one bottle shattering. Kovacs slid across the suddenly created open space, pinning her back against the bar with his body and protecting her from the vicious swirling melee. He watched the fight in the mirror behind the bar, sliding them both sideways to dodge a body that came flying out from the dustup to crash over the bar. His lips twisted in a grimace.

"I think it might be prudent to wait for him outside."

[Vegas]

23:06:49 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac shook her head insistently a moment before the pair were pushed further down the bar by the press of gangers. A part of her was actually enjoying being in the center of things, feeding off the energy, the danger and the mayhem. The reality of her refusal to leave however was much more out of a sense of loyalty.

“Tristan asked us to back his play, you really think we’re getting back in here easily if drek goes south for him if we wait outside?”

She saw the frown touch the corner of Kovacs’ lips before she had to turn her head to avoid the rain of glass from the bottle of liquor that shattered against the back bar, the droplets of bourbon raining down across the hand she had used to steady herself against the bar.

Turning back to face Kovacs she placed her dry hand against his chest to grab just a bit more of his attention.

“If you’re that concerned, give me the keys and I’ll wait outside in the truck. Doors locked.”

She dropped her hand from his chest, palm up and waiting for the keys.

[grendel]

23:07:12 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Kovacs shook his head, taking time to elbow a fighter back into the melee. "I like that idea even less."

Instead of replying, Mac reached up and grabbed a handful of his jacket, yanking him closer and out of the path of an airborne chair. The tall samurai grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up, setting her on the bar so he could step closer to the edge of the fight. Tristan materialized out of the crush of bodies, a ganger held in a headlock under his left arm while another grappled over his back like a synth-leather clad spider monkey.

"Drink for a thirsty man?" he grinned at Mac, who shrugged and handed over her half-finished beer. He smashed the bottle over the head of the ganger on his back before ramming the other elf's head into the bar. Kovacs made an elaborate show of checking the wrist display of his commlink.

"We about done here?"

"I suppose," huffed Tristan. "You know, you were a lot more fun in your younger days. We used to stay out and fight all night long."

"On your left," said Kovcas, avoiding the subject entirely. Tristan slipped back before delivering a pair of vicious percussive strikes. Grinning, he put his guards up and plowed into the mob in the direction of the front door. Mac hopped down from the bar and followed him into the crush of bodies. Kovcas was right behind her as they ran the gauntlet.

[Vegas]

23:13:36 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac drafted as close behind Tristan as she could without getting caught up in his near-constant melee as the trio made for the front door. She did her best to avoid the grabbing, clawing hands that extended from the crush of gangers that blocked her path. When a hand wrapped itself tightly around her upper arm, she used the momentum of being pulled towards the chaos to land the heel of her boot hard against the outer knee of the ganger forcing him to let go in surprise, and pain. As someone grabbed her other arm, she was about to fight back before she realized it was Kovacs yanking her back into the slight clearing and pressing her towards the door.

The three of them finally cleared the doorway with the full glares and resentment of those who guarded the front door. Mac regarded them all in kind as she fished out her pack of cloves and lit one up and inhaling deeply before turning her attention on Tristan.

"Well that was... enlightening. You get what you came for?"

She shook a few stray shards of glass from her sleeve and smirked slightly to herself as if she had heard the punch line of a private joke. She was keyed up from the fight and she knew she was telegraphing it. The basic need to frag or fight ran through her, and if she was lucky, she'd get both. She exhaled a plume of grey-blue smoke into the frigid air.

[grendel]

23:15:28 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - outside the Left Hand Grill, 2706 106th St W, Tacoma, Seattle

Tristan brushed the debris from the fight off his jacket, resettling the ride and running a hand through his hair.

"Yep! List says we're clear to operate through their territory and we might be able to call back-up if needed."

"Might be able to," commented Mac, climbing into the Land Rover as Kovacs fired up the heavy diesel.

"Yeah," replied Tristan, "that's about as much commitment as you can expect out of a gang, even one as established as The Ancients."

"Not overly reassuring."

"It's one of the differences which separates operators from small time criminals and street bangers, our willingness to establish and maintain a reputation." Kovacs pointed the truck into down town. "In this business your word is your bond, and your reputation is everything."

The tall samurai glanced into the rearview mirror at Tristan, who nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, Geisty's please."

Mac shot a look at Kovacs, who let one of his small, enigmatic smiles show. "You'll like it," he said. "It has coffee."

23:41:52 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - The Bard's Guild, 521 Lincoln Ave, Downtown, Seattle

When Kovacs parked the truck in the lot across the street, Mac wasn't expecting their destination to be the brightly lit and cheerfully signed single story brick structure. Opening the door allowed a burst of warm air to wash over them, carrying the heady scent of dark roast and fresh croissants. Even at this late hour the coffee shop appeared to be doing a business, close to two dozen patrons clustered around tables while an elegantly coiffed drag queen sang and played guitar on stage. Glancing around, Mac took in the primarily male clientele and made an educated guess as to the house bias. A nattily dressed male ork stood up from one of the tables in back, a wide smile on his face.

"Tristan! You handsome devil!"

"Hey, Geisty," Tristan embraced the ork, stepping back to make room for Mac and Kovacs.

"You remember Kovacs, and this is Mac."

"Of course I do, who forgets tall, dark and handsome?" Geist made no effort to touch the tall samurai, a clear indication to Mac that they'd spent some time together.

"Geist," Kovacs acknowledged. The slim ork turned to Mac, his megawatt smile gleaming. Close up, she could see that his tusks were engraved with intricate Celtic knotting.

"Mac was it? A pleasure to meet you. Call me Geist." He enveloped one of her small hands in his, and planted a dainty kiss on its back.

[Vegas]

23:45:03 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - The Bard's Guild, 521 Lincoln Ave, Downtown, Seattle

The warmth of the building and the smell of real dark coffee had Mac grinning from ear to ear as they stepped inside. She flashed a warm smile and inclined her head slightly towards Geist and his genial introduction.

"Pleasure's all mine Geist."

Her eyes moved between the ork's face and the queen playing guitar and back again, before she whispered conspiratorially.

"But, you just have to tell me whose best friend I have to become to be the recipient of a cup of the delicious elixir of the goddess that smells like heaven itself."

And I get to figure out just why we're here.

[grendel]

23:53:11 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - The Bard's Guild, 521 Lincoln Ave, Downtown, Seattle

Geist laughed, his gaze finding Tristan while still holding Mac's hand. "My how she flatters! Stroking your ego is why you keep her around isn't it?"

He stepped towards the long counter in back, not waiting for a reply. Tristan shrugged as they passed.

"Don't look at me, she's his protege."

This brought Geist up short, his head snapping back to fix Kovacs with a sharp frown. The tall samurai could have been a statue carved from stone for all the emotion he betrayed, and in a moment the ork's features segued back to their initial friendly insouciance.

"Well then, perhaps she isn't as smart as I thought."

"Hey!"

Geist waved away Mac's protest with his other hand. "Calm your tits, sweetheart, we all have our weaknesses. Lucas, two venti house blends, please."

The well built young barista nodded, a shy smile on his face as he turned to the machines. Mac felt Kovacs' presence close behind her, and Tristan bracketed them on the other side.

"We didn't come just for coffee, Geist," he said in a low tone. The ork tutted.

"Not just yet with business. Social niceties come first after all."

Tristan glanced over at Kovacs, who said a paragraph with the shrug of his shoulders.

"Well in that case, I'll take a chai, please." Tristan flashed his smile at Lucas, and Mac almost laughed out loud at the blush on the young barista's face. After a few minutes the steaming mugs of coffee arrived, and the group slid back from the counter towards the shadows of the rear of the shop. Mac inhaled the heady aroma rising from her cup before sampling the brew carefully. It was just this side of heaven. As the warmth spread through her, she felt the tension ease from her shoulders, a knot unwinding within.

"Ah, as good as ever," praised Tristan.

"Thank you," nodded Geist. "Now, what is it that brings such a motley crew out to my remote corner of the sprawl?"

"We need visas. For five. Entrance, exit, and safe conduct." Although Tristan's voice was casual as he sipped his tea, Mac could see Geist blanche.

"Oh dear. I'm afraid that's beyond my reach these days, the Star is pressing the Underground..."

"Geist," said Kovacs, his tone as stark as a bolt ramming a round into the chamber of his gun, "don't frag with us. You're one of the oldest gatekeepers. You know us. We aren't some two-bit thrill seeking razorboys with born to lose tattoos on a stuffer shack smash and grab. This is the line. And don't insult me by pretending to be out of the loop, either. No one stays plugged in like you. We need five visas."

Again, the ork's mask of casual indifference slipped, the muscles in his face taut as he met the tall samurai's flat gaze. He sighed, and sipped from his coffee. Then, the sassy smile was back on his face.

"Well, drek, Kovacs, you should have told me it was serious. You know how much I like it when you boys get all macho. Wait here." He winked, then smiled at Mac before disappearing into the back of the cafe.

"I think somebody needs some coffee," muttered Tristan, staring into his tea.

[Vegas]

23:56:37 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - The Bard's Guild, 521 Lincoln Ave, Downtown, Seattle

Mac retreated a little behind her steaming mug of coffee as Kovacs laid into Geist even though the ork took it all in stride. She did however raise a brow to both of her companions regarding the prospect of impending travel. She took the moment of silence to scroll through various messages that had been queuing in her commlink and it sparked an idea. She cast a quick glance around the room before her eyes stopped on the door Geist had disappeared through, waiting for his return as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Any idea if our mutual friend is vulnerable from the inside or if they're all but untouchable?"

The message in her queue from her Sader-Krupp client had gotten her thinking about what she might be able to do while leveraging the network of girls she knew on her behalf. One or more of them had to have clients at Yamatetsu NorthAm and she just wondered how far up the food chain she could push since blackmail and extortion was hardly outside her usual bag of tricks. Perhaps leaning on the right straw, could place unexpected roadblocks in de Medici's path.

[grendel]

00:06:28 Thursday, 11 January 2063 - The Bard's Guild, 521 Lincoln Ave, Downtown, Seattle

Kovacs glanced at Mac who gestured with her commlink to amplify her question. He frowned. "If you've got sources, poll them, just make sure they're circumspect in their inquiries. We don't want to let on to the fact that we have plans in motion."

Mac nodded absently, not needing to be lectured about discretion, and set about crafting her response.

"If he doesn't come through we can go talk to York, he's still part of the network," muttered Tristan over the lip of his coffee cup.

"If we do, we're going to have to deal with Mike," replied Kovacs, his tone equally casual.

"Mike's dead."

"Not that Mike, the other one."

Tristan glanced at the tall samurai in some confusion, before recognition clicked into place. "Oh yeah. Maybe not then."

"You think Reindall is still in the game?"

Tristan coughed into his chai. "You're kidding, right? Last time we crossed paths with his gang you shot him in the leg and blew his bike up with a grenade."

Kovacs rubbed his forehead with the knuckles of his left hand. "I had my reasons."

"Good reasons, too, as I remember. Parche would have had one less arm if you hadn't. We should talk to Demetria."

A dozen seconds passed while Kovacs ran those numbers to ground. "Capital idea, my friend."

Mac was about to ask who Demetria was when both Kovacs and Tristan straightened, a tension winding through their bodies. She glanced over her shoulder to see Geist step out of the back office, accompanied by another ork. This one carried the muscles and attitude of a brawler, his eyes impassive as he sized up Mac and the two predators who waited. The weight of the pistol on her hip intruded into her consciousness and she amended that previous statement.

Three predators.

Geist sighed unhappily as he handed over five OMC chips to Tristan. "All right, you ruffians. Five visas. Cost is double, though. Passage isn't cheap anymore."

Tristan glanced at Kovacs, who remained silent, either unwilling to haggle or simply satisfied with the results. He shrugged, letting a wry smile cross his lips. "All right, Geisty, we appreciate your efforts." A pair of certified credsticks disappeared into the ork's pocket.

"And you'd better behave yourselves!" Geist glared at Kovacs. "You drag any heat down there after you, it's my hoop on the line as well!"

"Easy, Geist." Mac let her hands rest on Kovacs and Tristan. "You can count on me to keep the boys in line."

The slim ork let his glare linger on the two taller men before transferring his rakish smile to Mac. "I leave it in your capable hands then, sister."

[Vegas]

00:08:51 Friday, 12 January 2063 - The Bard's Guild, 521 Lincoln Ave, Downtown, Seattle

Mac smiled at Geist from behind her coffee mug as her eyes moved to regard the muscle he returned with. Apparently Geist has expected the boys to react less than pleased over the costs. Seeing that he made no move to leave now that their business was concluded put Mac slightly on edge.

"Trust me Geist, my hands are more than capable."

She winked conspiratorially as she leaned back in her chair, her fingers wrapping around the half-empty mug, leeching the remaining warmth through the ceramic. Mac glanced at Tristan for a moment as he sipped at his chai before casting her glance to Kovacs her eyebrow raised slightly wondering how long they'd sit around trading pleasantries with Geist when she knew they had other stops to make. She hoped to take advantage of the drive to the next stop and the privacy and protection of the Rover to dive into the matrix and drop off a few messages.