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

[grendel]

00:11:27 Friday, 12 January 2063 - The Bard's Guild, 521 Lincoln Ave, Downtown, Seattle

Geist let his glance flicker to Mac's two companions one last time before standing and waving off the muscle behind him with a lazy gesture.

"Don't be strangers, now, you don't have to wait for business before you stop in again."

Tristan saluted with his mostly empty cup of chai. "It was good to see you again, Geist."

The slim ork bowed, before turning back to the crowd of regulars that demanded his attention. Mac finished her coffee quickly, echoing the unspoken desires of the men to be done with the coffeehouse. Together, they slipped out as quietly as they entered.

"The Wharf," said Tristan as Kovacs fired the Land Rover's heavy diesel. Mac caught the look of tension that flashed across the tall samurai's face.

"Is there anyone that we're going to talk to that you haven't rubbed the wrong way?" she asked, half-jokingly. Kovacs shot her a look while Tristan laughed.

"Our erstwhile leader does seem to have that effect, doesn't he?"

Kovacs signaled and pulled out into traffic, heading south towards Tacoma. "This is why James Bond works alone."

[grendel]

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

Remy might have noticed Joslyn's momentary distraction, if it wasn't for the ring of his own commlink. Rummaging through his pockets, he comes up with the unit just before the call goes to tridmail.

"'lo?"

"Hey, kid, hope I didn't catch you at a bad time.

"Naw, Danny, Jos and I are just catching a bite. What's up?"

"Found a new place for the shop. Meet me at 532 Temple Drive in Tacoma tomorrow, ten a.m. I want you to take a look and see what you think of the place."

"Yeah, sure!"

Wow, though Remy, that was quick!

[Vegas]

00:37:13 Friday, 12 January 2063 – South on the I5, Downtown, Seattle

“And here I thought he worked alone to get all the girls.” Mac smirked and settled into the front seat, kicking off her boots and pulling her feet up beneath her. She settled her earbuds into her ears ready to stream music as she pulled the thin fiber optic cable from her commlink and held it up for the boys to see.

“Mind if I check out for a few, I’d like to put out a few feelers and see if I can't reach out to my network."

She didn't really wait for acknowledgement or permission before she inserted the end of the cable into the datajack behind her left ear and dove straight into the interface inside her commlink. She needed to craft a number of encrypted messages that wouldn't be easily intercepted by prying eyes. She worked on just what she was going to say to stay under the radar as the miles rolled on beneath her.

Inside her interface she wrote her notes to the girls who had the higher class clients, off the books of the various brothels they worked. She asked for access to any clients who worked at Yamatetsu, especially those that we're the type of clients she catered to (the kinkier the better). She played it that she had some info to broker from their competition thanks to a loose-lipped client of her own.

Each girl received the same note, except for Frankie who also received a request to meet online at one of their favorite haunts late tomorrow afternoon so they could talk. Mac needed to start setting up her contingency plans as well, and Frankie was her best connection to put those in motion. She "sealed" each note with a kiss, digitally encrypting each one before she fired them off to each of their private accounts. All six, Frankie, Holly Anne, Miranda, Cierra, Vanessa and Brandi Lyn's accounts all lit up with new messages.

She pulled herself out of her commlink, blinking a few times as she pulled the cable from her head and came back to Tristan sprawled across the back seat and Kovacs continuing to drive in silence and ever alert.

"Did I miss anything good while I was out?"

[grendel]

00:47:41 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

"Not much, no," replied Kovacs. "Tristan and I were just talking, though, and I think for this meet you two are going to go in and I'll back you from outside. We're not expecting the kind of trouble that cropped up at The Left Hand, but if trouble does happen, it's going to involve a lot more gunplay. And I can't carry anything large caliber through the door. So I'll stay in the parking lot and if anything goes down, stick close to Tristan and shoot anyone armed who isn't him or me."

Mac nodded, her mouth suddenly a little dry. "Who are we going to meet?"

"Diego Mirabal," said Tristan. "And don't let the name fool you, he's Yakuza through and through. It's a strongly male dominated organization, so expect some comments...."

He was about to add more until he caught Mac's glance from the front seat, her expression conveying just how adroit she was in dealing with misogyny.

"Right. Sorry."

Kovacs chuckled. The pitch of the truck's diesel changed abruptly.

"We're here."

He pulled off the road and into the back of the parking lot. Through the windscreen Mac could see a long warehouse type building, the last quarter of which was brightly lit. A trideo sign out front advertised it as The Wharf, and even at this distance a trace of the music was audible. She was starting to be able to pick out the guards, noticing four well dressed young Japanese men lounging by the front door in feigned casualness.

Both Kovacs and Tristan stepped out of the truck, and she followed suit, finding them by the open rear lift gate. Tristan was busy secreting several long bladed knives on his person, and she thought she recognized Baendyrmal's work. Kovacs, meanwhile, had flipped back the plastic mat covering the truck's bed to reveal a pair of long metal lockers. Opening one, he withdrew a large, bulky weapon, larger than the assault rifles Mac was familiar with. Instead of a magazine, the weapon had a large box attached to it, and the tall samurai withdrew a belt of caseless cartridges and fed them into the action. After that came half a dozen grenades that he slipped into the bellows pockets of his cargo pants.

"Ready?" asked Tristan. Kovacs nodded.

"On your call, it'll get noisy."

"Ready?" Tristan looked at Mac.

[Vegas]

00:53:01 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac's hand instinctively moved to her right hip to confirm what she already knew was there, and she managed to turn the movement into a casual smoothing of her coat. She forced herself to pull her gaze away from the heavy weaponry Kovacs wielded, which did little to assure her this was going to be "easier" than the Ancient's bar. She drew a deep breath and turned to Tristan and gave him a nod.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

She stuck close to Tristan’s side as they made their way towards the entrance of The Wharf, about half-way across the distance she pulled the tie from her hair and shook it out, letting it fall in a tumble of wild waves around her shoulders. If it came down to it, she’d play the role that she was most comfortable as, the arm candy…The whore.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to register on the radars of the four watching the door, their postures less relaxed and casual on the pair's approach, and Mac could feel the glares even from across the distance as the music grew louder.

Oh this should promise to be interesting…

She snaked her right arm around Tristan's waist as she stuck her left hand in the pocket of her coat casually, smiling softly as her fingers brushed over the familiar blade stashed there.

[grendel]

01:02:17 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

Tristan glanced over as Mac slipped her arm through his. "Null sheen, sister, we got this."

One of the Yakuza soldiers strode forward from the door, standing at the head of the stairs with his arms akimbo.

"Hoi! Kore wa, puraibēto pātī desu!" he sneered, pointing back towards the parking lot. Tristan didn't break stride, mounting the first three steps before coming to a halt. His close approach brought the rest of the soldiers to tense alertness, the three remaining fanning out to the sides of the first.

"I'm here to see Diego Mirabal," he said, his voice level but pitched to carry over the noise streaming from the open door of the bar. "Tell him that Mongoose is here to see him."

"We don't take orders from an ugly gaijin!" One of the other soldiers leaned over the railing and spat onto the steps at Tristan's feet.

"Fine. I'll let you figure out how to explain to him that the business contact he was expecting was turned away at the door." Tristan pivoted and took two steps down to the sidewalk, Mac still at his side. She heard a hurried conversation in Japanese behind them, too quick for her to follow, although neither speaker sounded happy.

"Wait!"

Tristan paused to glance over his shoulder.

"We will tell Mirabal that you have arrived. Wait here," said one of the soldiers, gruffly, before disappearing through the door.

"Thank you," replied Tristan, moving again to the base of the stairs. Several minutes passed as the other three glared at them in silence. Then the first returned, his face even less happy than before if that were possible.

"Follow me, please."

Together, Tristan and Mac headed into the noisy inferno of the bar. In contrast to the reckless rowdiness of the gangers in The Left Hand, the vibe here was more club-like, from the polished chrome of the bar to the large dancefloor and deafening blast of neo-tribal-synth-pop over the speaker piles. Mac follows behind Tristan as they thread their way through the crowd, aware of the bubble of silence that surrounds them and the unabashed stares from the crowd. It becomes abundantly clear to her why Kovacs broke out the heavy weaponry.

They climb a short set of stairs and turn a corner and suddenly the noise level drops dramatically, as if someone closed a door behind them shutting out the worst of it. Tristan steps forward, giving Mac her first glance at their destination. A large, semi-circular banquette filled the end of the landing, illuminated by a series of ornate paper lanterns. Seated around it were four men and twice as many women, although Mac could tell at a glance they were there as eye-candy alone. One of the men started to rise, and the other three shot to their feet before he could, answering Mac's question before the introductions.

Mirabal was as tall as Tristan, although it was hard to tell if he carried the same heavy muscle definition beneath the expensive designer suit he wore. His skin was the same olive cast as his oriental companions, his hair as dark, but where their faces were flat and rounded, his was angular, more hawkish, almost Amerind. Tristan bowed, and Mirabal returned the gesture, slightly shallower.

"Mongoose. It's been a long time."

"You're looking well, Mirabal, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

Mirabal waves away the suggested inconvenience, and other than the two very expensive emerald rings he wears, Mac can see that his right hand is missing the pinky finger.

"How could I turn down the request of an old friend? Not only would it have been impolite, I would have missed the opportunity to reminisce with someone of exceptional talent."

Tristan shrugged, smiling. "You say that as if your own skills were just happenstance. You are the best swordsman the ryu ever produced."

"Perhaps," Mirabal chuckles, seating himself again. "Perhaps I once was when I was younger. But I've grown old and fat and slow. You, though, seem to never age. You look the same as when I saw you two years ago."

"It's the miso that keeps me young," replied Tristan.

"I wonder, then," mused Mirabal, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Are you as fast as you were then?" He gestures with a nod, and both Tristan and Mac glance behind them to see a large open space at the opposite end of the landing. A large square in the middle, some four meters on a side, is floored with tatami mats. As they watch, a man steps out of the shadows, a sheathed katana held in his left hand.

Tristan looks back to Mirabal, who inclines his head in answer to the unasked question. Admission has its price.

"Here, I'll keep your woman company while you talk with Kuroda."

Tristan glanced at Mac, then back to Mirabal. "Talk, eh?" Not waiting for an answer, though, he shrugged out of his longcoat and began unbuttoning the high collar shirt of his Actioneer ensemble. Mac was surprised to see his katana slung beneath his left arm, surprised that she hadn't noticed it before. Leaving his clothes behind, he stepped towards the ring. Mirabal gestured, and the women next to him stood swiftly, making room for Mac.

"Come, sit my dear. We'll have an excellent view." He smiled at Mac, his dark eyes glittering in the neon light.

[Vegas]

01:09:47 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac inclined her head graciously towards their host as she kept her voice soft and polite, as if she knew her subservience in this room.

“Domo arigatou gozaimasu.”

She took her moment of “gratitude” to sneak in a look up at Tristan from beneath her lashes. She knew it was likely he could take care of himself, but this wasn’t where they met and she doubted magical healing was on standby if things went south. That was why Kovacs was on standby outside.

Mac felt a chill run through her at the thought and she tried to shake it off as she followed Mirabal to the proffered seat and took her place beside their host, agreeing silently that they did have the best view of the impending fight.

Watching Tristan make his way to the ring, a smile of approval couldn't be kept from Mac's lips. He was easy to look at and watching him fight was a thrill. She relaxed slightly as she sat next to Mirabal, well aware of his soldiers that were within arms reach. She waited for the opening strike and silently wished for no additional trouble.

[grendel]

01:21:04 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

In the time that it took Tristan to get ready, his opponent stripped to the waist as well. Apart from an impressively sculpted set of muscles, Kuroda also revealed a full set of irezumi, the traditional tattooing stretching down from his neck to his waist and down both arms. He waited at the edge of the square for Tristan, his face impassive.

Glancing around, Mac realized that the duel would be visible from the dance floor below, and that the crowd had positioned itself for a better viewing. She could see money changing hands below as bets were laid on first blood and eventual victor. Next to her, Mirabal sipped from a sake cup, his dark eyes silently evaluating.

Tristan stepped into the square, testing his footing, before facing his opponent and bowing. Kuroda returned the gesture, and the two fighters straightened. An electric tension filled the air, and distantly Mac could hear the bloodthirsty shouts of the crowd. On the landing, though, the only sound was the faint ringing of a wind chime.

The first strike came faster than Mac could see, Kuroda sliding across the two meters that separated the fighters, striking with the tsuka of his sheathed sword at Tristan's solar plexus. Tristan pivots, the blow scraping off with enough residual force to stagger him back. Mirabal chuckles as the fighters circle slowly. They stop perpendicular to Mac's gaze, and the electric moment stretches again.

Again, it is Kuroda who strikes first, lunging forward as he draws his blade, the strike curving upwards from hip to shoulder. Mac can only tell because of the freeze frame she catches as Tristan slides inside the arc of the sword, blocking with his own sheathed weapon before powering through with a thrusting sidekick. A quick twist spares Kuroda broken ribs, but this time he's the one forced to retreat and reset. An ugly snarl twists his lips, and he flicks the sheathe of his katana away, both hands going to the hilt of the blade.

Tristan presses forward on the tsuba of his sword, letting the first few centimeters of the blade whisper free from the sheathe, while his right hand curls around the hilt. The tension in the air is palpable now, Mac can feel it rolling off Mirabal seated next to her. Kuroda strikes and the fight begins. Steel flickers in the half light, ringing solidly as bodies torque together in the shallow illumination. Mac can't pick out the individual strikes, only the moments of stillness that intersperse a duel moving at sprinting speeds. It isn't just swords, either, both fighters use their natural weapons, the dull thud of flesh against flesh counterpointing the sharper ringing of the steel.

Kuroda and Tristan separate, breathing hard. Each fighter bleeds from half a dozen superficial cuts. Mac glances at Mirabal out of the corner of her eye, but the Yakuza shateigashira shows no intention of halting the duel.

"Your technique is impressive," praises Tristan in between short, controlled breaths. "You bring honor to your school."

"I was wrong to doubt the descriptions of your skill," replies Kuroda, "forgive me."

Mac wills herself to remain still, to trust Tristan and not to press the send button on her commlink, dispatching a message that would have ruinous results for everyone downrange of Kovacs. Once more the air grows thick as the energy between the two fighters coalesces, a dull thunder rising up from the crowd below as they anticipate the final exchange.

Kuroda strikes, a blindingly fast killing blow. Tristan is a flicker of motion, his body flowing around the strike with supernatural speed, his sword a blur. Steel shatters like a gunshot and blood spurts onto the mat. Kuroda stares in disbelief at the sight of his finger lying on the mat, the jagged remains of his katana hanging loosely in his hand. Tristan salutes with his blade, turning to collect the sheathe of his sword. Kuroda snarls, his broken blade coming up, but before Mac can shout a warning, Mirabal is on his feet. This time the gunshot is for real.

[Vegas]

01:21:59 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac flinched as the sound of the gunshot rang out from beside her. Her eyes went to Tristan first and her hand dropped to her side immediately after. It felt like an eternity passed in an instant as she waited for additional shots to ring out, shots that never came.

Her hands trembled slightly as she let go of the breath she had been holding, her eyes still locked on Tristan's face across the landing, refusing to glance towards the bleeding swordsman that was now missing a finger. A connection clicks in the back of her mind and more things fall into place.

The movement to her left of Mirabal reholstering his weapon under his expensive suitcoat, snapped her out of her tunnel vision and back to the immediate reality that surrounded her. The crowd below had gone eerily silent beneath them, disappointment and and almost tangible anger replaced the excitement of the moments prior. Before Mac could stop herself, a soft whisper left her lips.

"Jesus Christ."

[grendel]

01:33:12 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

"I knew you were exaggerating a bit about losing your speed." Tristan's canny smile and lax tone belied the tension in his shoulders, and the slowly relaxing grip on his blade that were they only indications that he'd almost thrown it through Mirabal when the latter drew his pistol. The Yakuza prince shrugged, a gesture that also served to dissipate the last tension in his own body.

"Perhaps a little. I think I was wrong about you, as well. You've gotten faster." A casual gesture cleared the rest of the banquette, Yakuza soldiers disappearing to attend to Kuroda and clear the remains of the duel. Tristan sheathed his sword, resting it against the polished teak table before pouring himself a cup of sake. The two men toasted silently and drank. Mac held out a cloth napkin, embroidered with a series of cranes in flight. Tristan shook his head minutely, preferring simply to don his shirt over his wounds.

"I have a favor to ask," started Tristan, finishing the last of his sake. He sat across from Mirabal, who nodded.

"I didn't think you'd come all this way just to pay an old friend a compliment, what can I do for you?"

"We're on a job with a bit of an open timeline, probably no more than a month, though. We're requesting use of safehouses and pipelines into and out of the city for the duration."

Mirabal nodded. "The service fees have gone up. But your reputation with us is still in good standing."

Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he withdrew a slim business card, devoid of anything save an LTG number. Mac saw the hard lines of the Yakuza soften.

"And you are a good friend. Be careful."

Tristan smiled, the card disappearing into his pocket. "I am in your debt."

His sword disappears beneath his long coat, and Mac correctly reads his glance, standing. Mirabal stands as well.

"Thank you for your hospitality," she bows to Mirabal, who returns the gesture.

"Good night, old friend," says Tristan, bowing. The Yakuza prince returns the gesture, holding his pose longer than before notes Mac.

"Good luck," he says, simply.

[Vegas]

01:43:36 Friday, 12 January 2063 – The Wharf, 11080 Marine View Dr, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac took her cue and slid from her seat and stood out of the way of the two men as they said their goodbyes, silently grateful that no additional blood was shed.

She let Tristan lead her out of the landing and back down the stairs, the pair of them sill collecting the stares as they passed through their crowds only with a slightly lower level of hostility on their way out. It wasn't until they had cleared the front and the four who guarded the door that she spoke another word and retreated a little inside the warmth of her jacket.

"So what exactly was the plan if everything went south?"

[grendel]

02:11:08 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

"Head towards the back door while Kovacs kicked in the front." Tristan shrugged, as if the execution would have been as easy as the statement. Mac glanced at the swordsman, a reply as to how stupid that plan sounded on the tip of her tongue, but the half-light of the parking lot haloed his face and the grim readiness in his eyes. She realized that had it come down to it, that's exactly what would have happened. Kovacs would have shelled the building with every weapon in his arsenal, while Tristan cut a swath to the rear exit for the two of them. And damn the consequences of either course. She shivered.

Kovacs had the weaponry stowed and the truck running by the time they arrived at their spot, Tristan sliding in back while she climbed into the front bucket as usual.

"The first aid kit still in the side panel?" he asked. Kovacs nodded an affirmative, glancing at Mac. She shook her head.

"Don't look at me, I just sat and drank sake."

The truck pulls out of the parking lot, heading east towards the highway.

"Just a scratch," explained Tristan, topless again as he disinfected his wounds. "Got what we came for, though."

"Good. I'm closing us down for the night. We'll head out around ten tomorrow to set up shop. I told Drift and Suda to meet us there at noon. At some point I have to go talk to Zeyda again, and we should definitely try and hit Demetria tomorrow as well." Kovacs outlined the plan with dry, clipped tones.

"I'm assuming we're standing up the watch tomorrow night as well?" Tristan's tan skin was a patchwork of white gauze and medical tape.

"Yeah, so get some sleep tonight."

"Way ahead of you, boss."

And true to his word, Tristan slept the rest of the way back to Kovacs house, and probably would have stayed the night in the garage if the tall samurai hadn't poked him awake. Grumbling, he made his way inside and flopped down on the couch, sword close at hand. Kovacs glanced at Mac.

"Shower?"

[Vegas]

02:21:53 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac glanced over at Tristan already nearly out cold once again on the couch and she felt her own eyes getting heavy and crashing out sounded delicious, but nodded in agreement as she started the familiar walk towards the bathroom. She left her longcoat in the living room and started to strip out of her tank top and bra as she went, topless by the time she hit the bathroom doorway.

She started the shower before she finished undressing, her Browning feeling remarkably heavy as she unclipped the holster from her belt and set it on top of the pile of her clothes on the counter. She left the door open in invitation to Kovacs, but Mac wasted no time slipping behind the shower curtain the second she could feel the steam in the air. She closed her eyes and stood beneath the spray, letting the hot water rush over her skin, everything that had happened this evening replaying in her head, committing lessons to memory as she relived them.

[grendel]

02:32:19 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Kovacs hung his coat in his room before heading into the bathroom, setting his weapons next to Mac's on the counter. Sliding behind the curtain, he ran his hands through the moisture beaded across her back, stepping forward to embrace her. Mac brought her arms up, curling them over Kovacs', her eyes finding the dull gray synthetic of his right. He nuzzled her neck, the day's growth of whiskers prickling her skin. His hands twisted, snakelike, and she felt her wrists captured and dragged behind her. She turned her face up to meet his, fatigue on her voice, that evaporated beneath the heat of his kiss. Mac twisted in his grip, her wrists pinned behind her while Kovacs's hand slid down over her stomach towards the sensitive folds between her legs. Mac let her head fall back against his chest, water streaming down her face as her passion built to a crescendo.

[Vegas]

02:43:11 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac growled as Kovacs restrained her and his hand moved across her skin. Silently she cursed both herself and him for having this kind of effect on her. She writhed under his touch, beneath the cascade of water and against the inherent strength of his hold on her. Mac tried to fight the inevitable, however it didn’t take long before she felt the strength in her legs start to give and Kovacs reading the moment with near-perfect timing, released her wrists and snaked his arm around her waist to keep her standing.

She leaned back against him, turning her head out of the spray of the water just enough to catch her breath and turned in his arms pressing her body tight against him as she looked up at his face. Her eyes blazed with the feral hunger he had unleashed in her. Mac’s hands worked their way up Kovacs’ back, her nails digging in deep into his skin as she raked them down. His hand instantly tangling in her hair, clenching at base of her skull, displaying his control over her as she stilled for a moment before her hands found their way to his hips, leveraging her weight just enough to push him against the wall of the shower.

The steam in the bathroom coupled with the desire coursing through her was making it harder to breathe but it didn’t stop her from slowly crouching down, nails dragging over his wet skin, lips brushing over his stomach before she was kneeling at his feet. Mac looked up his body, finding the cool gray of Kovacs’ eyes watching her like a hawk. She raised up slightly on her knees and let her lips, mouth and tongue repay him with the pleasure he had given her.

[grendel]

03:01:29 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Kovacs let his hand tangle in Mac's hair as she enveloped him in the soft warmth of her mouth. I should have grabbed some rope, he thought to himself as he watched her kneeling before him. She teased him, bringing him close before backing off and letting his excitement wane, then starting again. He had other ideas, though, lifting her to her feet by her hair. Mac hissed in pain, unsheathing her claws to she could climb his body to bite his neck as he thrust into her, battering her against the wall of the shower. He growled, and pinned her to the wall by her neck. She coughed and wheezed, her hands clawing against the armored synthetic sheath of his cyberarm. He held her there until he felt her body begin to go slack, then released his hold, rocking his hips forward violently. She convulsed against him, crying out in pain and pleasure. It stole the last of his control away, and he spent himself inside her, his arms wound tight around her.

[Vegas]

03:09:03 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac gasped for air as her head dropped forward to rest against Kovacs' shoulder as he held her tight against him while the rest of her came down from the rush. It wasn't long before the water in the shower had gone from tepid to nearly ice cold which had both of them stabbing at the controls to shut the water off, forcing Mac to let go, standing again on wobbly legs and seeking dry towels for warmth.

As she wrung the water from her hair and dried herself off, she smiled up at Kovacs as he did the same.

"Tea, or bed."

[grendel]

03:17:41 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

"Bed," replied Kovacs, scooping up his clothes and weapons and heading to the bedroom. Mac followed, glancing down the hall to see if their romp had woken Tristan. He still lay sprawled across the couch, but now he had a pillow over his head. She grinned before closing the bedroom door behind her. Kovacs was already in bed, leaning over to adjust something on the floor by his side. Mac slid between the covers, welcoming their warmth and the warmth of the body next to her. Kovacs draped an arm across her hip, his body spooning behind hers. It's only a matter of minutes before she hears his breathing deepen and he's asleep. In the near darkness of the room, she can just barely make out the outline of her pistol where it rests on the nightstand. Had it really only been a week since she first met Kovacs? She marveled at how much had changed in such a short period of time. Memories of them together surfaced in her mind, and she left the tension leave her shoulders. Minutes later she was asleep.

[Vegas]

08:41:13 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac stirred awake slowly to the sounds of movement in the house after having crashed out hard. She sat up quickly as the room came into focus, and her sleep-shrouded mind processed Tristan's presence elsewhere in the house. She glanced over to the now-empty opposite side of the bed and frowned slightly before she stretched and dressed enough to be decent, making a bee-line for the front room finding both Kovacs and Tristan seated at the kitchen table, both of them growing quiet as she stepped closer. She rubbed at the corners of her eyes before she grabbed a chair across the table.

"Did you both eat? I can make breakfast if you haven't. If we have time?"

[grendel]

08:46:52 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

"Ohhh, she said second breakfast!" Tristan grins gleefully. "You can cook whatever you'd like! We should keep her!"

Kovacs shoots him a look before turning towards Mac as he stands. "We have time, cook as much as you'd like. We're not taking any of it with us anyway."

He moves past her into the front room, which she notes has undergone a remarkable transformation. Gone are the disorganized piles of gear and weapons. In fact, all that's left are a few boxes and a large plastic tote in which rest all of Kovacs possessions that were lying around the shelves of the room. As she watches, he pulls the large art print off the wall and carries it, along with the plastic tote, out into the garage.

[Vegas]

09:04:01 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac watched Kovacs carry out the last of his things with a slight frown on her lips before she flashed a sly smile in Tristan’s direction as she shook her head and made her way towards the fridge, realizing in that moment just how hungry she actually was.

“I always knew the way to your heart was through your stomach Tristan” She took stock of the contents of the fridge and mentally started calculating what she could throw together and what actually sounded good.

“So what do you want?” She looked back over her shoulder at the swordsman seated at the kitchen table and waited for requests.

“Surprise me.” Was all he said.

Mac just shrugged and started pulling out staples from the fridge, the remaining eggs, butter and soymilk before she started going through the still unfamiliar cabinets to find the other ingredients to the recipe that was bouncing around in her head. It wasn’t long before she had a pan going and was turning out golden brown pancakes. She grabbed the last two almost overripe bananas from the counter, forgetting the last time she had real fruit and quickly cut them and tossed them into the pan with butter, sugar and cinnamon before she poured some over the top of both stacks of pancakes and slid a plate over in front of Tristan. She grabbed a seat at the table and started to eat. Mac paused a few bites in when Kovacs hadn’t returned from the garage except to grab more boxes, and stared across the table at Tristan.

“Is he ok?”

[grendel]

09:21:27 Friday, 12 January 2063 – 35010 Von Schilling Way, Renton, Seattle

Tristan glanced up, his mouth full of a comically large bite of pancake. "Oo? 'R fearleth leadeh? Eeth fine. Eeth packinth."

Mac watched in a bit of amusement and dismay as he wolfed down the rest of the plate in four equally large bites, before washing it down with his entire glass of water. Finished, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and belched loud enough to rouse the neighbors.

"Mmm, just as good the second time. We're definitely keeping you around." He winked at Mac before glancing around the corner towards the open garage door.

"Don't worry about him. He's in ops mode. Makes him even more brusque than usual. Once we get settled in the new place he'll be back to his cheerful self."

The swordsman sat back at the table and returned to the task he was working on prior to Mac delivering breakfast, which, she realized with a start, was filling 30 centimeter V-shaped steel channel brackets with plastic explosives. Kovacs appeared through the door, brushing his hands together.

"Truck's loaded. I'm going to do one last sweep of the house. We're on the road in ten minutes."

Mac nodded, dumping her dishes into the washer and heading for the bathroom. She had time for a quick shower and to throw her meager possessions into a duffle bag with a few minutes left over.

Exiting the bathroom, she found Kovacs standing alone in the front room in a house that already felt chill and empty. Wordlessly he handed her a blank OMC chip. She gave him a quizzical look.

"Stash it somewhere safe. It's got all my recipes on it. You ready?"

"Sure?" She shrugged, pocketing the chip and not giving voice to any of her suspicions. Tristan was waiting for them in the truck, apparently napping.

"Carb coma?" she asked Kovacs.

"No, some people just kept me up all night with their-"

Kovacs coughed loudly to cover the rest of whatever Tristan was going to say while Mac took the more direct route and punched him in the leg. The swordsman laughed as the truck backed from the driveway and headed into the city.

09:50:14 Friday, 12 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Their destination was a nondescript two story warehouse in a long row of similar nondescript two story warehouses. Kovacs keyed in a combination at the control box, and one of the two large vehicle doors scrolled upwards to admit them. The interior was a single open room, cement floored with walls of heavy duty construction plastic tacked to steel stringers.

"Home sweet home," grinned Tristan.

[Vegas]

09:56:47 Friday, 12 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac shook her head as she hopped out of the truck and looked around the space and got her bearings as much as she could without exploring. She headed back towards the lift gate of the truck and offered to help Kovacs start unloading.

“What can I do to help while we’re waiting on Drift and Suda?”

She fought to keep her true feelings about the shaman out of her voice when she said her name. Mac didn’t have issues with anyone else on the team so far, call it alpha female syndrome or just the fact that she didn’t trust Suda in the slightest. She shook it off as she grabbed for her bag, tossing it aside so she could grab something more important at that moment which got her thinking.

“Will we still have time to swing by my place today?”

[grendel]

10:12:06 Friday, 12 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Kovacs hands Mac one of the large Pelican cases stacked in the rear of the Land Rover.

"I don't see why not. We can get the preliminaries done here and then swing by your place."

Tristan manhandled one of the double-size weapon lockers out.

"Leave me here and I'll finish the set-up. Swing back by with lunch. We can go see Demetria and Zeyda after the other two get here," he commented.

Kovacs hefted two large gray duffel bags out of the bed. "Sounds like a plan."

Together the three of them finished unloading the truck, stacking gear in a series of piles by its purpose. Tristan monkeyed up one of the support columns and into the rafters, lugging a spool of monofilament cable and a black hardcase. Mac gestured to the stack of standard issue collapsible cots.

"Where are we going to put the bedroom?"

Kovacs scanned the floor. "Over there seems to be the driest."

[Vegas]

10:27:46 Friday, 12 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac nodded and busied herself with moving cots and other essentials to what would become their living quarters for the foreseeable future. Every so often she stole a glance to the rafters to try to spot Tristan out of curiosity as to what he was up to, watching him weave his way with ease through the trusses and beams. She doubled back to the truck to grab the bag of her things that she left to the side and moved them over near the cots, choosing not to claim one for herself until everyone had arrived. Finding Kovacs organizing and restacking many of their weapons components, she glanced at the time that hovered in the corner of her vision as she leaned gently against the stacks of gear while he worked.

"Should we head out before it gets too late?"

Truthfully, she would have preferred to just swing by her place on her own and grab her things, building in her slowly forming and hardly elaborate contingencies along the way. However she knew there was no way Kovacs was about to let her go out on her own, and for certain not back to her apartment alone. She screwed on a soft smile before once again looking up to the rafters.

"Hey monkey man, have any requests for lunch?"