IC: Parting the Veil, IC roleplaying for Parting the Veil Options

[Tashio]

As soon as everything was unloaded and stored in the hangers Taxi began to go over all the vehicles making sure all were undamaged from the flight.

"Is someone going to find us a place to bunk down, as much as I just love field work this place does not even have a crapper." Taxi's voice bellowed from beneath the oversized APC.

[WinterRat1]

Nodding at Jake, Nameless rises from where he'd been quietly meditating. "Got it boss." Turning to the fuzzy decker, he smiles. "All right Iblis, I'd love to see your new place. I"ll meet you there." Following the decker out of the room, he hops in his car and drives off to the club/place the decker calls home, in more ways than one.

[BishopMcQ]

Jake swings himself onto the back of his bike, snaps the chip strap under his helmet, and kick starts the engine into life.

Time to see the new place and possibly meet man named Mr. Bobo. Moments of calm and enjoyable instants taken now while they could. Tonight would bring pain and death, hopefully to their enemies and not to the Shaman and his friends.

With a glance to see if Howling was following them, he puts the bike in gear and follows behind Ib.

[Fenris]

November 16th, 12:24

Iblis's warehouse is in the industrial sector just outside Seattle proper. The only entrance is a 2 meter tall 4 meter long sliding door that looks solid enough to survive at shot from an assault cannon, although it, like the building and rest of the area around it, are used, worn, and covered in a layer of health-friendly smog residue.

A knock on the door results in the sounds of a series of locks being thrown back, and a face pushes itself out of the 12" crack. With a thick brow line, a wide, flat nose, and somewhat puffy lips, the bearer of the features appears fairly simian, and the darkly tanned color of his skin does nothing to dissuade one from that original notion. What you can see of his neck and upper body is covered in custom cut silk, the black suit obviously from one of the better shops in town. He tilts a pair of sunglasses down with a hairy palm sport thick fingers, just further re-inforcing the simian aspects, and reveals a pair of startingly intelligent brown eyes that peer at you, simultaneously irritated and cold.

His face lights up when he spots Iblis, however.

"Sorry Ma'am, should have called ahead," he rumbles in a deep, gravelly voice. He leans into the door and pulls it open, allowing the group to enter the dark, cool interior. From the inside, you can see that the doorman is almost 3 meters tall, barefoot, and has apparently inhierited the opposable fingers on his toes as well.

He gestures to the interior of the warehouse, filled with small stages and lighting and sound equipment. A few people move back and forth in the distance, handling the mundane day to day tasks that a stationary club needed to be open late every night.

"Everything's solid here, Miss Ibs, and there's 7 children sleeping off last nights exertions in the community space. You and your guests want anything to eat or drink?"

[Buddha72]

Turning to the rest of the team she begins introductions. "Everyone this is head of security of the club, the impressive and attentive Mr. BoBo. These are my business accociates." She quickly tosses out the street names of the other people to the simian man. "Going to need to make it light on the drinks as we have a meeting tonight where I can't slur my words." She motions for eveyone to follow to a lift off a bit from the club area. Calling back over her shoulder as she punches in a security code to operate the lift. "Make sure we find out about our guests, our kind does not do with not glamour or roofs over our heads. Make arrangements as needed with Izzy, thanks hun."

You rise several floors to a loft that can only be made by forty Vegas drag queens exploding in the space. Glitter and light are everywhere and faux fur rules the world. Every impulse she had to decorate was followed up on and taken to the extreme with a dash of neon to seal the deal.

"Welcome to paradise!" She enters her arms thrown up in a large V. A large female troll pokes her head out from a door, perhaps a bathroom. She looks disgusted and grunts once before closing the door again. Undaunted she turns towards what you assume might be a kitchen. "Let's eat before we meet the gun toting terrorists we're hiring!"

[nick012000]

Howling Wolf hops into his SUV and follows the others to the warehouse.

When he gets to the top, he looks anround, and asks, "So, you live here? the decor is... interesting, to say the least."

[Buddha72]

Opening the fridge covered with velvet and grabbing an assortment of microwave goodies, she places them on the counter and begins to heat them in a Hello Kitty themed microwave. "Yep, had a house over in the Elven District but I needed something a little more me so after the last run with Vinnie, bless our little nuyen mine, I put a down payment on this place. Now I am in debt up to my ponytails so it was back work for me."

[BishopMcQ]

"Everything looks great hon. It's very you. Is Short Stuff still living with you or did she bail? I think I saw OK in the back there..."

Jake leans his bag against the counter and begins opening cabinets looking for plates. Finding them, he sets them on the counter and begins serving things out of the microwave onto plates for the team.

"The building probably took a lot, does your little party scene down there end up in the black to cover expenses or are you footing that bill too?"

[Buddha72]

Iblis turns back into the fridge, digging out an assortment of artificial drinks for the team. "Mee-Moe is holding on to the old place and I think expanding. I don't really have the room here for all her toys but she has an honoray pull out here whenever she needs it. So far the Looking Glass is covering itself, praise Ja!"

[FrostyNSO]

Drake stepped lightly as he walked off his flight into the SeaTac International terminal. Over his shoulder, a large dufflebag with an ample supply of clothes.

Just a day earlier, Drake had been stalking musk ox in the Alaskan wilderness, and now he was getting ready to step into the urban sprawl. The call had been unexpected. Though he could count on one hand the months since his last work, it seemed like so long ago. Almost like a dream that one forgets after a long night's sleep.

Softly moving his way through the terminal, Drake flagged down a taxi as he walked outside to the open, though polluted, air. He gave the cabbie an address. Near the agreed upon base of operations, but far enough away that the cabbie would never see it. Drake would foot the rest.

Having no gear to speak of for himself, he hoped Styx would have a good stock to choose from. Choose the proper tools for the job. Drake mused to himself. Let's see what Styx and the boys have thrown together this time...

[HeySparky]

The team plane touched down and Alan let go of the armrests leaving sweaty palm prints. Sure, the flight had been Rigged, but that didn't make it comfy. Quite the contrary.

He peered out the small window by his seat at the crummy q-hut that was their hangar. Taxi had already hit the tarmac and was directing the ground crew unloading of the vehicles. Good thing, can't watch them close enough. Alan set his computer to stream a local news feed to his image link and sat in the seat for a moment, glad of the stillness. He listened to the casters and their brisk delivery of the city's dire happenings. The words and images flowed over him. With a sigh he plugged the lead of his remote deck into the back of his skull.

All at once the living world vanished. He was drawing power, cycling through diagnostics, and ... up.

A roto-drone whickered out of the plane's rear cargo hold and zoomed high, checking clearances with the small airport's ATC as it went. Another drone trundled out, a business-like affair with two robotic arms. It snapped a sharp salute at Taxi as it whirred past headed toward the hangar to check it out before the ground crew went in and to deploy an array of scanners, jammers and white-noise generators.

<< All clear above and below, Styx. The hut is ready for entry. >> Alan's transducer modulated voice is clipped and certain.

<< I took the liberty of finding us accomodations. **COORDINATES TRANSMITTED** A cute little place - Indy, you'll love it - it used to be a taxidermists. >>

Alan grunted as his senses twitched back into his own body. He put the drones in a generic reconaissance pattern and unpaused the news feed to begin his browsing again. His new air mask had rubbed his skin raw where it was still breaking in and red weals shown on either side of his mouth. He puts the mask back in to place with a scowl and steps out into the air.

Wonder what puzzle pieces this job will blow up... He tramps down the stairs and sets about gettings settled in Seattle. A woman's bright voice is predicting rain as the wind picks up and drizzle starts. Alan sighs. Seattle.


***********

Alan nods at Styx and says, "You got it. I'll send The Handyman with you to meet our employers. Armed?" He looks over his mask at the team leader, eyebrows asking what his mechanical voice does not - if their would-be employers were trustworthy. Alan never ever trusted anyone who hadn't specifically earned it. And not always then.

After the team had settled in a bit he called Gary, his pal in town, who'd done some work for him a few years back. The two would meet for drinks later and it gave Alan a few hours to browse and save off several articles of local political interest.

[Cedric Rolfsson]

Styx looked things over, everyone went about their tasks with the same degree of professionalism that they always showed. Drake had been taking some time off and hadn't been in Berlin when the call came in but he figured the older solider would arrive shortly. The rest of the team began getting things in order, each without instructions or directions.

I wonder why I got put in charge of this crew, hell they pretty much run themselves, when things get nasty everyone natuarally turns to Drake for leadership.

Styx felt keenly the weight of command and tried hard to live up to the responsibility but always felt somewhat lacking. Like Carnes unspoken question concerning the trustworthiness of the contracting party. The reality is he had no idea how trustworthy they were, but the troops didn't need to know that.

"I'd suggest personal sidearms only for the meet. I'll be going along and will go in unarmed as a show of trust for the employer, they'd expect me to bring along some back-up."

[Cedric Rolfsson]

Styx flipped up the small view screen on his wrist-phone and told the tiny machine to call Boomer, or at least the number he had for Boomer who seemed to be pretty well dialed in to the local Seattle scene.

"Hoi Boomer when you're done running around today meet the crew at home and help get things squared away. We've already got a pair to head over to the club, so we're set up that way. We'll check back later if there is a problem."

Styx left the message and hoped the big man would understand the deliberately obscure wording. Either way he wasn't about to leave any kind of detailed message over an unsecure communications media. He flipped his phone shut and headed over to the hanger to grab a change of clothes and a pair of combat knives from his gear.

After all unarmed is a vague kind of term.

[Fenris]

November 16th, 19:05

The sky drizzles down among the mingled commuters, reflecting the neon lights from the collected signs like a thousand tiny gems off the city streets and the sluggishly moving cars. Despite the rain, the night is alive with the sounds and smells of a metroplex, millions of people moving about their daily lives and whatever personal pursuits drive them. The traffic is thinner near Capitol Hill, the somewhat more residental area calling more to people that are headed home, drawing them inside and out of the rain.

The sign for the Paradise O flickers occasionally, the hum and crack of something shorting out in the rain matching the flickering of the neon. Underneath the near, near the only door of the two story building stands a man. Well, man shaped, at least. At just under 9' tall, the bouncer could double as a door in a pinch. As you get closer, you can see that he seems to be wearing a kilt sized for his particular frame, and is covered in a thick coat of hair, all over his body.

[Cedric Rolfsson]

Styx looked the gigantic bouncer over, with eyes trained to spot weaknesses in bigger opponents. He didn't feel at all diminished by the huge man, he'd spent far too long being the smallest kid in class to let a little thing like size bother him.

Most Elves towered more than a foot taller than his own 5'10" in height. He kept his thin frame tautly muscled but he'd long since given up trying to compete based upon size. He had his advantages and the big guys had theirs; besides that's why God created guns.

With practiced ease he slid his perceptions into the astral to view the big metahuman. In astral space walking alongside him in her hell hound form was his familiar Vestra. In her hell hound form she appeared to be a large black mastiff, waist high on him, with short black hair and glowing crimson eyes.

[Fenris]

Mercs

The formorian glances down at the 3 mercenaries, looking back and forth to all three before rumbling, "Jes' make sure yur not causing troubles with your wee' toys." He motions with his head for you to enter the bar.

Inside the bar it's pretty much what you'd expect from a bar in Capitol Hill. Lots of real wood and more booths then tables. There's one additional exit clearly marked near the restrooms as a fire door, complete with "alarm that will sound if you open this door."

The bar is about half filled with a mix of customers, some looking like regulars, others looking like they just ducked in out of the rain. The smell of real redwood rises from the bar as you step up to it, although chipped and stained with wear, it retains much of the original quality of the wood.

A gruff looking man stands across the bar, drawing heavy mugs full of amber liquid. He glances up as the three of you enter, and then goes back to pouring the beer.

[BishopMcQ]

After eating and taking the tour of Iblis' new place, Jake suggests that they get going down to the Paradise O to meet their new employees.

Arriving at the bar, he nods to the Scottish troll and leads the way in. The shaman raises one hand in a half wave to the bartender. Maggie Mae must have the night off...and this one seems equally grouchy... Jake glances around the bar in an attempt to assess profesional talent. Those that he notes, get a tilt of the head towards the back room and Jake heads for the back room that he had been in before.

[WinterRat1]

Having toured the fuzzy decker's apartment and finding it a bit...extravagent for his tastes, Nameless smiles at Iblis nonetheless and expressions his admiration for her ability to make something so outlandish feel so...normal. At least for her.

Flanking Jake, he silently follows the boss in his wake throughout the club, watching carefully for any signs of trouble.

[Buddha72]

Iblis pauses a moment to admire the burly troll before following the others in. Talking mostly to herself as she goes. "Cute but a little too woody for my taste......" She takes in the rest of the body and jogs to catch up with the rest of the team. "So who are we meeting exactly?"

[Cedric Rolfsson]

Styx sips his iced tea and watches the bar patrons come and go. There really isn't much to see in the room, but he likes the feel of the place. Its quiet and pleasant, natural feeling, seeming far removed from the hustle and bustle of the sprawl.

He sits back in his seat, and feels the Cougar fighting knives he's wearing dig into this back. The handle of the one he wears sheathed down his spine digs into the base of his neck in the back and the one worn angled upwards across his lower back presses in against his kidneys. The form fitting body armor helps with the discomfort but there is really no comfortable way to wear large fighting knives concealed under modern clothing.

His drink is barely down a quarter when he notices an unusual crowd breeze through the door, one of whom makes serious eye contact and tilts his head towards the back room.

"This must be the contractor, Hans didn't give the most accurate descriptions, so stay frosty."

Styx didn't drop eye contact with the newcomers while he spoke quietly to Drake in the seat next to him.

[nick012000]

Howling Wolf sits in the back room, and watches as Jake and Nameless go into the main area, and then return with some of the hired help for the run.

[FrostyNSO]

Drake smiled and whispered back to Styx: "Check out the broad." He joked dryly. "Looks like it's time to do this thing. By the way, I'm sorry I was out for a few weeks there, I have to admit, I came here unprepared. Oh, and is our parent company handing down the contract, or do we have to negotiate with these people for our paychecks this time?"

[Fenris]

November 16th, 20:06

The back room is small, and dimly lit by a single shaded light swinging on a somewhat threadbare cord. A scratched and scarred table is ringed by 8 chairs, all in various stages of disrepair, but remarkably comfortable, nonetheless. There are no windows and only the single door. There is a trid unit, however, and those that have been there before know that it is linked to the Matrix on a somewhat shady connection.

A faint electronic hum that starts as the door is closed is apparent to those with enhanced hearing. The noise usually denotes a white-noise generator going into place, and the audible levels indicate a fairly strong one, at that.

[BishopMcQ]

"Anyone who wants a beer needs to bring it with them, they don't serve back here."

Jake stretches the muscles across his long frame, loosening the kinks that always seem to start right between the shoulder blades.

"Once everyone is situated we'll start our talks."

An easy smile that is meant to put everyone at ease spreads across the model's face like the sun warming a winter field.

[FrostyNSO]

As Drake pulls himself a seat at the table, his light blue eyes scan the room and everyone in it as he settles in, stopping for a moment on Iblis before moving on once again. Though his frame had fifty-plus years on it, with thirty of those spent in special ops in one capacity or another, his body didn't show it. Still standing over six foot, and weighing in at around 200, Drake was still an old man, but a formidable old man.

Lifting his hands to show his palms to the others at the table, Drake smiled and calmly reached into his dark grey coat to remove his pocket secretary. Readying the p-sec's stylus to take notes, he leaned back in the chair and eyed Jake with a no-nonsense expression.

"Why do I get the feeling this guy is going to try and give us the shaft?" Drake thought to himself. "At least I can hope he'll prove me wrong."