Fri 11 April 2070 19:00 – Downtown, White Center Corporate Housing – Seattle, UCAS
The light rain tapped at the window of the condo unit. It was getting close to summer, and soon the rain would let up. Alfred sincerely hoped it would work, as he held the e-paper image of her close. He stared out at the moderate traffic that buzzed about the housing complex, then looked around at his corporate lifestyle. Fine furnishings, real food, nice trid system; everything modern man was supposed to want. Within a few days, hopefully it would all be gone. Just for her. He knew in his heart it was worth it. She was worth it.
He finished packing a small storage unit, and scheduled a delivery pickup using his comm. A small briefcase held the rest of his belongings. As ready as he was, it was the last step. The last chance to call it off. After a moment of hesitation and a sigh, he touched “Carver” on his AR directory, and the call was instantly connected. An encryption key icon loaded, securing the channel.
“Are you ready?” the deep, crisp voice on the other end said.
“Yes, it’s time to do this. Now or never,” Alfred replied, with some finality, as if he needed to be convinced.
“I’ll make the arrangements as soon as payment clears. Don’t do anything out of the ordinary unless instructed. Our next meeting will be at location green, time echo five.”
The window closed with the end of the conversation, brisk but professional. Alfred retrieved the snake icon, the one that Carver said would forward the money through discrete, legitimate-looking fronts before finally getting to him. He activated it, and the snake uncoiled, making several transfers and then dissolving without a trace. It was done, and soon things were about to get very interesting. Soon the rain would let up.
Full Version: IC: Don't Get Comfortable
Sat 12 April 2070 14:00 - Sumner Apartment Complex - Auburn, UCAS
Nvwati
While browsing the New England Journal of Awakened Medicine, an incoming call registers on your comm. You instantly recognize the commcode and connect to JT, your fixer and connection to the shadow world. Probably a rush patch-up job, you think to yourself, someone took way too many 10mm lead supplements.
His portly figure appears, donning a bright green and red urban brawl jersey of a team you don't recognize.
"Heeeeey, Nvwati, what's new in the world? I'll tell you what, I'm not calling you to bandage up some muthadreka who's in four pieces, that's what! Hey, I've got a support job for you, on a team that's headed into some heavy drek. If you're interested, see this guy named Carver at Matchsticks tonight at 9."
Nvwati
While browsing the New England Journal of Awakened Medicine, an incoming call registers on your comm. You instantly recognize the commcode and connect to JT, your fixer and connection to the shadow world. Probably a rush patch-up job, you think to yourself, someone took way too many 10mm lead supplements.
His portly figure appears, donning a bright green and red urban brawl jersey of a team you don't recognize.
"Heeeeey, Nvwati, what's new in the world? I'll tell you what, I'm not calling you to bandage up some muthadreka who's in four pieces, that's what! Hey, I've got a support job for you, on a team that's headed into some heavy drek. If you're interested, see this guy named Carver at Matchsticks tonight at 9."
Sat 12 April 2070 08:30 - Downtown, "The Office" - Seattle, UCAS
Patrick
While actually performing some legal work for a change in keeping up your front, your comm registers a call from your business associate, Miron. You don't hesitate to put him through.
His thick Slavic accent doesn't hide the smoothness of his voice, in any language. No video feed, but that's not out of the ordinary for this business.
"Patrick, my friend, what have you been up to? Listen, I came across a request that I thought might interest you. Something a bit more exciting than the usual, and more lucrative I believe as well. If you would like to hear more, ask for a man by the name of Carver at Matchsticks tonight, 21 hundred hours. Oh, how could I forget. No, I haven't found that item you were looking for yet. It is a bit difficult these days. A pleasure, as always."
Patrick
While actually performing some legal work for a change in keeping up your front, your comm registers a call from your business associate, Miron. You don't hesitate to put him through.
His thick Slavic accent doesn't hide the smoothness of his voice, in any language. No video feed, but that's not out of the ordinary for this business.
"Patrick, my friend, what have you been up to? Listen, I came across a request that I thought might interest you. Something a bit more exciting than the usual, and more lucrative I believe as well. If you would like to hear more, ask for a man by the name of Carver at Matchsticks tonight, 21 hundred hours. Oh, how could I forget. No, I haven't found that item you were looking for yet. It is a bit difficult these days. A pleasure, as always."
Sat 12 April 2070 12:00 - Ravenna Apartment Complex - Seattle, UCAS
A-In
The sound of an Italian aria fills the apartment, as Aiko practices her best solo, probably something from Turandot, you figure. The only thing prettier than her singing might be...well, way too early for thoughts like that. Dredging yourself awake from a late night, you can't help but notice the blinking "Message Received" tag in your field of view. It seems Open Casket found something for you after all. After a quick decrypt using your shared key, it reads:
Possible work in the future. Meet a Mr. Carver at Matchsticks, 9PM. Try to look professional, I put in a good word.
His snarky, sarcastic humor seems to come through even in a written message.
A-In
The sound of an Italian aria fills the apartment, as Aiko practices her best solo, probably something from Turandot, you figure. The only thing prettier than her singing might be...well, way too early for thoughts like that. Dredging yourself awake from a late night, you can't help but notice the blinking "Message Received" tag in your field of view. It seems Open Casket found something for you after all. After a quick decrypt using your shared key, it reads:
Possible work in the future. Meet a Mr. Carver at Matchsticks, 9PM. Try to look professional, I put in a good word.
His snarky, sarcastic humor seems to come through even in a written message.
Sat 12 April 2070 12:00 - Beacon Hill Condo - Seattle, UCAS
Mr. Scorpion
Things were slow. Then again, they'd been slow for a while, ever since.... Time to try to put the world back together, piece by piece. Eventually it would happen. Just a minor setback.
The thoughts kept running through your head, then the knock on the door. Security feed showed it was Fu, the messenger kid. Even though it was pretty normal, a kick of adrenaline brought your body to full alert. When you open the door, Fu bows gracefully and hands you the message, a smooth white envelope with one character on the back. Sliding it open, like so many times before, the card inside read the following in Chinese:
The green dragon soars at the fiery crossing at sundown
and the word Carver in English. Finally, Tsing had come through. It was time to get back to business.
Mr. Scorpion
Things were slow. Then again, they'd been slow for a while, ever since.... Time to try to put the world back together, piece by piece. Eventually it would happen. Just a minor setback.
The thoughts kept running through your head, then the knock on the door. Security feed showed it was Fu, the messenger kid. Even though it was pretty normal, a kick of adrenaline brought your body to full alert. When you open the door, Fu bows gracefully and hands you the message, a smooth white envelope with one character on the back. Sliding it open, like so many times before, the card inside read the following in Chinese:
The green dragon soars at the fiery crossing at sundown
and the word Carver in English. Finally, Tsing had come through. It was time to get back to business.
Sat 12 April 2070 14:00 - Downtown Apartment Complex - Seattle, UCAS
Josie
The workbench is splayed with tools, parts, screws, and springs from half a dozen components. A large pistol appears to be coalescing into shape, at the direct focus of the Ork working on it. Solder fumes rise from the open cavity, and then several more tools go in. You pick up the fine edge screwdriver to put the finishing touches on this last mod:
One more twist and it should be there. Almost...
The familiar commcode beeps in to your display, ringing impatiently. Drek it all, you must be thinking, as you pick up the call to your fixer, Oso. Though you know he's a troll, the lack of video feed is not out of the ordinary.
"I've got a large delivery, heavy, might take a couple of guys. Meet me at Dock M tomorrow at 7 if you can handle it. The box says 'Carver' on it."
That crazy troll, always using his codes. Of course, Dock M tomorrow at 7 meant "Matchsticks, today at 9pm". Why does he have to be all cloak and dagger? Anyways, I wonder who else might be interested in a job...
Josie
The workbench is splayed with tools, parts, screws, and springs from half a dozen components. A large pistol appears to be coalescing into shape, at the direct focus of the Ork working on it. Solder fumes rise from the open cavity, and then several more tools go in. You pick up the fine edge screwdriver to put the finishing touches on this last mod:
One more twist and it should be there. Almost...
The familiar commcode beeps in to your display, ringing impatiently. Drek it all, you must be thinking, as you pick up the call to your fixer, Oso. Though you know he's a troll, the lack of video feed is not out of the ordinary.
"I've got a large delivery, heavy, might take a couple of guys. Meet me at Dock M tomorrow at 7 if you can handle it. The box says 'Carver' on it."
That crazy troll, always using his codes. Of course, Dock M tomorrow at 7 meant "Matchsticks, today at 9pm". Why does he have to be all cloak and dagger? Anyways, I wonder who else might be interested in a job...
Nvwati let her glasses slip down her nose half an inch as she stared at JT's fat head in her field of view. "Heavy drek? You got anything more info than that?"
In the end, she grunted an affirmative and let the call drop. She spent a few more minutes halfheartedly browsing her journals before closing them out. As the windows died out on the surfaces of her glasses, they left behind a faint ghost of themselves on her eyes. She stretched languidly and signed, pulling the classes off and getting to her feet. As she showered and got ready to leave her place, she hummed a soft tune to herself that came from an old song her mother had taught her. She didn't remember the words, but it reminded her of the rolling plains of Wyoming and the great spire of Devil's Tower.
It'd been a while since she'd seen work and patching up the SINless didn't always cover the bills, of course. She didn't really have much to do, in the best of times, without work, and lately things had just been getting boring.
She pulled up a weather report and checked to see when the sun was going to set and then she checked out the location of the meet on the public grid. She'd been to Matchsticks only once, and it'd been a rush job. Since her scooter died, she'd been forced to take the tube more often then she'd like, and that meant extra time to get there even if she layed out the nuyen for a cab. The tube was safer, anyway, if she took the long road and kept her comm quiet for the most of it.
By 1800, she was in the right neighborhood and stopped in to get a bite to eat. As the sun set, she started to get tense. With an hour left to the meet, she stole into the mouth of a deserted alleyway and hummed to herself softly. She'd glanced around the alley on the astral before moving in, just to be safe, and had seen nothing.
As she hummed, she could feel a little magic in the air. Over the next few seconds, it grew until it solidifed as a wispy, hooded figure. She said nothing, but simply nodded to it and it faded away, though she could feel it there, just beyond the edge of the astral world, waiting to be called back.
She shivered and fumbled in her pack for her medkit. She fished out a few mild stims and went back to the bistro where she'd grabbed a bite to eat to get a drink. She sat down for a few minutes, applying the stims quietly and relaxing as the mild buzz in her head subsided. The small amber clock at the corner of her glasses showed that it was getting near to meet time and started walking in that direction.
In the end, she grunted an affirmative and let the call drop. She spent a few more minutes halfheartedly browsing her journals before closing them out. As the windows died out on the surfaces of her glasses, they left behind a faint ghost of themselves on her eyes. She stretched languidly and signed, pulling the classes off and getting to her feet. As she showered and got ready to leave her place, she hummed a soft tune to herself that came from an old song her mother had taught her. She didn't remember the words, but it reminded her of the rolling plains of Wyoming and the great spire of Devil's Tower.
It'd been a while since she'd seen work and patching up the SINless didn't always cover the bills, of course. She didn't really have much to do, in the best of times, without work, and lately things had just been getting boring.
She pulled up a weather report and checked to see when the sun was going to set and then she checked out the location of the meet on the public grid. She'd been to Matchsticks only once, and it'd been a rush job. Since her scooter died, she'd been forced to take the tube more often then she'd like, and that meant extra time to get there even if she layed out the nuyen for a cab. The tube was safer, anyway, if she took the long road and kept her comm quiet for the most of it.
By 1800, she was in the right neighborhood and stopped in to get a bite to eat. As the sun set, she started to get tense. With an hour left to the meet, she stole into the mouth of a deserted alleyway and hummed to herself softly. She'd glanced around the alley on the astral before moving in, just to be safe, and had seen nothing.
As she hummed, she could feel a little magic in the air. Over the next few seconds, it grew until it solidifed as a wispy, hooded figure. She said nothing, but simply nodded to it and it faded away, though she could feel it there, just beyond the edge of the astral world, waiting to be called back.
She shivered and fumbled in her pack for her medkit. She fished out a few mild stims and went back to the bistro where she'd grabbed a bite to eat to get a drink. She sat down for a few minutes, applying the stims quietly and relaxing as the mild buzz in her head subsided. The small amber clock at the corner of her glasses showed that it was getting near to meet time and started walking in that direction.
A-in lays in bed for a moment listening to the aria and thinking about the message waiting for him on his commlink. Matchsticks...isn't that some club downtown? His mind reaches out to public directory and begins sifting through addresses and virtual adds until he finds what he was looking for, the public node for Matchstick's.
He spent a few minutes browsing around, taking a look at the images and mixing the simsense Jazz with the Italian singing coming from the next room. Passing menus, hours of operation, policies and other information, he quickly found the address information, along with a link to GPS and mapsoft data that he could use with any of the standard mapsoft programs on the market today.
Matchstick's. 4th Avenue North and Denny Way. Downtown.
Perfect. A-in then forced himself up and out of bed and sent the data to his commlink, for use later. Now, to see about that 'professional' look....
He pulled on one of his favorite sweaters and headed out into the living-area, waving at Aiko on his way to the kitchen, ...and some food.
After he pushed a few buttons, the machines in the kitchen started mixing together some breakfast and A-in went back into his room and laid back on the bed. Closing his eyes, he felt the real world fade away and felt the rush of simsense as he entered virtual reality. With a second of concentration, he formed a new program into being. The icon looked a humanoid figure composed of swirling neon blue data packets. Every few milliseconds, a large chunk of the data would shatter causing a larger, bolder error messages to swirl into the empty space for a moment, before the extremity was repaired.
He spent a few minutes browsing around, taking a look at the images and mixing the simsense Jazz with the Italian singing coming from the next room. Passing menus, hours of operation, policies and other information, he quickly found the address information, along with a link to GPS and mapsoft data that he could use with any of the standard mapsoft programs on the market today.
Matchstick's. 4th Avenue North and Denny Way. Downtown.
Perfect. A-in then forced himself up and out of bed and sent the data to his commlink, for use later. Now, to see about that 'professional' look....
He pulled on one of his favorite sweaters and headed out into the living-area, waving at Aiko on his way to the kitchen, ...and some food.
After he pushed a few buttons, the machines in the kitchen started mixing together some breakfast and A-in went back into his room and laid back on the bed. Closing his eyes, he felt the real world fade away and felt the rush of simsense as he entered virtual reality. With a second of concentration, he formed a new program into being. The icon looked a humanoid figure composed of swirling neon blue data packets. Every few milliseconds, a large chunk of the data would shatter causing a larger, bolder error messages to swirl into the empty space for a moment, before the extremity was repaired.
A-in returns to his body (though he keeps his connection to the Matrix node open), and returns to the kitchen in time to grab his breakfast as the machines finish making it for him. After a quick meal, he returns to his room (waving to Aiko as he passes her), and then returns to the Matrix. This time, he blocks out all other simsense than that generated by his new sprite.
He begins to study the ebb and flow of the sprite's constantly failing code, and tries to synchronise his resonance with the decaying loop. His mind becomes lost to time and he spends the better part of the next 3 hours registering the sprite to his persona.
He begins to study the ebb and flow of the sprite's constantly failing code, and tries to synchronise his resonance with the decaying loop. His mind becomes lost to time and he spends the better part of the next 3 hours registering the sprite to his persona.
Josie whistles to the tune of the old march that was playing on his headphones. He had no idea where it came from, but it always put him in the proper mood when he was working on a weapon. He fastened the last screw on the pistol and checked it for the proper action.
Perfect
He'd heard of Matchsticks from time to time. Clubs weren't his thing, but seemed popular with Johnsons who liked to project some sort of image. He brought up directions and checked with the local newsfeeds to see if there had been any legal trouble there over the last few weeks.
Josie returned the comm, "I'll be there."
He stepped out of his apartment to find the elderly Mrs. Johanssen on the other side. He spoke with her briefly, listening to her very old-fasioned opinion on inter-metahuman marriages. Josie secretly surmised that her daughter had married an Ork, but kept that particular deduction to himself. Mrs. Johanssen's eyes were on the brink of complete failure, and he doubted that she'd know a real ork if she saw one.
Perfect
He'd heard of Matchsticks from time to time. Clubs weren't his thing, but seemed popular with Johnsons who liked to project some sort of image. He brought up directions and checked with the local newsfeeds to see if there had been any legal trouble there over the last few weeks.
Josie returned the comm, "I'll be there."
He stepped out of his apartment to find the elderly Mrs. Johanssen on the other side. He spoke with her briefly, listening to her very old-fasioned opinion on inter-metahuman marriages. Josie secretly surmised that her daughter had married an Ork, but kept that particular deduction to himself. Mrs. Johanssen's eyes were on the brink of complete failure, and he doubted that she'd know a real ork if she saw one.
He wasn't sure why he was on edge, but Mr. Scorpion was pacing back and forth in his condo. Maybe the boredom was getting to him. For the next few hours he was scheduled for a lunch meeting between two advertizing company representatives, to negotiate billboard space around downtown. It was hardly worth his time, but for the past few months he'd been working on his "legitimate" image. That still didn't make it any less dull.
The knock on the door was unexpected but at the same time a relief. Someone coming to his place at this time of day? There was only one real possibility. With a slight bow in response to the messenger, Mr. Scorpion took the envelope and walking back to his desk carefully opened it. So, he was to meet someone named Carver at Matchsticks. He'd been there several times in the past, and fortunately it wasn't too far from his condo. But of course, that was a moot point. Still, he could head down there right after his earlier appointment and be just about on time.
Placing the letter back in the envelope Mr. Scorpion tossed it into a small incinerator in the corner of his office. It was used for destroying sensitive documents, business contracts, and the like. A Triad letter certainly fit that description. Walking over to one wall he pushed a hidden button on a nearby shelf, sliding a wall panel aside to reveal a wall mounted safe. Inside he put his universal cardkey, flash paks, shock gloves, and the small bag of plastic ties he usually kept with him, in case someone needed to be captured alive. For a simple meet, there was no reason to bring anything illegal or even suspicious with him.
No need to bring any undue attention to myself.
Walking across the room to a small dresser he picked up a pair of ordinary leather gloves, flexing his fingers as he pulled them tightly over his hands. Grabbing a handful of papers from his desk, Mr. Scorpion closed everything up before heading out the door.
Down on the street he hailed a taxi to take him to his meeting. And afterwards, he would head straight over to Matchsticks. It was time to help the cogs of the corporate machine turn just a little more.
The knock on the door was unexpected but at the same time a relief. Someone coming to his place at this time of day? There was only one real possibility. With a slight bow in response to the messenger, Mr. Scorpion took the envelope and walking back to his desk carefully opened it. So, he was to meet someone named Carver at Matchsticks. He'd been there several times in the past, and fortunately it wasn't too far from his condo. But of course, that was a moot point. Still, he could head down there right after his earlier appointment and be just about on time.
Placing the letter back in the envelope Mr. Scorpion tossed it into a small incinerator in the corner of his office. It was used for destroying sensitive documents, business contracts, and the like. A Triad letter certainly fit that description. Walking over to one wall he pushed a hidden button on a nearby shelf, sliding a wall panel aside to reveal a wall mounted safe. Inside he put his universal cardkey, flash paks, shock gloves, and the small bag of plastic ties he usually kept with him, in case someone needed to be captured alive. For a simple meet, there was no reason to bring anything illegal or even suspicious with him.
No need to bring any undue attention to myself.
Walking across the room to a small dresser he picked up a pair of ordinary leather gloves, flexing his fingers as he pulled them tightly over his hands. Grabbing a handful of papers from his desk, Mr. Scorpion closed everything up before heading out the door.
Down on the street he hailed a taxi to take him to his meeting. And afterwards, he would head straight over to Matchsticks. It was time to help the cogs of the corporate machine turn just a little more.
Sat 12 April 2070 08:37 - Downtown, "The Office" - Seattle, UCAS
As Patrick's voice echoed in the spacious office, most of his attention was mostly geared toward the series of numbers running all across his field of vision. His tone was smooth and almost playful.
"Well well well... this is quite unfortunate..." he grinned, even if Miron couldn't see him. "I guess I'll have to check with the chinese in that case."
The irishman never missed an occasion to insist competition amongst his own circle of sellers. He heard Miron take a breath in to reply something, but Patrick jumped in before he could utter a word.
"I'd love to chit chat with you mate, but the comms ringing off the hook today. Prices up, prices down! Wars are exploding everywhere and someone has to provide all the bullets! You know how it is! Of course you do! Thanks for the info about the job, I'll make sure to check it out."
Once again, Miron was about to say something, but Patrick's finger quickly punched the semi opaque "disconnect" icon that was hovering not to far from his desk. settling back into his plush synthleather chair, he threw his AR enable glasses on his wooden desk. For a few seconds, he massaged the side of his nose, sighing to himself.
Now, if Miron couldn't find the metahuman liver he had asked for, he'd have to find it somewhere else. He could have gotten three dozen cases of fresh and juicy organs down in Chinatown... but the Triads would have probably gotten them off synthetic alcohol overdosed smelly squatters: not the kind of wetware Patrick wanted to get to his client. Well... he'd manage something. He always did.
Sliding his silver rimmed glasses back on his pointy nose, Patrick dialed his home number. While it rang, he got up and walked to the large fishtank that was slightly buldging out of one of the wall.
"Darling!"
"Hey honey. I can't talk to you for long... I'm in traffic right now" he said while gently tapping one of his knuckles agaisnt the plastic panel that separated him from the sluggish fishes.
"You know you should drive and talk at the same time... Did you pick up the Eurocar at the garage?"
"They haven't fixed it yet. Apparently, there's something wrong with the fuel injector. They're going to have to keep it in for a few more days... if not weeks!"
"Are you joking? It's been there for over 2 weeks now! I can't go around driving a rental all the time! What are people going to think?"
"They're going to think you're gorgeous!"
"Patrick..."
"Anyways, I was just calling to raincheck for tonight."
"Patrick! You know how bad I want you to be there! It's very important for me!"
"I know honey, I know." he said, while sliding a cigarette case out of his breast
pocket.
"It's a very important fund raiser! Seattle's air isn't going to clean itself...."
"Come on darling, you know how much" he lit himself a cigarette with a golden lighter "I care about clean air" he puffed out.
"Yes... Well, are you coming back late?"
"Well, I've got this japanese client who's only here for the day. He's leaving first thing in the morning... so I'll probably want to conclude all the deals tonight. Don't wait for me ok?"
Patrick went back to his desk.
"Alright... About the car, did..."
"GET THE FRAG OUT OF THE WAY", the irishman yelled, half covering the microphone attached to his collar "I'm sorry, honey, trafic's getting crazy, I gotta go."
Before she could say anything, the line was cut.
As the man ashed in a glass ashtray, next to his morning coffee cup, he ran a quick hand thru his hair. That fragging Eurocar Westwind: Patrick had sold it two weeks ago because he couldn't make the payment on their condo. He'd told Isabelle it was getting fixed up....
Truth was, by now, it was probably in someone else's hands. He'd have to either buy, steal, or rent a new one in a few days, just to keep her calm. Maybe renting a boat for a weekend getaway would distract her long enough...
Well, time was flying by, and Patrick had dozens of stock trades to go about. If he fragged up those, they'd probably cut the heating.
As he went to look at his reflection in the mirror, Patrick started wondering who he felt like being today. Matchsticks was a club he rather liked: it was classy, secure, had good music and nice gals. Opening the top right drawer of his desk, he contemplated the nickle plated Fichetti. No... There was no need for such things. He closed it back.
Patrick looked down at the busy streets of downtown Seattle, catching his own reflection in the glass of the window.
As he spoke to himself, his voice was thick with an italian accent.
"Buona sera, I am Signore Cesare. Benito Cesare."
That would do fine.
As Patrick's voice echoed in the spacious office, most of his attention was mostly geared toward the series of numbers running all across his field of vision. His tone was smooth and almost playful.
"Well well well... this is quite unfortunate..." he grinned, even if Miron couldn't see him. "I guess I'll have to check with the chinese in that case."
The irishman never missed an occasion to insist competition amongst his own circle of sellers. He heard Miron take a breath in to reply something, but Patrick jumped in before he could utter a word.
"I'd love to chit chat with you mate, but the comms ringing off the hook today. Prices up, prices down! Wars are exploding everywhere and someone has to provide all the bullets! You know how it is! Of course you do! Thanks for the info about the job, I'll make sure to check it out."
Once again, Miron was about to say something, but Patrick's finger quickly punched the semi opaque "disconnect" icon that was hovering not to far from his desk. settling back into his plush synthleather chair, he threw his AR enable glasses on his wooden desk. For a few seconds, he massaged the side of his nose, sighing to himself.
Now, if Miron couldn't find the metahuman liver he had asked for, he'd have to find it somewhere else. He could have gotten three dozen cases of fresh and juicy organs down in Chinatown... but the Triads would have probably gotten them off synthetic alcohol overdosed smelly squatters: not the kind of wetware Patrick wanted to get to his client. Well... he'd manage something. He always did.
Sliding his silver rimmed glasses back on his pointy nose, Patrick dialed his home number. While it rang, he got up and walked to the large fishtank that was slightly buldging out of one of the wall.
"Darling!"
"Hey honey. I can't talk to you for long... I'm in traffic right now" he said while gently tapping one of his knuckles agaisnt the plastic panel that separated him from the sluggish fishes.
"You know you should drive and talk at the same time... Did you pick up the Eurocar at the garage?"
"They haven't fixed it yet. Apparently, there's something wrong with the fuel injector. They're going to have to keep it in for a few more days... if not weeks!"
"Are you joking? It's been there for over 2 weeks now! I can't go around driving a rental all the time! What are people going to think?"
"They're going to think you're gorgeous!"
"Patrick..."
"Anyways, I was just calling to raincheck for tonight."
"Patrick! You know how bad I want you to be there! It's very important for me!"
"I know honey, I know." he said, while sliding a cigarette case out of his breast
pocket.
"It's a very important fund raiser! Seattle's air isn't going to clean itself...."
"Come on darling, you know how much" he lit himself a cigarette with a golden lighter "I care about clean air" he puffed out.
"Yes... Well, are you coming back late?"
"Well, I've got this japanese client who's only here for the day. He's leaving first thing in the morning... so I'll probably want to conclude all the deals tonight. Don't wait for me ok?"
Patrick went back to his desk.
"Alright... About the car, did..."
"GET THE FRAG OUT OF THE WAY", the irishman yelled, half covering the microphone attached to his collar "I'm sorry, honey, trafic's getting crazy, I gotta go."
Before she could say anything, the line was cut.
As the man ashed in a glass ashtray, next to his morning coffee cup, he ran a quick hand thru his hair. That fragging Eurocar Westwind: Patrick had sold it two weeks ago because he couldn't make the payment on their condo. He'd told Isabelle it was getting fixed up....
Truth was, by now, it was probably in someone else's hands. He'd have to either buy, steal, or rent a new one in a few days, just to keep her calm. Maybe renting a boat for a weekend getaway would distract her long enough...
Well, time was flying by, and Patrick had dozens of stock trades to go about. If he fragged up those, they'd probably cut the heating.
As he went to look at his reflection in the mirror, Patrick started wondering who he felt like being today. Matchsticks was a club he rather liked: it was classy, secure, had good music and nice gals. Opening the top right drawer of his desk, he contemplated the nickle plated Fichetti. No... There was no need for such things. He closed it back.
Patrick looked down at the busy streets of downtown Seattle, catching his own reflection in the glass of the window.
As he spoke to himself, his voice was thick with an italian accent.
"Buona sera, I am Signore Cesare. Benito Cesare."
That would do fine.
Josie thought long and hard for a moment. In his relatively short time in seattle, he'd met a few other mercs that he could trust. Sadly, that list seemed like it was always dwindling rather than increasing. Perhaps that was for the best.
Paulie? Lost an eye in a barroom brawl. Won't be out for weeks.
Jimmy the German? Extradited to stand trial.
What was the name of that mage? That little ghetto Ron Weasley? Wait, he's dead, nevermind.
There was always Chiller. Chiller seemed a little more 'inside' than Josie was usually comfortable with. He wouldn't be up at this hour, but in a little while.
He keyed his comm for a non-interrupting message.
"Chiller? I've had a job offer. Not security, but its up our alley. Oso says Matchsticks at 9."
Paulie? Lost an eye in a barroom brawl. Won't be out for weeks.
Jimmy the German? Extradited to stand trial.
What was the name of that mage? That little ghetto Ron Weasley? Wait, he's dead, nevermind.
There was always Chiller. Chiller seemed a little more 'inside' than Josie was usually comfortable with. He wouldn't be up at this hour, but in a little while.
He keyed his comm for a non-interrupting message.
"Chiller? I've had a job offer. Not security, but its up our alley. Oso says Matchsticks at 9."
Sat 12 April 2070 21:00 – Matchstick’s, 4th Ave N and Denny Way, Downtown – Seattle, UCAS
Slightly north of the touristy Pike’s Place market area downtown, the two-story Matchstick’s nightclub building seems well integrated into its surroundings. With the Space Needle towering above and Seattle Center nearby, it would be a fixture of Seattle nightlife if it weren’t so restrictive in the admission of guests. Then again, maybe that’s why it’s still around.
An hour after sunset, it hardly seems to matter, as the slightly cool breeze off of the ocean rolls in under overcast skies and the light rain subsides into sprinkles. The night is lit up better than ever, with the Aztech pyramid and the Arcology in the background, but the Space Needle outshines them all.
A classy establishment in a well-lit, marginally safe part of town, Matchstick staff can provide valet service, or public transportation drops off regularly at Seattle Center. Parking garages are nearby for a nominal fee. The brick building, tinted glass, and understated neon blue sign don’t attract attention and provide a certain discrete ambience. Two bouncers in black blazers and slacks cover the door, although it would be obvious they are making no secret of their shoulder-holstered weapons. One is an ork, well-tanned, and the other a human in wraparound dark shades. The ork appears to be doing most of the crowd control, although traffic is light, with few going in or out.
For the AR-enabled
Slightly north of the touristy Pike’s Place market area downtown, the two-story Matchstick’s nightclub building seems well integrated into its surroundings. With the Space Needle towering above and Seattle Center nearby, it would be a fixture of Seattle nightlife if it weren’t so restrictive in the admission of guests. Then again, maybe that’s why it’s still around.
An hour after sunset, it hardly seems to matter, as the slightly cool breeze off of the ocean rolls in under overcast skies and the light rain subsides into sprinkles. The night is lit up better than ever, with the Aztech pyramid and the Arcology in the background, but the Space Needle outshines them all.
A classy establishment in a well-lit, marginally safe part of town, Matchstick staff can provide valet service, or public transportation drops off regularly at Seattle Center. Parking garages are nearby for a nominal fee. The brick building, tinted glass, and understated neon blue sign don’t attract attention and provide a certain discrete ambience. Two bouncers in black blazers and slacks cover the door, although it would be obvious they are making no secret of their shoulder-holstered weapons. One is an ork, well-tanned, and the other a human in wraparound dark shades. The ork appears to be doing most of the crowd control, although traffic is light, with few going in or out.
For the AR-enabled
[ Spoiler ]
Outside of Matchstick's Perception Test
Patrick
Nvwati
Mr. Scorpion
Josie
Patrick
[ Spoiler ]
Nvwati
[ Spoiler ]
Mr. Scorpion
[ Spoiler ]
Josie
[ Spoiler ]
Sat 12 April 2070 16:35, Dirt Cheap Coffin RB-3341, Ork Underground, Seattle, UCAS
Chiller, quite naked, grips his small netted bag of gear as he slides out of the coffin with practiced ease. As he navigates the narrow walkway 3 racks of coffins up, he stretches his arms and twists his torso, before descending down the narrow stairs without using the handrails.
//List messages
At the lowest level, the Ork walks into one of a row of shower stalls and waves a hand at the shower head. Steaming hot water begins spraying him, and he starts lathering up and washing with the various detergents dispensed in the shower stall.
//delete
//delete
//delete
//Read
Rinsing off, and then relaxing in the hot air drying feature, Chiller absent mindedly rubs a healing scar on his outer right thigh.
//Reply @Josie This Tusker will be there.
//Message @Benji Cover for me tonight, got a hot date.
//Message @Hooligans something came up, Benji will cover my shift tonight.
Now dry, Chiller walks out of the shower stall, and out to a bank of vending machines, where he selects some fresh underwear before proceeding to the dry cleaning slots where, after peeling off the plastic wrapping, stops long enough to pull on his classic black suit, white dress shirt with narrow black tie actioneer business clothes.
//delete
//delete
//delete
Dressed, Chiller proceeds out of the central area, and stands before a large set of secured lockers, where he selects one, and after thumbing the scanner and punching in a code, he opens it up and pulls out various other items of gear and starts putting them away about his person. Before putting his pistol away in it's holster, he looks at it thoughtfully, then puts it firmly into place.
I'll put it into a security locker before the meet. Meanwhile, there's the rest of the Tusker Boys Recreation Club meeting and dinner to attend before I go to Matchsticks.
Chiller, quite naked, grips his small netted bag of gear as he slides out of the coffin with practiced ease. As he navigates the narrow walkway 3 racks of coffins up, he stretches his arms and twists his torso, before descending down the narrow stairs without using the handrails.
//List messages
At the lowest level, the Ork walks into one of a row of shower stalls and waves a hand at the shower head. Steaming hot water begins spraying him, and he starts lathering up and washing with the various detergents dispensed in the shower stall.
//delete
//delete
//delete
//Read
Rinsing off, and then relaxing in the hot air drying feature, Chiller absent mindedly rubs a healing scar on his outer right thigh.
//Reply @Josie This Tusker will be there.
//Message @Benji Cover for me tonight, got a hot date.
//Message @Hooligans something came up, Benji will cover my shift tonight.
Now dry, Chiller walks out of the shower stall, and out to a bank of vending machines, where he selects some fresh underwear before proceeding to the dry cleaning slots where, after peeling off the plastic wrapping, stops long enough to pull on his classic black suit, white dress shirt with narrow black tie actioneer business clothes.
//delete
//delete
//delete
Dressed, Chiller proceeds out of the central area, and stands before a large set of secured lockers, where he selects one, and after thumbing the scanner and punching in a code, he opens it up and pulls out various other items of gear and starts putting them away about his person. Before putting his pistol away in it's holster, he looks at it thoughtfully, then puts it firmly into place.
I'll put it into a security locker before the meet. Meanwhile, there's the rest of the Tusker Boys Recreation Club meeting and dinner to attend before I go to Matchsticks.
Sat 12 April 2070 20:53 – Matchstick’s, 4th Ave N and Denny Way, Downtown – Seattle, UCAS
Six hours.
A simple contract negotiation that was supposed to be over by 3 lasted untill well after 7. Most of that time Mr. Scorpion spent pointing out how to fill out various forms to the two advertizing reps. Since the taxi ride to Matchstick's would be about an hour, he'd be cutting it closer than he would normally like.
As he stepped out of the taxi, Mr. Scorpion looked up as the rain subsided. It didn't matter too mcuh, his suit was waterproof, but it was still refreshing for the weather to cooperate a little. He adjusted his tie, plain white and matching the color of his hair, and approached the bouncers standing outside the entrance. He'd been to Matchstick's enough times that hopefully the bouncers outside would recognize him. The less hassle there was, the better. As he walked up, he couldn't help but notice the lack of people on the streets.
Hopefully, this means it 'll be just as vacant inside. That would make a meeting much easier, and certainly more discreet.
In front of the guards, Mr. Scorpion reached into his suit's inside pocket and pulled out a business card.
"Sebastian R. Rook, Independant Consulting"
Handing it to one of the bouncers, he said,
"I have an appointment with someone inside in a few minutes. I belive I'm expected."
Six hours.
A simple contract negotiation that was supposed to be over by 3 lasted untill well after 7. Most of that time Mr. Scorpion spent pointing out how to fill out various forms to the two advertizing reps. Since the taxi ride to Matchstick's would be about an hour, he'd be cutting it closer than he would normally like.
As he stepped out of the taxi, Mr. Scorpion looked up as the rain subsided. It didn't matter too mcuh, his suit was waterproof, but it was still refreshing for the weather to cooperate a little. He adjusted his tie, plain white and matching the color of his hair, and approached the bouncers standing outside the entrance. He'd been to Matchstick's enough times that hopefully the bouncers outside would recognize him. The less hassle there was, the better. As he walked up, he couldn't help but notice the lack of people on the streets.
Hopefully, this means it 'll be just as vacant inside. That would make a meeting much easier, and certainly more discreet.
In front of the guards, Mr. Scorpion reached into his suit's inside pocket and pulled out a business card.
"Sebastian R. Rook, Independant Consulting"
Handing it to one of the bouncers, he said,
"I have an appointment with someone inside in a few minutes. I belive I'm expected."
Sat 12 April 2070 15:30 - Ravenna Apartment Complex - Seattle, UCAS
A-in awoke rather pleased with himself. Registering sprites tended to take a lot out of him, but today things seemed to be going his way. He no longer heard Aiko's voice coming from the next room, and this worried him for a second until he reailized how long he must have been in VR. He dismisses the Fault Sprite, and watches it fade away into the matrix.
About 5 hours until the meet, and I still have to 'look professional'.... A-in went to his closet and looked at what he had. It was mostly an assortment of jeans and khaki pants, t-shits or long-sleeved shirts (being April, the t-shirts were tucked away near the back). No, no. None of this will do. He grabbed his commlink, and headed checked his bank account.
Current Balance: 0
Awesome... I thought I had a credstick laying around here somewhere.... After digging around he found it in the pocket of his jacket. He wasn't even sure where he got the thing, but he checked its contents in AR.
Current Balance: 200
What the... oh great. The partially formed plans of spending the rest of the afternoon shopping for a nice suit disappeared. Yeah, I think I'll have to go with the 'professional-broke' look tonight... He then went back to his closet to dredge up something halfway decent to wear.
An hour or so later, he got himself a shower and changed into a pair of black dress pants and a white button-down shirt. He didn't have a tie, or a nice jacket, so he would just throw on his usual jacket until he got there.
He grabbed his backpack off of a nearby chair, and started filling it with things he might need. Two kanmushi drones get placed in the side pockets, and he checked to make sure his stim patches were in the front pocket. His holoprojector, and portable satellite dish were carefully put in the bag, along with a handful of optical chips and some various cords and trodes. He then grabbed his commlink, glasses, and earbuds off of his counter and headed out.
After saying goodbye to his roommates (well, he said goodbye to Brandon, Aiko had headed out earlier, while he was in VR), he went out to his car, which was parked in a small parking garage for use by the tenets of the nearby complexes. He opened up his trunk and put his Ares paintball gun in the backpack, zipped it shut, and climbed into the driver's seat.
He galnced down at the little display on his commlink, and brought up his command controls - and selected the icon representign his Mercury Comet from the list of subscribed devices. Entering in the data he gathered from the Matchstick's node earlier, he created a route from the map-program on the vehicle, and commanded the drone to drive him there.
He could have driven himself, but he felt like he'd need the time to get himself in a "shadowrunner" state of mind. He was getting pretty nervous.
Sat 12 April 2070 18:00 - Matchstick’s, 4th Ave N and Denny Way, Downtown – Seattle, UCAS
A-in's car arrived well before the meet was supposed to take place. He figured he might as well go in and scout the place out, but when he arrived, his anxiety had only gotten worse. Looking at himself in the car's rear-view mirror, he decided he needed a little pick-me-up.
Focusing his thoughts into the matrix again, the real world disolved around him, and he spent the next two hours completely immersed in simsense, exploring some of his favorite matrix nodes around the world.
When he was finished, he felt a lot better. His mind was still racing from the hot-sim experience as he walked up to the door of the club (leaving his backpack in the trunk), and he felt confident that he could handle anything (the way he ususally felt while online).
A-in awoke rather pleased with himself. Registering sprites tended to take a lot out of him, but today things seemed to be going his way. He no longer heard Aiko's voice coming from the next room, and this worried him for a second until he reailized how long he must have been in VR. He dismisses the Fault Sprite, and watches it fade away into the matrix.
About 5 hours until the meet, and I still have to 'look professional'.... A-in went to his closet and looked at what he had. It was mostly an assortment of jeans and khaki pants, t-shits or long-sleeved shirts (being April, the t-shirts were tucked away near the back). No, no. None of this will do. He grabbed his commlink, and headed checked his bank account.
Current Balance: 0
Awesome... I thought I had a credstick laying around here somewhere.... After digging around he found it in the pocket of his jacket. He wasn't even sure where he got the thing, but he checked its contents in AR.
Current Balance: 200
What the... oh great. The partially formed plans of spending the rest of the afternoon shopping for a nice suit disappeared. Yeah, I think I'll have to go with the 'professional-broke' look tonight... He then went back to his closet to dredge up something halfway decent to wear.
An hour or so later, he got himself a shower and changed into a pair of black dress pants and a white button-down shirt. He didn't have a tie, or a nice jacket, so he would just throw on his usual jacket until he got there.
He grabbed his backpack off of a nearby chair, and started filling it with things he might need. Two kanmushi drones get placed in the side pockets, and he checked to make sure his stim patches were in the front pocket. His holoprojector, and portable satellite dish were carefully put in the bag, along with a handful of optical chips and some various cords and trodes. He then grabbed his commlink, glasses, and earbuds off of his counter and headed out.
After saying goodbye to his roommates (well, he said goodbye to Brandon, Aiko had headed out earlier, while he was in VR), he went out to his car, which was parked in a small parking garage for use by the tenets of the nearby complexes. He opened up his trunk and put his Ares paintball gun in the backpack, zipped it shut, and climbed into the driver's seat.
He galnced down at the little display on his commlink, and brought up his command controls - and selected the icon representign his Mercury Comet from the list of subscribed devices. Entering in the data he gathered from the Matchstick's node earlier, he created a route from the map-program on the vehicle, and commanded the drone to drive him there.
He could have driven himself, but he felt like he'd need the time to get himself in a "shadowrunner" state of mind. He was getting pretty nervous.
Sat 12 April 2070 18:00 - Matchstick’s, 4th Ave N and Denny Way, Downtown – Seattle, UCAS
A-in's car arrived well before the meet was supposed to take place. He figured he might as well go in and scout the place out, but when he arrived, his anxiety had only gotten worse. Looking at himself in the car's rear-view mirror, he decided he needed a little pick-me-up.
Focusing his thoughts into the matrix again, the real world disolved around him, and he spent the next two hours completely immersed in simsense, exploring some of his favorite matrix nodes around the world.
When he was finished, he felt a lot better. His mind was still racing from the hot-sim experience as he walked up to the door of the club (leaving his backpack in the trunk), and he felt confident that he could handle anything (the way he ususally felt while online).
Matchstick's Security Check and Interior
Resource: Matchstick's Building Plan
Once past the two bouncers at the door, guests enter into a long room with a counter and a MAD scanner directly to their left. A security attendant, in this case a well-dressed dwarf, handles crowd control and directs guests to check any weapons.
At the end of the long room is a sliding window with an exchange tray. Guests place their contraband in the tray, and an attendant behind the glass checks the items and returns a hardened security tag that may be used on leaving to get your items back.
The style of the room, continuing throughout the building, is one of earthy tones, generous use of wood panels and furnishings, and an understated elegance. When you get to the club itself, the first thing you will notice is the low, uneven light level and smoky ambience. A jazz band plays directly ahead, and off to the right is a long bar. A slow piano tune is being belted out, accompanied by a muted trumpet. The brick, wood, and brass accents bring a certain old style charm to the interior.
The clientele of Matchstick's ranges from middle to upper class, though most guests accord themselves with a certain amount of class. Fewer tuxedos, mostly suits and casual clothing. The bar is about 50% occupied, while the majority of tables are open.
Resource: Matchstick's Building Plan
Once past the two bouncers at the door, guests enter into a long room with a counter and a MAD scanner directly to their left. A security attendant, in this case a well-dressed dwarf, handles crowd control and directs guests to check any weapons.
At the end of the long room is a sliding window with an exchange tray. Guests place their contraband in the tray, and an attendant behind the glass checks the items and returns a hardened security tag that may be used on leaving to get your items back.
The style of the room, continuing throughout the building, is one of earthy tones, generous use of wood panels and furnishings, and an understated elegance. When you get to the club itself, the first thing you will notice is the low, uneven light level and smoky ambience. A jazz band plays directly ahead, and off to the right is a long bar. A slow piano tune is being belted out, accompanied by a muted trumpet. The brick, wood, and brass accents bring a certain old style charm to the interior.
The clientele of Matchstick's ranges from middle to upper class, though most guests accord themselves with a certain amount of class. Fewer tuxedos, mostly suits and casual clothing. The bar is about 50% occupied, while the majority of tables are open.
A-In
Chiller
[ Spoiler ]
Chiller
[ Spoiler ]
Sat 12 April 2070 20:30 - Matchstick’s, 4th Ave N and Denny Way, Downtown – Seattle, UCAS
Nvwati bristled as she slid past the bouncers into the club. They'd let her in, eventually, but she'd had to drop the Johnson's name. Downtown wasn't one of her favorite parts of town in the best of times, and bouncers weren't her favorite people. The amber display on the inside of her glasses ticked away, though she knew she still had plenty of time.
The bar itself was okay. She'd been in better and worse over the years, though mostly worse. The music was a nice touch, though she felt distinctly out of place in such an upscale atmosphere. She pulled the edges of her jacket tighter around her, hoping that its nodescript but armored fabric wasn't drawing attention to her.
After a while, she slid up to the bar and waited for the bartended to come around.
Nvwati bristled as she slid past the bouncers into the club. They'd let her in, eventually, but she'd had to drop the Johnson's name. Downtown wasn't one of her favorite parts of town in the best of times, and bouncers weren't her favorite people. The amber display on the inside of her glasses ticked away, though she knew she still had plenty of time.
The bar itself was okay. She'd been in better and worse over the years, though mostly worse. The music was a nice touch, though she felt distinctly out of place in such an upscale atmosphere. She pulled the edges of her jacket tighter around her, hoping that its nodescript but armored fabric wasn't drawing attention to her.
After a while, she slid up to the bar and waited for the bartended to come around.
A-in paused out side of the bar, and looked towards the limo at the end of the ally. He then continued on into the bar, though his attention was on the radio traffic in the area. The bouncers stopped him and gave him kind of a hard time, but after dropping the name "Mr. Carver," they let him in.
Once inside, he glanced around in AR, but then took a seat at the bar while waiting for something to happen. I hope they tell Mr. Carver I am here... I have no idea who he is....
Once inside, he glanced around in AR, but then took a seat at the bar while waiting for something to happen. I hope they tell Mr. Carver I am here... I have no idea who he is....
Sat 12 April 2070 ~ 21:00 Matchstick’s, 4th Ave N and Denny Way, Downtown Seattle, UCAS
As he climbs the steps from the lower level to the street, Chiller carefully rips off the thin plastic poncho, pants, and protective shoe covers and bundles them up, throwing them into a convenient metroplex trash can nearby. Taking his bearings from the towering arcology, he turns and starts walking down the street at a ground eating pace. As he approaches his destination, he slows slightly, absorbing the scene, then approaches the bouncers in front of Matchsticks.
Looks like one of those semi private clubs, and I don't think it's the kind Josie belongs to.
Wha!.!.
Chiller had already pivoted his hips, braced his rear foot and was twisting the front up and sideways, right hand reaching for the Ork bouncers punching fist, the left grasping for a hip level clothing grip, before he realized what was happening.
"Hey, Chill!"
"Tiny O'Doul, drat it."
"I always wanted to do that to you."
Chiller grasped the fist, and turned the start of the over the hip throw into a hand in hand, chest to chest embrace with the far larger ork. Separating the conversation continues.
"You here on Biz?"
"A meet."
"I'll need your rig."
Chiller flips out his wrist, his arm slide sliding out revealing a taser. "Here you go, that's it though." but he continues by flipping his jacket open, and spreading his legs slightly apart to make the weapons detection routine easier.
"Slow night?"
"Yeah, there's an Urban Brawl game on. Here's your tag, take it easy."
Chiller nods and taking the tag, and walks into the club. Once inside he briefly scan, looking for Josie before turning left to the bar. He stands near the near end of the bar, his back turned so he can observe most of the room, and orders a bottle of beer but doesn't start drinking it.
Some nights everyone's faces blurs so I can't tell them apart in the crowd.
As he climbs the steps from the lower level to the street, Chiller carefully rips off the thin plastic poncho, pants, and protective shoe covers and bundles them up, throwing them into a convenient metroplex trash can nearby. Taking his bearings from the towering arcology, he turns and starts walking down the street at a ground eating pace. As he approaches his destination, he slows slightly, absorbing the scene, then approaches the bouncers in front of Matchsticks.
Looks like one of those semi private clubs, and I don't think it's the kind Josie belongs to.
Wha!.!.
Chiller had already pivoted his hips, braced his rear foot and was twisting the front up and sideways, right hand reaching for the Ork bouncers punching fist, the left grasping for a hip level clothing grip, before he realized what was happening.
"Hey, Chill!"
"Tiny O'Doul, drat it."
"I always wanted to do that to you."
Chiller grasped the fist, and turned the start of the over the hip throw into a hand in hand, chest to chest embrace with the far larger ork. Separating the conversation continues.
"You here on Biz?"
"A meet."
"I'll need your rig."
Chiller flips out his wrist, his arm slide sliding out revealing a taser. "Here you go, that's it though." but he continues by flipping his jacket open, and spreading his legs slightly apart to make the weapons detection routine easier.
"Slow night?"
"Yeah, there's an Urban Brawl game on. Here's your tag, take it easy."
Chiller nods and taking the tag, and walks into the club. Once inside he briefly scan, looking for Josie before turning left to the bar. He stands near the near end of the bar, his back turned so he can observe most of the room, and orders a bottle of beer but doesn't start drinking it.
Some nights everyone's faces blurs so I can't tell them apart in the crowd.
A-in feels the pulse of dozens of hidden nodes in the area. No telling which one is the limo's... or who all these other ones belong to for that matter. A-in fumbled with his commlink in his pocket, trying not to feel very out of place. The bar he was sitting at was a little over half full, and he began to wonder who else in this place was here for the meet.
Looking around the room he didn't see anyone standing too out of place - not that he thought he would really know what to look for. He scanned across the active comms in the room looking for one that might belong to a "Mr. Carver." No luck.
Looking around the room he didn't see anyone standing too out of place - not that he thought he would really know what to look for. He scanned across the active comms in the room looking for one that might belong to a "Mr. Carver." No luck.
"So, how about those Sonics?" Josie asks the bouncers before realizing that its actually Football season.
"Has Chiller made it in yet?" He asks, quickly changing the subject.
Realizing the possibility that he would never get into such a club on his own winning personality, Josie messages Chiller for a bit of backup.
"I need a bit of backup at the door. Apparently midwestern Ork isn't on tonight's guest list."
(OOC: assuming that Josie somehow gets in via either dropping a name or getting Chiller to help open the door, he'll continue with the following.)
As he moves towards the security screens and MAD sensors, Josie makes certain that his fake ID, concealed carry and cyberware licenses are accessable to whomever needs to examine them. If they ask to check his Fichetti, he puts up no fuss and hands it over, ensuring he gets a receipt for it.
"Has Chiller made it in yet?" He asks, quickly changing the subject.
Realizing the possibility that he would never get into such a club on his own winning personality, Josie messages Chiller for a bit of backup.
"I need a bit of backup at the door. Apparently midwestern Ork isn't on tonight's guest list."
(OOC: assuming that Josie somehow gets in via either dropping a name or getting Chiller to help open the door, he'll continue with the following.)
As he moves towards the security screens and MAD sensors, Josie makes certain that his fake ID, concealed carry and cyberware licenses are accessable to whomever needs to examine them. If they ask to check his Fichetti, he puts up no fuss and hands it over, ensuring he gets a receipt for it.
Inside Matchstick's Perception Test
A-In
Nvwati
Chiller
Mr. Scorpion
A-In
[ Spoiler ]
Nvwati
[ Spoiler ]
Chiller
[ Spoiler ]
Mr. Scorpion
[ Spoiler ]
While A-in is browsing around the wireless network something catches his eye.
[ Spoiler ]
A-In
[ Spoiler ]
Nvwati
[ Spoiler ]
Josie
After a quick explanation to Tiny, Chiller paves the way for you to make it in the club.
While not bothering to check SIN's or licenses, the security attendant makes sure that you check your Fichetti and receive a tag for it.
Once inside with Chiller, you take a look around at the interior, although after that situation and with just a few minutes before the meet, you don't really pick out anything special about the room other than the previous general description.
After a quick explanation to Tiny, Chiller paves the way for you to make it in the club.
While not bothering to check SIN's or licenses, the security attendant makes sure that you check your Fichetti and receive a tag for it.
Once inside with Chiller, you take a look around at the interior, although after that situation and with just a few minutes before the meet, you don't really pick out anything special about the room other than the previous general description.
The interior of Matchstick's was the same as he remembered it, although emptier than usual. Mr. Scorpion walked over to the bar, taking a vacant seat away from the other patrons at the bar.
This was always the most annoying part of a shadowrun, when you had no idea what your contact looked like or where exactly they were. You just had to trust that they wherever you were meeting there would be someone to point you in the right direction.
As he flags the bartender over to order a drink, Mr. Scorpion leans over and asks in a quiet enough voice that anyone else at the bar couldn't accidentally overhear,
"Excuse me, I'm here to meet someone named Carver in a few minutes. You wouldn't happen to be able to direct me, would you?"
This was always the most annoying part of a shadowrun, when you had no idea what your contact looked like or where exactly they were. You just had to trust that they wherever you were meeting there would be someone to point you in the right direction.
As he flags the bartender over to order a drink, Mr. Scorpion leans over and asks in a quiet enough voice that anyone else at the bar couldn't accidentally overhear,
"Excuse me, I'm here to meet someone named Carver in a few minutes. You wouldn't happen to be able to direct me, would you?"
Nvwati kept her astral eyes peeled, taking in the others in the room and determining their natures with uncommon ease. She filed away the information for future reference and turned back to the task of attracting the bartender so that she could procure a drink and get pointed toward the meet.
Sat 12 April 2070 ~ 19:22 Matchstick’s, 4th Ave N and Denny Way, Downtown Seattle, UCAS
From his spot, Patrick had a very clear view of Matchsticks. Not far from the club, he had found a multistory parking garage, and had decided to case the outside of the club from there. Standing near the railing, he looked down at the streets, feeling the humidity and heaviness of the air around him.
Rather empty.
Which was something the Irishman found quite strange… especially at this time of the day, in this part of town. But then again, maybe that was a good thing. Straightening back up, he walked back to his car and reached for his briefcase on the passenger seat. Taking a few more seconds to make sure his deep green tie was straight, he brushed the wrinkles out of his expensive earth color Italian suit. As he walked the few flights of stairs all the way to street level, the con man began to shift his manners and speech pattern.
After two levels, his Irish accent had vanished; replaced by an Italian one. He wore a delicate and confident smile on his face, and moved his hands in grandiose gestures as he spoke to himself in the small staircase.
As he passed the two bouncers, he lifted his matching fedora slightly of his head, tipping it towards them. He went into the club, without any of the two men even glancing at him sideways: his active commlink had probably already identified him as Benito Cesare, international accountant for some renown Italian firm… a regular at Matchsticks and a high tipper.
Patrick was rather surprised to find the club rather empty. Well, it wasn’t empty, par se, but it was far from crowded. Checking his only weapon, a four shot taser, Patrick switched his commlink to passive mode and walked into the club’s main room. His free right hand brushed the side of his silvery glasses, turning their opacity down so he could get a good look at his surroundings. Taking his time, Patrick went and grabbed himself a seat at the bar, setting his hat on the counter next to him.
“Excuse me” he waved the bartender down, his words clear and crisp, but without a hint of Italian accent.
“One grappa, per favore.”
When his order came back, he made sure to tip the bartender a generous amount. He was about to let him go, when he leaned a bit closer.
“Would you happen to know where I could find a Signore Craver?”
From his spot, Patrick had a very clear view of Matchsticks. Not far from the club, he had found a multistory parking garage, and had decided to case the outside of the club from there. Standing near the railing, he looked down at the streets, feeling the humidity and heaviness of the air around him.
Rather empty.
Which was something the Irishman found quite strange… especially at this time of the day, in this part of town. But then again, maybe that was a good thing. Straightening back up, he walked back to his car and reached for his briefcase on the passenger seat. Taking a few more seconds to make sure his deep green tie was straight, he brushed the wrinkles out of his expensive earth color Italian suit. As he walked the few flights of stairs all the way to street level, the con man began to shift his manners and speech pattern.
After two levels, his Irish accent had vanished; replaced by an Italian one. He wore a delicate and confident smile on his face, and moved his hands in grandiose gestures as he spoke to himself in the small staircase.
As he passed the two bouncers, he lifted his matching fedora slightly of his head, tipping it towards them. He went into the club, without any of the two men even glancing at him sideways: his active commlink had probably already identified him as Benito Cesare, international accountant for some renown Italian firm… a regular at Matchsticks and a high tipper.
Patrick was rather surprised to find the club rather empty. Well, it wasn’t empty, par se, but it was far from crowded. Checking his only weapon, a four shot taser, Patrick switched his commlink to passive mode and walked into the club’s main room. His free right hand brushed the side of his silvery glasses, turning their opacity down so he could get a good look at his surroundings. Taking his time, Patrick went and grabbed himself a seat at the bar, setting his hat on the counter next to him.
“Excuse me” he waved the bartender down, his words clear and crisp, but without a hint of Italian accent.
“One grappa, per favore.”
When his order came back, he made sure to tip the bartender a generous amount. He was about to let him go, when he leaned a bit closer.
“Would you happen to know where I could find a Signore Craver?”
Josie looks around at the sheer classiness of the club, admiring the woodwork in particular. He could remember a carpenter near his rural home who would produce similar, perhaps better art in his workshop. He looks around at the other patrons and realizes he's a tad underdressed for the occasion.
"You know, Chiller, if life were a palm you would be the fancy ring finger and I'd be the sore thumb."
Trying to relax and not look anything like an off duty construction worker, Josie scans the local comms for this evening's contact.
"You know, Chiller, if life were a palm you would be the fancy ring finger and I'd be the sore thumb."
Trying to relax and not look anything like an off duty construction worker, Josie scans the local comms for this evening's contact.
Mr. Scorpion
The bartender looks left and right, then leans in and says:
"I believe the private meeting room is what you're looking for. First door on your left at the end of the bar. The gentleman at the booth will check you in."
Nvwati
You finally catch the bartender's eye, and he happily takes your order. After asking for where to catch your private meeting, he replies that the door on the left at the end of the bar is where you need to go, and that the gentleman in white will see you though.
Patrick
On requesting a glass of grappa, the bartender opens a small cabinet and retrieves an aged-looking bottle.
"This is our grappa de Pinot Grigio, a highly recommended vintage. Very earthy and intense in flavor. I think you'll enjoy it."
After pouring the glass, when you mention Carver's name, he says:
"Of course you are here on business. Mr. Carver is in the private meeting room in the back, just head to the door on the left, just past the bar. Mr. Hawthorne will check you in."
Josie
You have no trouble locating a comm in passive mode with the handle "Carver" in range of your commlink's signal.
Everyone
Upon following his advice, the man in the gleaming white suit does get up and inspect you briefly, asking who you are meeting and at what time. After receiving answers to his satisfaction, he will take you through the door leading to the back room and direct you to the last meeting room, the one at the top left of the building diagram.
The meeting room is average sized, with posh furnishings and a fine, dark wood interior. Sitting at the head of the table, at the back, is a older human male in a fine Italian suit. His black tie, white shirt, and orange tie contrast starkly with his piercing blue eyes. You judge him to be early 40's, but with completely white hair. (Think Christopher Walken) Behind him, and slightly to the side, is an elven male, dressed semi-casually in a sweater and slacks. His black hair is slicked back into a pony tail, while his wraparound shades conceal his eyes from view. An easily visible shoulder holster has a weapon in it. He sits quietly smoking a cigarette, while the human male at the table is tapping at his commlink.
The bartender looks left and right, then leans in and says:
"I believe the private meeting room is what you're looking for. First door on your left at the end of the bar. The gentleman at the booth will check you in."
Nvwati
You finally catch the bartender's eye, and he happily takes your order. After asking for where to catch your private meeting, he replies that the door on the left at the end of the bar is where you need to go, and that the gentleman in white will see you though.
Patrick
On requesting a glass of grappa, the bartender opens a small cabinet and retrieves an aged-looking bottle.
"This is our grappa de Pinot Grigio, a highly recommended vintage. Very earthy and intense in flavor. I think you'll enjoy it."
After pouring the glass, when you mention Carver's name, he says:
"Of course you are here on business. Mr. Carver is in the private meeting room in the back, just head to the door on the left, just past the bar. Mr. Hawthorne will check you in."
Josie
You have no trouble locating a comm in passive mode with the handle "Carver" in range of your commlink's signal.
Everyone
Upon following his advice, the man in the gleaming white suit does get up and inspect you briefly, asking who you are meeting and at what time. After receiving answers to his satisfaction, he will take you through the door leading to the back room and direct you to the last meeting room, the one at the top left of the building diagram.
The meeting room is average sized, with posh furnishings and a fine, dark wood interior. Sitting at the head of the table, at the back, is a older human male in a fine Italian suit. His black tie, white shirt, and orange tie contrast starkly with his piercing blue eyes. You judge him to be early 40's, but with completely white hair. (Think Christopher Walken) Behind him, and slightly to the side, is an elven male, dressed semi-casually in a sweater and slacks. His black hair is slicked back into a pony tail, while his wraparound shades conceal his eyes from view. An easily visible shoulder holster has a weapon in it. He sits quietly smoking a cigarette, while the human male at the table is tapping at his commlink.
"Thank you."
With a nod, Mr. Scorpion got up from the bar, having barely touched his drink. Straightening out his crisp, black suit and adjusting his tie once again, he walked over to the doors leading ot the back rooms. When asked about his meeting Mr. Scorpion responds, keeping his eyes focused on the doorman behind his mirrored sunglasses.
"I'm here to see Carver at 9. If he needs to know, tell him that Mr. Scorpion was the one who responded to the request."
With a nod, the man lead Mr. Scorpion to the meeting room. Looking around the room, he immediately noticed the two men, and the holstered weapon. When asked, he strode across the room and took a seat at the table opposite the two men, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward to look at them more closely.
As the other shadowrunners are directed to the room, Mr. Scorpion glanced in their direction momentarily before returning his attention to Carver.
With a nod, Mr. Scorpion got up from the bar, having barely touched his drink. Straightening out his crisp, black suit and adjusting his tie once again, he walked over to the doors leading ot the back rooms. When asked about his meeting Mr. Scorpion responds, keeping his eyes focused on the doorman behind his mirrored sunglasses.
"I'm here to see Carver at 9. If he needs to know, tell him that Mr. Scorpion was the one who responded to the request."
With a nod, the man lead Mr. Scorpion to the meeting room. Looking around the room, he immediately noticed the two men, and the holstered weapon. When asked, he strode across the room and took a seat at the table opposite the two men, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward to look at them more closely.
As the other shadowrunners are directed to the room, Mr. Scorpion glanced in their direction momentarily before returning his attention to Carver.
Nvwati was very stoic throughout the questioning, the very picture of calm professionalism. She maintained a similar level of composure as she greeted the Johnson with a slight incline of her head and took a seat. Once seated, she seemed to radiate both relief and wariness.
"Pardon me," Josie says to the bartender, "could you direct me to Mr. Carver's table?"
Taking the Bartender's direction, Josie heads to the conference room. He identifies himself to the doorman, "I am Mr. Ohm, this is Mr. Chiller. We have an appointment with Mr. Carver"
Once inside, Josie gives a nod to the bodyguard before taking a middle seat opposite Mr Scorption
Taking the Bartender's direction, Josie heads to the conference room. He identifies himself to the doorman, "I am Mr. Ohm, this is Mr. Chiller. We have an appointment with Mr. Carver"
Once inside, Josie gives a nod to the bodyguard before taking a middle seat opposite Mr Scorption
A-in's eyes seem to get a little wide as the man in the white suit approaches him, but he keeps his mouth shut until he's questioned. Apparantly this isn't Mr. Carver. He tries to let as little information go as possible - just that he has a meeting with Mr. Carver, at 9pm, and that he is expected. If pressed for a name, he says he is called A-in.
Once inside, he takes a seat, keeping an eye on Mr. Carver, and his bodyguard until the other Shadowrunners start to arrive. He stays very quiet, nodded in responce to Mr. Carver's greeting. A-in didn't want to interupt whatever he was doing with his commlink, since he knew he was a little bit early. As the come in, A-in recognizes a few of them from the bar out front, and is relieved that he wasn't the only one who didn't know where to go right away.
Once inside, he takes a seat, keeping an eye on Mr. Carver, and his bodyguard until the other Shadowrunners start to arrive. He stays very quiet, nodded in responce to Mr. Carver's greeting. A-in didn't want to interupt whatever he was doing with his commlink, since he knew he was a little bit early. As the come in, A-in recognizes a few of them from the bar out front, and is relieved that he wasn't the only one who didn't know where to go right away.
Chiller follows Josie, naturally dropping into a position a step and half behind and to the left. As his name is mentioned he nods without looking, as he scans the rest of the room, his head slowly turning left and right as he walks along. In his left hand he carries his open but full beer bottle.
Feels like one of those rave parties, anyone could have picked up that name in the bar. If Josie has mentioned it earlier I bet I could have picked up some of the others saying it, or just tracked the manager. Should have arranged some kind of secondary signal, or the manager should have had a guestlist.
Long corridor and a turn, take some time to get through and down here to get at the conference room. That's good.
Another exit here. Might be a quick way out.
Gun!
//Wires ON
Elf has to be fancy, that ponytail, gives an extra grasp point when we get around to tussling. And smoking, everytime he sucks on that, he's moving his hands out of position, and unlike my beer bottle, that cigarette won't hurt if he tosses it at someone.
Once in the room, and Josie chooses a seat, Chiller picks a seat across the table so that between the two of them they can see the entire room.
Feels like one of those rave parties, anyone could have picked up that name in the bar. If Josie has mentioned it earlier I bet I could have picked up some of the others saying it, or just tracked the manager. Should have arranged some kind of secondary signal, or the manager should have had a guestlist.
Long corridor and a turn, take some time to get through and down here to get at the conference room. That's good.
Another exit here. Might be a quick way out.
Gun!
//Wires ON
Elf has to be fancy, that ponytail, gives an extra grasp point when we get around to tussling. And smoking, everytime he sucks on that, he's moving his hands out of position, and unlike my beer bottle, that cigarette won't hurt if he tosses it at someone.
Once in the room, and Josie chooses a seat, Chiller picks a seat across the table so that between the two of them they can see the entire room.
Sat 12 April 2070 21:00 – Matchstick’s Back Meeting Room – Seattle, UCAS
Perception test on the man in the white suit
Mr. Scorpion
Patrick
Chiller
Josie
A-In
Once Patrick is escorted in, the man in the white suit closes the door and takes a seat in the room next to the elf at the back. He takes a quick scan of the room, and then focuses his attention at the table in general. For a moment, the room is in silence, and then Mr. Carver begins to speak.
Meeting room perception test
Mr. Scorpion
Nvwati
Chiller
Josie
A-In
Perception test on the man in the white suit
Mr. Scorpion
[ Spoiler ]
Patrick
[ Spoiler ]
Chiller
[ Spoiler ]
Josie
[ Spoiler ]
A-In
[ Spoiler ]
Once Patrick is escorted in, the man in the white suit closes the door and takes a seat in the room next to the elf at the back. He takes a quick scan of the room, and then focuses his attention at the table in general. For a moment, the room is in silence, and then Mr. Carver begins to speak.
Meeting room perception test
Mr. Scorpion
[ Spoiler ]
Nvwati
[ Spoiler ]
Chiller
[ Spoiler ]
Josie
[ Spoiler ]
A-In
[ Spoiler ]
The indian woman looked distracted for a moment, but it passed. Her eyes swept around the room, sizing up not only Mr. Carver, the elf, and the man in white, but the other runners as well. She spared each one a methodical look up and down before sweeping on to the next.
Ork, ork, human, human, human... at least there aren't any trogs, she thought. It wasn't that she had anything against trolls, per se, but her experience had led her to believe that a shadowrun involving one was destined for some heavy drek. Even with JT's brief and ominous description of the job, that would have made her hesitate.
Once done with her mental catalogue of them, she settled in to wait for the Johnson to speak his piece.
Ork, ork, human, human, human... at least there aren't any trogs, she thought. It wasn't that she had anything against trolls, per se, but her experience had led her to believe that a shadowrun involving one was destined for some heavy drek. Even with JT's brief and ominous description of the job, that would have made her hesitate.
Once done with her mental catalogue of them, she settled in to wait for the Johnson to speak his piece.
When he first entered the room, the radio silence was a shock. He had long ago adapted his mind to filtering out noise and checking incoming signals for errors, and this seemed to pay off, as he found that (with slight effort) he could still communicate with the Matrix - but it felt muddled and quiet. When the image-link in his glasses went blank, he carefully took them off and hung them from the pocket that contained his commlink - which was now dead weight.
A-in could feel eyes on him as soon as the others started filing in. He sort of expected this, but it didn't make him feel any more comfortable. Comes with the job, he thought to himself. These are professional criminals, here - they're not going to give you the time of day if you come off looking like a scared little kid..
With an almost obvious change of demeanor, A-in's eyes narrowed and he looked around the table once everyone else had sat down. He had no idea what he should be looking for, but his head nodded thoughtfully at every other person, anyways. He spent the most time looking at the native american lady (At least they're not all guys.) and the pair of orcs (They seem to already know each other. I hope I'm not the new guy.).
A-in could feel eyes on him as soon as the others started filing in. He sort of expected this, but it didn't make him feel any more comfortable. Comes with the job, he thought to himself. These are professional criminals, here - they're not going to give you the time of day if you come off looking like a scared little kid..
With an almost obvious change of demeanor, A-in's eyes narrowed and he looked around the table once everyone else had sat down. He had no idea what he should be looking for, but his head nodded thoughtfully at every other person, anyways. He spent the most time looking at the native american lady (At least they're not all guys.) and the pair of orcs (They seem to already know each other. I hope I'm not the new guy.).
Sat 12 April 2070 21:00 – Matchstick’s Back Meeting Room – Seattle, UCAS
As he thanked the bartender, without forgetting a generous tip, Patrick sat and enjoyed his drink, keeping a careful and trained eye on the door. Miron hadn't informed him if it was a solo enterprise, or something with a team. The fixer rarely gave any info... but then again, Patrick rarely asked for any. Maybe that was why they got along so well.
Surely enough, after a few minutes of waiting, another patron got up from his seat, walked up to the doorman and whispered some answers. Downing what was left of the drink, the irishman grin to himself: it was a team job, after all.
Taking more than his share of time, Patrick finally went up to Mr. Hawthorne. Flashing him his brightess and whitess smile, he bowed slightly while lifting his hat.
"Goodevening SignoreHawthorne. I am here for business with Signore Carver."
After a rapid exchange, Hawthorne stepped aside to let him pass.... but followed him afterward, which somewhat made him uneasy.
Seconds later, his anxiousness dropped back down when he realised that he was simply the last one to arrive.
What a way to make an entrance!
Patrick took his hat off, placing on his hearth, and showed his pearly white teeth once again.
"Goodevening."
He turned slightly toward the only woman present in the room.
"Signorita", he said in a subtle italian accent, his eyes looking straight into hers.
Without much of a choice, the irishman seated himself in the last available seat.
As he thanked the bartender, without forgetting a generous tip, Patrick sat and enjoyed his drink, keeping a careful and trained eye on the door. Miron hadn't informed him if it was a solo enterprise, or something with a team. The fixer rarely gave any info... but then again, Patrick rarely asked for any. Maybe that was why they got along so well.
Surely enough, after a few minutes of waiting, another patron got up from his seat, walked up to the doorman and whispered some answers. Downing what was left of the drink, the irishman grin to himself: it was a team job, after all.
Taking more than his share of time, Patrick finally went up to Mr. Hawthorne. Flashing him his brightess and whitess smile, he bowed slightly while lifting his hat.
"Goodevening SignoreHawthorne. I am here for business with Signore Carver."
After a rapid exchange, Hawthorne stepped aside to let him pass.... but followed him afterward, which somewhat made him uneasy.
Seconds later, his anxiousness dropped back down when he realised that he was simply the last one to arrive.
What a way to make an entrance!
Patrick took his hat off, placing on his hearth, and showed his pearly white teeth once again.
"Goodevening."
He turned slightly toward the only woman present in the room.
"Signorita", he said in a subtle italian accent, his eyes looking straight into hers.
Without much of a choice, the irishman seated himself in the last available seat.
Josie knew only one face in the room. SOP would tell him that he should be suspicious of everybody, but he'd learned recently that professionalism meant not letting your paranoia get too close to the surface. He was being paid to work with these individuals. He'd do his job and expect no more than that from the rest of them.
Predator eh? The elf gentleman must be on the wired side. Wonder who he bribed to carry that on the outside?
As each other member took a seat, he discreetly monitored their actions and reactions.
A woman? Thank god, at least this one won't be a total sausage-fest.
Glasses? Rather old fasioned.
At least everyone was on time. Its good to know I can rely on that.
Predator eh? The elf gentleman must be on the wired side. Wonder who he bribed to carry that on the outside?
As each other member took a seat, he discreetly monitored their actions and reactions.
A woman? Thank god, at least this one won't be a total sausage-fest.
Glasses? Rather old fasioned.
At least everyone was on time. Its good to know I can rely on that.
Even though he seemed to arrive at Matchstick's last, Mr. Scorpion was the first into the meeting room. From his seat, he was able to get a good look at the rest of the runners as they entered the room.
The first one to enter after him was the woman, who turned out to be the only one in the group after the rest came in. There was nothing particularly outstanding about her outfit that Mr. Scorpion could see, at least nothing that would indicate what her particular skills could be.
When the first ork came in the room, Mr. Scorpion glanced at him, his eyes narrowing at the... "business-casual" appearance. Even though more formal attire wasn't required in Matchsticks, Mr. Scorpion thought he could at least try present a more appropriate appearance when meeting the Johnson for the assignment.
Mentally shaking his head, Mr. Scorpion then turned his attention to the second ork following the first.
At least this one looks professional.
The suit and clean appearance, not to mention the repaired teeth, gave the impression that this runner had some experience.
Then came the kid. While he was probably older than he looked, he looked the least like he belonged in the room. Mr. Scorpion figured that he was probably a mage or hacker, since he didn't look the type to get into a fistfight with a troll.
Lastly, the doorman came in escorting presumably the last runner for this job. His boisterous entrance, the exaggerated hat removal, and his flashy smile to the woman made Mr. Scorpion think,
Why is it not surprising that a man like this would be the last to enter?
Physically he wasn't anything outstanding, which made it hard to determine what exactly he was doing here. His mannerisms, though, gave a lot away. The expensive, almost gaudy suit, the glasses, and the accent all seem too exaggerated to be real. He wass probably Italian for this meeting only.
Taking once last look at the other runners in the room before returning his attention to Mr. Carver, Mr. Scorpion rested his folded hands on the table and thought to himself,
At the very least, it looks like this group will take things seriously. Good.
The first one to enter after him was the woman, who turned out to be the only one in the group after the rest came in. There was nothing particularly outstanding about her outfit that Mr. Scorpion could see, at least nothing that would indicate what her particular skills could be.
When the first ork came in the room, Mr. Scorpion glanced at him, his eyes narrowing at the... "business-casual" appearance. Even though more formal attire wasn't required in Matchsticks, Mr. Scorpion thought he could at least try present a more appropriate appearance when meeting the Johnson for the assignment.
Mentally shaking his head, Mr. Scorpion then turned his attention to the second ork following the first.
At least this one looks professional.
The suit and clean appearance, not to mention the repaired teeth, gave the impression that this runner had some experience.
Then came the kid. While he was probably older than he looked, he looked the least like he belonged in the room. Mr. Scorpion figured that he was probably a mage or hacker, since he didn't look the type to get into a fistfight with a troll.
Lastly, the doorman came in escorting presumably the last runner for this job. His boisterous entrance, the exaggerated hat removal, and his flashy smile to the woman made Mr. Scorpion think,
Why is it not surprising that a man like this would be the last to enter?
Physically he wasn't anything outstanding, which made it hard to determine what exactly he was doing here. His mannerisms, though, gave a lot away. The expensive, almost gaudy suit, the glasses, and the accent all seem too exaggerated to be real. He wass probably Italian for this meeting only.
Taking once last look at the other runners in the room before returning his attention to Mr. Carver, Mr. Scorpion rested his folded hands on the table and thought to himself,
At the very least, it looks like this group will take things seriously. Good.
Mr. Carver’s voice was crisp and unaccented, cutting through the room and commanding attention:
“Once again, thank you all for arriving on somewhat short notice. I assure you, that is only because time is of the essence. Now, down to business. I have a proposition that I would like you to consider.”
“One of my clients is employed by a certain large corporation in the area. He has a desire to leave his engagement, along with a small amount of original work from his lab. Naturally, the corporation frowns on this sort of thing. Your task is to secure my client and his research from his employer and deliver him to a safe location in the city, as provided by me. Once my agents have taken custody of the principal, your charge is completed and payment will be provided.”
“If this prospect does not interest you, by all means Mr. Hawthorne will escort you back to the club. No hard feelings, as long as you keep any privileged information confidential. There’s still no obligation if you stay to hear the essential details, but as I imagine a person in our line of work knows, the less one is privy to, the better. Besides, I have my ways of dealing with such unsavory individuals that would leak information.”
Mr. Carver smiles, and pauses to hear questions, or to allow anyone to gracefully exit the room.
“Once again, thank you all for arriving on somewhat short notice. I assure you, that is only because time is of the essence. Now, down to business. I have a proposition that I would like you to consider.”
“One of my clients is employed by a certain large corporation in the area. He has a desire to leave his engagement, along with a small amount of original work from his lab. Naturally, the corporation frowns on this sort of thing. Your task is to secure my client and his research from his employer and deliver him to a safe location in the city, as provided by me. Once my agents have taken custody of the principal, your charge is completed and payment will be provided.”
“If this prospect does not interest you, by all means Mr. Hawthorne will escort you back to the club. No hard feelings, as long as you keep any privileged information confidential. There’s still no obligation if you stay to hear the essential details, but as I imagine a person in our line of work knows, the less one is privy to, the better. Besides, I have my ways of dealing with such unsavory individuals that would leak information.”
Mr. Carver smiles, and pauses to hear questions, or to allow anyone to gracefully exit the room.
Chiller glances at Josie and signals by inclining his head in the smallest of nods. Then turns back to scanning the room slowly, his head moving left and right in a slow measured pace.
Short notice isn't good. Best extractions are the ones you have time to set up. This sounds like a pretty hard grab. I wonder if the data or the target will have priority? Just the snatch though, at least we won't have to sit on the target while they get antsy for a walk outside before the heat searchign for them cools off. Babysitting can be a pain.
Josie should be in I expect.
Short notice isn't good. Best extractions are the ones you have time to set up. This sounds like a pretty hard grab. I wonder if the data or the target will have priority? Just the snatch though, at least we won't have to sit on the target while they get antsy for a walk outside before the heat searchign for them cools off. Babysitting can be a pain.
Josie should be in I expect.
Bills were piling up, and Oso just got that tempting new shipment of EX rounds. He'd save a few for Josie, but not for long. Chiller seemed inclined to go, and that certainly added a chip in his favor.
His mind already began computing possible mission parameters.
One live body. One package. Location and timeframe yet to be disclosed. Transportation not provided. Opposition unknown. Team of 5, provided they all agree. Payment to be determined.
"Clearly we all have our concerns. On my mind at the moment is the nature of this individual's 'research'. I am willing to assume a certain degree of personal risk for compensation, as is the nature of our kind. As long as this research is simply in data form I have no problem with this. I have issue with carrying a potential public health hazard. Firearms nonwithstanding."
His mind already began computing possible mission parameters.
One live body. One package. Location and timeframe yet to be disclosed. Transportation not provided. Opposition unknown. Team of 5, provided they all agree. Payment to be determined.
"Clearly we all have our concerns. On my mind at the moment is the nature of this individual's 'research'. I am willing to assume a certain degree of personal risk for compensation, as is the nature of our kind. As long as this research is simply in data form I have no problem with this. I have issue with carrying a potential public health hazard. Firearms nonwithstanding."
Carver surveyed the room intently, then continued:
"But of course. I believe your questions will be addressed once I get into the details. Your target is one Dr. Alfred Fitzgerald, a special researcher at Mitsuhama Computer Technologies, Drone Division. He confirmed the final details yesterday, and the extraction date is this coming Friday, April 18th."
He pauses noticeably, as if phrasing the next statement carefully.
"Unfortunately I'm not at liberty to discuss the exact details of his research or why he is leaving. I'm afraid those concerns are too sensitive at this point. I can, however, provide you with assurances that his research and associated items do not constitute a threat to public safety, nor are they exceptionally dangerous. Dr. Fitzgerald will be handling all of that anyways, and it should not interfere with your operations at all."
"The payment for successful completion of the mission objectives is 10,000 per operative, plus a negotiable amount for approved expenses. I'm certain we will only be getting one shot at this, so failure is simply not an option. Now, who is in, and who is out?"
His blue eyes scan the table, eyebrow arched...
"But of course. I believe your questions will be addressed once I get into the details. Your target is one Dr. Alfred Fitzgerald, a special researcher at Mitsuhama Computer Technologies, Drone Division. He confirmed the final details yesterday, and the extraction date is this coming Friday, April 18th."
He pauses noticeably, as if phrasing the next statement carefully.
"Unfortunately I'm not at liberty to discuss the exact details of his research or why he is leaving. I'm afraid those concerns are too sensitive at this point. I can, however, provide you with assurances that his research and associated items do not constitute a threat to public safety, nor are they exceptionally dangerous. Dr. Fitzgerald will be handling all of that anyways, and it should not interfere with your operations at all."
"The payment for successful completion of the mission objectives is 10,000
per operative, plus a negotiable amount for approved expenses. I'm certain we will only be getting one shot at this, so failure is simply not an option. Now, who is in, and who is out?"His blue eyes scan the table, eyebrow arched...
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