The sun is setting in the west. The lull of the world has risen and fallen with the predictable curve that is the working force. It is coming to that time where people work late hours, or get home to eat with their family or pets.

It is also the time when the shadows consume more than they could with the sun out.

This is Seattle: Where all that should happen, happens, and water and land meet. If you want some good drek, you know where to go?

That's right, Seattle.
- - -

The lights of real and augmented reality grow stronger with every hour, replacing the lost light of the sun with scintillating colors and things to catch the eye. It's a good thing so many cars can have autopilot added in, or there would be a lot more crashes from gawkers watching signs throw the 'come hither' look.

But that's not where this tale is going just yet. Right now, past the signs and the crazier stretches of road, there's a more out of the way spot filled with middle class restaurants and bars and other such commodities. One in particular, the Perfeft Fit, is where everyone who likes themes is going. Like dancing? Like various foods? Like wearing old, out of date outfits? You'd be welcomed here despite all those. There is dancing, but food does have some seafood included on its menu of some real and much soy delights, and even if you come in stark naked, you'll get to enjoy the atmosphere before you're thrown out for public indecency (Unless it's Happy Hour on Saturday).

It is also here where a certain elf waits patiently for guests of his to arrive. Mr. Firebright, as that's the name he has his table put under for those he's meeting to find him, has just ordered his favorite from the menu and has handed back to the waitress. For all the place is middle class, he is obviously important in some fashion from the thread count of his suit and the way almost every woman (and admit it, some of the men) stare in awe at his looks.

Eventually, his food will arrive, and there had better be some 'friends' of his at the table before he finishes it.

<OOC data>

Okay, there's your intro (not too bad, I think) and here's your mission: You need to get to the Perfect Fit and meet with Mr. Firebright/Johnson. Being this is the intro, there aren't any real checks involved with showing up - only what you use while talking to him and beyond that will matter at this point.

So if you want, be creative, or a little detailed in how you arrive. Good use of letters will always insure some bonus karma for the effort, creativity will do the same. Give me both, and maybe I'll give you a plaque of congratulations.

However, try NOT to bugger this up, or you will suffer what I call "When the strings pull back" Ever wonder why people are afraid of strings attached to things? How do you think they're attached? A bit of glue? No, it's with fish hooks, and I will throw something in your path as a consequence to breaking order where it is already assigned. Survive, and depending how you do it, you may find yourself benefitting despite. Fail, and you may still get some karma as 'lessons learned' fornot watching your step.

Of course, this story is about you guys and gals, so don't worry if you fall off the path by accident, or do something because it is what you would do. Sometimes the fish hooks must pull, for the good of the story.

Lights....Camera....Action!

One of the two things Aurel truly disliked was being sober. The other was dancing.

So it was a most unfortunate turn of events that found her at a nightclub called the Perfect Fit, surrounded by dancers - and stone cold sober.

She pulled out an old-fashioned letter from a pouch on her belt, drawing more than a few strange looks from the other occupants of the bar, which she ignored with the ease of much practice. She glanced at the paper one last time, making sure she was where she had intended to be, before tearing it into quarters and replacing it in the pouch on her hip.

She had seen the elf a few minutes back, and known that he was her prospective employer - but her astrological reader had informed her that she was to wait until a specific time to greet the man.

At three minutes after ten precisely, she sat down at the table across from him, and waited for him to begin the introductions.

Clay stares up blankly at the dimly glowing lightbulb hanging from a wire on the ceiling, lying flat on his back on a dingy old mattress that probably hasn't seen a good cleaning in years. This was his fifth day lodging in Uncle Jack's Homes on Wheels, and it seems to get more and more unbearable with each passing moment. One would think that the worst part about living in a coffin motel is the lack of space, or the shitty quality of the stuff they try to pass off as food, or the roach infested lavatories with toilets that like to surprise you by occasionally sending the water back up the other way. But it's none of these things. No, Clay learned shortly after checking in that the worst part about living dead man style is the other residents. He came to that conclusion right after Mr. Jonas the elderly dwarf in Room 6B tried to decapitate him with a battle axe, mistaking him for a member of Humanis despite the fact that he's very clearly an ork.

And this guy isn't even the craziest of the bunch. There's Molly McManus from down the hall, who's convinced that the ghost of Elvis is haunting her room and whispers blasphemies into her ear every night as she goes to sleep. There's Bubba Jackson, who owns nine loaded shotguns that he keeps stowed underneath his bed, one for each of his ex-wives. There's Jay Carter, a faded otaku who got his brains fried back in the Crash of '64, and now confuses the real world for the Matrix that no longer exists. And who can forget Ben and Marina Larkson, the troll couple living next door, each armed with a sex drive that would make a rabbit on Viagra feel impotent. Clay certainly couldn't, especially since they're doing what they like to do best right now, in the dead of the night, a time when every normal person should be fast asleep.

Creak. CREAK. CREAK. "Oh mah gawd!" Creak.

Clay sighs. It looks like he's not going to get any sleep tonight. Just like last night. And the night before. He rolls off the bed, stretches languidly, throws on a sports jacket, and leaves the room, heading outside to get a breath of the cool night air. The street is completely desolate, save for a grizzled homeless ork dressed in rags squatting by the steps in front of an old brick building. Clay strolls down the road quietly, wondering how in the world he managed to get himself into this whole mess.

As he passes the bum, the man calls out, "Hey brother, spare some change for a hungry old geezer?"

Clay shrugs apologetically. "Sorry man, I wish I could. I really wish I could."

The sky was starless, the moon was bright, and Clay's walk around the block is as peaceful as can be expected in this part of the city at this time of the day. Right before he's about to finish his circuit, his commlink starts to ring melodically, letting him know that there's a call. Activating it, he sees the virtual face of Frankie the Tooth shimmer into view in front of him. Frankie grins widely.

"Hey there youngster, you ain't looking too crisp."

Clay shrugs. "Being poor as dirt tends to do that to you."

"Yeah, I heard that you're down on your luck. That's why I got a job lined up special just for you, to help you get back on your feet."

"No shit, man?"

"I shit you not. You interested?"

"To say yes would be an understatement."

Frankie nods. "All right, then. The place is a nightclub called the Perfect Fit, a hip hangout in the downtown district. The time is 10:15 pm sharp. The jay is an elf named Mr. Firebright. The rest, you're on your own."

Clay grins. "I'll be there. Thanks for the hook-up, Frankie."

"Null persp."

Frankie's image blinks out of view as the connection terminates. Clay swipes the door to the motel open and heads back into his room, his weariness completely dissipated by the prospect of a job. Fate has finally brought him an opportunity to climb up from the ditches, and he'll be damned if he's going to fuck this up. Meanwhile, there are things to do, people to see, stuff to buy, all to get ready for the meet...8 o'clock is coming fast.

Knives was in the zone as he raced along the streets of Seattle on his blood-red bike. He was speeding, but that was the least of his worries. He was late. He had gotten the call from Maria nearly three hours ago telling him when and where to be to meet Mr. Firebright, but Knives had stopped at a bar, had a few drinks, met a few girls, and had totally lost track of time. Now he was trying to make up for it.

His bike roared into the parking lot, narowly missing a yellow sedan that was trying to leave. The driver leaned out of his window, and began to give Knives a piece of his mind. The noise was lost, however, to the blaring music going on inside Knive's helmet. In a world of his own, he rounded the next corner, raced down a ramp, and found a suitable place to stash his bike near a maintenence door. It wasn't a parking spot per-se, but Knives didn't have time to look for one - this was his first real job in Seattle and he wasn't going to fuck it up by missing the meet.

The bike had barely come to a full stop before he was rolling off of the back of it, and opening up his saddlebag compartment. He took a few seconds to stuff his jacket into it, slam it shut, and wirelessly lock it, before running for the stairs. It was just faster to ditch his longcoat than to try to remove all of his weapons when he was inevitably stopped by security on the inside. Besides, he didn't need to bring his own. The place would be full of them.

A few minutes later he entered the Perfeft Fit, after having shoved his way through the line of costumed-people who wanted to get in, and then smoothing things over with the bouncer with some digital cred. Now, to find this asshole's table.... It was a quarter after eight, and the Perfeft Fit was big - luckily, he knew he was looking for an elf, and that the elf would probably recognise him... by... his... trademark blood-red longcoat. Damn it. Today is not my day.

Knives reached over and grabbed one of the greeters by his arm, drawing a shocked look of alarm. "Guy, I'm looking for Mr. Firebright's table. I'm in a hurry."

Clay surveys his destination through the transparent reinforced window of his taxi cab as the vehicle pulls over on the curb next to the Perfect Fit. There was a pretty long line leading out from the front entrance, which was manned by a big, beefy ork bouncer with a grim, no-nonsense expression on his face.

Looks like a popular dive. This ought to be fun.

With a few quick voice commands, Clay wires the fare to the cabbie's account, and steps out onto the sidewalk.

Just as he's about to enter the club, the cabbie sticks his head out the window and says, "Hey man, no tip?"

Clay shakes his head apologetically. "Sorry dude, that ride practically ate all the dough I've got left in my bank account."

It was true, too. He had blown the last of his savings getting prepped up for the meet, and in his opinion, it had been worth every penny. The ork who stepped out of that cab looked almost nothing like the haggard, unkempt kid he'd been only this morning. His hair was freshly washed and tied back into a neat ponytail, and the mild aroma of expertly applied cologne emanated from his person. His breath was winter fresh, his smile immaculate. He's clothed in a stylish tres chic set of urban casualwear, and a pair of elegant mirrorshades lend a mysterious look to his countenance. He looked to all the world like a million dollars, which was exactly the effect he'd been shooting for.

Apparently it's also exactly why the cabbie thinks he's bullshitting him, because he called out, "Cheap bastard!" before cruising away in his car. Clay shrugs, and heads towards the entrance of the club. Striding up to the bouncer, he says "I'm here to meet someone. Goes by the name of Mr. Firebright."

It seems like his prospective employer has some pull here, because the bouncer waves him in without question. A couple of people near the middle of the line start to protest, but their clamor quickly dies down when the bouncer shoots them a grin full of teeth and starts cracking his knuckles. Clay opens the doors into the club and walks inside to the music, the rainbow lights, and the mass of people shaking their booty to the beat on the dance floor. He makes a beeline straight to the bartender, taps on the counter to get the man's attention, and gives him a friendly smile.

"Hey bro, I'm here to meet Mr. Firebright. Can you point me?"

"Sure thing," the bartender replies amiably. He nods at a table nestled within a secluded cove near the DJ. "You'll find your guy there."

Clay nods his thanks and walks toward the spot that the bartender identified. As he approaches, he sees a man and a woman already seated at the table. Sliding up smoothly, he takes a seat and offers his hand.

"Hi there, I'm Clay," he says cheerfully. Addressing the elven man, he continues, "You must be Mr. Firebright. A pleasure to meet you."

Turning to the woman, he says, "And whom do I owe this additional pleasure to?"

She glanced over at Clay, slowly, as he spoke, mildly interested in his immaculate veneer.

"Aurel." She paused for a moment while she examined his attire.

If she had been an average person, she might have been wondering why a Shadowrunner was dressed like a corporate big shot. But wondering simply took too much effort.

"You have odd taste."

Clay grins. "I prefer the term eccentric. Nice to meet ya, Aurel."

Mr Firebright: the Johnson of Perfect Fit, looks up from his collective plate of shrimp, salad, potatoe wedges, and a lobster tail (all perfectly real, not a hint of soy on the plate save for dressing on the salad, but even that may be real). Since Aurel is the first to arrive, he gives a polite smile and nods his head in greeting. "Ms. Aurel, punctual, but not too punctual. I like that." He places his fork down and pays proper attention to his guest. "I trust you did not have any trouble with your trip over here?"

It's only a few moments after he speaks that Clay shows up, looking both 'eccentric' and a little worn from his current financial situation. He has the manners, however, and for all Aurel seems to be immune to his charms, he has amused Mr. Firebright enough to get a smirk from him. "Business before pleasure, Mr. Clay, but thank you for not being late. We still have two more guests to arrive, however, so I believe we should give them pardon in getting here before we do attend to business." The elf picks his fork back up, and begins work on his salad. "Do order something if you'd like. I'm sure you're at least a little hungry, and it's much less conspicuous than sitting there twiddling thumbs."

(Opportunity for Knives to slip himself in if desired, and for others to talk or post. At the moment, there are no rolls required, but if you want to try talking to Mr. Firebright, feel free to give it a shot. Just be careful what you ask. )

Aurel smiled slightly at Clay's remark, but didn't reply.

She then turned her attention back to Mr. Firebright, and to his large plate of seafood.

"I'll eat if you're paying."

Just a few minutes late an out-of-breath young man rushes over to the table and slides into a vacant seat. He brushes his dark hair out of his face and points over at the elf. "Mr. Firebright? Sorry about being late... traffic."

He glances around at the others gathered at the table, but doesn't say anything else. He just unfoldes the napkin at his place, and begins to remove the silverware.

Erik, Erik the Ganner as he's known in the Scandanavian district of Ballard, struts into the Perfect Fit. The barely dried blood he missed on his nose from a punch earlier belies his cool exterior as he makes his way to the table.

The scene is still fresh and vivid in his mind.....I hate being called Gandolph!
It should have been just a nice afternoon hanging with the Beserkers, the local gang in Ballard but, no that drek brained Olaf had to mouth of. Maybe it was to be expected being the smallest...but I have power he could never dream of. The memory comes into focus of the long wooden table with all the Beserkers around it sharing lunch and drinking mugs of stout beer. Who was it that said my name? Yes, it was Kragnor, the Dwarf whose beard reached the floor if it wasnt braided just so. "Hey Ganner!, read my fortune?" His voice had bellowed, followed by Olaf's "Yeah Ganner.....or is it Gandolf?" That sent me across the table to him only to be caught by the arms of a few fellow Beserkers. He just sat there with a suprised look, then laughed. The bloody nose must have happened during my short scuffle.

Reaching the table Erik snaps from his thoughts.

Mr. Firebright seems to be polite enough to pay for orders of those two present - Clay and Aurel. Knives, however, finds himself being looked at with at least minor disapproval for being late. Getting an apology, however, seems to mollify the elf a little. "Next time I suggest not side tracking into anything too strenuous, Mr. Knives, but congratulations for showing up despite."

Knives naturally gets a menu shortly upon arrival, though without knowledge of the elf's offer (and he of course quietly shakes his head to the waitress when she makes to ask).

He's half way done with his own meal by the time Erik arrives last, but rather than a disapproving look, Mr. Firebright merely arches a brow at the slight show of blood.

Now all are here, and food is dealt with, light conversation (if any) is held and finished, and Mr. Firebright pushes his plate forward and folds his hands together where it was.

"Now, Business at hand...What I would like done is fairly simple, and is practically legal barring the fact you will be going someplace you shouldn't." Again, the brow arches as he emphasizes the rules. "You will be performing a delivery as well as a retrieval if articles of value are present. This," He slides a envelope, slightly bulging, over beside Aurel's plate, "Contains the hard details of what you're delivering, and a list of what you're retrieving. The basic rules are this: I don't want a large amount of noise if you can help it. You are dealing with a bit of mystery in that I don't know what you may encounter on this delivery. There should not be any immediate concerns with this lack of information. Your target shouldn't have any such resources as to threaten the likes of you by default. If he does, however, you will have instructions on how to inform me if he does. Naturally, significant obstacles of that nature will make this delivery moot, and you need not worry about completing it if it comes about other than to inform me."

Mr. Firebright pauses briefly, waiting for any questions, objections, or other potential interruptions to oblige before he finalizes the moment.

Clay nods at the envelope. "Do you mind if we open it now, or would you prefer for us to wait until the deal is closed?"

"You hired four runners."

One was usually more than sufficient to finish jobs, and, in her experience, very few runners worked in teams. One didn't usually hire more than one runner for a delivery service. She suspected that there was something he wasn't telling them - it wouldn't really matter one way or the other, but she was accustomed to being prepared for her runs.

Mr. Firebright answers Aurel first. "I hired two mages, someone with small guns, and someone with a tendency to throw things. Between the four of you, I suspect you'll be sneaky enough, and creative enough to get through and do what I ask. Considerin this isn't a hard job, you're not getting heavily paid for it either." Now he holds up a finger, smirking as he gives another point. "Further more, suppose you find this person is so maniacal as to have some heavy duty form of artillery or personel that is very dangerous to lone individuals? It does me no good to send in one person if they get shot, and I do not find out why they haven't returned."

Now, for Clay. "If you open it now, you'll let everyone in the place see it. While I can understand being curious, I believe it's frowned upon to show people what you're delivering when it's sensitive material, yes?"

"This job pays 10k, total, split among you as you see fit. That's regardless of whether it goes smoothly or if you run into juiced up policlubbers or whatnot."

Clay raises an eyebrow. "The thing we're supposed to deliver is in that package? I thought it only contained the details of the job. In that case, I guess we have no choice but to leave it sealed for now.""

He ponders for a moment, then continues, "When you say 'significant obstacles' will void the job, where exactly do you draw the line? I think we should get this part squared away since you're basically giving us free license to drop the job without losing pay."

Knives smirks, "That's a lot of firepower for something you expect to be 'simple'.... That's fine by me... it means you expect things to get interesting." He begins twirling a butter-knife rapidly in one hand while leaning back in his chair. "If I thought this was going to be boring, I'd be having second thoughts."

"I'm in."

Aurel raised her eyebrows at the "small guns" comment - most of her collection could hardly be considered "small." She'd have to remedy that conception.

She frowned slightly at Clay's money worries - apparently, he had a bit of a conscience problem. As far as she was concerned, free money is good money.

She sent an appraising glance over to Knives and his twirling utensil - she could never be sure of the intelligence level of those who liked to fight overmuch. The same went for Erik - although Clay seemed reasonable enough. Chances were fair that she would be able to work with them, for a time at least.

"I accept as well."

Mr. Firebright smirks, since he seems to have full agreement, barring the little questions. "There's no reason to be afraid of a few patrolling guards, even if they have overpowered weapons for such a job. There is plenty of reason to be concerned if there are a dozen such guards, or several armored drones, or a few obvious team mages trying to rip your head off with a spell. A good guideline is that if it becomes very dangerous just for the four of you to be in the same room as the problem, it's serious. If you can take care of it with only moderate risk, however, You are expected to complete it. I will not be happy if you try to simply bend the situation into the impossible with what is present by dragging every working body into one room to shoot at you. Satisfactory for you, Mr. Clay?"

It seems the persistance of the situation has let the Johnson give a little extra info now, however, due to Aurels attitude. "I can assure you this is not a trap, mi'lady. I deal with new negotiations for my people, and I try to keep those resources alive and available for future work if they turn out promising. Four of you insures survival more, likelihood of success, and it lets me judge your ability as a group as well."

Clay nods. "Understood, Mr. Firebright, and thank you. One more thing before we get this gig done for you. As I'm sure you realize, you're asking us to accept this mission with very little to go on. We don't know what we're supposed to be delivering, since you asked us not to open the package. We don't know where we're delivering it to. We don't know anything about the security detail at the place - while you are confident that we won't find any significant opposition at the target location, and I'm sure you're a man whose information can be depended upon, there's always a possibility that expectations will be broken.

"We're basically walking into this job blind."

He pauses, and smiles amiably. "As such, I'm sure you would understand when I say that the lack of background information should warrant some kind of monetary compensation."

She shrugged slightly. She had never said it was a trap, never implied it - but since she now had the information she wanted, the means with which she had attained it were irrelevant.

Her misgivings about Clay's conscience were alleviated as soon as she heard him bargaining for extra payment. Bargaining cleverly enough, she might add. She had gone into runs before with a similar amount of information, and it hardly bothered her - but more money meant more alcohol.

Mr. Firebright is quiet for a moment, but anyone with a hint of ability to read people will notice (and there's no need for a perception roll here) that he is holding back, at least something, as he says,

"I told you several minutes ago that the full details were in the envelope, with the item to be delivered and a list of things to look out for...Other than that, I can tell you immediatley it's a delivery and pick up mission."

(edit: please note what he's holding back is emotional, not informational).

Aurel stood up quickly, realizing even with her limited social skills that this would be the time to back out.

"I believe it's time to go." She nodded quickly towards her teammates and began walking towards the exit.

Clay smiles at Aurel. "You presume much, m'lady. Neither Mr. Erik nor I have accepted the job yet. For my part, you read me correctly - I'm in. Of course, I can't speak for Mr. Erik."

"Besides, what's the rush?" He nods at the half eaten meal in front of him. "Good food deserves good eating."

The elf picks up a small bit of parsley from his plate and sticks it in his mouth - nibbling. "Quite true, no need to rush. You have several days for this mission, so plenty of time to get into mischief. I'll know if you have second thoughts if nothing happens."

Mr. Firebright rises from his seat and takes one last look at the envelope. "Oh, if you do change your minds at all, I would recommend destroying all of that if no one is actually going to do the job. Loose ends tend to do nasty things if left hanging. And anything else you have is on my tab, so no worries about my departure."

And with that....he leaves, napkin folded on the table, chair pushed in, and a brief word with the staff that doesn't include the bouncers coming to throw you out.

All that's left: the remains of his meal, and the envelope.

Clay pauses for a second as he considers Mr. Firebright's offer to cover the entire tab for tonight's dinner. Then he considers the fact that he hasn't eaten anything except SoyRamen™ for the past week.

...Hell, it's practically an obligation.

"Waitress? Hey there, can I get the salmon kebab, and this beef fillet looks good too, how about #3, that sounds pretty exotic, and also a large fizzle pop soda. Hey wait, where are you going? I'm not done yet! Okay, put me down for the barbeque turkey sandwich, and this looks good, wow, and this, and..."

Knives smiles at Clay's reaction to the opportunity. I think I am gonna like this guy, Knives doesn't order anything more for himself, however.

After the waitress leaves to fetch Clay's food, he speaks up. "So, when we all do leave from here, where should we meet up? And who's going to be in charge of that."

Aurel turned around again as soon as she heard Clay speak. She wasn't sure what the problem was - if she had read him correctly, then obviously she hadn't presumed too much. But he certainly made a good point about the food. Judging from his eagerness, he was obviously in much the same position as she.

She turned to the waiter,ordered a bottle of beer and the house specialty - she didn't really care what it was so long as it was edible - and sat down in Mr. Firebright's recently vacated chair.

It, quite frankly, didn't matter to her where or when they met, so long as they got the job done and she got paid - so she left the decision-making to Clay. He was a natural leader, and it was far less trouble to defer to a leader than to fight with one.

Erik, shrugs at the question. It doesnt matter either way as far as he was concerned. The only voice he ever listened to was Loki, and he lied alot of the time.

"It seems like the first thing we should do is take a look at what's inside this package," Clay says, tapping the envelope their employer had left behind with two fingers, "so that we'll have some kind of expectations as to what we're heading into."

"We should do that as a group, and as soon as possible. My suggestion is that we do it tonight. After we finish our meal, we can approach the club manager to see if we can book a private room here - if not, we do it elsewhere. Once our privacy is secured, we open this sucker up, find out all the juicy details of our job, then part ways for tonight. We can meet up again sometime tomorrow. It'll give us time to sleep on it and get some ideas about how to best pull this job off."

"What do you guys think?"

Aurel shrugged slightly, drinking slowly from the bottle that the waitress had given her. She put it down quietly, and leaned back in her chair.

"If that seems best."

Knives eyed the package suspiciously, "Yeah, lets open this sucker up as soon as we can. twenty-five hundred only holds my attention for so long." He winked, but almost immediately turned his attention to a well dressed, exceptionally beautiful woman eating her meal a few tables over. She was with a man, obviously on a date, and didn't seem to notice the gaze of the darkly-dressed Shadowrunner.

Clay follows Knives's gaze to the woman, and grins knowingly. "Not bad, eh? Sucks for us that most women don't find career crime to be an attractive profession for a man. I should've become a doctor or something."

Knives laughs, "Guess you havn't met a lot of the women I have. Something about the whole bad-boy thing... like moths to a flame...." At about that point the woman notices his attention and shoots him a rather disgusted look. "Well... not ones like her, ya know...." Smiling, his attention goes back to his silverware.

"Anyways, we getting a private room, or bumping for the night?"

Clay shrugs. "Sure, I'll go talk to the manager about snagging us a room."

The young ork stands up, brushes himself off lightly, and makes his way back across the dance floor. He exchanges a few pleasantries with a waitress and drops an inquiry about private rooms, and she directs him to the manager's office on the second story. Climbing a flight of stairs to reach the upper floor, he stops at the manager's office, raps a couple of times on the door, and walks inside.

"Hey there, a few friends and I would like a room where we can be free to discuss confidential matters without fear of unwelcomed eavesdroppers. Anything you can do to help us out?"

The manager is a rather stout dwarf, challenge that line between being as wide as tall. He carries it well, however, and as Clay comes in and propositions a room, he takes a look at some of his paperwork and considers the request. "Well, as it happens, we have one that is open right now, but it's usually filled, so if you want it now, I'd have to see something like, oh, 750. That'll get you an hour, two if no one else books for the time."

"As it happens, we're working under the employ of Mr. Firebright. Would that get us any kind of discount? Chances are, we wouldn't need a full hour anyway."

The Dwarf seems unphased by the use of the Johnson's name, and tabs his desk with a thick finger as he says, "750, give it, or get out of the office please."

"Aw, c'mon man, you sure you don't want to be a little more generous? What goes around comes around, you know. You do us this little kindness today, and tomorrow you might find out that a long-lost and recently deceased uncle just left you a million nuyen in his will."

The dwarf grumbles a little bit, but after a few moments thought, relents a little on Clay's persistance. "Fine, 600 cred, no less, and right now, and only for the hour. Take it or leave it."

"All right, that's what I'm talking about, dude. I'll go pass along the message to my friends, and see if they agree to the deal."

When Clay returns to the table a few minutes later, he sits down and says, "They've got a room for us, but it's going to cost us 150 a piece. You guys cool with that?"

He pauses, and scratches his head sheepishly. "And, er, I'm kinda outta funds right now, so if we take this, someone's going to have to spot me. I'll pay you back after the job, of course, and you'll have my eternal gratitude."

Aurel hadn't had money for several days, at the very least - The past week had been inauspicious for starting new ventures, according to her astrologer, and so she hadn't done any runs, and hadn't gotten paid. It was only because of this fact that she'd been sober at the beginning of their meeting.

"I also have no money. If you have a moment, however, I will retrieve some."

She stood up quickly, not waiting for an answer, and headed outside. Not far from the entrance sat her black Mirage, and she straddled it comfortably before typing her SIN into the computer and speeding away.

Thanks to a mechanic she knew, her motorbike was a good deal faster than the norm - and since the place she was heading was close, in just a few minutes she had dismounted again.

The neon sign seemed a bit old, and it flickered in and out, but the words "The Golden Hind" could be read easily. Originally, that had probably been a reference to the golden deer the Greek goddess Artemis posessed, but had since been taken over by a new business - exactly which business was made clear by the obscene grafitti surrounding the doorway.

Aurel entered the doorway into a sleepily lit room, with a bit of smoke floating in the air - someone had obviously convinced themselves that it gave the place 'atmosphere' instead of just making it difficult to breathe.

Someone in a dress of some sort was shuffling around at the back of the room - apparently attempting to clean a rather large splatter of something unidentifiable off the back wall - before turning around and yelling towards Aurel.

"Hey, you, get out! We don't do women!" Her dress was obviously constraining her movement, and it wasn't helped by the ridiculous wooden shoes she was wearing.

Aurel smiled despite herself. "Nice to see you too, Sayuri."

"You should have said it was you. You know I can't see through the damned incense." Sayuri paused as she kicked off the shoes and walked forward so that she could see her friend properly. She was a small Asian girl - couldn't have been older than twenty - with a gorgeous face that had entirely too much makeup, in the style of the Japanese Geisha.

Aurel raised an eyebrow at her friend's outfit.

"Don't ask. Some customers have wierd fetishes." She paused, and sat down on one of the plush chairs that littered the sitting room. "Will you be wanting a reading, then?"

Aurel didn't bother to sit down, instead leaning forward against the back of another chair.

"Not today." A pause. "I need money."

Sayuri made a distinctly sour face.

"Darling, Jorl and I just bought you that bike. I might not be poor, but hell, do you think I'm made of money or something?" She sighed dramatically and scratched her neck underneath the layers of clothing. "How much?"

"Three hundred cred."

Sayuri blanched again.

"If I don't get this back, I'm going to make your life hell. Understand?" And with that, she pulled out a device from her sleeve and typed for a minute.

"There, I've transferred it to your account. Happy? You owe me, babe."

Aurel nodded in appreciation, before walking out the door quietly, getting on her Mirage, and speeding away.



She returned to the club not long after that, and sat down in the place she had recently vacated. She took a sip out of her beer bottle before speaking, directly to Clay.

"I will pay for you, and for myself."

"Thanks Aurel, I won't forget the favor."

Knives slaps 150 down on the table. "This place better be worth it. For 600 bucks, I'd let you all crash at my place for the night."

Erik, slides 3 certified creds across the table. "Glad we didnt order drinks." He says with a wide smile.

After 600 nuyen gets laid down on the table, Clay collects all the credsticks and heads back upstairs to the dwarf.

Slapping the money down on his desk, Clay grins and says, "So, how about that room?"

The dwarf sighs, a mixture of relief from getting money, and annoyance for haggling it. "Room 3, ask the waitresses or whoever you run into. Clock starts when you open the door."

As such, asking one of the staff for where the room is will get you guided into the back area, where a non-descript door with a 3 by the handle and a scanner. The moment a staff hand is scanned, the door will open and the hour timer will start. Inside the room is essentially a private table space akin to out with the rest of the patrons, though a bit more nicely decorated, and with appetizer soy-sa (salsa) and soy chips.

Erik, isnt shy about reaching for chips and salsa, it did cost him 150 to make this party. Mouth full of chips he mumbles"...So, lets have a looks-see."

"Yeah, let's pop this bugger open."

Clay tears open the seal of the envelope, turns it upside down at a slight angle, and shakes out the contents onto the table for everyone to see.

From within the sacred envelope of Shadowrunny goodness falls a letter (made from what looks like real paper), a datachip, and a folded index card. The index card looks like it's a list, whereas the folded letter, if so opened, will be shown to have actual information and a smaller data chip taped to it. The only difference between the two datachips is the one in the letter is a bright red in color.