Mitch
As you sit in the van, waiting for the effects to overtake you, moments pass. Slowly a sense of relaxation takes over, the neon colors from Bubble's outfit become sharper, the scent of Sun's perfume clearer. The last decade has been hard but you've survived--tonight, hell all of this week, time is for you. You've got the goods, some cash in your pocket, a little bit of a party is in order.

Team
Watching the drug-hound for signs of a change, you notice his posture slouches a bit more and then a smal smile plays at the edge of his lips as years of tension wash away from his knotted muscles. A quiet tapping of Mitch's foot against the floor of the van strikes a counter-pointe to the light swaying of his neck and shoulders.

"Aw geez," moaned Al, "Ya ain't gon' start singin' are ya?"

A hand swings vaguely towards Al seemingly waving him to be silent as Sun studies Mitch's reaction to the drugs on the astral.

Mitch smiles and lights up another cigarette.
"I knew this shit wouldn't work." he says while shaking his head, "That's why I wasn't too worried about it."

He looks around at the others, "What do you want to do now? I say we go get some beers and watch some peelers for a few hours. Just enough time to make it look like we tried, before we call up the Johnson and tell him it was a no-go. Sound like a plan?"

"Hell yes, sounds like a plan," Al agreed, draining the last of his second Grolsch and tapping the ashes of his cigarette into the empty can. "I need a refill anyway." He swung the rear doors open for Mitch and swept his arms outward in an exaggerated storybook gesture of chivalry - "After you, my prince," he growled ironically.

Once Mitch had debarked into the cold pre-dawn dark, Al hopped out after him. He then pulled the door almost shut, so that only his face showed through to the others - "Natcherly the dealer detect-effect is gon' wait till he comes down an' is jonesin'," he rasped. "So we jist stick exackly ta plan an' ride this thing out."

Finally shutting the door completely, he joined his drug-bemused companion - "What's yer poison, kemo sabe?"

"Hell, as long as their big and bubbly and there's two of them I don't care." He tosses his cigarette butt on into the gutter, "And that could be the girls or the beers..."

He gives a laugh and then begins to walk off down the street.

*** pop ***

"Usually only one designated driver."

Grinning as she hops off the van, "if any. Now we got a whole crew of baby sitters."

"Well," Al croaked through chattering teeth in response to Mitch's comments about women, "from the look o' things in this li'l ol' neck o' the woods, ya might be best off stickin' with the brews." He gestured pointedly at a homeless travesty of a woman cowering in an alley - "Seen roadkilled coons more enticin', an' the bar skells 'round these parts ain't much more promisin'."

"My dears we just have to work with the places we got. A girllike me can have fun wherever she goes, as long as she has some medical insurance if you get my meaning." says Sun as she snaps out of her trance. "Given the way this night is going so far, drinks do seem to be in order, and a light if anyone has one." She pulls out a pack of menthols, and slips one cigarette out from the pack.

Fuck, I'm seriously feeling like getting off my head, need to stay calm and not go over the edge. I complete this job I may have some allies for future trouble and investigations.

Pesto mentally triggers the van's lighter to heat up and when it is ready he pulls it out to light Sun's smoke. He then waits for everyone to pile out of the van.

Once everyone is out he activates his drone and instructs it to move up and out of the van to perform surveillance on the team. Then the orc steps out of the van, closes it up and sets the alarm.

Looking at the others he says, "Ok I'm ready, where are we off to?"

"Well, looks like we got us a reg'lar jamboree in the makin'. Glad y'all're on board fer this li'l early mornin' shindig. I know a place jist up the street here - Uncle Bill's Place. Run by an old sailor, goes by the name of Uncle Bill. Docks run twenny-fore-seven, an' so does this joint."

A brief walk later and Al and Mitch led the rest of their oddly matched quintet into the den of squalor and working-class iniquity known as Uncle Bill's Place, their entrance heralded by the clack of pool balls and the sad strains of a country-western ballad.

All along the bar, bleary-eyed longshoremen dined on Breakfasts of Champions, their backs to the bar's permanent, less gainfully employed denizens.

Grabbing a table near the back, Al waved at a waitress. He knew her name was Charlene, and she was sporting some assets that reminded him of what he'd heard about her former profession. But his practiced eye could see as she approached that undo a snap here, loosen a strap there, and all that buxom glory would be headed straight south - ergo the waitressing gig.

Mitch hits the bottle pretty hard once they get settled in and seems to open up to the rest of the group a bit. Cracking a few jokes, making a few rude comments and generally just enjoying himself.

The keen observes amongst you, and those with knowledge of human behavior, might easily guess that he doesn't get to enjoy himself that much and it's probably not often that he has the chance to hang out with "friends" like this.

He's having a good time, but the drugs, although helping his mood, don't seem to be leading him anywhere except to a deadly hangover.

Sun sits back, relaxing slightly inside, and seeming to become completely relaxed on the outside. She scans the bar lazily while sipping something approximating vodka and orange looking for someone pretty enough to be worthy of her attentions.

Pesto sits back and enjoys the friendly banter that starts to develop with the group, adding his own comments and jokes. He has a few soy beers despite their taste but doesn't over do it because in the back of his mind he is waiting for something to happen.

Bubbles switches out the ambient audio in the place several times, then gives up and turns her own audio feed to the music she lieks as she starts playing some of the mechanical bar games along the walls.

During one game, she stops, pulls out her multi tool and starts taking tha game apart, ending up greasing up a mechanical slide mechanism, before putting it back together and playing.

Team
The hours drift by slowly. In general the dockworkers who favored the bar leave you be, except for the occasional glance at Sun and some very odd-looks at Bubbles.

As you begin to see sunlight through the doorway when patrons leave and new ones arrive, the event yo've been waiting for happens. Mitch comes down. One minute, he's sipping his whiskey, the next his hand is shaking so badly the cup can't raise up to his lips.

Mitch
It feels like someone flipped a switch in your brain. Instantly all the relaxation is gone and waves of anxiety crest through you. What if you have to go back to the way it was before? Shitty life, no friends...secretly hoping that the next fight will kill you just so you don't have to endure another day in this cesspool.

The shakes flood you for hours before the solution claws its way out of the anxiety and panic. In your pockets, you can almost hear the drugs calling out to you. If you took them, this could all clear away. Just a puff to steady your hands and a few pills to ease your nerves.

Team, sans Mitch
A moment after his hands begin to shake, you see Mitch's hands pat down the front of his jacket then reach into his pockets. They seem to be headed for the small case of drugs that you gave him.

"Damned undead creepies was comin' out the blasted woodwork, shufflin' outta dark alleys, scamperin' down from crumblin' rooftops, an' natcherly me running low on..." Al saw Mitch go all funny, his hand shaking like a horny catfish in a bucket. It was pretty easy to see what was going on - it was what they'd all been waiting for. The surprise was in how fast it happened, the abruptness of the transition.

"...buckshot. An' there was the king shit ghoulmeister comin' in all hungry-eyed on..."

Seated next to Mitch, Al exchanged meaningful glances with Pesto and Sunny, all the while kicking himself for being so stupid as to let the dog be carrying the steak. He hoped Bubbles could see what was up from over by the games - Mitch looked edgy enough they might need her.

"...that peach of a frog archeaologist, Antoinette - the one I toldja about a minnit ago, with the cha-chas bustin' outta her Banana Republic safari shirt..."

With one hand he gripped his full stein of Grolsch (praying he wouldn't have to waste it this way), while hooking a foot around one leg of Mitch's chair...

"...an' ol' Al's thinkin' to hisself, even if the rest o' these perfessers becomes CHUD-chow, I shore as hell ain't...hey there, buddy, ain't'cha lissenin' - this here's the best part comin' up - what, ya need some help with that - lemme git that fer ya."

Sun quickly returns Al's glance, and stands up heading round the table, as she reaches Mitch she pauses, draping herself over him, "Sweety," she says into his ear, "Could you be a love and pop the bar and get me another Vodka, while I'm powdering my nose."

Her nearest hand snakes into his pocket, trying to snag the box while a combination of breast and a husky voice in the ear keep him distracted.

Mitch puts his twitching and shaking hands to good use as Sun drapes herself over him, catching a bit of a feel as he tries to get himself under control. After a moment he takes a deep breath and regains some composure.

"A vodka? Sure thing Doll."

He slowly, and maybe a bit unsteadily gets to his feet, bumping into Sun and Al as he tries to drunkenly navigate his way to the bar.

Pesto sits quietly sipping a beer as he watches the scene in front of him unfold. All the while he hopes that no violence erupts. He also takes a moment to take a quiet look around to see if anyone else is paying any attention to them.

Mitch picks up an other round of beers for the table, and a vodka for Sun, and makes his way back to the table, a sly grin on his face.

He sets the drinks down and retakes his seat, grabbing up his beer as he does so.

"So, what do we do now?"

With Mitch over at the bar, Al muttered to the others - "Boy's goin' fer 'nother hit, which'll put us back ta square one. We gotta git that stash off 'im an' flush it."

Sun
Arriving in the bathroom, you touch up your makeup and check your purse for the package of drugs. Though you are sure that you placed the small box into your purse, there doesn't seem to be any sign of them there now.

By the time Mitch got back with the drinks, the vixen had gone off to powder her nose - she'd done a good job of distracting their bloodhound though, Al thought appreciatively.

Now, Mitch was sitting down and asking what they ought to do next. At least he didn't seem to be going for his pocket any longer - but then, his hand wasn't shaking as badly as before either.

Stall. "Well, what we do now - hell, we gotta 'nother round o' drinks before us, gentlemen."

Mitch grins, "Then I say drink up!" He takes a big pull of his beer and settles back into his chair and satisfied grin spread across his face. "Now this is the life."

Sun will swear quietly in her native tongue.

Pesto

Mitch casually pulls the small pill box out of his jacket pocket and juggles it nimbly on his fingertips, causing it to dance and spin about in an intricate pattern.

"Maybe I should take another of these bad boys while we wait? One obviously wasn't enough..."

Pesto sighs when he sees that Mitch has the box. Sending a mental command to his comm he sends the following message to Sun:

Sun

Well consarn it all ta blazes, Al fumed. Tie my hands and dip me in gator turds! That boy has not only had a taste - with no one the wiser despite our cumulative attentions, but now he is hankerin' fer more - no use, I don't s'pose, remindin' 'im how easy this stuff is ta OD on.
Well Al, you done fronted him half a pack o' Luckies when he needed 'em, an' then you went an' got 'is sal'ry upped. He seems like a stand up feller, but let's see if that has any meanin' in his current happier'n-a-horny-uncle-at-a-fam'ly-reunion state o' mind...

"Whoa there, Nelly, slow down a tick. Maybe ya oughtta pass that there box roun' the table first, let some other folk have a taste afore ya start in after seconds - leastways that's what Ma Guthrie always taught me back home, an' what was good 'nuff fer Ma Guthrie, well, it'll certainly pass fer manners in this here armpit o' polite society."

Idly noting the rest of the group seemed to be hitting it off, considering all the talk going on over there, the young troll concentrated on searching for the latest maintenance manual for the antiquated piece of junk she was trying to calibrate. She was begining to suspect that the regular cycle of using all natural linseed oil to resurface the playing surface hadn't happened for years.

*** pop ***

Bubbles wondered what had happened to the linseed company.

Mitch glances at Al suspiciously, still spinning and dancing the pill box on the fingertips of one hand.

"The hooker," He motions with his thumb to the washroom where Sun went, "already tried to steal them from me. Good thing I ain't just a pretty face and she ain't a good pickpocket, otherwise she'd of got'em too."

But then he cracks a smile, "But at least got a feel when she tried. That made it worth it."

He suddenly flips the pill box high up in the air, sending it in a slow arc towards Al, "Here have a taste. They ain't half bad. But watch out for what's-her-name. She might be jonesing for a fix and she ain't above flashing her 'wares to get it."

Sun wanders back to the table, flashes Mitch a grin, "I'm a clean living girl sweety, and you're not being paid to get your rocks off honey. If you stay drugged, you're no good to us, and so you don't get paid. The name is Sun by the way. And I'm paymaster."

Mitch smiles and slides the vodka across the table to her, "Don't worry, kid-o, I didn't take another happy pill. They're tasty, I'll give you that, but drugs ain't my hobby, despite what the Johnson seemed to believe. And while I sure as hell want to take another of them bad-boys right now," His eyes flash over to the pill box, "I'm doing my best to hold back. I sure as hell ain't planing on becoming a junkie for just a couple grand."

He leans back in his chair and finishes off his beer, "Nice moves by the way." He makes a pickpocket motion with his free hand, "but you need a bit more practice before trying something like that anywhere but on a busy street."

Al caught the box in both hands and brought it down to the scarred table-top. He didn't put it in his pocket yet, but kept a burn-ravaged hand on top of it...and used the motion of catching the box to mask scooting his chair back just a tad...just...in...case...anyone actually wanted the drugs back, he wanted to be free to move.

He listened with a grin as Mitch and Sunny verbally jousted, then raised his free hand to tip an imaginary hat. "Well, ol' Al's shore man 'nuff to admit when he done unnerestimated someone, an' shore as I got hair on my back, that's what I did, pal. Glad ta see ya kept yer wits about'cha."

He paused to take a swig of beer, and when he lowered his mug, there was a freshly-lit cigarette clenched between his teeth. It twitched about as he continued speaking - "Million nuyen question now is - was the good Cap'n right? Is ya turned inta a drug dealer dowsin' rod, or is we gon' hafta track down these phantom purveyors o' pharmaceutical mayhem the old fashioned way?"

"Maybe I should take some lessons from an expert then," says Sun, "As long as your jonesing for a hit we're cool."

"Sure," Mitch says, "maybe after all of this I could show you a few new tricks."

"Hell!" Al interjected, throwing up one hand in exasperated impatience (but keeping the other on the box), "Maybe the two of ya kin jist go out and have a freakin' private moment in the back o' Pesto's ride...AFTER we finish this here job. So what's the story, boy? Ya gittin' any sort o' weird awarenesses or anythin'? Some sorta magical radar pointin' the way drugward, so ta speak? A ticklin' in the back o' yer noggin'? Feet takin' on a life o' their own? Strange visions o' seedy an' disreputable but very nearby locations floatin' before yer eyes?"

Mitch shakes his head, "Nada. Although I am jonesing pretty hard for another hit. But I know you have the happy box right there... So if I really need a fix I could get one when I wanted. Maybe that has something to do with it?"

"Well then we flush the contents," says Sun matter of factly.

When Sun mentions flushing the contents of the box, Pesto winces a little but nods in agreement.

*** pop ***

"Sell or give away to others?"

Bubbles peers over the table from behind, and over, Pesto, where she has quietly come back to the group.

"Where we get more if not work this time?"

"If it don' work this time, it don' work - so screw it, we gon' hafta go huntin' the ol' fashion' way anyhow," Al replied, standing up, box in hand. "Since most of us appears ta be in agreement, well hell, Good Lord ain't but given us twenny-four hours inna day - be a sin ta waste one more damn minnit."

And he stalked off toward the bathroom, free hand scratching his ass through his ragged and ill-fitting 501s.

Team
Everyone sips their drinks for the few moments that Al is gone. You watch Mitch for signs that something has changed and continue your talks about how to hunt down the drugs and their dealers if something here doesn't work right.

Mitch
There's a knife's edge of separation as your awareness of the drugs heads into the bathroom and they instantly vanish from your senses. Distantly you feel the pull in several directions, the strongest is to the waterfront and north.

Mitch lets out a slight gasp, "Damn... That's some powerful stuff." He wobbles a little in his chair, "As soon as they were gone... Damn, I can really feel it hitting me now."

He slowly gets to his feet, "I think I know where some more of this shit is. It's like I can just feel where it's at... Drawing me to it. I'd better follow while i can."

He begins to head for the doors.

Al grinned appreciatively. "Now that boy knows how ta git the lead out." He hadn't even had a chance to sit back down after his errand to the head.

He picked up his near-empty mug and drained the last of his beer. "Okay, jist like we planned - give us a few minutes and start tailin' us," he said, nodding at the elf woman. Zipping his jacket back up to his throat, he looked at Pesto and Bubbles - "You two back to the van - git that drone on us and keep an eye on that there pearly trackin' gadget." Before he finished speaking he was trotting for the door to catch up with Mitch.

Pesto gives Al a nod and then mentally pulls up a window displaying Clara's stats. After satisfying himself that all is well he gets her up camara trained on the bar door to pick up Mitch as soon as he leaves the place.

Team

Ensuring that the appropriate tracking measures are in place, you let your drughound and his wayward companion leave into the night. They amble through dark alleyways, heading ever closer to the waterfront itself. Soon the joytoys fall off the radar and you are left with the despondent street species who have no place to go. Predators skulk in the deepest of shadows ready to find new prey amongst the dying and those too far gone to realize that they will never see the sun fully rise.

The waterfront itself is a collection of warehouses, drydocks and trucking depots that even at this hour never fully sleeps. In a few more hours, the area will fully awaken from the gloaming dreams and bustle with activity. Until that point, failing halogen bulbs create pockets of light and shadow against the sky. To the east, faint hints of the rising sun transform the black to a deep purple.

As Mitch strode north through the pre-dawn chill, Al struggled to keep up on his short legs - he was already wheezing a little as the cold air burnt his lungs. But he was happy to be on the move.

Dredging the sparse contents of his right-front jeans pocket, he managed to fish out a small handful of tattered notes. Thumbing through them quickly, he put them back and ventured - "Ten nuyen cash money. Ya reckon that'll be enough ta make a buy?"

Mitch shrugged, "I still got most of the 300 they gave me earlier. That should be more then enough."

He pauses and takes a look around, getting his bearings.

"This way." He says pointing down a side alley.