Coming through the front door, Grendel steps to the side, his shark-dead eyes scanning the bar. After a moment, he makes a small gesture with his left hand to his companion. The weapons check at the door slows him as he surrenders the Browning holstered on his right hip. The loss does not seem to bother him much. Once inside, he moves along the wall, seeking an open table with a decent view of the room. Noticing the dart lane set up, he alters course, claiming a table nearby. Settling his lanky frame into the chair, he scans the room once more, the windows of his network overlaying his view.

Seeing the gesture from his friend, Delacroix walks through the front door. His duster opens up to allow the doorman to see the Ares Pistol in a custom holster faced towards his head.

The elf ignores the odd look that the doorman gives. Commanding the holster to unfasten its buckles the holster falls from the elfs body and then floats to the doorman. "Thankyou sir," says the Elf in the thick accent of the Tir.

Delacroix takes a place next to Grendel. "Interesting place."

"Interesting crowd." Grendel nods to Delacroix. "Stay frosty."

"Stay frosty?" replies the elf in the thick foreign accent. The elf was always uncharacteristically talkative around his friend. "Is this more of that Seattle slang, like Chummer and such?"

"Like my name would make a fraggin' difference? Fine, its Jyden." Fine, time to take a couple of risks. She didn't look like a fragging intel officer, but he'd keep it as vauge as possible. Things that an intel office would already know anyway, "I obviously do something that involves the government, elves, and the docks down there. Due to all this clock and dagger drek, and the Tir manufactured weapons they were carrying, well Jesus Christ lady, put two an' two together, and start giving me a damn dialouge." More lies, and more of this self-pity drek. But... well now this was a more intereasting night then he had expected to have, so it wasn't a total waste.

a slim build troll walks in with 3 orks, him self carring a stack of circular hard cases.. the others carring random sized square cases.


Jack sets up his drums.. as the rest of the band sets up and does a sound check.

Music is the hardest hardcore you ever herd with random growing and deep vocals singing... very un sythed band!



Yeah yeah.. this is how i spend my free time.. gigging with my band! Ork/Troll Hardcore is awesome! and a troll as a drummer what else wouldn't be better?

The chance she took paid off. Jyden, as he called himself, could very easilly have gotten very upset instead of telling her anything. More important however, she was gonna find out what exactly he was holding in his hand pretty soon now. However, there was this small little detail she didn't really see comming. Why were those things he mentioned obvious? Sure, working for the FBI made it clear the government was involved and the hint about the elves was hard to miss too, but what was so obvious about the docks and weapons? Could it just be that he expected her to know somehow? That would explain the cloak and dagger part too, but it sure wasn't a very reassuring thought. After all, the only thing that could possibly mean was that he was convinced she was somehow involved. She'd expected him to have, at the very least, some doubts about it by now. Putting two and two together ... Kim smiles.

"Well Mr. Jyden, it does." She reaches out her hand over the table. "My name is Kim Silvertree."

Grendel's face betrays no emotion, and though his voice should have held a certain amount of sarcasm, it is as flat as an electronic transmission.

"You could say that. See anyone you know?"

Her elven ears perked up at the sound of her homeland accent through the harsh noise of the crowd. She looked at the newcomers from her place in the booth she now shared with the man dressed all in black. An elf and a human, both of which seemed to be very nonchalant characters amongst the roughnecks of the bar. Probably another couple of real shadowrunners meeting in a place where they presumed the authorities would pass by, thinking it to be a clubhouse for posers. Not all that different from herself and her silent companion.

She smiled in a warm greeting to them. There was always a mix of comfort and anxiety when she heard the voices of others from the Tir, as was probably visible in her eyes.

"No not at all. This is my first time here," replies the elf. "So do they have food in a place like this?"

Background noise suddenly drops off as a newcomer enters the bar. In a word, she gorgeous, long silky black hair falls strait down to her waist. It seems to glow and shimmer as she moves. Shadows reflect and dance of her porcelain white skin, and the world is reflected in her large emerald eyes. She's wearing the latest fashion, a long silver dress, that fits her curves like a fine race car, a long slit on the right side reveals her smooth legs, and a low cut neckline dives to her jeweled naval. She is an elf, and all women. She pauses at the door to remove her coat, and glances around. Satisfied that she has everyone attention she walks to the bar with an easy stride that shows her many assets. She orders a drink of some kind and looks about the bar, looking without searching.

The troll on the drums, myself, doesn't care about the pretty lady.. ever since he's been like this.. he doesn't care about looks, being the pretty boy in highschool.. then going to this changes your mind, plus with groupies.. satifaction comes regular.

*speaks in the mic with a relativily deep raw voice*
Way too many pointy ears here! I amsure you guys find this music a bit harsh!

The band goes back to the series of random noises and screaming with caffine beats on the drum!

"Yeah, but stick to the soy." Grendel pushed the thin plastic menu card across the table to his companion. His eyes panned the room again.

"I don't see any familiar faces, either, but there are a few here I'd like to know." He pauses for a moment as he considers the newest arrival.

"Including her."

The band leader's comment elicited no reaction from him save a silent sigh. Once again he could not escape being lumped in with the rest of his metatype present. He was as different from them as a jet turbine was to an inline-4. But there would always be those who could not see past the obvious external traits. With a swift thought, he detached his emotions again. Musashi Miyamoto said: nurture the ability to perceive that which cannot be seen with the eye.

As if on cue the dazzling elven women turns her head to look at your table. Her long hair cascades about her shoulders and neck. She smiles, a sweet seductive smile, while being innocent at the same time. She stands up, her martini in one hand and casually walks across the room to the elves table. She is seemingly unaware of her affect on the men in the room.

"It's good to see you again Delacroix, who's your friend?," she's says in lightly accented sperethial. Her voice is a sweet sounding soprano, breathy and easy on the ears. As she talks she puts a hand on Delacroix's shoulder.

He watched her approach, appreciative of her grace and the smooth play of muscles in her legs. Every other sense screamed warnings at him, though, and his right hand twitched once towards the empty holster at his hip. The lanky elf shrugged his shoulders, settling his long coat and shifting his weight. He marshalled his energy, coiling his body for an immediate, lethal strike. The woman's words and her use of Delacroix's name did nothing to dispell his tension, and though he understood Sperethiel perfectly, he did not answer.

Delacroix's demeanor immediately changes. The Elf who was once upbeat and even smiled occasionally, changed back to his normal self. The monotone voice took over, the expresionless face.

As the woman approaches, Delacroix pulls out a chair with a gesture of his hand.

"His name is Grendel, Samantha. What brings you here?"

get down from stage... orders the larges sized synthohol they sell.
And walks around greeting random people kind of upset over the still crowd.. aprroaches the elves.

Yo chums.. what you kats up to?

The elven women's warm looks go still over the cold greeting from Delacroix. Her hand shifts to her side, and her eyes narrow slightly.
"Sorry if I am intruding, after the way you left last time I thought maybe you would be excited to see me." A memory of a spark of a connection jumps through Delacroixs mind, a meeting of kindred spirits, possibly faded beyond re-ignition. Samantha turns her head to Grendel, her eyes light up some at the ruggedly handsome elf. "Grendel, eh, like Beowulf, very nice," she says with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. She steps away from Delacroix's and slides into the booth next to Grendel.
"A girl could grow old waiting for you two to invite her..."

"I'm sorry, but where did we meet before? ...and how did I know your name?" The elfs confusion is apparent.

A hurt look crosses her face, a genuine emotion, for a few seconds she isn't he women in front of you, but a little girl, lost in a big world. Then she regains control of her self, "The club, six months ago, by the lake, you and your friends came in and busted up some guy real good. When I saw you sitting over here, I though you would remember me, thats all. Maybe I should go."

She leaves the question hanging in the air....

Wailer relaxes in his booth as the place slowly fills up. He continues with his conversation with Hot Wheels, even as the Troll drummer and his band fill the entire establishment with the thrashing sounds of random rage. The sounds of the older dwarf's chuckles make it at least a few booths away as he wraps up some sort of story or street tale as the "band" ceases-fire to take a break.

" ... spirit's truth, even. By the soul o' Big Dunkie, swear it."

The salty-haired amerind excuses himself, even as Hot Wheels shakes her head in disbelief. He makes his way through the throng, taking in quick stock ofthe several new faces ... some of them /more/ than eye catching. After a brief stop at the bar for a mug of brew, he janders towards another side of the room so that he could get a better look at the band as soon as they get back on stage.

Briefly, his gaze settles on the elven woman that's been here since even he arrived and he studies her casually, his mind a jumble of thoughts pertaining to the variety of reasons that she'd be at a place like this, tonight. He holds the gaze, his head cocked slightly sideways, until she looks over. With an easy smile and crow's feet framing his eyes, he lifts his mug in greeting and takes a sip before turning back to the stage.

Grendel slides out from his seat when the woman makes to sit down, allowing her to sit between him and Delacroix. Her perfume is a welcome change to the smokey bar atmosphere, and he wonders idly if it is synthetically enhanced. He doesn't comment on the conversation between her and the mage, since he wasn't a part of the action described. A text window opens in his vision, though, and he dutifully adds the information to his files.

Delacroix's confusion fades away as he recalls the night in question.

The team had to go to a Club Blue.

The elf recalled what he was wearing that night. The elf looked like he had better days. His hair was a mess, not its normal well kept look. He wore a tre-chic suit that looked like he was attacked by a pack of rabid dogs. Tears, holes, and even burn marks litter the suit. The elfs beautiful face looked different, more seasoned. The grime and grit of the inner city can be seen clearly. The entire outfit is accentuated with a pair of mirrored glasses. The left lens has dancing lights that move to the beat of the music coming from inside, the right is cracked and not working. He looked like crap, it was perfect!

Inside he met a beauty, Samantha Carter. She caught the elfs eye, he was intoxicated by her astral signature. Delacroix ended up getting her number that night but lost it.

"I recognized your face, but just couldn't picture where. It was Club Blue wasn't it?" Delacroix begins to frown a little. "I'm really sorry for not calling you. I actually lost your number later that night, but will you let me make it up to you?" The elf's face quickly changes to an intoxicateing smile.

She politely excused herself from the booth and wandered into the crowd somewhat aimlessly. This troll thrash music was almost painful to endure. She had no harsh feelings or opinions about the trolls themselves, but the intense rage focused through their music felt almost poisoning to the soul. She was tempted to take the stage and sing something for the crowd, but thought better of it.

In a glance she noticed the dwarf that she had seen over in the booth earlier. He was now standing off in another corner of the bar where he had a fair view of the stage where the band had been making noise. The band leader had decided to get himself a drink and mingle with the bar patrons it seemed. Artemis caught the dwarf's stare as it fell upon her, bringing a smile to her face. He beheld that she was a fair elf maiden, all of the gifts it took to make it as an underwear model, but she seemed to conceal it with conservative clothing. More so, at least, than a few others who had sauntered into the bar that night. She delicately made her way through the crowd until she came to him at last.

Standing beside him and looking up toward the band, she spoke with a light sperethiel accent. “It almost feels hynotic... in a surreal kind of way,” her sarcasm almost hidden behind the melodic flow of her words.

She smiles back at the charming elf. Her smile slowly fades, and her eyes loose their focus. The unmistakable look of a mage peering into the astral comes over her. There is a sharp intake of breath and her chest heaves. She pushes back against Grendel with surprising strength, nearly knocking the both of them out of the booth. She blinks once, then twice, and turns her head away in horror.

"Gods," she exclaims quietly, "what is happening to you?"

Wailer, leaning on the artfully carved cane and favoring his left leg slightly, responds with a half-felt "Ayah. Trance inducin' like a vipah ready to strike ..." His words trail off for a moment as he simply watches the band members, his head cocking to the side again slightly, a confused animal, not sure of how to handle the flurry of sounds.

Blinking once. Then twice. The grey-speckle haired Amerind realizes whom he's speaking to, then blushes slightly, his well-tanned skin getting just a bit more ruddy.

"What I mean is .. heh .. Uh, the beat really harnesses a real strong primal sort of nature (nay-chuh) .." The dwarf expresses strongly with his left hand as he speaks, like an art scholar trying express feelings that can't quite be put to words as he gazes upon a magnificent masterpiece. The hand he gestures with is rugged and calloused, yet clean, no sign of grease or grime. He paired oddly with the reflection of calm majestic beauty that stood beside him, no beast per se, but definately a creature bred of a more raw and obvious, rather than refined, energy or emotion.

" ... it ain't clean .. but it's uh .. definately energetic. Definately ener.." He paused, glancing up at the woman with a slightly perplexed look comitted to his weather-beaten face. His lips slowly spread into an honest and somewhat endearing grin, the visible crows-feet framing experienced eyes.

"I prefer Blues."

Gem steps through the door. It's been a long time since she's been to the 'Plex, and she feels a little uneasy. She glances around the room, and deciding it's a relatively safe place sits down. She adjusts something that's attached to her belt and relaxes a bit.

Gem stretches her arms and legs, letting out a big yawn and orders a pot of coffee. While she waits for the coffee to arrive she distractedly scratches some caked dirt from her tribal armband.

She has called you out! She shrieks at your very presence! She hates you now!

Thoughts run thru Delacroix's head as it bobs back in disbelief, and his eyes dart to meet Grendel's.

"I'm sick," claims the elf.

"Are you contagious?"

Before Delacroix can respond Samantha speaks, "no, no he's not contagious, but he is dying." She speaks the words with a crestfallen look.

"I'm sorry Del, I didn't know. Do you know who," she stops, a worried look crosses her perfect face, "who infected you?" She says, barely above a whisper. She hasn't moved from her position with her back to Grendel, and pressed up tight against the big elf. Though her muscles are tense, she seems to be relaxing a little.

Multiple things run through Grendel's mind at the revelation, not the least of which is the warmth of the female body pressed against him. Most pressing, though, is the fact that Delacroix had been infected by something which was killing him and was only visible to an Awakened individual. In his experience, this was synonymous with two things: bad and expensive. This prompts several ancillary ideas to run their course. Discussion, though, would be inappropriate at this point. He remains quiet, waiting to see what other information is offered by the strange woman and his suddenly unfamiliar friend.

"A Doctor by the name of R. Ipper MD. We just called him Ripper. He was responsible for kidnapping our employers daughter. His blood mixed with mine, and i've been feeling progressively terrible ever since," responds the elf.

"What I find so interesting, is that you in a matter of 5 minutes have discovered much more of my secrets then people that have been around me for months. Why?"

"It's obvious if you know what to look for, and I do. When I saw you in that club, there was something about you, a energy that attracted me to you," she says softly.

"I knew who you were there looking for, and I know what you think of us, but bellive me when I say, I had nothing to do with that. That man you speak of, Ipper, his real name was Cascious, and he is very old. My family had dealings with him at one time, and were to again until he disapeared, we wondered what hapened to him. Were nothing like him, or most of our kin for that matter, we live peacefully and all we want is to be left alone, and we never, never take those who don't wish it body and soul. I'm sorry Delacroix, but if you don't accept this it will kill you." Her last words are full of raw emotion as she speaks, the pain and sorrow of Delacroix's torment written on her face.

The sound of crashing glassware tinkles from the restroom hallway as a Japanese businessman fumbles into a half-full service tray. The vatjobs playing pool guffaw loudly as a waitress leans in to help the man to his feet. Towel in hand, she makes a futile attempt to stop the rapidly-spreading stains dampening the front of the sarariman's tailored suit. A sheepish smile crosses the businessman's face as he waves her off gently, trying to avoid further embarassment. He pulls a small wad of Yamatetsu scrip from his pocket, peels off a few bills, and presses them into the palm of her hand. Her lips begin wording a polite objection, but the sarariman is already retreating back down the hallway, bowing penitently. "Gomen-nasai... sorry... gomen-nasai..." his voice trails as he scurries into the men's room.

The waitress shugs her shoulders and shakes her head incredulously at the wageslave's reaction. With the show over, the vatjobs and other patrons go on about their business in the bar. The DJ kicks up another techno-punk mix, drawing an ecclectic crowd of revelers to the dancefloor. A smile glides across the waitresses' face, crinkling the clover-leaf of freckles on her left cheek, as she folds the bills into the pocket of her jeans. She balls up the damp towel and throws it atop the capsized service tray, leaving the shards of glass and spilt effluvium to the busboys. With a furtive glance back to the hallway, she steps into the mass of shadows and bodies on the dancefloor, and promptly disappears.

"So I assume you and the doctor are the same? Well then take it out of me, clean my blood of this poison! I dont want to be this way! I'm tired of being sick all the time! I'm tired of having to lie to my family, my friends! I'm tired of carrying this," Delacroix opens his coat and gestures towards his Ares Predator in its special holster. The gun is positioned in such a way that it points towards the Elf's head. "I dont want to live life this way anymore. If I can't live my life my way, i'll end it!"

"You get this out of me!"

"No Delacroix, we are not the same, I am nothing like him, nothing," she says with extra emphasis.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry he did this to you and I am sorry I can't undo it, I don't think anyone can." She stops and cocks her head to one side, "there may be someone who can help you though, but it would be an arduous journey."

Samantha gestures to Grendel to let him out, "call me in a few days, I will try and get some more information for you, in the mean time, be careful, I am afraid that there may be people looking for you. People I know, so please, don't trust anyone." As she speaks she writes and LTG down on a napkin and hands it to Grendel.

"And you," she says to the bulky elf, "call me anytime."

Delacroix waits till Samantha leaves then he leans over the table and says quietly in Sperethial, "I would burn that LTG # my friend, unless you want to end up one day like myself. She is trouble, she may mean good, but it is her kind that has done to this me."

Delacroix sits back, "So now you know. Your thoughts?" The elf continued to speak in the foreign tongue.

Grendel closes out the file in which he's recorded Samantha's LTG number, a tight, vicious smile flickering across his face. He answers in English.

"What I know is vastly outweighed by what I don't know, but this is neither the time nor the place for that discussion. However, let me say this. Where there is trouble, there is most often opportunity. You should know, better than I, how valuable information of these people and this disease would be to certain individuals and corporations. Moreover, a live sample should command an even higher price. Perhaps you and I should shift from defensive operations to offensive operations."

"As long as the live sample isn't me very well. I want to find out what she knows and I highly doubt there is a cure."

"Naturally. If we are going to pursue this course of action, we will need all of the skills you possess. Without you, this is a lost cause. That being said, though, if this disease does turn out to be incurable, is there anyone you wish me to notify? Someone to whom I should give your effects?"

As he waits for the answer, Grendel pulls out his pocket secretary and connects it to a fiber optic line from the datajack at his temple. Sliding the unit across the table, he points the screen at Delacroix, so he can read the text.

If we're going to do this, we need information. We need to know who and what Samantha is and what she is capable of doing. We need to know who her contacts are and what resources she is capable of calling upon. We will need a plan on how to approach, immobilize, and interrogate her. We will need to contact possible buyers for any intelligence that we acquire from that interrogation. Two of the specific agencies I can think of are the Draco Foundation and the Massachussettes Institute of Technology and Thaumaturgy. I'm open to suggestions if you have other ideas. Do you have any information gathering contacts that we can use, a decker or info broker?

"That should answer your questions for now. I'll be in the bar if you need me." and with those words Kim walks out of the backroom. She smiles at the guards just outside the door and holds a few seconds to look them over; enough time for them to check with Jyden.

Back in the bar she orders the same as before. She sighs scanning the bar. The same approach will just not do anymore in here and it's probably not a good idea to leave just yet either. Suddenly a big smile forms on her face. She felt good for making the grumpy dwarf change his mind after all. Should she go over there and find out what he wants or try some newcommer? Kim decides to observe for a while to make up her mind.

“A blues lover?” She smiled, “They say that music often reflects the souls of those who create it and those who enjoy it the most.”

She looked down at the clean but hardened dwarf beside her. Some silver and gray in his hair that she had noticed before showed that he was no youngling either. The cane he leaned on was more than ornamentation, but much like him it eminated stories untold. She was taken by the idea that there was far more to this book than the elaborate cover.

“And there are those who only want to stir the heart with what they do and what they listen to. Which might you see yourself as?”

The dwarf's blushing cheeks and manor brought all the more warmth to her smile. Her gaze was broken by the exclamations from the table taken by the elves who recently entered the bar. One of them pleading with a dark and slender woman to purge or releave him of something. He seemed almost fanatically upset about whatever it was they were talking about. The woman calmed him down and then excused herself from the table with the intention of leaving. Shortly after, the two men remaining began to wisper sperethiel and english between one another in hushed tones.

The commotion now settled, her eyes were diverted to the bar where she saw that cat shaman once again. This time the elven woman was eyeing Artemis and her dwarven companion with curiosity and the beginnings of a smile on her face. With a polite nod to her, Artemis returned to her own curious gaze, anticipating his answer.

(OOC note, this appears to be an open role-playing type thread, if it is not, please let me know and then proceed to ignore this post )

The door opens and Aria walks in. She is a 5'4" human with long black hair and strongly middle eastern features, except for her "too blue to be natural" eyes. She is clad in biker leathers and is holding a helmet in her left hand (anyone familiar with the local gangs will realize that she is not a member of any of them, and although she does appear to fit the stereotype, she is, in fact, not displaying any gang identifying clothing or insignia). She hands over her Ares Predator to the bouncer at the door, and after a few quiet words from him, she also relinquishes a small holdout pistol and a boot knife. As she walks into the bar, she quietly scans the room, her gaze quickly passing over the table taken by cigar boy and his friends, although it is clear that she notices the nasty looks she is already receiving from the biffs sitting there. Her eyes pause for a moment when they pass over several of the other patrons, most notably 'Wheels, Artemis, Wailer, and Kim. When she sees the military uniform at the bar, her eyes widen for a split second in surprise, then narrow into quiet calculation for a moment before moving on. She pulls up to the bar, and waits for the bartender to notice her before speaking.

"What'll it be?"

"Beer, whatever's on tap. Thanks."
She pulls a small fold of Nuyen from her pocket and pays the bartender, leaving a decent tip, and then takes a seat at a nearby table, setting her helmet in the chair next to her.

The soldier watchs Kim go, and then sits there for a couple seconds, mulling over what just happened, quickly waving his men out... Okay, so she was hiding something... she had to be. He shakes his head, before standing up and adjusting his duster, exiting the private room and into the open bar.

Aria watches through half-lidded eyes as the three men come in from the private rooms in the back of the bar. As the last one comes out, her attention seems to wander over the room, finally coming to rest on the stage as she nonchalantly places her booted feet on the table in front of her. She takes a long sip of her beer, seemingly lost in contemplation.

(Aria thinking to herself) johnson? Maybe, looks more like some sort of sting operation, definitely not the star though, they're not following star procedure. Military possibly, the man's pin seems to indicate an affiliation with the UCAS, but that's not enough info to be sure, it could be there just to screen his identity a bit. His bearing is military though, if he's faking, he's good. If it is a sting there's probably a plant in here somewhere. Ok, who are the most easily dismissed people in here? Bartender and wait staff? No, they seem to all know each other, nobody seems to be a new hire, same for the bouncers, they're too good. Customers? a couple of possibilities, some of them do seem to be pros. Hrmm, if it was me, who would I be? Not the posers, they're drawing a bit too much attention to themselves, but the scags with them... that's probably exactly where I'd place myself. If one of them is a plant they are really good. Now the question is who's the target? No way of knowing at the moment, I can be fairly certain it's not me though, no reason for them to expect me in a bar I've never been in, and this is a little too elaborate for simple surveillance. Just relax, have a drink, and maybe I'll get a floor show later.

Aria flags down the waitress and orders another drink, then settles back into her chair.

Wailer looked back and up as he spoke to Artemis, maintaining eye contact long enough to get through a few sentences before he looked back towards the stage - Long enough to portray a certain strength of soul, without become some sort of creepy stare.

"Well, I ain't no poseur, if that's what yer askin'," he replied, rather bluntly and without any sign of misinterpreted insult. His counsel had often been sought by others in the past - in situations where the truth had to be told hard and fast, of course, but not where diplomacy would make a matter. "But I'd have tah say a little bit o' both, y'know? I mean, I'm not gonna be one tah mope around and whimper about all the chop and turbulence life has tossed me, but it's been there ... and it's lead me down the road to the blues, and more importantly, the harp." emphasizing the last word, he pats his breast pocket, then continues. "But all the same, if the spirits ain't meant for me to 'spread the word' so tah say, they never would've lead me to N'awlins. Sort of a 'Live to Play. Play to Live' kind of connection, scan?"

He chuckled, staring off into the shadows of the bar for a moment, then turned back towards the elfin women, cocking his head just slightly to the left as he looked up into her eyes. With just the slightest twitch of one of those overly fuzzy eyebrows he broke into that openly toothy grin.

"But there I goes again. Get th' old man started, he'll ramble on fer hours. Most folks call me Wailer an' I can tell yah It's more'n a pleasure to meet you, Missy. Now, you much o' a fan of Slamm-Pig here, or whatever they call themselves, or is it somethin' else in this place that brings you here - you definately seem more o' the uppity type tah me. No offense."

Unfortunatly (or mabye fortunatly) for Aria, the show was already over, and Jyden wasn't in much mood for an encore. He didn't have his gun, and his skills with unarmed combat weren't the best. So he was better then most people, that ment nothing in a runner bar. The officer sighs, and sits down at the bar next to Aria seemingly randomly, raising his hand towards the Bartender for a beer, thinking to himself as he scans the room again. Cursory, and nothing is really out of the ordinary. Something about the woman next to him wasn't... right, but this /was/ a runner bar. People were going to be paranoid.

Well, he's sitting next to me, no reason not to be polite I guess.

"Long night?" Aria asks as she turns her head towards Jyden.


(edited for spelling)

She laughed lightly, “Thank you for the compliment,” she smiled. “I had plans to meet with a few friends of mine tonight, but it seems they were detained. I come to Reno's pretty often, but this is the first time I've seen the— ‘Slamm-Pigs’ play here... to my knowledge at least.”

A new addition to the bar had shown up and taken a seat at a table beside the bar during the last few words. A short human woman with long black hair. She seemed a friendly enough soul, even without Artemis looking astrally she felt a postive vibe from this one. But like many others here she seemed to value a polite form of privacy. The three orks in the band continued playing as their leader had stood next to the table of elves that Artemis had noticed before. They seemed preoccupied with something else, which was rather rude to the troll in her opinion, but business was business.

“It sounds to me like you take the good with the bad in life. New Orleans did you say? That would be the heart of the Blues if ever there was one. I have never been there myself, what is it like?”