Sam eyes the drink stand again. So damn close yet so damn far.
Drawing her mind back to the topic at hand, she nods. French food is fine with me. I'll be there. Meanwhile, I think I'm going to go see a man about a boat.

Sam nods to the others before turning and heading down the long stretch of beach. First things first... God, I could use a beer. Sam stops at the small stand and buys a Corona off the man, flashing him a dazzling smile in exchange for an extra slice of lime and a little salt. Heading down the beach, she heads for a small out of the way tidal pool that few people seem to be bothering with.
Reaching it she downs about half of the beer, lights a cigarette and makes a call.
Hey Rey... it's Sam.

The young ork on the other end smiles. Sam, long time. What's shakin'? Must be big news if I'm hearing from you.

Big is a relative term, Rey. Just got biz in the States is all. Can we meet? You know me and comms. Sam just shrugs and then smiles.
Besides, it would be good to look at your handsome face in person again.

Rey smiles on the other end. Flattery gets you places Sam, but not everything. Just a sit down, or do we need someplace more private? What's your biz? Gear? Intel?

Sam laughs.Can't blame a girl for trying. I'm looking for a little intel, and... a line on transportation. A sit down would be just fine.

Alright, there's a noisy little dive bar on the beach, Uptown, called the Hole in the Wall. It's a male gay bar, so there's very little ease dropping going on there. Good place for intel exchanges. Say two hours? Oh, and if you see something come through a hole in the wall, don't touch it.

As everyone goes their separate ways up and down the beach, Trigger stays put for a moment, finding a nice bench to relax on as he pulls out his comm, callling up a little bot that Vector programmed into it the last time he saw the ork. The agent saw a simple thing in the shape of a black raven with a silver beak and glowing yellow eyes, a tribute to the teammate he had lost in Chicago. Storm, called so after his namesake, did most of the 'Trix based work that Trigger needed done, and now was going to be no exception.

Loading in a simple search based combination of programs, Trigger set the guidelines of the browse: 'Recent Pirate Activity Around Miami', 'Recent Voodoo Activity Around Miami', 'Recent Pirate Activity in the Caribbean League', 'Recent Voodoo Activity in the Caribbean League', 'Recent Pirate Activity Around the Bermuda Triangle', and finally 'Recent Voodoo Activity Around the Bermuda Triangle'. With those set into the bot, he set Storm on its way.

Now with not much else to do, Trigger brings up his own personal Browse program, starting a personal search for a good magical shop in the area.

Agent Rating 4: Programs: Browse 4, Analyze 4, Stealth 4

Browsing: Browse 4 + Pilot 4: 8 Dice
Pirate, Miami: 5 Hits
Voodoo, Miami: 1 Hit
Pirate, Carib: 2 Hits
Voodoo, Carib: 4 Hits
Pirate, Bermuda: 2 Hits
Voodoo, Bermuda: 3 Hits

Personal Search: Browse 4 + Data Search 2 : 6 Dice : 3 Hits

Since you're getting a boat, I'd go with you, Sam, if you do not mind.

Charlies contact Joan

@ Trigger - according to the research you've been doing, it looks like you'll be going into a big mess of trouble.

Pirate activity has been up in Miami recently, mostly as a port for fencing their goods. The mafia has been taking a stronger hand in things with the falling of Gunderson/Atlantic security. The Family men like their beaches to only be littered with bodies they put there, and so ahve been coming down hard on pirates getting to close to the city. They've made things much easiier for selling and smuggling out into the CAs/UCAS however, making for a much more agreeable 'working enviroment' in the area.

The seas further out have paid however, as the pirates that used to hunt around Miami now wait for the shiips to get farther out. They use spies on shore, and more tech is coming into use. The Family is cooperating with this as well, selling infomration for a cut, which would explain why they don't like people hunting on their shores. That means they can't sell the intel later.

Voodoo in Miami is decidely down. The new don's wife doesn't take kindly to it. Good Catholic woman.

More to come...

The Carib League is a whole different ball game. Havana is ruled by the Batista Family, but most of the rest of the islands are ruled by Pirate Kings or corporate interests. Primarily the former. Voodoo, Hoodoo, Santeria, obeyifa, candomble, whatever it's guise, it rules the streets and the hearts of the people. THe Voice of Ogoun is the most powerful voodoo sect, based in Haiti. It seems to be shot in the foot however by the will bequest of '57, still unclaimed. Word is that the talon clippings the Big D offered to the one who can claim the leadership of the Voice is worth 36 million. THat's enough to buy up half the islands, so competition has been deadly.

Besides the Voice, there are numerous other sects and cults. Haiti is practically a breeding ground for them, although they certainly have a presence everywhere in the League. The Batistas have made alliances with a number of small voodoo cults, giving them a magical arm of their own to swing back with for when the natives get restless.

The Pirate gangs roam the Carib freely, controlling dozens of little islands and striking out at corp ships Trigger finds a handy, if wel aged, data file on Shadowland titled CyberPirates. It's out of date, but a useful guide none the less. One of the file's authors, The Gingerbread Man,self proclaimed greates pirate in the league, is reported dead as of three years ago. A prolonged ship to ship battle with some Azzie forces attracted some hunting megalodons, which hulledboth ships and devoured everything in the water. The pirate Kane is now the #1 in the League.

Still no clues as to the identities of the voodoo players in the vid however. Seems that sort of thing is very much 'word of mouth'.

As for Bermuda, those lanesare left open to anyone willing to chance them. Freak weather has only intensified over the years, and a the place is fast on it's way to becoing a full fledged mana warp. Paracritters hunt under it's wave, and more and more ships dissapear every year. Pirates with any sense don't hunt there.

Somewhere in the Caribbean...

Day 3
With no sign of Scratch or Toby for two days, the remainder of the shadow team decides to set out. After 'acquiring' a Dolpihn - II named the 'Saucy Wench' through Sammael's fixer "at a steal" for a mere 15K, the team loaded up with survival supplies and rations.

All signs seem to point to Hait and the Dominican Republic as the hottest spot in the Carib for finding pirates or voodoo cults. As the team is looking or both, it was the logical place to start.

Haiti and the D.R. reach have their own "government", which are essentially the group with the most guns and some papers that say they have the right to have those guns. The rest of the island is broken up between various pirate kings controlling territories making the 'law' whatever the guy with the most guns says it is. Not that different from any other country really. They're just more up front about it.

The prospect of hunting a hypodermic needle in a disease ridden haystack in front of them, the crew takes the time to appreciate the warm Carbbiean sun and sea breezes.

Tomorrow we may die, so drink in the sun and the rum!

Charlies spends most of the travelling time working on his next article for a mage-science journal. When the "Saucy Wench" finally arrives at Haiti, he sighs and heads for the beach, glad to have the chance to go off board.

Hey dear companions, anyone willing to take a drink with me and chat with some of the locals?

Port-au-Prince
The Saucy Wench cruises slowly into the tourist-rich docks of Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. It's the logical place to dock the small yacht, being the only place it would actually blend in. In fact, after finding the proper dock and paying a ridiculous -berthing fee, the team finds their little Wench being somewhat sub-par in comparison to some of the others there.

The dock sides don't present the pitucre of Haiti most would expect. The buildings and shops are freshly painted, street vendors jawk their wares from small carts, and cars and motorcycles cruise down the streets. Tourists are everywhere, taking pitures and wearing garish shirts, chattering on in a dozen different languages. The port is alive with business and doing well for it's self.

A closer look reveals more telling information. Firstly, there are virtually no metahumans in sight. A single ork runs a stall near the end of the street, no trolls at all, and the ethnicities don't vary by much. Police, or whatever passes for them here, are on each street corner, packing hardware promiently on their hips, and making sure the locals see it. Higher up the island's hills, the stacks upon stacks of housescan be seen, once painted in whites or blues, now fading and chipped, showing a truer face than the dock side facade. It's a sure bet that the further inland on goes, away from the beaches and hotels, the darker Haiti's shadows will get. Rumors say that many of Haiti's lighter parts make even a Seattle runner blanch. Hunting voodoo priests and pirates, the team is sure to put those rumors to the test.

Ahhh... an armed camp with the inhabitants all armed to the horns. My kind of place. Cloud runs through his weapons, makes sure they are fully operational before stepping off the boat. He leaves his sniper rifle on board, but keeps his pistols concealed on his person. After the cruise, Cloud feels the need to walk on dry land. Dry land is his chosen hunting ground, not the vast almost featureless sea.

Charlie follows Cloud off board. We should take a drink first and chat with some of the locals second.

Anyone else coming?

Seems like we're the only ones to go off board. Let's see that we find a bar where we can make contact with a couple of locals. Do you speak spanish by chance?

Saying that, the ork walks towards the bar district.

Not a word, my friend. Not a word.

Cloud follows Charlie, taking note that he ought to learn some Spanish.

The number of langauges heard is dizzying as the pari walk up the streets of Port au Prince. Only a kilometer up from the tourist bars, the white washed buildings give way to the ghettos, the chip houses, and the armed gangs roving the streets. Seattle may have some mean streets, but walking through this neighborhood is like walking through the Redmond Barrens wearing a sign that says "have money and gun". The pair's every step is watched as the locals size them up.

Ducking in to the first bar they find, they find a run down, dirt floor dive with one long bar and a pair of well used pool tables. Some twenty men and women, predominanlty human occupy the dark and dank interior. Most of them loko over the new comers with interest.

Cloud walks up to the bar and orders a drink. He habitually scans the occupants for weapons, notes their stances, likely weapons close to hand and likely direction of attack. He also takes note of the closest exit and its distance.

Cloud pretends not to notice the snub by the bartender and sits quietly at the bar on a seat closest to the door where they entered. He keeps an eye on the group of hostiles but does nothing threatening - yet.

Charlies takes a chair and sits down besides Cloud, with his back to a wall. He tries to scan the room and the other customers without taking up eye contact to any of them.

At the moment, a good number of people in the 'crowd' are eyeing the pair threateningly, definitely sizing them up. No one has done anything overtly hostile yet, but there's a quiet that's settled over the dice, as if everyone is waiting for someone else to make the first move.

An Aztlanian standoff. How interesting. Well, we'll just have to see who scratches their behinds first.