He doesn't want to go back. Not this soon. He can't -- shouldn't -- risk it. Tain doesn't speak up, though, just yet. Claymore had said more in the last thirty seconds than he had the rest of the night, and the gunslinger deserved to be answered.

Not wanting to interrupt Claymore when he is on a roll, Haven nods his head in assent to both jobs.

Well... I'm not sure how to find out where she went wrong, but it should be interesting. Rifling through someone elses private life nearly always is. I do think we might want to backtrack her a little here in Seattle where we have decent resources first though. I know Tain was from the Tir, and I don't know about the others, but I have no one there I can count on so it would be easier to get an idea for her goings on here. Then again if it will be harder in the Tir the trail is getting nothing but colder the longer we wait and the is already a time sensitive matter there. Feth! This is not really my forte'. I'm good at physically tracking people and such, but not at reading their previous movements. Hmm, maybe I should read up on game theory and the psychology of a paranoid mind. Haven then sets an AR reminder for a few hours from now to remind him to get some recent texts on game theory and psychology and listens as the conversation goes on.

Paying attention as Sting talks he nods at the right places and then inserts his short answer not wanting to interrupt the gunslinger's thought processes or stop him getting his answers. I have no problems doing either or both, I'm here for the gang first, me distant second. So I'll go where the gang needs me.

Sting nods as Claymore paces, hints of a smile on her face for the first time tonight. Not smirking, not cocky, just pleased to see someone following her line of thinking.
You're right Clay', it wouldn't make much sense to send anyone else. For either task. You have the most invested in Vixen, and you are a good enough crew to get to Portland and back, I'm sure of that. But I meant what I said. You all got fucked tonight. I'm not going to force you back out again so soon if you can't cut it.

I'll promise you this much; I'll shoot straight with you. You're my Ancients, and I'm not going to waste your lives. Your my crew, my people. What I'm asking you into is fucking dangerous, but I know the lot of you aren't new to that. I'll let you know what you're up against, and I can get you a safe cross through the border, at least going in. Out though, that's up to you, and depends on what you do while you're in.

I need you to get my data from my hacker, and I need it done within the next couple of days, or it's useless. I also need to find out anything you can about the drek that happened with Vixen, and I don't have a lot of leads for you. It's no easy job, and there's more to come. Once you're in, you're in. Scan?

So, ante up boys. Who's up for it?Who's in?

Haven feels a sense of pride swell within him at Sting's handling of a bad situation. This was his leader, the head of his family, and for the first time tonight- seeing her- he felt the true devotion and pride he used to feel. The love at that, from and for this family. His family.

Haven sits up straight and looks directly into Sting's eyes "I am in as far as I can be already and I intend to see it through to the end, mine or it's. For the family."

Tain listens, features grim. She builds it up, strokes their egos, tells them how important they are, and then pops the million nuyen question right after she's got them buttered up for it. He knows how to do it, he's done it before. He sighs, shakes his head ever so slightly.

He has to tell them.

"I'm an Ancient now. If you need me to go back to the Tir, I will. But only if you've no other option. No other option at all." He says it all matter-of-factly, not pleading a case, not even presenting an argument, merely stating the truth. "I don't want to go on a strictly personal level, and I'd bring...complications...that you should know about that would likely compromise any sort of mission I was sent on."

"I am...not welcome there. Not banished, quite. Not ordered to leave, but rather...asked to. If I return before being welcomed back -- and, no, I have no idea how long it might be -- the proclamation of their displeasure would become significantly more official in nature. It was made clear to me I should go elsewhere, and made clear to me that my family, not merely I, would suffer if I ignored their polite request." His head tilts slightly, chin drooping a bit as he remembers the photograph, the bullet resting atop it on his nightstand. "And I would likely be recognized, 'street name' and Ancients colors or not. Facial recognition software, retinal scans, or even just a glance from someone who knew me. And, of course, my astral signature is...known to some. As is that of my blade."

He licks his lips, swallows. He's actually -- the thought of returning actually has him -- nervous enough for it to show. Him. Tain of all people is showing something kin to fear. "Counts get noticed, there are few enough of us. Especially Counts listed as 'people of interest' pertaining to Rinelle cells, Black Sun involvement. You have no idea how many lists I'm on. The Information Secretariat is only the beginning."

"Now, legally, I'm still in good standing. Technically, I still own land. Still have wards, I suppose, lists of responsibilities, even my title as Paladin, I suspect. Rights, privileges, and all the rest." He clears his throat and forces a shrug and a ghost of a smile. "But that just means they won't come after me, or her, in the daylight, and it won't be the Constabulary that will do it."

"So...no. No, I don't want to go back. I don't think I should. I don't think it would be smart, I don't think it would be safe, I don't think it would work. But..." He shrugs again. "I'm an Ancient. If you need me to, I'll try."

Claymore listens!

First to Sting, who surprises him slightly with her response. He isn't quite sure exactly what he was expecting her to say, but is nonetheless satisfied enough with the first part of her answer to turn and continue his pacing while he takes in the rest.

Next to Haven, who of course jumps at the proposition. But why wouldn't he though? After all, he was Vixen's hand-picked babysitter for the job in the first place, so of course he'd be itching for the chance to carry out his mistress' last wishes. And maybe even use every opportunity to screw up their investigation into her affairs along the way.

And finally to Tain. The ex-pat's speech is enough to make the gunslinger once again pause mid-step and turn right around to peer quizzically in his direction. The usually poised and self confident elf sounds quite strange as he haltingly tries explain his situation and former station without actually revealing anything of real substance. Of course his words sound plausible enough, but then that would exactly be what was expected of a person if they were indeed a spy. Claymore could think of a dozen different reasons why the noble would not be inclined to show his face in the Tir, and a few of them might even sound equally as convincing as Tain's tale.

When the other elf falls silent, Claymore once again takes up his room-crossing route, looking over toward Sting and nodding his agreement.

"Like I said before, I ain't got no problem with either job, an' it only makes sense for us t' be doin' 'em both anyway."

Spinning in his tracks as he reaches the far wall, he turns his gaze inquiringly in Aero's direction as he begins the return trip.

Hearing the speeches and responses, Aero smiles at the praise from Sting, looks thoughtful but happy at Haven's response.

Spoken like a proper knight of Tarislar.... or to curry favor.... or as Vixen's from-beyond-the-grave-knife, nah Haven's rep doesn't say he be a cat's paw, well not a dead slitch's cat's paw.

Listening to Tain's speech is a bit of an eye opener Hell he was never quiet about his background in the Tir, but damn a Count? And he was politely told to frak off? Holy drek that'll be bad for us if someone wants to make whatever it was more personal.... wait it would be a great cover for a spy.... 'Hey look I've got all these contacts in the Tir, but I can't go there, away from my target, without putting my family at risk.' Man, I gotta get rid of this frakking paranoia, slotting bitch she's dead and still frakking my head and making me distrust chummers.

Claymore voices his concerns and then signs up like the trustworthy ganger he seems to be, before Aero speaks again.

Like I said if you need me I'm there, family first, although I have no contacts down there but no matter just have ta work harder.

Sting listens, nodding to Haven, smiling a vicious smile at Claymore, and again nodding with Aero. At Tain's slow reply however, she doesn't smile. She hardens. Once everyone has answered, Sting sets her eyes on Tain, with a cold, clear look that shows clearly how this woman has ruled a gang like the Ancients for decades.

Tain, I'll say this once. You have been given your out, if you choose to take it. It's your choice, for the reasons I gave. You have nothing more, and nothing less, to lose or gain , than anyone else in this room. We've all got family on the line, and we've all got a past that would be happy to see us dead should it cross us again. I respect your decision to voice your concerns openly, to trust those in this room. The fact is that those concerns, those dangers, can be dealt with. Sting pauses for a moment, almost holding back, then steels her gaze on him.
The fact is Tain, that you're afraid. You might have damn good reason to be. But frankly, I don't give a fuck. If you want to be here, if you want to make a difference in the Ancients, if you want to prove that you are an Ancient and not just another exile, then check you're fucking fear at the door.

Make your decision Tain. But make it for the Right. Reason.

As he reaches the edge of the room, Claymore turns, but instead of beginning the return trip, he leans against the wall. His emerald eyes, like those of everyone present, were set squarely on Tain, waiting for the ex-noble's response.

"Yes, I'm afraid." He snorts, almost flashes a berserker's manic smile. He doesn't deny it, for all his reputation at being...prickly. He nods, in fact, instead. "Because I know how bad they want me, and I know why when almost no on else on the planet does, and I know what kind of people they'll be sending after me. I used to be one, Sting."

He could tell them. Really tell them. Everything. He could. They'd understand then, maybe. Even Sting would be surprised, widen her hard cybernetic eyes in a little bit of shock, shut up and stop sneering for a minute. She'd grasp, then, really grasp, the sort of people that were likely looking for him, and how many resources they could bring to bear on that hunt, and what they'd love to do when they found him, really found him, and how much some of them could gain by his death or the clear promise of it once word got out.

He could tell them, but he won't. An unspoken promise is still a promise.

"I'll go, though. I said I'd go if you still thought I should, so I'll go. My disagreement with Vixen wasn't over this, it was over her." He shrugs, too-broad shoulders rolling without a wince despite his injuries. "But I thought you deserved to know just the sort of extra weight I'm bringing, the extra threat my face brings to the equation, even if she didn't."

Claymore shrugs his shoulders, giving a quick nod of his head as if the whole matter was settled, then turns his attention back to Sting.

"So, what's the plan for gettin' in?"

Sting nods after a moment, satisfied with Tain's answer apparently. She turns to address Claymore, considering the matter settled.
There's a number of different routes into the Tir the Ancients have used for years smuggling chips and other commodities in and out of the Tir. We've got connections with the Peace Force that can clear the way, ghosting you past the sensors. I'll need a few hours advanced notice to set up a window. Once you're prepared, I'll notify them, and we'll get you in through the back gate. That'll get you past the sensor net and should be able to get you around any patrols. Scheduled ones at least. Paladins on the hunt are always a toss up. Same with paranimals.

Once you're in, I'll need the same kind of advance notice to get you back out, assuming you need it. Their patrols are more to keep unwanteds out. They aren't so worried about keeping people in as they used to be. I've already made contact to let them know we should have an unscheduled incursion coming up, so we'll only need two hours once you're st to arrange an in.

We do have people on our side, but as Tain said, there's more to watch out for here than just the constabulary. There's Ancients in Portland as well of course, but if I felt I could trust them all the way, I wouldn't be asking you to go in. If you need a local guide, or just contacts, I'll give you the comm code for an old Seattle Ancient named Halo. He moved down that way some years back, and still has his loyalties in the right place.

The decker you're looking for is named Savvy. He's damn skilled and has done work for us for quite a while. He's an elf in the meat, in his 30s, and a former Seattlite as well. Tall, dark hair, normally worn short, sports a pair of data jacks on his right temple. He's very old school. Still likes the term 'decker', drek like that. His icon's a big round yellow face, with cartoon hands and feet. Smiles a lot.
Sting shrugs as if the ways of deckers are completely lost on her.
We usually meet in shadow sites, but he's refused to go into the matrix since he did this data steal for me. He actually contacted me via a pay phone of all things. The phone was traced back to a bar in Portland, and out of the way rustic dive called 'The Ivanhoe'. That call was early this morning, at 0600. Savvy said that he'd retrieved the intel that I needed, but thathe'd been detected, and couldn't get back into the matrix. He said that 'they' were after him, and that he'd contact me again. He looked totally freaked through the whole conversation, which only lasted long enough for him to tell me that, and hang up. I sent Halo by there as soon as I could raise him, but he wasn't around.

So, questions.

As the gang leader talks, Claymore finishes his cigarette, almost absently crushing it underfoot before thinking better and using the ashtray on Sting's desk. He shrugs in response to her last question.

"Don't sound too tox t' me. When do we need to leave? I'm thinkin' you're not wantin' us t' be wearing colors an' announcin' ourselves t' the whole Tir, right?"

That will probably draw more attention than we need right now. The Ancients name might get some doors opened for you in some places, but the Laesa are getting more active there as well, so watch out for conflicts brewing. I can have the border crossing prepped in two hours, so no sooner than that. Obviously, the faster the better for picking up Savvy.

I'd like you to do whatever you can to help him, if there's anything you can do. He did get deep into it working for me, after all.

How about brining him with us? Seems like he could get a bit more protection here with all of us than he would have down there in the Tir. Also, if you can give me the coordinates for the border crossing when you get then I'll work up a couple of optimal evasion patterns based on whatever info I can get on border activity. Tain, you mentioned being "one of them" when you were talking about being hunted. Any chance you can shed some light on typical Paladin border patrolling? I'm assuming with the kind of heat you were mentioning that you were referencing Paladins anyway. Beyond working up plans, which shouldn't take long as it's just math and physics, I just need time to load up the Roadmaster. Actually, speaking of which, I'm assuming things may get violent and that we might need the storage space for Savvy. Think the Roadmaster will be ok? It isn't exactly street legal, though it wouldn't take too long to remove the illegal parts if that would be best. Other than that give me the route and I'll plan from there.

Claymore's emerald eyes widen slightly as Haven's monologue seems to go on and on. He finds himself idly wondering if the elf has some kind of implanted breathing aid that enables him to just ramble away without pause as he seems so prone to do.

He isn't too worried about the border crossing, or indeed any opposition. Life's too damn short to worry about things you can't control, and the street fighter has learned to just take things as they come. Mostly! That doesn't mean he likes to be deliberately kept in the dark though. But as far as Paladins or whatever are concerned, the elf is fully prepared to just deal with the problem when it arises.

No, Claymore's main worry at the moment was what he was going to wear. As he listens to Haven and waits for the others to chime in, the gunslinger is mentally going through his closet, discarding one piece of clothing after another, searching in vain for something useful that was also fitting for the trip.

If bringing him back is the best option, then do it. Savvy lived in the Tir for years by choice, so he might be too keen on leaving, even with the heat on. If it suits the situation, do it. If he has to come back, even against his will, for whatever option, then do it. If he prefers to do the data drop and drift, let the man go.

Thinking about the problems that might occur on the way through, Aero's brain is coming up with ideas and then dropping them fairly quickly. Could use a spirit to hide us and speed the trip.... Would draw attention though if they've got astral scouts out.... which the fraggin' Paladins and Ghosts probably will if their like the stories.... A mask would be harder to spot.... but they don't know what we'd look like anyway....

Well there's a couple of things I can do to help hide and/or disguise us on the way through, only problem is they'll be noticable on astral which is bad if they've got watchers out. If nothing else I should be able to speed us up getting there.

"The Paladins don't really play by rules. Their organization, such as it is, their routine...it changed with the seasons. Not in any sort of elemental, natural, sense, mind you, but the way fashions do. Whatever tactic someone high-ranked used, their circle of followers would soon be using. Sometimes it was the latest in high-tech military gear, and they'd all sport high-and-tights, salute one another, and use the sort of thing you see in any action trid. Other times, someone would get lucky while squatting about in jeans and a t-shirt, and every Paladin you'd see would look like a group of college kids going on a day-hike, slouching around in comfortable clothes while they let their magic do the heavy lifting." He shrugs, eyes focused on something faraway. He'd rarely followed the trends, instead letting his successes and his own sense of what was proper guide him. "Two years ago, believe it or not, Shadowrunners were all the rage. Every was in leather and denim, sporting shaved heads or long mohawks, wearing sungalsses at night and the silliest shoulder-bulked jackets you've ever seen. It was...is...a game to many of them. Sport, not just duty."

He shakes his head a little, resigning himself to returning. Crossing the border from the wrong side. "The Border Patrol itself, you can predict. You can deal with. They're just like any other competent military out there, with all the same toys and tactics and routine. Even the Ghosts, in their way, are...standardized. You might guess what they'll do next, even if you can't do anything to stop it. But the Paladins? No. No, I don't think so. They don't have 'tactics' so much as they have trends. And those trends change too fluidly to be much help."

Once again leaning against the far wall, Claymore listens as the ex-noble voices his concerns. Although he had heard all the stories, as has everyone that grew up in Tarislar, he isn't overly worried about the trip, or any complications that may arise. Stories are just stories, and if everything he heard was true, the trog gangers he habitually hunts would indeed be invincible. They clearly aren't though, the elf had plenty of proof, and he was sure that the same kind of over-blown reputation would prove to be the case with the infamous Paladins if it does come up.

Shrugging his shoulders and launching himself from the wall, Claymore looks toward the Ancients leader, giving her a quick nod as if everything was resolved.

"I can be ready in an hour. Anything else we need t' know?"

Sting pulls out her comm and forwards a number labeled 'Halo' to Claymore's comm, along with another labeled 'Savvy'.
I doubt you'll be able to raise Sav on the comm, but better to have it just in case.

Another ARROW pops up with another comm number, this one labeled 'Sting'.

"As eager as I'm sure we all are to get started," there he goes, making almost-jokes again, "Given the day -- and evening -- we've all just had, it might be wise to wait until tomorrow to begin our next little misadventure."

The gunslinger spins, drawing breath to argue the point when he recalls the other elf's earlier injuries. Instead he lets out an audible sigh and nods.

"What time?"

He pauses to look around at Haven and Aero before continuing.

"An' where're we hookin' up?"

Claymore's AR notifies him of a received message, chiming up into his field of view.

As he waits for Tain's response, the Tir ex-pat probably mulling over all the incredible dangers and other perilous ramifications of meeting at any one specific time or place, Claymore rolls his eyes and again takes up his pacing.

Opening Binary's waiting message, he quickly scans the contents, but doesn't know exactly where to go with it. Not having the time, or indeed the patience at the moment to ponder it further, he saves it for later, the commlink's agent storing it away in a newly-made file with the other messages and things relevant to the night's events.

He owed her! The old elven ganger had done quite a lot for him over the years, not the least of which was helping to set up all his electronics crap and programming the very agents he had protecting it. And now here she was getting hurt on his account. Claymore knew she wasn't one to make a big deal out of things like this, but that matters little to the gunslinger, who had his own sense of honor.

With that thought, he turns and looks over to Tain once again, idly wondering if the ex-noble was perhaps waiting for one of the other two to respond. Neither seem like the take-charge, decision-making type to Claymore, but maybe Tain was playing some kind politics bullshit or something.

Shugging, he quickly sends off a basic text message to the Reality Hacker.

"I'd say eight or nine o'clock would be late enough for us all to get some rest, and those who wish to, to still enjoy the night's celebrations a bit." Which Tain certainly wouldn't be doing. Oh, he'd be there, nice and late, but he'd be too busy working to be 'enjoying' much of anything. He had to get on the ball, get to work with faces and names, see who stood together to glower and who stood together to drink, see who glared at him and who held them back, and keep an eye on Jake and Curly and -- especially -- Squire and make sure no one started any trouble on his behalf.

"As for where..." He shrugs. "Just how secret does it have to be that we're going somewhere, Sting? As long as we keep quiet about our destination, I don't imagine it would raise too many eyebrows were we to meet up here. If we're out of the Sprawl for any amount of time, especially just after a meeting with you, everyone will know we're off on a job, regardless..."

"Somewhere" doesn't matter as long as you don't draw too much attention to it. Don't make anyone interested. Crossing the border isn't that unusual. It's the job you're on that's an issue. It would probably be a good idea to have a cover, even if it's just running chips or bliss.

Everyone sits for a moment, all questions asked that will be. Sting looks across the group one last time before nodding, standing to her full height again.

Alright you lot, get your hides out of here. You've all had a long night, go get what sleep you can. I'll set things up. Shalamar detaches from the wall, heading out the door, and holding it for a moment to "suggest" the others leave as well. Sting watches as the Ancients leave her 'office' in a small line with a small, tight smile on her face.

Claymore moves to leave but pauses suddenly, leaning his lean frame against the wall near the door as the others file through. Ignoring a withering glare from Shalamar, he folds his arms and looks over at the Ancients leader.

"I really need t' talk to you for a nano or three."

Sting's eyes look past Claymore to Shalamar giving her a brief nod. Claymore feels his hackles go down as the shaman's gaze falls off his back, the door closing behind her as she leaves. Sting looks back to him, crossing her arms. What's up?

As the door closes behind him, Claymore takes a couple of steps into the room before beginning to fill the Sting in on the rest of his night's activities. As he talks, the elf flops into one of the overstuffed chairs, draping his leg over the armrest.

Sting listens, relaxing physically when Claymore slouches into the chair. She thinks things over for a moment as Claymore winds down. From her expression, it's clear that she's heard much of this before, but there's no way of knowing just how much.

Relaxing in the overstuffed chair, Claymore lights up another smoke as he takes in what Sting has to say.

Tain still isn't thrilled about the whole thing, that much is obvious -- but he's an Ancient, now, and so he'll do an Ancient's work. He knows he owes Sting for the night's events (or, rather, he knows Sting probably thinks so). He knows he cut off her right hand, and if he's going to put himself into a position as a replacement, that'll mean doing as he's told long enough for her to realize that he really had killed the cancerous Vixen for the good of the gang, not just over simple ego.

So he goes.

He gives Sting and Shalamar polite inclines of his head, and leads the other two -- the uncharacteristically quiet mechanic and the consistently-at-least quiet mage -- out with him. As he strides down the hallway and the staircase, the tension in his shoulders has nothing to do with the injuries he'd sustained so recently, and everything to do with internal tension manifesting itself through physical means. He's, well, tense, and that sort of thing shows itself when you've got shoulders as broad and muscular as Tain's.

He sees more than a few heads turn his way as he makes his way down to the ground floor of the Squat, and pushes the tension away. Not into nothingness, of course, but rather he wads it up and swallows it, makes it a little knot of worry and fear -- yes, fear -- in his stomach instead of an obvious agitation. He's an Adept, and Gryphon grants him what boons he needs to be a leader. One of those gifts is that he chooses to show fear, and when to exude only an aura of confidence in those he would lead.

And, of course, showing that same aura of confidence to those who would resist that leadership.

He sweeps the room with a quick flick of his gaze, scanning for Squire or Curly, Jake or any other friendly face. It was time to see what the kids had been up to while he'd been upstairs.

Claymore - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:40 - The Squat
Sting nods as Claymore stands.



----------------------------------------------------------------
Aero/Haven/Tain - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:40 - The Squat
Tain finds the trio below, Curly and Jake drinking heavily from what's left of the whiskey bottle, Squire more or less trapped between them as they joke back and forth.
Did you see that bitch hit the pavement! *BAM* Eat ass-phalt bi-otch! HAHAHAHA!

Jake laughs back at Curly's crack. Fuck yeah! Spikey haired slitch rolled like a bowling ball!

The glint in his eye and grin on his face show that Jake isn't quite as blasted as he's putting on. Jake and Curly's eyes rove the crow around the room, watching who laughs along and who glares at their backs. Most in the room here seem to be sharing in the jovialty, drinking and carousing, some cracking along or just going about their drinking. Only a few in this room at least huddle in smaller groups, throwing daggered stares at the drinking pair and Squire.

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:28 - The Squat

Haven shakes himself out of the daze he was lost in and realizes the conversation is over and he is mechanically following Tain from the room. Blinking quickly and shaking his head to clear out the cobwebs, Haven nods at Shalamar as he passes and send off a quick message to the rest of the newly formed team.

Hey, sorry about that, I seemed to have spaced out for a bit. Lost in my head after all this tonight. Anyway, I've no real interest in partying to celebrate the death of a sister no matter how corrupt and insane she might have been. I'm headed back to the garage to spot check all my equipment and get what sleep I can. I'll see you guys in the morning at 8. Tain, Claymore, whoever, let me know what route Halo wants us to take so I can plan accordingly. If possible, I'm bringing the Roadmaster with us. Better transport if we have to fight or if we need to retrieve Savvy. Let me know if anyone needs anything I'll have my comm on. Otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow.>>>>>>Haven

That being done, Haven descends to the garage giving half-waves and head nods to all who notice him and hops on his bike, prepping the software for another ride, and heading home this time a stark contrast to the ride here as he sits in thought and just lets the dog-brain drive.

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:55 - FarHaven

Haven pulls into his shop, the door rolling up automatically, recognizing his PAN, while the security system authorizes him.

Haven Only

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:55 - FarHaven

Haven blinks rapidly acclimating to this surprising event and says

Fist Only

Claymore's grin grows even wider in response to the gang leader's words.

"Always!"

Shutting the door behind him, the elf makes his way downstairs in search of Tain. Tired of the ex-Noble's hesitation, whatever his reasons may be, Claymore is determined to pry a set time and place to meet before setting out on what promises to be an pleasant little adventure.

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:55 - FarHaven
The closing garage door shuts out the sound of the down pour outside, leaving the garage still chill from the night air.


----------------------------------------------------
Aero/Claymore/Tain - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:42 - The Squat
Claymore comes down the steps of the stair case, finding Tain in the lower floors keeping company with his loyal crew, Aero still in tow. There's no sign of the manic elf Haven, but there's energy in the room. The Squat has the feel of a powederkeg. Perhaps without the fire starter Haven here, things are better off. Of course, Jake and Curly seem to be doing just fine rousing up the natives on their own.

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:56 - FarHaven

Haven watches her pace around his home, pauses as she finishes and responds with

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:56 - FarHaven

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:57 - FarHaven

Haven stares off in thought for a moment

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:58 - FarHaven

Haven - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:58 - FarHaven

As he watches her turn and walk off, Haven stares off in thought for a moment and then starts and scrambles to send a disable signal to the security system before she gets herself shot with her dramatic exit.

Tain gives Claymore a friendly nod as the gunslinger makes his way downstairs, then turns his attention back to the small circle around him long enough to toss his head and laugh at a joke Curly'd just finished. He shakes his head, still smiling, then casts a glance at the empty staircase.

One talk was finished, and it was time for another one.

He claps a few Ancients on the shoulder as he turns from the small group and makes his way through the crowded Squat floor and back up the stairs. They'd all finished their talks with Sting, for better or worse. Now it was time to take care of his appointed meeting with the other half of the Ancient's street-famous leadership. Green Lucifer was waiting.

Spotting Tain chatting with his followers, Claymore returns the nod and then sets about finding himself a drink. By the time he looks back again at the small group, the Tir ex-pat was just disappearing up the stairs once again. Breathing an overly dramatic sigh, the gunslinger makes his way over to the small group, passing the newly-acquired bottle to Jake and lighting up another cigarette while he waits for Tain to return.

Tain - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:45 - The Squat - The Range/ Armory

It doesn't take Tain long to spot the familiar figure of Johnny California, the bleach byed California elf from El Infernio. The Ancient is leaning against a back wall, looking for all the world like he'd like to take out some frustrations with the Ceska Scorpion strapped to his hip, but is settling for the nic stick he's crushing as Tain walks up. From the small pile, it looks like he's been at it a while. Johnny looks up, relief and frustration warring for dominace.