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One fall night:


The cool moist breeze blew through the darkened area near Rose Towers. The Univeristy of Alabama prided itself on allowing the indigent to live in the old structure. Old was the key word. The building was constructed over 100 years ago and was showing it's age despite numerous repairs. Despite the pride felt by those in a position to feel superior, the fence between campus and Rose Towers was an obvious warning. "Keep Out!" it screamed. What else could a 13 foot tall art deco concrete wall topped with monowire say?

The troll was smoking a cigarette near the edge of the "fence" and stared through the holes at the President's Pavilion. From his pocket a ringing sound was heard. He sighed and pulled out an archaic device. At one time it would have been called a cell phone. In today's word it would be called a relic of the past. Somehow still functional, he punched a button and spoke into it. Pulling his troll-sized trenchcoat around himself, he walked toward the river not far from his present position.

A limo pulled up to the parking area near the river - the only portion of the former public park left along the river. An envelope changed hands and the limo disappeared. The troll dropped his cigarette butt and lit another. He headed back to his spot along the "fence" and resumed his vigil. Somewhere in cyberspace a message was on it's way to a certain individual who wouldn't read it until morning. Good enough for me, thought the troll.


The next morning:

Each person gets a call from the usual suspects detailing a potential job. The J wants to meet that night at City Cafe in Northport this evening at 1900 hours.
Chester hangs up the com.

Okay, Im pretty sure I pulled that one off like a professional. The voice mod was on, and all they could see was my matrix Icon. Good call Reison. Not too shabby Chester ole boy.

Chester slips his shoes on and hops off his bed. Walks around for a sec, getting used to his skin for the day. He'd been here at this squater house for about two months now. He was up on the rent. It was just his sister he worried about. He wanted to get her in a better living situiation. Somewhere safe. Maybe a school if he's lucky. He looked at her still sleeping in the bed they were supposed to be sharing. Chester prefered the floor. It was his fault, after all, that she isnt at home in her own bed.
At least she's peaceful now, I'll let her sleep. Once his paced for a few minutes, he picks up his com again. This time, dialing the number of one of his trusty contacts, Jezzabelle.

C'mon Jezz, pick up.
Jezz answers. "Honey, what can I do for you?"
"Hey Jezz. Listen, I need you to keep an eye on Geneveive for a while. And as promised, you'll get ten percent of whatever I make. Deal?"
"It's a deal sweetie. Be careful out there - your sister needs you."
John "Flash" Mitchell - ~9am, Tuesday, October 14, 2070 - 1845 12th Avenue

John climbed out of bed, selected a clean set of clothes for the closet and made his way toward the kitchen. I gotta find a way to get paid to lounge an a beach, a clean beach, somewhere.

He nuked some water and fixed up a cup of InstaKaf® trying to convince his consciousness to join his body in the day. Finally at some point he plugged his comlink into the datajack on the base of his skull.

<<@Flash [Triple//02:47-10/14/70] Got a line on some work for ya. City Cafe in Northport, seven tonight. Ask for Mr Johnson. If it works out, you know where to find me. Later - Chummer. >>

Charlie, aka Triple, was pretty much John's only true friend. Of course, John knew scores of people through his work but they are all really acquaintances or associates - with a few notable exceptions. Truth is John wished he could get down to see Triple more often. As he flipped through basic grade trid channels he wondered if it was all worth it. He was too poor to get to the Blue Rave very often. Too poor to get a decent selection of trid channels. He had to get the monkey off his back.

<<@Triple [Flash] Thanks for the hook up. I'll let you know.>>

Finishing off his soykaf, he put the cup in the dishwasher. Northport? I hope this isn't another pyramid deal scheme. I need to make out this time.

He pulled up the AR loan tracking program. // - 18,000 nuyen.gif
Oh yea! The interest just rolled it over 18k. I gotta get out from under this monkey.

The rest of the morning was spent lounging around is apartment. It actually wasn't a bad place to live. In the 30's, following the Night of Rage incidents, Mckinney Park was converted into middle class housing for metas. Of course, what good is middle class housing if you have minimum wage jobs, if a job at all? By the late 50's McKinney Park was renamed the McKinney Warrens.

The past few years was an upturn for the warrens though. Councilman Rogers, and his widow and successor Council Rogers, were really trying to make a difference. Water, sewage, power and sanitation had become reasonably consistent. Crime was still a problem and more of the buildings needed to be condemned than were safe housing, but progress came in baby steps.

As John headed out shortly before lunch, he nodded to the ork and human youths hanging out on his block. Black Dogs. He was as well known to them as they are to him. The relationship is symbiotic. He addresses concerns in a fashion so as to minimize impacts to their endeavors and they provide him not only security, but a connection to the darker side of society. Both profited and what draws people together more than profit?

John "Flash" Mitchell - Early Afternoon, Tuesday, October 14, 2070 - McKinney Warrens

The afternoon was spent following up on insuring the water main at 11th Avenue and 16t Street were actually going to get repaired today. I will never cease to be amazed at how much a local hero the guy who fights for water and lights becomes to the residents.

John "Flash" Mitchell - ~4pm, Tuesday, October 14, 2070 - 1719 Hargrove Rd.; Wet Whistle

Late afternoon found John at the Wet Whistle, a bar & grill right off the railroad tracks on the edge of the warrens. Realizing that he had been wrapped up most of the day with his responsibilities to Councilman Roger's office he had completely forgotten to do some legwork for this evenings meeting. He pulled up his browse program and started a search on the City Cafe in Northport while he drank what passed for ice tea around here.
It was weird being out. True, it had been three month's but it was still weird. Three years inside had changed and not changed so much drek in his old home town. Tusca had gotten .... different. Steve, couldn't put his finger on it. Well shit, back on the bike.

Mr. Jones had put in his usual cryptic call from god knows where. And now Steve had a potential job. Well it gave him a chance to work on purging the chip on what he owed Jones. Well it was work, which was better than the options he had. Stuffr Shack or McHugh's. Joy. As soon as anything bigger than a B took his prints he was hosed and out on his ass.

Well time to get to work. He dialed Gwen's old commcode. God, he hoped she hadn't moved in three years.

<<Gwen, it's Steve. Can we chat?>>
"I know Jezz."Chester pauses for a moment a bit longer than a second. "Thanks again. Ill drop her off in an hour. Ill be sure to call you soon."

Chester hangs up his com and walks towards Geniveive. As he aproaches the bed, he playfully kicks it with his foot.

"Hey Vivi, time to get up. We're going to go see Jezzabell."
@ Steve

<<Steve? Is that you? Are you out now? Yes, of course, I'd love to chat. Where do you want to meet?>>


@ Chester

"OK, Chester." ViVi went to get her bag - the one she had named her Jezzabag for when she needed to be at Jeezabelle's place. She knew the routine and was ready in about five minutes. With sad eyes, she looked at her brother and asked, "When will you be back?"
John "Flash" Mitchell - ~4pm, Tuesday, October 14, 2070 - 1719 Hargrove Rd.; Wet Whistle

John reviewed the details brought back by his browse program. Now THIS sounds like the prime time. Corporations and secure meeting locations spelled n-u-y-e-n to John. The world is an awfully small place. Just over four kilometer. I could walk that, 'cept for the highway and all. Looking at the time, had nearly three hours to kill.
Chester kneeled down to get eye to eye with his sister.

"As soon as possible. Im just going to get us some more money so we can have food and this bed. Kay? How bout this, Ill buy you a brand new toy, just for you. We dont even have to share, okay?"

He stands back up and takes her by the hand and heads to Jezzabelles shop.
Steve recalled that his current comm was registered to a fictitious name.

<<Woop. Yah it's me, long story, babe. Don't suppose the NuWave is still open?>>
@ Steve

<<Fraid not kitten. Same place, new owner, new name. It goes by The Library now. Not a bad spot but not cowboy at all. Will that still work for you?>>


@ Chester

Jezzabelle was waiting for them. She said, "I'll take good care of her, don't worry." Bending down, she tells Vivi, "Do you want to play in the back like last time?"

"Yeah, that sounds fun, Jezzy."
Steve let out a mild sigh coupled with a light snort. Things have changed so much around here. I'm going to need a stinkin' map to get around my own home town!

<<Well, shit. Yah babe, guess it'll do fer now. Any perticular kink they want folk to have down there nowadays?>>
<<Not really. Come as you are but don't be surprised if you get sushed by a librarian for no reason at all. They don't really want it quiet, it just goes with the theme.>>
Steve supressed another snort. One of the main reasons he had went to the NuWave was for it's raucus roughneck music and western themed bar and grill.

<<Alright, meet you in twenty.>> He disconnected after hearing Gwen's final <<Later, kitten.>>

The young man threw on a fresh tee and brushed off his synth denims. He considered getting his Colt but, the gun would probably draw too much attention. Stick with the club, at least I can say it's for muggers and drek.

He grabbed his baton and letterman jacket and was out the door of his shitty flop. "RENT!" Hollered the Russian twerp who ran the semilegal tenament block as a front for something else. Steve suspected that more than a few of his "neighbours" also had dodgy records and redhot SIN's. "End of the month, Vlad!" He hollered back. The Russian cursed a blue streak after the quickly departing man.

Steve managed to get on the bus without too much trouble. Mike Redfield had a reasonable balance on his commlink, thanks in large part to the generousity of Phil Donner. The ride downtown was relativly uneventful except for the weirdo across the aisle who thought Steve/Mike's soul was in dire need of saving. Finally the loud mouth had gotten off about two stops before the one he usually took to get to the NuWave. Shit, right, The Library. Pffft! Steve got off and walked over to just in front of the place where the line formed. He figured he had about five or ten minutes before Gwen showed up. He hated waiting for women.
Chester gives his sister a kiss goodbye, and promises of a safe return. With a nod to Jezzabelle, he turns and heads to his place of meeting with the Johnson, to scope it out first, beforehand.
@ Steve

Steve doesn't have to wait long. Around three minutes later, Gwen comes into view. Different and yet the same, Steve notes that her hair cut (and color) are different but the smile is completely her own. She calls out, "Hey there kitten, how's it going?" before grabbing Steve in a bear hug. "Let's go inside."

She waves to the bouncer, a short ork with one long tusk, who opens the rope between the two stone lions guarding the entrance and lets them pass. Once inside Steve discovers that The Library is that in name only. Music seems to pour from thin air. Books - or what seem like books - line the walls. The hostess librarian is greeting people with a ledger - the paper kind - and taking names. She is wearing a white blouse - about two sizes too small and a gray mini-skirt. Her hair is done up in a bun on the top of her head and her huge glasses are held on with a chain.

Once she spots Gwen, she ushers the two of them to a table in the section of The Library called Jazz. A type of music Steve has never heard is pouring out of the walls. A small monitor has a flatvid picture of a guy playing trumpet in black and white. The caption says, "Dizzy Gillespie."

Gwen turns to Steve and asked, "So, did you get a good look?"


@ Chester

Chester comes over the bridge from Tuscaloosa to Northport and finds City Cafe off on the west side of the road. It is an imposing three story building. There is a VIP area in the parking garage. A toll elevator to the second floor and an entrance to the restaurant on the ground floor. T-MAP is out in force patrolling the area along with a host of trolls and orks wearing the City Cafe logo as well. There is a bus stop, commuter traffic lane, taxi waiting area, and limo service in the parking lot. The sign says, "No weapons, no AR spamming, no trouble."
Steve grins like a maniac as Gwen enfolds him in her long arms. She had definately grown a few inches putting her at six foot two to his now five foot eight. Leaving his head in a great posistion. He erases the smile as she lets go and looks at him.

Inside he smiles his best cat ate the canary grin and looks at his old girlfriend. "Two things babe. One, I've been in solitary for three years. A man is entitled to look. Two, she ain't tall enough for me, you know how I like my tall women." He lays a hand on her long intoxicating leg. "Music's not bad. Something new?"
John "Flash" Mitchell - 6:30pm, Tuesday, October 14, 2070 - 408 Main Ave; City Cafe

John spent the better part of an hour talking up an attractive, young local woman. He exchanged LTGs with her before leaving. Some days life is really good, he thought, watching he back side as she walked away.

He made his way back to his house, showered and put on a clean suit. He considered talking out his SMG, but given that the destination is the City Cafe, he decided against it for now. Heading out he also considered taking a cab, but also decided against it. No sense spending money I don't have yet. If this works out, I'll take a cab home.

Flash arrives at the City Cafe half an hour before more the meet. Time to scope out the scene.
Gwen smiles back. "I know you like them tall. I haven't forgotten." She glances at the hand on her leg but doesn't say anything. "Kitten, this music is about 150 years old. Can you believe that? So, what did you have in mind for our discussion?"

A librarian comes over and shushes them before asking for their order.

Gwen answers and says, "Two specials please. I'll have a mojito. Steve?"


Flash arrives to find the City Cafe exactly like the Matrix indicated that it would be. A T-MAP cruiser is circling the parking lot while private security crawls around the place. An elf with an earring through his nose asks, "Do you have an invitation?" when Flash gets too close to the door.
"Huh 150 years? Well it's new to me, not bad." Steve catches Gwen's look at her leg and moves his hand back to the table. What the hell, I mean we used to be slapping skin all the time. A little public groping and suddenly, I'm a bad guy? He knew it had been three years but hoped she might be willing to give him a second chance. He knew that this was just an extension of their last fight right after he had started working for his uncle full time. Someone with Gwen's ethics could never see why he had to do what he did. But then again she had probably never watched her father drink and gamble the last of the money away.

He looks at the waitress/librarian. "Beer me."

He waits for the chick to leave. "Mostly just trying to catch up, see what's new since I went inside. I've also got a few favours to ask you."
John "Flash" Mitchell - 6:40pm, Tuesday, October 14, 2070 - 408 Main Ave; City Cafe

After a short walk around the area, Flash approaches the elf. In response to the inquiry, he straightens his tie and replies. "Yes. The Johnson party."

MITNick wakes to the indecent hour of 1400, seeing a flicker from on his AR screen announcing a message drop.

What the .... oh .. right .. the shadowboard.... FUCK, the BOARD! Sitting up with a start as he realizes he's just recieved a job response, the dwarf has the unfamiliar sensation of hitting his head on something to low, the roof of the coffin he's been dossing down in for the last week.

"Goddamnit..." he mutters, holding his head. "Gonna have ta' get a troll sized one next time ... would if it weren't for the smell."

Still grumbling, MITNick looks lover the message, taking in the gist of what's being offered. Not exactly what one might call a "Prime Runner", he's still new enough to review old shadow files like "Mr J's Black Book" off of the Shadowland archives, back when there was still a Shadowland

OK lesse, don't take the first off, it'll be low by somethin' like 20% .... know the extra exits ... have a getaway car ... does anyone actually call them 'getaway cars' anymore? ... certified cred .... hafta set an anon numbered account first .... great ... shoulda taken care of this crap weeks ago.

Busying himself, MITNick goes to work, sending his conciousness out into the matrix, setting up a simple anonymous numbered account at one of dozens of such accounts of the European shadow sites. Distant, anonymous, and harder to trace are just the things he's looking for. Anything to make the data trail harder to follow. After finishing rerouting his data trail and arranging for an autocab pikcup an hour prior to the meet, he sifts the system, looking for all the information he can find on this little dive of a meet site, trying to get himself mentally prepared for what might be his first real job.

[iSHouldn't let them know that though. Done this sort of thing plenty of times. Yeah ... that's it, real pro me. Well.. sorta done this once or twice. Frag it all, damn backwaters podunk town. Give me a frickin' sprawl, and some damn sushi!

MITNick spends the next hour or so bitching about his current state while reading up on all the pertinent intel he can find.
Nice neck of the woods. Chester says quietly to himself.

Chester walks to the door and lets himself in. Wanting to get a good look of the inside.
"Johnson Party?" The elf checks his list. "Ahh, yes. Right this way sir." He escorts Flash to the elevator and then up to the top floor. He then gestures for him to take a seat in the main room. "Mr. Johnson will be here shortly. Please wait here."


Chester finds the City Cafe accomodating. The seats are old but serviceable. Things are thinning out - the seats are full but no one is standing over them. There is a seat over by the counter on a bar stool. One of the "grandma's" asks while looking at the clock, "What can I get for you hon? We're about to close up for the evening.


"Beer me," Steve says. The librarian shushes him before walking away. "Mostly just trying to catch up, see what's new since I went inside. I've also got a few favours to ask you," Steve replies.

"Well, let's see. I'm still reporting, involved with a guy, got a new place, my cat died. Not much else to tell, really." She smiles at her own joke. "Seriously, kitten, what can I do for an old friend? I would imagine that you need to work. I don't suppose that you are looking for an honest job are you? Cause, I've got a line on a job over at the Hunt Refinery.
Flash nods to the elf, transferring a 5 nuyen.gif tip. I'm out of Councilwoman Roger's district, but who knows when she may move up to mayor and take me with her. Still caught up in an over estimation of his own fame, Flash steps into the elevator.

Reaching the top floor, he confidently steps out and into the room. He takes a seat in the suggested area near a window. He takes a moment to look around the room, noting not only exit routes but also people in the room.
Flash finds the bar decked out in crimson and white (the University's colors). The edge rail is a continous silver strip with elephants' heads as fixtures. Each appears to be holding the rail in their trunks. There is an ork milling around and passing out drinks to the three people sitting in the general area. Two women are discussing some business opportunity while a dwarf sits quietly starring off into space.
Steve just barely manages to hold his mouth closed. Dammit girl! You could have opened with "I'm dating someone else." He couldn't belive it. Well he could, the D-man had been inside, and he couldn't blame her for moving on. Guess I just hoped everything would be the same, fraggit all to hell.

"I might have a line on some work, but sure gimme the number I can always use it if someone gets picky about me serving time. Mostly though I just need you to track some stuff down fer me. One of the reasons I wanted to come down here" he points to the floor, " was to see if Bobby and Tom were still around. But it looks like they ain't and I don't have a recent number or locale fer either of them. Then, when you get that can you do me a solid and track down someone who knows about magic? Specifically something caled an adept." He had gotten lucky and had enough juice left in his eyes to grab a frame of his rap sheet during his inprocessing, it had read in part "Unregistered Adept" which was why he had ended up in his own private six foot cube.

"Anyway tell me about this guy, anyone I know?" Steve notes the time on his comm and figures he has enough time for a beer and some convo before he hits the meet.
"Well ..." She seems almost embarassed for not telling Steve earlier. "He's this guy I met here. Actually, here he comes now." She switches to the bubbly person who Steve knew from his previous involvement with her. "Aaron, come meet and old friend. Aaron, Steve. Steve, Aaron." Aaron looks over at Steve before adding a polite but genuine, "How are you?"

"I was just talking to Steve about when this place used to be the NuWave," Gwen says.

"Good to meet you, Steve. I hope that you like The Library. It's my greatest creation. Can I get you anything?" Somehow, the guy comes across as neither smug nor annoying.

Gwen says, "Can you check on our food, sweetie?" "Sure kitten," Aaron replies. He walks away.

"Kitten, I uh, I mean ... yeah. Sorry about not telling you sooner. Bobby is still here. He go a promotion to the private club upstairs. Tom is bouncing for City Cafe now. I'll dig up what I can on magic. Again, I'm sorry kitten."

A silence follows.
"" Chester grins big, trying to put on the oh so innocent look.
"Im waiting for someone here. His name is Mr. Johnson. Have you seen him?"
The Grandma looks Chester over. "You look a little young to be having a meeting with a Mr. Johnson. Now, run along and don't make a fuss."
Steve let the silence linger. Well fuck, first my bar then my girl, what the hell did I ever do to you buster? "Well babe if you're happy, then I'm happy for you." He was startled to find that was actually true. If she was happy then so was he.

The food finally came and Steve started a different conversation. The oldest get together game in the world "Hey, Remember When?" The two old friends chatted and giggled over the antics of their high school classmates till Steve noticed the time on his 'link. Crud half past six time to roll. "Babe hate to eat and run but I got a thing I gotta do, so we'll see you later." He stands and lets himself out of the booth. He grabs the check when the busty librarian brings the chit over. "My treat babe." He leans over and gently strokes Gwen's hair before lightly kissing the top of her head. "Lemme know if you ever need anything, babe." he whispers.

He leaves the little club with a wave to his old girlfriend. As he stands in the bus shelter a light Southern mist rolls through the streets. He looks up at the washed out sky and the pain hits him. "Frag it all to HELLLLLLLLLLL! ARGHHHHHHHH Fuck, shit, DREKKIN' BASTARD!" The club kids standing near him move slowly away from what they see as an obviously crazy person. A slight sadness washes over him. Three, fucking, years the Star owes me and change.

He arrives at the City Cafe without too much incident other than most of the other bus patrons leaving a bit of space around the crazy man. He spots the familiar figure watching the Cafe door almost as soon as he arrives. "T-Bone! My man!"
Chester grins big.

Chester walks past her and examine the diner. Taking notice to all possible exits, and the people.
It always pays to see if anyone sees me.

After checking the place out for a bit, Chester makes his way back to the sqauter house to get a few of his things together. After finishing, he waits a while and then goes to the meet spot a half an hour early.
Chester finds his way back to the exit without incident. No one appears to take notice of another street kid.

Upon returning to the Cafe Chester is stopped by an ork who asks, "What do you want street rat?"

T-bone replies, "Long time, no see. What the hell are you doing here, man?" Lowering his voice he adds, "I thought that you were still inside. You here for Mister Johnson? Isn't that kind of stuff that got you sent up last time?
Flash orders a glass of iced tea and waits. Looking at the time, he expected Johnson in the next fifteen minutes. Give or take.
MITNick - 1800 - Headed out
Hacking himself a quick ride in an autocab, MITNick rezzes out the cam and makes a few adjustments on the pickup locale on the cab's map logs. After convincing it that it's been properly paid, he's on his way, and nervous as hell.

Should stilla brought a gun. Not that I coulda gotten IN with one, or that I'm really likely to need it. Still .... now that I don't have it , I'll need it. Damn it. At least I'll be early. .... Hope 'Johnson' is buying...I'm broke. Ugh.
Streve smiles at his old friend and main source of muscle. The large human looked like he hadn't missed a single day at the gym. He doubted that Tom would fall for one of his usual lines. So he did what he very rarely did and tried the truth.

"Good to see you, too big guy." The two friends clasp hands briefly.

Steve slouches against the wall and pitches his voice so only Tom can hear. "Between you and me T, never, ever try and pull a five man job with three. And these two sub-morons Uncle Phil dug up, fegetaboudit. Brainless is the polite way of saying it. You called it though, man 'm here fer Mr. J. He in yet?"
@ Steve

"Yeah, I'd imagine that's him now."


@ MITNick

An elf asks, "Are you with the Johnson party this evening?"


@ Steve and Falsh

A troll comes walking across the room. He is wearing a trenchcoat and smoking a cigar. "It would appear that I am early or the others are late. Sit down for a few minutes. Barkeep, the next round is my treat."

Chester stands for a moment, breathing heavily and scowling, taking in the insult. After a second, he smiles warmly at the orc.

"Okay, listen hear. I'm looking for....oh wait.... Im sorry, I didnt notice the tusks." Chester cocks his head to the left. "A bit.....small, aren't they? Oh well, I hear most orc women dont mind size much as they do motion. Anyway, Ill talk a bit slower for you."
Chester clears his throat.
"I. Am. Here. For. A. Meeting. With. Mr. Johnson. Can. You. Direct. Me. To. His. Wereabouts?"
Chester, feeling pleased with himself. Looks up at the orc, ready to dodge any fists. This wouldnt be the first oversized being he's gotten mouthy with.
Flash considers a reply that is complementary, but not ass-kissingly so. "Timely, I would say." He extends a hand to the troll, "Please refer to me as Flash. As in flash-in-the-pan; A quick flash and when their eyes clear, nothing." He realized he had probably already said too much. Time to be quiet John, he mused waiting to gauge Johnson's reply to his attempts to divert from the tardiness of the remaining team members. Have to have a word about time-management afterwards.
Steve notes the troll sit and start chatting with the totally clueless suit monkey. Newb He grins. Like candy from a baby. He looks up at Tom, "Welp dude, I gotta do this thing. You stay cool." Another hand clasp "See you later maybe, if Mr. J. don't have a time table." The larger human nods.

Steve makes a bee line for the troll and ork combo. Taking the walk across the bar to let his breathing slow and feel the familiar subliminal hum, of what he now knows to be something magical, drift across his body. He sidles up to the bar dropping in beside the suit monkey and smiling broadly at Mr. J. and the ork.

"Mr. J?" he asks. The troll nods almost imperceptably. "Glad to meet you. Name's.... " Crap can't use my real name. I've got a record now, dipshit. FRAG fingerprints! They're on file. FRAG FRAG FRAG! Where the fuck did I leave prints!!!!! "Call me D."
MITNick is escorted in by the elf from the parking lot. A few moments later Chester is led in by an obviously irritated ork. "This yapping whelp supposed to be here Mister Johnson?"

The troll nods and the ork and elf disappear quickly.

"Gentlemen, please, this way." The troll leads the group of four to a side booth in the room. He draws the curtain and the sits down.

"Gentlemen, I have a job for you so I will get to the point. I will offer you 15,000 nuyen - to split as you see fit - to retrieve an item from me. What questions do you have?"
Flash straightens his tie and nods. "That's a good number to generate some initial interest in your proposal." While not a skilled negotiator, neither is Flash socially inept. His goal is to set the stage and assist a more skilled negotiator. "Before making any commitments, we, of course, will need some additional details. General threat level of those currently holding the item. Travel requirements. Any specifics regarding tactics you wish implemented."

As he looked to Johnson for a response, he tried to remember anything else he had seen on the trid shows Shadowrunner 101 or Dirk Death, Assassin in the Shadows used by the negotiator.
[b]MITNick simply nods in response to the question, keeping his thumbs in his pockets, although not fully inside, so as to not make the local security jumpy, but keeping them questioning if he perhaps has some weapon they missed.

I might be over thinking this.

... "Flash in the Pan"? Is this guy serious? I thought I'd seen too many Runner 'trids. These guys ... well... I ain't exactly Prime Runner material , but still...

Sitting at the table, MITNick takes a moment to look over the Johnson, doing his best to memorize features, as well as watch his mannerisms, movements, and listen for anything that might identify him as a corporate, especially accents.

"Some general information about the "object" would be useful as well. Is it potentially or inherently harmful to us? How 'hot' is it likely to be? Will we need to hold it for any amount of time, or hand it over immediately?"

MITNick tries to keep his voice even and paced, not trying to rush or overwhelm the Johnson. Most of all, he tries to keep his veneer as a calm professional, going over general questions he's gone over a hundred times, almost as if he's jsut going through the movements. Hopefully, no one will realize how far from the truth that really is.
Chester, tired of keeping quiet, pipes up with a question.
"I have a question, and this may up the pay just a tad. Is this item mundayne? Or magical?"
At the outpouring of questions, the Johnson smiles. The troll's healthy teeth show through the lines on his face. "Excellent questions all. The item in question is mundane. It is hardly 'hot' in that sense. Travel will be to an area to the west of Tuscaloosa in some awakened areas. The ... 'facilitaty' ... in question has no secuirty other than the awakened critters that have no doubt moved into the area in the last twenty years or so. Here is a map that should be helpful." He transmits a map of the area labeled Bule. It is/was a community near the edge of Tuscaloosa. "Anything else?"
Steve sizes his potential partners up as Mr. J. shows them to the booth. Well, suit monkey is big but he don't strike me as a fighter. Short stack is well..... hmmmm something there but I can't quite say. The kid looks like a total newb. Guess we'll see how things pan out

As his teammates ask the Johnson questions he realizes that while he may not be dealing with actual pros these people are well informed and reasonably intelligent. Good, a step up from those two sub-morons. And a four way split on 15K ain't bad.

"Real quick Mr. J. you told us about the target and our possible threats. Any chance your're willing to talk about the people we might meet in that area." All the while Steve racks his brain trying to remember who or what lived in Bule.
Is he dodging, or jsut mixing a question in the flrry?

"And is it potentially dangerous? A general idea of it's size would be helpful as well, incase there are considerations we have to make for transportation."

Yeah, that sounds good. Use the buzz words all those VP types like to use...
The troll smiles again. "The object is not dangerous, in and of itself. However, it poses a threat to those I represent. I seriously doubt you will encounter anyone in the area. The object is small enough that any of you should be able to carry it with the possible exception of the youngest here." He casts an eye toward Cheser. "I am afraid that we have come to the point where we either come to final terms and an agreement or say goodbye. I will not reveal more until I understand where we all sit."
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