Pier 94

"And you? You are very perceptive. Abigail offers between bites of cherritos. "I'm like this'n, really She points at Omen only, y'know, on the 'trix.

She's hesitant to use the T-word, letting the team draw their own conclusions.

"I'm in, Mr. Johnson.

<Jedi mind trick>

Clean Room 78A46D, Ares Macrotech Facility 15W2

"Dick!" barked Tomas.

"awright, 1000 rounds of APDS is the best I can offer. You know what a bitch that is to get."

Tomas slammed the last of the dozen beer bags flat. "Damned trogs are unpredictable so I do need you to watch my back on this deal."

"We'll roll out from the usual place in Renton Wednesday evening."

"Deal?"

Orange Grove

Hovering in VR space a set of overlaying translucent windows emit visual and auditory data piped in from every subscribed device, the combined chatter almost overwhelming. Chowders simrig feed offered tactile and olfactory feeds in addition to the standard visual and auditory POV. In multiple feeds the approaching truck appears as a fleet of vehicles until the combined input is rendered as a single iconic truck in the overall view, the seperate feeds fading into the background.

In meatspace the low rumble of a shiny new utility truck's diesel turbine thumped along the ground as it approached it's end of the street and slowed to a stop. A figure in urban grey fatigues stepped off and approached the street center with it's hands held slightly out from it's sides.

Pier 94

The man nodded and a holoprojection snapped into focus displaying a 30 percent scale model of a store interior filled with a large assortment of junk. ARO tags linked particular items, and few pieces flickered between several image object states. A background auditory started.

"It felt sturdy and had a nice, taught response when I tapped it. Not at all like I expected an old piece to feel like. It sorta had a life to it like a good, well-used drum, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know exactly. Forget the rest of the inventory. Tell me about the shop, particularly any security you noticed."

"There was a camera covering the entrance, and the front door was locked electronically, operated by the guy at the counter. Internally there was a camera that followed me around the shop. The inventory that was protected all looked to be locked by physical locks, like glass doors or security cables on larger items. I'm not sure about their matrix connection, but I think by the dangling cable from the cash register they keep disconnected from the matrix except when they need to connect, like for banking or something. I don't know about the cameras. There weren't any wires leading anywhere from them, so they could be wireless, or the cables are buried in the walls.

"There was also something funny about the placement of a couple of items. They were cheap trinkets, like you would find in a pawn shop, but there were three exactly alike, placed around the shop. I can't perceive astrally, but I would bet money that they were placed as ward items around the shop. Thing is, if they are centred for wards, and all the same force, I don't think they were placed correctly. If you were to come in the second window from the front door and turn right immediately, you would avoid the wards and get to the canoe. I don't know how you would deal with the cameras, though."

During the playback the man popped a few of the ARO tags which displayed real time price and bid updates and detailed refernce information along with a running probablity assessment of the item continuing to exist in the store. Other tags indicated the likely ward objects and security devices.

After the track finished, "I only have a couple image samples, so that explains the large uncertainty factor, but the item I want is still there." He highlighted the canoe. "It's portable by a single person, but a bit awkward to carry. I need it delivered here."

"If you have other questions or details you need, I can check my source and maybe get you more. All the data I have right now is right there." The Johnson pointed at a storage block on the table. "Feel free to look at it."

Pier 94


"Well, whether or not what your source says about the ward is true, we'll definitely want Omen to confirm before we actually enter the building if possible." Turning to speak to Omen I'm afraid I don't know much about magic, can you do that without going inside?"

"As to the cameras, I think Abby here should be able to handle those. Hell, from what I saw the only other time I worked with one of her kind it shouldn't even matter if they're hardlined."

"That's going to chafe on me" Abigail chimed in flatly, mentally nudging her Data Sprite into action. "Either somebody has to go in there and make "business or something" happen, we'll have to physically splice into the network somewhere, or I'll have to get entirely too close to the potential flying lead. I vote for the former, but maybe I've just seen too many heist trids. "



"Or that, sure. ruin all my fun why don'cha?"

"If you can do it that way, great. I wasn't sure if that was something all of you could do or just him, kinda how not all mages are illusionists."

Pier 94

Omen nods in response to Edward's question. "Yes, I can spirit walk to the building and determine whether there are any gaps in the wards, without being there in person. I need to know where the place is first, though. Maps and street signs are indecipherable in the astral realm."

The shaman examines the data in the storage block, looking for the shop name and address, and any details about who the owner of the shop is.

"Is it the canoe you want, Mr Johnson, or something inside?" Omen inquires, "and how heavy is it? I may have a way to transport the item fairly easily, and without drawing any unwanted attention."

Scratching his silver beard, Omen studies the rune-bones once more. "And when do you seek delivery? Is there any urgency to our task?"

Clean Room 78A46D, Ares Macrotech Facility 15W2

Richard rubbed the annoyance from his eyes and glared at Tomas. This wasn't exactly his idea of fun, Tomas had come through on the APDS if a bit short of what he requested, Tomas' BTL addiction was wearing on his nerves, again.

He crinkled he nose and took a moment to answer. His voiced creaked as he spoke, it had been a long day. "Yeah, what time do you want to head out?" Richard glanced at his watch and made a mental note for Wednesday. "Before I forget, I want the rest. I paid for 1200, not 1000, and I don't care what a bitch it is. This is what I pay you for." There was venom in his voice. He still hadn't forgotten their previous gig and he wasn't about to let it go.

<redacted>

Lancer examines the human in fatigues in detail, and also checks out the truck to see if there are any passengers. Seeing a machinegun at the ready wasn't very comforting, but she supposed the gangers might be similarly armed, and who knew what was in the back of that truck.

<snip>

Orange Grove

1200 APDS rounds delivered in boxes and another few shifts later and Tomas belched, "Trogs n tuskers ahead."

"They really are careful about this, check overhead."

"Stick to the drill. Time to get this deal done." Tomas slid out of the stopped heavily laden truck and wandered over to a spot in the middle and waited for the tusker with the machine gun.

Pier 94

"I don't have a deadline, but it is the season, and that's a good price for a used canoe, so someone could buy it at any time and walk off with it."

The Johnson smiled, "I don't really want to know how, but I'm interested in it showing up here."

Orange Grove

Richard fidgeted in his seat. The cab of the hauler was perfectly set in temperature but he couldn't help feel the tinge of excitement and the nip of adrenaline on the nape of his neck. He swallowed hard and saw Tomas lazily walk several feet in front of the hauler. He counted the steps until Tomas stopped. "26." he whispered to himself. His eyes adjusted to the distance of where Tomas was standing and he scanned the surroundings for anything that might need serious perforation as he fidgeted the Ares-Stoner M202 pointing down between his leg with the barrel pointed at the right corner of the passenger door. Shit happens and he was ready to blow away the one who decided to get the jump on him. His balacava mask and gear was starting to itch him. Something was going down.

Orange Grove, Wednesday Night

Jerry sat on the front stoop with Mike, a cigarette in his mouth and his "Big Shoota" propped against his shoulder. Mike's goons peered out through front windows, trying (unsuccessfully) to stay out of sight in the process. The street was far from abandoned, but only a few desperate prostitutes and passing squatters shuffled down the broken sidewalks. Jerry had made sure everyone in the building would use the back entrance tonight without revealing too many details. The grapevine probably figured someone had called out the Crush for a showdown, and that was alright by Jerry.

Right on schedule (about an hour after they said they'd show up), the distant sound of 2000cc engines ripped across the barrens, announcing the approach of the 119 and their case of I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Beetles. "Finally. For a moment, I was worried I wasted my booze money on gas today." Jerry stood up, dusted off his coat, put on his helmet and flipped on the visor. The helmet was somewhere between a riding helmet and one of those old buckets the army used to wear on their heads, and it bore more than one scar from its last owner, but it stopped bullets and asphalt just fine. A few moments later, the trodes embedded in the helmet finally calibrated themselves, and Jerry's AR display automatically shifted from his shades to his optic nerve. By then, the bikers were pulling into sight around the corner.

Now, where are those trucks?


Several swigs of FizzyGlo later

A video feed from Mike popped up on Jerry's display of a black pickup truck parked at one corner of the block, and a shiny utility truck rounding the other. <Mickey Red Eyes: Hey, man! You've had company for a few minutes now.> Good, avoided the small talk. Jerry shot a virtual thumbs-up back to Mike, keeping his eye on the larger truck. The pickup was empty, but this one was clearly weighed down, and it could still be 400 kilos of TNT.

Jerry halted the gangers' idle chatter as the truck turned the corner. He hefted his White Knight in both hands, activating the skinlink in the process, but keeping the barrel pointed at the sky. Never too early for a double-cross. Not even noticing the ork that hopped out of the pickup, he zoomed in on the more distant figure approaching with its arms out. Human, male, lightly armored. Jerry pictured a dictionary entry for "truck driver" in his mind and saw this guy's mug shot next to it. He called out, "Hoi! Ain't seen you before. Gonna need you to state yer name an' target, gaijin."

Bongo's Pad

After several hours of testing the drum kit, Bongo had worked out the right feel for playing it. Definitely no Troll Thrash for this set! The sound was so unique, he figured he could get a few gigs on his own, playing just the kit. He would have to make a demo recording and pass it around.

Done.

"Hoi, Joe. I got me some really whiz instruments, made from sea creatures. Listen to the attached demo. Let me know if you can think of anyplace to play this kind of music. I don't know, maybe the Tahitian embassy or something!"

Hmmm... that sounded good. He wondered where he could find someone who speaks Tahitian so he could spend a few hours and learn the language. Tahitian Friendship Club? A tutor? Check out the 'trix!



That got Bongo to thinking. "I haven't spent much time figuring out rhythms from Polynesia. The music section at the library should be a good place to start."

Orange Grove, Wednesday Night

"Tonight tusker you can call me what you want. You ready to do this deal or not?" Tomas belched for punctuation.

"How do you want to run this?"

Pier 94

"If you're done, then get out of here." I hope to see you all soon."

Pier 94

"Very well," replies Omen, "We'll have your boat for you soon enough, spirits willing."

The old man sweeps up his rune-bones and pushes back his seat, and stands. He grabs one last cheesy pop before tapping his way out of the room with his cane. Once outside, he waits on the street for the others to exit, sitting against his car, feeling the bite of the cool air.

Pier 94

Omen is followed shortly by Edward. Upon exiting the building he clicks his tongue a few times and looks around carefully.



If he doesn't notice anything untoward, he'll say "I think we're clean here, assuming you're not picking up anything either anyway. So, what's your opinion so far?"

Orange Grove

Jerry smacked his lips as he sized up the man standing before him. "Fast, and simple." He gestured to the orks, and one came over to his side with a "lightly used" brown briefcase. Jerry popped open the case, showed the contents briefly, grabbed one of the chips with his metal hand, shut the case, and offered the chip to Tomas. "The payment, as promised. Soon as we check each other's goods, we'll make the swap quick-like and you can be on your way."

Pier 94

At Edward's suggestion, Omen makes a slow sweep of the surrounding area with his astral sight, trying to spot any lurking spirits, magicians or spells which might be eavesdropping on their little gathering. He pulls out a match and strikes it before lighting up one of his noxious cigarettes. Taking a long drag, he coughs hideously as he puffs out a cloud of potent smoke.

"I think we should take a trip to the Bump N'Grind," Omen replies to Edward, "as soon as possible. You two can hitch a ride with me if you like." The old man raps his wizened knuckles on the hood of the Evo Cruiser. "Not much to look at, but then that's the idea. And she runs well enough. Couple of tricks up her sleeve too, should things turn ugly."

Omen finishes his cigarette as he waits for his team mates to respond, casting his gaze from the streets to the starless sky. The pitch blackness is lit only by the blinking neon of aerial traffic, and a lone flash of sheet lightning. No signs tonight, he muses.

[ Spoiler ]

Assensing test (3d6.hits(5)=3)

Pier 94

Astrally the area around the pier is dull and uninviting.

Orange Grove

Tomas grunted, selected the single chip and slotted it into a wrist jack. A few seconds of blank expression was all that followed. He unslotted the chip, stuffed it into his pants front pocket and grinned with disturbingly widened eyes.

"Right, let's hope you appreciate what we've got here."

While leading Jerry back to the laden truck he signaled an all clear before he opened the back and thumbed open the cases.

"Two dozen stripped Stoners. Flashed fried the chips. And two dozen replacement control chips. And 100,000 standard dumb rounds."

Tomas lifted out a Stoner and a box of chips along with a clip of ammo, dropped them on the bed and looked at Jerry, "Your turn."

Richard rapped on the glass in reply to the all-clear but his muscles tensed further. He shifted uneasily in his seat, here was the crossroads of the trade off. It could continue as quietly as it began or there'd be several dead people, one of whom could be himself. He heard the trailer's door slide open and puffed in frustration, he was not a fan of anticipation. The tension was thick and his anxiety was palatable. He muttered under his breath "Any day now, Tomas, you junkie."

Bongo's Pad

Along with a priority colored wireframe cross referenced map overlay of various Tahitian and Polynesian themed gigs arrives a connection request from Joe Coole.

The familiar camel head dark plastic sunglassed camel headed suit icon appears. "I have a job. I'll provide the cover identity, and it comes with standard musicians guild rates. I'm checking into a deal and need your read on some people. Could run a couple months. Deep cover. I know it's boring for you to do a gig for so long, but it's steady pay. Interested?"

Throughout the spiel a rough female vocal warbles in the background...

Rocking Good Times

Setting it up had been easy. Between them Abigail and Edward had arranged some transport, someone was taking a johnny cab ride home while they borrowed her pickup. The next morning she'd probably be pleasantly surprised the vehicle hadn't gotten any paint scratches after the previous nights entertainment. Whatever it was. Things had gotten hazy after the fifth pitcher of watermelon margeritas.

The pawn shops systems were standard. There had been a small chance of them withstanding the talents arrayed against them. Then again maybe not. Suppressed optics and electronics reported a regular all cleaar despite the presence of the three on the entrance mat of the closed store.

Ahead lay the tricky part of navigating a path through the otherworldy alarms and wards.

The pair of them looked at the old man Omen expectantly.

Orange Grove

In the back of the truck a neat stack of cheap scratch resistant cases without tags or labels sat waiting. Double flip snaps kept the coffin sized cases secure. One small box of optical chips lay open along with a box of ammunition.

A voice barked a suggestion, "Try the heavy metal on the shiny wheels!" The ork spat out a laugh as he pointed to the flashy vehicle awaiting the load of guns.

Somewhere in London

<<@Aldan Penrice:: Barnaby here. I've put open tickets on the Gatwick to SeaTac Transpolar for you. I know you don't like the sub orbitals. I have two possible deals I need your expertise on. Neither by themselves I'd bother you with, but together I'm going to take the risk. First one's a standard appraisal. Details when you arrive. Usual risk is the whether or not the item shows up. You can think of it as a weekend trip to a place where it rains more then jolly England. Other one's more of a long term thing, but requires your special knowledge and skills. And since you'll be here for the other thing, I figure I can tap you for that one too. Details on that one when you arrive as well.>>

London, Aldan's Flat

<<@Barnaby: Bloody sub orbital hell! I think you do this to me on purpose, bloke. You are jammy. I just finished a little project and I didn't have anything lined up afterward, so you figured right. I'm in for both deals. S'pose I'll be seeing you soon.>>

<<@Adelia: Please get those open tickets to SeaTac that Barnaby mentioned. Let me know if there are any conflicts and keep me on time, bird. Oh, and don't forget to clear my schedule for the next couple weeks. I don't know how long we'll be out.>>

Aldan will clean up what he was doing and pack up his personal belongings. He'll try to get to where he needs to be on time...at least this time.

Bongo's Pad

<<@Joe:Ooooo! Deep Cover? Sounds like fun. Sure, I could use some regular pay, and I have nothing lined up for the near future. Heh... yeah, well, lined up period. Only problem might be if you don't want me to play any music during the time I'm under cover. Gaia calls, you know. But I could treat it like some kind of Zen exercise, I suppose. Send me the particulars.

When do you need me to start? If I have a couple of days I can dive into those music connections you just sent me -- Thanks, by the way! -- and test out this drum kit some more.

Say, is that Diva playing in the background? If it is, she sounds rougher than I remember her voice. At least, when she's being Rhiannon on stage.>>

Bongo's Pad

The camel icon smiled and replied, "No."

"It's the Next Best Thing. I hope, but that's why I need you. Meet me at <<The Fedora>> and we can talk a bit more."

Bongo's Pad

"Hmmm. The Next Best Thing, huh? We'll see..." Bongo dresses up slightly for The Fedora and heads out.

The Fedora

Bongo ambles up to the front door. There's a bit of a line, but the doorman, the large doorman, looks vaguely familiar, and Bongo has played here a couple of times.

"Hoi, chummer. Looks like the music is popular, neh?"

"Yah. You gonna sit in tonight?"

"Might. Gotta feel the groove, first, though. You wanna beer or somethin'?"

"Sure! Thanks. I feel like a Grizzly tonight."

"Let's hope you don't have to act like one, too." *grin*

"Nah. Pretty tame crowd tonight."

Bongo walks in through the door he holds open, ignoring the complaints from the line. He walks to the bar and orders a Grizzly to be served to the doorman... "Bill, is he? Oh, Tom.. right." He pays stylishly more than the price. Then he searches for Joe.

The entertainment is on a break, so the music is piped in, and the crowd is buzzing, laughing, guzzling. Sure enough, at a table set to catch the music just right, Joe waits, a bottle and two glasses set ready. Bongo wanders over, checking out the crowd, and sits down.

"You do manage to find the good seats, don't you, Joe?"

Rocking Good Times

Omen nods to his partners and hobbles to a nearby lightpost. Sitting down, he leans his back against it and breathes increasingly slowly until he seems to stop breathing altogether. In the astral, his spirit form frees itself from his meat body, a glowing humanoid in the shape of a werewolf the colour of tarnished silver. A pulsating wand of light is held in the werewolf's left hand (his cane focus). Rising from his physical shell, Omen swirls up and around the shop, a trail of glittering motes behind him as he murmurs a quiet dirge to the hearth spirit of this place, asking it for guidance as he probes the building for any signs of astral security: wards, alarms, spirits or anything else...

The Fedora

Joe Coole seems lost in thought. Bongo Slade knows better than to interrupt these moments. Joe sometimes comes up with deep wisdom after one of these moments. Other times its just bulldrek.

But the bottle of wine on the table is mighty fine-looking.

"Thanks, Joe. Don't mind if I do." Bongo pours himself a half-glass, and tops up Joe's to the same level.

He sips the wine... Yeah, that's Joe... fine stuff... and scans the crowd.

Somewhere in London, Aldan's Flat

Aldan packs up everything he owns, which easily fits into a small suitcase and a synth-leather satchel.

<<Aldan: How many days until rent is due?
<<Adelia: Tomorrow, bloke.
<<Aldan: Lucky me! Okay, don't pay anything forward. I don't know how long we'll be gone..
<<Adelia: You didn't have enough balance to cover it anyways.
<<Aldan: I don't think I asked, but thanks for reminding me. At least these tickets from Barnaby are paid for.>>

He figures his metro pass isn't good for much longer, so Aldan heads downstairs to catch a bus to the Gatwick. He's got a few hours before the flight leaves, but there's nothing left to do around here.

Aldan boards the bus and thinks about the last time he was in the UCAS...

Somewhere in London, On A Bus

At least a year, Aldan thinks to himself, since he was last in the UCAS. He remembers being huddled in the corner of an Ares warehouse, staring at a carved, oaken box containing a most unique wand. Yeah, a wand, somewhat old-fashioned, but the client was paying well and Aldan was curious to see it up close and hold it in his hands. Two meters separated him from the box and that's when it happened. A deafening burst of thunder assaulted Aldan's ears and before him, towering at least twelve meters, was a swirling, menacing air spirit.

And that's when Professor Davidson appeared. He distracted the spirit long enough to allow Aldan to grab the wand and get away safely. The Professor had always been watching out for him...seems so long ago.

***

The bus came to a stop. Aldan looked out the window, Gatwick.

<<Aldan: Hey, look up Professor Charles Davidson for me.
<<Adelia: Sure thing. Do you want me to leave him a message?
<<Aldan: Yeah. Tell him I'll be landing at SeaTac Transpolar a little after 20:00 tonight.
<<Adelia: I'll have that done before you get to the gate.

London Gatwick Airport

Aldan checks in at Gatwick. He still has a couple hours until the sub-orbital boards. Walking towards the security check, he remembers the revolver tucked into his holster under his jacket. It may be a problem. Aldan takes a detour and heads to the bathroom. He's alone, so it should be easy.

After getting himself situated in a stall, Aldan channels mana to make his revolver invisible. He winces a bit from the casting, but notices that his spell is rather weak and he can still see the revolver. He tries a second time, making it a little more powerful. The pain is a bit more, but he's able to contain it without issue. This time, he can't see the revolver at all.

Hopefully the security check won't give him too much trouble...

Orange Grove

Jerry Stared at the array of firepower in the back of the truck. His mind wandered to ways he could customize his next batch of wargear, the lines of the M202s stacked up neatly sent his imagination on a long, winding trip down artist's lane. Then a mocking voice startled him from his reverie. Drek, man, pull it together! Dat's twice you've blanked tonight, you some kinda beetle-head?

He grabbed the closest gun, popped one of the chips into the back, and slammed a clip into the side a little too hard. "Mebbe nex' time, I got plans fer dat truck first." Jerry waved an all-clear to his backup, leveled the weapon at a dumpster in an alley across the street, and squeezed the trigger.

Stoner didn't put any recoil compensation on the M202, the marketing gimmick was that its simple design was cost-efficient and allowed the consumer free reign to customize the weapon any way he wanted to. It was a load of crap, of course. The M202 was a lightweight, rickety POS that relied more upon the user's prayers than any respectable engineering, but sometimes that's all you need. Jerry dumped a full clip into the alleyway, bullets ricocheting off the dumpster, through garbage cans, into rusted-out drain pipes. Jerry didn't care about the accuracy, Stoner was selling AK-47s with high cyclic firepower, not sniper rifles, what he did care about was whether the guns were cheap knock-offs with doped receivers that would hold too much heat and cook off their ammo. When the barrel got quiet, Jerry flipped on his thermo and gave the gun a thorough inspection. It was hot, of course, even a water-cooled Ultimax would boil flesh after a Mad Minute, but not hot enough to blow another cartridge.

Jerry looked up at Tomas and smiled. "Bro, ya got yerself a goddamn deal." He turned to the others and whistled loudly. "Hoi, chummers! Let's slot and run!"

Orange Grove

Richard tensed nervously as the nearby dumpster and refuse containers pinged, clattered, and tore apart under the barrage of bullets from the Stoner M202. He nearly smashed the door of his cab open before restraining himself to his seat. Tomas was still chirping away which meant the deal was still good. He shifted uneasily in his seat and checked his watch. The hands were frozen at 6:38PM, he shook his wrist and brought it up to his ear. Not a click or tick present. Cheap Casio. He relaxed for a moment, he hated trade-offs, be it equipment or meta-humans the outcome was usually the same. Either it went horribly wrong or you got what you were coming for and you went home with your prize. He shifted again. The whistle was barely audible through the thick pane of sound-proofing glass, time to make or break.

London Gatwick Airport

Getting through the physical checkpoint was a piece of cake. The spell held up well, getting past the sensors and scanning as he anticipated. And just like clockwork, a fairly burly ork was walking towards him.

"Come with me," the ork growled.
"Is there a problem?" Aldan replied.

Aldan followed the ork a few meters further into the checkpoint and saw exactly who they were headed for. The man was clean-cut, sitting behind a desk, all too relaxed and of course, wearing some insanely expensive, tailored clothes that were to mimic something from the early 20th century.

"Sit down, Owen wants to talk to you," commanded the ork.

Aldan sat down and the ork turned and left. "So, what's the pleasure?"

Owen peered through his rose-colored glasses, then spoke. "You tell me, whatcha hiding? You didn't think you were boarding this sub-orbital without clearing your sustained spell with me, did you?" Aldan could tell Owen was a straightforward type, which was actually just what he needed.

Aldan began his little speech, showing credentials, flattering where he could, sharing a couple of professional anecdotes, spell registrations, licenses...it was all too easy playing into Owens ego. The security mage was duped. Everything Aldan said, played to Owen's own vices and coming from an institutionally trained mage, boosted everything the security mage strived for. And, of course, he could understand. Looks are everything in this world and who doesn't have a minor cosmetic spell active. Aldan shook his head as Owen stated more people probably should invest in a low-level spell to make them look better, show their better self.

It was all over in about 20 minutes. Owen let Aldan board the sub-orbital and didn't even make him drop the spell.

SeaTac Transpolar, Terminal G3

Ahh, finally some solid ground beneath me, Aldan thinks to himself. He never enjoys those sub-orbitals, but they are fast. He looks about quickly to find the nearest ground level exit. Aldan decides that he'll check the taxis, on the off chance that Barnaby set up transportation.

<<Aldan: Hey bird, check if there is a taxi waiting for us.
<<Adelia: Nope. Looks like we are on our own>>

Drek! Aldan was afraid of that.

Highway 202, Eastbound

A pair of Crush outriders cruising ahead on the 202 seemed inadequate protection for the heavily loaded Razer. But that was the goal. The chapter leader of the eleven six had laid it all out as soon as the truck was loaded.

Over the noise of the idling engines he'd yelled through the window as they pulled out of Orange Greove, "This will be even better with yer new set of eyes. Figured we couldn't keep moving this much heavy metal quiet, so we figured on some payback. Got a snitch to pass on to the Hounds we're running light and fast up 202. 'cept we aren't running light. Made a statewide call, got 23 chapters in."

Now everyone was just waiting for the party to get started.

Overhead signal traffic started to spike and in the distance a whining roar of high revving engines flew ahead on the rapidly approaching pack of 405 Hell Hounds

Bellevue

Tomas grinned when they reached the relative safety of Bellevue. He turned to Richard with a self satisfied grin. "Had ya worried there eh?" He grunted in amusement, "Know what the best part is? I expect to see those same Stoners in a couple hours!"

"Those damned trogs are now puppy chow!"

Rocking Good Times

In astral space a distinctive diaphonous shimmer protectively surrounds items in the interior of the old store.

Abigail impatiently piped up, "Well? I've suppressed all the nearby devices."

Rocking Good Times

Omen's spirit flashes back into his body and he lurches to his feet, swinging his cane towards the shop front.

"Yes, young one," he replies to Abi, breaking into a half smile, "there is an astral barrier, a shifting veil of energy guarding the shop's wares, including Mr Johnson's canoe. I can trick the ward into letting me pass through with our prize, but we need to get our meat bodies inside first. Can you pop the door please?"

Once inside, Omen hobbles forward until he locates the canoe on one of the shelves. While astrally perceiving, he attempts to fool the ward into letting his dual natured self pass, caressing the barrier with his fingers as he whispers sweet nothings to the spirits of stealth, lies and folly.

Rocking Good Times

Astral constructs shimmer slowly and reform. The ward exists, it covers the area, yet there is an unfolding of space and color indicating acceptance. The wolfman and two other astral entities can be integrated and accepted by the ward without disturbing it's maker.

The Fedora

Bongo sips the wine, complex fruitiness and nuttiness mixing at the back of his tongue in delightful ways. The piped music is drek, simplistic and repetitive. Bongo starts tapping an infinitely more interesting rhythm on the table with the middle finger of his left hand. Sort of a ska, with the beat on the third quarter. Then, just for the hell of it, he tries to weave in the Morse Code for the words of the song. "Hmmm.... that Latina is kinda nice! Hope she can hear this."

[OOC: There's gotta be a threshold for this musical feat! Let's say 4.]