@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:51:54 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
The old lady shot off a rapid-fire stream of Russian at the server girl who, for some odd reason, gave Jack the impression of stifling a smirk. "She wants you to go pick up her laundry from across the street at Olga's laundry room, then buy 6 cases of ammunition for her warhawk, caseless ammo only of course.... and finally she wishes you to go pick up her daily supply of fish from the fishery in Everrett. After that, she will talk to you about training."
The server looked at Jack, "Nice to meet you Wild Card... interesting name, you can call me Alex."
Full Version: 2072: Game World
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@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:53:22 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
You've got to be fraggin' kidding me... Jack decided to flourish his upcoming conversation with Hawke with more than a few choice colorful metaphors. In the mean time however, knowing the intricacies of the culture and the powers that be; Jack decided to make a prudent choice.
"Yes ma'am. I would be delighted to get your laundry for you." Maybe I should double up on my meds if I have to deal with this one much longer...maybe I could politely excuse myself and find a game to make some cred. It's got to be less humiliating than this. Alex seems to be enjoying this at least. If it takes this to get her name I don't know if I'd want to find out what it takes to get any more information out of her. Jack droned on in his own head for a while longer, trying not to remember the sheer tedious nature of the situation he found himself in. With that he headed across the street to pick up some laundry.
[April 17th, 2072, 20:53:22 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
You've got to be fraggin' kidding me... Jack decided to flourish his upcoming conversation with Hawke with more than a few choice colorful metaphors. In the mean time however, knowing the intricacies of the culture and the powers that be; Jack decided to make a prudent choice.
"Yes ma'am. I would be delighted to get your laundry for you." Maybe I should double up on my meds if I have to deal with this one much longer...maybe I could politely excuse myself and find a game to make some cred. It's got to be less humiliating than this. Alex seems to be enjoying this at least. If it takes this to get her name I don't know if I'd want to find out what it takes to get any more information out of her. Jack droned on in his own head for a while longer, trying not to remember the sheer tedious nature of the situation he found himself in. With that he headed across the street to pick up some laundry.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:57:22 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
The recently aerated front section of the Crimean was directly across the double lane street from a shabby looking and small laundromat which actually looked, from what Jack could see at least through the grimy windows, to be employing real humans rather than drones. The teetering door that led into the establishment proper looked like it could've served better as a spaghetti strainer than any sort of barrier against entry.
Just inside the door, on a rusting bench next to the old-fashioned cash register, a homely looking troll was perched reading an e-paper. The troll apparently was not concerned about a cancer-free life as he seemed hell bent on chain smoking the most noxious smelling nicotine sticks Jack had ever had the displeasure of encountering, even in some of the dives had reason to frequent in search of bigger and better games.
[April 17th, 2072, 20:57:22 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
The recently aerated front section of the Crimean was directly across the double lane street from a shabby looking and small laundromat which actually looked, from what Jack could see at least through the grimy windows, to be employing real humans rather than drones. The teetering door that led into the establishment proper looked like it could've served better as a spaghetti strainer than any sort of barrier against entry.
Just inside the door, on a rusting bench next to the old-fashioned cash register, a homely looking troll was perched reading an e-paper. The troll apparently was not concerned about a cancer-free life as he seemed hell bent on chain smoking the most noxious smelling nicotine sticks Jack had ever had the displeasure of encountering, even in some of the dives had reason to frequent in search of bigger and better games.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:59:44 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"Yeah, I'm here to pick up laundry for Alina." Jack looked over the troll who seemed to enjoy irritating customers with a passion, or perhaps it was the waves of apathy that seemed to come off of him. He looked over at the troll and repressed the sudden homicidal urge to just take out his gun just to get a response. If nothing else Jack knew that Alina would not appreciate blood on her clothes, whether his or the troll's mattered very little.
[April 17th, 2072, 20:59:44 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"Yeah, I'm here to pick up laundry for Alina." Jack looked over the troll who seemed to enjoy irritating customers with a passion, or perhaps it was the waves of apathy that seemed to come off of him. He looked over at the troll and repressed the sudden homicidal urge to just take out his gun just to get a response. If nothing else Jack knew that Alina would not appreciate blood on her clothes, whether his or the troll's mattered very little.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:04:14 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
The troll however, doesn't even respond, merely pausing to light another, if it is actually possible, even worse smelling nicotine stick and flick the remains near, but not quite at, Jack's feet. As Jack pauses, nonplussed and very uncertain about his next course of action, one of the human ladies folding laundry in the back of the long and narrow hall that forms the laundromat coughs and looks at Jack hurriedly before looking back down at her work.
[April 17th, 2072, 21:04:14 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
The troll however, doesn't even respond, merely pausing to light another, if it is actually possible, even worse smelling nicotine stick and flick the remains near, but not quite at, Jack's feet. As Jack pauses, nonplussed and very uncertain about his next course of action, one of the human ladies folding laundry in the back of the long and narrow hall that forms the laundromat coughs and looks at Jack hurriedly before looking back down at her work.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:05:01 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"Yo! I'd be just as happy to leave you alone and let you get back to your paper. Trust me I didn't wake up today and plot out how to annoy you." Jack was keeping his cool for the most part but that same urge came into play.
Jack sent Becky another message. << Hey Becky can I have a naked picture of you, I may need to help motivate this guy into helping me out a little. It's a long story, but you how it goes.>> Jack could only hope that she wasn't passed out somewhere overseas. Jack typically liked trolls, most of the one's he had known growing up weren't too hard on him after he was busted for pickpocketing or whatever. The orks he had known weren't always the nicest however...
Jack took a look at the lady that had coughed. "I'll be right back for that laundry, I need to use your restroom." Jack walked over to the lady. "Excuse me, do you know where the bathroom is?" and in a much lower and quicker tone, "Were you trying to get my attention?"
[April 17th, 2072, 21:05:01 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"Yo! I'd be just as happy to leave you alone and let you get back to your paper. Trust me I didn't wake up today and plot out how to annoy you." Jack was keeping his cool for the most part but that same urge came into play.
Jack sent Becky another message. << Hey Becky can I have a naked picture of you, I may need to help motivate this guy into helping me out a little. It's a long story, but you how it goes.>> Jack could only hope that she wasn't passed out somewhere overseas. Jack typically liked trolls, most of the one's he had known growing up weren't too hard on him after he was busted for pickpocketing or whatever. The orks he had known weren't always the nicest however...
Jack took a look at the lady that had coughed. "I'll be right back for that laundry, I need to use your restroom." Jack walked over to the lady. "Excuse me, do you know where the bathroom is?" and in a much lower and quicker tone, "Were you trying to get my attention?"
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:05:15 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
The lady, actually a girl by all comparative aging that Jack could see, merely handed him a basket full of laundry piled precariously high and said, "Thank you, I was wondering when she'd be coming in for it. Now, that will be 500 nuyen please."
[April 17th, 2072, 21:05:15 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
The lady, actually a girl by all comparative aging that Jack could see, merely handed him a basket full of laundry piled precariously high and said, "Thank you, I was wondering when she'd be coming in for it. Now, that will be 500 nuyen please."
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:06:31 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"500? What's in the basket AK-98s?" though the phrase left his lips with a sarcastic tone, Jack quickly realized that type of humor might not be appreciated. That and the joke's punchline might have more kick than he'd care to know. Jack handed her two poker chips and took the laundry that she had gestured to. Walking back to Alina triumphantly with laundry in hand Jack was whistling an obnoxiously chipper tune while walking past the dour troll if only to spite him. The troll may have had the last laugh because walking by him made Jack feel even more unclean and the clothes surely suffered as well.
That's enough of this drek...
[April 17th, 2072, 21:06:31 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"500? What's in the basket AK-98s?" though the phrase left his lips with a sarcastic tone, Jack quickly realized that type of humor might not be appreciated. That and the joke's punchline might have more kick than he'd care to know. Jack handed her two poker chips and took the laundry that she had gestured to. Walking back to Alina triumphantly with laundry in hand Jack was whistling an obnoxiously chipper tune while walking past the dour troll if only to spite him. The troll may have had the last laugh because walking by him made Jack feel even more unclean and the clothes surely suffered as well.
That's enough of this drek...
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:06:33 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
As Jack walked out, something about the troll sitting there unmoving unnerved him and he took a closer look as he was about to leave the entry way for the lane outside. The trolls face, which Jack had taken for just an extremely heavily dermal fixation on the part of the miss-shapen troll giving the resemblance of stone... actually was... How the stone was animated to look so lifelike was beyond Jack and made him very glad he had not decided to antagonize the troll-thing.
He hastily crossed the street and entered the gambling den, feeling quite ridiculous at carrying laundry like any serving girl, especially given the looks he was garnering from the patrons of the establishment. He saw Hawke, now very much the calm and usual person that Jack had known him to be in the short term, who caught Jack's eye and smiled broadly before ambling over to the entrance to the gun range. He met Jack at the door as he entered the entry way and gave an understanding nod, "Doing laundry for Alina are you? Poor soul... she comes up with the most interesting chores these days."
[April 17th, 2072, 21:06:33 Olga's Laundromat near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
As Jack walked out, something about the troll sitting there unmoving unnerved him and he took a closer look as he was about to leave the entry way for the lane outside. The trolls face, which Jack had taken for just an extremely heavily dermal fixation on the part of the miss-shapen troll giving the resemblance of stone... actually was... How the stone was animated to look so lifelike was beyond Jack and made him very glad he had not decided to antagonize the troll-thing.
He hastily crossed the street and entered the gambling den, feeling quite ridiculous at carrying laundry like any serving girl, especially given the looks he was garnering from the patrons of the establishment. He saw Hawke, now very much the calm and usual person that Jack had known him to be in the short term, who caught Jack's eye and smiled broadly before ambling over to the entrance to the gun range. He met Jack at the door as he entered the entry way and gave an understanding nod, "Doing laundry for Alina are you? Poor soul... she comes up with the most interesting chores these days."
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:09:17 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"Hawke, I just shelled out more cred than I earned tonight from winning that game practically and don't have a thing to show for it. I don't want to be disrespectful to you, but I'm beginning to feel a bit disrespected myself. Is this on the level? I need to know, because I don't do well with practical jokes, at all." Jack was proud of himself for speaking his piece without yelling or using any of the choice metaphors he had in the back of his mind.
Jack could hear some slight snickering and tried to remain calm, but his calm was coming to an end.
[April 17th, 2072, 21:09:17 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
"Hawke, I just shelled out more cred than I earned tonight from winning that game practically and don't have a thing to show for it. I don't want to be disrespectful to you, but I'm beginning to feel a bit disrespected myself. Is this on the level? I need to know, because I don't do well with practical jokes, at all." Jack was proud of himself for speaking his piece without yelling or using any of the choice metaphors he had in the back of his mind.
Jack could hear some slight snickering and tried to remain calm, but his calm was coming to an end.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:12:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Another small mercy, they seemed to be in working order. That was her primary concern, her second was still the man sitting next to her. He wasn't very talkative, at least for the while she'd been diligently tapping the air in front of her. He had been a lot closer to the blast than she had been, maybe he was still worked up about it?
"Hey, you in there? What's got you so spooked, pal? You need to snap out of it or something, whatever has you worked up, it can't be all that bad! At least you won't be winking like a mad fiend at everyone you come across for the next hour."
She smiled as best she could, but her head was still registering a serious amount of hurt. She only hoped it would alleviate some of his misgivings, considering there was another friendly human-being there. Or maybe he was working up the courage to ask her her rates. Better to be proactive, especially since he wasn't all that bad looking.
"Oh, almost forgot, my rates are 300Y an hour."
She hoped she was right, or this was about to get even more awkward.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:12:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Another small mercy, they seemed to be in working order. That was her primary concern, her second was still the man sitting next to her. He wasn't very talkative, at least for the while she'd been diligently tapping the air in front of her. He had been a lot closer to the blast than she had been, maybe he was still worked up about it?
"Hey, you in there? What's got you so spooked, pal? You need to snap out of it or something, whatever has you worked up, it can't be all that bad! At least you won't be winking like a mad fiend at everyone you come across for the next hour."
She smiled as best she could, but her head was still registering a serious amount of hurt. She only hoped it would alleviate some of his misgivings, considering there was another friendly human-being there. Or maybe he was working up the courage to ask her her rates. Better to be proactive, especially since he wasn't all that bad looking.
"Oh, almost forgot, my rates are 300Y an hour."
She hoped she was right, or this was about to get even more awkward.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:14:11; S 19th St.]
Adrian heard the woman talk to him, only actually registering her words after a few minutes.
"Hey, you in there? What's got you so spooked, pal? You need to snap out of it or something, whatever has you worked up, it can't be all that bad! At least you won't be winking like a mad fiend at everyone you come across for the next hour."
Stopping his search for a useless medkit Cybereyes. Lemme get that clear CYBEReyes, got it!?, he turns towards her and says Sorry, it's just I'm; Well I'm not used to losing customers, I'm not used to bombs blowing up close by, I'm not used to having customers' heads... wait her head...
Adrian's face becomes even paler. If her head blew up and ... it was not an - what do you call it explosive round - and it was not magic - should have checked - then... Oh no! Her head blew up, as in there was a bomb in her head! She was in my cab! If it would've blown earlier...
Still shaken, it takes him another minute to react to Saint's next sentence. Your rates? But I'm the cabbie... Er Looking confused, he looks at Saint, then gives her a look-over; he continues Ah; err, nothing personal but if you're selling, I'm not buying looking her over once more, he smiles and finishes however enticing the offer is.
Enticing, tempting, ... Good thing I got a thesaurus. Guess with where my thoughts are going, I'm definitely still alive...
Smiling for more than one reason, Adrian remembers something he'd almost forgotten About that wink... I guess you'd need to see someone to get that fixed. Not that I've got any personal experience with that, but you got a err Doctor-cum-Mechanic I could drive you to? Seeing as I still got most of a taxi left...
More under his breath, he adds First week and one of my fares has a bomb in her head! Maybe ferrying rich kids around wasn't so bad after all.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:14:11; S 19th St.]
Adrian heard the woman talk to him, only actually registering her words after a few minutes.
"Hey, you in there? What's got you so spooked, pal? You need to snap out of it or something, whatever has you worked up, it can't be all that bad! At least you won't be winking like a mad fiend at everyone you come across for the next hour."
Stopping his search for a useless medkit Cybereyes. Lemme get that clear CYBEReyes, got it!?, he turns towards her and says Sorry, it's just I'm; Well I'm not used to losing customers, I'm not used to bombs blowing up close by, I'm not used to having customers' heads... wait her head...
Adrian's face becomes even paler. If her head blew up and ... it was not an - what do you call it explosive round - and it was not magic - should have checked - then... Oh no! Her head blew up, as in there was a bomb in her head! She was in my cab! If it would've blown earlier...
Still shaken, it takes him another minute to react to Saint's next sentence. Your rates? But I'm the cabbie... Er Looking confused, he looks at Saint, then gives her a look-over; he continues Ah; err, nothing personal but if you're selling, I'm not buying looking her over once more, he smiles and finishes however enticing the offer is.
Enticing, tempting, ... Good thing I got a thesaurus. Guess with where my thoughts are going, I'm definitely still alive...
Smiling for more than one reason, Adrian remembers something he'd almost forgotten About that wink... I guess you'd need to see someone to get that fixed. Not that I've got any personal experience with that, but you got a err Doctor-cum-Mechanic I could drive you to? Seeing as I still got most of a taxi left...
More under his breath, he adds First week and one of my fares has a bomb in her head! Maybe ferrying rich kids around wasn't so bad after all.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:12:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Yup-- awkward. She smiled to herself, glad that part was out of the way. She really wasn't up for it anyway, and what made her smile was a small musing of how a headache really was the reason this time.
However, although her mind was swimming, it connected a few strands of data he'd spurted out. Head. Explosive. Her. Then a mini montage, promising to make her ill all over again, started running in a loop in her head. He had dropped her off at this location? She had been in THIS car? An information source had appeared!
"Wait. You knew that woman? Do you know anything about her? Where'd she call the taxi from?" She asked with genuine interest, positively ecstatic that she had a new lead. Though, she had side-tracked most of his conversation, regular banter could wait she justified to herself, this was important.
Unless she found out more, she wouldn't be leaving this guy's side. She pulled a window up as quickly as she could, running a browse program on combat cab services and the people who used them after jumping nodes to a public access terminal nearby where she could searches on relating information. She split her focus, she didn't have to worry about IC or snooping while on public MSPs. Saint was on this like an active bloodhound IC, but she needed to register whatever information this cabbie had on Jessica.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:12:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Yup-- awkward. She smiled to herself, glad that part was out of the way. She really wasn't up for it anyway, and what made her smile was a small musing of how a headache really was the reason this time.
However, although her mind was swimming, it connected a few strands of data he'd spurted out. Head. Explosive. Her. Then a mini montage, promising to make her ill all over again, started running in a loop in her head. He had dropped her off at this location? She had been in THIS car? An information source had appeared!
"Wait. You knew that woman? Do you know anything about her? Where'd she call the taxi from?" She asked with genuine interest, positively ecstatic that she had a new lead. Though, she had side-tracked most of his conversation, regular banter could wait she justified to herself, this was important.
Unless she found out more, she wouldn't be leaving this guy's side. She pulled a window up as quickly as she could, running a browse program on combat cab services and the people who used them after jumping nodes to a public access terminal nearby where she could searches on relating information. She split her focus, she didn't have to worry about IC or snooping while on public MSPs. Saint was on this like an active bloodhound IC, but she needed to register whatever information this cabbie had on Jessica.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:13:54; S 19th St. In a Comat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Tapping out a few commands on his console, Adrian causes a flickering map to appear on the cracked windshield.
Well, dispatch sent me there... He stabs his finger at a spot on the map, causing it to flicker before it settles down again. to pick her up. So that should be where she called from.
Who was she? I mean, I got her name but why'd someone he shudders blow her up in the middle of a road? With Knight Errant nearby?
And whith me nearby. There ain't no such thing as coincidences. What is my part in this story? And hers, whatever her name is?
You can call me John, by the way... As he takes his finger off the windshield to point at his license, the map flickers again, inverting its colours.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:13:54; S 19th St. In a Comat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Tapping out a few commands on his console, Adrian causes a flickering map to appear on the cracked windshield.
Well, dispatch sent me there... He stabs his finger at a spot on the map, causing it to flicker before it settles down again. to pick her up. So that should be where she called from.
Who was she? I mean, I got her name but why'd someone he shudders blow her up in the middle of a road? With Knight Errant nearby?
And whith me nearby. There ain't no such thing as coincidences. What is my part in this story? And hers, whatever her name is?
You can call me John, by the way... As he takes his finger off the windshield to point at his license, the map flickers again, inverting its colours.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:12:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She looked up for a moment, having rotten luck anyway finding anything remotely close to useful.
"Can you bring up a street name on the screen? I imagine if she was that paranoid she'd have walked a block before signaling your cab. However, we could get lucky if she was in a rush. Either way, I have a narrowed triangulation on her place of residence, or at least a point of interest. She could've been walking out of the street doc that had her fitted with that cortex bomb. Long shot, but anything's better than what I have now."
She went back to her search program for the time-being. Anything she said from then on was in short bursts as she juggled the two mediums of reality.
"Her name is Jessica. Street walker turned CJ, not someone you want to be friends with. Apparently, all she had left were the wrong types. That thing I mentioned, the cortex bomb, it's something you put in your head if you want to keep your information overly safe. Usually a last ditch effort, judging by the feed I have of her before she vaporized, she knew it was there. The information better damn well be worth your life, in her case, I imagine there were worse things in store for her if the data got free." She spoke dispassionately, each sentence separated by a few seconds or longer, as it was just cold hard fact.
She paused her searches for the moment, still not getting anywhere. She was half-focused on other routes she could take to get info, and half-focused on the conversation.
"You dig a deep enough grave, someone will it fill it for you." She said mostly to herself, until she remembered she wasn't alone with her thoughts. She turned to Adrian, still heavily focused on the matter at hand, she wasn't much for smiles and rays of sunshine right now.
"Hey John, I'm Saint, welcome to the REAL Seattle night life," waving her hand to encompass the blast area behind the cracked windshield.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:12:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She looked up for a moment, having rotten luck anyway finding anything remotely close to useful.
"Can you bring up a street name on the screen? I imagine if she was that paranoid she'd have walked a block before signaling your cab. However, we could get lucky if she was in a rush. Either way, I have a narrowed triangulation on her place of residence, or at least a point of interest. She could've been walking out of the street doc that had her fitted with that cortex bomb. Long shot, but anything's better than what I have now."
She went back to her search program for the time-being. Anything she said from then on was in short bursts as she juggled the two mediums of reality.
"Her name is Jessica. Street walker turned CJ, not someone you want to be friends with. Apparently, all she had left were the wrong types. That thing I mentioned, the cortex bomb, it's something you put in your head if you want to keep your information overly safe. Usually a last ditch effort, judging by the feed I have of her before she vaporized, she knew it was there. The information better damn well be worth your life, in her case, I imagine there were worse things in store for her if the data got free." She spoke dispassionately, each sentence separated by a few seconds or longer, as it was just cold hard fact.
She paused her searches for the moment, still not getting anywhere. She was half-focused on other routes she could take to get info, and half-focused on the conversation.
"You dig a deep enough grave, someone will it fill it for you." She said mostly to herself, until she remembered she wasn't alone with her thoughts. She turned to Adrian, still heavily focused on the matter at hand, she wasn't much for smiles and rays of sunshine right now.
"Hey John, I'm Saint, welcome to the REAL Seattle night life," waving her hand to encompass the blast area behind the cracked windshield.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:15:23; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
A street name? Two actually, corner of Wall street and Bond Street.
With a baffled expression, Adrian listens to Saint.
She had a bomb implanted in her own head? Because that was better than - well, somehow not quite as horribly bad as - the alternatives?
Shaking his head, he says Some sort of night life that is. People having bombs put into their skulls.
Didn't even know I was invited. And then this woman, Saint. "Saint" - "Boddhisatva", different frame of reference, roughly same idea. Well, minus some Christian superstition.
Want me to drive you there?
Anyway, if there's a minute strand linking my fate that dead woman's, there certainly is a thick rope between hers and Saint's.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:15:23; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
A street name? Two actually, corner of Wall street and Bond Street.
With a baffled expression, Adrian listens to Saint.
She had a bomb implanted in her own head? Because that was better than - well, somehow not quite as horribly bad as - the alternatives?
Shaking his head, he says Some sort of night life that is. People having bombs put into their skulls.
Didn't even know I was invited. And then this woman, Saint. "Saint" - "Boddhisatva", different frame of reference, roughly same idea. Well, minus some Christian superstition.
Want me to drive you there?
Anyway, if there's a minute strand linking my fate that dead woman's, there certainly is a thick rope between hers and Saint's.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:15:54; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She looked out the rear window at her bike, then back toward Adrian. She also looked at her surroundings as she spoke.
"Do you have something a little less-- destroyed, in mind?"
[April 17th, 2072, 23:15:54; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She looked out the rear window at her bike, then back toward Adrian. She also looked at her surroundings as she spoke.
"Do you have something a little less-- destroyed, in mind?"
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:16:14; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Well, I'm no expert in these kind of things but I'd thought we could go have a look-around where I picked her up. Maybe she slipped up and went straight from her, well her operation to the corner; maybe there's something to see giving us an idea what else she might've done there. Or there's someone nosy and talkative. Adrian shrugs. Gotta try something, no?
Something. How about something else? Well, given how much his "tourist kit" cost me, I might as well bother him.
With the telltale look of someone interacting with AR interfaces, Adrian writes out a message and sends it off on its way.
<<from:flyboy to:the_moose subject:just a question>
Hey, sorry to bother you but if I found myself in Everett - say about here<GPS/GridGuide location> - and felt the urgent need to have something put into my head, think there'd be a discreet place to do it?>
Well, here goes nothing.
Just asked someone I know whether he knows someone near where I picked Jessica up, who sticks things into people's heads. Worth a try, I guess.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:16:14; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Well, I'm no expert in these kind of things but I'd thought we could go have a look-around where I picked her up. Maybe she slipped up and went straight from her, well her operation to the corner; maybe there's something to see giving us an idea what else she might've done there. Or there's someone nosy and talkative. Adrian shrugs. Gotta try something, no?
Something. How about something else? Well, given how much his "tourist kit" cost me, I might as well bother him.
With the telltale look of someone interacting with AR interfaces, Adrian writes out a message and sends it off on its way.
<<from:flyboy to:the_moose subject:just a question>
Hey, sorry to bother you but if I found myself in Everett - say about here<GPS/GridGuide location> - and felt the urgent need to have something put into my head, think there'd be a discreet place to do it?>
Well, here goes nothing.
Just asked someone I know whether he knows someone near where I picked Jessica up, who sticks things into people's heads. Worth a try, I guess.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:16:40; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Saint looked at him as if he might be hallucinating, which was saying something, her involuntarily twitching eye added to the effect.
"Yeah, got that. My thoughts exactly. But-- I was referring to the functional state of your car, sweetheart. Yeah the thing is a rolling billboard for how sturdy these things are, but you really want to cruise around town with a sign on our back in neon lights stating "obvious war zone in rear-view"?
She sighed, having to explain anything was not her forte tonight. Not that she was usually this gruff, but her headache compounded the issue.
"I was thinking if you have a Joe Nobody car at home, so we can blend in. I have my bike, but it seats one in a general state of comfort, two's gonna get really comfy, yeah?"
[April 17th, 2072, 23:16:40; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Saint looked at him as if he might be hallucinating, which was saying something, her involuntarily twitching eye added to the effect.
"Yeah, got that. My thoughts exactly. But-- I was referring to the functional state of your car, sweetheart. Yeah the thing is a rolling billboard for how sturdy these things are, but you really want to cruise around town with a sign on our back in neon lights stating "obvious war zone in rear-view"?
She sighed, having to explain anything was not her forte tonight. Not that she was usually this gruff, but her headache compounded the issue.
"I was thinking if you have a Joe Nobody car at home, so we can blend in. I have my bike, but it seats one in a general state of comfort, two's gonna get really comfy, yeah?"
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:18:13; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Oops. And ouch!
Err, I guess you're right; doesn't look exactly inconspicuous.
Look at the thing. Now imagine you'd have sat there in a normal car...
Sorry, but I can't help you there; got a bike myself too. Looks a lot like yours, in fact.
Wouldn't have guessed that not having a car would be a problem.
Hmm, might be another really stupid question on my part, but can you ride your bike with the way your eye acts up? If so, you could go ahead on your own while I drop off this "billboard" at the depot, get my bike and we meet up in Everett. If you'd rather not risk it, might wanna treat yourself to being chauffeured around on your own bike.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:18:13; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Oops. And ouch!
Err, I guess you're right; doesn't look exactly inconspicuous.
Look at the thing. Now imagine you'd have sat there in a normal car...
Sorry, but I can't help you there; got a bike myself too. Looks a lot like yours, in fact.
Wouldn't have guessed that not having a car would be a problem.
Hmm, might be another really stupid question on my part, but can you ride your bike with the way your eye acts up? If so, you could go ahead on your own while I drop off this "billboard" at the depot, get my bike and we meet up in Everett. If you'd rather not risk it, might wanna treat yourself to being chauffeured around on your own bike.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:16:40; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
That perked her up a bit more, things were looking up, a fellow motorcycle enthusiast.
"I should be fine, no breaking of any speed limits happening tonight I can assure you. You said Bond and Wall street? Yeah, I can get directions easy enough. I'll see you there, but at some point I need to go see someone for this glitch."
[April 17th, 2072, 23:16:40; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
That perked her up a bit more, things were looking up, a fellow motorcycle enthusiast.
"I should be fine, no breaking of any speed limits happening tonight I can assure you. You said Bond and Wall street? Yeah, I can get directions easy enough. I'll see you there, but at some point I need to go see someone for this glitch."
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:18:13; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Ok, take care. Tapping on his commlink again, Adrian causes an ARO - a plain white businesscard that reads "John Taylor", "flyboy" and gives a matrix address - to float in midair between him and Saint. Seeing as you'll probably get there first, why don't you give me a line when you arrive.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:18:13; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Ok, take care. Tapping on his commlink again, Adrian causes an ARO - a plain white businesscard that reads "John Taylor", "flyboy" and gives a matrix address - to float in midair between him and Saint. Seeing as you'll probably get there first, why don't you give me a line when you arrive.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:17:38; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She made sure to route it to her actual commlink, nodding to him. This night was shaping up to be a long one, she felt bad that she'd been cursing Tomoko under her breath for being late in replying, taking a good hour to respond to her in kind. After pulling her effects out of the back seat, she made her way back to the Suzuki.
Saint's curiosity spiked, having time to think about the mission on her way over. She wasn't quite sure if she could handle two jobs at once, quickly compiling a new message for her fixer before she rode off.
<<@Tomoko: Something has come up, is this the urgent kind or can it wait? [Saint]>>
[April 17th, 2072, 23:17:38; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She made sure to route it to her actual commlink, nodding to him. This night was shaping up to be a long one, she felt bad that she'd been cursing Tomoko under her breath for being late in replying, taking a good hour to respond to her in kind. After pulling her effects out of the back seat, she made her way back to the Suzuki.
Saint's curiosity spiked, having time to think about the mission on her way over. She wasn't quite sure if she could handle two jobs at once, quickly compiling a new message for her fixer before she rode off.
<<@Tomoko: Something has come up, is this the urgent kind or can it wait? [Saint]>>
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:18:13; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Watching Saint walk over to her bike, Adrian lets his mind wander for a second. What was that old thing his uncle once muttered? Hate to see you leave but love to watch you go? Heh, some other time, some other life, who knows?
Waving a goodbye to Saint, Adrian drives off
...and takes his time to compose a message to his boss
[April 17h 2072, 23:49:07; 120 th NE Ave; almost in sight of the Touristville Combat Cab department]
...sending it off just before reaching "home base".
<<from:CC#19493@8746 to:CC_8746 subject:ending my shift a bit early>
Cab got caught in a bomb explosion. Might want to have someone look it over. RTB. Taking some hours off.
J. Taylor>
See, didn't even have to lie. And with a bit of luck, I'm already leaving the parking lot on my bike before he even sees it.
With an unusually smug grin, Adrian pulls into the parking spot assigned to Seattle's Combat Cab #19493.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:18:13; S 19th St. In a Combat Cab]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Watching Saint walk over to her bike, Adrian lets his mind wander for a second. What was that old thing his uncle once muttered? Hate to see you leave but love to watch you go? Heh, some other time, some other life, who knows?
Waving a goodbye to Saint, Adrian drives off
...and takes his time to compose a message to his boss
[April 17h 2072, 23:49:07; 120 th NE Ave; almost in sight of the Touristville Combat Cab department]
...sending it off just before reaching "home base".
<<from:CC#19493@8746 to:CC_8746 subject:ending my shift a bit early>
Cab got caught in a bomb explosion. Might want to have someone look it over. RTB. Taking some hours off.
J. Taylor>
See, didn't even have to lie. And with a bit of luck, I'm already leaving the parking lot on my bike before he even sees it.
With an unusually smug grin, Adrian pulls into the parking spot assigned to Seattle's Combat Cab #19493.
@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, The refectory of St. Madeleine]
The elderly and powerful abbot's summons at this very late hour of the night, while most certainly not unexpected, still boded ill for Father Anselm given the events of the evening. I knew I should have reined in my connection with the Lord but there wasn't much I could do... The quiet-moving priest moved rapidly down the hall, seeming to glide in motion, outwardly calm, inwardly a wreck of doubt. The abbot was not known to be merciful to those who brought attention to the inner workings of the church, and if the Sylvestrines had not managed to cleanse the area before onlookers could arrive who would know about magical methods of tracing, it was going to be a worse night.
The slowly flickering fire at the end of the refectory hall glittered softly in the seemingly cavernous space between the refectory entrance and it's high table, some 200 meters in all, it was a grand edifice of a powerful and ancient moral authority. The abbot was back-lit by the mammoth fireplace and as Anselm moved closer he could feel the man watching him with all the power that had been invested into such a frail body. The abbot was known to personally torture those who were deemed useless by the church and well Anselm knew that attempting to resist would just lengthen the process.
The abbot rose quietly and stood watching as Anselm arrived at the steps to the dias and promptly bowed to the ground, "My lord, I ask forgiveness for incurring the Lord's wrath tonight.... I believed that our pawn would be overcome.." The quiet stillness held more threat than any outburst that the abbot could have thrown into his face. Anselm sought to find his inner sense of peace in the Lord's work as he always did during his devotions, but it was a search without success as the very air seemed to grow cold around his body.
NO! I will not go quietly! He felt the abbot building his power around him, releasing the power of the ether onto Anselm's unshielded form. Regardless of future reparations Anselm fought to quench the hungering void of the abyss that the abbot threw around him like a constricting cloak of doubt. He sought to find the fire of the Lord to fill the vacuum and failed for what seemed ages until he finally found a spark deep within his soul that blossomed into a raging inferno to warm his body and close off the void.
Again the abbot's quiet demeanor amplified the attack against his very mind as he felt the abbot send a spear of divine omniscience into the core of his mind, only after a few seconds did he manage to thrust the abbot away, forcibly throwing him backwards over the dias table where he sprawled almost to the fireplace. Anger seethed within Anselm and for moments which stretched into eternity he held a lance of plasma, greater than the one he had thrown at the heathen, in fact greater than he had indeed realized he could have held without being torn to pieces, at the throat of the aging and now weak-seeming abbot. "My Lord you have taken much from me this night, knowing my thoughts in ways that only God should use, especially against one of his servants. You now know I speak no lie when I say I did as I believed the Lord wanted me to... do not attack me again my Lord... God and God alone will be my doubter!"
The anger spent, Anselm released the spear, allowing it to billow up to the refectory roof and disappear, thankful indeed that he had been given the grace to hold such power for even a second in his righteous defence. The abbot regained his composure remarkably well and though he eyed Anselm warily, as one alpha wolf to another, he merely held out his hand and said, "My son, it seems God has more in store for you than I could have seen. However, you committed grave acts that threaten to break our secret charge in the world this night and moreover, you did so with articles of the Church in your possession... I require them of you now, or you will feel the full might of Holy Church against your soul."
His threat was not idle, as Anselm could practically see the buildup of power around the old abbot. He realized in that instant that the abbot had merely been testing him, and that his full power had been sheltered so that he could gauge the worthiness of Anselm's fervor. Reluctantly, Anselm handed the two foci over that he had been lent during his time in France, neglecting to mention his possession of two more which he had encountered on his travels to the Holy Land. "As you wish my lord.... would you still have me carry out the mission for which all was risked this evening?"
The abbot smiled, in such a drawn face it was almost a rictus of death, and nodded in affirmation, "Indeed my son, you have proven yourself worthy of the mission as well as now having a need for you to be absent from our small city for some time, at least until you have something to show for your efforts...You will find your package to be two people, a father and his son. The son is collateral but the father is the real point of interest for this group of heathens and devil-worshippers; be on your guard, he is one of those whom the devil has granted the ability to interface with all manner of matrix based machines. How one can not see that this is not of the Lord is beyond the sight of the faithful as how can one commune with that which has no soul, that which is harsh and unmoving? Either way, ensure he reaches his destination safely at all costs; we must know how many more to purge or if any can be turn to God's holy work. You will stop over in the UK, in fact quite close to our friends at the newly reconsecrated Rosslyn Abbey. Then from there, it is hoped that this group, who goes by the name of Stillwater, will facilitate further transport for you; if not however, you are to be in contact with a fixer known to sully her reputation by dealing with such people by the name of Argent, and our faithful will arrange for your convenient transport via Chicago and then on to Seattle."
Anselm stood for a moment, uncertain as to his dismissal before bowing mutely and retreating as quickly as he had come. Now to pick up my charges and flee this country as quickly as possible before the abbot changes his mind.
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, The refectory of St. Madeleine]
The elderly and powerful abbot's summons at this very late hour of the night, while most certainly not unexpected, still boded ill for Father Anselm given the events of the evening. I knew I should have reined in my connection with the Lord but there wasn't much I could do... The quiet-moving priest moved rapidly down the hall, seeming to glide in motion, outwardly calm, inwardly a wreck of doubt. The abbot was not known to be merciful to those who brought attention to the inner workings of the church, and if the Sylvestrines had not managed to cleanse the area before onlookers could arrive who would know about magical methods of tracing, it was going to be a worse night.
The slowly flickering fire at the end of the refectory hall glittered softly in the seemingly cavernous space between the refectory entrance and it's high table, some 200 meters in all, it was a grand edifice of a powerful and ancient moral authority. The abbot was back-lit by the mammoth fireplace and as Anselm moved closer he could feel the man watching him with all the power that had been invested into such a frail body. The abbot was known to personally torture those who were deemed useless by the church and well Anselm knew that attempting to resist would just lengthen the process.
The abbot rose quietly and stood watching as Anselm arrived at the steps to the dias and promptly bowed to the ground, "My lord, I ask forgiveness for incurring the Lord's wrath tonight.... I believed that our pawn would be overcome.." The quiet stillness held more threat than any outburst that the abbot could have thrown into his face. Anselm sought to find his inner sense of peace in the Lord's work as he always did during his devotions, but it was a search without success as the very air seemed to grow cold around his body.
NO! I will not go quietly! He felt the abbot building his power around him, releasing the power of the ether onto Anselm's unshielded form. Regardless of future reparations Anselm fought to quench the hungering void of the abyss that the abbot threw around him like a constricting cloak of doubt. He sought to find the fire of the Lord to fill the vacuum and failed for what seemed ages until he finally found a spark deep within his soul that blossomed into a raging inferno to warm his body and close off the void.
Again the abbot's quiet demeanor amplified the attack against his very mind as he felt the abbot send a spear of divine omniscience into the core of his mind, only after a few seconds did he manage to thrust the abbot away, forcibly throwing him backwards over the dias table where he sprawled almost to the fireplace. Anger seethed within Anselm and for moments which stretched into eternity he held a lance of plasma, greater than the one he had thrown at the heathen, in fact greater than he had indeed realized he could have held without being torn to pieces, at the throat of the aging and now weak-seeming abbot. "My Lord you have taken much from me this night, knowing my thoughts in ways that only God should use, especially against one of his servants. You now know I speak no lie when I say I did as I believed the Lord wanted me to... do not attack me again my Lord... God and God alone will be my doubter!"
The anger spent, Anselm released the spear, allowing it to billow up to the refectory roof and disappear, thankful indeed that he had been given the grace to hold such power for even a second in his righteous defence. The abbot regained his composure remarkably well and though he eyed Anselm warily, as one alpha wolf to another, he merely held out his hand and said, "My son, it seems God has more in store for you than I could have seen. However, you committed grave acts that threaten to break our secret charge in the world this night and moreover, you did so with articles of the Church in your possession... I require them of you now, or you will feel the full might of Holy Church against your soul."
His threat was not idle, as Anselm could practically see the buildup of power around the old abbot. He realized in that instant that the abbot had merely been testing him, and that his full power had been sheltered so that he could gauge the worthiness of Anselm's fervor. Reluctantly, Anselm handed the two foci over that he had been lent during his time in France, neglecting to mention his possession of two more which he had encountered on his travels to the Holy Land. "As you wish my lord.... would you still have me carry out the mission for which all was risked this evening?"
The abbot smiled, in such a drawn face it was almost a rictus of death, and nodded in affirmation, "Indeed my son, you have proven yourself worthy of the mission as well as now having a need for you to be absent from our small city for some time, at least until you have something to show for your efforts...You will find your package to be two people, a father and his son. The son is collateral but the father is the real point of interest for this group of heathens and devil-worshippers; be on your guard, he is one of those whom the devil has granted the ability to interface with all manner of matrix based machines. How one can not see that this is not of the Lord is beyond the sight of the faithful as how can one commune with that which has no soul, that which is harsh and unmoving? Either way, ensure he reaches his destination safely at all costs; we must know how many more to purge or if any can be turn to God's holy work. You will stop over in the UK, in fact quite close to our friends at the newly reconsecrated Rosslyn Abbey. Then from there, it is hoped that this group, who goes by the name of Stillwater, will facilitate further transport for you; if not however, you are to be in contact with a fixer known to sully her reputation by dealing with such people by the name of Argent, and our faithful will arrange for your convenient transport via Chicago and then on to Seattle."
Anselm stood for a moment, uncertain as to his dismissal before bowing mutely and retreating as quickly as he had come. Now to pick up my charges and flee this country as quickly as possible before the abbot changes his mind.
@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
Sorting out the disposal of his package had been a tedious affair taking much of the previous night as the son had not been, as Anselm had assumed, a youth in his teens but rather a toddler, no more than 2 years old and expressing some rather interesting genetic tendencies himself. The headache the child's bawling had instilled in his mind left the normally emotionally neutral priest in a state not fit for normal company.
"So, I am here. Where and when do we begin?" The lithe Frenchman showed up right as Anselm had expected and hoped for, looking indecently clean and well-rested. The priest merely motioned to the waiting cargo plane and turned to move up the steps to the passenger's portion of the craft. "I want to be rid of this cargo as soon as possible... the child is a mess and therefore I'm certain you will have no qualms with watching over it correct? Either way, there is refreshment in the cabin once you get your gear settled, please, I know you can be trusted to be professional but at least make certain your safeties are on? This child has been a nightmare and I have not slept one iota..."
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
Sorting out the disposal of his package had been a tedious affair taking much of the previous night as the son had not been, as Anselm had assumed, a youth in his teens but rather a toddler, no more than 2 years old and expressing some rather interesting genetic tendencies himself. The headache the child's bawling had instilled in his mind left the normally emotionally neutral priest in a state not fit for normal company.
"So, I am here. Where and when do we begin?" The lithe Frenchman showed up right as Anselm had expected and hoped for, looking indecently clean and well-rested. The priest merely motioned to the waiting cargo plane and turned to move up the steps to the passenger's portion of the craft. "I want to be rid of this cargo as soon as possible... the child is a mess and therefore I'm certain you will have no qualms with watching over it correct? Either way, there is refreshment in the cabin once you get your gear settled, please, I know you can be trusted to be professional but at least make certain your safeties are on? This child has been a nightmare and I have not slept one iota..."
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:10:03 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
Hawke paused for a second, looking at Jack with a quisical tone, "My young friend, let me give you a piece of advice for free shall I? In your games, do you always tell the players what you intend? Do you in fact wear all your emotions on your sleeve? I would think not, especially seeing how well you have done in my games... Take a piece of your experience there and use it to your advantage.... Alina is good and everything she does, she does for a reason... Be kind to her and you will find you have learned a lot by the time she is ready to teach you. You seek to make a name for yourself my young friend.... don't do it by having my Grandma kill you..."
Lightning quick, his tone is back to genial and light as Jack had always known him. "But my friend, I will see what I can do about finding you some opportunities to make good on getting into the better games shall I? I know your eyes light up every time you hear loose lips speaking of the Vashon Island game... but you are a far pace from that yet."
[April 17th, 2072, 21:10:03 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
Hawke paused for a second, looking at Jack with a quisical tone, "My young friend, let me give you a piece of advice for free shall I? In your games, do you always tell the players what you intend? Do you in fact wear all your emotions on your sleeve? I would think not, especially seeing how well you have done in my games... Take a piece of your experience there and use it to your advantage.... Alina is good and everything she does, she does for a reason... Be kind to her and you will find you have learned a lot by the time she is ready to teach you. You seek to make a name for yourself my young friend.... don't do it by having my Grandma kill you..."
Lightning quick, his tone is back to genial and light as Jack had always known him. "But my friend, I will see what I can do about finding you some opportunities to make good on getting into the better games shall I? I know your eyes light up every time you hear loose lips speaking of the Vashon Island game... but you are a far pace from that yet."
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:12:24 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
Grandma? Does he mean that literally or as just a point of keeping things family-like here?
"I would be very grateful about any information about the Vashon Island game or any game with enough chips involved. As far as your Grandma is concerned. She wanted me to get her some caseless ammo. I'm afraid that's one of those many things I'm still learning. I am trying to get her how to teach me how to shoot better, and I don't know who to talk to get the right kind of ammo or whatnot. Any ideas on who I need to talk to, or do you know anyone that you trust with me getting ammo for your Grandma?"
Jack played the ignorance card. It wasn't a good defense, or even a defense at all. He offered the one thing that most in the shadows never offered about themselves...the truth. There was a simple realization that occurred in those few moments, Jack would need help to get into the card games that had higher stakes. Those people would not necessarily be as friendly as those in the Palace, and he would need to defend himself. Winnings, if he was going to win, meant nothing to a dead man.
Jack looked around and though his voice probably could be heard by those interested; the establishment knew well enough not to screw around with Hawke or Alina for that matter. Jack wondered if this was going to be another frivolous goose-chase. He grabbed the laundry and proceeded to accomplish at least one good deed for the day.
"I'll be back for that answer in just a second, I have laundry to deliver," Jack flashed Hawke a winning smile while entering into daydream fantasies about the Vashon Island Tournament.
[April 17th, 2072, 21:12:24 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]
Grandma? Does he mean that literally or as just a point of keeping things family-like here?
"I would be very grateful about any information about the Vashon Island game or any game with enough chips involved. As far as your Grandma is concerned. She wanted me to get her some caseless ammo. I'm afraid that's one of those many things I'm still learning. I am trying to get her how to teach me how to shoot better, and I don't know who to talk to get the right kind of ammo or whatnot. Any ideas on who I need to talk to, or do you know anyone that you trust with me getting ammo for your Grandma?"
Jack played the ignorance card. It wasn't a good defense, or even a defense at all. He offered the one thing that most in the shadows never offered about themselves...the truth. There was a simple realization that occurred in those few moments, Jack would need help to get into the card games that had higher stakes. Those people would not necessarily be as friendly as those in the Palace, and he would need to defend himself. Winnings, if he was going to win, meant nothing to a dead man.
Jack looked around and though his voice probably could be heard by those interested; the establishment knew well enough not to screw around with Hawke or Alina for that matter. Jack wondered if this was going to be another frivolous goose-chase. He grabbed the laundry and proceeded to accomplish at least one good deed for the day.
"I'll be back for that answer in just a second, I have laundry to deliver," Jack flashed Hawke a winning smile while entering into daydream fantasies about the Vashon Island Tournament.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:41:11; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
It was getting colder as time passed, the wind still trying to steal every degree of body heat she had. She didn't know how long it would take John to get back to his taxi service center, but she had a pit stop of her own to make. It wasn't too terrible going the speed limit, it actually helped ease her mind though focusing was still a nuisance. While the I-5 would have taken her all the way up to just about where she would need to be, she veered off onto 20th street in Fife, taking that, Milton way and highway 161 up to her apartment. She needed something warmer, and to stock her backpack a little better.
She pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex after keying in her passcode at the gate. It wasn't huge on the security but it kept out undesirables and the like. The maglocks on the doors were still functional, too, which was a plus. Milton had seen better days, especially being so close to the Puyallup barrens, still, this was home to her for now.
The stairs were still a bit slippery from when her neighbors had thrown a pre-finals party. Maintenance had a lovely time hosing down the aftermath. After she got her cardio in for the day running up four flights of stairs, she punched in the final code to get into her apartment and reveled at the slightly less chilly interior of her personal paradise. She first grabbed the only jacket she owned from her closet, then took an inventory of what she might need. She had her Elan in her backpack along with her flashlight, not much else. Her first thought was to snatch the extra clip of stick n' shock ammo she had underneath her bed. Her smart ammo pouch to put it in, and she stole the concealable holster she kept with her party dress designed for her Elan. It was designed to be strapped to her leg, but it also had velco adjustment, so it was just a matter of fiddling with it around her arm. It was an odd fit, and she wouldn't be getting to it in any sort of quick fashion, but it was fine as far as her budget was concerned. Once she had her Elan set, taking the time to make sure the safety was on, it was all about figuring what an amateur investigator would need.
Hmm... Ammo, weapon, holster. What else, what else...
She honestly didn't expect there to be much in the way of problems on this little reconnoiter, but it helped to be sure. She didn't want to take anything illegal if she didn't have to. Her Savalette would be staying in its little hidey hole for now. Confident with her choices, she made sure to lock the door behind her, keeping an eye out if anyone was nearby out of habits sake. Time to make a long journey up to Everett. She'd continue taking the I-5 up and since she had her bike, navigating traffic would help cut the overall time. She took a moment to look up directions to Bond and Wall street while having the public access available to her wireless. Once she had a route planned, she set up a screen in her AR before she was ready to take off.
[April 17th, 2072, 23:41:11; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
It was getting colder as time passed, the wind still trying to steal every degree of body heat she had. She didn't know how long it would take John to get back to his taxi service center, but she had a pit stop of her own to make. It wasn't too terrible going the speed limit, it actually helped ease her mind though focusing was still a nuisance. While the I-5 would have taken her all the way up to just about where she would need to be, she veered off onto 20th street in Fife, taking that, Milton way and highway 161 up to her apartment. She needed something warmer, and to stock her backpack a little better.
She pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex after keying in her passcode at the gate. It wasn't huge on the security but it kept out undesirables and the like. The maglocks on the doors were still functional, too, which was a plus. Milton had seen better days, especially being so close to the Puyallup barrens, still, this was home to her for now.
The stairs were still a bit slippery from when her neighbors had thrown a pre-finals party. Maintenance had a lovely time hosing down the aftermath. After she got her cardio in for the day running up four flights of stairs, she punched in the final code to get into her apartment and reveled at the slightly less chilly interior of her personal paradise. She first grabbed the only jacket she owned from her closet, then took an inventory of what she might need. She had her Elan in her backpack along with her flashlight, not much else. Her first thought was to snatch the extra clip of stick n' shock ammo she had underneath her bed. Her smart ammo pouch to put it in, and she stole the concealable holster she kept with her party dress designed for her Elan. It was designed to be strapped to her leg, but it also had velco adjustment, so it was just a matter of fiddling with it around her arm. It was an odd fit, and she wouldn't be getting to it in any sort of quick fashion, but it was fine as far as her budget was concerned. Once she had her Elan set, taking the time to make sure the safety was on, it was all about figuring what an amateur investigator would need.
Hmm... Ammo, weapon, holster. What else, what else...
She honestly didn't expect there to be much in the way of problems on this little reconnoiter, but it helped to be sure. She didn't want to take anything illegal if she didn't have to. Her Savalette would be staying in its little hidey hole for now. Confident with her choices, she made sure to lock the door behind her, keeping an eye out if anyone was nearby out of habits sake. Time to make a long journey up to Everett. She'd continue taking the I-5 up and since she had her bike, navigating traffic would help cut the overall time. She took a moment to look up directions to Bond and Wall street while having the public access available to her wireless. Once she had a route planned, she set up a screen in her AR before she was ready to take off.
@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]
Gemeaux's expression twists into a disappointed pout, frowning at the thought of having to babysit not just one but two people.
"Is there not a stewardess on the plane? They are used to dealing with infants, at least more so than me." He ducks his head into the passenger cabin, looking to see if there is a flight attendant crew onboard.
"As for safeties, my sidearm responds only to my touch until I am inclined to let another use it. That is highly unlikely, and I am not one for killing children---no matter how insufferable they might be. A man must have standards, even in this sorry day and age.
"That being said," he says, changing topics, "I suspect it best for you to get some rest. Then, I need you to explain in more detail what you need me to do. I am in my best element when unseen by and far away from my quarry. Playing bodyguard requires a certain level of...visibility, shall we say."
And invites an uncomfortable amount of vulnerability on my part. I am an assassin, after all. Not some thick-skinned brute accustomed to absorbing bullets or punches. However, he leaves that particular thought unsaid.
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]
Gemeaux's expression twists into a disappointed pout, frowning at the thought of having to babysit not just one but two people.
"Is there not a stewardess on the plane? They are used to dealing with infants, at least more so than me." He ducks his head into the passenger cabin, looking to see if there is a flight attendant crew onboard.
"As for safeties, my sidearm responds only to my touch until I am inclined to let another use it. That is highly unlikely, and I am not one for killing children---no matter how insufferable they might be. A man must have standards, even in this sorry day and age.
"That being said," he says, changing topics, "I suspect it best for you to get some rest. Then, I need you to explain in more detail what you need me to do. I am in my best element when unseen by and far away from my quarry. Playing bodyguard requires a certain level of...visibility, shall we say."
And invites an uncomfortable amount of vulnerability on my part. I am an assassin, after all. Not some thick-skinned brute accustomed to absorbing bullets or punches. However, he leaves that particular thought unsaid.
@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
Grinning inwardly at the hitman's obvious discomfort, it was a relief after all to see that young infants had the same terrorizing effect on a man who, as rumor had it, regularly assassinated in cold blood, Anselm shook his head, "Unfortunately no, I was not expecting live transport either and my associates mentioned it only in passing as the time came to pick up the package... However, I will let you know everything when the time is right; even though we are on a fairly secure plane who's motives are beyond questioning... certain precautions ensure that what you do not know can't be beaten out of you oui? One other thing to note," and Anselm dropped his voice beyond a whisper at this point, "See to it that you are careful with your electronic devices, the father is one of those whom they call technomancers..."
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
Grinning inwardly at the hitman's obvious discomfort, it was a relief after all to see that young infants had the same terrorizing effect on a man who, as rumor had it, regularly assassinated in cold blood, Anselm shook his head, "Unfortunately no, I was not expecting live transport either and my associates mentioned it only in passing as the time came to pick up the package... However, I will let you know everything when the time is right; even though we are on a fairly secure plane who's motives are beyond questioning... certain precautions ensure that what you do not know can't be beaten out of you oui? One other thing to note," and Anselm dropped his voice beyond a whisper at this point, "See to it that you are careful with your electronic devices, the father is one of those whom they call technomancers..."
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:52:13; Touristville, Combat Cab parking lot]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Now, in the somewhat safe and familiar surroundings, Adrian can't help but walk once around his damaged cab and survey the damage done to its front.
And that just from what fit into that woman's head? And it had detonated inside...
He shudders, gets his black jacket from the cab's trunk and heads over to his bike.
Ignoring a message from his boss', he hits the road, heading back north. Not quite as good as flying...
[April 17th, 2072, 23:52:13; Touristville, Combat Cab parking lot]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Now, in the somewhat safe and familiar surroundings, Adrian can't help but walk once around his damaged cab and survey the damage done to its front.
And that just from what fit into that woman's head? And it had detonated inside...
He shudders, gets his black jacket from the cab's trunk and heads over to his bike.
Ignoring a message from his boss', he hits the road, heading back north. Not quite as good as flying...
@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]
<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, my lovely, I need you to make sure that you turn off my sidearm's smartgun system and shut down immediately if you feel someone tampering with you.>>
<<[Vivienne]: Of course, Damien. Should I be worried?>>
<<[Gemeaux]: There is a technomancer in our midst, and I have yet to meet and measure the man. Be certain, though, that if he lays a digital finger on you, I will flay the man alive. You have my word.>>
<<[Vivienne]: Don't worry, Damien. I believe in you.>>
Those last words from the personality program cut across the unhealed wound that was Vivienne's death. Those were her last words before she was killed by Shiawase's bounty hunters. He considers reprogramming the personality to never say those words again, but then decides against it. The program represents his memories of her, and editing away its spontaneity and free will would be criminal as spitting on a Monet.
"I will make the proper precautions," he says to Anselm. "Though, I do need to know more of what is going on. I am fairly decent at keeping a secret, and I do not cross those who have yet to cross me. A friend once gave me this piece of advice: 'When dealing in the Shadows, be square or beware.' The advice is especially true for those in my profession."
[May 19th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]
<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, my lovely, I need you to make sure that you turn off my sidearm's smartgun system and shut down immediately if you feel someone tampering with you.>>
<<[Vivienne]: Of course, Damien. Should I be worried?>>
<<[Gemeaux]: There is a technomancer in our midst, and I have yet to meet and measure the man. Be certain, though, that if he lays a digital finger on you, I will flay the man alive. You have my word.>>
<<[Vivienne]: Don't worry, Damien. I believe in you.>>
Those last words from the personality program cut across the unhealed wound that was Vivienne's death. Those were her last words before she was killed by Shiawase's bounty hunters. He considers reprogramming the personality to never say those words again, but then decides against it. The program represents his memories of her, and editing away its spontaneity and free will would be criminal as spitting on a Monet.
"I will make the proper precautions," he says to Anselm. "Though, I do need to know more of what is going on. I am fairly decent at keeping a secret, and I do not cross those who have yet to cross me. A friend once gave me this piece of advice: 'When dealing in the Shadows, be square or beware.' The advice is especially true for those in my profession."
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:22:30; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
This may have been one of her worst decisions-- ever. I-5 had been a risky choice anyway, at was a primary thoroughfare, but it really got bad when you hit downtown. You're only as good as the driver in front of you, and considering she had a difficult enough time seeing that, it was inevitable that she over-corrected when there was a rapid deceleration and she had to pull onto the shoulder to get past. That decision had cost her a year of her life, when a merging drone semi had barreled up the on-ramp, blissfully unaware that such a maneuver was feasible. Scared half to death after the ordeal, Saint decided that caution was the better part of existence, no doubt that accident would be funneling KE into the area. No more weaving through traffic for her. Still, after she'd gotten off I-5 onto Broadway, she made a decent cut in her approximate arrival time.
Pulling into a parking space at her destination, she took a good look at her surroundings. The place seemed seedier than her neck of the woods by a long shot. Docks always had a tendency to draw the shifty sort of people, and no doubt there were more than a few reasons Jessica might have come here for. Drugs, a story, maybe seeing a pimp for some "off-the-clock" work, oddly enough there was a hospital she had passed just a second ago as well. Too many questions, again.
She pulled a new window up, putting John's commcode to good use.
<<@John: Hey, just got to the location. Don't know if you beat me here or not, just wanted to grab some goodies from home first. What's your sitch? [Saint]>>
Took her a minute until she could finally hit send. This damned eye was starting the bug the ever-livin' drek out of her. Maybe it was a good thing that there was a hospital nearby, she could take a few minutes and get her cyber eyes re-calibrated and restored. In an ideal world.
[April 17th, 2072, 00:22:30; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
This may have been one of her worst decisions-- ever. I-5 had been a risky choice anyway, at was a primary thoroughfare, but it really got bad when you hit downtown. You're only as good as the driver in front of you, and considering she had a difficult enough time seeing that, it was inevitable that she over-corrected when there was a rapid deceleration and she had to pull onto the shoulder to get past. That decision had cost her a year of her life, when a merging drone semi had barreled up the on-ramp, blissfully unaware that such a maneuver was feasible. Scared half to death after the ordeal, Saint decided that caution was the better part of existence, no doubt that accident would be funneling KE into the area. No more weaving through traffic for her. Still, after she'd gotten off I-5 onto Broadway, she made a decent cut in her approximate arrival time.
Pulling into a parking space at her destination, she took a good look at her surroundings. The place seemed seedier than her neck of the woods by a long shot. Docks always had a tendency to draw the shifty sort of people, and no doubt there were more than a few reasons Jessica might have come here for. Drugs, a story, maybe seeing a pimp for some "off-the-clock" work, oddly enough there was a hospital she had passed just a second ago as well. Too many questions, again.
She pulled a new window up, putting John's commcode to good use.
<<@John: Hey, just got to the location. Don't know if you beat me here or not, just wanted to grab some goodies from home first. What's your sitch? [Saint]>>
Took her a minute until she could finally hit send. This damned eye was starting the bug the ever-livin' drek out of her. Maybe it was a good thing that there was a hospital nearby, she could take a few minutes and get her cyber eyes re-calibrated and restored. In an ideal world.
Balefire / Silk
[May 08th, 2072; Matrix Node: SEAѤ67-∑2: The Citadel]
Her Sunday lunch shift was over and she’d run back through the rain and settled into the thread bare sofa to finally bow to Bale’s wishes and begin the painful process of patching Balefire back together again. She settled the skin contact from the portal on her Avalon and felt the prickle of current as the ‘link connected, syncing her mind with the beautiful perils of the ‘trix…
Her stomach did a graceful flop as the fighter broke away from the dock and lunged down towards the whirling gas clouds of the planet below her. Flicking her hands over the AR controls she turned her swallow dive into a beautiful sweep that took her across the orbital ring of Fleet Pandora, marvelling again at the feeling of reality in this breath-taking simulation. She input the coordinates that Aria had given her and couldn’t help smiling at her whimsical friend’s choice of meeting location – you didn’t get much more obscured than inside the vapour clouds of a gas giant in a fictional universe. Although she didn’t know who the servers belonged to, the sheer volume of traffic through this popular gaming node should mask their presence, and Aria wouldn’t have picked it for a private conversation if she was concerned about its security.
The magenta and gold clouds gave way to swirling azures and then she gasped involuntarily as the maw of a spacecraft opened before her, dwarfing the small craft that propelled her inexorably into its grasp. Over the internal speakers she heard a familiar chuckle…
“Thank you Aria, you’ve spooked me again…I would love to play but I’ve got things I need to discuss with you…”
Considerably more sober she heard the reply in her mind
“I’m sorry, I love this place and sometimes can’t help myself…it’s always so unexpected! I’ll transfer you to somewhere that we can talk…”
and Silk’s icon in the game world de-rezzed into a flare of pixels and coalesced in an exotic garden dome at the top of the craft with a stunning view of the gaseous environs, and dimly the stars beyond, held at bay by some sort of energy field. Aria had made no concessions to the metaphor of the game world and her icon appeared here as the usual little girl with impish smile. Silk stood tall over her in the armoured flight suit but was under no illusions as to who was in control of this situation…something that suited her perfectly!
“Greg Scott has been to see me…he’s taken his brother’s handle…”
“So Bale is reborn? Interesting…”
“Not only that, he wants to restart Balefire…and I’ve agreed…there’s a slim chance that it will flush out whoever was responsible…whoever hired those bloody mercs…”
“And you need my help? I’m not a runner any more sweetie, I’ve got other commitments…”
“I know that, but I need your help to find your replacement on the team. We’ve got the other bases covered.”
“Well I’m sure I can come up with someone…” there’s a pause as Aria looked off into the distance, no doubt accessing her database of those who owe favours, people that can be trusted, and those that can’t…
“There is a name that has come up favourably recently…one Fractal…he has done some work for the Freedom hacker tribe and Prospero speaks highly of his competence. Perhaps if you contact him? If that doesn’t work out then I have other names.”
“Thank you! I’m sorry I can’t stay and play, perhaps when we’ve established this thing and worked out any kinks…then there’s just the small matter of finding work. But somewhere as busy as Seattle there’s always something going on.”
She kissed her hand and touched it to Aria’s cheek… “see you soon”
Her icon rematerialized in the great hall of the Citadel, directly under the spinning orrery. Ignoring the dazzling iconography she fired off a message to the drop box that Aria had supplied for Fractal
<<@Fractal: My name is Silk. I have a long term proposal for you, we are forming a team for a series of sporting events and your name has been suggested as someone who might be interested in joining us. Contact me at this number if you are interested and I’ll give you the location for our first meet in a couple of days time. S>>
[May 08th, 2072; Matrix Node: SEAѤ67-∑2: The Citadel]
Her Sunday lunch shift was over and she’d run back through the rain and settled into the thread bare sofa to finally bow to Bale’s wishes and begin the painful process of patching Balefire back together again. She settled the skin contact from the portal on her Avalon and felt the prickle of current as the ‘link connected, syncing her mind with the beautiful perils of the ‘trix…
Her stomach did a graceful flop as the fighter broke away from the dock and lunged down towards the whirling gas clouds of the planet below her. Flicking her hands over the AR controls she turned her swallow dive into a beautiful sweep that took her across the orbital ring of Fleet Pandora, marvelling again at the feeling of reality in this breath-taking simulation. She input the coordinates that Aria had given her and couldn’t help smiling at her whimsical friend’s choice of meeting location – you didn’t get much more obscured than inside the vapour clouds of a gas giant in a fictional universe. Although she didn’t know who the servers belonged to, the sheer volume of traffic through this popular gaming node should mask their presence, and Aria wouldn’t have picked it for a private conversation if she was concerned about its security.
The magenta and gold clouds gave way to swirling azures and then she gasped involuntarily as the maw of a spacecraft opened before her, dwarfing the small craft that propelled her inexorably into its grasp. Over the internal speakers she heard a familiar chuckle…
“Thank you Aria, you’ve spooked me again…I would love to play but I’ve got things I need to discuss with you…”
Considerably more sober she heard the reply in her mind
“I’m sorry, I love this place and sometimes can’t help myself…it’s always so unexpected! I’ll transfer you to somewhere that we can talk…”
and Silk’s icon in the game world de-rezzed into a flare of pixels and coalesced in an exotic garden dome at the top of the craft with a stunning view of the gaseous environs, and dimly the stars beyond, held at bay by some sort of energy field. Aria had made no concessions to the metaphor of the game world and her icon appeared here as the usual little girl with impish smile. Silk stood tall over her in the armoured flight suit but was under no illusions as to who was in control of this situation…something that suited her perfectly!
“Greg Scott has been to see me…he’s taken his brother’s handle…”
“So Bale is reborn? Interesting…”
“Not only that, he wants to restart Balefire…and I’ve agreed…there’s a slim chance that it will flush out whoever was responsible…whoever hired those bloody mercs…”
“And you need my help? I’m not a runner any more sweetie, I’ve got other commitments…”
“I know that, but I need your help to find your replacement on the team. We’ve got the other bases covered.”
“Well I’m sure I can come up with someone…” there’s a pause as Aria looked off into the distance, no doubt accessing her database of those who owe favours, people that can be trusted, and those that can’t…
“There is a name that has come up favourably recently…one Fractal…he has done some work for the Freedom hacker tribe and Prospero speaks highly of his competence. Perhaps if you contact him? If that doesn’t work out then I have other names.”
“Thank you! I’m sorry I can’t stay and play, perhaps when we’ve established this thing and worked out any kinks…then there’s just the small matter of finding work. But somewhere as busy as Seattle there’s always something going on.”
She kissed her hand and touched it to Aria’s cheek… “see you soon”
Her icon rematerialized in the great hall of the Citadel, directly under the spinning orrery. Ignoring the dazzling iconography she fired off a message to the drop box that Aria had supplied for Fractal
<<@Fractal: My name is Silk. I have a long term proposal for you, we are forming a team for a series of sporting events and your name has been suggested as someone who might be interested in joining us. Contact me at this number if you are interested and I’ll give you the location for our first meet in a couple of days time. S>>
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:23:54; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Having taken a slight detour, Adrian nears his destination from the north, keeping an eye open for a nice spot to park his bike.
Yup, still the dump it was about an hour ago.
Parking about 200 metres short of the interssection with Wall St, Adrian slowly walks south, eyes peeled, scanning his surroundings.
Stepping into a doorway so he won't be in the way of other pedestrians, Adrian takes a good look at the astral version of the street.
Not a nice neighbourhood, no matter which set of eyes you look at it with.
Wonder where Saint.... Murmuring, spotting her on the other side of the street and receiving her message all happen within split seconds of each other.
<<from:John to:Saint>
I'm just across from you, by that pink scooter. Not mine btw.
>
[April 18th, 2072, 00:23:54; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Having taken a slight detour, Adrian nears his destination from the north, keeping an eye open for a nice spot to park his bike.
Yup, still the dump it was about an hour ago.
Parking about 200 metres short of the interssection with Wall St, Adrian slowly walks south, eyes peeled, scanning his surroundings.
Stepping into a doorway so he won't be in the way of other pedestrians, Adrian takes a good look at the astral version of the street.
Not a nice neighbourhood, no matter which set of eyes you look at it with.
Wonder where Saint.... Murmuring, spotting her on the other side of the street and receiving her message all happen within split seconds of each other.
QUOTE ("Saint")
<<@John: Hey, just got to the location. Don't know if you beat me here or not, just wanted to grab some goodies from home first. What's your sitch? [Saint]>>
<<from:John to:Saint>
I'm just across from you, by that pink scooter. Not mine btw.
>
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:23:59; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She chuckled, he was a goofball, this was good as it also meant he'd had time to forget earlier events. She needed something to offset her jaded world view right now, as they had squat to work with. She briskly walked over onto the sidewalk, making sure her keys were in her pocket as she sidled up next to him against the building, taking her helmet off in the process.
"Heya stranger, this lady sure knew how to pick 'em. I saw a hospital campus not a minute back the way I came, though I somehow doubt it, she might've had a visit, and the registry would log that kind of data. Otherwise, I have a feeling snooping around the docks might offer some leads if we don't get too conspicuous. What're you up for, detective?"
She was unusually placid, taking their brief encounter before in mind. She lit up a cigarette while she waited for him to decide. Her head definitely felt a lot clearer, even with the cybernetic ramifications of the accident still apparent. It was good to be focusing on a new lead. It felt like a fresh start.
[April 17th, 2072, 00:23:59; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
She chuckled, he was a goofball, this was good as it also meant he'd had time to forget earlier events. She needed something to offset her jaded world view right now, as they had squat to work with. She briskly walked over onto the sidewalk, making sure her keys were in her pocket as she sidled up next to him against the building, taking her helmet off in the process.
"Heya stranger, this lady sure knew how to pick 'em. I saw a hospital campus not a minute back the way I came, though I somehow doubt it, she might've had a visit, and the registry would log that kind of data. Otherwise, I have a feeling snooping around the docks might offer some leads if we don't get too conspicuous. What're you up for, detective?"
She was unusually placid, taking their brief encounter before in mind. She lit up a cigarette while she waited for him to decide. Her head definitely felt a lot clearer, even with the cybernetic ramifications of the accident still apparent. It was good to be focusing on a new lead. It felt like a fresh start.
@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072, 09:32:33; En-route to UK]
The plane ride has so far proved to be uneventful. Your packages have isolated themselves in the forward cabin, the father whispering soothing non-words to his excitable son who insists on pointing at the lights and the clouds flowing past outside the windows. The father himself is an unassuming individual, certainly not the demon that the media would have you believe these technomancers are. He looks more like a tired middle manager type with the weight of the world on his shoulders – perhaps no surprising if he is being hunted as your mysterious fixer would have you believe.
The captain’s voice is routed directly to your commlinks rather than come across the internal comm
<<We’ll be landing at Farnborough in the next 25 minutes. I am assured that customs understands the nature of our visit and that we won’t be detained by unnecessary protocols. The usual checks have been waived and a car will be available to take you from the airport to Our Lady’s church in the town. After that I understand you will make your own arrangements.>>
So, the wheels have been greased, so to speak, and the usual bureaucratic nightmare involved in getting into the UK has somehow been removed. Mr Hill in particular will be glad that the ritual sample normally required of mages entering the country seems to be bypassed. It’s almost as if someone up there has granted you diplomatic status…just as well considering you are harbouring a technomancer with dubious legal status…
[May 19th, 2072, 09:32:33; En-route to UK]
The plane ride has so far proved to be uneventful. Your packages have isolated themselves in the forward cabin, the father whispering soothing non-words to his excitable son who insists on pointing at the lights and the clouds flowing past outside the windows. The father himself is an unassuming individual, certainly not the demon that the media would have you believe these technomancers are. He looks more like a tired middle manager type with the weight of the world on his shoulders – perhaps no surprising if he is being hunted as your mysterious fixer would have you believe.
The captain’s voice is routed directly to your commlinks rather than come across the internal comm
<<We’ll be landing at Farnborough in the next 25 minutes. I am assured that customs understands the nature of our visit and that we won’t be detained by unnecessary protocols. The usual checks have been waived and a car will be available to take you from the airport to Our Lady’s church in the town. After that I understand you will make your own arrangements.>>
So, the wheels have been greased, so to speak, and the usual bureaucratic nightmare involved in getting into the UK has somehow been removed. Mr Hill in particular will be glad that the ritual sample normally required of mages entering the country seems to be bypassed. It’s almost as if someone up there has granted you diplomatic status…just as well considering you are harbouring a technomancer with dubious legal status…
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:25:04; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
After that question Adrian furrows his brows for a moment, hmms and says with a mock serious tone
Well, based on my years of experience as undercover agent, He makes a brief pause for a smile I'd say let's snoop away. People still around now might leave any moment; I doubt the hospital logs - whether there is anything interesting in them or not - will.
Although it would be interesting to see how she'd go about getting at those logs. Shouldn't they be protected? Patient doctor confidentiality and such.
Pointing at a cheap snack bar close by, he continues Guess that's as good a start as anywhere. You don't happen to have an image of her...before the explosion?
[April 18th, 2072, 00:25:04; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
QUOTE ("Saint")
What're you up for, detective?
After that question Adrian furrows his brows for a moment, hmms and says with a mock serious tone
Well, based on my years of experience as undercover agent, He makes a brief pause for a smile I'd say let's snoop away. People still around now might leave any moment; I doubt the hospital logs - whether there is anything interesting in them or not - will.
Although it would be interesting to see how she'd go about getting at those logs. Shouldn't they be protected? Patient doctor confidentiality and such.
Pointing at a cheap snack bar close by, he continues Guess that's as good a start as anywhere. You don't happen to have an image of her...before the explosion?
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:25:32; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Saint looked at him as if he were testing her abilities. She thought about it a moment, taking another puff from her cigarette.
"I guess I could isolate an image from my eye recorder, shouldn't be too hard to do."
She speedily went to work, opening up a window subset of her edit program on the moments before Jessica's head exploded. It pleased her to no end that didn't have to go any further into the video. Within a couple of minutes, she had an image file she had doctored for better clarity and easy identification.
"Open up your AR and tell me what you think, I'll send you a copy for your personal use."
[April 17th, 2072, 00:25:32; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Saint looked at him as if he were testing her abilities. She thought about it a moment, taking another puff from her cigarette.
"I guess I could isolate an image from my eye recorder, shouldn't be too hard to do."
She speedily went to work, opening up a window subset of her edit program on the moments before Jessica's head exploded. It pleased her to no end that didn't have to go any further into the video. Within a couple of minutes, she had an image file she had doctored for better clarity and easy identification.
"Open up your AR and tell me what you think, I'll send you a copy for your personal use."
Balefire / Fractal
[May 08th, 2072; Matrix Node: D0ntuwishUrhax0rwasdrekhotlikeme: Ur Moma's Basement]
The incoming message light revs up on Silk's commlink, setting off more viral alerts than a slotgirl in a Yakuza Massage Den. Before the automated systems can shunt the message off into neverneverland though, it actually opens up and plays on which ever output is the most publicly available.
A Giant shifting Fractal displays, pulsating to what is probably the worst Troll Death Metal ever recorded. A text Message scrolls underneath.
How's it jazzin'. I like sports. I'm in, drop me the hizzi on the izzo.
The text just scrolls, over and over again, until the message is deleted.
Fractal chuckled to himself, as he left the Troll Den. This personality was just not going to work long term, I'llhave to find a new one before meeting up with Silk in person. Hizzi to the izzo? Really who /said/ that.
His blaring headache got better the second he stepped out of that DeathMetal club. He called up an automated taxi cab, and hacked himself a ride home.
As he walked into his house, he took off the fake horns, and the facial mask. The hardest part of this personality, had definitely to be the 2 feet stilts, and all the padding to make himself actually look like a Troll. he always felt so stiff necked afterwards. He put on some relaxing classical music, and waited to see how Silk would react.
[May 08th, 2072; Matrix Node: D0ntuwishUrhax0rwasdrekhotlikeme: Ur Moma's Basement]
The incoming message light revs up on Silk's commlink, setting off more viral alerts than a slotgirl in a Yakuza Massage Den. Before the automated systems can shunt the message off into neverneverland though, it actually opens up and plays on which ever output is the most publicly available.
A Giant shifting Fractal displays, pulsating to what is probably the worst Troll Death Metal ever recorded. A text Message scrolls underneath.
How's it jazzin'. I like sports. I'm in, drop me the hizzi on the izzo.
The text just scrolls, over and over again, until the message is deleted.
Fractal chuckled to himself, as he left the Troll Den. This personality was just not going to work long term, I'llhave to find a new one before meeting up with Silk in person. Hizzi to the izzo? Really who /said/ that.
His blaring headache got better the second he stepped out of that DeathMetal club. He called up an automated taxi cab, and hacked himself a ride home.
As he walked into his house, he took off the fake horns, and the facial mask. The hardest part of this personality, had definitely to be the 2 feet stilts, and all the padding to make himself actually look like a Troll. he always felt so stiff necked afterwards. He put on some relaxing classical music, and waited to see how Silk would react.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:27:48; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Sure. Adrian accepts the incoming image from Saint and looks at it for a moment. Nice work. Let's see if we're lucky.
Pulling out his commlink, he walks over to a garishly decorated food stand, waits a moment and tries his luck. Hello, I'll have a coffee but actually I was wondering whether you could help me with something else. He activates his commlink's built-in projector and asks This woman here... She wanted me to come here and meet her. Well, she isn't here now and she's not answering his comm. You''ve got the intersection right before you and so I thought I'd ask you whether you've seen her?
Hmm, investigators on the Trid never talk that much. Ah well
[April 18th, 2072, 00:27:48; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Sure. Adrian accepts the incoming image from Saint and looks at it for a moment. Nice work. Let's see if we're lucky.
Pulling out his commlink, he walks over to a garishly decorated food stand, waits a moment and tries his luck. Hello, I'll have a coffee but actually I was wondering whether you could help me with something else. He activates his commlink's built-in projector and asks This woman here... She wanted me to come here and meet her. Well, she isn't here now and she's not answering his comm. You''ve got the intersection right before you and so I thought I'd ask you whether you've seen her?
Hmm, investigators on the Trid never talk that much. Ah well
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:28:20; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Saint had moved down the wall, listening to the conversation while finishing her smoke. It gave her something to do with her unused hand, planting it firmly on her forehead.
This guy's a natural.
[April 17th, 2072, 00:28:20; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman
Saint had moved down the wall, listening to the conversation while finishing her smoke. It gave her something to do with her unused hand, planting it firmly on her forehead.
This guy's a natural.
@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072, 09:32:33; En-route to UK]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]
In the art of wooing women, there is no shortage of "expert opinions." This is especially true when it comes to the topic of young children. Most agree that they are an unwanted side-effect of rencontres passionnantes, and should be avoided at all costs. Indeed, there are many multi-million nuyen markets and expensive medical options that exploit this particular point of view. Others see them as a frustratingly omnipresent bloc de baiser. However, there are some---including Gemeaux---who view children as an important and welcome ally in the conquête charnelle. After all, they have just recently emerged from that haven which you intend to infiltrate.
Gemeaux also has a less insidious reason for liking children. Having emerged fully grown from a Shiawase cloning tube, childhood has always been an alien concept to him. He is curious about it, and often finds their antics entertaining and educational. He finds that how people react to children often tells a bit about their personality---whether they are patient, compassionate, sentimental, or cruel.
During the flight, Gemeaux manages to betray a small glimmer of his own personality by entertaining the child. He makes a few comical faces and manages a few novice magic tricks that bring a smile to the child's face before the father ushers the toddler into the front of the cabin. As they leave, he wonders how the pair are handling this stressful ordeal. They seem incredibly ordinary, and he would quickly overlook both if not for the warning that the father was a sorcier technologique.
Gemeaux also notices that Anselm's demeanor changes once the father leaves with the child. While the priest's sense of relief could come from the sorcier technologique leaving his presence, he suspects that it has more to do with the child.
A good detail to know. I should keep watch over how the priest and the child interact, especially if something stressful were to happen en route to our destination...
[May 19th, 2072, 09:32:33; En-route to UK]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]
In the art of wooing women, there is no shortage of "expert opinions." This is especially true when it comes to the topic of young children. Most agree that they are an unwanted side-effect of rencontres passionnantes, and should be avoided at all costs. Indeed, there are many multi-million nuyen markets and expensive medical options that exploit this particular point of view. Others see them as a frustratingly omnipresent bloc de baiser. However, there are some---including Gemeaux---who view children as an important and welcome ally in the conquête charnelle. After all, they have just recently emerged from that haven which you intend to infiltrate.
Gemeaux also has a less insidious reason for liking children. Having emerged fully grown from a Shiawase cloning tube, childhood has always been an alien concept to him. He is curious about it, and often finds their antics entertaining and educational. He finds that how people react to children often tells a bit about their personality---whether they are patient, compassionate, sentimental, or cruel.
During the flight, Gemeaux manages to betray a small glimmer of his own personality by entertaining the child. He makes a few comical faces and manages a few novice magic tricks that bring a smile to the child's face before the father ushers the toddler into the front of the cabin. As they leave, he wonders how the pair are handling this stressful ordeal. They seem incredibly ordinary, and he would quickly overlook both if not for the warning that the father was a sorcier technologique.
Gemeaux also notices that Anselm's demeanor changes once the father leaves with the child. While the priest's sense of relief could come from the sorcier technologique leaving his presence, he suspects that it has more to do with the child.
A good detail to know. I should keep watch over how the priest and the child interact, especially if something stressful were to happen en route to our destination...
[April 17th, 2072, 00:00:00 Puyallup Fair (10th & S. Meridian)]
The attendant had barely looked at him when he asked for a ‘room’. A good thing, he was far too tired to put up his customary illusions. It had been three days since Kecce’s man had found them. Really? Only three days? It felt like twenty minutes ago he was running for his life. Erebos makes his way past the broken lift and up the stairs to his room, ‘707.’ The octagonal door is barely wider than his shoulders and Erebos shakes his head. He had always found these places, … creepy. Funny, that, coming from a freak…
He slotted the card and the tray slid out, the coffin smells like urine and sex. Erebos shudders and turns up the collar on his long coat. The light inside sputters to life and there is a brief puff as a lemon-‘esk’ disinfectant is dispensed over the bed. Oooo, lemony. No expense is spared for you… our customer. Erebos climbed into the tray and pressed the ‘close’ stud, pretending his finger hadn’t stuck to it. The tray slides closed and a vid-screen flickers to life. Images of drudgery and despair parade across his vision; murder, robbery, politics… Erebos sighs and turns off the screen. He fishes his PAN from his pocket, no easy task in this place, and rings the one person he can count on.
Ere! Good to hear your voice, son! I thought for sure Kecce's man got you too. You ok? Where are you? No, … don’t answer that. Keep your head down til I can figure something out. Pockets was the closest thing Erebos had to a father. He had taken the boy in off the streets, given him a place to sleep and odd jobs to keep him busy.
They killed Jacob, Pockets. Nicholas just shot him dead. We were workin. We had a good con going and could have paid Kecce the money in a couple of weeks but they shot him… Erebos barely hides the rage in his chest.
The attendant had barely looked at him when he asked for a ‘room’. A good thing, he was far too tired to put up his customary illusions. It had been three days since Kecce’s man had found them. Really? Only three days? It felt like twenty minutes ago he was running for his life. Erebos makes his way past the broken lift and up the stairs to his room, ‘707.’ The octagonal door is barely wider than his shoulders and Erebos shakes his head. He had always found these places, … creepy. Funny, that, coming from a freak…
He slotted the card and the tray slid out, the coffin smells like urine and sex. Erebos shudders and turns up the collar on his long coat. The light inside sputters to life and there is a brief puff as a lemon-‘esk’ disinfectant is dispensed over the bed. Oooo, lemony. No expense is spared for you… our customer. Erebos climbed into the tray and pressed the ‘close’ stud, pretending his finger hadn’t stuck to it. The tray slides closed and a vid-screen flickers to life. Images of drudgery and despair parade across his vision; murder, robbery, politics… Erebos sighs and turns off the screen. He fishes his PAN from his pocket, no easy task in this place, and rings the one person he can count on.
Ere! Good to hear your voice, son! I thought for sure Kecce's man got you too. You ok? Where are you? No, … don’t answer that. Keep your head down til I can figure something out. Pockets was the closest thing Erebos had to a father. He had taken the boy in off the streets, given him a place to sleep and odd jobs to keep him busy.
They killed Jacob, Pockets. Nicholas just shot him dead. We were workin. We had a good con going and could have paid Kecce the money in a couple of weeks but they shot him… Erebos barely hides the rage in his chest.
Ere… Jacob’s not dead.
... Kecce has him ...
... Kecce has him ...
[April 17th, 2072, 00:25:16 Pioneer Coffins (4th & W. Pioneer Ave)]
What?! But I saw him get shot!
Shot don’t mean dead, son, trust me. Listen, you need to get out of here before Nicholas or somebody worse finds you. I know you got some cred, word on the street is you’re into Kecce for thirty large. That’s pocket change to him but you don’t pay and he’ll put a bullet in your head. You know the juice is running, right?
I can’t leave Jacob. Kecce’s gonna kill him… after he tortures him. I gotta get him out.
Ere. You can’t. Kecce is a killer surrounded by killers who have killers working for them. You got grit kid but those odds are way too long.
What other choice do I have Pockets? Leave him? You know I can’t do that.
Erebos killed the link and settled in. I’m commin Jacob…
[April 17th, 2072, 06:40:12 Pioneer Coffins (4th & W. Pioneer Ave)]
Erebos awakes to pounding on the coffin door. HEY! You paid for six hours. Time to go! The bed slides out and Erebos sits up. The man standing next to him, dressed in a pair of grungy khakis and a blue polo shirt with ‘manager’ embroidered on the breast, stands impatiently as Erebos drops to the floor. The man looks sideways as the long coat strays open. Looking down, Erebos quickly fastens the coat closed. Mind your business…
At the base of the stairs, Erebos turns into the bathroom and steps into one of the fetid stalls. Stifling the urge to gag, he calms his mind and concentrates on a familiar image; that of a tall, well dressed orc smelling faintly of … onions. He watches in the gloomy mirror glued to the door as his features morph. Fine blue-black fur gives way to smooth olive skin and ivory tusks. His bulky coat transformed into a custom tailored Armani.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Erebos steps from the stall and, ignoring the sharp looks, steps onto the street.
[April 17th, 2072, 07:15:29 The Tattoo Bar (E. 38th St & McKinley Ave E.)]
It is a short walk to the bus station and an uncomfortable one to the Midland U-Store where Jacob and Erebos kept their stash. Jacobs idea, that; and pretty smart too. Pressing his thumb to the lock, Erebos waits for the machine to verify his identity and lifts the door. Looking around, he steps inside and pulls the door down. It takes a moment for the fluorescent bulbs to come to light . Erebos grabs a few items; motorcycle helmet, his mono-whips, and a handful of marbles. He drops his fake ID into a drawer and fishes out two more. Stuffing everything into his pockets, he jams the helmet on his head and straddles a sleek-looking matte black superbike. Reaching over, he presses the release and the door rattles up. The bike purrs to life and Erebos glides out onto the street, pausing long enough to see the storage unit door slamming shut. It takes less than twenty minutes to reach ‘The Tattoo’ bar, Kecce’s favorite place to do business. Parking a few blocks away, Erebos walks to the doorman, a heavy orc with dull thick-lidded eyes. Erebos steels himself with his anger. Tell Kecce Erebos is here for Jacob…
[April 17th, 2072, 07:18:59 The Tattoo Bar (E. 38th St & McKinley Ave E.)]
The orc stares blankly at him, clearly communicating with someone via his PAN, and nods slightly. Stepping aside, the orc pushes the door aside and bows slightly, waving Erebos inside. Erebos walks confidently though the door, looking straight ahead. Big mistake. The blow to the back of his head sends him sprawling onto the bar room floor. Patrons pause only momentarily to see if it is someone they know, then quickly go back to their drinks. Large, rough hands grab him and haul Erebos to his feet. Bleary eyed and unstable, he is pushed/carried through a set of double swinging doors into a kitchen area. A supremely thin man leans against a stainless steel prep table eating bits of food off of a cracked plate.
You got some stones comin here kid. I’ll give you that. You said sumpin bout bein here for Jacob? The bone thin man, skin drawn achingly tight across his skull, steps toward Erebos and squints. What? You thought you were gonna roll up in here an walk out wit Jacob so’s you two cud go back to that freak show of yours? Kecce’s laugh sounds like crumpling wax paper. You owe me thrity Gs… plus interest. Jacob is a … a security against non-payment. You got two weeks before I require a payment. Your cred or his legs. He smiles ferally. I can get three or four out of em. That’ll buy you another two weeks. If not, his arms. After dat… we have to get creative… Kecce nods to the orc behind Erebos who lifts him by his collar and shoves him through an door marked ‘exit’. Erebos picks himself up and wipes the oily grime from the front of his coat.
Thiry grand .. plus interest. Where the hell am I gonna scrape up that kind of scratch?
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:29:00; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Waiting for the woman to respond, Adrian takes a quick look around.
Sure would be nice to know whom to ask. Guess I'll have to go back to solving that riddle my uncle gave me."
With a sigh, he focuses back on the present.
[April 18th, 2072, 00:29:00; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Waiting for the woman to respond, Adrian takes a quick look around.
Sure would be nice to know whom to ask. Guess I'll have to go back to solving that riddle my uncle gave me."
With a sigh, he focuses back on the present.
@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:29:00; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
The wheezy old gnome, or possibly a misfigured dwarf, coughs after looking Adrian up for a few seconds and shakes her head brusquely, "Never saw the slitch, my memory isn't what it used to be...", the sly look that she shoots Adrian out of the corner of her eye is filled with meaning, "but if yer lookin' for a good time boy, that girl over by the wall their might be able to help, she looks like them walkers that always get picked up here if you know what I mean?"
[April 18th, 2072, 00:29:00; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
The wheezy old gnome, or possibly a misfigured dwarf, coughs after looking Adrian up for a few seconds and shakes her head brusquely, "Never saw the slitch, my memory isn't what it used to be...", the sly look that she shoots Adrian out of the corner of her eye is filled with meaning, "but if yer lookin' for a good time boy, that girl over by the wall their might be able to help, she looks like them walkers that always get picked up here if you know what I mean?"
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