11:50, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Bongo Slade glides past the doorman with the password Dana gave them last night. The long lineup is full of the hopeful, the desperate, and the disenchanted. Many give Bongo a glare of jealousy.

He makes his way through the crowd to the back room, noticing in passing that the music is a touch better tonight. Ah... there in the crowd are last night's crew. "Good. Haven't lost them yet."

He sits in a comfortable lounge chair in the back room, and orders a drink through the AR service.

11:50 "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

As an afterthought, Bongo pulls up the room's music system, and starts up his own piece, "Storm Over the Horizon." That should last into the first minutes of the next day.

12:00, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Max never came to the same club two nights in a row. This was against all his rules. It was a sign of stagnation, being out of the loop. None of the trend setters from last night were here now. This was so second string, but this was not a social appearance. He was working. He kept his interactions this evening light and non-committal. He was talking finance with some accountant named Chet when he caught a glimpse of his new favorite drummer heading to the back room. The final player was pulling up to the table. He had seen the others in the club, but gave them space thus far, waiting for the appropriate time and place.
"Chet, let me give you some advice. The market is like a poker game. It's not about the cards. If the people think you have a straight flush. Then what you have is a straight flush. Weather you think you're right, or think you're wrong, people will agree with you. Now I have to take my leave friend. you just let that marinate"
These were old clichés, but young Chet was blown away. He sat pondering like a young Buddhist as Max made his way to the private room. Today he was sober and more low key. Was this to appease the fiery woman from last night? He told himself that it wasn't. He just didn't want to draw any extra attention this evening.He wore a gray, tailored suit with light blue accessories and mirrored shades in the vest pocket. There was little he could do to tone down his good looks or bright smile, but his posture was shifted to reserved business man.
He entered the room and smiled at Bongo,"Excuse me, is this where the magic happens? " He laughed once at his own joke and grabbed a seat.

12:10, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Tristan was in the club well before the appointed meeting time, smiling and mingling while surreptitiously scanning his surroundings. He hasn't been a player on the scene for long, so he doubts this meet is a trap or a sting. You can never be too careful, though. And his ingrained habits have kept him alive so far.

The club really doesn't impress him, but then again, nightclubs rarely do. They are nice places to pick up some wide-eyed party girl, or a slumming corporate woman with jaded eyes, but he prefers the more laid-back ambiance, and more stimulating conversation, to be found in places like coffee houses and other bohemian hangouts.

No matter. He is here for business, not pleasure. After he sees Bongo, then Max, head to the meeting room, he slowly eases over there, entering a minute or so after Max.

The young ork looks as guileless and unassuming as ever, although the people in the room know that he is augmented, at least, so he can't be quite as harmless as he seems. Right?

"Evening, gents," he says, as he walks into the room, casually appropriating one of the padded chairs.

12:11, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Max stood to greet Tristan as he entered,"The same to you my friend, and might I say, I like the threads. A little quiet for me, but it comes across easy as chi tea. A smart look for a guy with your skills I'm sure. I guess we'll save the Business talk until after roll call. I can tell our bohemian partner here has got something under his proverbial hat "

12:11, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Now that everyone was here and in the room, Pyro slipped out of the booth she'd been talking to Dana in and the two headed in, closing the door behind them. Tonight she was dressed in simple, form fitting black under her lined trenchcoat, wearing her AR glasses over her eyes as she surveyed the crowd.

"Now that we're all here, why don't we get down to business? It's not that I don't trust you, which I don't, it's that I fully expect at least one of ye to end up getting us all killed, or trying to at least."

12:11, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Bongo laughs and speaks up. "Well, let me be the first to offer up an opportunity for us to do that.

"An acquaintance of mine collects ... oddities and rare items and sells them to make a living. He has run across a drum kit, a set of musical percussion instruments, that appears to have some magic aura about it. He's been teasing me about it for a week, now. Saying he will let me have a look at the kit 'soon'. But, he can't figure it out, and would like to know more about the set.

"Specifically, he would like a team to figure out the enchantment on the instruments, find out who made them, and find out if there are more like them. For this information, he would pay 10,000 nuyen. Not much for a team of four, I admit, but he throws in the teaser that if there are more, he would be willing to pay for a separate run to acquire them. I know this guy well enough to say that if something cool is available, he will pay well to get it.

"I can dig into the astral aura of the instruments and look for clues to communicate to the rest of you. That may take some time. Psychometry is a difficult beast to control at the best of times. In the meantime, with details of where and when he got the instruments provided by my contact, the rest of you can track down the source and investigate. This should give us all an idea of how we work together and whether we can gel as a team."

Bongo sits back and takes a long draught of the drink he had ordered.

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle
Max smiled at the woman's remarks,"There was a musician, I've been told, who wore black all the time. Someone asked him why he was dressed like he was going to a funeral. He replied, Maybe I am."
He paused for a moment to take his glasses from his jacket and place them on his head, his smile revealed for a second the Betel gum he was chewing,"I wouldn't read into it babe, just a passing thought"
Max kept the wincing internal as Bongo mentioned the pay. It wouldn't cover this months rent. This was turning to a charity case, but sometimes you had to look long term. He was a very small fish in the magical pond. This kind of job could put him in new circles,"So have you got the details, or do we need to meet your friend?"

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

"Should we take the job, he would allow us access to the items and give us the information himself."

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle
PAN: hidden / Dummy comm: passive

With his mirrored sunglasses in place, Max switched on the thermographic. Looking at auras was useful in all kinds of situations, but it was good not to lose site of other, more practiced tools. The Lie detection software silently measured eye movement, body temperature shifts, perspiration, and calculated the odds of honesty from the others. Max was usually more accurate with his own gut instinct, but he found the information useful none the less. He leaned back in his seat and played with his cuff link, giving a relaxed impression,"Well, I had a few offers today, the only immediate proposal was a little too ... Fishy for my taste. I'd hate to ruin my first impression here by sending us on a wild goose chase. I like this drum business. Its interesting, a little different from the usual snatch and grab. I gotta be honest, the pay won't get me a new pair of shoes, but I can probably find a way to turn a profit. If there's a product moving around this city, I can usually find it pretty quick, but my network gets a little thin when we start jumping borders. I can tell you this; If someone can make it, and someone will buy it, then there will be more of them. I don't know a whole lot about magic, but I do know supply and demand."

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Bongo smiles at the old 'I have other jobs I could be doing' ploy. He turns to the other two. "How about you, Tristan and Pyro?"

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Nothing about Bongo's demeanour or language seems false to Max. Near as Max can tell, this is not a scam of any kind.

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Tristan shrugs slightly.

"I find myself kind of leaning towards doing this drum kit job. I got two job offers, but the first one, frankly, I wouldn't want to try to pull off with a team of people who just met each other. The other one is a straight up muscle job, security for this meet between two factions. Low end of the food chain stuff, and not really a good fit for the talent here."

Max doesn't detect any unusual stress from Tristan - not much stress at all, actually. His usual hesitant, slightly nervous manner seems to only go skin deep.

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Pyro looked at the trio of men and sighed, shaking her head.

"If the lot of ye are done trying to determine who has the biggest penis, which is me by the way, we can get to work proper. I've got a job that could be done, and it might be the type of work the lot of ye are skilled at, but it's not something for a new team, especially when they've been untested. I say we take this drum job, assuming the price is negotiable. It is negotiable, I assume?"

12:12, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

With a twinkle in his eye, Bongo responds, "Yours is the biggest, huh? Wouldn't it be interesting to discover that first-hand.

"As far as negotiation, that is always possible, but not always successful. It would appear we are in agreement to try this job. So let me get a hold of my contact and see what can be done."

Bongo asks Dana, "Could you please let me have access to the outside from here?" Dana manipulates something in the control panel. "Go ahead," she says.

<<@Mick the Slick:Hoy, buddy, I have great news for you! Yeah, yeah, I know what time it is, and don't tell me you were asleep. This is when you do your best business.>> *pause* <<Girlfriend? You devil! I thought you only lusted after money. Look I'll make this quick. I have a team interested in your information gathering expedition. I have to say, though we are a class bunch. Got all the bases covered and capable. You treat us right and this could turn into a profitable enterprise for you. I know what those instruments could go for, and you get this bunch on your side, and we'll deliver the goods for you. Long story short, we need a little more than what you offered.>> *wince*

<<No need to shout buddy, you know me and know I wouldn't scam you. We've got expenses here, setting this up,>> He looks at Dana and smiles, << and expertise that needs to be rewarded. So, there are four of us active in the run, and a background support person who is donating resources to this endeavour. And think of what it would mean to be the only source for a new magic! Give us five thousand each, with a thousand up front, and you will be on your way to pawn shop mythology. Waddaya say?>> *pause*

<<Uh huh.>> *longer pause*

<<Uh huh. Lemme see what they say. Hang on.>>

"He says he's willing to pay four thousand each, including Dana, with a thousand up front. I think that's as far as he will go. Is it a deal?"

12:12, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Max was getting a good feeling from this group. He had worked with all sorts of people in this business, but these guys had a refreshing honesty about them. Even the hard ass chick, with the name befitting her Irish attitude, seemed to be coming around a bit. When asked about the offer on the table, Max simply nodded his agreement.

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

"That sounds acceptable, for a relatively straightforward legwork job."

The money still isn't that impressive, but that's okay for Tristan. The main point of this is to see if the new team can gel and work together. Hopefully, this little run should tell him a bit more about his potential teammates. Max and Bongo talk a good game, but how will they handle it when it's for real? The mage worries him more. The loud and blustery ones are often the ones who are insecure about their abilities.

But then again, they are probably wondering about him, too. He has cultivated his non-threatening appearance, and used it to his advantage. But that same appearance is not too reassuring to teammates who are relying on him as muscle. Ah well, they'll learn. With any luck, not for awhile yet. The best runs, after all, are the ones where his more lethal talents never have to come into play.

12:12, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

"That will have to do, for now. At least it's a little better than hooding, I can't spend good feelings."

12:13, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Already, Max's mind was running in several directions, Like a pack of hunting dogs on a short leash. He had so many phone calls to make, possibly travel permits to forge, and all he was waiting on was some details to plug into the equation. He watched Bongo on the comm as if he could decipher the information he craved from thte expressions on his face. Max was good, but not that good.

12:15, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle
(PAN: active)

Bongo nods an ackknowledgement to the team. <<OK, Mick. It's a go on our end. When can we get a look at the items and get their provenience? Uh huh. Alright, we'll be at your place at noon. Yes, I see I have the advance 5000 nuyen. See you at noon.>>

"Dana, can you provide an account into which I can transfer everybody's share and which we can all access?"

"Sure," she replies, "and I appreciate being included in the negotiated payment. This goes some way towards making up for your original bumbling." In moments an ARO appears in everybody's display with information regarding the account. Bongo transfers 4000 nuyen to it, 1000 for each of the other people present.

"So, here is the address of Mick's pawn shop." <<address>> "We are to meet there at noon, and he will fill us in on what he knows."

12:16, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle
PAN: Hidden / Dummy comm: active(slaved)

Still no details. His mind was like a bow string quivering to be let go,"So, we got twelve hours. Anything we need to do before then? I think we need to coordinate communications. Maybe establish a safe-house or two." Max pulls out his com and starts typing. He wished he could access the Matrix, but that would happen soon enough. For now he could organize some thoughts and keep his hands busy. "Normally, I would recon our Johnson. How well you know this guy Bongo?"

12:16, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

"His name is Mick the Slick. He has a pawn shop in Tacoma." <<address>> "I've done a couple of reconnaissances for him, and lifted a few things from competitors in some sort of game they play amongst each other. He's been pretty straight with me."

12:16, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

"Mick the Slick? His very name inspires confidence. Here's a commcode I use for business. Might be a tad soon to be worrying about safe houses, but if you think that's necessary, I'll defer to your judgement. Now, I have my own starter kit of shady connections, but remember, I'm the insurance for when things go sideways. So any of you get a lead that takes you someplace dangerous, let me know, so I can tag along and watch your back."

Tristan seems slightly more focused now, still preternaturally relaxed, but not showing any of his usual nervous tics. He doesn't mention it aloud, like Max, but he still plans to do his own checking on the Johnson, even it it's only running the name by his fixer to be sure it doesn't set off any alarm bells.

12:17, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle
PAN: Hidden / Dummy comm: active(slaved)

Max adds Tristan's number to his comm and shares his number with the group as well,"We have a pretty tight buget on this, so I'm thinking of putting safe-house on the back burner, I know some people that can scrape us up something if we need it. Not much else I can think of to do here. I'm ready to go home and get some beauty rest for the big date."

12:17, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

"Alright. Beauty sleep sounds like a good idea. Don't spend your advance all in one place! See you at Mick's place a bit before noon. If someone comes up with any interesting dirt on him, let me know." An ARO with an address for Bongo appears. He nods to Dana, "Thanks for the organization. If we gel as a team, there could be more dividends for you. When this job is over, let's set up a date for the gig." He leaves the others in the meeting room and heads home. Damn, another night better spent alone. I think I've lost Lucretia.

12:18, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

Max stands and straightens his suit jacket,"Sounds like we're in business!" He looks to Dana,"My Lady, you are a fine hostess, and a shrewd Business woman, and an unwavering spirit. I hope this establishment endures as the bedrock of such lucrative endeavors for generations. " He bows with great sincerity.
To the rest of the group He adds,"Gentlemen, Lady, I look forward to this adventure. With this small step, I hope to see all of us filthy rich. As the big dogs say, Dream Big... or Wake Up"

8:00 am, White Alder condominiums, Tacoma

Frustrated with the lack of info to go on, Max did a little club hopping. Nothing too heavy, He had a big day ahead of him. Still, the phone call from his mother the next morning had grabbed him by the hangover and shaken him violently.
"...Hey ma, ... I'm fine.... no.. it's jet lag. .. Would I go out boozing on the Sabbath?....I had an important meeting...... not every body's Jewish.... I'm sure she's great.. maybe next week.. I gotta go ma, I'm still on Tokyo time "
Lying to his mother. not the best way to start his day, but he did it out of love, and besides, he doubted that her friend's daughter was as lovely and successful as she boasted either, so he called it even.
He threw in the Data chip in his second bedroom that now housed his magical lodge <<Hello, Lets continue studies on the Hermetic Theory of Summoning, Lesson two , mental selection...>>
With a fairly decent amount of sleep and no coke crash to deal with, max felt pretty good. I think I got this. He cut off the trid and focused his thoughts. He visualised the spirit realm and slowly narrowed in on the essence of man. This one had made the most sense to him. He had a better handle on the spirit of man. It was something that he felt he had been dealing with his whole life. He called to them and brought forth an ethereal man of slim build and vague features. I would very much appreciate you assistance my good fellow The spirit nodded and they shared a mental handshake. It was a very firm grip that left Max lightheaded and a little dizzy.
"Not too shabby Max, now what do I need for Binding such a specimen" Max went to the matrix to find his answer, but was not impressed with the results,"I wouldn't mind the price if they could ship it any faster. It appears my new friend will be leaving after dinner. "

12:18, Sunday, 9 October, 2072, "Ion Eyes" Dance Club, Downtown Seattle

After the other two men leave, Tristan stands himself.

"Ladies," with a slight bow,"... until this afternoon."

He then takes his leave. While far from rude, he doesn't seem quite as... effusive... towards Dana as the other two were. He puts in a few quick comms to his contacts. To Molly, to keep her abreast of the situation, and to inquire if she has heard anything, good or bad, about Mick the Slick. To Gravyboat, a long shot, asking if he has heard anything about magical drum kits being moved into Seattle. He knows it will likely end up with the smuggler offering him some "deal" on "magic" drums that aren't, but he still needs to pursue every possible lead. He thinks of calling Piro, but that can wait until he has all of the information - if he actually needs a data search, no sense paying for what he can hear for free this afternoon. Besides, this is usually the time when the hacker is schooling some newbs in some first-person matrix shooter or other.

And that's it for the pre-meet legwork. Sometimes his sleep regulator is a mixed blessing, leaving him with large gaps of time where he is just waiting. But a smile still flits across his face as his eyes scan the teeming floor of the club. He doubts he will be spending all of that time alone.

11:00 am, White Alder condominiums, Tacoma

Max had decided to take a little nap after his failure at online shopping. His headache was pretty intense, and he wanted to be fresh for the meet. His comm alarm went off and he sat up on his black synthleather couch. He glanced at the glass coffee table and the line of Novacoke waiting for him. Yea, it's showtime. <sniff>
After deciding on a suit that hung well with the armored vest crammed under it, he slid on his AR gear and searched the Matrix for info on this Mick guy, while hailing a cab and sending a message to the Black Star, and The Bushers gang to see if they know anything about this drum, or any similar magical gear being transported in or around Seattle.

08:35 Sunday 9 October 2072

<<Molly@Tristan: Not much for you about Mick the Slick. Small-time pawn shop growing the last few years. Does some fixing on the side. Nothing in particular about magic music, but his shop does specialize in musical instruments. Shop is new this year, not far from the Hyundai plant in Tacoma. Took over the old Gun Smarts that went belly-up.>>

09:15 Sunday 9 October 2072

<<Gravyboat@Tristan: Sorry boy. Got nothing for ya.>>

Max hears nothing back before meeting time.

08:00 Sunday 9 October 2072

With a last fond glance at the young lady still sleeping in the bed, Tristan slips out of the King Arms Hotel. She will wake up to find that the room, and breakfast, have already been taken care of.


08:35 Sunday 9 October 2072

<<Tristan@Molly: Thanks. I'll let you know if I find out anything useful about him.>>

Tacoma, oh joy. And near the Hyundai plant - that brings back memories, not all of them pleasant. But he won't let them distract him.


09:15 Sunday 9 October 2072

<<Tristan@Gravyboat: Thanks, Gravy. I'll let you know if this leads to any business opportunties.>>


08:00 Sunday 9 October 2072

Tristan carefully adjusts his hair in front of the mirror - he probably spends more time getting that slightly unruly look to it than other people spend getting theirs perfectly groomed. The rest of his clothing is stylish, but casual, so it won't clash with his armored jacket. He's only taking one gun, the Secura, and just regular ammo - he's not expecting that much trouble.

He leaves his bike at Lucky's Lot. It should be relatively safe there - a determined thief could get past the MagLock wheel clamps, but not many would dare the wide-open, sprawling lot, almost next door to the fortress-like Lone Star (well, Knight Errant, he amends to himself) Tacoma office.

He gives himself plenty of time before the meet to scout out the surrounding area, and even to briefly wander in to the pawnshop itself, idly noting its layout and security features. Then he sits down at a coffee shop across the street to nurse a mocha (an actual coffee one, not that soy swill - although it is a reflexive snobbery, as Tristan has not ever actually tried a soykaf drink). He'll wait for a bit, then wander over to the meet fashionably early.

11:30 Sunday, 9 October 2072, Tacoma streets

Max's contacts come up blank regarding magic instruments. The matrix has a node for Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop, with a typical inventory and Matrix shopping mechanisms. There are testimonials from satisfied customers and coming Black Friday deals being advertised over a month in advance.

11:45 Sunday, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Bongo pulls up in a robo-cab and steps out in front of the shop. He looks around, almost imperceptibly nods to Trystan sitting in the cafe window across the street, and enters the shop.

Mick is there at the front desk. "Hoy, my boy, glad to see you grace my establishment. Haven't seen you in ages. What brings you?" They high shake an arm-wrestling grip and bump fists.

"I got some change burning a hole in my credstick. Hoping to see somethin pretty for Lucretia."

"Lemme show you some baubles to think about, kid." They move to one of the glassteel counters.

11:50 Sunday, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Tristan notes Bongo's arrival - Mick is Bongo's contact, so he plans on letting Bongo lead the proceedings. He gives Bongo about five minutes, before nonchalantly exiting the cafe and walking back into the pawn shop. He moves to a rack of cheap (and a few not-so-cheap) mirrorshades near the display case that Bongo and (he assumes) Mick are at, then patiently waits for them to get down to business. No sign of the other two yet, but he imagines they will wander in soon.

11:58 Sunday, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

The '72 BMW 400 GT is a very nice car. The gears growled up the street as Max tore past Sunday drivers on their way to brunch. Blue is ok, but I think I'd get it in black. Maybe I'll hold out for the Westwind. I'll probably need something to beat up around town though. Don't want to do that to a Eurocar. This chick needs to find a slow lane.
Max peeled through a couple of streets before slowing it down. He was having fun, but he needed to play it cool as he approached the meet. Pulling up at the Pawn shop he hopped out and did a slide across the hood. Gotta love a new car. Maybe I should have got it for the week. Popping some betel gum and donning his shades, Max strolled into the shop looking for this Mick guy and his new compatriots. The sight Of pawned jewelry took him back to the old days. He missed his dad for just a second. He was glad he was riding so high, this could be a real downer,"Hey shop keep! I'm lookin to buy some broken dreams my man. what'cha got for me? "

11:50 Sunday, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Taking note of the rest of the group entering the store, Pyro slipped out of the shadows of the alley across the street and headed inside behind the others, browsing quietly, looking like just another customer, not a member of this group of amateurs. However, she "browsed" close enough to keep an eye, and an ear, on the conversation between the contact and the amateur Johnson with the flashy style.

11:58 Sunday, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, outside Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

She can't believe her eyes. What was he thinking? We're going to a job meet with Mr. Johnson, and that... puffed up... addled .... She calms herself. Pyro walks from her observation point towards Mick the Slick's shop, following Max's grandstand entry. As she approaches, a customer steps out of the shop. Behind him, an ARO appears, and the window by the door shimmers to display a message, "Private Showing. Invitation only."

11:59, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, inside Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Bongo beams at Max's entry. Mick does the same, and shows some gold teeth. "You're in luck, chummer. Broken dreams are my specialty, second only to fulfilled ones. Come in to my special show room." He points to a door at the back. Bongo nods to Trystan, indicating the same.

Pyro steps through the door, and an angry gloom enters with her. Her glare at the back of Max's head makes it clear what is the cause. Bongo imagines there could be some work ahead to bring those two to gel. Well, maybe once Max does his charismagic in the right circumstances. "Meeting in the back, Pyro."

12:00, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

The back room has a few small display cases around the walls, with a number of pieces of jewelry securely but attractively displayed. In the center of the room a set of drums is arranged. Base drum, snares, high hat and snares. A stool is set before the drums, and a selection of drumsticks is placed on the floor beside it. Bongo's eyes are immediately drawn to the set, and he approaches it, almost reverentially. He holds a hand over the cymbals, close but not touching. He opens his perception to the astral. Yes, there is magic here. The 'colours' are new to him.

12:05, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Once everyone has moved into the back room, Mick pulls out some comfortable chairs and arranges them in a semi-circle around the drum kit. He motions for all to sit.

"I'm not one for formalities," he says, "and trust Bongo to have pulled together a team of professionals. This is the kit. I had some talent analyze it, and they have no idea what kind of magic is on it, just that there is. I hope you can give me some answers. I am a businessman, and believe that purveying new magic is bound to be a profitable enterprise, but just as with my other merchandise, questions about the nature of the objects reduces the potential selling price.

"My source for this kit is a business associate who is out of touch at the moment, for reasons unknown to me. He said he got this out of town a few weeks ago and was going to see if he could find more. I haven't heard from him since. It's over a week now.

"So, it's up to you people to figure it out. I know Bongo can get impressions from items, he's done it for me before. Why don't you see what you can pick up, now, and maybe that can help the planning process."

Bongo moves to the stool and sits at the drums. His hand automatically reaches for some sticks, but he pulls back. "Not yet."

He hovers hands over the drum kit and focusses his astral vision. "It feels like a focus, but I don't think it is bonded to anyone yet. This means I could get something about the actual maker, still."

He places his hands on the drum kit. Within moments his eyes roll back in his head and he starts to shake. "Holy shshsh..itt." He keeps his hands in contact with the drums. Words start rushing out of him, like a flood, coming faster and faster as he speaks:

Blonde woman
midddle ageddd
building on cliff
over ocean
Vvvvancouvvverr
thtthreee trees
big dog, nice dog, stay boy stay
lab, alchemy lab
ssspirits all around
raven, over door, crest of a raven
crest of a Raven
Christopher Raven
Christine, Christine Raven
calling, calling, down
Moon, calling the moon
Vvvv Calling down the Mooon

gggahhh!!

He rockets back off the stool and fetches up against the case behind him. Fortunately acrylic, not glass. "Impressions still in here. I can't make them out. Ask. Ask me questions. Now!"

12:05, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

What the hell was that?!
Max wasn't sure if this was really happening, but he was amped. He reached for his com and set his glasses to record while he fired off whatever questions popped into his head,
"What kind of trees?"
"What kind of dogs?"
"What kind of spirits?"
"are there other people?"
"What kind of emotions are there?"
He wanted to check the drums on the Astral, but decided to leave that to the experts.

12:05, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Listening quietly, she pulls out a note pad and pencil and begins writing down everything that is said. Describe the woman, is she the alchemist in charge of the lab? How many spirits? Are they guarding the lab or being used in her experiments? Where in vicinity to Vancouver is this alchemy lab, on the cliff overlooking the ocean? She sighed quietly to herself. Knowing my luck, these idiots will lead me straight into a dragon's den.

12:05, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Bongo looks like he's accessing a database in front of his eyes. His voice is a little more settled now, but he still seems shaken.

Pine trees, sort of - spruce? evergreens anyway
curving road running along edge of cliff to the house, overlooking the sea - Northwest Marine Drive
3 storey stone building
mastiff dog curled up on front lawn
woman has brown eyes - she is magical
basement lab - hers
spirits - I don't know - at least two
they seem to be helping?
focused mind, excitement

12:05, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Tristan leans forward, interested. "This lab, what kind of mundane security does it have? Guards? Drones?"

12:06, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Max could hardly sit still, but he was still recording,"The drums obviously left there and ended up here right? can you see anywhere else they've been? Could this lady be trying to track the drums down?"
This job is going to take some border hopping. I'm pretty sure the Bushers do some work out of Bellingham. Maybe a boat ride is the way to go.

12:06, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Bongo grabs the drums, and his grip gets steadier with every passing heartbeat, but his gaze seems to drift farther and farther off. His breath seems to be getting shallower and quicker as he speaks.

she's singing as she works- what language?
no guards, just the dog
two dogs?
bats in the belfry, waking for the night
stir and stretch, stir and stretch, yearning for the flight
glider - black - man in black lands on the tower, scares the bats
down, down the stairs - he knows where he is going
basement - no dogs - spirits see him, don't bother him
packs up kit - out the front - no dogs
truck comes - load the kit - go
woman comes, with dogs
sees the lab
sorrow, pain, betrayal, anger

His breath sppeds and shallows more. Colour drains from Bongo's face. Something is wrong.

12:06, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

"He's going down!" Max shouts as he moves to grab Bongo off the drums. He may be new to magic, but he's been around a lot of drugs, and he knows when somebody has O.D.'ed.

12:07, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Max pulls Bongo away from the drums. At first nothing seems to improve, but slowly Bongo's breathing deepens and colour returns to his face. He rouses with a deep intake of breath and stands, looking around as if where he is is a surprise.

"Thanks, Max. I've never gotten so strong an image while Assensing as that was. I'm pretty sure that what I saw was in the past, but it felt like I could have reached out and touched things. I can't shake the feeling that the drums were Assensing me."

He calls up a mapping program and in AR indicates the location of the building he saw in his vision. It is at the intersection of NW Marine Drive and Acadia Rd., looking out over Foreshore Park.

"Looks like my job is cut out trying to figure out these instruments, and you chummers have some travel ahead."

12:08, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Tristan nods, calm but all business.

"Looks like we have our location. I'd like to get a bit of gear from my place before we head out there, if we can spare the time."

Tristan is relieved, in a way. The biggest question about this job was how long the search would take, and how many favors they would need to call in during it. But now, they already have the objective. He has a feeling their employer won't be too pleased, though. From the gist of the disjointed narrative from Bongo, it seems that the drums were a unique creation, and that their creator didn't part with them willingly.

He wonders at the motives of the thief, though. Petty revenge? Because selling them as a mysterious curio, he sure wasn't likely to get a decent price for them. Maybe Mick will at least make a decent profit selling the drum kit back to her. Probably not enough to cover the costs of satisfying his 'curiosity'. But there's money, and there's making profitable contacts. If Mick is truly 'slick', he'll find a way to come out ahead on this. But that's Mick's problem, not his - he forces his wandering thoughts back to the job. Likely to be nothing more than talking, but he needs to be mentally ready, in case this woman is distraught enough to be violent.

12:09, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

"Tristan my friend, I like the enthusiasm, but let's back up a step here.we can't just go knock on the door and ask this lady if she lost her magic drums, and can she make us some more.", max said as he sat Bongo in a chair and paced the floor in thought. "We're gonna need surveillance on the target. Find an angle of approach. Make contingency plans" Max was going through the steps he learned from his father since he was a child. Maybe this team operated differently, but some planning was definitely going to be necessary."In the short term, we have a border to cross and some ground to cover. We are all going to need some gear."

12:10, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

At Max's mention of gear, Mick's eyes light up. "Anything I can help you acquire?"

Bongo seats himself at the drum kit. He seems to have lost all interest in the planning session and has picked up a couple of drumsticks, a more slender pair than some arrayed around the kit. Tentatively, he taps the coral cymbal. A delicate, almost liquid overtone accompanies the expected metallic sussuration. His smile makes him look like a kid on Christmas morning.

12:10, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Ignoring the others for now, she could get across the border by her own power if need be, she instead turned to look at Bongo, looking at the astral around him, looking for residual effects from the magic, or to see if the drums were having an effect on him as he played with them.

12:10, 9 October 2072, Tacoma, back room at Mick the Slick's Pawn Shop

Bongo's aura is the radiant green-gold of perfect, youthful health. No implants, no diseases, nothing to mar his aura, which is a powerful one, with Magic just a touch stronger than Pyro's. No foci are bonded to him, thought his clear joy at handling the drum kit suggests he might gladly bond with it. There is a curiosity about him, focused on the drum kit. He doesn't notice her studying him, but it is almost certainly because he is concentrating deeply on the drums.

This does not surprise Pyro because even without turning her attention to the drums she can see in their sparkling blue aura, with leaping tendrils of mana like solar flares, an unfamiliar magic.