Me an' Ol' Jack. He watches the spirit world for me. We all watch out for each other here. Have to, with bloody spits like the Nightboys around. Each to their own, you know? The Warrens aren't too much for the pixies, but you and me, we're ghosts here. Anything between the Squeeze and the rest of the Smoke is Warrens. Wall went up, but they kept pushing folks outta the districts, 'til they were right up next to the Squeeze. Couldn't get in, couldn't go back, so folks just sort of ... 'filled in'. Mostly folk like you and me, or those that don't fit anywhere else. 'Bout the only place you'll find a doc that can work on that arm too. Metal parts ain't real popular with the Lord Protector, but we ain't already, know what I mean?!
The old ork grins broadly.

Caliph - The Warrens

Blink a couple times at the accent and the weird London geographical anecdotes. "Reckon not. What're Pixies? And what do they have against chrome? Would they kick me out of the nice parts of town for having this arm?" Figure I might regret that one, since my arm is not-at-all-even-close-to-shiny, but I have no idea what he's getting at.

The spirit no more than away and Caliph calls off the dogs. Nix releases the spirit from service, severing the summoner-link and allowing the spirit of man to leave this wretched play.

<<@Caliph [Nix] Copy. Calling off the dogs.. or poodle... the help, anyway. What's the scan?>>

Caliph - The Warrens

Multitask in conversation a bit, to let the team know what's going on. <<@TeamNet (Caliph) - Turns out the local wildlife don't care for either Orks or cyberware. Couple punks decided to beat it out of me, and I ran away rather than mark our arrival with a few bodies in the streets. Some guy, says he's the welcoming committee for The Warrens, helped me out with some spirit to conceal them. Want to ghostwalk on down here (mapobject.Marker) and see what he's about? I'll give you the specifics later.>>

The tired spirit leaves with a relieved sigh.

When the first car arrives, Nix takes it. "Thanks Dingo."

He makes haste for Caliph's location, deciding an indirect route is best.

<<@Caliph [Nix] On my way... with wheels.>>

<<@Nix [Caliph] - Aight, that works. Consider not looking like yourself on your trip; the attachment has a picture of the local fashion.>> Flip through the recordings form my eyes, grab a couple of representative pics of what the folk around here look like, tack them to the end of the message and send it off.

Turn to the welcoming committee. "Sorry about that, had to let my friends know what's up. Can't offer you much more than my thanks and a tumbler of good corn whiskey; but if you'd take me up on the latter I'd be honored." Pour him a double of the corn whiskey in my flask into the cap, and take a sip myself.

In the meantime, scan him for a commlink node, and if I find one send him the contact info for one of my stateside fake IDs.

<<@Teamnet [Dingo] - Hope the vehicles match what you wanted. Caliph, need me out there now, or should I keep at what I'm doin until it's time for our meetin?>>

Regardless of their answers, Dingo sinks into VR and begins searching the area around him for any cameras that might have feeds showing the exterior of the safehouse.

Calpih
Bones nods his thanks, accepting a swig and holding it a moment, savoring the flavor. He hands back the flask as Caliph finishes his sweep, finding no PAN on the ork.
No way we'd turn 'ya 'way mate. Might that we won't be easy to find, but wae're always 'ere. The ork gives Caliph a nod and walks backwards deeper into the alleyway, slowly dissapearing from sight before Caliph's eyes.
Be seein' ya


Dingo
After finishing a second thorough scan of the area, the cameras he's already found seem to be hte only ones in the area. All are interior views.

Nix considers his friend's advice and intel.
<<@Caliph [Nix] As always, spot on. Thanks for the details.>>

Select a look based upon a mix of the photos in preparation, but not cast yet. In addition to the background count against me, I don't need the distraction of maintaining the spell till its required.

Meanwhile, keep an eye out as the car moves through the district.

Caliph - in between the warrens and the smoke

The welcoming committee trots off, leaving me sitting around waiting for Nix without much to do. I have no particular intent to go exploring the Warrens right now, and I want to wait until I can recover some less flashy clothes and a pair of gloves before I run into dumbass and company again.

Try to unfrazzle myself... the rumples in the greatcoat and the streak of dirty fiberglass across the ass of my greatcoat don't look right for sittin' around downtown. IF that's how the wannabes like to respond to my kind, lord knows how polite the business class will pretend to be.

Queue up a list of clothing shops around the meet site and buy a pair of cheap gloves, a scarf, and one of those stupid looking hats these people wear, to be picked up in a little bit, off the tourist ID.

And aside from that, sip some corn and make like I belong in this alleyway.

The locale registers as a "C" Security Zone, marked off just off from the main districts. Less "busy down town" and more "local pub" seem to be the flavor the fixer was going for. A few quick purchases acquire Caliph some clothes that he'd be embarassed to be seen wearing in tribal lands, but here, it's just more camouflage.

After a few minutes of Browsing/Buying, the synched comms show Nyx clse in on Caliph's location.

Caliph - in between the Warrens and the Smoke

Move out, wait for the synch to come up, and send a quick direct burst to Nix - <<@Nix (Caliph) - yo, see you. Moving.>>. Step into the streets, eyeball the area looking for more of those punks, and flag whatever POS Nix will have acquired.

"Missed the fun, man. Got some exercise and wasted 20 in ammo and 2 in coffee, all for some punkasses. Wanna stop by and grab some coffee and my new clothes?" as I stretch out in to the passenger seat. Feels weird not to drive.

London - O'Malleys - 2150

New sedan's are definitely the way to go. In a change up from the economics-centric life of Seattle, life in the Smoke seems centered around Living. The sedan has leg room, enough to let a full grown ork ride in comfort. It's hard not to get caught up in the climate controlled comfort, classy faux wood, AR enviro suites, and chilled/heated cup holders.

The locale is a little difficult to find, until the small crew realizes that the small set of stairs in the back alley of the hardware store is infact the entrance to the pub. The stairs descend below ground level, to a small sign declaring the establishments name (est. 1982), lit by only a single bare bulb. The large form hulking in front of the doorway is a shy bit small for a troll, but plenty big for an ork. Any other details are impossible to make out thanks t the large hat and trench coat, coupled with the perpetual London fog that rolled in the instant the rain stopped.

As the crew steps up, an AR invite pops up on Dingos screen first, sending a virtual invite to the crew, along with the bar's subscription option. The option includes a small list of drinks, none of which include names like "sex on the beach" , a food list, which starts and ends "nuts", and the current rag playing on the stereo system, "Flogging Molly - Devil's Dance Floor". ~Entrance fee paid.


Welcome, rats and ruffs, to O'Malleys! Come for the beer, stay for the hang over! Drink to happy mice and Ireland! OUR land!

Caliph - London, O'Malley's Pub

I keep a look out on the way in; through the shop where I get some ridiculous threads, including some weird kind of hat that looks like a fedora. I feel like an idiot wearing them, but vanity is not worth the half empty magazine of ammo taped to my off-hand ankle.

Dingo looks a bit spaced out, or maybe it's just me, but I check with them to see if he wants to take outside. I could use a drink, and I never get to be the inside guy...

Dingo - London, O'Malley's Pub

Dingo shakes his head and grins sheepishly. "Ah, sure. I'll be comin' back before we leave, so feel free. Just... be careful, ok? I'm gettin' a weird vibe, ya know what I mean?"

He starts to wander off and grins over his shoulder. "Toss out a toast to ol' Éire for me, will ya? Have fun..."

My thoughts stay as I drove. The buildings remind me of the Brownstone Neighborhood of Portland. At that time I made ends meet masking affluent young nobles, mundanes, who wanted to mix in public without being recognized. In those days I lived outside of the shadows and in the light... and that in itself was a lesson.

One day when the shadows again intersected with my life and my downhill spiral back into the shadows was set. I was escorting a snotty young noble of fifteen years, along with a bodyguard. We were required to keep our distance; For me that wasn't a problem, for the bodyguard it presented a number of challenges.

It all went to hell outside of a [i]Portland's Best Coffee Shop. It started with the bodyguard. His focus was on the surroundings of the girl, not himself and an adept slipped right up behind him on the street. Before he knew what happened his shoulder was dislocated and he was on the ground with a concussion. I was unable to react before a woman stuck a gun into my ribs, "Stand down and know, I have the sight."

The third member of their team slipped up beside the girl and placed an arm around her waist. She was momentarily startled then collapsed into his arms. Unsure whether it was magical or mundane methods, I wished he had been active at that moment to have known but the pistol in his ribs was a more pressing problem.

The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me, "Man. Are you ok?" As I began to shake off the effects of the drugs she had injected into my neck, I quickly determined that she had taken both my personal secretary as well. They had al aspects of my current life in their hands.

Given the circumstances around the abduction I was cleared, at least formally. Hours after the questioning, I knew I was being followed; It had to be the security company checking to see if I was part of the extraction team. Also work dried up; I was sure I'd been blacklisted. Since I was nearly done with my masters degree so it didn't much matter anyway, but it was maddening. The extraction team seemed to have left my accounts alone, but I knew they had hooks into every aspect of my life even after I changed all my pass codes.

A week later I heard that the ransom was paid, the girl was home and everyone was happy, except me. Six weeks later I walked away from another "life" again and began traveling the Tir. My lesson: Trust in the system is misplaced. Human imperfections will always screw it up and paranoid, well-prepared are the ones who walk away with the payday.[/i]

Weeks seemed to have passed by the time reached Caliph. He could see I'd already changed my clothes using magic to something that passed for local. "Sure. I imagine that swill is as close as we will find to coffee here though, but at this point even swill is inviting."

-----------------

I'm sure whether to laugh or cry once Caliph is done with his purchases, but keep quiet... and resist the urge to change his clothes white with gold trim.

-----------------

We all reached the pub about the same time, the fog continuing to remind me of Portland.

Caliph coming in and the new guy staying out? Next thing there will be flying sheep.
Sitting in the car, I summon the mana around my body to change my appearance. A quick glance in the mirror and I am not satisfied with the quality of the spell. A second casting is much better. My resemblance to Lugh Surehand is unmistakable for those who travel in those circles. "Shall we?"

O'Malley's
Walking down the slick step is an exercise in balance, making one wonder exactly how all the drunken Irishmen manage it late into the night and deep in their cups. The large, coat covered form of the bouncer makes room for Nyx and Caliph as they come down to the stoop. Surprisingly, he gives a curious tip of the hat, opening the door for the pair.

The "soothing melodies" of Flogging Molly asail the duo as they step into the pub. Most of the walls and doors seem to be made of a light colored wood, long since darkened from age. The furniture looks to be of a decent, sturdy quality, that might not even be faux wood, giving the place an air of respectability, that the nearby pile of bloody saw dust and broken glass quickly contradict. The pub is busy, with men and women of all metatypes moving about in a bustle. The waitresses, for none are male, wear bold green shirts with clovers on the chest, and move through the bustle with surprising agility, for no self respect Irish (wo)man would dare spill a drink before most of it was drunk anyway. The atmosphere is that festive you hope from a party but usually only get from a wake. A second look around the pub reveals a little darker side to the bar. There are no elves. While normally something that can be taken as simple happenstance, in a place so meta-diverse, it stands out.

An ARO pops up, directing the pair to a table near the back, out of the normal hustle and bustle. Visually winding through the crowd from the door, they finally spot their destination at the back, and their contact. Or Contacts. Seated in a large, reinforced chair is troll of some sort, with little in the way of warts, tusks, or horns, and seems a right size smaller than the trolls they're used to. He has a well tended grey beard, minus the mustache, giving him an old world look. Like many others here, he wears common street clothes, although he's kept on his warm jacket. Drawing the eye more than the odd troll is the figure next to him, which appears to be an honest to ghost, two foot tall leperchaun.

Perception check - Visual - Mod of -2

Perception Results Nyx

Perception Caliph

Caliph - O'Malley's

Ah, so this is the kind of bar where white people wear green when they drink beer. Having safely stereotyped the niche in my head, I smile widely in anticipation of a good beer. The rest is moot.

Having made, and been made by, the couple in the corner, I categorize them as 'too obvious for assassins.' Better than normal chance they're the last team in. Ain't looking forward to sitting down and asking them to explain in detail how they got their asses kicked. Awkward.

Instead, as I wind my way to the contacts, I alternate between ogling the waitresses (no more than is polite, I hope) and looking over the rest of the crowd, bar, entries-exits. I take the seat nearest the crowd as we walk up, and offer a hand to whomever wants to take it first. "Evening, yall. I like this joint."

Pop a message to Dingo: <<@Team (Caliph) - In, met our friends.>> Leave the throwaway commlink open for him to play through, if he wants.

The large troll nods amicably, raising his pint in salutations. The smaller 'chap' hops from his chair, extending a hand and grinning broadly.
Evenin' gents, glad I am that you all could make it. Sit, sit, drinks are on me, even fer you there lad. Big one aren't'cha! No matter, they come plenty big here too! Sit, sit, let's get this started. Sure'n you've got lots of questions. Best discussed with somethin' to wet the throat. Drinks!
The little man waves over a serving girl, taking drink orders, or supplying them if the drinkers are quick enough to decide. He gives a quick toast, to fast and unintelligable to appreciate. Drinks are tossed back, the formalities observed, and business begins.
Start with questions.

Follow Caliph. He creates a path much better than I do.

Noticing the team in the corner: Perhaps the first team was invited for an informal debrief... or perhaps they're the welcoming committee here to explain about union rules and such. Tag them, relay video to TeamNet from the contacts.
<<@Dingo [Nix] See if there's a local scan on this team. If they are not connected, we might want to subcontract with them. Granted, selling cookies might be more their speed, but any local rep details might be good to have in the hip pocket.>>

Astrally perceive the joint, then our contact.

Approach the table an appropriate number of steps behind Caliph. Follow suit with the hand shaking. "Atmosphere and character." To clear up any question as to what I'm talking about, "The bar. I like it as well."

Irish Red Lauger. Savor the taste, then to business.

<<@Johnson [Nix] The uncle's last known whereabouts was his estate? Or have there been new leads? And would that be the first team in the far corner?>>

Roll Assensing(S) Auras
The little character waves, looking annoyed, as the message pops up to him.
None of that, none of that now! Besides, I assure you, we are better protected here in the flesh than through the machine. And yes, that would be them indeed. That's a good eye you've got. Glad to see I chose well in you

Caliph - meeting with the Johnsons?

The little dude wins my heart a little bit by shrugging off the messages. Start with a smile. "Talking shop before we even get comfy? I'm Caliph. I'm guessing you're our friend from the meeting." Point at the leprechaun, then swivel it politely to the... troll? "Have we had the pleasure? And if you don't mind, you don't look like no troll I've ever seen."

Wait for their response and/or a beer, then lean back a little and swap to something that's been on my mind. "So, I think I might need a survival guide for this place. Like, who are the Night Boys and why on earth would they think that trying to mug a cybered ork in the middle of the street is a good idea? Why ain't there no elves here? I ain't quite got the dynamics of this place down yet, and it'll make our job a lot harder if we have to do the 100-yard dash to work all the time."

The small man makes a look of surprise at Caliph's comment,holding his hands in a placating gesture.
My apologies friend, only trying to make you gents comfortable. Most folk I've met from across the Pond like to get right down to it. Right you are that we have talked before. I like to be Me as much as possible, especially when using these machines. My associate here, Mr. McGwire, fancies himself a lord in exile, deigning to come down to our level and work with the "little people", no pun intended, in the interim.

And you, good fellows, may call me 'Jack.' Placing his hand across his breast, Jack profers a bow to the runners at the table.

McGwire gruffs himself an introduction, clearing his throat.
Indeed sir, we have not, although I do anticipate our assocition to be proserous and hopefully mutually beneficial. I know something of you and your exploits, only scratching the surface however, I am sure. As to my appearance, I would point out that you are like no anglo I have ever seen. That is to say, judging one by simple appearances and lack of experience is often an effective way to sully honor and cause offense. As you have already appealed upon us to enlighten us beyond your ignorant status, I take no offense, and pray you in turn take no grievance from myself, as one soul seeking learning to another.

I am no 'troll', especially as you and yours in the Americas would recgnize such. I am a Fomori, a natural born and proud son of Ireland. He raises his pint, taking a salutory swig before continuing.As to your other inquiries, the erronesouly named 'Night Boys' are nothing more than violent bigots and racists, street thugs and hooligans taking their jolis from the blood and sweat of others, particularly those of the 'goblin' persuasion. Orks cope with sociatal pressures in all of Great Britain I'm afraid. Their particualr brand of violence extends to all those not of their race or creed, including orcs and on occassion, when their numbers are many and their victims few, trolls, those of Asian or Indian descent, and of course, elves. Those of the nobilis gene enjoy particular infamy in this part of the world, mostly stemming from their large numbers in Wales, and of course, Ireland.

Race violence sadly has its place here in Old London, but it is less obtrusive in the more modern areas of the city. Your rather obtrusive cyber augmentations will attract more attention there than your race however. I suggest you tread lightly sir. Work within the shadows anywhere in Great Britain is dangerous, and subsequently, quite profitable. But the key word is "discretion".

Jack leans back in, Mr. McGwire having apparently run out of steam. And that there gents, would be why yours truly does most of the talkin'. He raises his glass again in mock toast, and is joined by the fomori.

Caliph - O'Malley's, meeting with the Johnsons

Smile at Jack and McGwire's tag team. At least these folks have worked with each other before. Grab the rapidly arriving beer and join in the toast. "Yeah, I'm Apache, not anglo. So there goes. What do you bring to the table, aside from backup for Jack, here? As for questions, well, for one, how do we want to arrange the link-up with our stuff? When should we expect it, and where should we meet it? Do we have to bring anything to pick it up?

While I ask this, I'm reviewing my notes on the run. Map to the target's place, check. Map of the target's place (or as much as I can derive from overhead imagery on a mapsoft), check. Interview with the family member, list of names with access to the estate, no go. Meet with the other team - well, that'll happen soon enough. Manifest of paracritters? Sketchy details.

"So, what're the cops' take on the missing person? You mentioned some beef there... Do they have access to the grounds of his estate? Do they know he's gone? Have they been over the place? Will we have to worry about getting arrested on a B&E ticket for investigating the client's biz, or is he sufficiently hands-off?

Also, is this the client's first time on the wrong side of things?"

Hide both the frown and the raised eyebrow under the illusion of the mask while I take another drink from the beer. Talk shop? Comfy? Humph.

Shake Jack's hand when presented, introduce myself with a simple "Nix.". Listen intently to the discussion, raising my glass to meet those of our hosts.

The mask being a guise, no need to discuss my true heritage; They wouldn't know the subtle differences of different tribes anyway and it gives away too much.

Then the questions start; A good list. For now, just listen to the answers.

Jack leads with a barrage of answers.
Bobbies are being kept out of this as much as possible. Too many politics with all that. I'v assurances from our man that pays the bills that the security contractor for the alarm will respond to him only. Incidentally, they are only contracted to send a notification if an alarm is triggered. No armed response. Figure that means or old man has that angle covered himself. All very 'in house'.

Your gear should be arriving at the docks shortly. If you've transportation, I'll send pics, and if ya would prefer it, maybe a quaint little "code word" along with it, that he could know you by. Nothin' to it.

Your 'interview' with the first bunch o' lads is ready for ya to be had, whenever ya feel yer ready.
As the client said, his relation has never given him reason before to worry over much. Seems the old man kept him in the dark 'bout the goings on 'round his house though, so who knows? Maybe somethin' caught up to him.

General lay out and more detailed ground work, ye can get from the gents that went before. They'll charge ya', but I'm sure you would too. Everyone needs their pound. I haven't heard back yet from our gentelman if he's found something to magic him up with. I'll take that as "still looking". Tracking him through the sytem though is why we hired yer boyo that's so god with the computers.

At this point, Jack sits back, letting the distinguished Mr McGwire take the field.
As to the relation of the relations, I have confirmed with outside sources that the relation between client and subject was indeed close. While no will has yet been produced, this is only because he has yet to be declared dead. I have confirmed the old man has a barister on retainer, somone to handle the affairs of his estate. Quite the reputable background as well, which fits. I doubt you'll find any other family member undermining the family business from that angle at least. At this point, the rest of the family remains largely oblivious. For the most part, they exist in a state of willful ignorance. The old man's goings on are thought of as being "rather eccentric" in the better times, less cordial at others. They'd prefer not to be connected, if not for a sizeable chunk of family fortune.

Most of that fortune is tied up in various stock, although there is a decent chunk left liquid. I've done a little reviewing of his asset spending, and I'm reasonably sure that there's a "secret stash" as it were. Some of his reported "exotic pets" would have to go through certain channels that are well known for being exceedingly difficult without the requisite intrusive investigations and paperwork being performed. Those have not been done, meaning that he has a cash pool reserve somewhere for illicit purchases and uses. Not surprising for an enterprising entrepeneur of lord, but that does not exactly fit the pretty picture painted for us by the young man. It seems there is indeed shadows of a darker side. Some of those cooercive fundings would have to go to a decent level of authority within the ministry to have the pets that he has available to him. He has well placed friends.

As to the stocks themselves, their nature suggests a canny, but rather locally minded businessman. Most are smaller corporations, no particular trend or taste is evident. Either he has an active broker or two, or he likes to handle his money on his own, and stay discreet. Rather admirable really. The only names that are really evident to persons not from the United Kingdom are the usual suspects: Transys Neuronet, and their rivals Hildebrant - Kleinfort - Bernal. Most investors choose to take sides in that little exchange. There's little profit in betting on both sides at the same time, because either way, you lose. Frankly, the Bernal's tend to play hardball when they think there's cause, so if you find involvement from that front, I would suggest advising us, so that we might advise our client that some closets are better left closed.

Dingo - Outside O'Malley's

Dingo makes his way to a spot that will allow him a bit of privacy as well as a good view of O'Malley's. Once there, he keeps an eye out for anything suspicious heading towards the pub, while also watching for trouble heading his way and keeping an eye out for trouble on the matrix side of things. It's times like these that make me really wish I had coughed up for that attention coprocessor... Ah well. Upgrade some toys first, then I can get it... Just gotta survive until then.

When Caliph's message comes in, Dingo smiles to himself and sends him a message. <<@Caliph [Dingo] Thanks for the feed.>> He quickly opens and audio/visual feed and has it play in a small corner of his visual field.

When Nix's message comes in, Dingo sighs. It's never enough with these guys, is it? Ah well. At least it's an easy one, this time. He pulls up another window in his AR field of vision and starts searching for any mention of the crew's potential new friends. Part way through the search, he stops and blinks, focusing on the video feed. Is that..? Huh. A Fomori and a leprechaun. Didn't expect the bosses to be quite that unusual. Hell, I didn't think I'd ever cross paths with a Fomori...

Nix listens to the exchange, this time taking the back seat to Caliph. His focus is distracted across the room as much as across the table. Might be safe, might not. Throughout the conversation, various points catch his attention. Alarm only no response? Good part is we can make noise if needed, bad part is we'll probably need to make noise..... Something in the house just might have eaten him... More hands looking for a handout. Great, but I guess not really unexpected... We'll see, in time, just how good he is.... It almost always comes down to sex or money. He might have been eaten, but one of those two is far more likely. Since the money is all out in the open, I'm curious about his two-legged conquests.... Stocks? Local stocks?

<<@Dingo/Caliph [Nix] I assume Transys Neuronet and Hildebrant-Kleinfort-Bernal are both local stock exchanges or brokerages? It might be good know what stocks he invested in.>>

Nix addresses McGwire, who seems most knowledgeable about the money side of things. "In your research, did you assemble a partial list of what he spent his money on? A more itemized list of what pets he keeps, perhaps? I'm also curious about romantic interests... I'd at least like to clear that motive from the list." Nix takes a draw from his beer, taking a moment to relish in the quality of the brew before continuing. "Also, if he went on excursions himself to procure these pets, it would be good to know if he kept to a tight circle of guides or if he shopped loose. Doesn't sound like we can rule out that he was just strung up in a jungle somewhere for whatever he carried and what certified cred he had on him by a less than reputable guide."

"I got more of a local orientation question to stick on. Who do we gotta bribe to find out his relative comings and goings? Sure, he don't entertain much, but he gotta meet with folks somewhere. Unless he just magics up food for all them little beasties on his property. Who would know where the surveillance footage of the streets around his house is? Make/model//registration of his car? That sorta crap?"

I'm searching for something more insightful, but when it comes down to the shit, I think geographically. Nix can think about peoples, but I'm just focused on the fact that hHis happy ass is somewhere, and he got there somehow.

Hopefully it's not one of these invisible mofos like last time, though...

McGwire shakes his head. I wasn't prying into his more personal purchases, rather his over all portfolio to see where his interests lay. I suggest you utilize your computer expert for these matters. He should be able to find much of that information for you. That is why he was hired after all. The manor house it's self is rather removed from daily traffic areas. Perhaps inquire with the older generation in the area.

"We can do that. Mostly I'm concerned about running into cultural problems. A lot of the crap I take for granted back in the states don't work the same way here, and I don't want to trip into a pothole. Guess the last question I have revolves around securing a shack or a hotel room somewhere closer to the area. Don't want to be traipsing my hardware through the slum and the city all of the time."

Taking another draw from my pint, the long silence seems like months. "Perhaps now is a good time to discuss the previous team's attempts to recon the primary's home?"

Jack nods from the brim of his cup, setting it down again.
Accomodations can be had near the 'primaries' residence sure enough. Just a bit of a drive to get out there after. Well and away from the slums, that's for certain.

For any direct questions, we took the liberty of having your predecessors meet you here. They're over yonder.

He jerks his thumb in the direction of the two bandaged hards the pair had noticed earlier.

Nix watches the other team advance on their table, taking note of each member and their visible injuries as they do so. He considers a number of different ways to great the team and the perceptions of both the team and the Johnson's. In the end, he elects to remain seated, nodding when the first team makes eye contact then verbally greeting them with a simple "Hello." when they reach the table.

'Lo. These the gents then? The orks deep voice souns annoyed, much like his expression. It's clear he doesn't want to be here. The woman trailing him seems angry, still favoring her arm.

Jack nods, gesturing for them to take seats. The pair grab chairs from nearby tables, joining the table.
Alright then, what's it 'bout? Whacha want to know?