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One week ago...

March 13th, 2073, 10:00 PM

@All - Thank God it’s Friday. You were looking forward to a night full of beer, babes, and Brawl—Urban Brawl that is, with the Screamers playing the Wings in a crosstown shootout—but all too harshly, reality barged in and ruined your weekend plans. Instead you got a call from your fixer with an offer that was sweetened quite nicely by his/her usual bonus rates for a rush job. A month’s pay for an hour’s work? Hell, your tridset can record the damned game for this kind of money. You grabbed your stuff, and took a drive. So instead of chomping down on some buffalo soy-fingers and washing ‘em down with a tall cold one, you find yourself driving through the elven ghetto, Tarislar. There’s nothing innately elven about it as far as you can see. It’s a far cry from the fancy elven district in Downtown. It feels like the biggest difference is that the hungry street kids are skinnier than ork kids, taller than dwarf kids, and faster than troll kids. Same old ghetto, just with different pointy ears.

The outside of the Daisy Chain proper fits your mental image of an elven oasis a little better. There was the occasional tree or two in the parts of Puyallup with running water, to be fair. The Daisy Chain club itself though is positively green by comparison in more ways than one. Arrayed in their distinctive green racing leathers, lounging against their distinctive green bikes, members of the Ancients go-gang kill time on the street out front. A few are racing each other up and down the block, two of them on nimble, faring-less street bikes are doing tricks and burning rubber right out front, and plenty more seem to be busy just glaring at one another instead of partaking in the mild contests. No one hassles you at the door, elven or not. You’re expected after all. It’s time for the moment of truth, though, because you’d been dreading the music ever since you heard this was the site for the meet. The Daisy Chain’s got a reputation for being the hottest nightspot in town for the cynical elven goth types and the subdued, mournful, Celtic wannabes. You expected harps and pipes, sad songs in Sperethiel, the occasional street poet pouring out his heart at being a Tír exile, sob story fundraisers week after week from refugee families. But on weekends, they let people play guitars here, and they even let the band get away with playing a classic rock tune like the one you’re hearing now. You find your Mr. Johnson right on stage. Belial’s just started up a Concrete Dreams hit called “Broken Yellow Line” as you walk in. There’s not a harp or set of bagpipes in sight, just the closing notes of “Broken Yellow Line,” a rock ballad that’s older than you are. Whew. Only on the weekend. Thank God it’s Friday.

For her, the change of plans basically involved a different night club in a different part of the city. Not that big of a change you might think. She had heard of the Daisy Chain before, but never visited. Some research was needed, and Skye was lying lazily on her couch while sifting through images online to get a better feel for the place and the crowd hanging around there. Yes, even though she never used this name anywhere, she still thought of herself as Skye. It was one of those little things you preserve, when everything around you changes. Over the last week, she was Kimberly. Tonight she would be Selina. And at some point, maybe even someone else entirely.

The rest of her time, before she had to head out, was spent in front of a mirror. Multiple mirrors, actually. Her walk in closet was bigger than some people's apartments. She hated being rushed like that, because she really loved this part, but at least whoever was going to pay her had the decency to include something extra to compensate for the precipitance. Working her magic, she changed outfits faster than a model on the catwalk, until she was reasonably satisfied with her choice. The celtic goth style was right up her alley, a nice little corsage to cover the necessities and highlight her figure, see-through fabric with some lace for pretty much everything else, wide sleeves, short skirt, chunky heel boots with a lot of buckles. Enough skin to turn some heads, especially legs and shoulders, but a lot less than her usual clubbing outfits. She wasn't out to find companionship, after all. Yeah, it wasn't entirely perfect, but perfection needed time, and unfortunately, time was a scarce commodity tonight. For a moment, she pondered dying her hair black, or maybe red, turning herself into a cute little gothic witch, but the blonde was such a nice complement to the dark clothes. As for accessories, she only put on a little black velvet choker for a touch of elegance and a few silver rings. There was no time to make her hair, so it was left wild and open, but she did like it that way.

While driving into Tarislar and towards her destination, one thought crossed her mind. I really need to get one of those color-changing paint jobs for my bike. She loved the white, but sometimes it simply wasn't the best fit. Granted, a few other thoughts surfaced as well, especially when she saw some of the street kids, but those memories of herself were well in the past now.

Arriving at the club, she parked the bike and sized up some of the Ancients there. Hot elves in biking leathers, not too bad. She was all but certain that more than a few eyes were following her every move as well. Since noone stopped her, she headed right inside. Those with the second sight would notice an astral form accompanying her, a quite powerful spirit. Fiona, of course. With Mr. Johnson still occupied on stage - now that was new - Selina decided to head for the bar for now. Shrugging off the occasional whistle or dance invitation, or whatever other activity was proposed, she sat down and ordered a bloody mary. It just seemed fitting.

[ Spoiler ]
Willie takes the call with mixed feelings. Friday night is for fun, but then, shooting things up is fun, too. He thinks for a moment. Yeah. Thinks! It's new to him, too. The job sounds like a rush, so the team might need transport. He decides to drive the Rover rather than the Mirage. He dresses for action. Which, basically, is what he always wears.

The drive to Puyallup is boring. A little background check on the Daisy Chain made his heart sink. Ya call that music? As he pulls into the parking lot, it gets worse. Ancients are trying to prove they know how to drive a bike! He should have brought his to show them what a real man ca do. But, Ancients at the front door. So, entrance and exit covered by muscle. OK. He leaves the SMG in the car. No point in stirring up trouble before he even meets Mr. Johnson. The holstered pistol and the knife stay on him, though.

Willie steps out of the car and gets the usual from the gangers. Mixed looks of hatred and playful evil. He holds his hands out to the side, palms down, a universal sign for "no trouble here". They let him pass. Entering the bar, Willie is surprised by both the music and the fact no one checks for weapons. Elf thugs outside, maybe elf wiz inside? He janders up to the bar and checks what's on tap. "Gimme summa that Shasta Dark," he orders. He takes a seat and looks around from this vantage point.

Again, the usual. In this place he stands out like a sore middle finger. Looks of disgust and fear from the emo wimps. Some move their seats away. Some go to another part of the bar. But over there, at the other end of the bar by herself, is a hunter. Local boys are hoping she's hunting for some lovin', but she looks like she could eat them alive. 'Course, there could be worse ways to go. As her gaze runs across him, he gives the slightest of nods. Might as well wait here till the Johnson quits singin', and see what else shows up.

The beer is not half bad. He wipes the dribble off his chin with his sleeve.
@Selina and Willie (and the rest as they arrive) - There's AR-ivy clinging to the walls, wait-staff in the “traditional” garb of the Tirs (an eclectic mixture of neo-tartans, short kilts, and stylized feudal wear, all appropriately skimpy and tight), dimmer lighting than even your average nightclub thanks to their regular patrons’ natural eyesight, and the overwhelming number of Ancients in attendance both inside and outside the club.

The Johnson himself is in the middle of as low key a song as he can manage, a melancholic road tune by the C-Dreams themselves. He’s an above-average guitarist at best, but the crowd is swaying and singing along as if he were one of the world’s best. He’s a regular here and just has too much stage presence for them to be anything but jubilant to see him. The Ancients in the crowd seem especially keyed up tonight except for another woman and a few of her followers who are brooding over by the bar.

@Selina - "No wards or spirits of any kind here it seems." You hear the words spoken through the back of your mind. The telepathic link from Fiona deeper than even your strongest thoughts, pierce through the jubilance of the nightclub. Briefly deafening you to the sights and sounds being overloaded into you. "Hmmmmmmmm… The singer is Awakened though. What's more, I sense a divides amidst their ranks. I can almost taste the bitter resentment coming from the ones at the bar. Be mindful Skye. You're being watched."
Iris was in the workshop looking over the schematics for the SUV when the call from Chloe came in. Have to figure out where to install drone racks later. Sighing, she got up and headed inside the main part of the house. As she did so, she sent a mental command to her agent. Elsa, find me all the information you can on a club called the Daisy Chain in Seattle.

A moment later when the agent came back with the details, she shook her head in what might be amusement. "Guess I'll fit in and stand out at the same time. Gothic huh? White goth works." She then put on her Vashon Island ensemble, a skirt and blouse combo with matching longcoat, all in shades of white. She made sure to wear a holster under the coat with the Fichetti inside. No sense bringing the guardian to a meet, but she would keep it in the SUV, with the drones and mask.

After a bit of a drive, she arrived, seeing the familiar colors of Ancients here as well. She gave the impression of ignoring them as she went inside, all while still being on guard. Have to be the ice princess, after all. Arriving inside, she took note of the fashion of the staff. The other Tir, of course. She then began scanning the crowd, noting the Johnson on stage, and the ork who stood out among all the elves. She frowned, sure he was an operator like her, but not wanting anything to do with him. She made her way to the bar, ignoring the attention of the men in the crowd, and pretending to ignore the same from the women. "White Russian, extra cream." She then looks down the bar, trying to identify other operators who may be present.
Daniel felt bad about leaving Josie in a lurch on such a night, but he knew Sgt Mike would be there later after his shift. Dude was a freak for the Wings, he kept pestering Daniel about trying out, but it was a bit too high profile.

He vaguely remembered the Chain, and a brunette doll that had caused him to put some wannabe hardass in a dumpster later. He hoped the kid was out of his cast by now, and he really hoped he might see Cerie (Sersi? Sara?) again. No such luck on either count.

He parked the Scorp right next to where the kid was chilling on his ride, and after a few minutes of conversation found that Sersi had taken off the LaLa Land to make it big in the trid. His new pal was going to swing by Josie’s next week and Smiley would teach him a move or two to try the next time he got into a scrap. The kid had laughed when he learned the Sioux word Smiley had written on his green wrapped cast meant “Hardass”.

Inside the club, he recognized the tension and the mixed company right away, so he chose to forgo any carnal activities for the moment (though he did note a few likely partners for later). Instead he took a tap brew to an open table and waited for the Johnson to finish his set. Concrete Dreams had been one of the few bands that Jett had followed since the dawning of the Fifth Age, so he knew their catalog.
Kathy had just finished closing when the word came through. She'd switched on her commlink on the bus to see if it would work this time. It kind of did; some sort of skin made it sing her a mix of golden oldie christmas music while virtual snow fluttered over the interface. To the mellow croonings of Perry Como, she flipped through transcriptions of incoming messages.

Most of them were the usual: explaining to Kathy how she could have the nonsurgical penile augmentation of her dreams, or how she could switch up her mortgage, or what the hottest tech was that she absolutely, positively had to have before next week made it all moot. Irrelevances, in other words. However, there was a call for her services, and money's money. Kathy nodded to herself while turning the stupid techtoy off again, and planned. She knew the Daisy Chain by reputation, and considered her options. Elf, she was not. Slim and waify, she was not. But at least she was meta, and the type of meta that most don't care about.

By the time the bus dropped her off, Kathy had a plan. She wandered down the steps into her squat, and barely ducked her head beneath an iron bar that kept tall folk from wanting to enter. The lights were off (of course) but she could see just fine. A pair of charcoal jeans that she'd cut off to her length and then decorated with an abstract pattern in black embroidery, a broad webbing belt in black. Her leather jacket, of course, and for her head a black bowler hat. Close enough. Under the jacket, a black turtleneck, and under that a grey t-shirt, and under that a sportsbra, because March gets cool after dark. She swapped out her daytime facemask (with a cliche Seattle skyline motif) for a black-and-grey urban camo design, but left her comfortable shoes on. They were black anyway. She left her glasses on, and her hair braided, and because clubs tend to be obnoxiously loud, pocketed a few sets of disposable earplugs.

She sighed and tucked her axe beneath her bed, but slipped the sheath of her regular knife under her webbing belt so that it lay parallel with the belt, rather than down her hip. Not perfect concealment, but a girl needs options and this would at least add a little weight to any claims she might stake to personal space. Ready as ever, she locked the door to her coffin apartment, and headed out for the joys of public transport. Adjusting her hat against the drizzle, her mask against the smoke and zipping her jacket against the cold, she's just another figure on the bus that weighs about the same as one of its wheels, if that much.

At least the Daisy Chain was conveniently located, but one look down the block already told her what kind of racket was going on, so she popped in a couple of earplugs, and pushed her mask on yet more firmly against the burnout rubber smoke. Hands in the pockets against the chill, and she walked along the sidewalk to the entrance. The Ancients might pass a few remarks among themselves, if they bothered to notice her, but nobody stopped her so she just took the stairs at a trot and then unzipped her jacket once inside the club's warmth. Lower lights don't bother her at all, so to get a better view she looked for any kind of raised area, maybe a staircase that she could half climb, and then actually get a good view. The crowd being so well divided actually made this a bit easier, so she found a perch and took it all in.

Kathy actually knew enough about music to be able to judge the music on stage swiftly, so she peered instead at the crowd, and the bar. It's rarely the crowd that matters as much as the people who aren't in it, so the folks at the bar would rate higher attention. Oh dear. Jealous alternative artists at the bar? Angry ex and friends? In elven gangland? Great. How do I get out of here if the drek starts to spray? Kathy thus paid attention to layout and furnishings. Which tables look strong and bolted to the floor? Which exits are there? Best check the powder room, but probably not. Behind the bar will be a delivery exit. Behind the stage will be the artists' and gear entrance. How easily can those be reached? Which other furnishings look tough and well established? Ducking behind the bar is an old chestnut, but it can work. Is there a street or basement level window that a dwarf could kick out and squirm through?

Kathy nodded to herself once she'd figured out what was important, and then hopped off her perch to find the little metagirls' room and figure out what options it afforded. With any luck, no hookers, junkies or chipheads, but you never know in a place like this.

The pretty blonde at the bar looked a little distracted for a moment, while she listened to the words of advice from her spiritual friend.

"Thank you, Fiona. I will keep my eyes open."

Taking a slow turn, she noticed the ork, of course. He seemed out of place, but other than that at least capable of behaving himself. Good for him. It would not be smart to cause any trouble in here. Then there were a bunch of Ancients, some regular club-goers, and, last but not least, the woman with her entourage, who must have been the ones Fiona had noticed. While she looked around, she couldn't help but take note of the various outfits the people were wearing, while her thoughts ranged from oh, dear! to mmh, sharp!

Since brooding wasn't quite her style, she picked up the drink in a swift motion and hopped off her stool to look for a little distance from them. If anything was to go down here, then they would certainly be part of it. Mingling with the crowd, she allowed for some mild flirting while enjoying the flow of the music and the occasional sip from her drink.
Willie had been told there would be five on the team. And, look! Five people stood out from the crowd. The hunter, the Woman in White, the short-ass home-spun, the guy by himself at that table, and Willie. The guy at the table. The way he moved in a flowed over to his seat. Yeah, he's survived a few fights. Willie couldn't tell among the women, but he was pretty sure there would be magic. Who's the hacker, though?

Willie waited and watched some more. Oh, yeah. The hunter just went out among the sheep.
@All - As the music dies down, tensions rise ever steadily. Knots of Ancients seem to band together. Further widening the schism between groups. With each staring daggers at one another. And at you. It wasn't before long that an elven girl of twelve-years-old, maybe thirteen, climbed up onto the stage to relieve Mr. Johnson of his guitar to set aside for later. Once she finishes her task, she speeds from one side of the nightclub to the next. First she heads into the ladies' room to grab the dwarf that had just walked in last. Next she scurries to the bar to pull on the skirt of an another elven woman dressed in all white. Asking her to come with. Smiling sheepishly as she does, either out of fear, embarrassment or some other form of awkwardness. Before a verbal response could be made she had already fled to another part of the club. Bumping into the only human within the establishment. Again, nervously asking the man to follow her. And lastly, she waves over an ork sitting alone and what appears to be a regular neo-goth mingling with the other club patrons. She guides the lot of you with her to the arranged spot.

There's a comfortably secluded booth in a back corner of the club waiting for them with an assortment of fancy Sylvan Mist bottled water-imported from the Tír, it's supposed to be the Crater Lake water, purified by the Eagle shaman groups, all that sort of stuff-set up for the crew to help themselves. Not before anyone could say anything else, the barely teenage girl says. "Hey! Sorry about that. I should have greeted you all as you came in. I was too busy listening to Belial sing and I..." She stops herself mid-sentence and starts to blush a little before picking back up where she left off. "Anyway! My name is Squire and if you need anything just give me a holler. Belial should be over here soon."
Willie quaffed the rest of his beer and handed the empty glass to the girl. "Thanks, kid."

He stood to one side of the booth, waiting for the others to sit in, not out of courtesy but simply because of his experience that he tends to be the fastest in any group, and he didn't want to be hemmed in by the pathetically slow. He did nod at each of the others as they approached. For him that was the kind of respect that kept the street toughs from bristling. Hopefully it would help here, but who knew?
Can Opener was outwardly frosty. Just another day serving big egos at the counter.

"Sure thing, hon. Be right there." She glanced in the mirror, adjusted her hat and jacket and then moved through the crowd to the booth in the back. Barely waist high to most elves, she was out of sight of most of them, so when she hopped up into the booth and scooted back along the bench, she might hardly have been there.

Under the hat, her mind was spinning.

"What is this fragger thinking? Johnsons should be keeping low profiles, and who is this groupie that knows all of us? Either Johnson is a complete drekhead, or this is some kind of weird setup. The crowd's uglier than a troll's hoop and I don't like this booth. In the back is cute, but it's too far from the artists' entrance, the freight entrance and the customers' entrance. At least the booth looks bolted in. OK, new emergency plan: slide under the booth table, operate from there until an opportunity comes to make a break. At least these other folks look the part - and thank the spirits two of them are elfytypes. Orkboi will be target of choice for everybody except raiders from the Spikes, so the longer I can keep him alive, the longer they'll be shooting at him rather than me."

She greeted each one affably as they arrived. "Hoihoi. Plenty of room." She took a bottle of the water, but rather than open it sort of turned it this way and that in her hands before settling back in the booth bench with her little legs sticking out in front of her. In reality, she was astrally inspecting the area. No deep assensings yet, but enough to see Fiona.

"OK, spirit at twelve o' clock. Pretty elfygoth's almost certainly magical, orkboi's almost certainly chromed. I'll check the others out later, but this probably isn't a helpless crew. Maybe I'll slip her the boss's business card if we get a chance later. Think I'll let the pretty, pretty people do the talking for now... good thing I didn't bring my axe to this meet."

As the girl asked to follow her, Skye was slightly irritated for a moment. Isn't she a bit young for a place like this?

She pondered the question by herself, while the kid guided her towards the meeting room. If anything, she knew what she was doing, as she quickly assembled a total of five very different people from all over the place. In the end she just shrugged and thanked her. Who am I to judge...

Upon entering, the elf nodded towards the others. "Ladies. Gents." Then she looked for a suitable place to sit down and pour herself a glass of water while inspecting the bottle. "At least he has good taste."

When Kathy began her astral observations, the young shaman turned towards her, smiling slightly. Not that the dwarf could really see that, having her senses focused on the astral. She did probably notice the reaction to her entering the astral space with her senses, even though the elf wasn't astrally active herself. The spirit must have informed her about it.
As the younger girl approaches her, Iris nods. "Sure, lead the way." She then follows behind until the crowd dissipates and the five of them are left alone. She glances them over, fixing each a gaze from her steel gaze, cold, silver eyes analyzing and assessing each in turn.

Ork. Male. Obvious muscle.
Elf. Female. Possible face or mage.
Dwarf. Female. Possible rigger or mage.
Human. Male. Probable waste of space.

Sliding into the booth beside the other ladies, she gave each a nod before looking casually at her drink. In actuality, she was using her mind to run a series of commands through her link. Elsa, help me look up information on our Johnson. The name is Belial. As the agent began its data search, she began her own, knowing she would likely spot details the program would miss.
Smiley finishes his beer and stands. In spite of the palpable tension, he looks completely casual as he moves through the club. Not unaware, just unaffected.

Talking full advantage of being the last to approach, he watches the two ladies ahead of him move, obviously and appreciatively, as they walk ahead of him and settle into the booth. Meeting the eyes of the ork, he turns on his megawatt namesake and offers a hand or a fistbump to him.

Settling into the booth opposite the other heavy, he meets the eyes of each of the other runners, as best he can. “Hoi, call me Smiley. Interpersonal relations specialist, social or otherwise, at your service.” He offers a toast with his water to the table.
Can Opener cheerily raised her (as yet unopened) bottle in Smiley's direction. "Hoi, chummer. I'm Can Opener. Doubt you need it, but I make a good stong spiced mead. Not licensed for retail, if that matters to you."

"Well, thank spirits for that. He's ready and willing to chat to whomever about whatever. As long as he's talking us through whatever drekfest this will be, I'll have his back."

Can Opener then put her bottle down on the table and looked out at the club to see how the general glareathon between the various gangers was going, and whether anyone looking like a lead singer might be heading out their way - or anyone else, for that matter. The sooner this might reach a peaceful and profitable conclusion, the better. Living in the slums had taught her well that being in the splash radius of cranky gangers is bad for the health, and she had no intention of prolonging her stay.

"I hate to be the early fader here, and I know we just got here, but does anybody know what the timeline on this meet is? I'd rather skate out before the buses stop."
"I'm Willie. Quick Willie once people see me in action. No problem about transit, Can. I brought a ride with room enough for all." He smiles a great big, toothsome grin. " And I'm always up for some home brew."

Willie is glad there are talkers in the group. Let them take the lead when Johnson decides to pay them some attention. He continues to stand at the side of the booth, scanning the crowd. "Looks like a Brawl game might be lining up here." Another big grin.

"There sure is some tension in the air tonight. I wonder if that has anything to do with what Mr. Johnson is going to tell us. That lady at the bar certainly isn't his greatest fan. Seemed urgent, too."

The elf looked around from runner to runner and nodded.

"You can call me Selina." Then her gaze rested on the dwarven lady. "And the one you saw is called Fiona."
As she continued sifting through data, the other elf woman merely nodded. "You can call me IC Princess. I'll be your tech support, both in and out of the Matrix. Already working."

She swept her gaze slowly over each as she goes, reassessing them. "Face. Muscle. Pair of mages, assuming Fiona is a spirit and not some technomancer construct. Not a bad team composition. Suppose my drones will have to work infiltration assuming one of you isn't better suited to the role." Her voice is cold, calculating, with no hints of emotion.

Selina smiled. "I prefer to call her my friend, but yes, Fiona is also a spirit."

"As for who might do what, that would depend in no small part on what Mr. Johnson is going to have in store for us, right? If he is going to show up at some point, that is."

She shrugged lightly and took another sip of water while leaning back on her seat, not overly worried about that last part.
@All - Belial finishes up with his business with some of the other Ancients before heading on over. Squire scampers off in anticipation to let him and his gathered team talk in silence. He tosses her a bottle before she goes, and the way she fawns at him you suspect she’ll never open and drink it, just stare it at forever. “Ah, she’s a good kid. Refugee, lost her folks to a drive-by a couple years back, so we try to look after her.” He grins a little sheepishly, then shrugs. Each of the team gets a handshake or a fist-bump or, at least, a nod. He gestures at the expensive waters with a smile even as he’s reaching for one. “You guys help yourselves, seriously.” He’s got a shoulder-length mane of dark hair that gives him a vaguely leonine look with startlingly handsome features, even for an elf, and deeply tanned skin. His fine features are toughened, not marred, by a collection of small scars his brawling and fighting have gotten him, and he’s built almost as broad in the shoulders, and as powerfully muscled, as an ork instead of an elf. His arms are ringed by a series of tattoos (pseudo-Celtic knot work, stylized ivy winding around one forearm, the Ancients “A” logo prominently on one bicep, what looks like a motorcycle chain design ringing the other), and a rampant gryphon tattoo covers his chest.

“Thanks again for making it on such short notice. Before anything else, let me just go ahead and get these out of the way.” He provides credsticks with the up-front payment for each shadowrunner, and invites them again to grab a ten-nuyen bottle of water while they’re at it. “That’s your pay for showing up on time. Let me give you a quick breakdown of what you need to do to earn the rest now that you’re here. We’re making history tonight with your help. It’s time for a change of the guard, for the Ancients to be run by someone less, well, ancient. My boys and I have proven ourselves, and Sting’s heart just isn’t in it anymore. I’m turning twenty tonight, and with your help leading the Ancients will be my birthday present. I challenged, and she accepted. I’m putting your team forward as my proxies, in … uhh … ” He glances at the time, fiddling with his commlink, “… about ten minutes. Guess maybe I shouldn’t have stuck around for that encore, huh? Oh well. You’ve gotta give the people what they want!” He laughs, and it’s impossible to hold it against him in the face of his thousand-watt grin. Singing’s thirsty work, and he’ll chug down the rest of his water before getting down to business again.

“So, the name of the game is Scavenger Hunt. You’ve got five targets to hit in order to snag as many trophies as possible and all in just under an hour. You aren’t supposed to get all five, so don’t worry. Just hit as many as you can.” He taps a few keys on his battered old commlink again then shoves it toward the middle of the table. “Someone grab this data feed as I explain, okay? It’s got all the addresses and stuff. The long and short of it is, you guys will be doing Ancients’ work. The hunt starts after the midnight rituals and ends at 1 a.m., sharp. I had one of the boys do an astral flyby not too long ago, and I really think this set of targets is gonna be your best bet. Oh, and don’t worry about rides, we’re supplying both teams with some wheels for the night. We boosted a couple Rovers a few weeks ago, so you’re all set for a ride if you need one. First, you’ll find an address for a known Spike safehouse on there and a Humanis Policlub chapter hall, too. These’re both little fringe operations, not major HQ’s, and neither one has many guys there. So fuck ‘em, right? You guys just bring us tusks, or ears, or hoods, whatever. Hell, bring us trideo feed of the places burning down or you trashing their bikes, whatever you wanna do. Just hit ‘em, and hit ‘em hard. Some good clean fun.”

“We’ve also tagged the GPS coordinates for an Ork Underground entrance here in Puyallup. The Skraacha work as, I dunno, door guards basically. Lately they’ve started wearing some stupid badges, like they’re trying to be official Ork Underground deputies or something. That’s ork business, so I don’t care, but what they do topside is Ancients business. They’ve started to move in on some of our gunrunning business, and we need them to remember who runs Seattle’s streets. Get ahold of some of their dumb little badges for me. Fight ‘em if you really want, scare ‘em into handing ‘em over, bribe ‘em, I don’t care. It doesn’t need to be a massacre like with the Spikes and those racist Humanis pukes. Just get me some badges, alright?”

He lets out a little sigh as he ticks off the list, and his lip curls as he comes to one a little darker. “We’ve got a problem that we just heard about earlier tonight. There’s a two-bit pimp that runs out of the Crime Mall, Jimmy the Chin. His whole stupid family’s in on the business, snatching girls, making ‘em turn tricks for him, and hooking ‘em on bliss so they don’t leave. He’s been bragging a little too loudly about having some elves in his ‘stables’ lately. What’s more, yesterday he snatched a little girl, not much older than Squire, right off the street here in Tarislar. That’s shit that I will not let slide. You guys go do the right thing here, and the whole neighborhood will appreciate it.”

“Last up? We’ve got the only job with a set-in-stone timetable. There’s an autotruck heading to a Stuffer Shack, and someone’s saving gas money by cutting it through Tarislar to get there. At quarter ‘till 1:00 it’s rolling just a couple klicks away from the Daisy Chain. If you ‘jack that truck–swipe some boxes of cargo, or just take the whole thing–on your way back here to wrap up the contest, I’m pretty sure it’ll push you over the top, and we’ll win tonight’s contest. So, those are the jobs. Do as many as you can in an hour in whatever order you want to, and get your asses back here with proof. The rest of the challenge rule is pretty simple; your group serves as an extension of one body, mine, so you’re not allowed to split up. No hittin’ two places at once, sorry. That said, Grandma Sting’s bunch of assholes will be after some of these same type of targets, so pick ‘em quick and haul ass to get there first. We’ll find out who she’s using as part of the kick-off ritual, don’t worry. Thing is, you guys aren’t allowed to directly maul one another, just like Sting and I aren’t allowed to just throw down. A little scuffle over who gets a prize might happen, but seriously, no deaths. No blades and no guns. If you run into whoever she’s got standing in for her, a bloody nose is one thing, but don’t go killin’ anyone. It ain’t that kind of challenge, and any deaths means a major loss of face.”

@IC Princess - Your matrix search doesn't pull up much useful information. The only things of import you could find about Belial is that he is the supposed son of Green Lucifer and that he's a Tir Exile.
True to his name, but unlike his taciturn nature, Quick Willie jumps in first. "Upfront money is always good, and I like some of the targets, especially hittin' the Humanis drek. What I don't get is why us? You have your own elf crew, elsewise you ain't gonna be much of a leader even if we win it for you. So how come you trustin' your life dream to a buncha strangers, insteada your own? There sumpin' you ain't tellin us?"
As soon as Belial puts up the data feed, IC Princess snags it and pops it into an AR window in her field of view. As he speaks, she begins running a data search on each, looking for information on the addresses provided. She hopes to find floor plans, potential numbers of bodies present, whatever she can. Particularly proximity to one another, trying to formulate a plan."I'm gathering information as we speak, plotting points, getting floor plans if available and the like. Speaking on an emotional level..." That's a bit rich, coming from her. "...I feel our best targets would be Humanis and the pimp, then later the truck. I would prefer to avoid taking out members of rival gangs. Try to avoid making enemies where we can."

She then pauses, considering. "Killing our rivals may be out, but what about kneecaps? Or even just hobbling them a bit with a shot to the leg? And what if they don't play by the no killing rule? I wouldn't put it past them to try taking us out and claiming our spoils for themselves. It's what I would do."

"Okay, you had me a little worried there for a moment, that this is gonna turn into some kind of death fight, but it's good to hear that this is supposed to be more of a friendly competition than outright war. Call me squeamish, if you want, but I am not a murderer. Never was and never will be. Well, I do not know what the future holds, of course, but that is my best guess. So, in order for me to even think about crossing that line, that special someone must have done something truly terrible. That Jimmy guy, he sounds like he might come close."

Taking another sip of water, she said: "This is some really nice water, by the way."

"So, let's see. We have wreaking some havoc at Spike and Humanis places. I guess, those are two seperate ones, as otherwise my count only comes to four. Those might be the most... involved... of the tasks, so I would maybe not start right there. Depends a little on the locations, of course, since it would be smart to start farther out and work our way back here for that truck. As for the orks, I'm fairly certain that they will give us those badges, if I just ask them nicely." During that part, a sly smile played on her lips for a moment. "Noone needs to get hurt there. Now Jimmy the Chin, if what you told us is true, he might not deserve to be asked nicely. But if there is a whole family behind him, there could be some trouble. That leaves the truck. Auto-truck? So there is no driver, or anyone else, inside?"

As for IC Princess' question about the rival team, Selina chimed in: "If they come at us, that is their choice, and I would consider them fair game at that point. But other than that, throwing some obstacles in their way should be fine, but actually hurting them seems a bit much, really."
"My new friends seem to be eager to be about some mayhem, so it falls to me to be sure we are properly compensated for our work. So what do you consider the going rate is to piss off the Spikes, the Orc Underground, Humanis, and the Mafia, plus some potential Grand Theft in an hour's time?"
Can Opener stayed silent throughout the whole thing, as if waiting her turn - but then said nothing after all. Maybe all the others had asked the questions that she'd intended to ask, and she was waiting for Belial's response - or rejoinder. But silence hardly made her thoughtless.

"And here it comes. No wonder everything's so overwrought. I reckon he's popular enough that he could do it anyway, but what do I know? "

She barely glanced at the credstick, but tucked it into her jacket's breast pocket and closed the zipper.

"He can't be underpaying us. He'd lose face. Let the pretty folk negotiate the final number - it's more than I have now anyway."

She listened to the list of locations impassively, with glasses and face mask keeping her poker face intact.

"Spikes. Humanis. Skraacha. Pimp. Stuffer Shack. Boy, what a party. Frag the Spikes and Humanis both, but going after Skraacha with an ork on the team? I don't see that going well. Pimp? I bet he's lying. Maybe he's not, but I don't trust the story, it sounds too much like a TriD drama. Stuffer Shack? Frag 'em, Aztechnology can die in a fire tomorrow. Hm. Need to talk to the team, but I reckon we can do driveby firebombings at each location and be done with them in under a minute each. Stuffer Shack holdup might take some fancy footwork, but I doubt they have an armed response team."

She remained silent while he detailed the further general points, but kept half an eye on her new best friends for the night to see what they'd say.

"OK, if there really is an opening ceremony, at least the challenge is probably legit, whatever the drek about the facts on the ground might be. Let me think. I could do some of this with a couple of elementals if working solo, but maybe the smart move is to call the Spikes, Humanis and Skraacha locations and give them a heads-up, then let the other team get tied down in firefights while we hit the pimp and truck. Racist Ancients are bound to go for them first. Ten minutes to showtime? Coordination'll have to be slot and run style. "

@Willie - Belial shakes his head no. "You're thinking about it the wrong way, omae. The challenge, the Scavenger Hunt, gives me a way to depose Sting without me and her going all out at each other. As far as why I picked you guys out of all the poor slots in Seattle? Well, first of all, I needed people who were skilled or talented enough to get the job done. Plus, I needed said crew to be fairly unknown. More or less. Friend of a friend of a friend tells me about you all and I weighed the pros and cons of having you jobbers all on board." He stops talking for a brief moment to look up and smile back, ever so slightly. "Lastly, I'm feelin' lucky!"

@IC Princess - Turning to you next after he had answered Quick Willie's questions. Belial, still smiling ever so slightly says. "Naturally. That'd be my first picks too if given the chance. Pedophilia and racist supremacy are two topics that are kinda on the top of my shit list, you dig? Anyway... on about the rest of Sting's crew, slowing them down and whatnot." The Johnson pauses for a moment. Taking the time to choose his words carefully before speaking. Shrugging he responds with. "Slowing them down or otherwise hindering them from progressing is fine. However, if you attack them first or head on then I lose by default. If they initiate the fight then you are allowed to defend yourselves. So long as you don't kill or cripple them. Savvy?"

@Selina - Eyeing you afterwards. Belial winks approvingly and gives you sharp, catcall-like whistle before saying. "Bingo! For the most part. What you do and how you do it is entirely up to you guys. The more tasks you finish, the more you get paid. Simple as that. That being said, I'd very much appreciate if you complete at least 3 of 'em, if not all of 'em."

@Smiley - "It's a thousand upfront. Which I've already generously paid you for. And an additional thousand per hunt completed. I've done my research and that's more than fair for this kind of job. Hard part won't be completing the tasks per se, but more so doing it all in an hour or less."

[ Spoiler ]
Taking the data she's found, IC Princess pops it up in AR for all to see, or at least all who can see AR. "This is a preliminary search. So far, everything checks out, though Humanis has gone quiet. I'll do more in depth once we settle on our targets. Speaking of which..." She puts the map with the various marked points up in AR for the others. "Here is a map of the area. Blue snowflakes are the targets, the white snowflake is us. Thoughts?" She looks to each, letting the more sociable ones negotiate pay.
"Fair is one thing, but this is about importance, this is about making kings and this is about making friends and making enemies. A thousand per job is not the rate for that, that sounds like three per easily." Smiley said, respectfully.

"Also, if I may chime in, this is your shot at getting what you want, so, if I were you, I would want us properly motivated. How about a little bonus, if we do really well, and basically secure the win on your behalf. Like, fifty percent more, if we make four of the targets, and a clean hundred percent extra, if we make all five. How does that sound?"

[ Spoiler ]

Can Opener remained quiet through the negotiations, but her mind was spinning like Quick Willie's wheels. Then she just slipped down the bench until she was under the table, and simply walked through to the end of the bench, careful not to stomp on any toes, until she was back at the open end of the booth. There, she tugged on Quick Willie's sleeve, and motioned him to bring it in close, not to interrupt the beautiful people. She didn't take off her face mask in all this, thereby rendering her softly whispering voice very slightly muffled, but her lips unreadable.

Should the ork deign to bend for the short dwarfgirl, here's what he would hear:

"Chummer, keep your poker face on. Frosty like cold beer. I wanna win this, dig? Just trust me on this. If you have any contacts at all in the Skraacha and the Spikes, get ready to give them a call. Don't make the call yet, but I have a plan. But when the siren goes, we won't have long to make our move. You in?"

She looked up at him earnestly, waiting for his reaction one way or another. Did she get his attention? Did he care? Only time would tell.
Willie reaches into his pocket and draws out a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter. He lights one and hands it to Can Opener, and then lights another, taking a long drag. All this gives him some time do something rare in his past, think.

Short-ass here sounds like she's got a plan. Plans ahead of time are good, no? But, it's only the two of us. What about the other three? What if they ain't in? Goin' off half-team is bad news. I hope she's got a way to get the rest on board. I don't give a frag about the Spikes, but I got a lot invested in figuring out Underground openings. I don't like the idea of gettin' the Skraacha pissed at me. I want to have bolt holes all around if I need one. Meh. I guess I can go along, for now. If we can talk without the Ancients listening in, maybe we can iron things out. An' I got nothin' to work a contact.

Willie puts a hand on Can Opener's shoulder, and squeezes twice, winking at her, too. "That's all I got for ya, no other treats, C.O."
Can Opener nods, glances at the negotiation, and then ducks back under the table to head for her seat. When she wriggles back up on it, she's cupping the glowing cherry of the cigarette in one hand, and seems to be watching it, as if looking for some higher truth. Divination? Maybe. It's as plausible as looking at a flying rat's liver, anyway.
Smiley gives a returning nod to the elf as he sees his words take hold. "It will be an honor to represent you. Now I think you have a ceremony to prepare for? We are going to need a few moments to finish introducing ourselves, compare notes and make a few plans. Thank you for the opportunity." Smiley rises and offers his new employer an outstretched hand.


Once Belial walks away, "Okay chummers, how the frag are we gonna pull this off?"
@All - After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Belial quietness is interrupted by Squire hurriedly coming over with a massive two-handed sword she barely managed to hold within her hands. A Celtic claymore. Taking the mageblade from her, he stands up and straps it around him, with it slung over his back. Turning him into a living trideo B-movie action hero from the way he poses with it. "Aye, so be it. three-thousand will be your pay per job finished. Now, if you don't mind me, I gotta kick the next step into high gear. Once you're all done talking you should follow me up front to the stage. Don't tarry too long though. I'd like my kingdom before daylight breaks." And with that the modern day elven highlander leaves the five of you alone with a few minutes to yourselves to discuss which hunt should be tackled first and in what order after.
Can Opener saw Belial walk away, and as soon as they had something approximating privacy, she said:

"I have a plan. We call any contacts we have in the metahuman targets, or if necessary fly a drone with a loudspeaker over their location, to let them know the elves are coming. They freak out, and greet the opposition with a hail of bullets. If nothing else, it slows the opposition down, and prevents their easy success. While that happens, we burn rubber for Humanis. I can get them burning like a volcano in under a minute, from outside. While the flames are still rising, we leave a drone overhead to pick up the footage we'll need as evidence, and then burn rubber for the pimp. Have the heavy crew go in, rough him up, grab some girls, maybe bring pimpman back here. Then we burn rubber to the earliest available rendezvous point with the truck. I can create barriers as long as it's a narrow street, and prevent it moving while the technical monsters rape it."

She then put the cigarette down on the table and started counting points off on her fingers.

"We get some juice with the green and spiky, instead of turning them against us. We trash Humanis in a way they're not ready to defend against. We save time by using drones for monitoring and comms where necessary, which gives a strike team the time to kick a pimp's face in while the rest of us stand by for medical and other backup, and we get the whole truck, which is an obvious win since they're not allowed to attack us for it. Three points, and preventing them from easily or quickly getting the other two. They're about as racist as Humanis, just in a different way, so I'd bet money if I were a gambler that they'd go for the Skraacha first just to frag off our tusky friend here. If that turns into a running gunbattle with the Spikes adding flavour, they might not even all come back here tonight. I reckon that makes it easier."

She put her hands down and looked around the table, one way, then another, meeting people's gazes coolly.

"Now tell me why I'm wrong."
Willie is starting to like Can Opener. Smart and feisty. Shoulda been an ork.

"I like the idea of not hitting the Skraacha, 'cause, well, 'cause. Spikes I don't care about. But I like the plan to screw up the other team. I guess we can even send video or pictures of the other team to the ones we warn. I can record 'em while I giv'em the stinkeye.

And, yeah, I like bein' the point man crashin' inta th'others. Long as some'un can fix me up after, I'm down with that. Maybe if one a you magicians can gimme magical armor on toppa whut I got, I can get all screamy an' glowy whilst I charge in! Yeah I'ma likin' it!"

"You are not wrong, I guess, but you deliberately give up two out of five targets and just go with the absolute minimum. You have to aim high, girl, where are your dreams? I'm absolutely in favor of getting all five targets down. And, if you listened carefully, you might have noticed that we do not necessarily have the same targets as the other team. Belial made a selection with those five. There are more than that. There might be overlap. There probably is. But we do not know which. So, making any of the targets aware that something is coming, might make it more difficult for them, but it will definitely make things more difficult for us," Selina said. "Unless we really want to forfeit those from the beginning, which I don't think we should."

Looking at Willie, the elf added: "I figured, you wouldn't be a fan of hitting the Underground, but as I said before, there are other ways than bashing their heads in. We can make this a friendly exchange. Noone needs to get hurt there."
IC Princess leaves the attempts at emotional bargaining to those with more emotions. Instead, she reaches up her hand, makes a hand gesture, and the map she had edited fills the table in AR. "This is us. Here are the Spikes, Skraacha, Pimp, and Humanis." As she touches each point, a box full of data on that target appears and hovers above the table in place. "While I can serve as a medic if the need arises, my time and skills will be better put to use tracking and claiming the truck while the rest of you hit the other targets and watch over my meat. I also have drones that can assist with combat if and when it arises, as well as for overwatch and recording as proof of our tasks. If the rest of you will slave your links to mine, I can even prevent any kind of comms jamming and perhaps help with overwatch at these four targets."

As she does that, she composes a quick message to send to Chloe, her fixer and Chaos Engine contact. Johnson didn't want to pay the month's worth promised. Took some negotiation from our faces, mostly the woman, to bring him up to it. Anyways, I need to get my hands on a decent tacsoft. No time to swing by Null. Have we got a pirated copy in the archives? She then encrypted the message and sent it off.
"I am down for trying to get the clean sweep too. Especially if we aren't competing directly for targets." Smiley cracked his bottle and took a swig. He allowed his face to register the fact that it wasn't bad, but he would prefer something stronger.

"There are also other options for getting the badges without bloodshed." He held up a hand and let the power go a bit, his bioelectric touch showing visibly in the light. "Like I said, interpersonal, social and otherwise. I can put a guy down for a few seconds just by shaking his hand, easy to get the badge in that time."

He leaned back again. "I am all for nuking the other targets, I will even cover a case of Molotov cocktails so we can do it right, but we can't go hard and heavy on the Crime Mall, that is going to have to be surgical. We go in guns blazing and we will be fighting all kinds of fools from all sides. We do that one like a KE Vice sting operation. Go in to hire the elf girls, have them bring them to us, THEN we drop the hammer on them."
Can Opener made an aside to IC Princess, before addressing other objections: "Null sweat, I'm a medic. Or a medic enough, anyway. I can keep meat alive. Cyber is someone else's fix."

That said, she turned to Selina and Smiley. "I like to aim high too, but this isn't unilateral. Our presence here isn't secret, and this affair will be on everybody's lips on the street in under a week, if that. Gossip travels fast, and faster if it stinks of blood. Even if we turned their brains inside out tonight, they'll recover at some point, and then we'll have new enemies that we didn't before. Is a couple Kilonuyen enough to make the spikes want you, specifically you, impaled on a public street? It isn't for me. And I'll bet you Quick Willie here would be first on the hit list because of betrayal, and he wouldn't want some of that action either. Oh, and I wasn't proposing raiding the mall in general, just that once we have the drop on him it would be hard. But I like your idea of tempting him out. Think a guy as handsome as you could be a plausible customer for his wares? And would he get them to a location of our choosing quickly?"
Willie opens access to his PAN to IC Princess. While connected, he asks her, If you can protect us from their messing with us, I bet you could take a good shot at cutting into their comms, couldn't you?

When IC Princess shows the AR map, Selina smiles and says: "That's a pretty sweet map there. Good work! Putting my com under your protection is fine. You certainly know more about that stuff than I do. And Alexa can only do so much." She proceeds to slave her own device to hers, as proposed.

Listening to Kathy, Selina nods slightly. "Of course there are risks. It's part of the job, right? That's why it pays so well. And I would expect those Spikes to be more angry at the Ancients than anyone else after this, if that is even possible. Not even sure how they would find out about our involvement. It's not like the elves are going to sit down and talk to them. Or are you so well-known around here, that anyone can recognize you? Either way, they are big brutes. They are loud and easily avoided. I'm not really worried about them. It's the smart and sneaky ones that can cause real problems."
Willie chimes in after Selina's comment, "Yeah! Like me! They gotta worry about smart, sneaky Willie!"

Even his tusks can't hide the mischievous grin.

"Good thing you are on our side!" Selina chimed in, cheerfully.
Can Opener looked askance at Selina, but did not answer her directly. Sheer scepticism spoke from the tilt of her hat. Instead she continued the discussion on another topic: "Obviously this depends on us having the same targets. If they don't have the same targets, then either we know their targets or we don't. If we don't, I can send something to tail them and work it out from there. But if we don't know theirs, what are the odds they'll know ours? In which case, why would we expect they'd interfere? If they have a choice of targets, why don't we? Even if they do have a choice, I still think taking a run at the Spikes and the Skraacha would be right up their alley. They'd do that just to torque off Willie here, or if they thought it'd torque Willie off. I've known plenty of gangers, and not one of them that wasn't more petty than a toddler.

She sighed heavily, before adding: "About the only thing I'm relatively sure of is that Johnson wants us to succeed, and even there I'm wondering if he has some weird play where we get fragged, and he does what we got fragged trying, and looks like the big hero to claim his crown. Whatever path we choose, I fully favour being discriminating, and watching our backs. Maybe Johnson has a big mouth to match his lack of discretion, and everyone else already knows our targets, but we'll have no idea what theirs are. Given most of the people here have recording equipment to capture our presence here in full-life three-dee, I'm assuming that everyone will know who did what. In fact, I bet someone will try to sell the trids for a few nuyen. If Johnson's smarter than he bothers to look, he's poisoning us with the other gangs so he gets to have a better deal with us. If he's not, we're just his disposable gloves."

"Yeah, watching our backs is like rule number one, right? You never know. I don't think he is messing with us, though, he really does want us to succeed, but there is always a chance. It's one of those risks, but we had that part, already. As for the choice of targets. He mentioned something about it at least twice. As far as I got it, both Belial and Sting had a bunch of possible targets and had to choose five from them, without the other one knowing. There will be some overlap, but it is not certain, where it is. Then they both had to choose a team to do their work. Since we do not know their targets, at least not yet, I expect them to not know ours either. There is some sort of ritual coming up, whatever that means, so the whole thing seems to be quite formalized. That is, at least, what I think is going on here."
Willie's head was spinning, Ideas were bubbling up out of who knows where, and he just didn't know what to do with them, except blurt them out. The way he always used to blurt things out the moment they rose into his consciousness.

"Yeah, we don't know anything about this guy's big plans. I mean, what if those boosted SUVs are rigged somehow? What if they have trackers in them? How easy would it be for somebody to call the cops and say there's a stolen car gonna be at the Crime Mall between midnight and 1 am? I got a Rover here. Maybe we should use it instead.

"And that Stuffer Shack truck? If it's gonna be at some spot at quarter to, so won't it be somewhere two minutes up the road two minutes earlier?

"Drek! There was somethin' else I just thought of. Whut?

"Oh! Oh! What if somebody was to warn Stuffer Shack their truck is gonna be robbed? Would they reroute? Call the cops?

"Any o' this make sense?"
"All of that makes sense. big guy, it is really good to be paranoid in our line of work, but there is a point when you can step over that line from caution to crazy. Let's take the hand we are dealt here and play it out to the best of our abilities. We are here, and we are getting paid." Smiley spoke as soothingly as he could without condescension. "We have the bones of a plan, and an alternative if it doesn't play, lets run with that. If there is a screwjob in the works, and one of you wants to do something about that when the time comes, I got your back, that's a promise. Now, I am going to try and get us some real drinks to toast our new partnership and the supplies I mentioned before." Smiley took another swig from the bottle out of sheer habit and got up and went to the bar.

At the bar he said, "Give me 8 shots of your best whiskey and 12 bottles of whatever high proof garbage you have laying around, it's time to CROWN A KING!" That last was pitched loud enough for the lady and her tramps. devil.gif
@IC Princess - Chloe is silent and doesn't respond to your text. Considering it's nearly midnight and Friday as well, she's probably asleep. Mostly likely passed out from drinking too much while watching Urban Brawl. On the other hand, you do receive a message from a representative of the Chaos Engine. "Your timing is terrible. Yeah, yeah... we have two on file at the moment. One legit and one not-so legit. The real one we can upload to ya for three-thousand, no problem. The pirated copy however I wouldn't recommended buying unless your desperate. It's buggy as hell and has a chance to crash and reboot whatever you have linked up to it. However it's yours for three-hundred, assuming you want it."

@Smiley - The bartender shrugs and begins to mix and serve your large order as per your request while Sting and company leer at you from the other side of the bar like you're an intrepid mosquito that's about to be swatted. To your enjoyment he lines up a plate filled with shot glasses of the Daisy's finest whilst also setting up a case of a dozen bottles of generic brand vodka. After you slot him 480 nuyen.gif that is.
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