1412 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson`s Office - Redmond Barrens
Peering into Jackson's aura Knight spied a few darkened patches characteristic of cyber modification. His eyes were obviously technological replacements and he was equipped with headware of some type, not uncommon for a solider, yet seemingly light on modifications for man who seemed to have a mercenary background.
Also burning clear and bold upon the man's astral signature was the unmistakeable sign of irritation. Which only became clearer to Knight as Jackson addressed him.
"Perhaps I am out of touch with how business is conducted up North. Perhaps your silvery tongue has been a benefit to you in the past. Around here though you'd be best served to call it like it is. A man show up on my doorstep fresh in town and hard-up for work, I'd be a damn fool that his reason for moving to Seattle is purely a desire to explore the unique culture."
He shoots Knight a deathly glare. The kind that can only be experienced by a new recruit thrown fresh before a seasoned drill instructor.
"Spell slinger you may be, even the word of a friend only goes so far when I got a list of battled hardened men eager as you."
Coming around from behind his desk Jackson stalked forward till he stood a few steps away from Knight. Staring him up and down, sizing the lithe elf up with a laser-like precision, his booming voice broke the still office once more as if it was merely another drill yard.
"I am a fair man and I believe that every lad should have a chance to plead his case." Crossing his arms across his chest Jackson never broke eye-contact. "You tell me why you think I should give you work, why you instead of someone who's cut their teeth in the area already."
Full Version: Living in the Shadows: IC
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1436 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
"I'm a reporter," says Tiffany quietly, watching the struggling woman. "It's what I do. What I saw back there shook me, sure. Still does. And I still want out of here, but my clues are inside that woman's head and an exchange on Shadowland."
She turns to face Dragon directly. "And if I'm ever in the same position as her, leave me there."
"I'm a reporter," says Tiffany quietly, watching the struggling woman. "It's what I do. What I saw back there shook me, sure. Still does. And I still want out of here, but my clues are inside that woman's head and an exchange on Shadowland."
She turns to face Dragon directly. "And if I'm ever in the same position as her, leave me there."
14:14 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson`s Office - Redmond Barrens
Dammit, Knight, stop acting like your in the Tir and get with the game he berates himself mentally.
"My apologies, Mr Jackson, i was not aware you were intimately informed of my recent travelling details" His tone changes from lyrical and soft into something much more hard and business like.
Thanks, Calvin, perhaps i should have stressed that people other than that two bit dust-dealer Ambrose are keen to find me, but then i guess you know what your doing in regards to this guy. I hope you know what your doing anyway.
"Why hire me?, because i`m here. I`m good at what I do, and given who sent me here, what i do is what you need. Yes, I`m new to these shadows, but because i`m intending to stay awhile I`m going to need Cred and a Rep...thats a lot of motivation to do what you need doing right. Also i`m probably a bit more expendable than some of your more familiar `employees` and i`m guessing i dont cost as much...yet. " he unfolds his hands and flicks a stray hair back over his ear "your break down. I`m cheaper, as good if not better, cant afford to frag up anything and you loose less if something happens to me" he pauses a moment to let it sink in.
Hope that works,
"So, shall we do business, Mr Jackson?"
Dammit, Knight, stop acting like your in the Tir and get with the game he berates himself mentally.
"My apologies, Mr Jackson, i was not aware you were intimately informed of my recent travelling details" His tone changes from lyrical and soft into something much more hard and business like.
Thanks, Calvin, perhaps i should have stressed that people other than that two bit dust-dealer Ambrose are keen to find me, but then i guess you know what your doing in regards to this guy. I hope you know what your doing anyway.
"Why hire me?, because i`m here. I`m good at what I do, and given who sent me here, what i do is what you need. Yes, I`m new to these shadows, but because i`m intending to stay awhile I`m going to need Cred and a Rep...thats a lot of motivation to do what you need doing right. Also i`m probably a bit more expendable than some of your more familiar `employees` and i`m guessing i dont cost as much...yet. " he unfolds his hands and flicks a stray hair back over his ear "your break down. I`m cheaper, as good if not better, cant afford to frag up anything and you loose less if something happens to me" he pauses a moment to let it sink in.
Hope that works,
"So, shall we do business, Mr Jackson?"
1416 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson's Office - Redmond Barrens
Feeling just the most miniscule tinge of anticipation Knight is able to keep a stoic and cool exterior as he holds his gaze locked with Jackson's. A moment that stretches into what could have easily been several minutes passes and Knight is rewarded with just the slightest flicker rippling across Jackson's aura. Cutting across what was once an aura awash with annoyance and irritation is just the smallest hint of intrigue . . .followed by what Knight recognized as a bit of appeasement.
Though his stone-cut face did not waver an inch Knight's aural readings were given some vocal confirmation as Jackson's next words took on a tone with slightly less annoyance.
"What type of mage are you? The openings for a combat mage are far different than those say, for a healer."
"Can you summon? Do you have any experience in astral security?"
Feeling just the most miniscule tinge of anticipation Knight is able to keep a stoic and cool exterior as he holds his gaze locked with Jackson's. A moment that stretches into what could have easily been several minutes passes and Knight is rewarded with just the slightest flicker rippling across Jackson's aura. Cutting across what was once an aura awash with annoyance and irritation is just the smallest hint of intrigue . . .followed by what Knight recognized as a bit of appeasement.
Though his stone-cut face did not waver an inch Knight's aural readings were given some vocal confirmation as Jackson's next words took on a tone with slightly less annoyance.
"What type of mage are you? The openings for a combat mage are far different than those say, for a healer."
"Can you summon? Do you have any experience in astral security?"
1135 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
As Andie points it out on the sketch he says, "Well, there is short L-shaped hallway here in the middle of the bottom and top floors that connects all the rooms together. There will be doors here, here, here, and here into the rooms." Andie draws the doors on the sketch where they should go.
"The living area is split into four areas and needs a small bathroom and kitchen with an area for his bed and an area for his home office." Andie pauses to make sure the Solomon is following along.
"I was thinking about making the upper floor hallway floor a metal grate catwalk, have the elevator lift with door opening into the hall and the upper workshop area, and have a staircase up to the upper floor next to the elevator." Andie makes the appropriate marks on the sketch for these features.
"I want to set aside this area for hydroponics area, so I can grow herbs and plants for the shop. As a result I'll need you at least rough in the plumbing for it. The store front area will basically be one big room with display cases, bookshelfs, and cabinets."
Andie shrugs. "I'm not an architect either Solomon, but these are the ideas I had for the place. You contractors should have a better idea about what is possible and what isn't."
As Andie points it out on the sketch he says, "Well, there is short L-shaped hallway here in the middle of the bottom and top floors that connects all the rooms together. There will be doors here, here, here, and here into the rooms." Andie draws the doors on the sketch where they should go.
"The living area is split into four areas and needs a small bathroom and kitchen with an area for his bed and an area for his home office." Andie pauses to make sure the Solomon is following along.
"I was thinking about making the upper floor hallway floor a metal grate catwalk, have the elevator lift with door opening into the hall and the upper workshop area, and have a staircase up to the upper floor next to the elevator." Andie makes the appropriate marks on the sketch for these features.
"I want to set aside this area for hydroponics area, so I can grow herbs and plants for the shop. As a result I'll need you at least rough in the plumbing for it. The store front area will basically be one big room with display cases, bookshelfs, and cabinets."
Andie shrugs. "I'm not an architect either Solomon, but these are the ideas I had for the place. You contractors should have a better idea about what is possible and what isn't."
1136 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
"The distinction is that contractors follow established plans," says Solomon dryly "-- or should. But architects have to make those plans first. As to what is and is not possible --" a corner of his mouth quirked, almost a smile, as one hand absently rubbed at his temple "-- architects and contractors sometimes have differences of opinion over that."
"Are you saying I should hire an architect?" asks Andie cautiously, seeing more of his money slipping away.
"Let me see," says Solomon, still studying the diagrams as the mage sketches out his intent. "The scale is 1 to 1 metre, yes? Then you will be extending the second storey floors a bit further from the walls than they are now ... I think it was 5 metres currently? But you are placing the elevator shaft in the middle and adding the stairs next to it, and the rest of the open space to be filled in with metal grating. You will need to rough in a second stairwell somewhere though: code. And your plumbing is all over the place. In general, it is usually cheaper to keep all water-drawing facilities together, or at least along the same linear main pipe."
He glanced up: "What will you be doing about warding the place?"
"The distinction is that contractors follow established plans," says Solomon dryly "-- or should. But architects have to make those plans first. As to what is and is not possible --" a corner of his mouth quirked, almost a smile, as one hand absently rubbed at his temple "-- architects and contractors sometimes have differences of opinion over that."
"Are you saying I should hire an architect?" asks Andie cautiously, seeing more of his money slipping away.
"Let me see," says Solomon, still studying the diagrams as the mage sketches out his intent. "The scale is 1 to 1 metre, yes? Then you will be extending the second storey floors a bit further from the walls than they are now ... I think it was 5 metres currently? But you are placing the elevator shaft in the middle and adding the stairs next to it, and the rest of the open space to be filled in with metal grating. You will need to rough in a second stairwell somewhere though: code. And your plumbing is all over the place. In general, it is usually cheaper to keep all water-drawing facilities together, or at least along the same linear main pipe."
He glanced up: "What will you be doing about warding the place?"
1136 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
Andie listens intently to Solomon's remarks and considers the sketch again. "Hmm... Well, the rooms are fairly modular within the plan. To address the water pipes in a central location we could rotate the hydroponics area 90 degrees so it's along the back wall of the building and move the storage area from where it is now by rotating it 90 degrees and putting it along the side wall between the store front area and the hydroponics area; keeping the double doors in relatively the same place. Then rotate the kitchen and bathroom areas 90 degrees within the living area." Andie makes the modifications to the sketch accordingly.
"This would basically put all water lines along the back wall of the building." Andie pauses while considering the modifications and any comments from Solomon.
"As for wards I had planned to basically make every wall in the building a ward. The only exception would be in the upper floor 2 magic shop work areas. Eventually there will be a ward separating the two work areas evenly down the middle of the room when I get enough money for another set of workshop equipment."
Andie looks at the sketch again; moving the areas of detail around in his mind. "That second staircase though will be hard to fit into the floor plan."
Andie listens intently to Solomon's remarks and considers the sketch again. "Hmm... Well, the rooms are fairly modular within the plan. To address the water pipes in a central location we could rotate the hydroponics area 90 degrees so it's along the back wall of the building and move the storage area from where it is now by rotating it 90 degrees and putting it along the side wall between the store front area and the hydroponics area; keeping the double doors in relatively the same place. Then rotate the kitchen and bathroom areas 90 degrees within the living area." Andie makes the modifications to the sketch accordingly.
"This would basically put all water lines along the back wall of the building." Andie pauses while considering the modifications and any comments from Solomon.
"As for wards I had planned to basically make every wall in the building a ward. The only exception would be in the upper floor 2 magic shop work areas. Eventually there will be a ward separating the two work areas evenly down the middle of the room when I get enough money for another set of workshop equipment."
Andie looks at the sketch again; moving the areas of detail around in his mind. "That second staircase though will be hard to fit into the floor plan."
1138 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
The fixer frowns. "You may have problems, if you separate out each ward like that. The structure of wards implies completeness, wholeness, an underlying unity of balanced identity. Here you have them in constant dissonance with each other: single planes, sharp corners, sharp edges." He sounds distinctly curious as he returns to the diagrams: "I do not know what the result of that would be."
After some time he asks, "Where did you intend to put the chimney? And the air exchange vents for the venting hoods?" And then pauses: "Why are the work areas on the second floor? You have the solid cement flooring and drains, and instead you build in a much weaker overhead floor extension?"
The fixer frowns. "You may have problems, if you separate out each ward like that. The structure of wards implies completeness, wholeness, an underlying unity of balanced identity. Here you have them in constant dissonance with each other: single planes, sharp corners, sharp edges." He sounds distinctly curious as he returns to the diagrams: "I do not know what the result of that would be."
After some time he asks, "Where did you intend to put the chimney? And the air exchange vents for the venting hoods?" And then pauses: "Why are the work areas on the second floor? You have the solid cement flooring and drains, and instead you build in a much weaker overhead floor extension?"
23:07:30 Thursday 04 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
A cold wind slices through the streets as Tenmou makes his way up the front steps to his apartment. Dark clouds hang over the Sound, and the air is heavy with moisture. The city shivers as it sleeps, nightmares creeping through the shadows in the streets.
A cold wind slices through the streets as Tenmou makes his way up the front steps to his apartment. Dark clouds hang over the Sound, and the air is heavy with moisture. The city shivers as it sleeps, nightmares creeping through the shadows in the streets.
1437 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
"If it comes to that," Dragon nods, in acknowledgement of Tiffany's wish, "I'll put you down myself. Friends wouldn't let friends die like that."
Smiling the tired, weary smile that telegraphs a joke from someone who's just seen too much too fast, yet needs something lighthearted, anything, to relieve some of the tension, she answers, "What makes you think we're friends?"
Pausing, playing along, pretending to take it seriously, Dragon thinks for a moment, then answers, "Well then, I guess I'll just have to leave you."
Despite the subject matter, they both find themselves smiling at the joke, perhaps because when told in that way, the grim reality seems far off, disconnected, like it happened on the trid or something.
And then Dragon feels the woman jerk and convulse underneath him, mouth open in a silent scream, and reality comes crashing back down on them like a wave, bringing the somber tension back into the room as quickly as it had left.
"If it comes to that," Dragon nods, in acknowledgement of Tiffany's wish, "I'll put you down myself. Friends wouldn't let friends die like that."
Smiling the tired, weary smile that telegraphs a joke from someone who's just seen too much too fast, yet needs something lighthearted, anything, to relieve some of the tension, she answers, "What makes you think we're friends?"
Pausing, playing along, pretending to take it seriously, Dragon thinks for a moment, then answers, "Well then, I guess I'll just have to leave you."
Despite the subject matter, they both find themselves smiling at the joke, perhaps because when told in that way, the grim reality seems far off, disconnected, like it happened on the trid or something.
And then Dragon feels the woman jerk and convulse underneath him, mouth open in a silent scream, and reality comes crashing back down on them like a wave, bringing the somber tension back into the room as quickly as it had left.
1139 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
Andie listens to Solomon's comments about the location of the work areas and store front areas and nods. "I had thought about that, but I wasn't sure how having the store front on the second floor would affect the foot traffic of people entering the building vs having the store front area on the first floor. I figured people would be more apt to enter a store on the first floor than climbing stairs to a second floor store. What do you think??"
Andie listens to Solomon's comments about the location of the work areas and store front areas and nods. "I had thought about that, but I wasn't sure how having the store front on the second floor would affect the foot traffic of people entering the building vs having the store front area on the first floor. I figured people would be more apt to enter a store on the first floor than climbing stairs to a second floor store. What do you think??"
1437 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
And just before the convulsion becomes visible to those not holding the woman, Tiffany adds, her mouth still shaping a smile: "Just another 'adventure', Dragon?"
He's about to say something -- top her quip? tell her he'll get back to her later when he's not busy? It's what he might have said to a combat buddy during a brief lull ... but at the last moment, something in her tone registers.
She's seen him at the alley. From everything he's seen and Global's told him, she's not forgotten that. (Although maybe, just for a moment when she'd returned from taping ... that ... she had.) And he suddenly realises that when she'd been at her most open, most honest: she'd not been smiling.
Whatever he would have said, dies unspoken. Whatever she could be, whatever could be, between them: she's not one of his combat buddies. She never will be. There is fighting in this woman, there is a resistance deep and unyielding, and a cool head under fire -- but she'll never be one of his combat buddies.
Maybe, just maybe, she could still be his friend ... if he hasn't blown it already.
Too much to think on. Too fragile to rush it. If he bungles it this time, he'll have blown it forever.
He's busy just now, anyway.
And just before the convulsion becomes visible to those not holding the woman, Tiffany adds, her mouth still shaping a smile: "Just another 'adventure', Dragon?"
He's about to say something -- top her quip? tell her he'll get back to her later when he's not busy? It's what he might have said to a combat buddy during a brief lull ... but at the last moment, something in her tone registers.
She's seen him at the alley. From everything he's seen and Global's told him, she's not forgotten that. (Although maybe, just for a moment when she'd returned from taping ... that ... she had.) And he suddenly realises that when she'd been at her most open, most honest: she'd not been smiling.
Whatever he would have said, dies unspoken. Whatever she could be, whatever could be, between them: she's not one of his combat buddies. She never will be. There is fighting in this woman, there is a resistance deep and unyielding, and a cool head under fire -- but she'll never be one of his combat buddies.
Maybe, just maybe, she could still be his friend ... if he hasn't blown it already.
Too much to think on. Too fragile to rush it. If he bungles it this time, he'll have blown it forever.
He's busy just now, anyway.
1139 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
With a soft, unvoiced sigh Solomon settles behind the counter. Still examining the plans, he says quietly, "They do call the initial step in all enchantments 'grounding' for a reason."
With a soft, unvoiced sigh Solomon settles behind the counter. Still examining the plans, he says quietly, "They do call the initial step in all enchantments 'grounding' for a reason."
1437 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
The more Virgil's trying to bring across a sense of positive seeking, of holding out his hand in friendship and healing to her, the more she struggles against it. There is no part of this woman that trusts kindness -- and honour she trusts even less.
There it is, a name: Sheena Yarquela. She'd fought against that one fiercely, and though he hadn't wanted to hurt her, it came loose as if torn from her very soul. Yet even as the name came into his mind the moment of brief victory soured: not real, no more real than who this woman had thought she was when she'd been at the gaming house, that day ...
Virgil blinks, even as another part of him feels the searing nerve edges of imposed memory and data filtres and skillwires. The person who'd been at the clinic when it burned wasn't the same as the one born into this body. This one had served her oyabun lord well during the days, and during the nights come crawling back to him again and again, begging for the kiss of the razor
(-- while another part of her knew every part of it and lay hidden. maybe that was why the eyes remained natural --)
I can heal her only if I restore her to her true self, Virgil realises, but then I take the risk of permanently losing the information we need from her.
The more Virgil's trying to bring across a sense of positive seeking, of holding out his hand in friendship and healing to her, the more she struggles against it. There is no part of this woman that trusts kindness -- and honour she trusts even less.
There it is, a name: Sheena Yarquela. She'd fought against that one fiercely, and though he hadn't wanted to hurt her, it came loose as if torn from her very soul. Yet even as the name came into his mind the moment of brief victory soured: not real, no more real than who this woman had thought she was when she'd been at the gaming house, that day ...
Virgil blinks, even as another part of him feels the searing nerve edges of imposed memory and data filtres and skillwires. The person who'd been at the clinic when it burned wasn't the same as the one born into this body. This one had served her oyabun lord well during the days, and during the nights come crawling back to him again and again, begging for the kiss of the razor
(-- while another part of her knew every part of it and lay hidden. maybe that was why the eyes remained natural --)
I can heal her only if I restore her to her true self, Virgil realises, but then I take the risk of permanently losing the information we need from her.
1437 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
As abruptly as the sudden convulsion that wracked the woman's body came the realization of just how wide a chasm there was between his life and a 'normal' person's life. She was jaded and cynical, sure. Hardened even on the brink of life and death, no.
Easily holding down the woman despite her struggles, he fights for the right words, words that will help her understand him, that he's not a monster...at least, not all the time.
"I'm...sorry..." he slowly speaks, and softly enough for her to hear, but perhaps not to disturb or draw the attention of Virgil or Father Bremen. "I shouldn't have joked with you like that. It was not appropriate. And I'm sorry for how I acted back in the alley. This isn't a war zone, and that girl wasn't the enemy."
Her eyes say...what? He couldn't tell. A lot hung on his words, or perhaps lack thereof, but his soul, what little he had left, couldn't bridge the gap between knowing that something needed to be said, to knowing what needed to be said.
"I don't know what to say, other than I'm sorry. I'm not always like that...instincts just kicked in." He lowers his head slightly, then raises it, meeting her eyes and holding them steadily.
"I know that's not an excuse, or any sort of justification. I just want you to know, the person you saw back on the Waterfront, that wasn't a show. I meant what I said then, and that's who I am. I'm a soldier, not a monster. But sometimes, I admit, that line looks pretty thin."
The woman jerked a few more times, once almost shooting up despite his grip, but he readjusted and held her firmly, and she seemed to settle down into a more relaxed state for a bit.
Still silence. He wasn't used to this. Sybersnake always had something to say, rational or not, in the heat of emotions...but Tiffany was calm, collected, composed. He didn't know exactly what to make of it, he didn't know her well enough to know what this meant.
Looking away, he finishes, "I know you've seen what you've seen and heard what you heard, and you'll make your judgments of me based upon those things. I can't do anything about that. I just want you to know that I am sorry for certain ways you've seen me act, and I just ask that you keep things in perspective when making your assessment of me."
He left it deliberately open, knowing that really, she would think of him what she would, and really, what could he do about it? He was who he was. A soldier, a fighter, a warrior, a killer, and yes, sometimes a monster. But he was more than that too. He wanted to tell her she couldn't define him based on two days of knowing him, that she shouldn't rush to conclusions about him...but he knew he'd be lying. Out in the field, you could and did decide about people in less time than that, God knows he'd done exactly that. There was nothing else to be said, really...except maybe one last thing.
"If I may ask, would you mind telling me what you're thinking? I know I don't have any right to know...but I would like to."
Dragon didn't have to explain what exactly it was he wanted to know in regards to what she was thinking about. She was smart enough to know, and they both knew it. What do you think about me? What are you thinking behind that silent mask? That was what Dragon really wanted to ask, but he couldn't. All he could do was wait, and see what, if anything, she chose to share.
As abruptly as the sudden convulsion that wracked the woman's body came the realization of just how wide a chasm there was between his life and a 'normal' person's life. She was jaded and cynical, sure. Hardened even on the brink of life and death, no.
Easily holding down the woman despite her struggles, he fights for the right words, words that will help her understand him, that he's not a monster...at least, not all the time.
"I'm...sorry..." he slowly speaks, and softly enough for her to hear, but perhaps not to disturb or draw the attention of Virgil or Father Bremen. "I shouldn't have joked with you like that. It was not appropriate. And I'm sorry for how I acted back in the alley. This isn't a war zone, and that girl wasn't the enemy."
Her eyes say...what? He couldn't tell. A lot hung on his words, or perhaps lack thereof, but his soul, what little he had left, couldn't bridge the gap between knowing that something needed to be said, to knowing what needed to be said.
"I don't know what to say, other than I'm sorry. I'm not always like that...instincts just kicked in." He lowers his head slightly, then raises it, meeting her eyes and holding them steadily.
"I know that's not an excuse, or any sort of justification. I just want you to know, the person you saw back on the Waterfront, that wasn't a show. I meant what I said then, and that's who I am. I'm a soldier, not a monster. But sometimes, I admit, that line looks pretty thin."
The woman jerked a few more times, once almost shooting up despite his grip, but he readjusted and held her firmly, and she seemed to settle down into a more relaxed state for a bit.
Still silence. He wasn't used to this. Sybersnake always had something to say, rational or not, in the heat of emotions...but Tiffany was calm, collected, composed. He didn't know exactly what to make of it, he didn't know her well enough to know what this meant.
Looking away, he finishes, "I know you've seen what you've seen and heard what you heard, and you'll make your judgments of me based upon those things. I can't do anything about that. I just want you to know that I am sorry for certain ways you've seen me act, and I just ask that you keep things in perspective when making your assessment of me."
He left it deliberately open, knowing that really, she would think of him what she would, and really, what could he do about it? He was who he was. A soldier, a fighter, a warrior, a killer, and yes, sometimes a monster. But he was more than that too. He wanted to tell her she couldn't define him based on two days of knowing him, that she shouldn't rush to conclusions about him...but he knew he'd be lying. Out in the field, you could and did decide about people in less time than that, God knows he'd done exactly that. There was nothing else to be said, really...except maybe one last thing.
"If I may ask, would you mind telling me what you're thinking? I know I don't have any right to know...but I would like to."
Dragon didn't have to explain what exactly it was he wanted to know in regards to what she was thinking about. She was smart enough to know, and they both knew it. What do you think about me? What are you thinking behind that silent mask? That was what Dragon really wanted to ask, but he couldn't. All he could do was wait, and see what, if anything, she chose to share.
14:18 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson's Office - Redmond Barrens
"Offensive and tactical spellcasting are my forte`, Mr Jackson. I dont generally deal with Illusions. " Knight answered the questions simply, keeping the business tone of voice he had adapted and that seemed to be working to Jackson`s approval "and yes I can summon spirits and deal with them also. Astral security? I`ve a rudimentary understanding of its practices. Enough to know how wildly those practices vary amongst the Mega-Corporations and Governments of the world."
Knight looks up and meets Jackson`s gaze again, idly he toys with the cuff of his coat giving a moments pause in speaking to let Jackson consider what he`s just said.
"I also know well how to use the gun and blade I left with your doormen" a small smile touches his lips "its useful to diversify a little. Now, Mr Jackson, do you need to know anymore?" Knight quirked a brow as he waited for the large man`s response.
"Offensive and tactical spellcasting are my forte`, Mr Jackson. I dont generally deal with Illusions. " Knight answered the questions simply, keeping the business tone of voice he had adapted and that seemed to be working to Jackson`s approval "and yes I can summon spirits and deal with them also. Astral security? I`ve a rudimentary understanding of its practices. Enough to know how wildly those practices vary amongst the Mega-Corporations and Governments of the world."
Knight looks up and meets Jackson`s gaze again, idly he toys with the cuff of his coat giving a moments pause in speaking to let Jackson consider what he`s just said.
"I also know well how to use the gun and blade I left with your doormen" a small smile touches his lips "its useful to diversify a little. Now, Mr Jackson, do you need to know anymore?" Knight quirked a brow as he waited for the large man`s response.
23:07:30 Thursday 04 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
Tenmou took the stairs up to his apartment, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. As he stepped into his apartment, he locked his door behind him, and staggered over to the chair in front of the trid. Dropping his bag of gear beside his chair, he slumped into the old furniture and stared blankly at the powerless trid for a moment.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the chip Akiko had given him. He contemplated popping it into a chip reader to see if it would shed any light on what he had seen tonight. In the end, Tenmou slid the chip back into his pocket and pulled the remote for the trid from around the seat cushion. After his evening with Akiko, he needed a distraction.
Tenmou took the stairs up to his apartment, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. As he stepped into his apartment, he locked his door behind him, and staggered over to the chair in front of the trid. Dropping his bag of gear beside his chair, he slumped into the old furniture and stared blankly at the powerless trid for a moment.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the chip Akiko had given him. He contemplated popping it into a chip reader to see if it would shed any light on what he had seen tonight. In the end, Tenmou slid the chip back into his pocket and pulled the remote for the trid from around the seat cushion. After his evening with Akiko, he needed a distraction.
1150 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
Andie get up from the workbench and checks on the circulation's progress; making sure no damage was done to it from the storm.
He then walks back to the workbench to rethink the sketch of the floor plan for the magic shop and starts drawing again. What about this??......
He then takes it to Solomon in the front of the store to get his opinion. "Hey, Solomon. How about this??", and shows Solomon the new sketch. 'This seems to work a little better than the last sketch. Take a look."
Andie get up from the workbench and checks on the circulation's progress; making sure no damage was done to it from the storm.
He then walks back to the workbench to rethink the sketch of the floor plan for the magic shop and starts drawing again. What about this??......
He then takes it to Solomon in the front of the store to get his opinion. "Hey, Solomon. How about this??", and shows Solomon the new sketch. 'This seems to work a little better than the last sketch. Take a look."
1438 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
Had the reporter's eyes softened, just a little? Had she been willing to re-define what she knew of him, yet again?
Out in the field, you could and did decide about people in two days, two hours, sometimes in two minutes -- life and death decisions, most of those. Maybe that had been in the back of his mind when he'd first pulled Tiffany in for a casual investigation into an interest of Virgil's, when he'd tried to steer her to one of those snap judgements about him ... but as he wanted her to see him, ignoring a basic reality of his existence.
He was in the field, here. He'd snapped into field mode the first time their investigation had looked to go hot, the first time he'd been thwarted, the first time he'd found himself with less than perfect intelligence about his environment, and maybe he'd never really left it since. ... Except when he was at home, with Cindy and Susan and his grandmother. He shied away from even linking the two thoughts in his mind. That territory was sancrosanct.
Tiffany let out a breath, tension visibly tightening her shoulders as she watched the woman on the bed -- never once looking at him, oh no -- and Dragon wanted more than ever to know what was going through her mind, needed to know, with an intensity that surprised him.
But why should it surprise him? He'd always needed to know. Territory had to be considered hostile until it could be controlled. As a scout, his job had been to obtain, from hostile territory, the information the rest of his unit needed to gain and maintain future control. Information was power, and what was power but the ability to completely control another, preferably of their own free will?
Still not taking her eyes from the woman, Tiffany said at last, "Have you discovered the difference between adventure and life yet?" And then, when he was about to open his mouth to answer her, she shook her head sharply: "Don't answer me now. We have work to do here, and it's not something you could answer quickly, not if you're going to actually think about it. You've led way too sheltered a life."
And before the retort leaped easily to Dragon's mouth -- sheltered life? him??! -- he choked it back. The reporter had to have at least as many sources of information as he did, more, probably. She'd had the time to have him checked out -- in fact, she'd demonstrated a part of that knowledge. She probably knew at least as much of his life as he did of hers, and very possibly more.
She wasn't stupid.
Knowing what he knew of her, he'd been deliberately playing on her trigger points before, seeking quickly to wedge her into an almost non-existent circle of true friends, on the basis of a snap judgement. Why hadn't it occurred to him that, knowing what she did of him, she might also have some thoughts of her own, and maybe even the willingness to act on them?
Had the reporter's eyes softened, just a little? Had she been willing to re-define what she knew of him, yet again?
Out in the field, you could and did decide about people in two days, two hours, sometimes in two minutes -- life and death decisions, most of those. Maybe that had been in the back of his mind when he'd first pulled Tiffany in for a casual investigation into an interest of Virgil's, when he'd tried to steer her to one of those snap judgements about him ... but as he wanted her to see him, ignoring a basic reality of his existence.
He was in the field, here. He'd snapped into field mode the first time their investigation had looked to go hot, the first time he'd been thwarted, the first time he'd found himself with less than perfect intelligence about his environment, and maybe he'd never really left it since. ... Except when he was at home, with Cindy and Susan and his grandmother. He shied away from even linking the two thoughts in his mind. That territory was sancrosanct.
Tiffany let out a breath, tension visibly tightening her shoulders as she watched the woman on the bed -- never once looking at him, oh no -- and Dragon wanted more than ever to know what was going through her mind, needed to know, with an intensity that surprised him.
But why should it surprise him? He'd always needed to know. Territory had to be considered hostile until it could be controlled. As a scout, his job had been to obtain, from hostile territory, the information the rest of his unit needed to gain and maintain future control. Information was power, and what was power but the ability to completely control another, preferably of their own free will?
Still not taking her eyes from the woman, Tiffany said at last, "Have you discovered the difference between adventure and life yet?" And then, when he was about to open his mouth to answer her, she shook her head sharply: "Don't answer me now. We have work to do here, and it's not something you could answer quickly, not if you're going to actually think about it. You've led way too sheltered a life."
And before the retort leaped easily to Dragon's mouth -- sheltered life? him??! -- he choked it back. The reporter had to have at least as many sources of information as he did, more, probably. She'd had the time to have him checked out -- in fact, she'd demonstrated a part of that knowledge. She probably knew at least as much of his life as he did of hers, and very possibly more.
She wasn't stupid.
Knowing what he knew of her, he'd been deliberately playing on her trigger points before, seeking quickly to wedge her into an almost non-existent circle of true friends, on the basis of a snap judgement. Why hadn't it occurred to him that, knowing what she did of him, she might also have some thoughts of her own, and maybe even the willingness to act on them?
1150 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
Again the plans are studied in silence. "Quite a large workshop area, that," says Solomon at last. "At least twice as large as this one, I believe. While it is not strictly necessary for a conjuring circle to be grounded in the same way as forged enchantments, most conjurers seem to find it useful. Still, if you were to divide that space in half, move the ritual area to the other half, you could restore grounding capacity for both purposes." He paused. "Or did you have a specific reason for suspending the ritual area?"
Again the plans are studied in silence. "Quite a large workshop area, that," says Solomon at last. "At least twice as large as this one, I believe. While it is not strictly necessary for a conjuring circle to be grounded in the same way as forged enchantments, most conjurers seem to find it useful. Still, if you were to divide that space in half, move the ritual area to the other half, you could restore grounding capacity for both purposes." He paused. "Or did you have a specific reason for suspending the ritual area?"
1420 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson's Office - Redmond Barrens
With a grunt that Knight assumed passed for a sign of approval Jackson hoisted his leg off the chair and stalked back over to his desk where he tapped a few commands onto the keyboard resting there. Peering at the resulting display for a moment Jackson grunted again in the same 'satisfied' tone as he grabbed a remote control from his desk and head back towards the conference table.
Taking a cross armed stance near at the head of the table Jackson proceeded on in a noticeably different tone. No longer ripe with irritation, now very mechanical and sharp as he began extolling details to Knight.
"An associate of mine currently operates a halfway house here in the Barrens where he takes in people whom are victims of some of the local hazards native to these streets."
The tone in Jackson's voice makes it very clear that the steak of altruism posses by this associate is not something to be looked at as a weakness.
"He is looking for some additional security and surveillance assistance to keep recon on the surrounding area and to help locate those who might be in need of his services. Were you to accept the job you would be tasked with astral patrol of the few blocks surrounding the halfway to be aware of any impending gang outbreaks and helping to protect the house from any violence that might stray too close to it's doors."
"I am told that the only threats you would face would be non-magical in nature and that most gang skirmishes usually occur well away from the location of the halfway house. The expected overall threat level for this task is low."
Pausing for a moment to let Knight process the details of the potential job, Jackson proceeds onward.
"I am authorized to provide you the sum of 1,000
in cash or cred upon your acceptance of the job and provide you with details on the location of the halfway house. This job may also be of special interest to you based on your fresh arrival into Seattle, my associate has also agreed that he will provide you with complete food and lodging for the duration of your services. You may also negotiate further compensation from him based on how long you would be providing your services."
Jackson pauses now, the remote control tapping slightly against his crossed arm as he waits for Knight to pass a decision on what has been placed before him.
With a grunt that Knight assumed passed for a sign of approval Jackson hoisted his leg off the chair and stalked back over to his desk where he tapped a few commands onto the keyboard resting there. Peering at the resulting display for a moment Jackson grunted again in the same 'satisfied' tone as he grabbed a remote control from his desk and head back towards the conference table.
Taking a cross armed stance near at the head of the table Jackson proceeded on in a noticeably different tone. No longer ripe with irritation, now very mechanical and sharp as he began extolling details to Knight.
"An associate of mine currently operates a halfway house here in the Barrens where he takes in people whom are victims of some of the local hazards native to these streets."
The tone in Jackson's voice makes it very clear that the steak of altruism posses by this associate is not something to be looked at as a weakness.
"He is looking for some additional security and surveillance assistance to keep recon on the surrounding area and to help locate those who might be in need of his services. Were you to accept the job you would be tasked with astral patrol of the few blocks surrounding the halfway to be aware of any impending gang outbreaks and helping to protect the house from any violence that might stray too close to it's doors."
"I am told that the only threats you would face would be non-magical in nature and that most gang skirmishes usually occur well away from the location of the halfway house. The expected overall threat level for this task is low."
Pausing for a moment to let Knight process the details of the potential job, Jackson proceeds onward.
"I am authorized to provide you the sum of 1,000
in cash or cred upon your acceptance of the job and provide you with details on the location of the halfway house. This job may also be of special interest to you based on your fresh arrival into Seattle, my associate has also agreed that he will provide you with complete food and lodging for the duration of your services. You may also negotiate further compensation from him based on how long you would be providing your services." Jackson pauses now, the remote control tapping slightly against his crossed arm as he waits for Knight to pass a decision on what has been placed before him.
14:28 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson's Office - Redmond Barrens
Knight nods a little as he listens and his eyebrow remains raised as he mentally asses the job.
Astral patrol, surveilance and potential security as well as providing some meat and magic security in the more basic form of spell slinging. For a halfway house in such a place it makes some sense, but a request for magic? hmm could be a little something extra going down at the halfway house, or I`m overly cautious. his only visable reaction was a tilt of his head as Jackson continued. But then cautious keeps a runner alive.
With another small nod as Jackson finished speaking he allowed a couple of seconds to pass.
"I`ll take the job and the nuyen upfront i`ll carry as cred. Since its the proprietor of the establishment who is footing the bill and handling the details once i leave here Mr Jackson, then i`ll speak with him about length of contract and other such concerns." he straightens the collar of his coat and brushes imagined creases out of its front and looks pointedly at the remote in Jackson`s hand. "are there any other details to be processed before I meet your associate?" he rests back again awaiting the other man`s response and browsing through the details again.
Halfway house in the Barrens. If this info is on the up and up its a good place to start working these shadows and keep a head down for a while. Also pretty good place to get the feel of the gangs and other street life, at least in the local area. Again good. Good a friend as you are Portia precious trust has a very limited length in the shadows, especially with my tails. A little more local bases to touch with are certainly going to be beneficial in the long run.
Knight nods a little as he listens and his eyebrow remains raised as he mentally asses the job.
Astral patrol, surveilance and potential security as well as providing some meat and magic security in the more basic form of spell slinging. For a halfway house in such a place it makes some sense, but a request for magic? hmm could be a little something extra going down at the halfway house, or I`m overly cautious. his only visable reaction was a tilt of his head as Jackson continued. But then cautious keeps a runner alive.
With another small nod as Jackson finished speaking he allowed a couple of seconds to pass.
"I`ll take the job and the nuyen upfront i`ll carry as cred. Since its the proprietor of the establishment who is footing the bill and handling the details once i leave here Mr Jackson, then i`ll speak with him about length of contract and other such concerns." he straightens the collar of his coat and brushes imagined creases out of its front and looks pointedly at the remote in Jackson`s hand. "are there any other details to be processed before I meet your associate?" he rests back again awaiting the other man`s response and browsing through the details again.
Halfway house in the Barrens. If this info is on the up and up its a good place to start working these shadows and keep a head down for a while. Also pretty good place to get the feel of the gangs and other street life, at least in the local area. Again good. Good a friend as you are Portia precious trust has a very limited length in the shadows, especially with my tails. A little more local bases to touch with are certainly going to be beneficial in the long run.
1440 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
As hard as it was, especially with that slap in the face about being sheltered, Dragon found himself nodding in acceptance of her words. In some, perhaps even many, respects, she was right. Sure, he'd grown up around violence and death, killing and atrocity. Yes, he'd killed people, early in his life and often since, sometimes with little or no remorse, sometimes even with a dark pleasure. And though he was no stranger to the darkest, most base side of human nature, there was more to him than that.
And the reporter had demonstrated that she'd known that as well. With one comment, she showed that she understood there was more to him than the darkness. For inside the destruction and death, sheltered away from the darkness that permeated so much of his life, there was always his family. There were his friends, few and precious as they were. There was the unit.
Really, when you looked at it, he'd grown up in a stable, loving family, and a caring, tight-knit community. Sure, it was a merc community, but when one stopped to think about it, there was a lot of good to be said for growing up like that. How often did anyone in the Sixth World get family, let alone a community, like that these days?
"I understand, we'll discuss it later," he finally spoke, interrupting his own thoughts. She responded simply, nodding her head only slightly. "There is one thing I would like to say though, before this discussion is closed."
Tiffany cocked her head to the left a bit, looking at him curiously, no doubt wondering what he'd come up with next in all of this. This discussion...this relationship, that had taken so many quick and unexpected twists and turns since they first met, a mere two days ago.
Slowing, haltingly, choosing his words with great care, Dragon said, "Before...when you asked me if we were friends. I apologized once and do so again for misinterpreting your comment as a joke. It was wrong of me, and insensitive as well. I treated you like I would another soldier in a war zone."
He paused, searching for a response in her eyes. But nothing. No surprises there though. Caught off guard the first time they spoke, she certainly guarded herself well when she was prepared to. Pushing on, he added, "You are not a soldier, and I am not in a war zone, instincts aside. You're a person, with feelings and history too, just like me. I want you to know I don't take that lightly, and I'm sorry that I was insensitive to you when I joked inappropriately. I would like to respond to your question in the way I would have responded had I taken it seriously, like I should have."
Now he saw something, just the slightest bit of curiosity. He could tell that his apology caught her off guard slightly, perhaps all the more so for its repetition and sincerity. The rough tough soldier apologizing? Showing sensitivity? Or at least, trying to? Where on earth had this come from?
Searching a moment for the best way to conclude, he finally decided on the simple, straightforward approach. "You asked me if we are friends. I would say that the answer is as dependent on you as it is on me." He takes a deep breath, and finishes, "But from where I stand, I would like to be able to consider you a friend. And I hope that you would view me the same way."
Holding up a hand before she can say anything, he continues, "I understand that friendship takes time, and it's far too premature for either one of us to call the other a friend. At least, not in any way that actually means anything. Nonetheless, my answer is that whether we are or are not friends at this point in time, one day I would like us to be. Does that answer your question?"
Looking into her eyes, he believed he finally saw something there. What, he didn't know, but at the least, he had done the best he could do to clear up his stupid mistake. That would have to be enough. Of course, if she would respond to his query, that certainly wouldn't be a bad thing in his mind...
As hard as it was, especially with that slap in the face about being sheltered, Dragon found himself nodding in acceptance of her words. In some, perhaps even many, respects, she was right. Sure, he'd grown up around violence and death, killing and atrocity. Yes, he'd killed people, early in his life and often since, sometimes with little or no remorse, sometimes even with a dark pleasure. And though he was no stranger to the darkest, most base side of human nature, there was more to him than that.
And the reporter had demonstrated that she'd known that as well. With one comment, she showed that she understood there was more to him than the darkness. For inside the destruction and death, sheltered away from the darkness that permeated so much of his life, there was always his family. There were his friends, few and precious as they were. There was the unit.
Really, when you looked at it, he'd grown up in a stable, loving family, and a caring, tight-knit community. Sure, it was a merc community, but when one stopped to think about it, there was a lot of good to be said for growing up like that. How often did anyone in the Sixth World get family, let alone a community, like that these days?
"I understand, we'll discuss it later," he finally spoke, interrupting his own thoughts. She responded simply, nodding her head only slightly. "There is one thing I would like to say though, before this discussion is closed."
Tiffany cocked her head to the left a bit, looking at him curiously, no doubt wondering what he'd come up with next in all of this. This discussion...this relationship, that had taken so many quick and unexpected twists and turns since they first met, a mere two days ago.
Slowing, haltingly, choosing his words with great care, Dragon said, "Before...when you asked me if we were friends. I apologized once and do so again for misinterpreting your comment as a joke. It was wrong of me, and insensitive as well. I treated you like I would another soldier in a war zone."
He paused, searching for a response in her eyes. But nothing. No surprises there though. Caught off guard the first time they spoke, she certainly guarded herself well when she was prepared to. Pushing on, he added, "You are not a soldier, and I am not in a war zone, instincts aside. You're a person, with feelings and history too, just like me. I want you to know I don't take that lightly, and I'm sorry that I was insensitive to you when I joked inappropriately. I would like to respond to your question in the way I would have responded had I taken it seriously, like I should have."
Now he saw something, just the slightest bit of curiosity. He could tell that his apology caught her off guard slightly, perhaps all the more so for its repetition and sincerity. The rough tough soldier apologizing? Showing sensitivity? Or at least, trying to? Where on earth had this come from?
Searching a moment for the best way to conclude, he finally decided on the simple, straightforward approach. "You asked me if we are friends. I would say that the answer is as dependent on you as it is on me." He takes a deep breath, and finishes, "But from where I stand, I would like to be able to consider you a friend. And I hope that you would view me the same way."
Holding up a hand before she can say anything, he continues, "I understand that friendship takes time, and it's far too premature for either one of us to call the other a friend. At least, not in any way that actually means anything. Nonetheless, my answer is that whether we are or are not friends at this point in time, one day I would like us to be. Does that answer your question?"
Looking into her eyes, he believed he finally saw something there. What, he didn't know, but at the least, he had done the best he could do to clear up his stupid mistake. That would have to be enough. Of course, if she would respond to his query, that certainly wouldn't be a bad thing in his mind...
1440 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
As hard as it was, especially with that slap in the face about being sheltered, Dragon found himself nodding in acceptance of her words. In some, perhaps even many, respects, she was right. Sure, he'd grown up around violence and death, killing and atrocity. Yes, he'd killed people, early in his life and often since, sometimes with little or no remorse, sometimes even with a dark pleasure. And though he was no stranger to the darkest, most base side of human nature, there was more to him than that.
And the reporter had demonstrated that she'd known that as well. With one comment, she showed that she understood there was more to him than the darkness. For inside the destruction and death, sheltered away from the darkness that permeated so much of his life, there was always his family. There were his friends, few and precious as they were. There was the unit.
Really, when you looked at it, he'd grown up in a stable, loving family, and a caring, tight-knit community. Sure, it was a merc community, but when one stopped to think about it, there was a lot of good to be said for growing up like that. How often did anyone in the Sixth World get family, let alone a community, like that these days?
"I understand, we'll discuss it later," Dragon finally spoke, interrupting his own thoughts. She responded simply, nodding her head only slightly. "There is one thing I would like to say though, before this discussion is closed."
Tiffany cocked her head to the left a bit, looking at him curiously, no doubt wondering what he'd come up with next in all of this. This discussion...this relationship, that had taken so many quick and unexpected twists and turns since they first met, a mere two days ago.
Slowing, haltingly, choosing his words with great care, Dragon said, "Before...when you asked me if we were friends. I apologized once and do so again for misinterpreting your comment as a joke. It was wrong of me, and insensitive as well. I treated you like I would another soldier in a war zone."
He paused, searching for a response in her eyes. But nothing. No surprises there though. Caught off guard the first time they spoke, she certainly guarded herself well when she was prepared to. Pushing on, he added, "You are not a soldier, and I am not in a war zone, instincts aside. You're a person, with feelings and history too, just like me. I want you to know I don't take that lightly, and I'm sorry that I was insensitive to you when I joked inappropriately. I would like to respond to your question in the way I would have responded had I taken it seriously, like I should have."
Now he saw something, just the slightest bit of curiosity. He could tell that his apology caught her off guard slightly, perhaps all the more so for its repetition and sincerity. The rough tough soldier apologizing? Showing sensitivity? Or at least, trying to? Where on earth had this come from?
Searching a moment for the best way to conclude, Dragon finally decided on the simple, straightforward approach. "You asked me if we are friends. I would say that the answer is as dependent on you as it is on me." He took a deep breath, and finished, "But from where I stand, I would like to be able to consider you a friend. And I hope that you would view me the same way."
Holding up a hand before she can say anything, he continues, "I understand that friendship takes time, and it's far too premature for either one of us to call the other a friend. At least, not in any way that actually means anything. Nonetheless, my answer is that whether we are or are not friends at this point in time, one day I would like us to be. Does that answer your question?"
Looking into her eyes, he believed he finally saw something there. What, he didn't know, but at the least, he had done the best he could do to clear up his stupid mistake. That would have to be enough. Of course, if Tiffany would respond to his query, he certainly wouldn't mind...
As hard as it was, especially with that slap in the face about being sheltered, Dragon found himself nodding in acceptance of her words. In some, perhaps even many, respects, she was right. Sure, he'd grown up around violence and death, killing and atrocity. Yes, he'd killed people, early in his life and often since, sometimes with little or no remorse, sometimes even with a dark pleasure. And though he was no stranger to the darkest, most base side of human nature, there was more to him than that.
And the reporter had demonstrated that she'd known that as well. With one comment, she showed that she understood there was more to him than the darkness. For inside the destruction and death, sheltered away from the darkness that permeated so much of his life, there was always his family. There were his friends, few and precious as they were. There was the unit.
Really, when you looked at it, he'd grown up in a stable, loving family, and a caring, tight-knit community. Sure, it was a merc community, but when one stopped to think about it, there was a lot of good to be said for growing up like that. How often did anyone in the Sixth World get family, let alone a community, like that these days?
"I understand, we'll discuss it later," Dragon finally spoke, interrupting his own thoughts. She responded simply, nodding her head only slightly. "There is one thing I would like to say though, before this discussion is closed."
Tiffany cocked her head to the left a bit, looking at him curiously, no doubt wondering what he'd come up with next in all of this. This discussion...this relationship, that had taken so many quick and unexpected twists and turns since they first met, a mere two days ago.
Slowing, haltingly, choosing his words with great care, Dragon said, "Before...when you asked me if we were friends. I apologized once and do so again for misinterpreting your comment as a joke. It was wrong of me, and insensitive as well. I treated you like I would another soldier in a war zone."
He paused, searching for a response in her eyes. But nothing. No surprises there though. Caught off guard the first time they spoke, she certainly guarded herself well when she was prepared to. Pushing on, he added, "You are not a soldier, and I am not in a war zone, instincts aside. You're a person, with feelings and history too, just like me. I want you to know I don't take that lightly, and I'm sorry that I was insensitive to you when I joked inappropriately. I would like to respond to your question in the way I would have responded had I taken it seriously, like I should have."
Now he saw something, just the slightest bit of curiosity. He could tell that his apology caught her off guard slightly, perhaps all the more so for its repetition and sincerity. The rough tough soldier apologizing? Showing sensitivity? Or at least, trying to? Where on earth had this come from?
Searching a moment for the best way to conclude, Dragon finally decided on the simple, straightforward approach. "You asked me if we are friends. I would say that the answer is as dependent on you as it is on me." He took a deep breath, and finished, "But from where I stand, I would like to be able to consider you a friend. And I hope that you would view me the same way."
Holding up a hand before she can say anything, he continues, "I understand that friendship takes time, and it's far too premature for either one of us to call the other a friend. At least, not in any way that actually means anything. Nonetheless, my answer is that whether we are or are not friends at this point in time, one day I would like us to be. Does that answer your question?"
Looking into her eyes, he believed he finally saw something there. What, he didn't know, but at the least, he had done the best he could do to clear up his stupid mistake. That would have to be enough. Of course, if Tiffany would respond to his query, he certainly wouldn't mind...
1441 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
Well, she still hasn't answered after what was rapidly becoming a long time. Dragon's not at all sure how to take that. To be perfectly honest, a part of him is starting to become irritated. He's listened to her. He's thinking about what she said, even though some of it frankly wasn't fair -- and yet it was, and that's not really helping. He's apologised -- twice now -- and frag it all, he meant it! What does this woman want?
Behind her glasses, Tiffany blinks. It's the first movement she's made since she'd cocked her head, waiting for him to say his one thing. And that's when he realises.
She's speechless. She, who makes her living by her looks and her quick tongue, hasn't said anything because she literally doesn't know what to say.
The silence stretches and envelopes the two of them -- and now that Dragon knows she's on just as unfamiliar territory as him, somehow it's no longer an awkward silence.
"I think ..." she says at last, slowly; and then again: "I think, maybe, you're worth knowing." And then the ironic laugh, but this time genuine, half in an exhaled release, maybe more than half at herself: "That didn't come out right, did it?"
Well, she still hasn't answered after what was rapidly becoming a long time. Dragon's not at all sure how to take that. To be perfectly honest, a part of him is starting to become irritated. He's listened to her. He's thinking about what she said, even though some of it frankly wasn't fair -- and yet it was, and that's not really helping. He's apologised -- twice now -- and frag it all, he meant it! What does this woman want?
Behind her glasses, Tiffany blinks. It's the first movement she's made since she'd cocked her head, waiting for him to say his one thing. And that's when he realises.
She's speechless. She, who makes her living by her looks and her quick tongue, hasn't said anything because she literally doesn't know what to say.
The silence stretches and envelopes the two of them -- and now that Dragon knows she's on just as unfamiliar territory as him, somehow it's no longer an awkward silence.
"I think ..." she says at last, slowly; and then again: "I think, maybe, you're worth knowing." And then the ironic laugh, but this time genuine, half in an exhaled release, maybe more than half at herself: "That didn't come out right, did it?"
10:12:21 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
Tenmou opened his eyes, still slumped in the chair from last night. His back popped as he corrected his posture and stood up.
"Not the best way to fall asleep..." he muttered to himself.
As he began his morning exercises, he remembered Akiko's instructions to deliver the optical chip to the Worthington Dealership on East Washington today. He finished his half hour workout before going into the shower and finding a change of clothes.
Feeling somewhat recharged, Tenmou made sure the chip was in his pocket before grabbing a jacket and his duffle bag of equipment before heading once again.
Tenmou opened his eyes, still slumped in the chair from last night. His back popped as he corrected his posture and stood up.
"Not the best way to fall asleep..." he muttered to himself.
As he began his morning exercises, he remembered Akiko's instructions to deliver the optical chip to the Worthington Dealership on East Washington today. He finished his half hour workout before going into the shower and finding a change of clothes.
Feeling somewhat recharged, Tenmou made sure the chip was in his pocket before grabbing a jacket and his duffle bag of equipment before heading once again.
10:29:04 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
East Washington, from Cinquefoil Street to Emerald Avenue, is lined on both sides by automobile dealerships. Kilometer after kilometer of glistening metallic reds and silvers, sparkling neon, and eye-catching holographic displays. Vast billboards advertise the latest offerings from Ford, GMC, Eurocars, and a host of other brands.
Worthington BMW is no different, a rectangular building with an all glass front displaying the newest models. Surrounding it, like a phalanx of glass and steel armored warhorses, are rank upon rank of ready vehicles. Even now, dusted by snow and whipped by the cold west wind, the roadsters and sedans look like the definition of speed and agility.
The weather has no apparent effect on the crowd of shoppers, over two dozen people pack the showroom, each fawned over by an eager salesperson. Trideo workstations scattered around the large room provide full holographic walk-throughs of any vehicle offered, with the ability to change both interior and exterior color, as well as any of the other options on the vehicle.
Tenmou waits patiently for the next available salesperson, glancing over the performance data for the M7 on display next to him.
"A real beauty, isn't she?" says an urbane voice next to him. Tenmou shrugs non-committally as he glances at the salesman. He's wearing a tailored Tres Chic suit, a European racing chronometer from Breitling, and a smile that would do a hyena proud. The nametag pinned just below the silk cravat in his breast pocket reads Frank.
"It's our newest M-class, with a redesigned body, updated electronics, and all new leather interior." The door opens with laser-like smoothness. "Check the layout. Satellite trideo suite comes standard. But don't let her good looks fool you, under the hood is a V-10 cranking out 410 horses and 540 N-m of torque. 0-100 kph in 4.5 seconds. Think you can handle that?"
East Washington, from Cinquefoil Street to Emerald Avenue, is lined on both sides by automobile dealerships. Kilometer after kilometer of glistening metallic reds and silvers, sparkling neon, and eye-catching holographic displays. Vast billboards advertise the latest offerings from Ford, GMC, Eurocars, and a host of other brands.
Worthington BMW is no different, a rectangular building with an all glass front displaying the newest models. Surrounding it, like a phalanx of glass and steel armored warhorses, are rank upon rank of ready vehicles. Even now, dusted by snow and whipped by the cold west wind, the roadsters and sedans look like the definition of speed and agility.
The weather has no apparent effect on the crowd of shoppers, over two dozen people pack the showroom, each fawned over by an eager salesperson. Trideo workstations scattered around the large room provide full holographic walk-throughs of any vehicle offered, with the ability to change both interior and exterior color, as well as any of the other options on the vehicle.
Tenmou waits patiently for the next available salesperson, glancing over the performance data for the M7 on display next to him.
"A real beauty, isn't she?" says an urbane voice next to him. Tenmou shrugs non-committally as he glances at the salesman. He's wearing a tailored Tres Chic suit, a European racing chronometer from Breitling, and a smile that would do a hyena proud. The nametag pinned just below the silk cravat in his breast pocket reads Frank.
"It's our newest M-class, with a redesigned body, updated electronics, and all new leather interior." The door opens with laser-like smoothness. "Check the layout. Satellite trideo suite comes standard. But don't let her good looks fool you, under the hood is a V-10 cranking out 410 horses and 540 N-m of torque. 0-100 kph in 4.5 seconds. Think you can handle that?"
1438 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
Deciding the fate of another was something that a warrior did during every battle that he fought. To allow a retreat or strike a final decimating blow. The most brilliant of flanking maneuvers can weaken a general's center line even as his troops surrounded an ever desperate enemy. Decisions that results in the death of one, or a hundred lives happen in the blink of an eye.
A wise general knows that these decisions must be made in the span of a heartbeat and though good men may alway lose their lives, hesitation will only cause those lives to be lost in vain. A strong general anticipates these decisions and steels himself against their torment with the justification that they must be made, he trusts that the reasons for waging the lives of his men are just ones. This is the way of things.
If only it were possible to apply such training to every aspect of life and each decision one must make, Virgil would have felt no hesitation at this sudden impasse. His goal. . . and now the goal of his friend was to track the location of Julia with the hopes of shielding her from the impending malevolence of others whom would surely come.
As the tendrils of mana spiraled between his mind and the subconscious of the women who had laid herself down willingly, trustingly before him, Virgil finally sensed the opening to delve into the deeper recesses of her thoughts. The corners of her repressed memories would surely have left a trail and those recesses would be where he would have to search.
However Virgil had led Dragon and the Doc Wagon samaritan into the burnt out gaming house with the sole desire of saving a life. In Virgil's mind that meant making a commitment. After ensuring that she received care and that she did not perish with the many other victims of the fire, could be stand before her and now cause her even more pain? Could he have helped to make her physical body mend only to rend her mind?
No.
A realization quickly seeped over Virgil's thoughts. There was no hard decision to make. To create a dilemma at this moment was to give into his own ambition, to put his own goals ahead of someone who was not his enemy. There was only one right choice.
Information I desire, but not at the cost of this womens permanent scarring. With all that she has endured she deserves what little peace and healing that I can humbly offer her. She is not my foe, but the demon who continues to warp her memories is.
Deciding the fate of another was something that a warrior did during every battle that he fought. To allow a retreat or strike a final decimating blow. The most brilliant of flanking maneuvers can weaken a general's center line even as his troops surrounded an ever desperate enemy. Decisions that results in the death of one, or a hundred lives happen in the blink of an eye.
A wise general knows that these decisions must be made in the span of a heartbeat and though good men may alway lose their lives, hesitation will only cause those lives to be lost in vain. A strong general anticipates these decisions and steels himself against their torment with the justification that they must be made, he trusts that the reasons for waging the lives of his men are just ones. This is the way of things.
If only it were possible to apply such training to every aspect of life and each decision one must make, Virgil would have felt no hesitation at this sudden impasse. His goal. . . and now the goal of his friend was to track the location of Julia with the hopes of shielding her from the impending malevolence of others whom would surely come.
As the tendrils of mana spiraled between his mind and the subconscious of the women who had laid herself down willingly, trustingly before him, Virgil finally sensed the opening to delve into the deeper recesses of her thoughts. The corners of her repressed memories would surely have left a trail and those recesses would be where he would have to search.
However Virgil had led Dragon and the Doc Wagon samaritan into the burnt out gaming house with the sole desire of saving a life. In Virgil's mind that meant making a commitment. After ensuring that she received care and that she did not perish with the many other victims of the fire, could be stand before her and now cause her even more pain? Could he have helped to make her physical body mend only to rend her mind?
No.
A realization quickly seeped over Virgil's thoughts. There was no hard decision to make. To create a dilemma at this moment was to give into his own ambition, to put his own goals ahead of someone who was not his enemy. There was only one right choice.
Information I desire, but not at the cost of this womens permanent scarring. With all that she has endured she deserves what little peace and healing that I can humbly offer her. She is not my foe, but the demon who continues to warp her memories is.
1441 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
The decision clear in his mind, Virgil shifted his attention from searching for the link to Julia to gradually working around what the cyber had warped, to slowly evoke what had so long been suppressed ... to heal. It wouldn't be any easier on the woman, but then he knew all about hard decisions and end results. She'd given herself into his hands almost trustingly -- how rare was that, in this world? It's that first betrayal -- You died! How could you leave me! -- and the much later imposed persona that reject that trust, that doubt his ability, that seek any excuse to avoid this; although the whole being is resisting him at this point, how could she not? But in the echoes of that earlier trust Virgil sensed the opening to delve into the deeper recesses of her thoughts //
-- Laughter, and rain, and bright colours, and someone warm and tall and trusted and big --
// and for a few moments the body relaxes under his touch, until the cyber persona circuit evokes //
-- "We've talked before about this." She's carrying herself like she's the owner of the place, and maybe, if the owner didn't shape up and place his priorities where they should be, she just might become that. "People aren't happy. Gaming receipts are down for the third straight month. Why is that?"
"Please, Sheena, he's been getting his cut regularly, and the place is doing well enough --"
She chops him off with the edge of her hand: "Yeah, right. There's space for improvement. There's no space for negotiation with cops."
"It's not like that, and anyway he's not a cop --"
"Ex-cop. Whatever." Very gently, the razors in her voice: "People remember how he 'negotiated' with that Tong circle. The former shuk foo of the Defiants remembers it very well. People aren't happy, Jonah." Smiling gently: "I'm not happy."
Jonah didn't look too happy either, at that moment. "I can't --"
"Oh, believe me, you can." --
// The woman's shuddering violently now, the persona fighting to keep from revealing anything -- deep, deep loyalty superceding all else -- but another part of her wanting, grasping at the thin lifeline but afraid at the same time //
"Go home, Jonah." She knows that he'll know exactly what this means for him, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun; and she smiles. "I'll take over for today."
// and the fear's putting up at least as strong a resistance as the hatred. The combination is surprisingly effective in stonewalling him. He's vaguely aware that the reporter has turned away from Dragon -- maybe she'd just said something, Virgil has no clue, but once again her attention is fully on what he's doing //
-- "Are you the owner of the house?"
Thin man, slightly dark of skin, he asks it in an accented Spanish, but she's able to understand and answered in kind: "Why, yes," she smiles, "yes I am. Can I help you?"
"You can tell me where to find the Jedi."
She's still smiling, staring into his eyes, oddly unable to look away. "I'm afraid I can't do that, sir. Can I have --"
"Now."
She's shaking her head harder, words frozen in her, but still somehow unable to take that crucial step away that would allow her to break eye contact -- and he reaches out his hand to plant it against her brow, and she screams --
// and almost thrusts him out completely. He's sweating hard now, he's re-living these events just as much as the woman is. He's been trying to find the avenues of healing, and they keep spiralling back here. The reporter lays a light hand on Virgil's arm, and the woman gasps //
-- His touch is ice, and burning. It shreds all that stands in his way, and she's unable to do anything but stand there and let him continue to rip through her thoughts, her mind, her self, shredding every defense she has against this kind of thing in pursuit of something that just wasn't there. She screams and screams and screams -- and he shrugs, finally knowing that what he's looking for doesn't exist, not here -- and says a Word -- and fire rips her apart --
// Virgil sags, drained from the probe and the healing both. It takes him some time to realise that she's quietly crying, Father Bremen holding her gently -- but the look that she gives him isn't Sheena (although that aspect is now part of her, it was and always will be a part of her life), it's --
"I'm Cindy," she says through the tears, wondering. "My name is Cindy Carstairs. You need to talk to Jonah. And we have to hurry."
The decision clear in his mind, Virgil shifted his attention from searching for the link to Julia to gradually working around what the cyber had warped, to slowly evoke what had so long been suppressed ... to heal. It wouldn't be any easier on the woman, but then he knew all about hard decisions and end results. She'd given herself into his hands almost trustingly -- how rare was that, in this world? It's that first betrayal -- You died! How could you leave me! -- and the much later imposed persona that reject that trust, that doubt his ability, that seek any excuse to avoid this; although the whole being is resisting him at this point, how could she not? But in the echoes of that earlier trust Virgil sensed the opening to delve into the deeper recesses of her thoughts //
-- Laughter, and rain, and bright colours, and someone warm and tall and trusted and big --
// and for a few moments the body relaxes under his touch, until the cyber persona circuit evokes //
-- "We've talked before about this." She's carrying herself like she's the owner of the place, and maybe, if the owner didn't shape up and place his priorities where they should be, she just might become that. "People aren't happy. Gaming receipts are down for the third straight month. Why is that?"
"Please, Sheena, he's been getting his cut regularly, and the place is doing well enough --"
She chops him off with the edge of her hand: "Yeah, right. There's space for improvement. There's no space for negotiation with cops."
"It's not like that, and anyway he's not a cop --"
"Ex-cop. Whatever." Very gently, the razors in her voice: "People remember how he 'negotiated' with that Tong circle. The former shuk foo of the Defiants remembers it very well. People aren't happy, Jonah." Smiling gently: "I'm not happy."
Jonah didn't look too happy either, at that moment. "I can't --"
"Oh, believe me, you can." --
// The woman's shuddering violently now, the persona fighting to keep from revealing anything -- deep, deep loyalty superceding all else -- but another part of her wanting, grasping at the thin lifeline but afraid at the same time //
"Go home, Jonah." She knows that he'll know exactly what this means for him, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun; and she smiles. "I'll take over for today."
// and the fear's putting up at least as strong a resistance as the hatred. The combination is surprisingly effective in stonewalling him. He's vaguely aware that the reporter has turned away from Dragon -- maybe she'd just said something, Virgil has no clue, but once again her attention is fully on what he's doing //
-- "Are you the owner of the house?"
Thin man, slightly dark of skin, he asks it in an accented Spanish, but she's able to understand and answered in kind: "Why, yes," she smiles, "yes I am. Can I help you?"
"You can tell me where to find the Jedi."
She's still smiling, staring into his eyes, oddly unable to look away. "I'm afraid I can't do that, sir. Can I have --"
"Now."
She's shaking her head harder, words frozen in her, but still somehow unable to take that crucial step away that would allow her to break eye contact -- and he reaches out his hand to plant it against her brow, and she screams --
// and almost thrusts him out completely. He's sweating hard now, he's re-living these events just as much as the woman is. He's been trying to find the avenues of healing, and they keep spiralling back here. The reporter lays a light hand on Virgil's arm, and the woman gasps //
-- His touch is ice, and burning. It shreds all that stands in his way, and she's unable to do anything but stand there and let him continue to rip through her thoughts, her mind, her self, shredding every defense she has against this kind of thing in pursuit of something that just wasn't there. She screams and screams and screams -- and he shrugs, finally knowing that what he's looking for doesn't exist, not here -- and says a Word -- and fire rips her apart --
// Virgil sags, drained from the probe and the healing both. It takes him some time to realise that she's quietly crying, Father Bremen holding her gently -- but the look that she gives him isn't Sheena (although that aspect is now part of her, it was and always will be a part of her life), it's --
"I'm Cindy," she says through the tears, wondering. "My name is Cindy Carstairs. You need to talk to Jonah. And we have to hurry."
1150 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
Andie looks at the sketch again. "Ya know. You're right, Solomon. For some reason I was thinking a workshop area took up about 100 metre squares, but it looks like it only takes about half that. Hmm........I can put both workshop areas together in the same space which allows the ritual room to be put on the 1st floor. I suppose we could use that space on the 2nd floor for another hydroponics area down the road. What do you think??"
Andie looks at the sketch again. "Ya know. You're right, Solomon. For some reason I was thinking a workshop area took up about 100 metre squares, but it looks like it only takes about half that. Hmm........I can put both workshop areas together in the same space which allows the ritual room to be put on the 1st floor. I suppose we could use that space on the 2nd floor for another hydroponics area down the road. What do you think??"
1442 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
There wasn't really anything he could say to Tiffany's words. Because ultimately, what she said didn't matter so much as what she meant, and Dragon heard what she was really saying quite clearly this time. He searched for the words for a moment, and then settled on simply smiling, a gentle, friendly smile. Slowly, haltingly, she smiled back. Not a large smile to be sure, or even a confident one. But most important, it was a different smile. Not the smile she flashed quickly and endearingly when she was putting up her masks, or the one she used when she was fighting for control.
No, this one was different. This was a gentle, fragile smile, with just a hint of vulnerability and openness. This was a smile from the real Tiffany , putting down the defenses knowingly and willingly just for an instant, just to let them both bask for a moment in the small step they had taken to be closer together. Not a large one, to be sure, and certainly hard-fought. But it was a step in the right direction with the right intentions, and in this world, that in and of itself was no small thing. For what seemed like such a very long time, the air between them was so gentle and delicate Dragon was afraid that anything he did would break the moment.
Fortunately, when the moment was broken, it wasn't his fault. The sudden gasp behind him made him turn his attention back to the woman, who had snapped upright, only to seemingly crumple in on herself in tears. Clinging tightly to Father Bremen, she gasped out, "I'm Cindy ," she says through the tears, wondering. "My name is Cindy Carstairs . You need to talk to Jonah . And we have to hurry."
Looking over at Virgil , who was apparently quite drained from all the spellcasting he'd been doing, Dragon moved quickly to help him to his feet. After helping the shaman stand, he asked, "What's going on? Who is this Jonah guy?"
Still a bit groggy, Virgil could only groan. Looking over at the woman, Dragon asked gently, "Miss, I know you've just been through the wringer, but if we need to find this guy fast, we need to know where to look. Can you tell us where to find him, and anything that we might need to be ready for when we do? If we need to find him fast, then I'm guessing there's others looking for him as well, and they probably don't have his continued health and long life heading up their reasons for wanting to find him. So please, if there's anything you can tell us, it would help a lot."
There wasn't really anything he could say to Tiffany's words. Because ultimately, what she said didn't matter so much as what she meant, and Dragon heard what she was really saying quite clearly this time. He searched for the words for a moment, and then settled on simply smiling, a gentle, friendly smile. Slowly, haltingly, she smiled back. Not a large smile to be sure, or even a confident one. But most important, it was a different smile. Not the smile she flashed quickly and endearingly when she was putting up her masks, or the one she used when she was fighting for control.
No, this one was different. This was a gentle, fragile smile, with just a hint of vulnerability and openness. This was a smile from the real Tiffany , putting down the defenses knowingly and willingly just for an instant, just to let them both bask for a moment in the small step they had taken to be closer together. Not a large one, to be sure, and certainly hard-fought. But it was a step in the right direction with the right intentions, and in this world, that in and of itself was no small thing. For what seemed like such a very long time, the air between them was so gentle and delicate Dragon was afraid that anything he did would break the moment.
Fortunately, when the moment was broken, it wasn't his fault. The sudden gasp behind him made him turn his attention back to the woman, who had snapped upright, only to seemingly crumple in on herself in tears. Clinging tightly to Father Bremen, she gasped out, "I'm Cindy ," she says through the tears, wondering. "My name is Cindy Carstairs . You need to talk to Jonah . And we have to hurry."
Looking over at Virgil , who was apparently quite drained from all the spellcasting he'd been doing, Dragon moved quickly to help him to his feet. After helping the shaman stand, he asked, "What's going on? Who is this Jonah guy?"
Still a bit groggy, Virgil could only groan. Looking over at the woman, Dragon asked gently, "Miss, I know you've just been through the wringer, but if we need to find this guy fast, we need to know where to look. Can you tell us where to find him, and anything that we might need to be ready for when we do? If we need to find him fast, then I'm guessing there's others looking for him as well, and they probably don't have his continued health and long life heading up their reasons for wanting to find him. So please, if there's anything you can tell us, it would help a lot."
1430 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson's Office - Redmond Barrens
Punching a button on his remote control caused the projector situated at the center of the conference table to spring into illumination, Jackson had cued up what Knight recognized as an overhead schematic view of an urban area of approxamently four blocks on each side.
Following the click of another button the space of a small building located at the right-center of the map became colored. "This is the halfway house that your being posted at, it's proprietor is a man called Cao Jaan. He's a good of a man as one can be in such a place at such a time and opens his doors to anyone looking for a place to rest with a roof over their head, maybe get a bit of chow too."
Activating a laser dot built into the remote Jackson waved out the rest of the map's area surrounding the halfway house. "The area is run by a gang called the Sickles, their current alpha is an elf called Hammer. Cao Jaan pays protection money to the gang and combined with the fact that he has a good reputation with the area residents keeps any trouble from his door."
"While Cao Jaan maintains an excellent relationship with Hammer and his crew, he would like to start bringing in solo talent to secure his operation . . ." A tilt of his head indicates Knight would be a start towards fulfilling that role.
"I have a small dossier of area maps and addresses for you which can be had on chip or hard copy, your choice. Otherwise Cao Jaan will be notified to expect you within a few hours."
Punching a button on his remote control caused the projector situated at the center of the conference table to spring into illumination, Jackson had cued up what Knight recognized as an overhead schematic view of an urban area of approxamently four blocks on each side.
Following the click of another button the space of a small building located at the right-center of the map became colored. "This is the halfway house that your being posted at, it's proprietor is a man called Cao Jaan. He's a good of a man as one can be in such a place at such a time and opens his doors to anyone looking for a place to rest with a roof over their head, maybe get a bit of chow too."
Activating a laser dot built into the remote Jackson waved out the rest of the map's area surrounding the halfway house. "The area is run by a gang called the Sickles, their current alpha is an elf called Hammer. Cao Jaan pays protection money to the gang and combined with the fact that he has a good reputation with the area residents keeps any trouble from his door."
"While Cao Jaan maintains an excellent relationship with Hammer and his crew, he would like to start bringing in solo talent to secure his operation . . ." A tilt of his head indicates Knight would be a start towards fulfilling that role.
"I have a small dossier of area maps and addresses for you which can be had on chip or hard copy, your choice. Otherwise Cao Jaan will be notified to expect you within a few hours."
14:30 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson's Office - Redmond Barrens
Knight leans forwards examining the projection of the building and its surrounds.
"I`ll take both the hard copy and the chipped layouts, Mr Jackson, each have their advantages. " his sharp elven eyes dissimilate the structures in front of him getting a mental map of the region set in place.
Wish I`d had a little longer with the Order. To think another week or two and i`d have had a proper study in Astral security procedures and other useful info. But drek it, I`ve run the shadows long enough and witnessed enough to do a good job here. After all this sort of thing is my calling in this Cycle on the Wheel.
He looks up at Jackson again having absorbed as much as he can from the data display. Promptly the big man hits the button again and the mapping system cuts out. Slowly Knight rises from his chair offering his hand up for the chipped map, the hard copy.
"Please inform Mr Jaan I shall be at his establishment to meet with him within a couple of hours. I have a few arrangements to make before I go down to the site, requisition of a few arcane materials and the like." he pockets the hardcopy of the area maps in a interior breast pocket of his coat, the chipped data going into a pocket on his dark jeans. "You may inform him that his contract has been accepted and I shall begin to fufill that contract upon arrival."
"I`ll do that, Mr Knightington" Jackson replied, his tone still showing a hint of uncaring for Knights near flippancy in attitude, yet still approving of his business like manner enough.
Knight re-fastens his coat. "Is that 1000 nuyen advance sitting on a cert credstick? or do i need to retrieve my own from outside?" he notes Jackson`s scowl "Just asking, Mr Jackson, I`m in a hurry here and the stuff i need to do this job for your associate isn't cheap"
With just a grunt Jackson hands over a certified credstick. Knight checks the reader that lights up with a sweet 1K nuyen. Jackson`s voice cuts in rough. "Just be sure your there in that couple of hours."
Knight nods his response, pockets the credstick and turns for the door. He pauses facing the steel rectangle waiting for Jackson to key its opening sequence, or give a signal or whatever he had rigged and perhaps grant some parting last words.
Knight leans forwards examining the projection of the building and its surrounds.
"I`ll take both the hard copy and the chipped layouts, Mr Jackson, each have their advantages. " his sharp elven eyes dissimilate the structures in front of him getting a mental map of the region set in place.
Wish I`d had a little longer with the Order. To think another week or two and i`d have had a proper study in Astral security procedures and other useful info. But drek it, I`ve run the shadows long enough and witnessed enough to do a good job here. After all this sort of thing is my calling in this Cycle on the Wheel.
He looks up at Jackson again having absorbed as much as he can from the data display. Promptly the big man hits the button again and the mapping system cuts out. Slowly Knight rises from his chair offering his hand up for the chipped map, the hard copy.
"Please inform Mr Jaan I shall be at his establishment to meet with him within a couple of hours. I have a few arrangements to make before I go down to the site, requisition of a few arcane materials and the like." he pockets the hardcopy of the area maps in a interior breast pocket of his coat, the chipped data going into a pocket on his dark jeans. "You may inform him that his contract has been accepted and I shall begin to fufill that contract upon arrival."
"I`ll do that, Mr Knightington" Jackson replied, his tone still showing a hint of uncaring for Knights near flippancy in attitude, yet still approving of his business like manner enough.
Knight re-fastens his coat. "Is that 1000 nuyen advance sitting on a cert credstick? or do i need to retrieve my own from outside?" he notes Jackson`s scowl "Just asking, Mr Jackson, I`m in a hurry here and the stuff i need to do this job for your associate isn't cheap"
With just a grunt Jackson hands over a certified credstick. Knight checks the reader that lights up with a sweet 1K nuyen. Jackson`s voice cuts in rough. "Just be sure your there in that couple of hours."
Knight nods his response, pockets the credstick and turns for the door. He pauses facing the steel rectangle waiting for Jackson to key its opening sequence, or give a signal or whatever he had rigged and perhaps grant some parting last words.
1155 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop
The revised plans are making a small indoor blizzard, matching the weather outside. "I think you are being very ambitious," says Solomon at last, his voice mischievous. "And I still don't see a chimney. But I am certain you already know the uses you intend to make of all of these work areas ... simultaneously." Very odd note in his voice, there, causing Andie to glance up at him: but the fixer is still studying the plans, his face expressionless.
After several minutes of studying, he asks suddenly: "What do you intend to do for your mundane security?"
The revised plans are making a small indoor blizzard, matching the weather outside. "I think you are being very ambitious," says Solomon at last, his voice mischievous. "And I still don't see a chimney. But I am certain you already know the uses you intend to make of all of these work areas ... simultaneously." Very odd note in his voice, there, causing Andie to glance up at him: but the fixer is still studying the plans, his face expressionless.
After several minutes of studying, he asks suddenly: "What do you intend to do for your mundane security?"
10:31:13 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
Tenmou tries his best to look as uninterested as possible, despite how impressive the car sounds.
"Handle driving it, perhaps. Handle paying for it, not so much..."
Standing up straight and turning towards Frank, Tenmou says, "Actually, the main reason I'm here is because a pleasant young woman asked me to deliver this chip to the dealership."
Tenmou produces the chip from his pocket, holding it between his index finger and thumb.
"Unfortunately, she didn't tell me who it was for. Is anyone expecting a chip to be delivered?"
Tenmou tries his best to look as uninterested as possible, despite how impressive the car sounds.
"Handle driving it, perhaps. Handle paying for it, not so much..."
Standing up straight and turning towards Frank, Tenmou says, "Actually, the main reason I'm here is because a pleasant young woman asked me to deliver this chip to the dealership."
Tenmou produces the chip from his pocket, holding it between his index finger and thumb.
"Unfortunately, she didn't tell me who it was for. Is anyone expecting a chip to be delivered?"
04:09:44 Sunday 07 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
As the yellow AmeriCar swept down the dark and icy streets of Puyallup, the driver stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Slow night," she thought. "Everyone must still be recovering from New Year's. At least my shift's about over." She'd just decided to trigger the mental command to turn off the illuminated "in service" sign attached to the roof, thoughts of her warm bed already dancing through her brain, when she spotted the lone figure walking down the side of the street, shoulders hunched against the wind.
At the sound of her car approaching, the figure turned and raised its arm. As her headlights swept across what she could now see was a human male, she caught a glint of a reflection, off of what she could not say. However, it was enough to make her go an extra half-block before pulling the cab over to the curb to wait.
She didn't even wait until the car came to a complete stop before she jacked in and started her sensor sweep of the area. Flipping that mental switch, she felt the meat world melt away as her consciousness slipped through the plug in her head, down though the cable spiraling to the dash, and expanded to include the car and its surroundings. The only target she could detect was the human she spotted with her meat eyes, who was now jogging towards the cab. He carried a satchel over one shoulder and wore a ragged baseball-type hat with a logo she wasn't familiar with on the front. He carried his head down, positioning the bill of the cap so that she couldn't see much of his face; only that he had a lit cigarette in his mouth. He slowed as her neared the car, reaching up to flick the cigarette away before reaching for the door handle. She deactivated the cars shock defense and popped the door. He paused at that, and bent to look into the cab, his left hand reaching beneath his jacket. After a second he straightened, took a quick glance around, and then slipped into the back of the car with a quiet grunt. The door closed with a solid "thunk" as the AmeriCar lurched away from the curb.
As the yellow AmeriCar swept down the dark and icy streets of Puyallup, the driver stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Slow night," she thought. "Everyone must still be recovering from New Year's. At least my shift's about over." She'd just decided to trigger the mental command to turn off the illuminated "in service" sign attached to the roof, thoughts of her warm bed already dancing through her brain, when she spotted the lone figure walking down the side of the street, shoulders hunched against the wind.
At the sound of her car approaching, the figure turned and raised its arm. As her headlights swept across what she could now see was a human male, she caught a glint of a reflection, off of what she could not say. However, it was enough to make her go an extra half-block before pulling the cab over to the curb to wait.
She didn't even wait until the car came to a complete stop before she jacked in and started her sensor sweep of the area. Flipping that mental switch, she felt the meat world melt away as her consciousness slipped through the plug in her head, down though the cable spiraling to the dash, and expanded to include the car and its surroundings. The only target she could detect was the human she spotted with her meat eyes, who was now jogging towards the cab. He carried a satchel over one shoulder and wore a ragged baseball-type hat with a logo she wasn't familiar with on the front. He carried his head down, positioning the bill of the cap so that she couldn't see much of his face; only that he had a lit cigarette in his mouth. He slowed as her neared the car, reaching up to flick the cigarette away before reaching for the door handle. She deactivated the cars shock defense and popped the door. He paused at that, and bent to look into the cab, his left hand reaching beneath his jacket. After a second he straightened, took a quick glance around, and then slipped into the back of the car with a quiet grunt. The door closed with a solid "thunk" as the AmeriCar lurched away from the curb.
04:12:13 Sunday 07 January 2063 - Back seat of Northwest Cab Company Car #3423
Scrapheap slid the strap over his head and sat the canvas bag on the seat beside him, glancing around the cab as he did. From the figure silhouetted against the glare of the gauges, the driver appeared to be a troll. A big troll. He idly wondered who the typical bullet-proof barrier between passenger and driver was supposed to protect in this case. Suddenly, a green LED blinked on above a small camera pod mounted near the center of the barrier and a deep yet decidedly female voice asked, "Where to, chummer?"
"Shawna Ringle" read the copy of the Northwest Cab Company license posted on the barrier, and next to the name was a small picture of a smiling troll woman. Her hair was parted around a couple of small horns on her temples. "Redmond," he responded. Did he hear her sigh? Before he could decide she said, "It's your dime, pal. Sit back and enjoy the ride." The LED went out and the car accelerated into the night.
Scrapheap slid the strap over his head and sat the canvas bag on the seat beside him, glancing around the cab as he did. From the figure silhouetted against the glare of the gauges, the driver appeared to be a troll. A big troll. He idly wondered who the typical bullet-proof barrier between passenger and driver was supposed to protect in this case. Suddenly, a green LED blinked on above a small camera pod mounted near the center of the barrier and a deep yet decidedly female voice asked, "Where to, chummer?"
"Shawna Ringle" read the copy of the Northwest Cab Company license posted on the barrier, and next to the name was a small picture of a smiling troll woman. Her hair was parted around a couple of small horns on her temples. "Redmond," he responded. Did he hear her sigh? Before he could decide she said, "It's your dime, pal. Sit back and enjoy the ride." The LED went out and the car accelerated into the night.
05:01:54 Sunday 07 January 2063 - Sidewalk outside of the Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op
Scrapheap took the last few drags off of his cigarette before tossing the stub away. He was standing on the sidewalk in front of a large, squat building that looked like it might have been a warehouse at one time. What it was used for now, a passerby could only guess, though the multitude of makeshift vents and chimneys that sprouted from the roof offered an easy clue.
The cab had dropped him off several blocks away and he’d walked the rest of the way here. The cab was expensive, and it was money that he didn’t really have, but it was worth it for the time he’d saved. Whatever combination of tubes, buses, and walking he would have had to use otherwise would have taken hours.
Nearby was a graffiti-covered steel security door. A solitary light bulb shone down from where it was mounted above the door, weakly illuminating the area. He stepped forward, the dim light reflecting off of the skeletal steel and plastic structure of his left hand as he knocked. As he waited, he reached up and took the Detroit Tigers hat off of his head and ran his fingers, the meat ones on his right hand, through his hair. His breath frosted in the cold, pre-dawn air.
With a loud squeal of protesting metal, a peephole slid open to reveal a pair of bloodshot eyes. “Who ‘der?”
“Hoi, Witt. It’s just me.” Scrapheap knew that if the “doorman” didn’t recognize him, there were a number of fairly low-tech but effective defenses that could be activated: from electrifying the door, to simply opening a larger second panel in the door and shoving the barrel of a gun out. He knew because he had helped to install some of them.
With a non-committal grunt and another loud squeal, the peephole slammed shut. A few seconds later Scrapheap could hear the familiar sound of several bolts being thrown and a couple of bars being lifted. This was followed by the deep “clunk” of the maglock being deactivated, and then the door swung out and he walked into the brightly lit room beyond.
“Wat youse doin’ out so late? Or early? Whatever. Where youse bin?” the big orc asked as Scrapheap walked past him into the small room. The room was about 3 meters to a side and featureless, except for another security door opposite the first. A hand-lettered sign on the door read: Welcome to the Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op. Behave. “Etta’s bin gitting’ worried.”
“Work trip. And Etta’s always worried; it’s her middle-name,” he said with a smirk as the outside door shut with a clang. He waited patiently while Witt quickly threw all of the bolts. When the orc was ready he handed him the bars, picking them up from where they were propped next to an old AK-97. “Hey, how’s the new stock I installed holding up?”
“It ain’t falled off yet, if dat’s what youse mean,” Witt laughed. He beat on the inside door with a meaty fist. “Charlie! Fraggin’ wake up and open the door for John!”
Scrapheap took the last few drags off of his cigarette before tossing the stub away. He was standing on the sidewalk in front of a large, squat building that looked like it might have been a warehouse at one time. What it was used for now, a passerby could only guess, though the multitude of makeshift vents and chimneys that sprouted from the roof offered an easy clue.
The cab had dropped him off several blocks away and he’d walked the rest of the way here. The cab was expensive, and it was money that he didn’t really have, but it was worth it for the time he’d saved. Whatever combination of tubes, buses, and walking he would have had to use otherwise would have taken hours.
Nearby was a graffiti-covered steel security door. A solitary light bulb shone down from where it was mounted above the door, weakly illuminating the area. He stepped forward, the dim light reflecting off of the skeletal steel and plastic structure of his left hand as he knocked. As he waited, he reached up and took the Detroit Tigers hat off of his head and ran his fingers, the meat ones on his right hand, through his hair. His breath frosted in the cold, pre-dawn air.
With a loud squeal of protesting metal, a peephole slid open to reveal a pair of bloodshot eyes. “Who ‘der?”
“Hoi, Witt. It’s just me.” Scrapheap knew that if the “doorman” didn’t recognize him, there were a number of fairly low-tech but effective defenses that could be activated: from electrifying the door, to simply opening a larger second panel in the door and shoving the barrel of a gun out. He knew because he had helped to install some of them.
With a non-committal grunt and another loud squeal, the peephole slammed shut. A few seconds later Scrapheap could hear the familiar sound of several bolts being thrown and a couple of bars being lifted. This was followed by the deep “clunk” of the maglock being deactivated, and then the door swung out and he walked into the brightly lit room beyond.
“Wat youse doin’ out so late? Or early? Whatever. Where youse bin?” the big orc asked as Scrapheap walked past him into the small room. The room was about 3 meters to a side and featureless, except for another security door opposite the first. A hand-lettered sign on the door read: Welcome to the Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op. Behave. “Etta’s bin gitting’ worried.”
“Work trip. And Etta’s always worried; it’s her middle-name,” he said with a smirk as the outside door shut with a clang. He waited patiently while Witt quickly threw all of the bolts. When the orc was ready he handed him the bars, picking them up from where they were propped next to an old AK-97. “Hey, how’s the new stock I installed holding up?”
“It ain’t falled off yet, if dat’s what youse mean,” Witt laughed. He beat on the inside door with a meaty fist. “Charlie! Fraggin’ wake up and open the door for John!”
05:07:04 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Common area of the Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op
Scrapheap gave Charlie a quick wave as he walked by, the skinny human already settling back into his chair. Witt and Charlie were just two out of the several guards/doorman/maintenance men/janitors at the Co-op. Although everyone here chipped-in however they could, these guys were the ones who were really responsible for the day-to-day. They answered to a rotating “mayor,” currently a dwarf lady named Yasmin something-or-other. The mayor was appointed from a council of residents, also rotating. Theoretically, everyone would serve on the council at some point, but neither Scrapheap nor his sister had served during the 3 years they’d lived here. Fine by him.
He fished a crumpled pack of smokes out of his jacket, put one into his mouth and lit it as he walked across a large open area about the size of a high school gym. Half of the area was dotted with picnic-style tables and mismatched chairs, the other with children’s toys. There was even an oft-repaired swingset that looked like it had been scavenged from a playground. It probably had been. Not for the first time, he marveled at what had been accomplished here.
The Redmond Co-op had been started about 15 years ago by a group of people looking to live off of the grid. How the warehouse was acquired, Scrapheap still did not know. He didn’t know if someone owned it, or if they were basically just a bunch of organized squatters. However it had happened, the original group had immediately moved in and first repaired the building where needed, and then divided up the huge amount of interior space into “public” areas and private apartments. This had been done slowly with scavenged (and stolen) materials. 15 years into it and work was still going on, but what had been created was surprising. Aside from the communal activity area that he was currently passing through, there were several meeting rooms and offices, a large classroom, and 3 floors of apartments. The apartments themselves were fairly large, but the ceilings were low and the walls were thin. The apartment that Scrapheap shared with his family wasn’t in the best location, on the 3rd floor all the way in the back corner, but they were lucky enough to have a window. Windows were a luxury in the building, as there was a large block of units in the middle of each floor without a single one.
After climbing three flights of stairs, Scrapheap turned down the narrow hallway towards the interior of the building. The way was lit by a bare fluorescent bulb every 10 meters or so. As he walked down the hallway, he could hear people stirring, some of the residents already up and beginning to prepare for their day. Finally, after passing a number of mismatched doors he reached his destination. Taking one last drag, he flicked the cigarette butt to the floor and ground it out with is boot. Digging out his keys, he opened the door and went in.
Scrapheap gave Charlie a quick wave as he walked by, the skinny human already settling back into his chair. Witt and Charlie were just two out of the several guards/doorman/maintenance men/janitors at the Co-op. Although everyone here chipped-in however they could, these guys were the ones who were really responsible for the day-to-day. They answered to a rotating “mayor,” currently a dwarf lady named Yasmin something-or-other. The mayor was appointed from a council of residents, also rotating. Theoretically, everyone would serve on the council at some point, but neither Scrapheap nor his sister had served during the 3 years they’d lived here. Fine by him.
He fished a crumpled pack of smokes out of his jacket, put one into his mouth and lit it as he walked across a large open area about the size of a high school gym. Half of the area was dotted with picnic-style tables and mismatched chairs, the other with children’s toys. There was even an oft-repaired swingset that looked like it had been scavenged from a playground. It probably had been. Not for the first time, he marveled at what had been accomplished here.
The Redmond Co-op had been started about 15 years ago by a group of people looking to live off of the grid. How the warehouse was acquired, Scrapheap still did not know. He didn’t know if someone owned it, or if they were basically just a bunch of organized squatters. However it had happened, the original group had immediately moved in and first repaired the building where needed, and then divided up the huge amount of interior space into “public” areas and private apartments. This had been done slowly with scavenged (and stolen) materials. 15 years into it and work was still going on, but what had been created was surprising. Aside from the communal activity area that he was currently passing through, there were several meeting rooms and offices, a large classroom, and 3 floors of apartments. The apartments themselves were fairly large, but the ceilings were low and the walls were thin. The apartment that Scrapheap shared with his family wasn’t in the best location, on the 3rd floor all the way in the back corner, but they were lucky enough to have a window. Windows were a luxury in the building, as there was a large block of units in the middle of each floor without a single one.
After climbing three flights of stairs, Scrapheap turned down the narrow hallway towards the interior of the building. The way was lit by a bare fluorescent bulb every 10 meters or so. As he walked down the hallway, he could hear people stirring, some of the residents already up and beginning to prepare for their day. Finally, after passing a number of mismatched doors he reached his destination. Taking one last drag, he flicked the cigarette butt to the floor and ground it out with is boot. Digging out his keys, he opened the door and went in.
05:12:41 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Apartment 342, Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op
Silently closing the door behind him, Scrapheap switches his Fuchi-made eyes to thermo and scans the room. At the same time he tries the light switch, and is surprised when the lights come up. Power could be sporadic in the building, and he half expected nothing to happen. The room is much as he remembered it, worn rugs, battered furniture and all. Flipping the light back off, he slipped the satchel’s strap over his head and carefully drops it into a chair before doing the same with his heavy armored jacket. With the jacket off a pair of Colt Manhunters in concealed shoulder holsters is revealed. Shrugging out of the intricate rig that held the holsters, he added the whole mess to the growing pile on the chair.
He then quietly moved into the room, not wanting to wake his niece or sister, and headed for the small kitchen. He poked around in the cabinets and fridge before deciding the he needed sleep more than food. Grabbing a bottle of water, he went back out into the main living area and sat down on the couch. He untied his boots and slipped them off, then unbuttoned the plain gray work shirt he wore, took it off, and added it to the chair-pile. Draining the water in one long swig, he sat the bottle on the table before lying down on the couch with a sigh. He pulled the blanket folded over the back onto him, “shut” his eyes by mental command, shifted around to get comfortable, and promptly fell asleep.
Silently closing the door behind him, Scrapheap switches his Fuchi-made eyes to thermo and scans the room. At the same time he tries the light switch, and is surprised when the lights come up. Power could be sporadic in the building, and he half expected nothing to happen. The room is much as he remembered it, worn rugs, battered furniture and all. Flipping the light back off, he slipped the satchel’s strap over his head and carefully drops it into a chair before doing the same with his heavy armored jacket. With the jacket off a pair of Colt Manhunters in concealed shoulder holsters is revealed. Shrugging out of the intricate rig that held the holsters, he added the whole mess to the growing pile on the chair.
He then quietly moved into the room, not wanting to wake his niece or sister, and headed for the small kitchen. He poked around in the cabinets and fridge before deciding the he needed sleep more than food. Grabbing a bottle of water, he went back out into the main living area and sat down on the couch. He untied his boots and slipped them off, then unbuttoned the plain gray work shirt he wore, took it off, and added it to the chair-pile. Draining the water in one long swig, he sat the bottle on the table before lying down on the couch with a sigh. He pulled the blanket folded over the back onto him, “shut” his eyes by mental command, shifted around to get comfortable, and promptly fell asleep.
08:21:30 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Apartment 342, Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op
It seemed like he had just lain down when a creak from the floorboards snapped Scrapheap awake. He flipped the blanket off him, and rolled off of the couch and into a crouch. Simultaneously, he brought his eyes online and activated his wires via the reflex trigger. Finally, as he settled onto the balls of his feet, .5 meters of razor-sharp steel sprang from its sheath located in his left cyberarm, extending from a hole located on the back of his hand. It made a small “clack” as it snapped into place.
“Drek!” his sister squealed as she jumped back in surprise. She stumbled into the wall, and the impact sent a picture to the floor with a crash. “Cole! What the frag! You practically scared me to death. When did you get home?”
“Etta.” He stood and rubbed his right hand over his face. The spur retracted into his arm. “Sorry. I’ve had to be ‘on’ for the last two weeks. I didn’t mean to scare you. And call me ‘John.’” He went over to the chair and began fishing through his jacket, looking for his smokes.
“Right. John. Whatever you say.” Scrapheap looked over to where his sister stood near the short hallway leading back to the bedrooms. She was glaring and rubbing her shoulder where it has met the wall. She wore a ratty bathrobe over old sweats, her hair in wild disarray. He thought that she was still pretty, despite the worry lines and prematurely graying hair. Considering what she’d been through in the past 10 years, he decided that she looked great.
“Listen, John, something’s happened. We need to talk.”
Finally finding his pack, he dug one out and lit it. Then he shrugged into his shirt, letting it hang open. Sitting back down onto the couch, he bent from the waist and grabbed the blanket off the floor. Flipping it over the back of the couch he turned to her, “Sounds important. Shoot.”
She took a hesitant step forward. “It’s Nora. She’s run off. Away. Whatever. Cole, she’s been gone for over a week!” Her voice practically broke on the last word, and she began to wring her hands. “What are we going to do?”
Scrapheap sighed and leaned back into the couch. Using his left hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose, near the mirrored shields protecting his eyes. Hoping they had something for the headache he felt approaching he dropped his hand and sat forward. Indicating a chair, one not covered in his stuff, he said, “Calm down. Good. Now sit here and tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out.” Taking a deep drag off of the cigarette, he waited for Etta to answer. "And Etta, call me John."
It seemed like he had just lain down when a creak from the floorboards snapped Scrapheap awake. He flipped the blanket off him, and rolled off of the couch and into a crouch. Simultaneously, he brought his eyes online and activated his wires via the reflex trigger. Finally, as he settled onto the balls of his feet, .5 meters of razor-sharp steel sprang from its sheath located in his left cyberarm, extending from a hole located on the back of his hand. It made a small “clack” as it snapped into place.
“Drek!” his sister squealed as she jumped back in surprise. She stumbled into the wall, and the impact sent a picture to the floor with a crash. “Cole! What the frag! You practically scared me to death. When did you get home?”
“Etta.” He stood and rubbed his right hand over his face. The spur retracted into his arm. “Sorry. I’ve had to be ‘on’ for the last two weeks. I didn’t mean to scare you. And call me ‘John.’” He went over to the chair and began fishing through his jacket, looking for his smokes.
“Right. John. Whatever you say.” Scrapheap looked over to where his sister stood near the short hallway leading back to the bedrooms. She was glaring and rubbing her shoulder where it has met the wall. She wore a ratty bathrobe over old sweats, her hair in wild disarray. He thought that she was still pretty, despite the worry lines and prematurely graying hair. Considering what she’d been through in the past 10 years, he decided that she looked great.
“Listen, John, something’s happened. We need to talk.”
Finally finding his pack, he dug one out and lit it. Then he shrugged into his shirt, letting it hang open. Sitting back down onto the couch, he bent from the waist and grabbed the blanket off the floor. Flipping it over the back of the couch he turned to her, “Sounds important. Shoot.”
She took a hesitant step forward. “It’s Nora. She’s run off. Away. Whatever. Cole, she’s been gone for over a week!” Her voice practically broke on the last word, and she began to wring her hands. “What are we going to do?”
Scrapheap sighed and leaned back into the couch. Using his left hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose, near the mirrored shields protecting his eyes. Hoping they had something for the headache he felt approaching he dropped his hand and sat forward. Indicating a chair, one not covered in his stuff, he said, “Calm down. Good. Now sit here and tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out.” Taking a deep drag off of the cigarette, he waited for Etta to answer. "And Etta, call me John."
10:31:44 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
Frank blinks in some surprise, disappointment flashing briefly across his face as he realizes he's trying to sell to a delivery boy.
"I can't say that I do, but let me ask my manager."
Taking the chip from Tenmou, the salesman disappears into the maze of offices behind the showroom floor. Several minutes pass by, shoppers milling about amongst the restive steel chariots. Children play noisily, bouncing in and out of the cars while parents call tiredly after them. Finally, Frank reappears, smiling broadly again. He has a portable workpad in his hands.
"Well, it looks like your pleasant lady friend has purchased a vehicle for you. All I need is a signature and thumbprint and the title is yours. I've got Duane pulling it around from the back. Ah, here it is now."
Frank gestures to the parking lot outside, where a sleek black BMW 3420LS has just pulled up.
Frank blinks in some surprise, disappointment flashing briefly across his face as he realizes he's trying to sell to a delivery boy.
"I can't say that I do, but let me ask my manager."
Taking the chip from Tenmou, the salesman disappears into the maze of offices behind the showroom floor. Several minutes pass by, shoppers milling about amongst the restive steel chariots. Children play noisily, bouncing in and out of the cars while parents call tiredly after them. Finally, Frank reappears, smiling broadly again. He has a portable workpad in his hands.
"Well, it looks like your pleasant lady friend has purchased a vehicle for you. All I need is a signature and thumbprint and the title is yours. I've got Duane pulling it around from the back. Ah, here it is now."
Frank gestures to the parking lot outside, where a sleek black BMW 3420LS has just pulled up.
10:32:23 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
Tenmou does his best to mask his surprise when he's been told the car is his.
"Oh, thank you," Tenmou says with a smile. He was about to ask Frank for a pen, when the salesman made one magically appear from his breast pocket.
Tenmou scrawled the signature of one Nakamoto Kenshin, the pseudonym he used most often before placing his thumbprint on the scanner.
"So, do I get a warranty or service plan with this car?"
Tenmou does his best to mask his surprise when he's been told the car is his.
"Oh, thank you," Tenmou says with a smile. He was about to ask Frank for a pen, when the salesman made one magically appear from his breast pocket.
Tenmou scrawled the signature of one Nakamoto Kenshin, the pseudonym he used most often before placing his thumbprint on the scanner.
"So, do I get a warranty or service plan with this car?"
08:34:28 Saturday January 06, 2063 - Elven District- Seattle, UCAS
Erebus settled into the padded chair at his desk and tried to find a comfortable position, or the position that caused the least amount of discomfort, after his morning workout with Ujio. He felt the normal aches and soreness he'd come to associate with training with his adept friend. It was a feeling similar to having one of those geisha girls massages, where they would walk on your back, only the geisha in question here is an overweight troll. You might feel better later but it hurt like frag while it happened. Erebus knew the constant physical training, and martial art lessons could make the difference between life and death, but that didn't mean he enjoyed them.
Erebus glanced at the display on his wristphone and decided to make a couple of calls, then he'd hit the nets and see what he could see. While most wage slaves were just sitting down in their cells to work the people Erebus planned on calling were probably just closing up shop for the night.
Erebus didn't need the same kind of time asleep since he'd had the sleep regulator implant. Amanda always said time was the one thing that couldn't be bought, so spend every second wisely, and Erebus still believed that. He didn't have enough time in his day to sleep. He punched in Elan's contact number from memory, hoping the elven fixer would be awake and would check his message soon. The usual computerized voice message greeted him.
"Hoi Elan, its Erebus, I'm looking for a couple of items. I need a price on a couple of simple portable telecom units, stock models no view screen, but they cannot be connected to either you or me. No need for a long term contract, one month max. Call me soonest."
Elan had good contacts, and could usually get him minor stuff like that. Erebus didn't have much on his stick anymore, but it should be enough to afford those.
With that task done, he re-settled his Berretta 200ST into a slightly less uncomfortable position on his hip (which is like saying you adjusted the depth of the thorn shoved into your flesh, some things just aren't comfortable no matter how you adjust them and handguns were one of them), and reached for the datajack on his Sony deck.
Erebus settled into the padded chair at his desk and tried to find a comfortable position, or the position that caused the least amount of discomfort, after his morning workout with Ujio. He felt the normal aches and soreness he'd come to associate with training with his adept friend. It was a feeling similar to having one of those geisha girls massages, where they would walk on your back, only the geisha in question here is an overweight troll. You might feel better later but it hurt like frag while it happened. Erebus knew the constant physical training, and martial art lessons could make the difference between life and death, but that didn't mean he enjoyed them.
Erebus glanced at the display on his wristphone and decided to make a couple of calls, then he'd hit the nets and see what he could see. While most wage slaves were just sitting down in their cells to work the people Erebus planned on calling were probably just closing up shop for the night.
Erebus didn't need the same kind of time asleep since he'd had the sleep regulator implant. Amanda always said time was the one thing that couldn't be bought, so spend every second wisely, and Erebus still believed that. He didn't have enough time in his day to sleep. He punched in Elan's contact number from memory, hoping the elven fixer would be awake and would check his message soon. The usual computerized voice message greeted him.
"Hoi Elan, its Erebus, I'm looking for a couple of items. I need a price on a couple of simple portable telecom units, stock models no view screen, but they cannot be connected to either you or me. No need for a long term contract, one month max. Call me soonest."
Elan had good contacts, and could usually get him minor stuff like that. Erebus didn't have much on his stick anymore, but it should be enough to afford those.
With that task done, he re-settled his Berretta 200ST into a slightly less uncomfortable position on his hip (which is like saying you adjusted the depth of the thorn shoved into your flesh, some things just aren't comfortable no matter how you adjust them and handguns were one of them), and reached for the datajack on his Sony deck.
08:24:30 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Apartment 342, Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Etta shook her head. "I don't know much. I've been working extra shifts at the Stuffer Shack this week, trying to make some more money, and not give myself the chance to...well, you know..." He nodded. It wasn't easy for them yet, but he was proud of how far his sister had come. Still, she didn't like to think about it at all if she could help it.
"OK, keep going," John replied encouragingly. "Well the first couple nights, I just came home and passed out, because I was so tired. But after the third day or so, I noticed that I hadn't seen her at all. On my day off, I stayed at home all day, but I never saw her. That's when I started asking around, but no one else in the complex had seen her. That's when I got worried. I don't know where she could've gone...she must be hanging out with those chipheads again! I just know it!"
Bursting into tears, she sinks to the floor, covering her face with her hands. "What are we going to do!?!??!?!" her voice is muffled by the sobs, and John sighs mentally to himself. Not even home for 3 hours from the job, and it looks like I've got another one. Except this one's personal. The only question is, what to do now?
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Etta shook her head. "I don't know much. I've been working extra shifts at the Stuffer Shack this week, trying to make some more money, and not give myself the chance to...well, you know..." He nodded. It wasn't easy for them yet, but he was proud of how far his sister had come. Still, she didn't like to think about it at all if she could help it.
"OK, keep going," John replied encouragingly. "Well the first couple nights, I just came home and passed out, because I was so tired. But after the third day or so, I noticed that I hadn't seen her at all. On my day off, I stayed at home all day, but I never saw her. That's when I started asking around, but no one else in the complex had seen her. That's when I got worried. I don't know where she could've gone...she must be hanging out with those chipheads again! I just know it!"
Bursting into tears, she sinks to the floor, covering her face with her hands. "What are we going to do!?!??!?!" her voice is muffled by the sobs, and John sighs mentally to himself. Not even home for 3 hours from the job, and it looks like I've got another one. Except this one's personal. The only question is, what to do now?
23:50:46 Sunday 07 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor - Penthouse
Clack, clack, clack, clack…the pale, supple, ghostly fingers flew across the keyboard, their clawed nails making brief contact with a key before moving onto the next.
Clack, clack, clack, clack…the pale, supple, ghostly fingers flew across the keyboard, their clawed nails making brief contact with a key before moving onto the next.
| CODE |
| Mary Jane, I have looked over the items listed in our former president’s will as you requested and while some of them do not fall under my area of expertise there are a number of entries that have peaked my interest and I will look into them when I have the time. In particular the photo intrigues me. Would you happen to be able to have the original photo transferred to your offices in Seattle, where I can actually view it in person, or does only a digital rendition exist? As to the items in which I have little knowledge I can have a colleague of mine look into them if you would like. Sincerely, Max |
The clacking stops as suddenly as it started, replaced by the tick-tock of the Independence grandfather clock that dominates the wall to the front and to the right of the desk. The clock is large, its cabinet standing almost eight feet tall, its broken pediment crown is framed with laser cut fretwork and has a hand carved finial. Four fully turned reeded columns help support its oversized crown. A hand inlaid oval marquee design of satinwood is framed with boxwood and ebony accents. The brass dial is framed with solid cherry and in encased in doors of hand cut beveled glass, a stone gargoyle perches above the clock as if guarding it and surveying the study beyond.
A pale, clawed finger gently brushes back the ghostly wisp of long whitish hair that had fallen to the side of the apparitions face, lightly tickling his cheek. His deep blue eyes never straying from the monitor, as he tucks the loose strand behind its pale upswept ear. The ghostly figure rereads the message. The figures delicate features and grayish-white skin, normally the color of white granite, shown bleach white in the cold light of the monitor, his pale whitish-blonde hair the color of bone. The only other light in the room coming from the soft astral glow of the hanging ferns that drape over the sides of a large cherry wood bookcase that completely covers the northern wall of the study.
Clack…
Satisfied with the message, he initiates the send function and watches the window blink out of existence. A claw appears from the shadows of the chair and flips the power switch off, sending the study into darkness, except for the soft glow of the ferns and his spirit form. He leans back into the soft leather covered office chair and watches the last dieing speck of light fade into the soulless dark of the monitor’s astral presence. It has taken him quite a long time to get used to seeing in two worlds. Objects he once considered beautiful were lacking the inner glow and beauty of their astral presence. He traces a clawed finger across the exquisitely carved cherry wood desk before him. It is a masterpiece of craftsmanship, but looking at it now, only a vague impression remains of the once living wood and the care with which it was created. Aesthetically pleasing to the mundane eye, it is nothing more than a dark outline in the astral…dead wood, no more interesting than a wall or a door, a pretty façade covering a long dead soul. It was a unique perspective, one that he has studied in animals for years, and something he had never imagined he would be able to experience himself.
‘Ironic…’
His gaze drifted to the ferns topping the bookshelf. An ordinary plant at best, but the soft green and gold glow emanating from inside the leaves and vines was comforting and quite beautiful. The figure stands and moves across the room to take a closer look. He briefly loses himself in the intricate patterns of the plant. Tiny capillaries of golden light slowly spread from the vine to the tiny leaves as if to nourish the plants emerald glow.
Bong…Bong…Bong…Bong…Bong…Bong…
The deep baritone song of the grandfather clock broke his from his thoughts. The night was gone and he had lost tract of time, it happens to him a lot when he sits down to do research, not that he had any pressing business to attend too.
I guess that’s what happens when you are unemployed. Time just has less meaning.
The thought brings up images and feelings that the figure has yet to fully deal with: the sickness, the change, his job, his students, Lundow and he does his best to repress the feelings before they overwhelm him.
Bong…Bong…Bong…Bong…Bong…Bong…
Silence…
‘I have been cooped up in here a bit too long. I need some fresh air.’
The pale figure leaves the study behind and closes the double doors that separate it from the main living area of his penthouse, past the plush brown leather sofa, his feet barely make a sound on the open cherry wood steps as he climbs the oil-rubbed bronze spiral staircase that leads from his living room to a mezzanine area of bookshelves above the built in entertainment center. At the landing he takes a few steps to the right where a cleverly concealed door leads to the private roof access. He reaches his clawed hand out and punches in his passcode. The maglock gives way with a soft click and the figure disappears through the doorway.
10:33:02 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS
Frank's smile never wavers.
"Of course, sir, you are purchasing the ultimate in driving machines." The handheld unit in his hands purrs to itself as it prints out two pages of plastic hardcopy. The salesman hands them to Tenmou, along with the two sets of keys.
"Here is your title, the warranty information is on the second page. It's an 80,000 kilometer bumper to bumper coverage, plus your 15,000 and 45,000 kilometer maintenance visits are free."
Frank's smile never wavers.
"Of course, sir, you are purchasing the ultimate in driving machines." The handheld unit in his hands purrs to itself as it prints out two pages of plastic hardcopy. The salesman hands them to Tenmou, along with the two sets of keys.
"Here is your title, the warranty information is on the second page. It's an 80,000 kilometer bumper to bumper coverage, plus your 15,000 and 45,000 kilometer maintenance visits are free."
14:35 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Jackson's Office - Redmond Barrens
The door swings open and Knight steps back out into the corridor, he hears the door closing a sealing behind him. Moving to the table under the careful supervision of Jackson`s well trained security staff Knight retrieves Rose-Kiss, his gun and the other small items he`d left within their care. Carefully he stows each of the weapons back into their concealed places about his person and looks to the guard who is evidently waiting to take him back up.
"Okay chummer, I`m ready to leave now"
The man leads Knight back through the corridors and elevator rides he`d experienced before on the way down and finally out into the bar again. As before he attracts a few hushed looks which he ignores turning to the ork behind the bar.
"A bottle of something cold" he requests, placing a 5nuyen note on the bartop and having it replaced with some bottle of soyahol beer. Taking it up he moves to a table near the door and punches up Portia`s number on his wristphone. To his surprise she answers almost immediately.
"Hey Knight, still breathing omae? everything okay?" came her sultry almost purring voice.
He smiles as he responds "Of course, Portia precious. Everything is fine, but dinner will have to happen another night. I`ve got something to do for a friend. " pauses to sip the drink and winces a little, th beer being of really poor quality. "something that`ll hopefully get me settled in town. Though i do need another favour from you..."
"Depends on the favour Knight, Big or small?" came her quick reply.
Yeh you`ve already helped me out alot for one day. True.
"Small, Portia precious, small. Just looking for a good talismonger for a few one-off purchases. Nothing hot but still, no SIN`s attached? I`ll even buy you dinner when we meet up for it if you`ve got a usable name or two?." he waited for her response. Sure he hadnt got the cred right now, but he would have soon and to do this job right he`d need a few simple tricks handy.
The door swings open and Knight steps back out into the corridor, he hears the door closing a sealing behind him. Moving to the table under the careful supervision of Jackson`s well trained security staff Knight retrieves Rose-Kiss, his gun and the other small items he`d left within their care. Carefully he stows each of the weapons back into their concealed places about his person and looks to the guard who is evidently waiting to take him back up.
"Okay chummer, I`m ready to leave now"
The man leads Knight back through the corridors and elevator rides he`d experienced before on the way down and finally out into the bar again. As before he attracts a few hushed looks which he ignores turning to the ork behind the bar.
"A bottle of something cold" he requests, placing a 5nuyen note on the bartop and having it replaced with some bottle of soyahol beer. Taking it up he moves to a table near the door and punches up Portia`s number on his wristphone. To his surprise she answers almost immediately.
"Hey Knight, still breathing omae? everything okay?" came her sultry almost purring voice.
He smiles as he responds "Of course, Portia precious. Everything is fine, but dinner will have to happen another night. I`ve got something to do for a friend. " pauses to sip the drink and winces a little, th beer being of really poor quality. "something that`ll hopefully get me settled in town. Though i do need another favour from you..."
"Depends on the favour Knight, Big or small?" came her quick reply.
Yeh you`ve already helped me out alot for one day. True.
"Small, Portia precious, small. Just looking for a good talismonger for a few one-off purchases. Nothing hot but still, no SIN`s attached? I`ll even buy you dinner when we meet up for it if you`ve got a usable name or two?." he waited for her response. Sure he hadnt got the cred right now, but he would have soon and to do this job right he`d need a few simple tricks handy.
1444 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic
Leaning against the support of his friend for a much-needed minute Virgil waited as the room slowly started to come back into focus, his thoughts slowly return to house only his own voice. As the barely containable power of the aspected area faded into the background he was left with only the powerful memories of another, painfully etched into his own consciousness. Not visible like a soldiers shrapnel wound but permanent and scarring in its own right.
"Dragon we're going to have to get a move on quickly because I have no way to tell if anyone else knows about Jonah. We'll operate as if we're already behind another party. Go and see if your car is useable. I'll finish up here and debrief you on route to our next stop."
Dragon knew the tone in Virgil's voice and immediately turned strode toward the door of the room. "I'll put the word to the ground and see what else was going on at that building. We might as well know who else will be pissed off at it being reduced to smoking char."
Reaching to plastic pitcher of now-tepid water sitting resting on the bedside table Virgil poured himself a few gulps worth into a disposable cup. He then poured another cup for Cindy and offered her the drink. Still burying her head into the thick chest of Father Bremen she barely noticed and so the priest took the glass in her stead and waited for a break in her sobbing.
Knowing that there would be no good time to pose more questions to the already worn and distraught women, Virgil sighed and reluctantly continued,
"Cindy do you know where we can find Jonah? If we have to find him before someone malevolent does we will need your help."
Leaning against the support of his friend for a much-needed minute Virgil waited as the room slowly started to come back into focus, his thoughts slowly return to house only his own voice. As the barely containable power of the aspected area faded into the background he was left with only the powerful memories of another, painfully etched into his own consciousness. Not visible like a soldiers shrapnel wound but permanent and scarring in its own right.
"Dragon we're going to have to get a move on quickly because I have no way to tell if anyone else knows about Jonah. We'll operate as if we're already behind another party. Go and see if your car is useable. I'll finish up here and debrief you on route to our next stop."
Dragon knew the tone in Virgil's voice and immediately turned strode toward the door of the room. "I'll put the word to the ground and see what else was going on at that building. We might as well know who else will be pissed off at it being reduced to smoking char."
Reaching to plastic pitcher of now-tepid water sitting resting on the bedside table Virgil poured himself a few gulps worth into a disposable cup. He then poured another cup for Cindy and offered her the drink. Still burying her head into the thick chest of Father Bremen she barely noticed and so the priest took the glass in her stead and waited for a break in her sobbing.
Knowing that there would be no good time to pose more questions to the already worn and distraught women, Virgil sighed and reluctantly continued,
"Cindy do you know where we can find Jonah? If we have to find him before someone malevolent does we will need your help."
1440 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Leatherneck's - Redmond Barrens
"Hmm. . .dinner with a handsome escort is a tempting offer," came the purr of the saucy women's voice. "There is a shop that I go to for all my supplies out in Renton. The name it The Magic Touch and it's is a fully legit shop. Daisy, the owner, also runs some 'off the books' deals to trusted customers only. I'd recommend her high highly and she happens to be a friend of mine so I can ensure that you will get the 'off the books' transactions."
"That sounds like it will do quite nicely precious."
"I'll give her a call and let her know to expect you. Just make sure that you stay alive long enough for me to collect my dinner Knight." Portia had a bit of a joking tone her voice now.
"Do you need any other small favors?"
"Hmm. . .dinner with a handsome escort is a tempting offer," came the purr of the saucy women's voice. "There is a shop that I go to for all my supplies out in Renton. The name it The Magic Touch and it's is a fully legit shop. Daisy, the owner, also runs some 'off the books' deals to trusted customers only. I'd recommend her high highly and she happens to be a friend of mine so I can ensure that you will get the 'off the books' transactions."
"That sounds like it will do quite nicely precious."
"I'll give her a call and let her know to expect you. Just make sure that you stay alive long enough for me to collect my dinner Knight." Portia had a bit of a joking tone her voice now.
"Do you need any other small favors?"
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