12:51:02 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Carla shakes her head. “We don’t know much about them. We can tell you that there’s at least three of them, all magically active. One is an elven female, the other two are male humans. There may or may not be a dwarf male working with them as well. Beyond that, there’s not much we can tell you, since that’s all the MPA knows. You’ll just have to find out when you meet them.”

She grins at him a bit sarcastically. “Besides, aren’t you used to not knowing who you’re working with and what they can do yet?”

20:29:15 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

Max had pushed himself upright, and managed to regain his composure, when he realized that John hadn't replied. Looking over at the older man, he noted that the samurai was staring at him with a bland expression, head tilted ever so slightly to one side. Smoke from his ever-present cigarette curled upwards, adding a stink and slight haze to the small room.

The shaman waved his hand to clear the air, suppressing a cough, and was about to ask the other man if he was listening. Then, looking closer, Max saw that there was over an inch of ash on the end of John's cigarette. His other hand, the cyber one, was poised about two inches above his pack and lighter, sitting on the table next to a plastic ashtray.

His aura didn't look much different, still weak and filled with more black than anyone Max had previously met. "John? Is something the matter?" He'd almost leaned forward to wave a hand in front of the other man's face, remembered what those empty spots in his aura meant, and thought better of it.

A sudden crackle sounded, and Finn's voice sprang from a hidden speaker. "Hoi, Rosie's shaman's out here. Mel should be sending him back now."

At the sound of the decker's voice, John half sprang from his chair, knocking it and his soykaf over in the process. "What...what tha frag?" He glanced at the shaman, then vainly began to try and mop up the dark liquid with the tiny bar napkin Mel had given him with his drink. "Uh, I'm fine, Max."

The shaman looked doubtful, but it was Finn that asked, "What's that, chummer?"

"Nuttin. What's this fragger look like?"

They could almost hear the decker grin, "Just wait."

"What? Why? What gives?" The last was directed at Max.

20:29:30 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Not entirely sure, John, but this guy's aura is incredible. It surely has Melinda's attention." He replies.

Just thinking about it again draws Max back in to the vibrant light of John's contact. Shaking himself out of his stupor quickly, Max adds.

"Lets be careful dealing with this one."

20:29:44 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Huh? Careful? Incredible how? I don't get it."

"I agree. It is a little...odd."

"Why? What the frag's goin' on?" John was starting to get a little irritated, both at the way he'd just glitched on Max and at the lack of information...or was it just understanding? "Finn?"

"Well, it could be nothing, but I've reminded Melinda four times to send this guy back. She didn't even answer last time. I think she's too busy... well, flirting. This guy must have a helluva line."

John knew what his friend meant. Like just about everyone who walked into Quinn's, he'd taken a crack at the pretty bartender. But tending bar at a dive frequented by Fort Lewis' off-duty grunts, blue-collar schmoes, and the shadow-community had made the girl more than a little jaded. She'd become really good at turning guys down without generating any hard feelings.

Throwing down the soaked napkin, John picked his cigarette off the floor, jammed it into his mouth, and headed for the door. "Frag it, I'll get 'im. I gotta get a fraggin' rag anyway."

Leaving the door cracked, he stomped down the short hallway, and down the stairs that led to the raised back rooms. He took a deep breath to calm himself as he made his way across the gaming area. A couple of guys, dockworkers or something similar by their dress, were shooting pool. John paused as one of them made a shot, not wanting to interrupt, then made his way to the bar.

He stopped at the far end to grab a rag. One of the regulars noticed him and, leering, jerked a thumb in the bartender's direction. "You ever seen her like that, chummer?" Wincing at the alcohol on the orc's breath, John looked where he'd pointed. "Nope. Never have."

Melinda was leaning across the bar, elbows resting on it's surface, chin resting in her hands. She was listening intently to whatever the guy was saying, and when he finished, she tossed her hair and laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Plastering a smile on his own mug, John made his way down the bar. "Hoi, Mel. Why don'cha introduce me to your friend here?"

12:52:11 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Not rising to Carla's bait, Eyes replied thoughtfully, "Okay, well here's the big problem. We're running into the same issue you were worried about with me."

He paused a second, wondering how best to explain this. "Until I learn something different about this, runner group, I plan on being up front with them about Janet. I believe people much more--accommodating--when you don't pretend to play at manipulating them," Eyes couldn't resist adding in, with an icy grin.

"These people, though, are shadowrunners," he continued, "As much as they're pulling a humanitarian run, I doubt they'll be willing to pull Janet out for free, in particular if it turns out to be more difficult than just the person or people they're already rescuing. I hate to say it, but it looks like we're back to money again."

Eyes chuckled wryly. "So, is there any room in your budget for paying off a group of hired goons, or did you spend it all to smuggle your way up here to snark at me?" He thought that an excellent volley; it would have been even more perfect if he didn't look into Angela's eyes a second later and have the whole smile crack. Well, you lose some, and you lose some worse.

14:31:03 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Buses and Monorails and Trains, Oh My!

“I’m sending you a file of what I’ve compiled so far per Tin Star’s request. I have attempted to summarize all the data into a readable, useful format. Please let me know if there is additional data you would like not provided in my summary, and I will attempt to answer as best I can.”

With that, the speaker began transferring a file to Alleycat’s phone, which she quickly plugged into her p-sec to store the data there. A few moments later, a ‘ping’ indicated the file had finished transferring.

“I’ll hold while you look it over,” the speaker said.

12:52:11 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

“Clarify your question. Hire hired goons to do what?” Carla replies icily, letting Eyes know his barbs had gotten to her, if only a little bit, after all.

12:52:40 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"The rescue, remember?" Eyes explained in a mockingly-patient voice. "If these goon--sorry, runners--are already going in to rescue someone, or even several people, as Stan mentioned, they'd be the ones we want actually rescuing Janet as well, unless you were thinking about adding yet another group of people to this mess."

"Now," he continued, in a far happier tone than was really appropriate, "if we want these antiheros-for-hire to take this task as seriously as we'd like, we need a suitable form of persuasion. Since I doubt you want to rely on my rugged good looks-" and these guys probably don't have... history to drag out to use as leverage on the other runners, which is why they're using her "-that means we need a suitable," the smile vanished, "bribe."

12:30:10 Thursday 11 January 2063- Intercity Five, North bound lane, Seattle, UCAS

The ride back to Ivans complex was a slow arduous affair. Traffic was grinding to a halt all over the 'plex. It didn't help that there were many idiots on the road trying to drive the normal speed in 3 feet of snow.

It didn't bother him though, the big troll was lost in thought over what to do. It wasn't like a job, he had no direction or places to start. It was to say the least, depressing.

20:29:56 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

And the damnable thing of it is that the guy isn't actually saying anything, or at least anything much. Mostly, he's just waiting patiently to be admitted to the inner sanctum, or to find out who to talk to to be admitted. Stoic, in that maddening way the natives had sometimes. Utterly professional.

At one and the same time he belongs utterly, and doesn't belong at all. Native, yes, something south-ish? Dark eyes. Coarse black hair, braided neatly on either side. Worn, practical blue jeans, a worn shirt halfway open but not flauntingly so, as a blue-collar worker would wear it coming into the warmth; lightly muscled, with hands that have definitely had acquaintance with hard labour -- or perhaps a blade's or rough-finished pistol's hilt, although Scrapheap can't spot a weapon. Over it all a fringed and beaded coat, lightly tanned and looking like if it isn't made out of real deerhide, it's gone one better. The one concession to overt flair is the hat with its brilliant, scintillating feather perched jauntily on his head -- and against the attitude of some of the shadow types and many of the regulars that ought to have been scarcely noticeable.

Utterly, utterly ordinary, he ought to vanish completely into this place with not one person giving him a second glance -- but he doesn't, and more than a few not-casual glances carry the same odd tone that had been in Max's tone -- and a few of those further mix in envy. Maybe there's something about him, like the shaman had said: but Scrapheap sure can't see it.

"Hoi, Mel. Why don'cha introduce me to your friend here?"

"Oh!" Melinda jerks upright so suddenly she almost accidentally triggers one of the spivots behind the bar, her eyes still bright. "I'm sorry, I was supposed to ..."

But he turns matter-of-factly toward Scrapheap, not dismissing her, but also not encouraging her in the slightest: "I am here about the job. My name's John, John Silverbird, Firebird. Should we go upstairs?"

14:31:14 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Buses and Monorails and Trains, Oh My!

"Got it," says Alleycat, and at the offer to wait thanks him as well, while she finds a single seat out of the way and commences to do just that.

12:34:10 Thursday 11 January 2063- Intercity Five, North bound lane, Seattle, UCAS

During one 'stop' phase in the 'stop and go' traffic, Ivan looks in his rearview, aware that one careless driver three cars back could still cause him trouble, even on the outsize chopper. His eye catches on the last car in the line, now 5 spaces behind him on the inside lane; a slate-grey Bulldog, standing next to the smaller Jackrabbits and Dynamits next to it.

20:30:24 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

John looked at the shaman, then at Melinda, who was blushing furiously. Looking back, he stuck out his meat hand. "Hoi, John. That's my handle too. Shouldn't be too hard to remember." He tried adding a grin, but the guy kept his straight face and grasped John's hand in a firm handshake.

"John. Yes, I know. Should we get started?"

What the frag's this guy's hurry? "Sure thing. We're in back. This way". With a final, curious glance at the bartender, John turned and led the AmerIndian back through the bar.

His curiosity getting the better of him, the old runner turned as they walked. "So, I gotta ask: what'd ya say that had Mel rollin?' You tell a joke or somethin?'"

Again with the flat look. "Excuse me?"

"When I walked up, you really had her goin.' What'd ya say that was so fraggin' funny?"

John Silverbird thought for a moment, obviously running the scene back in his head. "Let's see. She asked me if I wanted something to drink while I waited. I declined, and told her that she had already asked me the same question. I believe that is when you arrived."

"Huh. Must've been in tha delivery."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothin.' Here we are." Pushing the door open, John motioned towards Max. "Max, meet John Silverbird. He's the guy you're really here ta talk with, John. He's the expert." He then went around the table to clean up his spilled drink before sitting down.

20:31:05 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

Max looks up automatically at Scrapheap's words -- and -- stares -- How can he be so utterly unaffected? --

-- and then, some part of that blazing -- Max swallows hard -- yes, sensual -- beauty -- as he stares and can't not stare and can't stop staring, carefully tamped, until it has brought down to a much more bearable level and he is able to see, for the first time, and wonder: Surely not? He looks so -- ordinary.

And Scrapheap had seemed affected by it not in the slightest.

"Shall we get to work?" says John Silverbird, not unkindly.

20:31:33 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

Max clears his throat.

'Man I need to find a woman.' Max thinks to himself, shifting uncomfortably in his chair for a second.

Figuring it is best to just get right to the point he says .

"Umm...right. Well, what I am looking for is someone to be a spotter for a locating ritual. I have links for both of the people I am trying to find."

20:32:15 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Just as a spotter?" Deep, fathomless serenity -- and yet through it a slight amusement: this was all? "I could help you with that, yes ... but if you already have the physical links, you don't really need a spotter." The dark eyes creased slightly as he added, "John here was not very specific in his requirements, but you, Professor, would perhaps appreciate that there are other ways in which I could assist you better."

20:32:20 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

Still being a novice at magic, Max wasn't really sure what the shaman was getting at, but if it could help him find Keira, he was more than willing to listen.

"John and I are open to any suggestions that may help us find our friends. What do you have in mind? To be honest with you sir, I am only recently awakened and have yet to learn all of the nuances of magic. My specialty before I awakened was paranormal animals, not magical theory. Any guidance you can give us would be helpful."

Max figured it best to lay it all out for this mysterious shaman. He didn't want to make any assumptions about this man's abilities, nor did he want the shaman to assume he knew more than he did.

12:36:00 Thursday 11 January 2063- Intercity Five, North bound lane, Seattle, UCAS

It could be anyone following him, or just going in the same direction. It could be a lot of things Ivan thought. It could also be someone following him. Checking to make sure the express lane was open and going in the right direction, Ivan switched lanes and got into the slightly speedier lane the bypassed most of downtown Seattle. He kept an eye on the van to see if it followed.

20:32:35 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

His soon-to-be ritual companion seems to settle into a deeper level of patience. "To begin, then," he says, "have you a shamanic lodge? I have brought some materials of my own, but they will take time to set up."

20:32:38 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

Max nods.

"I have a lodge available, though not at this location."

20:32:43 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Shall we go there now?"

John Silverbird hasn't sat down amid the slight chaos of cables that constitutes Finn's back room, but the sudden, slight shift -- not of attitude, still in that deep patience -- and also not of body, not really, although whatever it was was enough almost to bring out Scrapheap's spurs: nothing hurried about it at all, and yet with the potential of sudden movement. He moves like a adept, Scrapheap realises, no, like an iajitsu master would move, his own nuyen-bought reflexes painful with aborted reaction, aborted movement.

"Ritual magic begins with the lodge," John Silverbird was saying. "If you wish to begin this now, we should start from there."

21:14:24 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

“Yes, the sooner the better,” Max replied.

As the group stood and moved to the door, Max noticed how smooth the shaman’s movements were. His movement was at least as fluid as Max had seen the one time John had used his cybernetically enhanced reflexes, only Silverbird was not chipped as far as Max could tell. Again Max felt himself drawn to the aura that surrounded the shaman, both wanting and not wanting to lose himself in its brilliance.

Max moved in front of both John and Silverbird as they walked out to van, so he did not have the temptation to stare, but he could feel the warmth and astral glow on his back almost taunting him to look. He noted the bar patrons as they walked through the common room and how even they stopped what they were doing to take notice. Melinda dropped a conversation she was having with one of the regulars in mid-sentence just to gawk at the man.

“Doesn’t all of the staring bother you?” Max ask the Shaman as they stepped inside John’s van.

21:15:13 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

For a moment Max is led to think that he's going to play it absolutely straight -- staring? -- but then that crinkle appears again at the edges of the eyes, the single surviving overhead street light catching them absolutely perfectly and converting the soft shower of drifting snow around them all into a blazing multicoloured glory (and it was for this exact purpose, insists a small mental irrepressible voice, that it had allowed to survive), the tamping released just a little --

And language leaps into his mind that Max hadn't realised he'd picked up from Scrapheap: frag, he's teasing, he's playing with me -- not nastily, not at all, but he's actually displaying for me ...

"No," says John Silverbird as he settles into the van, in a voice that sounds like silver laughter ... almost none of which shows in his face. "Does this vehicle come with a chip-player?"

21:17:25 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

John had just been following along with the two shaman, on edge since he'd unconsciously triggered his wires. It wasn't until he got into the van that he'd realized that he had planned to talk to Finn again before they left. Frag it, I'll call 'im later.

Pointing at the radio as he pulled out of Quinn's lot, he responded. "Never thought ta check. Hell, I don't even know if the fraggin' radio works."

He looked into the rearview mirror as Silverbird began (gracefully!) poking around, looking for a player. Max looked a bit shaken. Maybe it was having to admit that he was new to magic. "Max, if you two are goin' back to your place, maybe you should use the same trick to get back inside? If the Star was watchin' the place, they'd still be there."

21:17:35 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Good idea."

'Yeah, something you should have thought of yourself, get it together man.' Max chastized himself.

Relaxing again Max let his thoughts drift on the astral beeze as he went searching for a spirit to assist him.

22:06:12 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

Out of the chaos and smoke emerge the two men, one a couple of steps ahead of the other, but both with their held SMGs comfortably covering opposite ends of the room. The angling of their weapons isn't covering the "up" all that well -- but then again they aren't angled by way of giving warning shots either. They came in here for a purpose: and the dark, slanted eyes of the first one hold a matter-of-fact awareness of power and of imminent death.

They are blocking Vedic's way to the front door.

It's hard to think in this place but training compensates (and anyway there's no time for thinking) as Vedic's braced hammerblow lands hard and torqued through his Toy's sucked-in hiss of pain, exactly as the equation of an instant had flashed through his mind -- but just for a moment, the lead man almost manages to move with it.

And then, against the syncopated sound of a multitude of pops somewhere below him ringing not so much of gunfire (or perhaps at most a slew of derringers?) but none of the half-expected raining richochet of bullets -- but if the stage hadn't lurched just that little bit just then (or at least given a real good simulation of it) -- and the lead man pulled just that bit off balance and fully into the torque of Vedic's scissored legs, landing him hard on the ground --

And rolls: an impersonal fury lighting in his eyes, bringing up the SMG to point straight in Vedic's face -- and pulls the trigger.

Two short bursts, the Actioneer should have shed it handily as Vedic too continues moving to get that thing away from his face: but the bullets tear right through it, only Vedic's own momentum moves him clear enough for only one bullet to plow a furrow into his cheekbone before sparking against the railing behind him and another, lower, which punches through the kevlar and drives into his shoulder. Two more are mostly caught by the armour to leave only bruising underneath, but the transferred momentum hurls him back against Lilith in a less controlled way than the first, and then both of them hard off the catwalk and into the stage railing. It feels as though that bullet in his shoulder might have lodged against the blade, but at least it's far too light ammunition to have shattered it.

After that the recoil of the SMG has pulled it up and too high: but Vedic's pain-glazed eyes note that the way the man moves places him far too close to Vedic's own level of skill, almost managing to wrestle the weapon back down through sheer force and strength of will while Lilith screams and tries to wiggle away and almost gets clear --

"Your woman?" the man asks disinterestedly as he starts to pick himself up, the katana not so much drawn as suddenly appearing in his hand. Vedic can see the words on his lips as clearly as he can see the edging of tattoos just above the jacket, knows it's not really a question; but doesn't catch the unseen signal that brings the other man's SMG swinging down toward Lilith --

21:17:56 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar - Parking Lot, Puyallup

Max's call was eagerly answered, by a wisp of spirit. It's form was that of a street mutt with eyes of glowing neon.

"Thank you my friend." Max said out loud. "I need you to conceal me from the eyes of others. Will you do that.

The little down gave a yip of excitement and wagged its tail fondly before jumping into Max's arms, both slowly disappearing from view.

Max's disembodied voice, emanated from the back seat.

"Park in the same lot as before and let me out. I will call you when I am back in my apartment. Security will let you in."

21:17:55 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Oh?" says John Silverbird at the mention of the Star, his hands having quickly found the loose radio wires and doing something arcane with them. "Pull up a couple of blocks away. I will go talk to them, and meet you upstairs later."

Scrapheap's eyebrows climb most of the way up his forehead. Very certain of himself. He's not at all certain what he thinks about this plan: but it's also evident that if the shaman wasn't forestalled, that was exactly what this John Silverbird would do, the moment the van had come to a stop. Then again, he does seem kind of distracting to everyone. Thinking quickly, his eyes lock with Max's, even as he suddenly realises the shaman's already gone astral and then his disembodied voice is coming from the back seat ...

21:18:12 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"You can talk to the cops if ya want, John, but I don't think you need to. If Max here get's in without bein' seen, and I don't go up, then it'll be fine."

Before either man said anything, he looked into the mirror to address Max...or, the last spot he'd seen Max. "I got somewhere to be at 22:00, and I got some calls to make. When I'm done, I'll swing by or call. I want to know what you find, but I gotta do this.

"You guys don't need me, right? I'd probably just get in the fraggin' way."

21:18:22 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Enroute to One Lincoln Tower in Bellevue

"That's fine, call me when you are done with your meeting. Hopefully I will have some good news."

'I hope.' He thought to himself not wanting to think of the potential alternatives.

21:18:23 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Depends, John," says the remaining shaman quickly and matter-of-factly, utterly secure and utterly competent within his area of expertise, just the type of person Rosa would hire come to think of it, were it not for that unsettling effect he seemed to have on Max -- and, well, maybe himself too, in that niggling sense of at-easeness that seems to connote some deeper familiarity. Maybe that was how a straight-headed girl like Melinda could be so utterly captivated by something so ... ordinary.

"Do you know the state of the defences for his lodge?" continued John Silverbird. "Any disruption of the spell, once it is begun, will destroy the structure."

21:18:37 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"I don't even know where his lodge is, but his buildin's pretty secure. If you need me to stay, I will. This's more important than my meet." Even though it'd hurt my rep...and wallet.

"Any idea how long somethin' like this ritual will take?"

21:35:32 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Marq smiles as he watches Karma chuckle.

"I think I can cover that," he begins to raise the glass to his lips, and realizes his hand is shaking just a bit. He sets the glass back down and quickly diverts attention away from it. "So you can over watch the meet for me then? And if we die I dont have to pay you? Sounds like a deal."

12:37:44 Thursday 11 January 2063- Intercity Five, North bound lane, Seattle, UCAS

As Ivan threads the bike off through the knot of traffic into a flowing lane, the Bulldog's driver tries to dart in front of a Dynamit in the next lane over. Loud horn blasts ensue, and he's unable or unwilling to risk an accident by moving to the flowing outside lane that Ivan had manuvered into.

A few seconds later, after he's checked his mirror again and found nothing, the big troll is once again riding freely, if a little coldly, up the Intercity.

21:19:03 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Loveland Quinn's Bar, Puyallup

"Would depend on what you are trying to do," says John Silverbird, "and what kind of opposition you are expecting in the process. There wasn't all that much information available at the office."

21:19:11 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Enroute to One Lincoln Tower in Bellevue

"We're tryin' ta find two missing people: My niece and Max's friend." Shrugging his shoulders, John jerked his thumb towards the "empty" seat behind them. "Anythin' else ya wanna know, you'll have ta ask Max."

21:19:52 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - On the road

When no more information seems to be forthcoming, the shaman -- no, "shrug" is not the right word for that motion, but it conveys a parallel idea: not irrelevance, but setting aside of a thing until later. "Then we should both speak with Max, when he is ready."

12:53:08 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Carla nods understanding, albeit understanding laced with dislike and then answers, "If you plan on playing it straight with these runners, you'll need a representative from the University there, to assist you with any information the runners may seek from you."

Uh-oh...I don't like where this is going...Eyes had a sinking feeling he knew what Carla would say next.

"So one of us will be going with you. I'll even be nice, and let you pick which of us goes with you." Again the sarcastic grin.

Great...sometimes I hate being right. Three choices, each with their ups and downs. Is she trying to get me to fail, or is she just having too much fun messing with me to resist?Eyes couldn't help asking himself.

12:53:48 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Eyes nodded. In some ways he was almost glad that he'd have someone from the University tagging along. Frankly he was a bit nervous at the prospect of joining a group of hardened criminals, none of whom he'd ever met before, and teaming up with them to do a job bigger than anything he'd ever been a part of before. It'd be good to have at least one known face there, at least to begin, someone he could, at least in theory, rely on a little if things got difficult.

But who, exactly? Well, Eyes reasoned, definitely not Nervous Stan. The kid would probably wet himself if he had to deal with real runners, either from fear or from excitement. Either way, he was probably a poor choice.

And not the angry little girl, either, She might try to argue with the runners, and get herself shot or something. Though Eyes didn't really believe that Carla would actually try to pick a fight with potentially murderous felons, he fully expected her to be nearly as abrasive to them as she was to him. He wanted to appeal to their humanity, however little they had, to make them sympathetic to rescuing Janet and saving her and the University, and clearly Carla was not the person for that job.

So, that left only one person. Naturally Eyes knew there was another reason he had settled on her, but he decided not to think about that--about as unsuccessfully as not thinking about her hand, hmm? With an oh-so-casual glance to his side, Eyes replied, "Angela, then. I know it's a cliche, but you really do attract people better with honey than-" he ostentatiously pretended to think of a better word, then, with a grin, pronounced, "-salt."

"Well," Eyes continued, "it doesn't look like anyone here wants to spend time on idle conversation-" and the banter is getting seriously annoying "-so unless you have any more hammers to drop I guess we're just about done here? Though you do need to tell me more about this meet you scheduled for me tomorrow; I wouldn't want to be late." Cool, calm, in control. Blow it again and it might not come back.

21:35:48 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"All right, then, we have an accord. So when is this meeting anyway?"

Karma finishes her drink, motioning away the bartender when he moves to get her another.

12:56:13 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Carla just smirks, like she expected Eyes to choose Angela all along, which of course, she probably did. “Angela will fill you in on the details. She knows how to get a hold of us if necessary, but I hope it won’t be. Good luck James, I’ll be looking forward to see if you prove me right, or wrong.”

Then she rises from the table with Nervous Stan and walks away without saying another word.

The silence that falls on the table is peaceful and for the most part, a relief. It’s broken by Angela’s soft, sensual voice as she practically purrs, “So, should we discuss the details here, or would you rather go somewhere more…” she traces her fingertips over the back of his hand lightly in little circles as she leans close and whispers, “private?”

21:35:56 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

After Karma has waved the waiter away and returned her attention to Marquis answers. "Tonight at midnight...at the Last Drop."

"What a day..." Marquis says somewhat to himself, as he reflects on the days events. Business is booming, hopefully the nuyen will follow.

21:20:15 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - On the road

Max's voice again emanates from the back seat.

"Physically the location is secure, but I have not put up any astral defenses. I usually summon spirits to protect it when I am away. As for our opposition, I am not sure what to expect, but whoever took our friends does have resources. I would guess that at some point their trail will be blocked astrally from pursuit, but I do not know how well the trail will be masked. I am sorry I do not have more information, but we have had very little to go on."

21:20:38 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Enroute to One Lincoln Tower in Bellevue

"A'ight. So what? You guys need me there, or no? If yeah, then there's no fraggin' way to tell how long it'll take?"

12:57:02 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

All of Eyes's vaunted mental acuity, togetherness, self-control parsed that single simple statement and summed straight into nullspace. For Angela, Angela, to be casually flirting with him--or, even worse, not-so-casually flirting with him--was more than his poor strained little mind could really handle.

Oh, for- just say something! "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Angela?" Eyes asked, with a coy grin. Inwardly he blinked; where exactly had that come from? Now that he thought about it though, it did seem unusual and slightly suspicious for Angela to say something like that. Well, not suspicious, exactly, but it was clear that she was playing with him again. It wasn't like she was actually attracted to him or anything.

Eyes glanced down at his plate, noting that he wasn't really hungry and Angela hadn't ordered anything to begin with. Shrugging, he laid a few bills on the table and stood. "Let's take a walk, then," he said, holding his hand out to do the silly gentlemanly thing.

21:20:57 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - On the road

"No," agrees John Silverbird, steepling his fingers against his forehead in a gesture Scrapheap finds oddly, naggingly familiar. "Don't let this project keep you from anything important. We can attempt it first on our own." That silent, surprised laughter is back in the shaman's voice as he adds, "The building itself should suffice, for now."

21:21:12 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - On the road
"It ain't that I consider this more important, John. It's just that I already got another meet set-up. It'd look pretty fraggin' bad if I didn't show. Plus, Max's building's got a secure set-up. You'll be safe. Physically. I couldn't do nothin' about the rest anyway."

The AmerIndian nodded absently. Twisting two wires together, he sat back with satisfaction as music crackled to life over the van's speakers. His expression didn't actually change, and John got the sense that the shaman had never doubted for a second that he would fix the van's system. Neverless, the impression of satisfaction radiated from the man.


21:32:21 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Parking lot, Stuffer Shak #5674, Bellevue

John pulled into the parking spot and killed the engine. Getting out, he walked around the van and opened the side door, pretending to rummage through the back for something. As he did so, he could feel Max move past him. He spoke softly. "I'll call as soon as my meet's done, Max. Good luck and fraggin' be careful."

"Same to you, John." With that, the shaman's presence was simply gone.

"Finding" what he was looking for, the old runner shut the door and got back into the van. Turning to John Silverbird he said, "Max's place is just up the street. One Lincoln Tower, Penthouse. Just go up to the security desk and say you're there to see Max Steiner. They'll let ya in. I'd drop you off closer, but there's that whole thing with the Star. If you're still around, I may see ya in an hour or two. Thanks again."

Once the van was shaman-less, John pulled out his phone and dialed Finn's secure line. After the usual pause, the line connected. "Thanks for saying goodbye, fragger. You really know how to make a guy feel special."

Chuckling, John glanced around the parking lot and started the van. "Maybe I figured I'd never leave with one more glance at yer baby-blues." As they both laughed, he shifted the vehicle into gear and slowly pulled from the lot. "Listen, I need an address. Place called Zerikolopoli?"

"You know, you can get drek like this from a public terminal..."

"Yah, but p-terms don't have your sunny disposition, chummer."

Sighing theatrically, Finn said "Hold on." The clicking of keys could be heard in the background. "Got it. You ready?"

John listened intently as the decker read off the address. When he was finished, the decker sarcastically asked, "Anything else? Trid-schedule, perhaps?"

"Nah. Tempting, but I ain't got a trid. Thanks, chummer."

Disconnecting, the samurai laid the cell in his lap and grabbed the crumpled pack of cigarettes off of the dash. With a deft shake of the pack to expose the cigarettes, he pulled one free with his lips and exchanged the pack for his lighter.

Inhaling deeply, he blew the acrid smoke towards the windshield and grabbed his phone again. Quickly dialing the number that Fragger #2 had given him earlier, John placed the phone to his ear and waited for a connection.

21:36:35 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

A short silence follows, as Marquis gazes at his drink. He lifts the glass, his hand more steady now, and takes another small drink. Looking up he notices that Karma is watching him, waiting for more.

"Uh...Well I guess that about sums it up, then. So you will be there in the shadows when I arrive then?"

"Absolutely," she replies, with the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Marquis lifts his glass again, almost finishing his drink, leaving only a half shots worth mixed with the ice.

"Let me pay for the drinks and I will walk you out." One last gulp and the glass is empty, other than a few melting ice cubes.

21:45:21 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - One Lincoln Tower

Approximately fifteen minutes later Max was standing on the roof of his apartment, punching in the keycode that allowed access to his home. He quickly descended the stairs and exited the door onto his bookshelf lined mezzanine. He had left the lights to his penthouse on to keep up the illusion of someone being home. Walking down the spiral staircase to the floor below Max paged down to security notifying them of Mr. Silverbird's pending arrival, after which he grabbed some of his ritual supplies and the links from for both Keira and Nora and began going over the ritual in his mind.

21:37:02 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Karma grins, taking one last sip from her drink.

"Sure, I suppose we can consider me on the clock now. I'll be there early to clear the place for you. If something goes down or looks sketchy, I'll drop you a message with the abort code of '7700'. Otherwise, I'll just cover you during the meet. Don't wait for me on the way out, though. We can hook up sometime tomorrow to work out the balance."