You wake up a little before noon, and as you check the time you see a new message on your commlink--from a sender not in your contacts.
ShenanAgain44: You helped a lucky lady last night. Offering reward and potential job. Come to Green Rhythm Pub at 3PM local. Order a triple whiskey with an e at the bar.
You wake up a little before noon, and as you check the time you see a new message on your commlink--from a sender not in your contacts.
ShenanAgain44: You helped a lucky lady last night. Offering reward and potential job. Come to Green Rhythm Pub at 3PM local. Order a triple whiskey with an e at the bar.
You wake up a little before noon, and as you check the time you see a new message on your commlink--from a sender not in your contacts.
ShenanAgain44: You helped a lucky lady last night. Offering reward and potential job. Come to Green Rhythm Pub at 3PM local. Order a triple whiskey with an e at the bar.
You wake up a little before noon, and as you check the time you see a new message on your commlink--from a sender not in your contacts.
ShenanAgain44: You helped a lucky lady last night. Offering reward and potential job. Come to Green Rhythm Pub at 3PM local. Order a triple whiskey with an e at the bar.
You wake up a little before noon, and as you check the time you see a new message on your commlink--from a sender not in your contacts.
ShenanAgain44: You helped a lucky lady last night. Offering reward and potential job. Come to Green Rhythm Pub at 3PM local. Order a triple whiskey with an e at the bar.
You wake up a little before noon, and as you check the time you see a new message on your commlink--from a sender not in your contacts.
ShenanAgain44: You helped a lucky lady last night. Offering reward and potential job. Come to Green Rhythm Pub at 3PM local. Order a triple whiskey with an e at the bar.
Victoria's eyes snap open, and one hand comes up to shield her eyes from the sunlight. "Need to be careful not to oversleep," she mutters, getting up and absently rubbing her eyes. She goes to the kitchen and grabs a protein bar before checking her commlink. A frown crosses her face. "Not a name I know. One of those weirdos from last night? Or someone else?" She opens the message and her frown only grows. "Lady has some clever friends." She memorizes the meeting request, then deletes the message and closes out her comm. "I wonder if everyone got one of these. Probably."
She downs the bar in three quick bites, absently brushing her hands off. "If they did, they'll meet me at the bar." She heads back to the bedroom and digs out one of her father's reinforced suits and his briefcase. Her father's advice echoes in the back of her head as she buttons the jacket and adjusts the tie. "Always look the part when you meet a Johnson. You are a professional, make that obvious from the moment you meet." She leaves her Ares in her jacket and pulls out her father's HK. One quick twist makes sure that the silencer is still in working order before she slides the larger pistol in to the concealed holster under the jacket. "That'll do."
She quickly looks up the Green Rhyme on her commlink, curious to see where it's located and if there's any interesting buzz about it online.
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Nick didn't have enough sleep. To be honest, having your convenience store blown over you, entering a gunfight with nutjobs and making friends with a group of wannabe runners means enough sleep would fall on the side of weeks.
But nonetheless he didn't have enough sleep and he was not happy about it.
Woke up with the wrong foot again? But, is there even a single right foot in you, Nicky Nick?
The ex--PI yawned his way towards the kitchen and heated some recaff. As the OriginalAroma(TM) filled his flat, the man checked the message on his comm.
"It seems at least part of the mystery is gonna be solved by itself." he said to himself "Let's do a 'Best Moments' before the meeting..."
He didn't exactly remind how to manage his eyes yet, but thirty minutes and a hundred blasphemies later he was reviewing the images his implants caught of the saved elf. The ex-PI made a point of remembering every bit of detail about her before going outside and directing himself towards Stoobie's. He was tired from the long night, his right knee did wake up with nasty instincts, and as so he took a cab.
During the ride he tried to piece together whatever passed as the clues they found the night before. A hit squad of tools, trying to take an elven lady and her baby. Zealots may be involved. Then there was his 'companions'. A bunch of locos with even crazier parts.
The hyperactive chromie, doessn't rings a bell Nick?
His drowzy train of thoughts got interrupted by the driver saying they arrived. After paying, Nick walked to Stoobie's door and knocked three times.
"Sarge here, I got news, bos."
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'Why am I naked?' Anya blearily thinks as her eyes creek open, beating the gong of noon by a hairsbreadth. The pile of form-fitting armor spilling over the side of the bed gives her no answers.
She climbs out of bed and crawls to her jacket, the gnawing chasm of her stomach compelling her to at least this action. The first meal bar she grabs disappears as though set upon by a pack of dire wolves. But the suprathyroid decides it's not yet had enough impetus to awaken, and her foggy head remains so.
Her olfactory glands, the best money can buy, deduce a shower is in order, and she stumbles out the door and into the bathroom.
The water is brown, and cold, but, honestly, this is the reason she got the damage compensators--so that cold showers don't hurt. She scrubs her skin with something that comes out of a bottle and she hopes is either shampoo or soap, and tries to piece together where she is and what she's doing.
'Oh. Right.'
She grabs a towel and dries off. Depositing the towel on the floor, as is her habit, she retraces her steps back to the bedroom and pulls on the form-fitting garb, her co-processor and meat-brain at last rising and telling her that she just walked naked through some stranger's hallway.
She shrugs. If an orc isn't currently setting her on fire, she just can't get excited about it.
Hair brushed and munching a second bar, she brightly prances into the main room.
"So, did anyone else get a creepy text from a prospective Johnson?"
Sylvie groans as her commlink begins beeping at her, interrupting her beauty sleep. She then decides that no amount of sleep can help her on that front, and rolls to the other side of the bed, blindly fumbling for her commlink.
Expecting to see another text from Fix-It or maybe some news from Reptile, she lets out a string of expletives. Sylvie then contemplates staying in bed all day, but a series of images flashes before her eyes: rent going unpaid, Bear tapping his paw impatiently and growling, getting into a fight with Devi, Bear tapping his paw impatiently and growling, having to go back to McHugh's, Bear tapping his paw impatiently and growling... "Yeah, yeah, I get the idea, Bear," Sylvie growls herself, before tumbling out of bed.
The floor shakes. Coincidentally, the people in the apartment below her's immediately run for cover.
After chowing down on the remains of Devi's breakfast, Sylvie, her stomach still growling, suits up. It was difficult finding an Actioneer Suit her size. Face it, it would be diffcicult if she was just a troll or just overweight, but both of them together made it a fresh hell. However, she had eventually found it, and had the presence of mind to ask for adaptable fabric in case Bear gave her another "gift."
Sylvie hails a cab, driven by a gnome who had obviously been on Cram for the past ten years or so. Despite the absolutely terrifying ride there, Sylvie makes it into Stooby's apartment in one piece, at around the same time as Nick.
"I did," she grumbles as she ambles her way up to the door. "I would have just stayed in bed, if I wasn't interested in what happened to the elf lady." The massive troll pauses. "And if I wasn't worried about not having a roof over my head next month."
Phineas rolls and sits up on his old mattress. Interesting. Unlike most people, Phineas was a morning person. One of those annoying people that wakes up immediately and is ready to go for the day. With no soycaf even!
Activating his commlink he speaks softly as he dresses. Agent, do a passive scan on this address, will you, he says as he inputs the location the spirit gave him the night before. Nothing crazy. Just whatever you can find out there in the open. Find nothing will tell me just as much as finding something. He shrugs into his t-shirt then runs his hand over the stubble on his chin. I need to change that default name eventually. Agent? He chuckles, Embarrassing. He blinks, Oh, and where is this Green Rhythm Pub? Do I have time to shave...and grab some food?
No matter the answer, the elf doesn't bother to shave, simply running his hand through his hair to smooth it down a bit and shrugging into his jacket. Nevermind, just update me on the way. I'm going to need food either way. He makes his way down to the corner shop and grabs some hot green tea and a soylafal platter from the local tea shop. The quiet greetings and salutations in the shop owner's native tongue don't even surprise her anymore. This peculiar tawny-haired elf had only the barest hint of an accent and was always so polite. Phineas ate as he walked, tilting his glasses back up his nose as the agent gave a report of its findings.
Nathaniel wakes up from his place on the floor with a grunt when his goggles send him their seventh or eighth notification of a new message, sitting up and shaking his head. "Great, what now?" He opens his eyes again at just the right moment to watch Anya wander across the hallway naked, a sour look on his face. "What the... whatever. What's this?" He examines the message, then groans again. While he doesn't move in person, his neural interface with his commlink begins typing off a message to his roommate. He finally stands, not having undressed before passing out on the floor, and stretches a bit before hearing the knocking on the door. He grabs his shotgun from its place beside him and goes to investigate, but drops his guard when he realizes it's Nick and Sylvie. "I'm guessing you got the same message? You don't suppose it's a trap, do you?"
Paladin_Ares: You need to get food for Bucky today, the Stuffer Shack blew up. It's a long story, I'll fill you in when I get home. I have a lead on a job, heading to the Green Rhythm Pub. Please don't kill anyone while I'm gone, unless you have to.
Sylvie snorts. "The only reason why I didn't come in full armor with an AK on my back is that if they saw me approaching like that, they'd just blow up the building. And so that I wouldn't have to smell Stooby and Joeby's s+%$ in their pants when they saw me."
"Well, that and you'd probably be arrested," Nathaniel remarks, without a hint of irony in his voice. He stops for a moment and furrows his brows, almost surprised the remark came out of his mouth. After a moment he shakes his head, an uneasy grin on his lips. "Anyway, we'd best be on our way. If they managed to find me in the Matrix they're serious, whether it's a trap or not. That, and I'd like to see if we can track down that elf from the Shack; I found his name and address last night... name's Phineas Madigan." Nathaniel pulls off his own over-shirt, before reaching over and pulling on the form-fitting ballistic wear and the armored vest before putting the shirt back on and grabbing the shotgun from its spot on the floor. "Should we bring them with us? Don't want them getting in trouble while we're gone."
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Anya crunches the last of her bar and walks over to the kitchen tap. Not bothering with a glass, she bends over and turns the water on, cupping her hand under the stream, she drinks to her fill. Standing and wiping her mouth off with the back of her she pronounces, "Good call, dudeman, let's get going. Meh, I think they've learned a valuable lesson and don't need to be chained to our heel. But if you wanna bring 'em, that's frosty, but you gotta watch 'em.
No need for the long arms, but let's get dressed for dancing all the same."
She goes back into the annexed bedroom, shrugs into her coat and flips her hair out over the collar. She checks the loads on the Crusader on her arm and the HK behind the hip. Closing her eyes, Anya runs a quick check on her body, and everything reports nominal. The claws pop out and in quickly, completing the diagnostic.
She bounces out of the room and brightens the world with her smile. "Shall we?"
Of course, with your knowledge of organized crime hangouts, as well as the situation of things in Boston, you can put two and two together. Irish-American in Charlestown, family-run, a place for locals, not tourists? Tack on the fact you're meeting there with a mysterious potential employer, and it all smacks of Irish mob influence.
Joeby looks a tad downtrodden, but he nods in agreement. "Yeah. Ted's right. We oughta stay outta this one. I gotta get some meds anyway, maybe go to a street doc, and aw man, I gotta get a new link, too..."
"Hey, big spender, let's not go too far. I'll be fine." Stooby ruffles his brother's hair, flops on the couch, and lets out an audible groan, reflexively moving his hands to his wounds. "...Maybe some painkillers. Either way, we're sittin' this one out. Done with running, quit while we're alive."
After another search period, the voice reports again, this time on your way from the tea shop. "The Green Rhythm Pub is located in the Charlestown neighborhood of old Boston proper, the oldest section of the city. A traditional Irish pub, it includes a bar as well as a restaurant, and caters more to locals than tourists. It has four-and-one-half stars on Yelp, based on one-hundred-and-sixty-three reviews."
"Good on you," Sylvie says gruffly. "Not many people have the smarts to get out of running once they realize that it's bad for their health," the troll cracks a terrifying, wry grin. "including myself." She then turns to Wraith, Sarge, and Paladin. "Alright. Let's roll."
Victoria reads a bit about the bar before shutting her comm down again. It made a sort of sense now that she knew what kind of places it was. "Was that a mob hit that we stopped last night? Or someone trying to bump off some mobster's girlfriend? Whoever they were, they wanted to be completely anonymous if they used runners rather than an actual member of another gang. Maybe it's personal rather than connected directly to organized crime." She sighs, not really able to learn any more sitting around in her apartment. "Well, at least the mob will probably pay decently."
She clicks the lock on her briefcase shut and straightens her tie. "Might as well get moving."
"You'll be fine," Nathaniel says, looking to Stooby. "Just don't move around too much and the sutures should hold on the bullet wound. As for the bruise... put some ice on it." Nathaniel sighs, his shotgun now loaded and slung across his back. "Look, just don't get shot while we're gone. I usually only patch up bullet wounds for free if I'm the one that put them there." He knocks on the door frame on the way out, signaling for the others to follow him. "Does anyone have a ride, or are we walking?" Nathaniel's goggles are still down, evidently still having a conversation over the Matrix. "I'll walk if we need to, but... I don't know that they'll loan out their bike again, and I know we won't all fit on it. Best not to keep our potential job offer/poorly-planned trap waiting, after all."
Paladin_Ares: Yes, the exploding store would be why I wanted the gun. We saved some woman from being killed by a bunch of low-budget "runners", and it looks like she's repaying the favor. That, or whoever tried to kill her tracked us down for a second helping. We got some information out of one of the attackers, but they're small-time; they'd never been on a run before. Some mage was the one pulling the strings, but I don't know who he was. One of the others put a bullet in him on site, and Knight Errant showed up before I had a chance to ID him. I figured it was probably best that my former employers didn't find me in an exploded Stuffer Shack.
Paladin_Ares: Also, there are places called 'stores' where you can buy syrup, Cuervo. You don't need to kill people over a pancake topping. Did they not have stores in Tenochtitlan?
Paladin_Ares: Almost forgot; my peppers should be ready to be picked today. If you could pull them off and put them in the fridge, that'd be great. You can chop one up for Bucky if you want.
Phineas' wry smiles belies his sarcastic response, That's nice...which T am I taking? All the way to the shipyard? He punches up the map on his image link and quickly checks the stop times and locations. With a shrug he heads towards the nearest T stop and hops on.
Where else do I have to go?
Addressing the tiny man with backwards feet, Phineas' tone is kind. Hello there. I need you to keep watch for a few hours. All you have to do is stick near me and tell me if someone is using magic or something weird is happening in the astral. Should be easy, right? Oh, and if there's a barrier that you can't go through, let me know ahead of time.
The elf sits quietly on the train staring off at nothing in particular. It's a bit of a walk from the orange line, but I've got some time. When was the last time I was up here? Great uncle Billy's funeral? Huh...maybe. It's been a while.
Hoping off at his station Phineas walks out onto the streets of Charlestown. Some of it is familiar, some...not so much. He takes a nice slow walk through the town making his way to the pub. Pausing outside he looks at the place. Green Rhythm Pub. I wonder how they got that name. Now, what was it? Triple whiskey, right. And something about an 'e'.
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"I'm okay to walk, but I'll pitch in for a Uber ride if you want," Anya chips up. "In fact, lets do that. Their anonymous an' cheap." Without waiting for an answer, Wraith takes out her Ikon and puts a beeper out on the ride-sharing app, looking for someone with a larger automobile.
She frowns as she picks up the long-arm and looks at Nate's shotgun. Not good to carry those -two- openly. Should get a car some day.
"Hey, you guys mind if I borrow you're blanket?kay thanks." She picks up a drab brown sheet and wraps it around her rifle. Not the best, but anythings better than nothing. Could even drop it in a dumpster before the meet an' get it later.
"Alright. Let's roll. Or hoof, as the case may be."
Gauntlet gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. "There's... a reason I do public transportation. I don't generally fit into cars. Not like I could afford wheels, anyways."
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Nick smiles at the overdose of energy Anya seems to have.
"I can ride my bike there, bos, so you will have more than 'nuff space." comments the exPI as he lights a cigarette "Anya, darling, is it necessary packing so much firepower for a friendly meeting in a public place?" he asks the chromie with a worried look.
Darling? Bwahahahahaha! Nick, you are a rusty old man. Whatcha trying to do, pal?
"But Doc may be right. Tis either a job offer or a bad disguised trap. In any case we should arrive early and plan a escape route. Don't want no open shootings today."
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"Eh? So we most of us are taking th' T then, ya? Chill," Wriath says, exiting the app and pocketing the Ikon.
She stops and sly smile crawls across her face like a rose blooming in time-stop photage. "Say, Nick-Nick. Your bike, can it handle two?"
374 days ago:
Laughing, the man and woman run/collapse out of the bar, curses in five languages following their wake. As the door swings closed and cuts off the chasing words, they both giggle uncontrolably and head for the parking lot, each with one arm wrapped around the other.
"We both had half a bottle, so I hope your bike takes two," Anya whispers into Nick's ear. "Because you're too drunk to drive, boyo!"
"Let's just get going, then? If I'm walking into an ambush I'd at least like to be early."
By train, car, or motorbike, our runners make their way to Charlestown and show up on the street with the Green Rhythm Pub by around 1:30 PM, about an hour and a half before the meeting time. The area is very working-class in tone and appearance, and the buildings look to be a mix of residential and business. Charlestown has resisted the passage of time in the Sixth World more than most sections of the city, and where other neighborhoods have sometimes grown together and started to look more and more like any city around the world, Charlestown retains its own identity. There are lots of brick buildings and a very local feel to the entire area; the only big changes are metahumans strolling the streets and more prominent displays of magic and modern technology than there were sixty years back.
The Pub itself is a decently-sized building on one block corner, with a pair of basic metal tables and seats outside and stairs leading to the double-door entrance. Through the windows, you can see a bar-restaurant setup heavy on wooden furnishings and walls, dimly lit without any monitors or special displays. It looks fairly relaxed at the moment, with a couple tables of diners and a handful of patrons seated at the bar, mostly older folks by the look of it.
Languishing on the steps at the entrance is a young man who may doesn't look so much like a bouncer as a layabout. He's wearing dark jeans, a black vest over an emerald-green shirt, and an old trilby hat cocked back on his tawny brown hair. Accessories include plenty of chains, a cigarette in one hand, and tattoos befitting a parlor artist or a convict. He eyes your group with a distinct lack of care that almost has to be put on, although his gaze does look a little unfocused.
Sylvie takes a stroll around the block, somewhat regretting her rather classy choice of armor as she takes a look around the working-class neighborhood. The troll casually takes note of the locals, the flow of traffic, and any escape routes as she encircles the building. Sylvie takes a quick peek around the alley and the other street, but doesn't wander off.
Victoria arrives, barely recognizable compared to her looks last night. Her hair is pulled back and her vivid eyes are concealed behind slim dark shades. She absently adjusts her tie and nods to the rest of the group as she approaches the bar. "Nice place. Old timey, but nice." She stops at the end of the block, giving the area a once over, looking for escape routes, dark corners, and potential dangers. "Always recon the area before a job or a meet. Always assume the Johnson could stab you in the back once it's convenient. Be ready for a double cross, but don't provoke one. Keep it subtle and polite." She takes a stroll around the block, looking for potential back ways out if something goes down. If she sees the rest of the group from last night, she finishes her round before she goes to greet them.
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Anya dismounts the bike in an unladylike fashion and walks with the group toward the meet spot. While most other shadowrunners with seasoned eyes look to the alleys and the land-based routes of egress, she habitually rubber-necks upward like a new tourist who lived underground and only recently escaped.
Her lanes of retreat are the walls, and paths of egress lie across the rooftops.
As the familiar face of Victoria emerges to greet the gathering group, Anya exclaims, "Hoi chummer! You're really rockin' that tie!"
Sylvie looks Victoria up and down and nods approval. "Glad I wasn't the only one who was sensible enough to grab something fancy before the meet. You got the message too, I'm guessing?" the troll grumbles. Granted, the business suit looks somewhat ridiculous on Sylvie, but it's clean, looks sharp, and almost screams professionalism.
Nathaniel walks alongside Sylvie as they head into the old bar, his shotgun still slung across his back. He shrugs when the troll mentions wearing something nice; he hadn't gone home, and he wasn't sure he even had anything nice enough to wear to begin with. It'd been a while since he needed something that looked presentable. "Yeah, the both of you look real spiffy. Let's get this over with then, sound good?" Nathaniel pushes through the door and walks past the youth on the steps, coughing a bit when the cigarette smoke hits his lungs.
"Thank you," Victoria says without much expression. "First impressions are important when meeting potential clients after all." She looks over at the elf and rolls her eyes, though it's hard to tell through her glasses. "Unless you're planning on spending the next hour getting drunk while we wait, it would be a better use of your time to scout out the area and be ready in case the contact shows up with less than friendly cohorts."
"Who said I wasn't ready?" Nathaniel responds, the door to the pub still half-open. "More importantly, who said I'm not going to take a look around? Are you suggesting there's nothing worth learning inside of this pub rather than out? I was planning to take a look around, get a feel for the place," he starts, taking a few steps inside the door as he now holds it open with his fingertips. "Perhaps more importantly, I was planning on sizing up the 'patrons', if you know what I mean. If our meeting goes sour there's no guarantee the muscle will be showing up with them; I don't plan on getting jumped because I didn't bother to check out the burly orc sitting face down at the bar." He thinks for a second, then gives Victoria a smirk. "After that though, yeah. I might grab a pint, shoot some pool. Anyone else care to join?"
While Paladin is delivering a verbal smackdown, Sylvie's eyes are scanning the surrounding area. Her eyes alight for a moment upon the 'banger in the trillby for a moment, then gives him a stare. She says quietly, "Trillby. Looks like he's some kind of overwatch. I gave him a start. He's either scared of the huge troll, scared of my astral whatsit which is apparently quite bright, recognizes me from somewhere," her eyes narrow, "or he knows some old friends of mine. I don't like those last two options."
Nathaniel doesn't respond verbally when Sylvie notices the 'banger lingering on her with his gaze, but he locks eyes with her for a moment without moving his head when talking to Victoria; his eyes flick back to her quickly, but the message is clear; 'I'll keep an eye on it'. He raises an eyebrow slightly towards Victoria, doing his best to clue her in. "Well, c'mon then; if anybody's joining me get in here. We're letting all the smoke out."
Phineas finally finds his way to the pub, strolling leisurely as he has this past hour. Admiring the view of the neighborhood, he pauses for a few moments across the street. One last time he punches up the address on his image link and confirms he's in the right place.
This looks like the place. Seems...quaint.
He pushes his glasses up his nose a bit and adjusts the old and battered ball cap on his head with a smile.
Anything interesting?
"This is such a waste of time," Victoria mutters. Her eyes flick over to glance at the lookout. She gives him a once over, looking for potentially hidden weapons or any other odd behavior before she reluctantly follows the rest of the group inside.
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Nick strolls with the rest towards the pub entrance. The PI nods to Victoria as she is on sight, muttering a soft "Madame." as the group is together.
Nice place, Nicky Nick. Ya think they will have darts? It's been years since we play darts.
As the smack talk is laid down and Nathaniel explains his plan, Nicholas can but agree "Oi bo, I am down for some pool. First game free, second one the bets start. You dig?"
The man -and the legend- gives a quick scan of the place now that he is adjusted to the smoke and light.
But the only apparent danger he finds is the cigarette he is about to light.
Five of our runners gather together, one by one or by pairs, near the Green Rhythm and begin to scope out the area. The block around the place is pretty mundane, with a mix of residential buildings and a few other businesses, notably absent of competing watering holes. The only thing of real note is another alley on the pub's other side, again closed off with chain link fence-and-gate; the building looks to be set off completely from the rest on its block. The second alley is wider, with a double-door style gate, and looks large enough for even a van or truck to be driven down--probably a delivery entrance. Craning her neck, Anya notes that the pub is one of the shorter buildings on the block: it rises to three stories, but many of the other buildings are apartment high-rises, starting at five or more levels here. She isn't sure an aerial escape would be plausible here, unless it involved leaping ten feet to some poor chummer's window.
At Sylvie's mention of the lounging man's odd behavior, Victoria gives him a quick once-over, but he doesn't look to be hiding any weapons or armor. For one thing, he's very relaxed, and doesn't look in any position to draw something if a fight started; for another, his clothing is too leanly cut, leaving nowhere to really hide anything unless it was stuck uncomfortably in the small of his back. Given the position he's taken, that doesn't seem to be the case; he certainly looks unarmed. He even seems to prove so when Nathaniel walks up and he barely even acknowledges the elf's presence, just lolling his eyes at him in a languid roll before returning his attention to... nowhere, really.
In fact, almost the entire group passes in without any reaction, but it's once more Sylvie he provokes something. As she hits the steps, the young man nods his head at her. "Oi, lass." When she turns to look at him, his eyes still look unfocused, but they're unfocused right on her. The effect is a tad disturbing, but one she recognizes at this range: the man is indeed using astral sight, looking at her powerful aura instead of her physical form. "Wizkids are allowed, by all means, but don't go startin' any trouble. I 'spect you an' your are here to see the boss, so just don't go 'round swingin' them fists o' yours and we should be fine." His accent is like the woman's from last night, the curious combination of lilting Irish and hard Bostonian, although definitely leaning more toward the former. "Just a friendly tip." He winks and heaves a sigh before letting his gaze slip free again, lolling his head back toward the street.
Inside, the pub looks like fairly standard fare from a half-century ago or more: wooden furnishings and a large old bar. Classic Irish folk music is playing from what looks to be a beat-up but working old music player, and the other sound comes from a couple of older fellows talking about good old days at the bar, nursing their drinks and cigars. The bartender is a dour-looking human man with a thick reddish-brown beard and bald head, wiping down the bar with a thick cloth as the group enters. Five people coming in at once nearly doubles the clientele, and the bartender looks up at the runners as they arrive, a question in his eyes. "You folks need something?" he asks, not necessarily sounding like he wants to provide it.
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When Phineas arrives, a few minutes after the others enter the pub, he's greeted with the same scene: brick buildings, old neighborhood, and a man lounging outside the pub. He gets a little more information right off the bat, though, as the Watcher chimes in his ear. That man sees me. He's using magic. The man, for his part, doesn't make a move, but much like with Sylvie, he nods to Phineas and speaks to him when the elf approaches the entrance. "Oi, boyo. Wizkids allowed, but no trouble. And watchers ain't, so he'll need dismissin'. After that you go on in, but don't go chantin' or nothin'. Just watch yourself and there'll be no problems."
Sylvie gives the man a curt nod. "There's not going to be any. Trust me, anybody who's dumb enough to start a fistfight in there probably deserves to get geeked." She flashes a craggy grin at him before heading in.
The troll gives a casual glance around the bar, figures that at least half of the current patrons are armed (this is a mob bar, after all), and walks up to the bar. She briefly entertains the notion of sitting down at one of the stools, before deciding to not make a bad impression by breaking one of them. "Rough day. Triple whiskey with an e," she says gruffly. "I think my coworkers will have the same."
Phineas frowns slightly in thought but finally nods as he breaks out a smile. You townies, always bein' so shiesty, the man says with a wink. Mind if my friend parks out here on the corner with ya while I 'ead in for a tonic? The elf chuckles, No trouble meant, just pays to be safe. Even in Chuck Town, yeah? He holds his hands out wide, questioningly, Been walking for days and I ain't got no plans to get booted. You won't get trouble from me. We good, chummer?
Stay here, if he's okay with that. Just let me know if people come in looking for a fight or someone's watching the place.
"I take no responsibility for you if you're drunk when our contact gets here." Victoria sits at the bar, a couple of seats down from the troll. "Just get me some water. I like having a clear head."
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Anya nods at Sylvie bold drink order and Victoria's demurment. "Null, persp, Nix, I'll have yours.
Say, Tender-of-the-Bar, we have time that we would see wasted in manners other than remaining motionless. Have you aught of games of chance? Perhaps the shooting of spheres with rods? Lacking that, wouldst thou hast numbered cubes, wherein persons might shake them and fortunes be gained or lost on a toss of the wrist?"
Wraith had been streaming a lot of Robert E Howard of late.
To her credit, Gauntlet manages to restrain herself for the most part at Wraith's shenanigans, but still, she doubles over and snorts before quickly composing herself.
"Ah." Without even a full word, the bartender pulls six sghort glasses onto the bar, glances at your group, and sets one slightly apart. He pulls a bottle from a shelf below the bar and deftly starts filling the glasses about halfway each. He pauses again at the final glass and glances up at Nix. "How old are you?" There's barely enough time to respond before he shrugs, splashes a bit less into the glass, and then drops a large ice cube in as well. "It's, ah, protocol. Everybody gets a drink. You don't gotta finish it if you want, but anybody meets with the boss, they got a drink in their hand." He slides the bottle back to its place and gestures to the glasses. "Boss said there'd be six, so you gotta wait on him, but boss'll be ready for you soon."