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Der Gute Messer's usually lively atmosphere is quieter, as is usual for a bar on a Thursday afternoon. There's a couple of wageslaves plugged in the corner, and a couple of retirees in slightly too-tight leather punk vests, slowly sipping beers, eyes stared at the AR around them.
The waitress, a teenage human with neon-green spiked hair and multiple piercings on her face, gives you a nod and a smile as you make your way towards Berlin Freddy's favourite meeting place, a remote corner, tastefully designed as a vandalised set of cubicles, anarchistic sprays on the walls. It's painfully clear the punk is just for aesthetics, however, as the tables and floors don't stick to your clothes, and the air lacks that distinct smell of stale Azzie beer, cigarettes and recent slotting. For better or for worse, it's up to personal opinion.
The retro music is just loud enough to add to the ambiance and quiet conversations from the nearest tables, but not loud enough so you can't hear your thoughts.
Nomad settles into the worn booth and slides his briefcase under the table with his foot. He smooths the lapels of his charcoal grey Mortimer coat and shoots his cuffs in an exaggerated style.
"I know, I know, the Sleeping Tiger line has been just too damn good for 'em. I mean, look, I'm wearing it myself. Last years cut, but still looks dapper enough, if you ask me. Plus, check out this little gem!"
As he shoots his right cuff again, Nomad triggers a hidden panel to release a set of old-fashioned lock picks into the palm of his hand.
"Right? I mean, it ain't gonna get through a matlock, but there's plenty of doorknobs and padlocks kicking around still."
He slides the tools back into their stash spot and leans back. Raising a hand, he orders a round for the table and smiles.
"Any juicy gossip, anyone? New loves, chummers hard up on their bills, just gettin' outta jail, stuff like that? Gotta keep abreast of the the social situation, so ka?"
Janie enters the bar and tries not to immediately grimace.
It like a scene from a bad trid or something...right down to the wannabe punks.
She moves to the back of the room where a number of people are lounging about what she first took as some wrecked booths.
"Suilad mellon (). So where is our 'benefactor'? Names Descending Sunset, but just call me Sun."
She takes a seat on the edge of the booths, watching her new 'team' and the locals.
Completely uninterested in the discussion about fashion, Blacksap reads the news on his retinal display. "Don't look at me for news. I've just moved here from Boston. If that's the sort of gossip you were looking for, wiz for both of us."
As the elf introduces herself, Blacksap stays silent. Like I asked.
Arriving late a stocky hobgoblin arrives, dressed in combat biker leathers and with his helmet tucked under one apelike arm.
He shuffles in, dark eyes flitting around the dim room, then makes toward the booth where you all are assembling. As he gets closer the sharper eyed amongst you clock the courier vest he wears over his leathers - bearing the CCF logo of Cartwright Cartage and Freight Inc.
He pauses, catching the waitress and adding to the order before awkwardly nodding a greeting to you all as he sits himself down.
"Evenaumn chummeruk. Sorry I late eh? Job to do before this little get together. Debt to society and all that drek."
He flashes a jagged smile, chuckling harshly to himself before his gaze settles on Descending Sunset.
Where I know you from eh? Right side or wrong side of tracks...
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Wraith hoists her Monongahela Rye at each of the newcomers as they enter. "Hoi hoi," she says brightly, cutting a nice figure in her Mortimer of London getup, the light reflecting off her rose-colored mirrored shades. "Don't scan angel, yet. Hope not another biff.
"I scan Mercurial is on another tour, heard it on Wyrm Talk. Would've called in an' won tix, but I was 100 meters up, hanging by a hand. Was a bad time," she smiles and take a sip of her drink.
An elf approaches, about average height, average weight, and holding a bottle of very average cheap beer. His clothes fit the ambience, except they have achieved their worn and 'distressed' appearance not by careful planning, but by the simple process of having been worn every day.
He takes a mouthful of beer as he leans against the side of the booth behind Descending Sunset.
"'Sup, Chummers? No Freddy Yet?"
As the others arrive Road-Rage continues to eye Sun with a curious scowl.
He breaks from his internal musings at first Wraith's, then Glass' words;
"Not here yet... Less he invis omae!"
The hobgoblin flashes another jagged grin, then nods towards the others with a shrug;
"You smoothies likely got better take on his locale. Road-Rage here just the motorhead, not smart bit-heads like some of you I bettin'..!"
"Bit-heads? That's a term I haven't heard before. I understand the context, so just to set you at ease, I doubt any of us were recruited for just one thing or another. Sure, some may have a specialty or other, but its easy to overlook one's personal skills thinking like that."
Nomad glances around the room, more out of habit than thinking their fixer would hide from the team he'd set up, then sips from his pint.
"Name's Nomad, in case we haven't worked together before. Looking forward to a smooth payday, right, chummers?"
If his cybereyes could roll, they would as another elf enters the booths. Great. They're going to hose another run by acting like they own the place.
He orders a soykaf and nearly chokes on it as Wraith speaks. "Don't. Just don't. There's no such thing as a milk run. You say those two words, and next thing you know a murderbot's dusting your decker."
"Bit-head's one thing I'm not, chummer" Glass flashes a quick grin at Road-Rage. "But yeah, I know the turf a bit. Call me Glass."
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The looks the orc keeps giving her puts Janie on edge.
"You like what you see, omae? You keep eyeballing me and we're gonna have a problem!"
"You know, I'm not really superstitious and all, but calling a job that has some bad history. Especially a job with a new crew and all. Doesn't seem worth bringing the risk of bad juju down on us, neh?"
Nomad looks at the gathered crew, with several actively glowering at each other, and shakes his head.
"Of course, if we don't get along before the job even starts, wont matter what kind of superstition we get into. Maybe we can keep the knives in sheathes for the time being? I mean, we're all professionals, right?"
At Sunset's pushback the hob eases back, arms up in mock surrender;
"Chill chummer. You jus' looking familiar to me. Familiar good or familiar bad I dunno... Been plenty o' faces in my mirrors..."
He then flashes his jagged grin;
"'Sides. You squishies don't rev my engine none. Prefer a heavier suspension..."
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She tries to give the gobbo a disgusted look...she really does, but that comment just cracked her up. She laughs aloud at the ridiculousness of such a proposal, and her overreaction to his staring.
"My apologies Road-Rage. Just a reaction from another time I suppose. You know you do look familiar, now that you mention it. You from Puyallup by chance. I use to..umm..work in that area a number of years ago."
All humour leaves the elf as she turns to the street sami.
"I do not do wetwork...ever!"
Again she thinks she might have overreacted and she forces a smile.
"Just not my scene."
Road-Rage pauses mid-sip on his Soyweiser ® at Sunset's question. He eyes her warily as he answers;
"Puyallup native... Guilty as... charged..."
A look of recognition flashes over his brutish face as he misses his mouth with a slug of beer. The spill snaps him back from wherever his mind momentarily went;
"Aw Drek! Just as well I leathered up eh chummers... Might look like sprung leak!"
The hob chuckles awkwardly and takes another drink.
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Those not paying attention to the conversation can see Berlin Freddy's gait carrying him from the bar towards the table. Sleeves rolled up to show his multiple tattoos, he lights a cigarette from a pack, tucked in his sleeve, before raising his bottle at the assembled team. Gesturing for space to be freed, the fixer leans over a cubicle's wall.
"Status F, Kaffer?", he blurts out with the face of someone sharing an inside joke with himself. "What's happening?", he continues in his barely noticeable German accent, before waving a hand over the table. "Nevermind, I'll tell you what's happening, then we'll chat-chit." Gesturing for a space to be made at the table, he leaps in over the wall.
Taking another sip from his bottle, he runs a hand through the week-old stubble on his neck. "Now, I gotta say to most of you, I never danced your tunes before,", he shrugs, "but I got an ear for the music and an open mind." Raising his bottle at Nomad, Wraith and Blacksap, he smiles. "You three dudes, I heard good thing or two 'bout your underground performances across the country, so I called you in." Pointing a cigarette at Sunset, he takes in another draw. "Sunset here, some people even said they liked working with her. Road-Rage, Alex", he nods at the last two. "You two've been fine and profi so far, with the exception of your choice in beer.", he winks.
"But anyway, I wax off, when I should wax on.", he sits up, the relaxed look of an aging hippie seemingly withdrawing into his face. "Don't know how much you Kaffer read about local news, but it's looking to be a shaky start of the year for Seattle." Putting his arm on the table, he nods. "Quarter's coming in soon. Everyone who was too focused on the Holidays is now starting to stare back at Brackhaven, and he's starting to look at where he can best divert the public attention."
"So, I figured, it's time to shape up. Start doing some real work, getting some real Spargeld." His fingers rub together in a gesture that translates all languages and jargons. "And for big biz, you need a badass band. And I feel like you've got some talent." He cups his tattooed hands together, sharing a glance with everyone around the table.
You in, chummers?"
Road-Rage seems relieved at Freddy's arrival and focusses intently as the colourful fixer gives his colourful pitch.
At Freddy's question he raises his Soyweiser ® in affirmation and flashes his hobgoblin smile - all jagged fangs and bubbling belligerence;
"Time I got taste for better things in life than Barren's beer eh? Jiak'm shal Mr. Lausitz!"
Blacksap sneers at Sunset's disdain of wetwork. Too grimy for Little Miss Sunshine? How do you keep squeamish while running the shadows, I wonder.
At Freddy's proposal, he looks around the table, apparently unimpressed with the team. "Yeah, before I agree I'll need to know who I'd work with." Two pixies, for starters. G!%~&#n expenses. "White Hair here called herself a samurai, and Road-Rage a motorhead, which I assume means rigger. Myself, I shoot at things. From a distance, preferably, but I can work up close. I go by Blacksap."
"Happy to hear my reputation has preceded me."
Nomad tips a non-existent cap ever so slightly towards the fixer.
"I'm in to make some cred, so long as the jobs aren't too onerous. Or things that'll get me on the terrorism watch list off the jump, natch."
He settles back in the booth with a serious expression and places his barely touched pint on the table.
"Time to talk biz, chummer."
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Glass tips his beer bottle toward Road-Rage
"I think we'd both be happier with a brand upgrade."
then he looks toward Blacksap.
"I know my way 'round this 'plex, mostly the dirty bits, and I can stick back the bits of you that get a high-velocity trim. Just don't ask me to jump into a firefight I don't have to."
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Alanna smirks at Blacksap's statement. "Ta, mate, 'twere sarcasm afore. Calling me a sammy is like calling a scalpel a claymore. I go up," she extends the metallic climbing claws of one hand, "I get in," she clicks the other hand, "I take what I want," she retracts the claws, "and I get out. Leaving nothing behind me," she winks playfully at Sun, "but the bodies in my wake.
Better than a spook. Better than a ghost.
I'm Wraith.
and I'm in."
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"Wow." Blacksap deadpans. "Did you rehearse that? You've a place in the trid business if shadowrunning doesn't pay up."
Ignoring Blacksap and his grimaces, Janie introduces herself.
"As I said before I am Descending Sunset. I have worked here in Seattle for a number of years but on the other side of the shadows. I was a cop in the LoneStar Fast Response Team."
She gives a wan smile to Road-Rage before two massive Rutgar Warhawk revolvers appear in her hands.
"And I am very good using these!"
Glass shoots s surprised glance at Descending Sunset.
"Which districts, Sun?"
Road-Rage's dark eyes narrow as chips in an answer to Glass' question;
"Can vouch she worked Puyallup for sure. We crossed path when I was a juve... Even back then she could sling a gun. She was a straight up Star... seemed to give a drek even for a washout little hob-trog."
The rigger takes a sip of his beer, then eyes the others;
"Since we on story-mode, here mine: Sun's team caught me on a contraband trafficking charge. Got 3 years. LoneStar slung my hoop into McNeil Island Annex min sec first off... Hob temper don't fit prison. Did 10 all in. 2 years out."
He grimaces, or smiles - its hard to tell.
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"Well now that IS interesting. We got us an ex-copper done fell on hard times and now must dance with the rest of us little people down in the deep dark not "entirely" "legal" shadows.
And in this corner, completing the old saw of phat nuyen making for odd bedfellows, we got an ex-perp, trying to go straight--
--or are you? How's that feel, Road-Rage me chummer? You gotta watch ol' ex-flat foot's back. You gonna be chill, or mebbe the trigger finger gonna be a little-bit slow if ol' Sun might could get hurt a bit?"
Not really waiting for an answer, Wraith turns her guns back at Sunset. "Why are you here? Undercover? You waiting for back up? EKG going pitter-patter now that you just got made?
Or you here legit? We're gonna hafta break a few laws, scan?
Does this...discourage you?"
"Oh, we're spilling life stories and what now? I see, I see. Well, that ain't happening here. Call me Nomad, if you haven't heard of me yet."
Nomad flashes a wide smile and gestures across the table.
"I'm what you might call a professional talker. You need someone schmoozed, or conned, or some extra nuyen or info squeezed outta a mark, I'm your guy. And while I am not quite as nasty with a pistol as our ex-cop or the chromers over yonder, I can hold my own."
Sun looks at Wraith, then Road-Rage.
"We good omae? When he was caught I talked to my Sargent and we decided to only charge him with trafficking, not dealing or distribution. What he did in the slam was on him."
She looks at the rest of the group and continues.
"As to being some sort of snitch working for the 'Knights', well let me tell you I would rather swallow my own revolver than give them the time of day. I'm more than aware of the shortcomings of my former employer, but to oust us without any warning..."
She looks at each of the runners before her once again.
"I look for contracts that will help people. Perhaps you will think this is naive, and maybe it is, but someone needs to help out those with nowhere else to turn. I am loyal to my team and will do all I can to ensure a run goes as planned. Freddy brought me in on this gig, and I have worked with him before. If the run isn't for me I will jet, but if I am in, I am ALL in, so ka!"
Road-Rage shoots Wraith a dark look;
"Straight? No road ever straight. Just not planning on getting caught that all. As for Sun... We cool. Like she said xtra-time I did on me. No reckoning for her."
Berlin Freddy seems to have quieted down, as he lies back, hands behind his head. Drawing another cigarette from his rolled-up sleeve, he lights it up, before leaning towards the table. "Alright, dudes.", he nods several times. "I scan you, man, and it's good you're talkin'. But, I've always been a believer in, 'Keep the dark past away from the murky present, and the future's brighter.'" He stands with the expression of a thrift-store sage for a second longer, before flashing a grin.
"Inspirational drek aside, Kafer, we are literally standing around the same table with the same intent. Moolah, man." Rubbing his hands together. "Not asking for you to like each other, dudes, just as long as you keep the show going for the Brackhauses and Johnsons, and you keep it profi when you're on the stage."
"So, I take it, since you're still here, you're in." The fixer smiles, shaking a victory fist in the air. "Arctic. So, to cut to the chase. I usually go by for a week or two without a solid offer. Yesterday, I got two, asking for a decent team. And that means you." He gestures around the table. "Told the one I had a better hunch for to meet at 11 today. That's normal person 11, not 11 in the morning, so you didn't miss it." Seeing the pierced waitress staring in their direction, he throws her the peace sign. "Each!", he adds in a shout, prompting a large tray of drinks to appear on the table a moment later.
"So, you got an afternoon to get your beauty sleep, clear your schedules and call your babes and dude babes to tell 'em you're taking them out for a fancy dinner some time soon." He stands up, holding the bottle in the air for a toast. "To good business and bad businessmen, Kafer. If you wanna flap gums now, I'll be here to answer."
"Sounds wiz, Freddy. Couple of quick questions. First, what's the dresscode at the meet? We talking high-style and concealed carry" Nomad plucks at his fancy duds as he speaks.
"Or more of a "synthleather and chrome" kinda spot? Cuz I can work any angle needed. Just gotta have the details ahead of time, so ka?"
He steeples his fingers and looks at the fixer with a serious gaze before continuing.
"We got a time frame on the job? Carry all the gear to the meet cuz we are gonna roll out immediately or something a bit more long-term scale? That should cover my inquiries. Anything else we're missing, team?"
Freddy slaps his forehead, then laughs out loud. "Man, I knew I forgot something. One thing bad about old age, am I right?" His smile is sincere, if self-deprecating.
"We're meeting in a small place just down the road. Two mil.", he nods. One jerk of the eye later, everyone's commlinks ping HorizonMaps coordinates for a place called Dram's, roughly four blocks away. "I'd lean towards the latter, man, but don't get too done up. Johnson was leaning towards meeting in the Pigs in Blankets, but I convinced him to go somewhere more neutral."
Freddy seems to ponder a little more on the second question, before scratching his beard. "Normally I'd say be rough and ready. But the dude didn't mind rescheduling much, so you're bound to be able to grab your hardware, unless you hitchhike here from Chicago every day."
Give me two Area Knowledge: Seattle rolls.
Area Knowledge: Seattle 0 hits
Area Knowledge: Seattle 2 hits
= 1 hit
= 1 hit
At Freddy's words Road-Rage peers at his fellow runners with his shark-dark eyes;
"Some look rough. All look ready I think."
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"I take my wheels chummers. Anyone need lift I can collect and take... Just don't treat me like nUber or I dump you in Barrens."
Strikes you the hob might be joking, conversely might not.
It looks like Blacksap is pondering whether to accept the job or not, but in the end he decides for it. "Thanks, I've my own wheels. But I'll take you up for going to the job. So, Freddy, assuming, as normal, that the Johnson'll be trying to screw us over, what can you tell us 'bout it? Normally I'd have someone dip in the Matrix, but it sounds like we're short a decker. Unless you moonlight as one, Road-Rage?"
Nomad spreads his hands and an ARO of his commcode appears, wrapped in a shiny bow and ready to be added as a contact.
"Good call, Wraith. While we're at it, if you've got a transceiver, switch to this freq and we can have an alternate commline as well."
Nomad attaches the small device to his collar and switches it on.
"I'll ride with you, Road-Rage. Just gonna nip home real quick and switch gear a bit. Gonna stop at the Weapons World or Kong WalMart on the way, anyone need anything. Legal things, at least?"
While Dram's speaks nothing to you, you've heard a thing or two about the Pigs in Blankets. It's a famously rough bar in Tacoma, mostly frequented by metahumans working in the factories nearby.
Dram's is a bar formerly associated with the more entrepreneurially oriented members of the Ork Underground.
The Pigs in Blankets is a place associated with workers and low-grade criminals in the Tacoma area.
Dram's is a place you've heard of, but never visited. It's affiliated with the Ork Underground, and even the Underground itself, since it's been a popular neutral ground meeting place since the 40's, mostly between Orks and Trolls and Dwarves.
Now the Pigs in Blankets, called for the not-so-subtle hint at Corporate forces in body bags, is a notorious place for low-level crime in Tacoma. Small time drug dealers, pickpockets and car thieves mesh with blue collared dockers, warehouse workers, mostly of the dwarven and orkish variety.
Scratching his head, Freddy gives Blacksap a grin, then extends his hand. "Good to have you aboard! You got that right, man. I look at it this way - everyone likes their nuyen, and would like to keep it nice and close. Not so sure about the guy, but from what I gathered, I know he's not JapanaCorp, and I got the feeling he's probably not corp at all." Shrugging, he takes another sip, his voice turning serious once more.
"Don't think recon's a bad idea, but remember, it's thin ice. Matrix searches to see if someone got tricked by a guy looking like him is all fine. Breaking into his commlink or tailing him isn't. Rep's harder to put back together than people, man." Raising his hands to indicate he's said his piece, he checks his commlink. "Not that you aren't arctic, omae, but I'll be buzzin' soon. Places, people, all that. Meet you there, ten to."
Glass joins the general swapping of comm-codes.
"Won't really know what else we need until we know what the job is. Might be worth stocking up on the basics though."
Finishing his beer and grabbing a drink from the tray, he looks over at road-rage.
"Never had a nUber take me home before, so I think I'll grab a ride"
As he waits for the comms to be aligned Road-Rage shakes his head in a negative to Blacksap's question;
"Not me chummer. Wheel-man is my forte, leaving the decking to the proper bit-heads."
The hob drains his Soyweiser ® then chimes in his thoughts with a scowl;
"I know Dram's. Word is, hey have ties to Ork Underground. Place neutral ground for meet n' greets 'tween us Trogs an' the Squats."
He flashes his teeth in a grimace;
Pigs in Blankets is whole other slice of lo-life. Best avoided."
At Glass' comment the grimace shifts to a (slightly) less threatening grin;
"Hah... You funny. No problemo omae... Plenty of room in The Monsta for you and anyone else. Drop you where you need. Just need to pick up my stuff too..."
The rigger chuckles in amusement at his own words, then beckons anyone looking for a lift to follow;
"Sorry. Private joke with self. You see."
"Mind if I ride with you big guy?", Janie asks the Orc as the group begins to break up to prepare for the run.
The hob nods an affirmative to the ex-Star;
"More merrier. We work out drops along way... As long as Wraith last I guessing."
Anyone following him arrives before a matt black Ford Titan.
Road-Rage pauses at the brute van, a look of pride on his usually belligerent features;
"My Monsta chummers... and votar ..."