Guardian nods, "Room's yours for another 3 hours. The monitors are off, and it's warded -- so it's a quiet and safe place. But, you won't be able to call out from here if you want to hit a contact - though I'd have recommended against making those calls from here anyway... and repeat the suggestion of getting a throw-away."
A small beep catches her attention and she pulls out her pocket secretary, "I've got to go very, very soon. Any last questions? I'll be out of contact for at least 24 hours after this."
Raptor turns the gun over in his hands, studying its specifications. He hands it back to Guardian. "Fine piece. I won't forget one like that."
He looks about at the others. "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us, then."
Guardian slides the weapon back into a holster, waits a beat, then nods, "Ok, everyone. I've got to finish getting dressed for my date."
She stands, then stops, sliding something across the table, "A small bit of advice for the future. Generally, runners tend to negotiate a little upfront from their pay -- partially for expanses, and partially as protection against the many Johnsons that'll doublecross and frag you over in the end."
She smiles, "I'm not going to do that last part, of course, but that's a certified credstick with 2,000 nuyen on it. Ten percent of the base pay. Should help with those bar tabs... or whatever other expenses you might have."
She steps back to the wooden doors that admitted her, pausing a moment before opening them to say, "Good hunting," before stepping in to the back room. The wooden doors swing closed, and you hear a click -- presumably a lock engaging.
Jay stands up and nods courteously to Guardian as she departs.
And openly scoops the credstick.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, Guardian." The hand stretched toward the wooden doors returns to grip his lapel, and he smiles broadly. "I intend to do my part on her behalf. I have some friends that I could talk to, but it is late for them tonight. Raptor, I have a man you should talk to about that gun. I'm sure you have your own, but seems to me that the wider net we cast, the more chance for fish."
"The most pressing question is, do we tackle the Chromed Skulls tonight? Miss this window and its 18 hours to the next. That meet should be friendly, but like fair Guar -- Fallen Star I would like to dress for the dance. Business formal won't cut it."
"If you've got a guy who knows guns," Raptor says to Jay, "or better yet has an ear to the ground when it comes to interesting pieces hitting the market - he sounds like a good guy to talk to."
"Of course, moving a statue like that won't be easy for whoever took it. Somebody might have their ear to the ground for a thing like that. I never took march to art history."
He turns to 0nyx. "I don't know if Fallen Star wants us probing for old enemies, but you might be right. Somebody knew what they were doing. Somebody knew what was in that stash - and that brings us back to the Chromed Skulls."
"Talking is what I do best. Custom weapons and fine art are a little outside of my usual line, but I can make inquiries. My contacts have contacts.
Raptor, I'd rather bring you along to meet my weapons man. I'm sure you'll describe the piece more accurately. "
”Alright. Is your guy around at this hour, or should we set it up for tomorrow? Maybe we talk to the Chromed Skulls at Finnegan’s Wake tonight, and follow up with some of our contacts during daylight... unless we have anybody we want to talk to first.”
"Most of my contacts open shop mid-morning. We may prejudice our case by rousting them from hearth and home at this hour. Safest to leave them until tomorrow."
Jay takes a long pull from his bier.
"Although I'd love talk to the Skulls as soon as, and visit the safehouse, Onyx brings up some good points.
How much do we want to poke into the client's business? Would she appreciate us asking on the street about snatch and grabs on urban legends, or even street runners? I've got a guy I could approach on that line, but then word gets out that Fallen Star got hit. I think we should hold back on that line until nothing else has worked.
So we start with recovering loot. Pawn shops and fences are a good idea. I think we start in Redmond close to the safehouse and expand from there.
On a more prosaic level, Fallen Angel gave us 2k to start. We'll have to offer something to my arms dealer. We're probably looking at a hefty bar tab with the Skulls.
What do you all think?"
"Always happy to have someone watching my back. All the neighborhoods we visit won't be posh."
Figment offers, "I reckon I could go sniffin' 'round on the Matrix, to see if there's been any busy bees buzzin' about hitting the safehouse, or looking to offload these goods. Obviously, it'll all be a passive search, ain't gonna leak out that Fallen Star's been hit... or, worse, tip off thems that done it that we're lookin'."
He grumbles in Sperethiel and adds, "...and download a Cityspeak soft."
At Onyx's statement about the safehouse, he perks up a little, "That ain't a bad idea.. plus, we could take a look-see for cameras. Guardian ain't gone none, but someone else might."
Figment is our decker. Let him deck.
I think we all need to show up for the Skulls meeting, even if we disguise ourselves as two smaller groups. I think a face to face with them would be wise before a physical, full group visit to the safe house.
Tonight Jay will also make calls where appropriate to set up meetings for tomorrow.
Depending on how it goes with the Skulls, the drive-by could turn into a physical visit of the safehouse tonight.
Just my $.02
Figment shrugs, "Reckon it's as good a plan as any. Don't suppose anyone's got a van we can get there in?" He chuckles, then turns serious, "Actually, what's the address? I oughta check if there's one of them insecure jackpoints 'round there. Never hurts to have a place to hop on the Grid that ain't likely to have cameras... or rapid Lone Star response. 'Specially if we're makin' friends with the gangers."
With that, he throws back what's left in the glass, ice and all, and stands. "Let's get to it. We ain't getting any closer to the truth in here... and I left my baby in a locker, and I'm kinda not feelin' the best about that."
Raptor nods. "I think that's our best place to start." Seeing Figment rise, he does as well, his large frame unfolding from his chair.
Raptor will also consider what, if anything, he knows about the gun the Guardian showed him, beyond what was readily available.
With 2 successes, you don't really have anything more than what Guardian offered -- whomever crafted it did a wonderful job in making it look like a stock Manhunter - enough to fool anyone without a good eye, or with enough skill to know what one of those should feel like in the hand.
"Do you all mind if we make a stop on the way? I could use some dry, practical clothes."
Jay considers offering to hotwire a vehicle, but stops short. It's not even a fifty-fifty proposition; he's that long out of practice.
He does circle behind the bar and grabs the bottle of Jameson's. "For celebrating when the run is done."
Figment says, "I've got my Rapier out there, so I reckon I could bring a passenger, but just one. And it ain't likely to make us any friends with a go-gang - I figure they're all ridin' choppers. Probably Harleys."
”I got a bike myself,” Raptor shares. ”Might be able to take one.”
”Long term, looks like we could use a driver.”
"I can drive," Jay offers somewhat shyly. "But I don't have a car."
A momentary look of longing passes over his face before he flushes and straightens up.
"What it is, is that I can meet you all there in about an hour, maybe one point five. Best to spread ourselves in twos or threes, look less on the hunt. Case the bar, dip a toe in. Best if I hustle the deal. Before we split up we should exchange numbers to maintain communication. I'll call just before I show. "
”Anyone got a lead on some burner comms? Probably best if we use those. Our personal comms should be a last resort.”
Jay flushes again, frowns. Draws and holds up a cheap phone. "I have a burner already. Let me give you the number."
Figment says, "We're lucky that we're in the nicer part of the Barrens where there's a Shack nearby."
He says, "But, if we're lookin' for a wheelman, I know a guy. Well, I know a mechanic who works in the grey and black, but I reckon he'd be able to recommend one of his client's who'd take the job... Probably need to give him have a finder's fee, though."
He shrugs, "Plus, we'd probably want to decide if we're just looking for a ride, or we want a hotshot Rigger with a Battlewagon. I know I like the idea of the second one better, but I reckon I'd be less fond of the price tag."
"Alright. Let's hit the Shack first."
"We may need that wheelman later, but I'm with 0nyx - probably not needed for scouting."
Figment says, "Accordin' to my local map, there's Shack's just a block over. And, yes, this is a real map, not an "official" one, I didn't just fall off the wag---" He stops and his slow drawl changes to a musical brogue and he says, "No, I'm not bloody saying that, sod it.", before changing back, "I reckon it's easier if we all walk -- if only so I ain't got to pay the folks to watch my bike a second time."
Figment nods, "Ayup. Gotta go rescue my girl, let's go."
You leave the room and head back the dark hall, seeing a twenty-something in a silver-blue synthleather outfit that's clearly an expensive designer's attempt to copy "street" styles - but lacking the attitude to pull it off. On his right is a tall, slender girl with red and orange hair, wearing a few strategic bits of fabric and sporting small bat-like wings in the same pallette, completing the hellfire motif. He sends to be whispering to her, and she nods and giggles in response, until he sees you, "A group party?! Why wasn't I invited?! "
Before you can respond, the succubus touches his face and recaptures his attention, shrugging an apology as she leads him to their room.
The rest of the trip out is less eventful, though the music seems even louder than you remember -- and you definitely get the feeling that Figment is rushing -- and a few minutes later you've passed back through the Gate and into the hallway.
If the others seem eager to get out of this place, Raptor seems just as eager to keep up with them. He is definitely out of his element in a place like this. He wants to get his hands on his bow and other gear once again. He hastens to the locker area to retrieve his gear.
Figment shrugs and mutters something about "fun" under his breath, while rushing forward to his locker, pulling out a kevlar duffel, and rapidly undoing a half-dozen locks before sliding down the zipper and sighing contentedly, saying something in what you think is Sperethiel. He nods and takes off his long coat, strapping on a pair of pistols and a long blade - straight, not a katana, before covering it all with his coat. He adjusts everything, and then slings the bag over his shoulder, "Ready."
Following the others back to the lockers, Jay grins stupidly at the twenty-something and faux succubus.
In the locker room, he watches the others open their lockers. He is interested in who chose red, the passcode, or black, the mechanical lock.
He moves to a red locker himself, keys in some digits. Once it is opened, he draws out an envelope and a small pistol both of which slide into his vest pockets after he breaks the breech to check the rounds in the pistol. Next is a long black overcoat, heavy, still dripping, quite possibly of real wool. Finally he draws out a short-barreled shotgun. He cycles the weapon, ejecting five shells into his locker. He examines the rounds, then feeds them one by one back into the firearm's magazine. The shotgun disappears under the jacket.
Raptor produces his key and opens his black locker. He pulls out his weapons - most conspicuously (and peculiarly) his compound bow and katana. He fits these over his shoulder, and throws his long duster awkwardly atop everything.
Thus arrayed, he looks to his companions - eager to be out of this place.
Outside, the rain has stopped, turning to more of a constant, wet winter's drizzle... something that Figment starts grumbling about in a language you don't recognize, before he adds, for your benefit, no doubt, "Trust me to come to the one place worse than London for a man with fur." Still, the drizzle doesn't burn, and seems to keep the worst of the aerosol smells at bay -- making it at least somewhat welcome, in addition to being very familiar.
You're a little surprised to see a few expensive cars pulling up, realizing that it's probably more rich folk coming to "walk on the wild side" at Infernal. The kids that were shooting at the bandits when you came in are certainly paying attention, and one of them walks over to talk to the driver, pointing him toward an alley after a bit of negotiation....
Looking around, you see that Figment was right to call this the "nice" part of the Barrens -- most of the buildings are still intact -- the lower floors, at least -- and there's no glaring barriers or holes in the roads - or sidewalk. In the bottom level of one of the low-rise tenement buildings you see a thick iron grate covering a roll-down metal door which has been clearly tagged with a gang sign. Above the gate is a sign that reads, CRICKET'S FIX-IT -- surprisingly intact, though that might be because it's painted in the same colours as the gang sign below.
You reach the Stuffer Shack's parking lot, such that it is, and see a small group of Orks tearing into what looks like a Shacker Special and a few bags of something that crinkles as they tear them open. One of them looks up at you, stopping when he sees Raptor's bow, then laughing, "Hoi, Robin Hood and his merry men." He folds the limp slice of soy-bread "pizza" in half, then takes a large bite, before walking toward you, "This here, this is our Shack. We don't want to see no static here, so let's make sure we all have a nice shopping trip." He adds, "Think of us as store sec... and a bit of aftermarket, too, if you're looking for something the Shack hasn't got on its shelves." He takes another big bite, then throws the crust over his shoulder, and asks, "Chill?"