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Hey everyone, sorry to leave you hanging for such a long time. I may have bitten more off than I can chew with this game, and you've been a great team of runners. Thank you all for your interest and your excellent RPing, and hopefully see you around Paizo in the future. I'm archiving the game now.
Ugh. I should watch how I phrase things. Late night here. Hope this explains it better. On the bright side, I have more ideas, and with quarantine about, all my (decreased) spare time's spent on PbP. Start of Round
IP 2
IP 3
You gotta run for cover! Basically - In IP 2 of 3, you dodged the suppressive fire from the drones, leaving you at 8. Nomad, at 1, fired a shot at the drones, while the Rigger with his initiative of 12, opened the door and took cover, as his first action for the round. Round ended, bringing everyone's initiative down by 10. In IP 3 of 3, as the Rigger was the only one who could act - as you were at -2 at this point. At which point, he popped out of cover, and fired at the obviously large threat! As nothing was visible at Initiative 18, I can say you decided to take the Overwatch action, and have a shot at one of the drones without the benefit of the aim action. (That drone'd probably be down, they're busted up already!) This guy oughta be taken care of in a round or two, somehow, and there'll be a Google Sheet for the next fight I'm working on right now.
Basically, a summary of how I'm doing the initiative for the people with a lot of passes: Most of the Team, bar Sunset and Wraith get 2 passes, or rarely, 1. For the third one, to avoid unusual downtime, I pass the last actions of the previous round in the first pass of the next round. So if you had 12 initiative at the end of round 2, and you're the only one acting on 2, you get to act twice at the start of round 3. Since you missed your action, you can fire at the drones - but at the time you're able to take that action, the Rigger's staying in full cover behind a crate, so you can't fire at him. As the last action at pass 3, the rigger popped out of cover, and fired a wide full burst (10 rounds) rather than a wide long burst (5 rounds), giving him a penalty from recoil and you a penalty to dodge. As you were already out of initiative, you can't use the gymnastics to dodge. If you want to use edge, you can probably use it to re-roll my s&*&ty soak roll, though, as I did roll bad on that. @Everyone else, Wraith's point on Imgur is fair on multiple levels, so I'll get a google sheet for that, so you can move your characters as well.
Team Fashion:
As soon as Wraith returns fire to the drones, the machines start scuttling on the ground, but each takes at least one shot to their tiny frame with a satisfying 'pang'. The security guy cries out, lunging to grab another set of boxes through the firefight. As the drones scuttle, the ork leans out from behind a container, aiming his Ares Alpha at the street samurai, and letting out a barrage of blue-trailed bullets.
Team Magic:
With the salvo from Sunset and Road-Rage, the spirit seems to barely hold together to its materialised form - only for Glass' own magical ability to latch onto its ethereal body. Gasping out loud, the spirit scoffs, looking at the shop. "I've done more than my part, shopkeeper.", he says in a tone of wounded pride, and with a snap of his fingers, disappears in a cloud of brimstone. As you turn around, you see the mages slamming the door behind them with their haul.
Rolls:
Team Magic:
Despite the barrage of heavy fire going through the spirit (and stationery and reagents behind him) being enough to drop even a heavily augmented troll, the spirit remains upstanding in the air, though it howls out in terror, the once fine suit now tattered. "You! You dare!", it roars, as it begins channelling a spell, staring viciously at Sunset. As the gunfire begins, the two mages leap up from their chairs, and start bolting for the door, grabbing pots, books and jars on their way as they sprint above the lying down hostages.
Team Fashion:
Just as the guard throws another five boxes of high heels in the car, the door of the room in the corner slams open, as two wheeled drones wheel out, spewing lead out of their SMG at Wraith and Nomad, blue streaks of light buzzing in the air. Despite the guard being in both barrages, the bullets seem to fly past him without harming him. An armoured ork runs out of the room, armed with an Ares Alpha, then bolts straight down towards the metal crates to the south.
Initiative:
Merc Rigger 12 Wraith 8 Nomad 1 Security Slave 1 Sunset 1 Spirit of Man 6 R-R 5 Mages 11 Glass 9 Rolls/OoC:
5 hits. If you fail the test, you take 11S, AP -5.
Heya! While I appreciate the interest, we're currently running with 7 people out of the intended 5. (As I couldn't help myself) We're in a bit of a lull with us nor being sure how to proceed, and with all the craziness in the OG Fifth World. So, if we need any people in the future, and none of the other applicants in the recruitment thread, whom I promised to keep an eye out for, reply - I give you a shout! Thanks!
Merc Rigger's marked as his turn completed, that's why I gave Wraith two actions. They did... things. Unbolded is inactive. Game-wise, though, I'm not sure. I'm definitely willing to continue, but the combat is bound to take a lot of time now, and while I can easily bot a couple of people, with all the rolls I'm rolling already, it kinda starts to feel like a fair bit of work. I'm still convinced I can commit to three posts a week, (especially if I end up working from home), but I can only post if you guys do the same. About the maps, if and when we get to another map, I can start putting them onto Google Sheets to avoid apes distracting people. ^^ (And also, to give you tokens to move around.)
Team Fashion:
The security guard shudders at Wraith's comment, but the SMG in her hand sends him scuttling across the floor. He picks up several boxes, dropping one at his feet, then quickly puts them in the truck. Nomad, aided with Sybil's AR prompts, quickly identifies a shelf, packed with seemingly ordinary and rather drab looking T-Shirts. The AR, however, indicates that each shirt is worth 500 nuyen, and just as he unloads a stackfull of them in the van, a prompt from Sybil appears on both your PANs.
Team Magic:
"Some sort? I'm a spirit of institutionalised education! You baseless scoundrel!", the spirit roars in return. As Sunset shouts, it's little wonder that R-R's attention is immediately drawn to the summoned spirit. Roaring out, the ork grins as he bears his AK towards the spirit, aims, and fires. The barrage, by any means, would've dropped an unarmoured troll dead, or at least bleeding in their tracks. The rounds bury themselves into the man's body, who grins deeply, only for a trickle of ephemeral blood to drain from his mouth. "You! Thief, you are, thief and a murderer!", the spirit screeches, as it points its attention towards the ork and screeches. The two mages, seeing that the visually scariest member of the robbers' attention is pointed elsewhere, flip the table and break into a run, grabbing the closest bags, vases and reagents they can get in their hasty escape, one of them kneeing a hostage in the face accidentally. The hostages scream at the gunfire, and the already crazed bookstore jumps into an even louder mess.
Initiative:
Merc Rigger 22 Wraith 18 x2 Nomad 11 Security Slave 11 Sunset 21 [i]x2
Rolls: X2
Hey Sybil, sorry to see you go. I've been struggling with burnout myself, and that's something normal. (I think.) I've had a lot of joy playing with you, and I'd love to see you in the future. If not, then all the best for your future endeavours, and know there's always a place on this table for you! @Azil, you're still sticking around, I hope, and I'll try and get to you as quickly as possible.
Libertarians fought for the right to recreational machine guns and grenades. And, yeah, you'd be able to pass some checks on your higher quality fake SIN, with lesser risk of it being 'burned', whereas people with Forbidden tech need to pass said checks on cheaper fake SINs, and those IDs are busted when they're caught with them.
@Sweeper - all seems in order here, now that I've given it a closer look. I also noticed you don't have any F rating gear, so that's pretty nifty for you. We got a run to finish, and then you get to join the party!
Sybil:
The drone's icon bleeps gleefully in acceptance of Sybil's mark, showing that it has acknowledged your existance. Team Fashion:
The guard doesn't seem to respond to Wraith's call, appearing terrified as the street sam grabs his arm. He screams, dropping the taser in his hands. "L-look, I saw you with a gun poking around the crates.", he shouts back, before whispering. "Please, just punch me in the face, don't kill me, I'll lay low and be kn-knocked out...", he whimpers, his arm shaking in yours. Nomad, on the other hand, carrying as many shoeboxes as he can comfortably fit on his hands, runs to and fro from the vehicle, throwing them with little regards for the packaging in the boot. Even with his admitted, limited knowledge of sporty fashion, the near-dozen boxes, even second hand, worth more than twice his monthly rent.
Team Magic:
The two men at the corner table lift their hands in acknowledgement at Glass, and his threat seems to confirm and placate them. Instead, their eyes begin darting to and fro from the elf himself, onto the rampaging ork, and then, onto the less secure cabinets surrounding the door. Glass' well trained eye indicates that the men are probably looking for stuff to pocket in the ruckus caused by you, but know too well not to get in a trained mage's (and a trained ork's) way. Road-Rage's threat echoes heavily into the shop, and the flying chair ricochets into a wall, shattering into undoubtedly real splinters. The screams subside into a quiet whimpering, and whatever patrons were squirming stop, hanging their heads low and covering them with their hands. Just as he looks towards Sunset slapping away a young man's commlink to the ground and leaping over the counter, he sees a form apparating with a cloud of mist. A humanoid, dressed in a plaid suit, with a skin of deep, crimson red, sigils and marks travelling across his skin. "Begone, scoundrels, from this place!", the voice bellows in an unnaturally hollow voice with a enunciated English accent. The spirit waves his hands towards Sunset, and everyone can see the air around the elf's head starting to vibrate and glow in impossible colours.
Initiative:
Sybil 16
Rolls/OoC:
Sybil:
You're now even more first. And to answer your question, yes, it's 3 to give it commands! But remember, the owner still takes priority over you (when they pay attention to it), and you can't change that without a lot of time and a lot of luck.
Initiatives!:
Team Fashion:
The guard's head pops around the corner, and as he spots Wraith moving to holster her weapon, his voice echoes. "H-hey! You! Leave, now!" Despite the threat, there's no concealing the shock and fear in his voice. "Knights are on the way here!", he adds hastily, before ducking back behind another pile of crates. Nomad, dressed up and ready, hears a commotion from the room towards his left hand side A door gently opens for a moment, before rapidly closing again, the murmuring and the shouting intensifying for a moment. Nomad's well honed hearing catches the words, 'robbers', and 'protection' shouted as questions from the panicked voices.
Team Magic:
Most of the shop attendees raise their hands, their short trips towards the door nipped in the bud by the large ork and his larger AK. Instead, they kneel down and sit on the ground, their hands still held in the air. As Glass focuses on the two men, their auras flash a primal red, the adrenaline-filled response of a beast caught by another, but it quickly subsides to the tense yellow once more. One of them slowly puts his open hands on the table, and the other once follows suit. Sunset, standing by the desk, notices a rather horrified teenager to her side. He raises his hands, the commlink in his hand clearly indicating that he was just ready to make a purchase, obviously by the salesman who'd just disappeared into the storage room. The teenager's face turns white, as he takes a cautious step backwards into a cupboard, knocking down a couple of glass jars that shatter on the ground.
Sybil:
With a wave of the hand (and a string of code behind it), you mark the warehouse taser drone. The drone beeps a set of greetings, and the simplified icon of a German Shepherd appears on your PAN, in the security room. What is more worrying, however, is a trio of other drones starting up from the fitting room, . As you make your announcement about the drek, the screen monitoring your Johnson lights up. "That didn't take long. Not ones for wasting time, are ya? I'll call ya if I need assistance, netrunner.", Ms. Johnson replies dryly, as she boosts the massive trollcycle into and through the garage door, sending metal and plastic flying everywhere. The camera shows the woman jumping from the bike, giving three-bullet burst into the air from her pistol, and starting to shout at the employees.
Rolls:
I'm really sorry to hear that, RR, take all the time you need. I'll try and move to a post every 2-3 days from now on when in combat until everyone's here on the schedule. I'll get one tomorrow, if people haven't moved, and push on with the situation (and the initiative.)
Team Magic:
As Road-Rage bursts through the door, dressed in a mask and body armour, the few attendees seem to practically leap up from the tables, eyes staring straight into the ork's mask. As Sunset runs in past, the few patrons standing up seem to step out of her way, raising their hands in the air as quickly as possible amidst scared gasps and screams. Glass opens his third eye to the Astral plane, and the magic shop lights up like a Maria Mercurial concert. All the walls are practically covered with low-glowing, faint auras, and nearly half of the patrons are Awakened. The auras of most seem to glow in the tell-tale purplish-pale hues surrender fear and panic, but two men sitting at a table next to the window glow a lot fainter than most, their auras a calm blue quickly turning into anticipatory yellow. Sunset's rapid dash carries her over to the massive sales desk, the door behind it closed.
Team Fashion:
The real target, however, is the reason you came here for. Sybil notices that four cameras are active in the west part of the shop, with multiple alerts connected to them. As Nomad begins to park the van in the back, Sybil's access to the camera shows her that a note has been sent to the guard room. A guard stands up, a tired looking human with a three-day stubble, finishing a cup of recaf and checking his commlink. The man seems equipped with a standard set of body armour, and a taser and a pistol hang on his hip.
The guard seems to be fairly relaxed, until you and him get an alarm message from the host. A camera in the ceiling pointing towards Wraith concealed next to a Nike-branded shipping crate. The guard suddenly jerks awake, running for cover into the Discounted Wares storage
Rolls:
Oh, god... Bing bong... Hello guys! I know I've been gone without notice around the holidays, but after getting out of the sarariman job I had my RL Shadowrun comparisons somewhat disappeared, for better or worse. Looking back, I curse past me for deciding to find a reason to split the party, but the genie's out of the bottle now. I'll get a post either tomorrow or on Monday, and hopefully we'll get to introducing Azil soon.
"Don't know about purloining, but I know about fair warnings.", she replies non-chalantly mid-run. There's little but relief in Nural's mind as she enters the stables, followed by Quimble. "It's me! I brought the healer!", she shouts as soon as she rushes past the gates to the stables. Kneeling down next to the woman, she puts a hand on her shoulder. "You're a tough one, ya?", she breathes out a laugh, as she gently takes the blood covered pistol from the woman's side and holsters it in her belt. "I thought 'about to die' covered it, Quimble, ya?" Keeping a hand on her shoulder as Quimble fumbles to pick out the numerous potions and poultices from his bag, she stands up to let the alchemist work. A good deed, now let it not go unpunished, huh., she thinks to herself as she takes a step away and next to the gang leader's side. Groaning out in clear exasperation at Omar's question, she puts her hands at her hips. "Like I said, barghest knows.", she shrugs. "Woman comes bleeding in my compound, I go and get the healer, ya?", she tilts her head, clearly indicating that she feels it's the right thing to do. "You want honest, Omar?", she sends a frown to the man's face. "I was sitting doing paperwork. That pinkskin bursts in bleeding, thought a gunshot should keep others from being too nosy. Was surprised you came in that fast, especially tonight, though." She pulls out her rugged, hobgoblin made pistol, and starts angrily loading bullets. "Then I was about to sprawl Rotteeth and the other gang on the side, you came up and saved me and her some time, which I had little intention on wasting waxing words with you, if you don't mind." Kicking the dirt on the floor, she adds, "Still pissed off 'bout giving back that torch. Don't want to guess how the duster got that." Staring up at the much taller human's face once more, she leans back on the door, giving a glance inside to check on Quimble. "Now for real honest, I didn't feel it was all too important for you, I don't like any people in the compound at night causing a stir, and -", she frowns once again, "I'm sure neither you nor me are dumb enough to think I feel like lying to you, ya? And to, ahem, continue that thread of honesty, I'll honestly appreciate you going now, seeing as how you saw that I've been honest, and trust I'll come back to you if there's anything important for the neighbourhood." Tilting her head down to indicate that the ball is now in Omar's court, she takes another step inside, to get a longer look at the wounded woman and Quimble's workings.
Fashion Team!:
As Nomad and Wraith watch on, the synthesized message from Sybil hasn't even finished playing in your ears before the door begins to open. In the distance, you see the back of an industrialised warehouse and racks and racks of clothes on hangers. Rails of clothes and packages buzz ten feet in the air towards the front of shop. Nobody is visible in the warehouse itself from your location.
The day starts like most others in Seattle these days, a gray, sloppy snowfall rises like a pall above the city streets, the hazy, flashy signs on the skyscrapers only faint glow across the darkening skies. Huddled in the snail-paced traffic, the news on the 'trix are constantly bubbling with conversations about the upcoming mayoral election, the Amazonia rebuilding effort and other, minor trifles of the day. Only a few pedestrians dare brave the slippery sidewalks and the chilling, almost hurricane winds you feel battering your cars. R-R, Sunset, Glass:
The heater in R-R's Titan is turned up to the max, the windshield wipers working overtime to keep the chunks of snow out of your view. The plastic cover over the pick-up back occasionally creeks gently as a gust of wind picks it up. The shop, your target, is just half a block away, the lights inside on, yet only a few figures within huddle around the weighty tables. Nomad, Wraith:
The van Freddy'd got you, a five-year old Ford Econovan is full of old krill-chips wrappers and smells not so faintly of stale weed, cigarettes and body sweat. The heater pushing the air inside does little than to smell the scent further, but the vehicle does its job well - being incredibly inconspicuous. In front of you sits the controls for the livery on the vehicle's side, currently set to 'Chip's Mechanical Servises and Plumbing', with a picture of a dark-skinned dwarf hanging on the side. Parked in the shopping gallery's outdoor parking, you notice that despite the cold, there's a few well-wrapped (and a couple surprisingly skimpy dressed) young individuals smoking and chatting next to an outside heater in front of the Vashon Island shop, the queue having steadily increased over the last half-hour. A couple of vans have darted in and out from the back entrance, and you're pretty certain where the entrance Monica invited you to is.
Sybil:
At times like these, you're right chuffed you don't have to go out. Your favourite music in the background, heating to the maximum and a steady run's worth of snacks and hydration on your side, you've just finished double-checking the team's feeds, eager to jump in the trix.
A message appears on the radio, a vidcall from what appears to be an Athabaskan wrapped in several layers of fake fur, mounted on a familiar bike. "Alright chummers!", the voice of Ms. Johnson announces. "I'm outside the lab. They've just finished unloading a van, so I'm feelin' mighty lucky right 'bout now.", she adds. "Can make an entrance at any point. Sybil, sugar, you give me a heads-up when the first group starts? Sending you feed now.", she adds. On your comms is a closed, truck-sized garage door at the end of an alleyway, seemingly from the perspective of the motorbike's headlight.
Freddy's asking for 3,500, which is mostly for getting a not-so-suspicious van on short notice from a shady dealer. Pricy, but not 'whole new second hand van' pricy, and ideally one that has a spoof chip installed. The borrow idea could definitely work, if the run wasn't taking place in Downtown, which is a rich and overpoliced neighbourhood. Think flying traffic control drones and licence plate checkers in and out. @Azil, Increased seating would be that exact thing, yes. I think there's a drone rack somewhere that takes care of the drones as well, which you can get to get a drone carrier.
Sybil:
The reality of meatspace hits Sybil like truck, the lightspeed of her sim impacting the sluggishness of her body like a highway crash. A minute later, though, she's hit the BBS. The paydata, labeled 'Vashon Island Customers and Measurements' is barely up for a minute until a bid appears, another, higher one appearing a moment later. Noting herself to monitor the thread, she gets on for her day, and by nightfall, the price for the list has already reached 6,500 nuyen, two hours until closing time.
A message from Freddy comes in a moment later as the conversation's picked up.
R-R, Sunset, Glass:
The shopkeeper glances at Glass for a moment, the mention of his 'prey' clearly making him a little uneasy, but the sight of Sunset and Road-Rage in the background clearly tilt his opinion on the matter. "Then, from what I understand, you'll probably need a little boost." He disappears in a moment, returning with a small aluminium can with a maple leaf on it, words in Salish spread on the surface. "A little energy drink, perhaps? Sometimes we have to count our blessings." A cursory glance from Glass indicates that the contents are indeed marked with a slight magical aura, and the shoddy construction of the can and the last-century styling on the label suggests that these are little more than a garage job with the slightest veneer of respectability. "This one's on deal. 400 for you, tell your... colleagues.", he whispers.
Sybil:
The lock provides little resistance as Sybil's rapid attack breaks it open, the padlock icon cracking open and disintegrating in the open air. Inside, a summary glance allows the decker to see the most traffic on the system's heading as requests towards the HR department in Vashon Central. The second most popular file, however, is a simple database, correlating names with numbers - numbers similar to those in the 'Heritage Amazonia Stock - Seattle - #2' file. None of the names speaks anything to Sybil.
Rolls:
The message ends, leaving you up in the morning with nothing planned to do for the rest of your day.
Hey guys! I know Thanksgiving is around the corner for at least half of us, so I'll give it until after it's finished (right after when I google exactly when it is), and afterwards I'll move the action ahead. So far, you've confirmed that there is, indeed, plenty of loot at those places, and as soon as Sybil gets some (pay)data or gets mind-fried by GOD, we'll go ahead to a final plan summary post and get on to the lootin', shootin', and bootin'.
Nomad, Wraith:
Monica's eyes light up as she thinks over Wraith's words. "Oh! Guerilla marketing, not Gorilla Marketing.", she sighs. "Well, fitting all of them overnight might be a little difficult, but we can convince the fitters so that they're all ready a day before." She taps her lips. "There's the delivery parking spot behind the shop, if you bring your cameras and crew around the time you want it to, I can make sure you get in as they're being fitted. If you want to bring someone, like, really famous behind in the shop, though, let me know, I want to be in the shot.", she hisses conspiratively, then shuffles a little. "Is there anything else? If you have questions, or want me to do something, here's my comms.", she whispers, shooting away an AR ping onto your pans, then disappears into back into the shop, skip in her step. Sybil:
The metahuman and myStore icons seem to have no protection, but a longer look at the network file appears to have a small padlock around it. The files in the metahuman resources shows a collection of emails and correspondence for the local branch, as well as the payslip recordings for the people working here. The files in the myStore show the stock of the current store, the rota and a file labeled 'Heritage Amazonia Stock - Seattle - #2' A brief glance through the list shows a set of numbers dashed with other numbers and trends. R-R, Sunset, Glass: The shopkeeper rises his eyebrow as Glass mentions he makes his own talismans, but purses his lips, saying nothing. "Of course! We have a large selection of reagents. The classics, of course, but since you mentioned power, I'll assume you need something more... portable.", he clears his throat, disappearing behind to return a moment later with a stylish steel vial the size of a water bottle. "Hellenic bronze, granulated. A vial of this sort can last a medic more than a week in extended battlefield circumstances, and the average layman for more than a year." He lays a couple of granules onto the table, and as Glass lays his fingers on them, he feels that a couple of pellets can do the same as a satchel-full of herbs would, otherwise. And is undoubtedly more expensive. "Perhaps if you tell me what, what you're looking for exactly, I can be a little more help.", he nods.
Nomad was right about post CC costs and specialisations. Shoot me a PM regarding what you are thinking about the quality, and also about your concept in general so we can work it in!
Heh. I guess I'll have to do even more Matrix now, which is fine by me, but I have to remember to stress the actual mechanics alongside the fluff parts of the virtual reality!
Our guerilla marketeers:
Monica's eyebrow darts for a moment, as her eyes flare in the distance. "Well...", she says, before she taps her datajack, and bursts into a smile. "Oh, my god.", she almost giggles. "You're from Central? Wow, you're so good, I almost believed you for a sec!" She shakes her head theatrically. "Wait, the party's real, right? We're getting live telemetry from the wearers until tonight, so we can fit them perfectly on the day." Her eyes flutter for a moment. "Wait, we can still do this. Listen, if you give me a list of the people who want them, I can make sure they're the first ones to be finished. Like, if they know there'll be at a party earlier than that point, they'll already be in the shape they want for that event, right?"
Sybil:
As Sybil steps through the metal detector, there is little response. The frame doesn't even beep, and the patrol IC doesn't indicate it has notices anything passing through the gate. Inside, the host is a lot more utilitarian and bare, only the Vashon Island logo hovering in the background indicating that the host belongs to the store. In the bare room, you notice three visible icons, all in the shapes of folders. One has a metahuman symbol on it, the second is simply labeled 'myStore' and the third has a network picture on it.
R-R:
The student's face alternates quickly between a blush and a pale face. "Are you guys, you know... runners?", she whispers intently, before biting her lips, eyes gaping wide open. With a wave of her hand, she sends a ping to Road-Rage with comm details, then chipperly jumps down from her chair. "Uh, yeah, I'll get back to you!", she blurts with excitement, and quickly disappears through the door. As R-R glances back at his PAN, he notices a contact message from one Gemma Tzu, with a picture of the very same dwarf attached.
Sunset and Glass: The shoelaces are bright, neon green colour, and thick enough to fit on a boot or a 60's style sneaker. The aura surrounding them is a similar cloud of sparkling, electrical blue and eclectic green. The shopkeep smiles at Glass as he assenses the laces. "As you can discern, I imagine those are more to the fancy of your friend." He darts an eye towards Road-Rage in the front of the shop, and his expression towards the rough-looking elf changes considerably. "Are you yourself interested in reagents, or talismans?"
Sunset and Glass:
The sales-elf nods back. "Well, I personally wouldn't call them 'basic', of course, ", he replies, the tone of his voice suggesting that he's slightly offended by the phrase, "but we do have more, hrm, specialised inventory in the back. If you bear with me for a moment,", he says, raising a finger and disappearing in the back. Tsking and muttering is overheard by the till for a good couple of minutes, before the man returns, carrying a small cardboard box. "I believe this might be something more along your area of interest.", he says, opening the box to reveal... two shoelaces. Satisfied with the presentation, he continues, "We also have a tattoist from Tír Tairngire we could book, if you're looking for something else?" R-R: The dwarf blushes at the nickname, before she blurts out, "Uh. Student! We started covering the effect on foreign competence in my hermetic studies, and you see all people with datajacks and the like, basically a necessity if you're un-Awakened, but you barely see anyone with more foreign competence around, unless it's bioware..." Realising she's tying sentences to one another, she pauses, "There's research about the effect of implants on the mind and body, and we've all seen those movies about the street samurai and their code keeping them from going insane, but...", she looks down, "all the psychological studies are from the 40's and 50's." She glances back up, nervously shifting on her seat. "Uh, thanks a lot for answering me. I'll leave you to your... business,", she glances at Glass and Sunset, then back at R-R and her mouth opens as the obvious strikes her like a truck.
R-R, Glass and Sunset:
Try as he might, Road-Rage can't seem to remember meeting the dwarf before. The snarled words in Or'zet seem to shake her at first, as she bites her lips, before shaking her head nervously. "N-no.", she shakes her head once again. A quiet moment of intense outward hesitation, she steps forwards, her eyes darting around Road-Rage's head and neck. "Could, uh, could I ask you a question? If, ahem,", her words flow with a rapid, suburban accent, ", well, sorry in advance if it's too personal, but I'v-" Biting her lips, she inhales. "What's that like,", she gestures towards Road-Rage's face, covered in rough, practical cybernetics, as her mouth kicks into sixth gear. "Psychoholistica-, uh, on an emotional level, or more like spiritual..." Even as her mouth moves, it's visible she already regrets staring in the first place, and as she finishes, she glances back as if she's expecting to be punched at any moment. The inconspicuous glances in the room, though, are now almost evenly split between the two of you.
Nomad, Wraith and Sybil:
Whether the tip(s), Nomad's nautral charm or the almost visible cloud of pheromones exuding Nomad and Wraith, the girl's eyes glaze over for a moment and she nervously rises her commlink to her mouth. "Hey, Tif, I'm off for a smoke break.", she hisses quickly, before straightening her dress, the packet disappearing without a trace. "I, well... Can't say I've had the pleasure.", she answers the first question with tone a little more deferential than before. "Are you grammers?", she asks, somewhat distraught that she's unaware of the duo in front of her, before glancing around. "I'm strictly employed by Vashon Island and its subsidiaries. Buuuuut.", she smiles, "it says nothing about going anywhere after work on launch day." Monica winks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "So... where's the party, and who's co... what's the, hm, dress code?"
GM Rolls:
Don't sweat it, guys! Azil, the team is in a job at the minute, so no rush there. Take your time, especially with that schedule! Nomad and Sybil, sure - I'm trying to move it in such a way to give you plenty of chance to be flexible in your approach. And also, re-re-rereading the Matrix rules.
Hey everyone! Post-work hit me hard and unexpected, but I'll not be dishonest and not say that I kind of put my PbP on my backburner for a week. But now I'm here! @Azil! Hey! Welcome, and thanks for your interest. For Shadowrun, I've always been a firm believer in the 'play what you want and hope your plans/fixer are good' school of thinking. There's SR for Snow White and the Seven Chromed Trolls, and SR for Ocean's Eleven and anything in between. Different teams do different jobs, after all. To be perfectly, brutally honest, I think we could've played without a Matrix runner at all, but there's one now, and I've freshened myself on the rules, and will again. So, if you want to join in: First - gimme a character pitch in the form of a backstory (and ideally, an IC snippet), then if I like it - I'll let you know how to build a character. @Regarding 6E and Shadowrun bloat - You're all so right, yet despite all of that, I love the 'crunch' of the system. I just don't feel it'd be Shadowrun if you're not considering the difference between that assault rifle and that other assault rifle. I've not had a chance to check out 6e, since I've barely had any time to post since it came out, but I managed to catch wind of it being a little dodgy. I'm generally against us changing systems, since I'd need to learn another one, everyone will need to re-build a character, and will
Wraith, Nomad and Sybil:
After a pause of roughly a second, the AR assistant nods at Nomad. "Of course. One of our expert staff will come along as soon as they are able. If there are any further questions that I can help with, just ask." The program blurs away, then a copy of it appears thirty feet back next to the doorway, appearing to wait for new customers. Sybil notices that the two patrol IC's are simply glancing at the traffic from the datastreams of the customers. However, upon further inspection, she notices that the inner host is guarded by a marker IC, the icon the surprisingly utilitarian NeoNET detector gate. Nomad and Wraith, ever watchful, notice that no more than ten seconds after their request, a petite young human woman with short, curly hair throws a glance in their direction. Wraith's hawkeye gaze sees that the woman's eyes glaze over for a moment, as she appears to be in thought, before walking towards you. The sign from Nomad brings a surprisingly relaxed smile to her face, and she approaches, hands held together. "Good evening. My name's Monica, and I'll be your personal assistant." Her eyes glance over you for a moment, and she adds in a slightly more relaxed tone, "You're looking for athleisure, or more formal clothes?"
Glass, Sunset and R-R: R-R's grimace does little to help the current occupants' apparent opinion of him, but as he leans back on the wall and seemingly sits waiting, the tension reduces to only the occasional glance, and as the other two disappear into the shop, the murmur of quiet conversation sets back in. One of the most persistent outlookers is a dwarf female, seemingly not more than a teenager, with ferociously red hair and freckles, and a set of green eyes than glance away the moment R-R's stare back at her pretending badly not to stare. Sunset and Glass' staking of the shelves reveals little of interest, bar the thick columns in the centre of the shop being an excellent piece of cover in a firefight. And, except a glass-covered bookcase of dark wood, almost hidden in a dimly lit corner, away from the windows. Standing taller than nine feet in the air, it appears full of tomes, books and scribbles of various sorts, but nobody else seems interested in it. As you meet at the mahogany desk, a young-looking (aren't they all) elf with a plaid suit and a set of eyeglasses nods at you, speaking with a pleasant English baritone. "Good evening!", he greets, and after a moment of consideration, turns to Sunset. "Are you looking for something specific?"
Hello everyone! Once again, thank you very, very much for your patience. All of it. Just had my last day at my last job, and I'm starting the new one just before Helloween. Giving me ample time to get back to this and my other games. I'm visiting my family for the weekend, but I'll get you a big summary post on Monday. Cheers!
Sybil:
With nary a flick of her thought, Sybil leaps through the mesmerising weave of the Matrix, scintillating blue lights blazing past her for a second as the bog-standard clean VR of the neighbourhood matrix leaps onto the Vashon Client. The surroundings are neater, sleeker and much more stylised than the ones before, a hint of Southern European style meshed into the client. A virtual assistant in the shape of an elegant woman in her thirties, dressed in a Vashon dress is clearly positioned to be the attendant of the outlet stands overlayed next to the physical entrance of the building. Sybil's trained senses glance that in one of her hands is an icon of a pad - undoubtedly a wholly different program integrated with the store's VI. Gently sneaking behind the attendant who doesn't seem to notice the decker sneaking past her. With a gentle touch, two new names appear on the list, and a moment later, they flicker green. As Sybil lets down, she notices two more shapes seemingly roaming around the clients of the shop, but none of the clients seem to notice them. Regardless of where Sybil moves in the host, they seem to almost instictively block her path towards a virtual room next to the changing rooms.
Wraith, Nomad and Sybil:
Sybil's acknowledgement pings on your comms, and the two of you leave the chill winter air for the pleasantly air-conditioned entrance. No sooner you've walked in that you're greeted by an attractive human woman in a business dress who smiles a flashing at you. "Good evening.", she says with a pleasant, if a touch artificial, voice. Her eyes glaze over for just a moment, and her smile beams a little further. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Vashon Island! One of our fashion consultants will be with you in just a minute." An AR request pings on your pans, with a short menu order of coffees and wines, and the woman ushers you in, her previously undivided attention shifting towards the next customer. As you walk through the doors, you're treated to a spectacle of fashion. Hovering AR holograms float in the air, all surrounded by the ephemereal shadows from the outside, disappearing and reappearing on the walls. Quiet lounge music escorts you in, and you see that a lot of the customers are escorted by an assistant, usually AR, but occasionally, towards the inner sections of new styles, a living, breathing assistant. After a few seconds, just as the sight starts to wane, an AR apparition appears in your PANs. "Good evening. I'm your new assistant. Welcome to Vashon." A younger female voice echoes in your commlinks. The shape is that of a young woman, dressed in a similar dress as to the hostess. "Shall we start with a particular style?"
R-R, Sunset and Glass: Though a few side eyes are tossed at Road-Rage as he walks down the street, you cross the bustling streets with no problem. As you push the heavy, antique door of the shop, a small brass bell rings with a chipper tone, pushing in a feeling of an early century Christmas film. Inside, the store appears to be neither packed nor empty, with fresh-faced youngsters darting around shelves of ordinary reagents. A few other patrons are sitting around the tables, hands darting around to flick the pages of an AR book, or huddled next to each other and discussing something written on the table. The front part of the store appears to be mostly tall shelves of reagents Glass would recognise as cheap and simple. A gargantuan beast of a mahogany desk, surrounded by rope partitions, seems to separate half of the store from the rest, though it's easy to spot that the towering cabinets continue further inside. Two of the patrons' eyes, their attention raised by the bell, glance at the door, eyes burrowing into Road-Rage, but after looking down at the two elves accompanying him, look away.
Hey everyone! Sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. I'll not be able to get a post today, but I'll do my damnedest to get one tomorrow. The bright side is... Good news, everyone! I got a new job, less hours, an hour and change closer to home, and a lot more organised structure. I'll be starting that in late October, and I'll be trying to be more present here (now that I'm not worried about being sacked, I can cut down on the unpaid overtime!)
Miss Johnson nods. "Great. I've done some recon, but information ain't somethin' you can have enough off." Extinguishing her cigarette in the nearly overflowing ashtray, she nods. "I'll head to scout out the chem lab. Y'wanna be my eyes in the 'trix, be my guest." Sending off an AR link for her comms, she stands up. "Keep me posted on whatcha find. And here's the front pay.", she passes a credstick onto Freddy, who nods, seemingly little more at ease.
Road-Rage Day Job Roll:
Wraith and Nomad:
While an ordinary clothes shop would be closed, Vashon Island's premier outfitters is nothing of the sort. A quick look in the Matrix reveals that the shop not only is willing to schedule the newest Vashon Island collection (with no price listed, of course), but also offers in-house refreshments, 24/7 refitting rooms and an on-call stylist for those interested. As Wraith and Nomad finish their drive through the cutting winter winds of Seattle, the sight that unfolds infront of them is of a luxurious shopping plaza. Cafes and a few of the restaurants are closing, but the nightclubs and bars for the rich and famous are just starting to open. In front of you, elegantly placed like a seashell embedded in the plaza, sits the Vashon Island store. AR images of darkened silhouettes, hinting at the upcoming fashion event stalk the shadows in front of the store, and a few late night shoppers dart in and out with oversized bags, bubblingly discussing the rumours of the day.
Glass, R-R and Sunset (and possibly Sybil, too):
If there's ever a part of town where the day of the week isn't immediately legible on the locals' faces, it's quite possibly the area surrounding the student halls. Even before 9PM, as some wageslaves are still commuting home, R-R's keen eyes (and Sunset's keener instincts) spot no less than seven groups of inebriated students, one of which is drawing snow angels on the ground. Naked, nonetheless. Road-Rage parks the auspicious Titan into an alleyway in sight of the shop, and it's clear that the place is still open through the night. Through the wide windows of the 19th century house there are still patrons, and a few look as if they're there more for the conversation and the company, rather than the merchandise.
Sunset:
You also see the hoverdrone re-filling the drinks of a lot of the other patrons, too, some of them seemingly grumbling something towards it as well. Sybil:
Your Matrix search indicates that there's no icons running nearby. The drone, too, is visibly clean, though there are four encrypted file onto the Johnson's commlink - though little else. Freddy seems to react to the to-fro between Sybil and Wraith with interest at first, but then clears his throat audibly. "Sorry Kaffer. At Nomad's question regarding the wheels, Miss Johnson nods. [b]"I've got the most stereotypical Phoenix y'all ever seen. Reckon if middle age had a car, it'd be that.", she nods. "Guess I could loan in to you two, if you're hittin' Vashon, but I'm wantin' it back." She nods afterwards to the rest, then back at Sybil. "Aight, folks.", she nods. "Here's the layouts." Your PAN's ping with an incoming message request, featuring three different maps - a ground plan of the Magic Shop, Hexersschaube, the Vashon Island Outfitters and the AG Chemie's chemical lab. She claps her hands. "Well, all things considered. We say our happy couple go to the fashion store. The mage, the gunslinger", she nods at Glass, though her eye jumps at Sunset for a moment, "and the big boy go to the talismongers. I'd warn you for a bigger chance for people playing hero there, but hell, least you'll get to geek the mage with every shot.", she chuckles. "Though try for low casualties." She turns her eyes at Sybil. "I was pinin' to hittin' one o' them myself, but if you wanna be my guardian angel, darlin', I ain't gonna mind it. I know a thing or two 'bout meds and pickin' locks, but less time raidin' is more time lootin'. I've got a stored jap bike in a container at the docks, so I've got me covered."
She lights up another cigarette, and finishes her coffee. "At any rate - what we're aiming for is hitting them all on the 15th, two days for now, right at 1825. Citygrid indicates that's the biggest congestion on the block - and that's bound to give us a minute or so extra to fill our share. Then, it's smooth sailin'." Freddy nods, then rises up from his seat. "Any questions?"
Love the planning, guys, but just thought I should clarify, it's not an actual Gammma clinic, it's a warehouse/lab for meds that's supplying a gamma clinic. You have th accompanying pictures. I'll try and get the maps by Tuesday, and I'll get an IC post tonight.
Ms. Johnson's icon, a stylised revolver barrel, pings onto Sybil's PAN. Ms. Johnson herself seems to be preoccupied with Nomad's pitch, before laughing out loud. "Well, pal, if your strut's half as good as your talk, we just might walk away rich. Tell you what, I'll cover your expenses, and then we split half-and-half, and I'll throw you a grand each for your expenses." She nods, then extends her hand to Freddy first, and everyone else after. The fixer nods, then seems to relax a little. She takes a glance around the room, then taps on the table, sending everyone a PAN link. Gesturing over the table, a trid map of Downtown Seattle appears. "Now, I've got a plan, but you know you. Our targets are here.", she adds, and with a flick of her wrist, three yellow dots appear onto the map. "The Pawns recently invested a lot in getting parts of Seattle away from gangers and corp control. There's a couple new HTR hubs around Downtown, and all three of our targets are pretty damn close to one.", she smiles, pinging another, bigger red dot, on the map. "All three of the places have a HTR insurance, and if we hit them at just the right times, there's bound to be at least a minute we can buy 'till they arrange everything. That, and we're hittin' durin' rush hour." Hovering her hand above the first target, she zooms out to a file with several trid pictures of the venue - two stories of a building complete with a garage, and a grainy snapshot of sterile looking room with desks and refrigerators. A small, barely larger than an ancient A4 sheet of paper sign next to the door suggests 'AG Chemie. "First one is a small medical lab that supplies one of Seattle's very own gammaware clinics." She raises a hand. "Before you get too excited, I imagine there'll just be a lot of premium meds, chemicals and drugs, not chrome hangin' off shelves. Though a list of clients might be worth a shiny nickel." She zooms onto the second one, and the difference couldn't be clearer. A high-class front end, with magical diagrams, comfortable seating and unnecessarily tall shelves suggest that the place is a talismonger's shop. "From what my wiz told me, that place's got some unpronounceable German name, and is the favourite talismonger for Seattle University mage students. I was told it was ridiculously overpriced,", she adds, "but we'll get the four finger discount." Ms. Johnson zooms out to the last one, a high-end retail store, surrounded by gardens and pedestrial alleys. "Now, the last one is a little strange, but apparently the numbers check out. There's a new line from that... Fashion Island comin' in every year, and it's due to come out next week. Meanin' whoever ordered one is havin' them Custom fitted in store right now." She shrugs. "Can't see the point, but I ain't the one buyin' ''em." The drone once again swings by to refill Ms. Johnson's cup. Inhaling with pleasure, she turns towards the party once again. "Now, I could go in more details with my plan, but I reckon you know your team."
"Help y'self, handsome.", she nods at Nomad. "Though, it's a little more complicated than that. We ain't just hitting one place, and I ain't offerin' you for the cargo - whatcha get is whatcha get." Noticing Sunset's gesture, she curls her lips, her fingers brushing up on the table with a familiar '43', the in-house code for 'accidental injury'. One Sunset recognises all too well, the 'unofficial punishment' for perps arrested for crimes such as domestic abuse, rape, and, unfortunately often, walking while trog. "And 'fore y'ask, ain't nothin' we're gonna be palmin' gonna be traceable, least once you scrub the tags." She takes another cigarette from her packet. "I can't give y'all a sum, but if you know what's worth what and your fingers are nimble, we're looking at up to hundred-fifty." She leans back. "Luck and traffic jams on our side, maybe even north of two." Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Ms. Johnson turns back to Wraith excavating a burger the size of a troll's fist from under a mound of fries. "Reckon it's less dangerous than that plate. The Pawns've been upping insurance costs a lot now that they've got monopoly in Seattle. All the places are in Seattle proper, I ain't crazy enough to raid an XT with a bunch of folk I don't know." She raises an apologetic hand. "No offence. If we're quick, we're lookin' at a couple of civvy guards and a Pawn pigeon in the skies. And if we're not, I've got a plan." The hoverdrone appears again, a large glass pitcher of coffee filling up Ms. Johnson's cup before flying away. "Sorry, doves, but 'till we shake hands, I ain't givin' you specifics." She turns to Freddy, the finishes, "I'm sure you understand." Your fixer seems to break his implacable visage for a split second as he nods approvingly.
Sybil:
Freddy's eyes glaze for a moment, as he stares into the distance. Ms. Johnson's teeth flash for a moment when Sunset asks her a question. "Now ain't you sweet. Though, I'm from Tennessee, UCAS-side." Freddy seemingly holds down a scoff. The woman's wearing a standard drag brown leather coat over a surplus security vest, and as she turns towards Glass, Susnet's eyes close up onto the woman's cybernetic hand, wrapped around her coffee mug. Sunset:
The cybernetic, even if it isn't something an Awakened would pay much heed too, is a model that's very popular amongst gunslingers and pistoliers - A Lone Star Sharpshooter. Though it's out for civilian use, you remember a few of your colleagues getting significant discounts for the model - and showed it off in the firing range, roughly one lifetime ago. Turning to Glass, she continues. "I scan you, sugar. Hencewhy, I'm offerin' a 'just in case' payment, and a damn large piece o' the pie. If we make the plan and follow it, we'd be in and out. Y'all won't even need to fire a gun. Bullets are hella pricy 'round these parts.
The dwarf's yellow, tobacco-stained moustache shuffles up as Wraith states her order, then nods. "I'll bring it over.", he responds in a deep, gravelly voice, as if he rarely speaks, and he takes out a plastic-wrapped package from just below him, unwraps it with trained precision, and dumps what seems to be a pound-and-a-half of off-brane kelp-bacon into a deep frier. At the table, Ms. Johnson greets Nomad with a firm handshake, then gestures to the seats. "Be my guest, hon." She reaches into a deep pocket of her coat, pulling out a packet of undoubtedly contraband cigarettes, and throws the pack on the table. Exhaling, she nods at Freddy, who nods in return, his face still a stony mask. "Well, reckon I'd start with the pitch.", she says, her metal fingers dancing around the rim of her mug. "There's a couple of things here that might be sittin' a bit unusual for y'all, and it might be the reason why your fixer here's been awful quiet." "I've been plannin' a thing for a while now, but, sparin' ya the deets, I've been recently left short-handed.", she shrugs, then nods at her mug in silence for a brief moment. "Which is why I asked your fixer here to arrange for this meet. He told me y'got a wiz, wheels an' wit, so we oughta be dandy." An aged Aztechnology Camarero drone, a quietly hovering waiter drone zips by the table and deposits your food with a thud, then zips away as quickly as it arrives. Despite the food's subpar colour, the smell is mouth-watering. "You enjoy that, sugar.", she smiles, before continuing. "As I was sayin'. I've got the plan for a set of smash-n-grabs in a High response area. I've only some butt'ns to give you upfront, and then we split the loot. Y'all can get 60%, I get the other 40." She glances at you. "Y'all got until morning noon to tell me if you're game, and then I'll give you the deets." Freddy puts his fingers on the table and a palm on his hand, seemingly in through. He raises his eyebrows at you, with curiousity.
As Sunset raises her accent question, Freddy shrugs. "Sounded fairly local to me, man. Could've been fake, could've been a lady from around the corner." He chuckles. "And it's not like I'm a native speaker, Kaffer.", he adds with a shrug. As the conversation turns towards meeting the new crewmember, Freddy waves. "Alright! Help yourselves to the booze, it's going bad in a week anyway. I'm off to give our bandit gal a call.", he nods, booting up his AR and disappearing through the door. Half an hour later, he reappears, a hand-rolled cigarette perched on his lip. "Alright! Hope you don't got any gigs tomorrow, 'cause we're going to meet our Johnson!", he shouts. "Meeting's at 8 tomorrow at Tonya's, just 'round the bend.", he nods. R-R, Nomad:
Tonya's is a small, dusty diner, favoured by non-corp affiliated cargo riggers - for documented and undocumented cargo alike. Nothing more than a greasy spoon with an above-average soy extruder, it's known for its great Matrix reception and patrons with incredibly selective hearing. It's just off the Interstate in Tacoma. [ooc]January 13, 2076: 19:51 - Seattle, Tonya's. It's rare that Road-Rage's car feels small, but it's nevertheless the case as he pulls the Titan into the carpark of Tonya's. The carpark, a dilapidated clearing, standing on the remains of a long-demolished building from a long extinct corporation, lacks even asphalt on the ground. The ice-snapped ground is covered in frozen tire-tracks, the largest big enough for a Ford Americar to sink into. The carpark is mostly empty, save for a few trucks, dust, snow and soot covering their towering frames, each tire taller than an average human. Road-Rage drives the Titan next to a Mostrans Minsk, the Soviet workhorse more than capable of dealing with the snow, and parks right next to Freddy's snow-covered car. The smell of sugary syrup, fried bacon and almost-real coffee permeates the air, with a heavy layer of cheap tobacco carrying over to the door, eager to escape to the evening cold. The few patrons inside quietly snore, nurse plates rich enough to overfeed a troll, or simply lean back on the faux red leather couches to rest.
Your commlinks ping as you enter, and as soon as the tired, wispy old dwarf at the bar sees you, he nods around. If anyone else saw you, they didn't show it. Around the bar, an uncharacteristically tamely dressed Freddy is sitting across a table from a human. Seemingly in her late fourties, with an unfashionable streak of gray in her hair, she's dressed in a thick brown leather coat. She's grabbing a large mug of black liquid in a metal hand. A large pistol is clearly visible on her as she stands up, and Freddy turns around to greet you with an impenetrable gaze. [b]"Evening, Kafer. Say hi to Miss Johnson.", he says, nodding for you to sit around. The woman's eyes glare over the team, seemingly stopping with curiosity at Sybil, and locking for a moment too long with Sunset, before moving away. "Evenin' folks. Heard y'all are just what I need.", she says with a deep Southern accent. Sunset: You can't remember where, you can't remember how, you can't remember if it was even in person. But you've definitely seen that woman's face before.
As the conversation turns towards the mysterious job, Freddy seems slightly relieved when the mood of the room seems to turn against the word-tight elf. His gaze pauses for a moment on Wraith, as if he waits for her comment, and just as he lights another cigarette. "Sounds fuzz. I'll call Johnson #2 first." He lights up a cigarette, then locks his gaze with R-R. "Wheelman!", he opens a nearby crate, labeled almost comically 'XXXX', and pulls out a dufflebag that seems to almost send him bawling over. "Well, can't say it was easy, but nothing big and loud is.", he laughs, before pulling out a magnificent FN MAG-5. "Turns out, us Euros still do 'em better than the rest. That's ten from you, R-R, and I got you this as an extra." He draws out a 50-round mag, marked with the tell-tale steel-blue ribbon for APDS rounds. As he's holding the magazine in one hand, and his cigarette in the other, the new arrival rolls in, and sheepishly makes her acquaintance. Freddy's mercantile smile flashes wider for a moment, as he lobs the magazine towards the ork, spreading his arms open wide. "Hey hey to you too, bluebird!", he greets, as he sits back down in his chair. "Just don't Mister me, man. Not into the whole...", he waves his hand in the air, "custom thing, man. We don't bite in here, and word on the street is you're a wiz string-slinger. Grab a beer and say hi to the gang, I'm already convinced." He leans back, shrugging. "Make your meets, and I'll get our Miss Johnson in tomorrow."
Hey! Posting quickly from my phone, might have some time later today. A couple of ideas I had regarding Sybil's situation - There's no 'Quadriplegic' quality in SR5. However, a combination of Sensitive System and Paraplegic, comes up to a whopping 22 negative Karma. The added penalty is that even if Sybill just wants a pair of normal (well, cyberware) legs, that's a bigger shock to her body than a Move-By-Wire system would be to the average Joe. So she might be needing some bleeding edge Deltaware just to not shred her soul away - or simply not being bothered by it, and move by terms of rigging.
Blacksap:
Roughly half an hour after you sent the message to Freddy, a message in a similar format comes in. [quote=Berlin Freddy[
Nil sweat, chummer. Leaving is a thing you oughta do, and if you're doubting yourself in the shadows, that ain't a way to live. And about the chaos in anarchy - there's few that understand the change better than I do. Business is business, personal is personal. But - we had a good run, man, you made me some scrip, I made you some scrip, and we didn't but heads, so I'm calling us even. And if you need a favour while in Macau and you're stuck, well, I'm sure I can find a way to help you help yourself in there. And if the shadows come calling to you down there, and you need a ref - give old Freddy a call. Frag the mage first,
A moment later, another file comes in on your PAN, a message of just three lines, a name, and address, and a number.
The familiar sound, smell, and other sensory inputs of Der Gute Messer rush into your receptors as you enter the bar once more. The familiar face of the your girl tending the bar greets you, then nods towards the office, beers in hand. You pass by the waves of aging corporate workers and odd-balls, and once again see yourself in Freddy's office, where the man's hanging an almost yellowed out poster of a band with barely legible text, the picture of a stylazed image of a troll swinging a guitar at a two-headed giant. "Alright, alright!", he claps his hands, plucking a half-finished cigarette from the ashtray. "First things first, chummers, I'm glad to see nobody's dead from partying too hard.", he laughs. Sitting down, he gestures to all of you to take a place around the table, as he brushes away a couple of burner 'links. "Second thing on the menu is, Blacksap's decided you runner people are too rowdy, loudy, and prowdy for his, and he's kicked off. To somewhere. Suffice to say, if he ain't told you where he's going, I'm not spilling the heinz either. But there's little chance he'll be on the receiving end of your weapons, or you on his, and that's all that's happening." He shrugs, then lifts his bottle. "To him, and the rifle stock up his ass, all the best." He snaps his fingers. "I'm already working on a replacement for him, so don't you worry. Or, if you don't like divvin' up your spoils, do worry.", he grins. "Seattle's starting to rustle, Kaffer, just like I told you. It's a seller's market out here, and you are damn good merchandise." He laughs. "I got to talking with a couple of clients. Two of the Johnsons look fine. The third one gives me the jeebies, but she's promising a damn good payday." He shrugs. "Just under 'high enough to never intend to pay it' good. No reason we can't talk to all three, though." He sips his beer. "Just wanted you to make sure you select the right one first. Right. Behind Johnson #1,", he getures theatrically, "Guy looked corp. Wants a piece of hardware recovered from an office in Downtown. Pretty bog standard.", he shrugs. "Johnson #2 looked like a tough old broad, but I didn't quite smell corp on her. From what I gathered, it's some of the breaky-stealy situation, and she needs a hand. Not the most traditional of jobs, but she offered a percentage and an upfront, so I'd at least give her a listen." His lips purse as he tucks his cigarette in the ashtray. "Third one was an elf, but not like...", he gestures at Glass and Sunset, "the hard-working elf. You'd imagine she got a wrinkle for every work out of her mouth, but I did get 'recovery of fragile cargo'." He pauses. "And 'six figures'." The familiar waitress walks in, a set of massive outdated headphones on her ears, and drops by a plate of food and drinks, before disappearing once again. Freddy gives her a grin, then grabs a loose chip from the dirty table. "I say we wait for our new member, and consider which one we're going for first, omae."
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