As you arrive you nod to the Ork behind the counter. He eyes you with suspcision, but returns to quietly wiping down the counter. You settle into a booth at the rear of the Deli.
The Deli is a grungy looking place, barely ten feet wide, about twice that long.You're pretty sure that the last time this place saw hygenic was a long time ago. A 2D flatscreen illuminates the booth as a variety of commercials and ads blaze across its cracked screen, one fading as fast as the next.
On the walls are posters and stamps advertising a variety of legal, quasi-legal, and blatanly illegal services. The only other patrons, an ork couple dressed in street leathers, does their best to not stare at you. They soon finish their food, and quickly leave.
Quicksilver walked slowly along the street, deftly avoiding direct contact with anyone else out. The shift from daylight into darkness was her favorite time of the day, and she savored the moment as she spotted the old deli. A small bell tinkled somewhere as she opened the door, making her smile faintly as she nodded to the man behind the counter. She liked the old run down places like this, too.
The mirrored shades hid her eyes, and from his look, he'd taken the smile to mean she was up to something no good. She shrugged and took a seat at the back of the place. Sliding the glasses down to the edge of her nose, she swept the room for whomever she was supposed to meet. Pausing on an ork couple, the only other people present, she watched them turn to stare intently at their food. Obviously not the ones.
Sighing, she pulled the glasses off, storing them in one of the small pockets on the side of her jumpsuit, a dull blue with light grey side stripes at the moment. It was a new color set she had wanted to test out, and looked a lot less suspicious than the usual black. The heavy grey duster felt cumbersome on her shoulders, but while energy burn would keep her warm on the job, sitting around in just a jumpsuit at this time of year would only get you sick and miserable. She let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Please let this job be something interesting...
Smoke trudged down the street, tired from his last visit outside, just now having got back into town. His strange eyes, the ones that were his namesake, all dark blue, gray and black colors, swirling gently, scanned the quasi-busy streets, and he smiled faintly to himself as he spied the sign for the Deli. He pushed the door open and strode in, the tails of his longcoat swirling around his ankles as he stopped briefly, eyes sweeping the other denizens of the deli. They stop on Quicksilver, the only non-Ork person in the bar, and he nods slowly to himself. She must be one of them. The other ones were too..meek. He began to walk towards her, smiling slowly and gently, reassuringly, he hoped..not the smile he gave to his prey.
The taxi let him out immediately in front of the Deli, just in time to witness the entry of a man wearing the colors of power swirling around him like a cloak, or like fur in wind. Gryce imagined he could hear Wolf snarling at him, even from here. One of ours, I've no doubt.
He paid the hack twice what was asked; simply because he hadn't been a part of the culture in which he was raised for a great long while didn't mean it had boiled out of him. He stepped out of the cab with authority, despite the blinding morass of the city around him.
His suit was perfectly pressed, his hair flawlessly trimmed, his nails short and well-kept. His walk was crisp and military. His sunglasses were designer, black and proper, in the latest minimalist style. He'd forgotten the name of the frangrance he was wearing, but the kind young girl at the Bartleby's counter had assured him it was top-notch.
He looked, he knew, like what he was: a man born to privilege, who had gone looking for adventure, and found, instead, power beyond his imagining. He had no illusions; he was within the top ten percent of the powered in this world. But overconfidence is suicide. The smile on his lips was not kind.
He entered the Deli and walked immediately toward the table where the young girl - Good lord, they've certainly filled her up, haven't they! - and the shaman were exchanging pleasantries. He waited patiently for them to finish, and extended his hand to the young Wolf. "Allow me to introduce myself; I am Gryce, and am quite pleased to make your acquaintance."
Quicksilver heard the door open, and noticed what must be another of the runners summoned here. Noticing his smile, she half smirked. Must be used to dealing with jumpy types. She nodded to him as he walked towards her. As he approached, another man entered the small deli. Corporate? Taking a closer look, she decided not as he introduced himself to the other occupant of their table. He wears it like he knows its different and upscale, corps wear it like I do my harness. Her hand strayed to the slight bulge in the inside pocket of the trench, where the harness and one of her sliverguns lay.
He took Gryce's hand and shook it, nodding. "I'm called Smoke. I, also, am pleased to meet you." The man wore his power like he did his clothes....confident to the point of overconfidence. And he could do with a bit of relaxing, too. Get the iron rod out of his back, the mage might just be alright.. Peripherally, he noticed the woman's hand stray towards her coat, probably towards that big hunk of metal under it, and he slouched, his mind coiling like a spring. His head dropped a little, regarding her in a manner only Wolf was capable of. "Smoke. I don't think I caught your name yet."
"Quicksilver." She replied, daring him to make something of it by the way her own silver-grey eyes locked with his dark swirling ones. She knew how often that tactic got her into trouble on the streets, but it was so very hard to override years worth of training, especially the basic reflex actions.
Sighing she shook her head. "I'm being impolite. Sit, both of you. I assume by your actions that you are playing the part of the employee and not the employer."
Gryce laughed. The sound was more irritating that comforting. "Would that it were otherwise, of course, but you are correct."
As the three of you take your seats the bell over the door lets out a flat note as it rings, and an Ork on rollerblades glides in. The Ork glides to the counter; the proprieter doesn't seem happy about the blades in his shop, but confines his distaste to a sour look.
The Ork, who stands over six feet is lean as Orks go, with a wiry build that is evident even with the heavy jacket on. The Ork spares the deli a glance and says the Ork behind the counter, "Foot Long, Steak and cheese, no chips, and something cold to drink."
As the counter man makes the sandwich, the Ork removes his rollerblades. As his order is served up, the Ork takes it and sits down at a booth a couple down from the only other occupants of the deli. He unwraps his sandwich and begins to slowly eat.
Gryce looks disparagingly at the young ork on rollerblades and continues. "No, I'm an employee like both of you. Did either of you get any hint about what this job might entail? There's nothing I hate more than complete ignorance when the Johnson walks through the door."
The door to the deli swings up slowly, allowing the Nipponese male to gracefully walk through the door. He nods evenly to the ork behind the counter, holding up two fingers while dropping a quiet phrase in Cityspeak. "Dubba chrome Tracers." The ork slides the two metal cans of Tracer high-energy soy drink across the counter, as the walking face lays out three twenty nuyen notes down. He leans in close and mutters again in Cityspeak, pointing at a bike parked out in front of the deli. "Make sure the boys keep an eye on that chrome shrieker down in front, till Papa comes to take her home." Picking up his two cans, he nods to the ork who just grabbed a seat at the counter. The two stare at each other for a moment, then stand together as they lock eyes with the table in the back. The Japanese male walks to the back smoothly, letting his vision slide over each member seated there. His gaze lingers for an extra second on Quicksilver. He leads the duo to the table, as a calming scent of mint and green tea drifts to the noses of those seated at the table.
He stops a meter from those at the table, smiling. "Mind if I join the party? I'm Nike, and this is my partner Lincoln." He slides one of the protein drinks into the pocket of his longcoat slowly, pulling the jacket back slowly to reveal no shoulder or waist holsters. His Cougar blade is seen on a strap situated under his left shoulder. He stands with both hands visible, palms relaxed, facing towards his hips.
*directed towards Gryce* Not a clue, and dead-on. *grins toothily towards the 2 approaching figures* Maybe they got an answer for us. *so saying, Smoke stands up, extending his hand towards Nike, then to Lincoln.* I'm called Smoke. Well, he doesn't have as much as metal in him as the woman, at least. Not like that's saying alot. How can they do that to themselves? And I don't think there'd be a problem with you joining us, if you're here for the same reason we are.
As the five of you seat yourselves in the booth, luckily the largest and furthest to the rear offering an excellent view of the deli, the counterman lazily lobs his rag into a bucket wish a splash. He steps from behind the counter and throught he front door, as he exits he flips the "Open" sign over to read closed. The windows polarize automatically affording an decent view of the streets, while safeguarding you from prying eyes. For a second their is only the sound of the 2Ds and their commercials.
Then the door at the rear, not far from your booth opens. The door covered in posters and stamps is a stark contrast from the man who steps thru. Human, male, midundescribable. The man appears midthirtish, but is hard to tell, he is wearing a fashionable suit, that isn't that far from current corp styles, wrap around electric shades that hum. He is best described as bland. He wears his hair short, but not military short. His stature is obviously enhanced by the shoulder pads in his suit, but he could have easily been something fierce in his younger years.A datajack gleams from his left temple,but no other visible cyber is apparent. He moves with an easy, confident gait. He is carrying a briefcase, a drab leather affair, brown which compliments his suit,thick, but other wise unadorned. He also has a wristwatch/phone combo on the opposite wrist.
He smiles as he shuts the door lightly. His smile is perfectly sculpted, too white to be natural, too healthy to be from some of the slums many of you have seen. He steps to within arms reach of the table and smiles wider.
"I am so glad each of you could make it." His voice is deep,and he speaks slowly as if thinking carefully about each word, "If you don't mind I'd like to start my presentation, you can call me Mr. Johnson, and I...I am better off not knowing who any of you are. If I may suggest it, you might refer to yourselves in anumerical or alphabetical fashion? It's really your choice."
He pulls a chair from the side of the bar over, placing his briefcase on the ground next to him. As you watch he removes a pocket secratary, an old fashioned pocket watch,and a black soft shell case used to hold optical chips. He sets each of these objects on the table neatly, from his left to his right.
He folds his hands carefully over his lap and looks closely at each of you, stopping for a brief second or two before moving to the next.
"Well lets get right to it, shall we? I need property returned to me, in a relatively short time period and I am willing to use..lets say...unorthodox methods to retrieve my items. I also need...my handlers to express my dismay at the abuse of my property." He gestures toward the group, "Perhaps we can be of mutually benefitial?"
Quicksilver brought her head up as two more joined the group. Nike and Lincoln, that was awful...at least I know it will be interesting. Somehow, it never failed to be interesting with Nekekami. She caught his gaze, flicked a look to the others in the room, and gave a small shrug, indicating she'd play along, to the others it was just a movement to accompany her words, "Sit if you choose."
As the Johnson entered from the back, the word "nondescript" popped into her head. A sec guard's worst nightmare of a perp. Any account of him by the average person would fit about 75% of the human male corp population. As he made his pitch, she tried to gauge the others' reactions.
Nike takes a seat as Mr. J enters. Watching intently, he tries to nail down every detail he can about the unknown patron. The grey matter upstairs should be able to keep his face fresh.
Without turning to Lincoln, Nekekami activates the transducer and voice mask, using the ultrasound frequency to go higher than any standard human can hear. "Watch this one. You know how I hate the corp games. We bail if this guy turns out to be as dirty as he smells. Out the front, and to the Banshee first. We'll grab the car from there."
Looking at the Johnson, Nike tries to gauge how easily this one can be flustered. "Of course John. I think I can express interest for myself, Epsilon, and Zeta here." Nike glances at Lincoln to denote him as Zeta, leaving himself denoted as Epsilon.
The ork raises polished chrome and engulfs Smoke's offered flesh hand in a cool, implacable, plastic and alloy grip. He looks the shaman in the eye and flashes a sharp-toothed grin; a small remnant of soysteak is very visibly lodged between his teeth. Everyone else gets a nod of recognition, and then he slides into the booth, jostling Gryce to get a little more elbow room. He slides his unfinished sandwich onto the table, and digs back in.
As Johnson sits at the table and gives his inital speech, the ork shows some interest, but continues with the sandwich. He's just shoving the rest of the sandwich into his mouth as Nike designates him 'Zeta'. There's nothing, really, that can be said, especially with a mouth full of hot sandwich, so he just gives an acknowledging nod to the nondescript human.
Quicksilver quickly supressed her surprise at Nekekami's use of the Greek designation system, but was inwardly relived. It was what she would have chosen, but it might have betrayed more of her than she wanted this Johnson to know if she had suggested it. Picking up the conversation, she spoke to the Johnson. "You may add my interest as well, and you may refer to me as Delta."
Gryce's smile is self-deprecating. "Omega. Now, if you don't mind getting into this, what, exactly, is this property you've lost?"
It's difficult to read the Johnsons features, especially since he has yet to remove his wrap around shades, but he seems to watch with intrest as each of you designate yourself. As Gryce finishes his question the Johnson smiles again, a look that is similar to that of a shark smiling.
"Excellent, I was told each of you would be professionals. The job is realtively simple, and I have broken it down into three objectives. I'll begin my presentation momentarily." The Johnson flips up the display screen for his pocket secratary, and taps a few keys. In a few seconds a picture of a dwarf is brightly lit on the @D screen at the rear of the table.
The dwarf in the picture appears to be exiting a large GMC extended cab truck, red, wearing a pair of overalls with a brown leather jacket. The dwarf like many of his species is wearing a beard, neatly trimmed and short military cropped hair marks him as a former military man/current security/military man. He appears (In relation to the truck) about four foot plus. His jacket has a Knight Errant logo sewn on to the sleeve. The picture appears to have been taken a distance, and is obviously enhanced;it also shows a large brick building in the background.
The Johsnon stares at the picture for a moment,and a grimace flashes across his features and just as fast he shakes it off , and his smile returns, "This is William Gray." , the Johnson continues in voice similar to someone used to giving a military briefing, "Dwarf, male, 51. Knight Errant employee for 20 years, and prior to that UCAS Naval veteran. Gray is currently the Chief Operating Officer of a Knight Errant subsidiary known as Errant Design Systems, more commonly known as EDS in corporate circles. Mr. Gray is a security system designer, specializing in designing and selling security systems to local A and AA corporations."
"Gray is relatively good health, slightly elevated cholesterol levels and complaints of arthritis, but other than light drinking he has no significant health problems. I want you to change that. Mr. Gray is a thief." At this the Johnson removes his shades, revealing his chrome eyes, military style, and a contrast to his corporate appearence," And I want him to realize that there is nothing I hate more than thief. He has removed certain propietary information, that if released to the wrong people could be very disconcerning. I want this information back. I want Gray punished, and a message sent."
"Your job is as follows, locate Mr. Gray. Locate his home computer system and download everything on it. Destroy the computer, and physical records, and eliminate Gray. Gray needs to be eliminated in a way that will make it clear that it was not an accident. Simple?"
Nekekami groans inwardly. Wetworks. Very dirty, risky, and messy. Without glancing at Abe, Nekekami activates their ultrasound link again. "You know how risky this hit is going to be. Major risks for exposure, considering we need to make it look like a hit. This John is paying through the nose or we walk."
Locking eyes with the soldier boy seated at the table, Epsilon clears his throat. "The risks associated with such an action are very high, Mr. Johnson. But before we discuss renumeration, I'd like to know more about the target. Mr. Gray is an ex-UCAS Naval man and a veteran of Knight Errant. This could mean anything from a seasoned intelligence operative, hardened special operations trooper, to cutting-edge Awakened security specialist. First off, are we dealing with an Awakened target? Is Mr. Gray magically active? If not, I'd like a bit more information on what areas of both organizations he served with. The possibilities of cybernetic and biological enhancement he could possess could be a problem to this action."
EDS...shit... Even in her position, she had not heard much about them. Self-contained, and secretive as hell. This guy is probably not only dangerous, but connected, too. She'd have to check with Marcus as to the other side of the story. Screwing this up could cause permanent damage. So far, it had been live and let live, and she wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was a ton of Knights gunning for her and making life difficult.
Alpha". Kill for money? Jesus, his uncle would kill him if he found out. But he shrugged inwardly. It was his path for now, he would walk it. And the thrill of the hunt might just prove interesting. He nodded, listening to the Q&A session, his gaze slipping inwards, studying the souls of those seated around the table. He found himself troubled by the amount of metal in most them, but shrugged it off again. It was their choice. Just one he would never understand. He shook himself slightly after his thoughts started to ramble, berating himself. Pay attention, you puppy.
As Smoke's astral gaze flickered across those at the table, it finally came to rest on Gryce. A nimbus of power surrounded him, and within that--Smokes eyes widened, and his lips pulled back from his teeth.
Gryce looked back at him, his own sight active on the astral plane. As Smoke began to react, Gryce's arm shot across the table, his hand coming to rest on the arm of the Wolf with a speed Smoke would have thought impossible from a mortal man. "You shouldn't do that. It's impolite. And it's not what you think; we'll talk. Later."
Gryce looked meaningfully at the Johnson. Everyone was staring. He stared back. "Look, Epsilon, you and Zeta can have your private conversations, screeching though they are and giving me a headache; don't mind us magic types. So ka?"
He turned back to the Johnson. "My apologies. A misunderstanding. Please, continue."
The Johnson replaces his wrap around shades. He lightly taps his fingers across the pocket secrataries key board. He looks as if he is carefully studying the information on the screen.
Finally the Johnson looks straight at Epsilon, " Gray spent twenty years in the UCAS Naval Intelligence service, he was however, not an operator." The last is said with an almost venemous disrespectful tone, "He specialized in systems analysis, and Intelligence gathering. He was also an electronic warfrae specialist, and spent a brief tour as Shore Patrol." (OOC:Naval Military Police)
"He recieved an honorable discharge after ten years of service, in 2030 with the rank of Chief Petty Officer. He recieved a limited number of decorations, none worth mentioning in this context. After a brief period as a civilian, he was hired by Ares Aerospace. At Ares Aerospace he was quickly moved from his desk job, to EDS. EDS specializes, as I stated before, specializes in system design. They are subcontracted by various corporations to design security systems-physical, matrix and magical." The Johnson pauses, " Grays record becomes a little bit more difficult to trace at this point. What we do know is he is single, never married, no children. He is a devout Catholic, and attends mass on a regular basis. We know that he doesn't have any regular "bad habits"-no drugs, no chips, no women. We do know he drinks on occassion but not to excess. We know he started in Northern Virginia, and spent time in Manhattan, Chicago, Atlanta, and now Seattle. We have suspicions on what sort of enhancements he has, but it'd only be speculation. We know he maintains a residence on Northern edge of Downtown. We know that according to the public profile EDS is a AA subsidiary of Knight Errant, and their market share has grown significantly since Grays arrival. I have it from a reliable source, that Gray has come under fire from his superiors. I don't know why."
" I can provide you with the file that we have compiled, but it is all available, for the most part, from public data stores. I also can provide you with his photograph. Other than that I would prefer that you operate on your own."
"Does this answer your questions?"
Smoke stares at Gryce a moment longer, then shakes his head, and Gryce can almost see the fur, almost like a Wolf shaking off water. He nods. This was not the time for that kind of discussion. Then he turned towards the Johnson. "All for except one. What are you offering for this?"
The Johnson stares at Alpha for a moment before replying, "I am prepared to begin negotiations with an offer of twenty five hundred nuyen upfront, and 5000 upon completion. I, of course, expect that you and your companions will make a counter bid." The Johnson smiles, and his teeth seem almost shark like, obviously he feels like this is his territory.
Well, let's see where he can be pushed. His concern seems to be completion. Let's play his concerns, start high, and fight for the middle... "Fifteen thousand. Twenty-five hundred upfront, five thousand after proof of disposal of files, seventy-five hundred after proof of disposal of Mr. Gray." She calmly watched the Johnson, as well as her partners for this run. Amazing how no one involved is ever willing to start with a reasonable figure for these things. It would save so much time in the end.
You can almost hear the gears grinding as the Johnson thinks about the counter offer. He looks at Delta and says, "Twenty five hundred up front seems reasonable, and five thousand for the computer equipment seems appropriate, but seventy five hundred seems a little much. I was thinking five thousand for that as well. I can increase the amount if you are willing to take your pay in goods, by an additional ten percent. I have access to certain consumer goods that have a relatively high market value, and I am quite willing to part with them."
And we meet where we both should have started in the first place, but bonus goods are useful. She pretended to think about it hard for a moment while eying the Johnson. After a few silent and tense seconds, she nodded. "Accepted, but I speak only for myself at this time." She threw a glance around the table, ending on Nekekami, and giving him a slight nod.
12,500 all told. He shrugged inwardly. Sounded alright with him, but he would wait until the other ones spoke up. He still watched Gryce, defenses up. Gryce could almost see Wolf himself behind Smoke, waiting to give him the power.
At the mention of money, Gryce looked completely disinterested. Once the final number was mentioned, he briefly considered, adding totals in his head. 12,500 was plenty to pay his bills for the month, and frankly was quite a lot of money by anyone's standards.
Still looking vaguely bored, he said, "Yeah, sure. That's fine."
Abe runs the numbers in his head, and considering the competition, thinks they could probably be a little bit higher. He knows better than to speak up during negotiations, unless Nike gives him the say-so; he's fucked up a number of meets that way. He doesn't have his modulator with him, so ultrasound to Nike is out - which is just as well, considering the pole-assed corporate wannabe sitting next to him. But, he's got his transducer and the linked pocket sec, so he gives Nike's head cell a buzz.
** Dude, EDS puts up some pretty good shit. If he's the damned head, his house is ain't going to be an easy nut to crack. He's probably also got some ties to folks in the same business as our 'friends'. Could make shit rough on us, depending. Though we could be gettin' some seriously good side info for later 'biz, dig? **
Nike looks at the Johnson meeting his eyes for a moment. "I speak for myself and Zeta in this regard. We'll agree to the renumeration you discussed with the following conditions. Twenty-five hundred nuyen up front, certified credsticks only, from a bank of your choosing. Upon completion of the objectives, one certified credstick for each objective for each of us, with each stick being worth 5,000 international non-corp scrip nuyen. These four sticks will be set up to be accessed from an anonymous Malaysian Independent Bank account. These terms are non-negotiable. Are we agreed, Mr. Johnson?"
Smoke blinks, a little taken aback, but other then that, doesn't betray any surprise. What the hell? Talk about paranoid. "The amount is sound, Mr. Johnson. But if it's doable on your end, I'd just as soon prefer cash." His eyes flickered around the table, physical as well as astral gaze sweeping across the other "team" members, gauging their reactions to the various demands. He had to smile a litle at Gryce's boredom, but he could understand. What was money compared to Power?
The Johnson gazes quietly at the 2D screen for a moment, and then says, "It seems we have made appropriate arrangements then. All of your payment requests are reasonable, and quite within my capacity to fullfill. Some final notations for you."
"One I will be leaving this pocket secaratry for your use. It contains the files we have on Gray, his home of record address, and an anonymous matrix drop box number where you can leave messages for me. Leave a method of contacting you, if you wish a reply, or have completed the task at hand and wish final payments."
"Two you will find your initial payment behind the door I came in, there will be a loose step halfway up the stairwell, pull it loose and your payment in full is there. You will also find that you have use of this deli for an hour after my departure. Do with it as you will."
"Finally are there any last questions before I leave?"
And for the first time you all realize it has taken the Johnson less than ten minutes to unfold all of this.
Quicksilver shakes her head no. She is satisfied with what he's given them.
The Johnson surveys the group, smiles and says, "Well it's certainly been my pleasure." You all can feel the hollow ring to his words, "You have all the information nessacary to succeed, and hopefully the skills as well." With those words of half hearted encouragement, he stands and slowly strolls to the front door. He unlocks the door, and with a final glance, steps into the darkened streets.
You are all left sitting in the booth, illuminated only by the picture from the 2D on the wall.
(OOC:All yours people)
"Well, this should prove quite interesting. But, then again, EDS always attracts the most bizarre people..."
"Interesting. Bizarre. The interesting part, I can understand. The hunt always proves interesting. But bizarre, I don't. How is this man bizarre? Or EDS, for that matter.
"The Johnson's a little strange, but I wouldn't go so far as to say bizarre. EDS employees can be quite bizarre, and lets just say they occupy a corporate niche inside of Ares equivalent to the runners niche on the streets."
"If I may, this might not be the best place for this conversation," Gryce said, tugging vaguely but noticeably on his ear. "Perhaps we should step outside, take a walk? Perhaps then we can find somewhere more private to discuss the issue."
Nekekami smiles and stands, locking his gaze on Gryce for the moment. "Of course, fearless leader. Though I wouldn't recommend we carry this conversation on in unsecured territory. A neutral location would be preferable. Any suggestions?" He fishes around in his pockets for his cigarettes, lighting one and offering one to Gryce.
Gryce chuckles as he accepts the cigarette. "These things'll kill you, you know.
"I think we might want to make the decision of where to continue the conversation somewhere other than the place where we were just hired. Catch my drift?"
The Johnson's abandoned pocket secretary makes a light rattling sound as Abe slides it across the table towards him. He pulls up the right arm of his coat, revealing a secretary of his own strapped to his glimmering chrome forearm. It's one of the more rugged designs, with a hefty rubberized casing for additional protection against impacts. A small wire snakes out of the device, terminating in a starkly contrasting matte black datajack just before the wrist joint.
Abe pulls another similar line out of the machine on his arm and, after turning it over in his hand for a second, slides it into the link port on the Johnson's sec. Absently, he stands up when Nekekami does.
Smoke slides towards the door, his boots making little more sound then his namesake, and the small bell in the back dings as he opens the door with a small flourish. "If you please, Ladies and Gentlemen, we may continues this outside in the more pleasant weather?"
"Of course, but the more practical side of me would feel better with credstick in hand before vacating. Do I have your trust to gather our pay, or shall I be accompanied by one or all of you?"
Quicksilver stood and turned towards the door the Johnson entered through. The movement of her body was quick and flowing, her trenchcoat's split second lag enhancing the effect. She paused before heading to the Johnson's designated stair in case anyone else wanted to observe of join her.
Gryce paused, looking momentarily confused, then nodded. "Oh, right. The money. Yeah."
Nike simply stares at Gryce for a moment. His eyes slowly blink close, then open again as his vision resets to the normal spectrums. His face is unreadable, though his aura is crystal clear to anyone watching. His mental tirade goes a little something like this. Astral vision be damned...Where the hell do these people come from? Is misdirection a fucking lost art? "Exactly my thoughts, my corporate friend. So, since we're all agreed, The Skeleton, thrity minutes from now." With a smile on his face, he throws an arm around Gryce, and walks out with him like an old war buddy, completely ignoring Abe. The communications frenzy begins the moment his arm makes contact with Gryce's shoulder. "So, how was the Pacific this time of year, bossman?" He turns, letting his smoke drift slowly out of his mouth as he speaks, providing the momentary screen around his and Gryce's face.
Kicking the ultrasound link into an active state, he makes sure that Gryce and Abe pick up on his message. Omega, let Alpha know that he goes with you. Zeta, watch for the trashy mobile vehicles of the round eyes. Three blocks west. Five minutes. Immediately afterward, the commlink goes active, his headware suite shaking hands and handling the multi-tasking with ease. Once Abe's phone has connected via his datajack, he drops a simple message unheard to those around him, and short enough that listening ears should have difficulty making heads or tails of it. "You in the Ruskie. Six is yours." The second phone line connects with Nova's phone, as he's most likely tearing down the streets of Everett. "Outriders needed for personal favor. 3 associates for pickup. 2 big ones a piece for each ride. Immediate pickup. Aff or neg?" Nekekami waits for Vincent's answer.
By this time, the friendly looking duo has reached the outside under Nekekami's direction, just as Quicksilver removes the last of the credsticks. He leans in close, and wraps up her up in a sweeping embrace. As he locks lips with her, he squeezes her left hip softly, letting her know to flow with it. As he pulls back from his seemingly passionate embrace, he makes sure to pass his lips by her ear in an innocently looking nuzzle. "Three blocks west, we meet. Five minutes. Follow my lead." He passes along his plans in the barest of whispers, audibly only to the female runner. In a brazen voice, he winks at Quicksilver, and adapts a bawdy tone to your voice. "You know I love it when you get so pro-active baby. I love a woman who knows how to take charge." As Quicksilver hands out the credsticks, he takes his and heads for the Banshee parked in front.
"Just like you said inside, bossman..." Nekekami nods to Gryce, "The Skeleton, one hour." As the now seemingly familiar team all emerges from the building, Nekekami starts his Banshee. He turns and tosses a smile at at Quicksilver. "Let's go princess. We've got to beat this old timer and the freak show to the club." He smiles coyly at Gryce and Smoke, letting them know that his jokes hold no ill will.
Nova smiles on the other side of the line. Two K for this? Good money for easy pay he thinks, "Affirmative, where?" Nova awaits Nekekamis response thinking of some mods his people could pick up for their pigs with the cred.The second phone line connects with Nova's phone, as he's most likely tearing down the streets of Everett. "Outriders needed for personal favor. 3 associates for pickup. 2 big ones a piece for each ride. Immediate pickup. Aff or neg?" Nekekami waits for Vincent's answer.
Quicksilver started at Nekekami's actions, but supressed it before he noticed anything. With an amused acceptance and a bit of a malicious smile she followed him towards the Banshee. "Oh, you do, do ya? So what's your hang up with being on the bottom, prince charming?" Taking a quick look around the area, she hopped in. "Now let's split before I die of boredom."
Nekekami realizes his mistake the second after the words have reached Nova's phone. One thing at a time, Kami. You rush and this is the kind of mistake you have to deal with. "Nova...change in plans. I'll reconnect with you in a few." Nekekami cuts the connection for now, buying himself a few minutes before he needs to deal with that error in judgement. He plays with the bike's throttle as Quicksilver jumps on board and he waits for Gryce's response.
Gryce nodded his acknowledgement. Well, that went about as well as I could have expected it to. Unless, of course, he simply didn't take a closer look...
Smoke his head slowly, a small smile spreading across his lips as he fell in step with Gryce, his "freakish" eyes slowly scanning the street and building, missing little, if anything.
Having successfully clipped the wheeled 'blades' back to the bottom of his boots, Abe skates off, the synthetic fabrics of his long coat flapping heavily around him. After a couple of blocks, he turns a corner and vanishes.
After a minute or so, there's a high-pitched whine that slowly increases in volume, getting closer; the sound of an elecric fuel-cell engine being put through its paces. Moments later, a Leyland-Zil Tsarina comes tearing around the corner and stops in front of the deli. Its coloring fades from front to back - black to a deep metallic purple. The body been obiviously and heavily modified with extra body panels, spoilers, the works. Extremely loud music emanates from within the polarized glass, the thumping bass notes easily drown out the motorcycle's idling engine and burrow deep into the chest, a shaking buzz that makes breathing seem a choore.
The windows fade back to clear, revealing Abe in the raised driver's seat giving a quick thumbs up and pointy-toothed grin.
Gryce turns to Smoke. "Is this our ride?"
Smoke shrugs. "I guess so.* He smiles. "You want front or back?"
Nekekami laughs at Quicksilver's antics and Gryce's reaction. "Well, it's either cram two of you in one seat in that street machine, or find your own ride, bossman. Have fun." With that, Nekekami nails the throttle on the Banshee, cranking down the sidewalk and out into the street. He takes about six minutes to drive around the local blocks and alleyways, memorizing the easy ways out and back home. Then he calms down and lets Quicksilver recover her lunch, as he brings the bike down to a cruising speed. With the sleek handling of the bike, he cruises over to the meeting point three blocks west, making sure to take a few alleyways to watch for any tails.
"There's no backseat in this car?"
Quicksilver was a bit unsettled by the dizzying route, but enjoyed the trip. The Banshee didn't have the familiar feel of her Blitzen, but then again, the Blitzen might not either after Sabrina's rebuild. Checking her watch, she realized it would be too late to go by and check on it tonight, and made a mental reminder to do that first thing in the morning. "So, 'Nike', you've been quiet as of late. Doing better at snagging the quiet jobs, or just slacking off?" she grinned at Nekekami good naturedly.
As Nekekami pulls into the open area designated as the new meeting point, he chuckles at Quicksilver's jab. She feels the bike glide to a halt, noting his laughter by the smooth vibration along his ribs as his body shakes. She also notices that Nekekami is a great deal more trim and fit than the last time she saw him.
"No worries Q. You know me, babe. I'm the definition of low-key." He smiles and winks at her as the two settle themselves in to wait for the rest of the crew to arrive. "Things have been relatively quiet lately. Mostly business with relations lately. And you...what brings you onto this job? I didn't hear anything on the grapevine that you would be here. And why no call to your friendly neighborhood face man? I'm hurt Q, deeply." He chuckles at his return volley and fumbles around for one of his cigarettes, in the process adjusting his pistol to be in an easily reached position.
"Just a regular bleeding heart, you are," she smirked. "Actually wasn't looking for anything, this one snuck up on me. The Blitzen was trashed in a bit of a fiasco down on the CalFree border, some Tir grunts looking for an excuse to start something spotted us on the way out, big mess." She paused momentarily, scowling at the memory of the disaster.
"Anyway, you know Sabrina and her 'associates', occasionally I get a few jobs passed to me through them, and when I brought what was left of the Blitzen in, she says she has a friend who wants to ask me a favor. I'm suspicious, but all he wants is that he promised his boss he'd have a guy for this meet his boss had been contacted about. Turns out the guy he had in mind got himself geeked last night trying to poke holes into some Rings. He doesn't know why his boss wanted to grab a slot, but he knows its his ass on the line if he doesn't get somebody there."
"He's just a grunt, but ya never know when a few extra strings can come in handy, right? Besides, he never said he wanted any info or anything, so its all clean. Well, as clean as it can get with them."
Nekekami locks eyes with Quicksilver, sharing a private moment between two friends. "Be careful, Speedy One. Things within the clans are taking on some odd overtones right now. I've been led to understand that some housekeeping may even be in order. I don't know 'your friend' who passed the job, but I do know of her history. Warn her to be careful. I'd never want to see anything bad to happen to two very beautiful women." His eyes twinkle but the message is very serious. "Even me, the man a step ahead of things, has had to watch himself lately. Things are...odd at the moment, and not getting any better. This meeting tonight has done little to reassure me. It's just a friendly warning, but be sure who your friends are when the chips are all called in. This job may very well force such a situation." Nekekami leaves the warning to his companion cryptic in case any prying ears are about, but the message is clear.
"What's taking the rest of the crew so long, anyway?" He offers a cigarette to Quicksilver as he opens a link to Abe's cellphone. C'mon Loudmouth...what's the holdup? Can't drive three simple blocks? Or is your slow troll brain slowing you down again? Nekekami leaves his mental tone light, keeping a jovial mood with his mate, but the concern is clear.
"I could, of course, take a cab or the like. Or walk."
Quicksilver nods at Nekekami's message, and debates a cigarette. Deciding that she probably shouldn't, she declines the offer. "I would help her as far as I would help you, my friend, but I will be very careful. I have had enough of life as part of something larger, and have no desire to get drawn into that particular crowd in any case." As he wonders where everyone else is, she let her mind wander to thoughts of how to approach Marcus for more info when she got home.
** Suck on it, Captain Cockslide. I'm still waiting for these two to decide whether or not they want to get into my ride. **
The front door of the car pops open, and ear splitting club-style music momentarily rolls out into the streets before the volume is cut. Abe shrugs through the opened front door at Gryce.
"Suit yoursef."
His eyes shift quickly to the other young team member.
"Alpha?"
Nekekami looks over at Wildfire. "Looks like they're taking a bit too long on their own. Hold tight and keep this place safe, chica. Time for me to go play chauffeur."
The Banshee is rolling again moments later. Left, then head back to loop around behind Abe. Keeping the cell line open, Nekekami lets Abe know the plan. Just get one of them in the car big man. Screw worrying about trailers for now, I just want to get this show on the road. Just get one of them, and I'll pick up the other. We don't have time for this kind of shit. Any trailers already know exactly where we are by now, so just get to the meeting point. Keep an eye for the Ice Lady. She's keeping an eye on our park bench.
Nekekami sees Abe's car parked at the curb in the distance. He cuts one block west, and then loops around behind the noisy street machine. "Good to see you again Bossman. Need a lift?" Gesturing to the spare helmet resting behind him, Nike looks over at Gryce.
As Gryce enters the car, he speaks lightly. "This reminds me of a rodeo I once attended. A rodeo with goats. Which is to say, a Goat Rodeo. It's a lot like this." He sighs. "It all seemed so simple in my head."
Smoke laughs, sliding into the other vehicle, shaking his head. "I agree. Let's get the flock out of here."
heard on a local radio program: "And today on the Bronson and Michael show, Bronson brings an abacus into the studio to count the number of times Micheal swears at and then threatens an inanimate object. Not surprisingly, the experiment ends in violence, as the abacus quickly finds its way out the window."
"So does this thing move, or just rumble noisily?"
Letting the distractions fall away, Nekekami focuses on the task at hand. A passenger, who may or may not be familiar with how to ride shotgun on a bike. Easy on the speed, just a little on the higher side, and keep things smooth.
The Banshee glides just in front of the Tsarina at a slightly faster than average speed, keeping the distance between the two vehicles constant. His eyes are searching for tails, but he relies on the fact that they are hiding in plain sight. The best disguise is not to have one. Sun Tzu's words still hold true today.
Upon arrival at the pre-arranged meeting spot, he lets his guard relax for a moment as he sees that Quicksilver has kept the place secure. He flashes his winning smile again, as he removes his helmet after the Banshee comes to a stop. "Miss me babe?"
Gryce stares into space, not quite looking at any of the other members of the team. "So. We're here. Let's talk about this thing, shall we? How do we want to do this?"
Quicksilver rolled her eyes at Nekekami. In reponse to Gryce, she spoke up. "Let me get in touch with a few people, I might be able to get us a little more information about Grey and his activities. Other than that, I suggest we decide which part of this we would like to accomplish first, Grey or his files."
Macross Generations - Past, Present, Future
"SysOping an RPG board is undeniably a sign of your terminal insanity" - Boo
"I would think we could effectively do both at once. Contingent on the information we receive, I would think the best way to go about this is to defeat his security system - which I don't think I have to tell you will be incredible - get into his house, steal the files, and lie in wait for Mr. Grey.
"Of course, the information we get may lead us to the conclusion that Mr. Grey would best be taken elsewhere. I don't know, at this point. I suppose what we really need to know is what we're all going to do to gain that information, who's going where with whom, and how we can all get in touch with each other."
Nekekami lets out a quiet sigh of relief after his little fuck-up with the transportation. Two fuck-ups, actually. Too many thoughts on your mind, Kami. Get the score straight or the game will play you out hard and fast.
Looking at Gryce, he nods. "You're correct. In that vein, let's get two things straight then. I'm not Nike, and he's not Lincoln. The name's Nekekami, Kami for those Anglophones who don't handle the slant-eye speech so well, and my loud-mouthed companion is Abe. I'm sure we're all going to want to find out a bit more about each other, and I'd rather have the truth come out of my lips, than someone else's. It's less likely to be skewed against my favor that way." He smiles slightly, and spins his cyclist's helmet in his hand.
"As for who we can deal with, Abe and I know one or two people who might be found in a parking garage, an auto shop, or a club. They could provide a bit of information. The biggest priority, in my mind, is to get a bit better idea of exactly what kind of redundant systems and security backups Mr. Grey has in place. We'll need information for that, as Gryce here has said. I'd suggest in that vein that we break down into two separate components. One to look for general information about Mr. Grey and any potential allies or connections he may have. The other to find out more specific information on his own personal system or systems he has designed."
"Smoke, why don't you accompany Abe and I? Quicksilver, if you need, I can arrange transport for you and Gryce to any place you like. Would you need transportation for long-term, or just a one way trip? As for contact information..." Kami jots down his cellphone number on a few pieces of scrap paper, and hands it out to Gryce and Smoke. "Quicksilver, you should still have the number."
"I think that Smoke, Abe, and I can handle the information about who Grey is and knows. Downtown, Everett, and Tacoma...the clubs, the bars, and the auto shops should allow us to cover that information. Any objections or suggestions?"
Gryce looks, embarrassed, at the piece of paper in his hands, and gives it back.
"I can't read. I do, however, have a fine memory, so if you could simply read it to me, I've no problem with that."
Quicksilver nods to Nekekami. "I do. I expect that my transportation should be in working order tomorrow, but we'll need something for now. As for where, I believe you remember a certain club some of my past associates frequent. I'd like to borrow their privledges along with their knowledge. What I get there could lead down several paths, so it might be best to have transportation for the whole night."
Kami cringes inwardly. He hides that well. I shouldn't have missed that. We'll need to keep that in mind when we pair off.
"My bad presumption Gryce. Seven-zero-one-four-six-two-eight-five." Kami leaves no explaination of why his cell number doesn't seem to have the usual configuration of digits found on most other phones.
"So we're agreed on the plans then? Quicksilver, you can handle the Banshee, correct? If so, you can take that one, while I hitch a ride to follow behind Abe and Smoke. That way, you and Gryce are mobile and have comfortable and speedy transport. I'll just need to set up temporary clearance on the bike for you two. Abe, you might want to grab the kit."
"Excellent. I'll let you drive, then, Quicksilver; I'm not terribly experienced with such things."
"I feel it should be said I'm not very well versed in gleaning information from people. I'm not exactly a "people" person. So don't expect me to say too much."
heard on a local radio program: "And today on the Bronson and Michael show, Bronson brings an abacus into the studio to count the number of times Micheal swears at and then threatens an inanimate object. Not surprisingly, the experiment ends in violence, as the abacus quickly finds its way out the window."
"Smoke, that's perfectly understandable. Getting information from people and social graces are a department I've fairly familiar with. More importantly, we may be in some places with unsavory characters. If you wouldn't mind running some Wide-Eye style overwatch, and keeping any nasty boogiemen from dropping in and surprising Abe and I, I would be ever so grateful." Kami smiles as he turns to look at Abe.
"Uh, bruddah, I'm gonna need you to grab the kit, so you can set up the Banshee for Quicksilver and Gryce. You with me?"
Finally, completing the circuit, Kami looks over at the final pair. "Then we're agreed? You cover Grey and his systems and professional history, we'll take the man himself. Let's set up a contact time, using me as the contact person. Say, six hours from now?"
"That I can do." Wide-eye style overwatch? WTF? He shrugged mentally....he'd figure out what it meant sooner or later.
Quicksilver nods once. "Agreed."
Abe tears his gaze from Quicksilver's ass, where it's been locked for the past couple minutes or so and shakes his head, as if clearing the cobwebs. He looks over at Kami.
"Wha? Oh, yeah. Bike. Right."
Opening the rear door of the Tsarina, he flips the driver's seat forwards and pulls a toolkit from the small cargo space there. Minute later, he's elbow-deep in the Banshee's electronic security system, talking quietly to himself as he works.
"Sonova ... come here, you motherfucking cocksucker ... that's right, bitch ... right there ... bring it around to ... no, you go fucking there, cuntface ..."
After about 30 seconds of tinkering and non-stop expletives, he stands, wipes his hands on his thighs, and nods to Kami
Kami smiles and shakes his head. "Thanks Abe. Gryce, Quicksilver, I'll just need a voice identification code from you. Use the keyphrase 'There's a storm on the horizon.' It will work on either of your voiceprints, using that as the temporary password. That should let you two get on your way then, without worry about transportation."
"Abe, I'm going to hollar up a ride to pick up my other bike. Why don't you and Smoke meet me down out front of Taylor's Garage in about an hour?" Nekekami looks over at his comrade with a questioning look
Quicksilver speaks the code phrase for authorization, and waits fro Gryce to do the same. With luck, she'll catch Marcus at The Barricade and be able to get the inside story on their target.
Gryce, looking somewhat bemused, follows Quicksilver's actions to the letter, then stands, awaiting her next move
As Gryce spoke, Quicksilver familiarized herself with the controls and waited for him to get in. Nodding to Nekekami, she spoke. "Six hours." Starting the Banshee, she proceeded to head to a part of town she was quite familiar with, the sloped concrete building with the flashing yellow light on top called The Barricade having become the standard place for her to meet up with Marcus over the last few years.
Interlude
William Gray, Billy to his friends sat at his desk staring at the holo display in front of him. Daniel had said that the numbers were solid, and after three hours of inspecting the schematics, Billy decided that Danny was right as usual.
Billy yawned and took a sip of his coffee, the real kind not that crap soy simulated crap water, and tapped a few keys on his key board, altering the angles and reinspecting the diagrams once more. Finally he sent the mental command to shut the holos off. He unplugged the the cable from his datajack, and stood up stiffly. He had been in front of his work station for almost eight straight hours. He slowly looked around his office: large by most standards, and the fact that it was his office bespoke his place in the corporation. Its adornments, much like him, were practical, a desk, a chair, and a single set of cabinets. 'Not bad' Billy thought, ' especially for some one in as much shit as you are about to be in Mr. William Gray.'
A soft knock at the door caught his attention. "Come." Gray sighs, knowing already who is on the otherside. 5 o'clock every day, same asshole, same speech.
The man who enters is human, but not really much taller than Gray himself was. He moves throught the door with an akward almost jerky walk. 'Old cyber gone bad,' Gray thinks.
The man smiles and it is almost a sneer, and speaks in a raspy voice,"Billy."
"Thomas." 'Prick', he thinks quietly, wishing he had the courage to say it.
"Billy, theres been...talk, a lot of talk lately." He pauses and eyes the desk behind Gray, almost as if he was searching for some sort of explosive. "The STC is talking behind closed doors. You know what that means Billy?"
Gray stares patiently at the man, knowing full well there hasn't been any such meetings.
"Investigations are messy Billy. Very messy, if the STC were to think that EDS had something to do with this insider trade accusations,corporate will be very unhappy. Very unhappy indeed." Thomas smiles, a look that'd make a shark blanch.
"If you came down here to threaten me Thomas, I don't have time for it. I have a six o' clock dinner appointment with the people from ADR. SO if you're quite through...." Billy lets the words trail off quietly. He was tired of these word games. If they were going to charge him with espinoage or data theft, he wished they'd get it over with.
"Of course Billy, of course.", Thomas's face looks almost concerned.
"Lock up for me Thomas."
Interlude
(OOC:I may be understanding things wrong so I may have to edit this post. Let me know. Thsi addressed at Gryce and Quicksilver.)
As soon as Gryce has a semblance of a grip on you, you drop the hammer. The Banshee shoots out into the road like a ballistic missile. Traffic in this part of town at this time of night is light, which considering who is on the road after the sun sets is probably a good thing.
You can smell Gryces exspensive cologne, while not unpleasant it is a bit overpowering this close. His hands are much stronger than you would have thought. You weave in and out of the rapidly increasing traffic.
'Must be getting close to downtown', you think to yourself. The Barricade is just South of Downtown Seattle on old Interstate 5 As you merge with traffic on the Interstate you scan the roads looking for any of the go gangs that regularly tear this end of town up. You see several automated shipping vechiles, ranging from Semitractor trailers, to hover vechiles. Commuter vechiles zip in and out of traffic like frenzied ants , but none have the muscle that your Banshee has, and power your way into the center lane. You gun the engine burying the needle for a brief second, bringing your bike up to the speed of traffic.
(OOC: See the OOC for comments.)
OOC: continuing)
Spike grinned. He loved the feel of his Scorpion beneath him. He was enthralled by the machines power, its grace and the skill it took for him to ride at the head of the pack.
Ten riders total. Six humans, three Orks and a single Elf. Interstae five was theirs. Spike knew every inch of this highway. All of its secrets were his. He knew when the Star patrolled and where. He knew when the Feds rolled, and even when the Metroplex Guard decided to head out. Tonight though the road belonged to his pack. They were hungry wolves prowling, and they looking for rabbits.
Suddenly the Elf saw a a single cycle ahead on the road. Two riders, both looked human from this distance. Spike grinned. This would be easy. Too damn easy.
He gave the hand and arm signals to his people, spreading them out with out a single word; pointing out their target. They would force them to the side of the highway, and then it'd be fun time.
Quicksilver made for the bar, her driving more like a reflex than an active thought. Traffic, people, noise, all was shunted off to her subconcious while she mulled over the situation. Old instincts never truly die, and so while she tried to recall in innerconnects between they various Ares sectors, her security-minded subconcious raised a yelow flag at the appearance of multiple bikes behind them. Bringing herself back to the task at hand, Quicksilver was only able to catch them split and vanish.
She sighed as traffic moved along. This was not the time to be playing with go-gangs, if that was what they truly were. She slowed for a moment so that Gryce might catch her words. "Bike pack split behind us, just an FYI. If they come after us, I'll try to stay in the middle of this traffic, you might wanna 'discourage' them a little. We've more important things to do tonight."
Gryce murmered into Quicksilver's ear. "Well, let's see if I can't break their concentration. There's a clear leader; let's see if bothering him might not scatter them. If that doesn't work, I think I have a trick or two."
Gryce waited until the leader whipped his bike around a slow-moving automated truck, waited until he was in front of it, and then quickly began to count in his head, Mercenne primes above 6 digits, "110503, 132049, 216091, 756839, 859433, 1257787..." When his mind was clear, he wove the numbers in his head, threading them to power, and released them, looking at the leader.
Spike grinned as he cleared the back of the trailer. He was closing the gap quickly, of course he was easily doing 160 klicks an hour at this point.
Just as Spike sucked in some air to let out the battle cry that would initiate his attack, the rear most passenger turned and looked directly at him. For the briefest of seconds Spike thought the mans eyes glowed a bright green color, and Spike thought, "Shit,ma-" his thought was cut short by the baseball bat like blow to his entire body.
The spell knocked the wind out of him, and knocked him partially loose from his bike.
"CHrissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssttt..." Spikes scream was cut short as his bike careened into the trailer next to him. The impact flipped his bike through the air like a balerina, and was followed by a loud crunching of metal as the 80 ton trailer ran both rider and cycle over. The automated freighter doesn't even slow down.
The other bikers are visibly disturbed by their loss, and for a moment they hesitate, then they slowly drop back out of sight, it would seem in search of easier pray.
Both of you can't help but grimace, at least you didn't have to kill all of them.
*************************************
The Barricade
Bar and Grill archetype
35876 Interstate 5
LTG 761-5678SEA/ Zoie Thayer owner/Subtle Bias against non cops.
The Barricade is unique amongst the many bars and nightclubs of Seattle. It actually sits in the middle of Interstate 5. Formerly a roadside rest area, it had been bought back in the thirties and converted into a hotel. The hotel had quickly attracted the exact opposite clientel that it had wanted, and soon after went out of business. It was then purchased by its current owner a woman named Zoie. Zoie had painstakenly remodeled the place into an irish style pub, with a large dining area with a small dance floor. It had quickly become a favorite of Law Enforcement Officials everywhere. The Barricade is great place for a good Irish beer and a real steak at decent prices.
**************************************
The two of you park the bike in the parking lot, as the Barricade is one of the few establishments that still sports a large parking area. The lot is filled with vechiles, and more than a few are sporting law enforcement association plates, Lone Star stickers and a variety of other military and security logos. A good number of them are sports cars.
The bar itself only occupies the bottom floor, no one knows what Zoie uses the top three floors for exactly. Rumors have it that she lives on at least one of them. Other rumors say that she might be fronting for various gangsor security agencies, but no one has ever proved anything.
As you pass thru brick entry way you see the sign bolted the wall:
[align=center]
[/align]The Barricade Bar and Grilll
ALL PATRONS ARE SUBJECT
TO SEARCH. REGARDLESS.
The bar itself is well lit for bars, but still dim compared to direct sunlight, at this time of night it is also hazed in smoke from cigars and nicsticks. The music was loud enough but not over bearing, and the song that was playing declared that the singer was "...bbbbbbbad, bad to the bone...."
The bar sat along the north wall, and was topped with magony, trimmed with polished brass.Behind the bar a single Ork who stood about six and a half feet tall, wiped glasses, served drinks and warily eyed the new comers. Waitresses crisscrossed in and out of the bar taking bottled beer to various patrons, occasionally a mixed drink would be thrown in the mix.
Ceiling fans circulated the thick air, that was ripe with the hearty smells of steak, good steak, fish, and baked goods. Just inside the door was a sign declaring that todays special was "Texas T-bone with a heap o' steak fries, salad bar and a beer for 25 nuyen".
At the east end you could see the larger dining area, and the dance floor, which was surprisingly crowded.
"Evening m'aam, sir. I need to each face the north wall and extend your arms upward and all the way out. I'll be running this metal detector over you, and then you'll be free to enjoy your night." The Troll bouncer smiles, a surprisngly comforting smile despite the genrous amount of teeth it shows.
Quicksilver had ditched the trench into a cargo pocket on the banshee, everyone knew better to than to make trouble at the Barricade, and fell into the routine as she scanned the room for Marcus. The bouncer wasn't one of the regulars, but it wasn't as if any of the regulars actually knew her name anyway.
"Oh. Good god. Well, this should be fascinating. Police officers." Gryce shook his head and entered.
