Recruiting runners for a team - reply by 4/21

Dear Shadowrunner,

Tired of finding out who you're running with when you meet your Johnson? Sick of putting your hoop on the line for meager payouts and for teammates you don't know? Are you professional and disciplined in the art of running the shadows? Are you the best at what you do - and are you willing to prove it? If not, stop reading now.

I am seeking highly competent and dedicated shadowrunners to form an integrated team. The roles still available are

• Hacker/Technomancer
  
• Driver/rigger
  
• Streetsam/Adept/Weapon specialist
  
• Magician
  

Some additional things to consider before responding:

• You will audition for the role you are interested in. Multidisciplinary runners will be expected to audition for each role they're interested in.
  
• The team will be based in Denver. You're responsible for getting there.
  
• The team will be a finesse and subtlety team more than a heavy-hitting team. Lethality is a last resort.
  
• A percentage of every run's take will be taken off the top to support the team - safehouses, security, upgrades, new equipment.
  
• You will be expected to practice with the team, including memorizing a "playbook" of standard tactical situations and responses.
  
• You can choose to leave the team any time after the first 5 runs, but when you're in a run, you're in it until the end.
  
• Additional talent may be brought in based on the nature of the mission. They will be prescreened as rigorously as you were.
  
• The success of this team is ultimately my responsibility. That means I have the final say if a decision has to be made. If you have a problem with that, don't bother responding.
  

If you think you have the talent and mindset I'm looking for, reply to LTG-CALFREE-#14512-LB-642 with your desired position, your skills and a brief description of why you think you're the best at what you do. I look forward to hearing from you.

- Suileor

(OOC: Additional details...

• Starting Build Points: 400
  
• Veteran runners will be considered. Private message me...
  
• I want to form a team that can be shopped out to GM's on a "1-run" basis. I don't intend to GM beyond the "audition."
  
• Restricted and forbidden items are acceptable per the core SR4 rulebook (no Rating greater than 6 or an availability greater than 12)
  
• Please post your replies to this forum so others can see!
  

)

Oh my gosh I love your writing.

Okay... that out of the way... you want people to post what role they'd like to fill before they've finished the character sheet? If so, I'd like to play a street samurai/weapon specialist.

Also, awesome idea of doing 'audition' runs to get a team formed so another GM can take over. I like it!

Durandana wrote:

you want people to post what role they'd like to fill before they've finished the character sheet? If so, I'd like to play a street samurai/weapon specialist.

(OOC: I'll leave the reply window open until 4/21, at which point I'll need the finalized character sheets and the auditions will be announced. Post a character concept in the form of an in-character reply to the initial posting as soon as you can, and then I'll reply via a private message to make the experience more immersive...

PS. What makes you think the audition will take the form of a run? )

Well, they're shadowrunners... so technically anything they do is a "run", right?

I'll throw with a hacker.

(OOC: The position might not necessarily go to the first person who answers the post. Bonus points _may_ be given for character development, creativity and attention to detail.)

Are metavarients permitted? Shapeshifters? Drakes?

Vanya's Devil wrote:

Are metavarients permitted? Shapeshifters? Drakes?

(OOC: Everything's permitted, but consider the original post while making character choices!)

I would like to submit Puck to deal with the magical end of things.

id like to add the technomancer part of things iv wanted to play one for a while he will be a gnome and more rigger then hacker is this accecptable.

Two men sat in a back booth in a small bar and grill. The place was a small little dive just off of Twelfth. It was somewhere between late afternoon and early evening, and the place was quiet, the lunch crowd having left and the dinner crowd having not yet arrived. Only a single waitress was waiting on the few customers spread out amongst the floor. Besides the two men in their booth, there was a young woman sitting alone at a corner table, taking only the occasional bite and drink from her meal as her fingers worked in the air in front of her, obviously involved in something through her AR display. At the other end of the room, near the sign for the restrooms in the back, an overweight suit was busy scarfing down his plate of ribs and potatoes as fast as he could, and managing to get prodigious amounts of barbeque sauce on the plastic bib tied around his pudgy neck in the process. The only other customer sat at the bar, a bottle of red wine in front of him and a glass in his hand, sipping slowly and looking off into space.
The two men sitting at the booth were talking as they ate. One was human, the other an elf. The human spoke with a in a mechanically modulated voice, and the elf with the an Irish brogue..

“So, Suileor, I hear you're putting a team together?”
“Yeah. I'd rather have a group of people I know working with me, rather than just some bunch of random strangers. You never know who you're working with that way, and it can come back to bite you.”
“Hear that. I once worked with a group like that on a job. We get on-site and are halfway done when one of them turns out to be a plant. Fragged up the whole thing.”
“Right. Even when things aren't that extreme though, a couple of bad personalities on a team can raise the stress levels all the way to Zurich, and that's the last thing you want on a job.”
“So how're you putting the word out?”
“The usual ways. Talked to a few people, posted a few messages and an LTG link on the right boards. Should be getting word back soon.”

The men continued to talk, discussing various aspects of their work, though always in very general terms. As they finished up and began to leave, the waitress came over and said to the elf, “Sir, the gentleman at the bar would like a word with you if you've got time.” The man looked over to the bar, giving the sole occupant there a once over.
He was odd-looking, even by modern standards. His hair was long and a startling shade of cobalt blue, with two small horns curling up from high on his forehead, and his ears were very long and pointed. Yellow eyes like a cat's regarded the man from across the room, and a slight grin pulled up the edges of his mouth. He was small and slight, and wore very casual clothes, in that odd “grunge chic” style that was so retro it was new. He stood and walked over to the booth.
As the stranger took a seat in the booth across from the man, Suileor asked, “So, what is it that you want?”
“A great many things, and nothing.” The stranger's smile spread a bit. “I'm afraid I couldn't help over-hearing your conversation with your friend.” Reaching up with one hand, he flicked the point of one of his long ears and smiled. “I'm afraid my rakish good looks are a bit of a burden when it comes to respecting others' privacy.” Seeing the look on the man's face, he held up his hands. “No need to look that way, do but listen to what I would say.”
Still staring hard at him, the man asked gruffly, “Come then, what is it?”
The stranger put his fingertips to his chest. “I think perhaps I would make a fine addition to this team you spoke of.”
“Oh, really? And what makes you say that?” Suileor's voice was gruff, and more than a little bit guarded as he stared levelly at the stranger.
“Why, I would be a fine addition to any team. Not to brag, but I'm good company, have a wicked wit, a silver tongue, and many other qualities that would make me a fine companion.”
Suileor snorted, and stood up. “Look, I haven't got time for this, and I must be leaving. Do yourself a favor and keep to your own business.” With that, he turned around and took a step towards the door... only to find the stranger standing squarely in his way. He looked back over his shoulder, at where the stranger had been seated, and then back at the small meta standing a few feet in front of him. No one could move that fast, not even the most heavily cybered samurai. “What the...”
The stranger held his hands up again, entreating the man to wait. “Please, hear me out.” The elf stuck in hands in his pockets, set his jaw, and gave a curt nod. “I would think that in your profession, any advantage would be welcome, no? Perhaps particularly so if that advantage was, say, magical? Anyone can purchase the more mundane skills and abilities of this world. All it takes is the right education and machinery, yes? But magic... magic is something you either have... or you don't.” His smile came back, wide and more than a little bit feral. “And I have it.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend, perhaps. A friend as good as my name. Robin Goodfellow, though most know me as Puck. At your service.” With that, Puck performed an elaborate bow, flourishing his arms out to his side. “If, that is, my service you would take.”

"Magic, eh?" Suileor looks the stranger up and down. A bit eccentric, but no worse than some of the hermetics he dealt with in Tir Nan Nog. And Suileor knew enough about magic to not let a good spellslinger get away.

The gold flecks in the Irish elf's eyes danced mischievously. "All right, Puck, you've earned yourself an audition. I'm Suileor; this," he gestures to the man next to him, "is Mr. Fixit." Mr. Fixit nods to the stranger, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the interloper.

"Pardon me a moment..." Suileor stares off into the distance, one elegant hand resting on the bar. Returning his attention to the real world, the elf addresses Puck. "All right, friend, I've 15 minutes free to discuss the opportunity."

Mr. Fixit addresses Suileor in a computer-modulated voice. "I can't stay, but I'll arrange for your equipment." He looks at Puck, nodding and chuckling quietly. "Good luck, buddy..." he mutters as he leaves the company of the runners.

"Two glasses of Gaeland red, any year between 2050 and 2060," Suileor addresses the bartender and begins moving towards his recently departed table. "This establishment does know their wines..."

As the pair get seated and the wine is served, Suileor runs a hand through his copper-brown hair. "This is highly unorthodox, but I'll do my best." He fixes his gaze on Puck, the sparkling shimmers of gold in his eyes suspended in their medium. "As you overheard, I'm putting together a team of specialists to hire ourselves out as an integrated unit. I have need of a magician for that team." Suileor pauses to take a sip of the blood-red wine before him. "I expect exclusivity of your time while you're with the team, and a percentage of our proceeds will be spent on upgrades and equipment for the team as a whole. I'm investing a lot of personal time in this endeavor, and I expect a similar commitment on the part of every team member." Suileor pauses again, trying to read his new acquaintance but finding the man's emotions inscrutable.

He grabs a napkin and scribbles down an address in the Barrens. "I'm holding auditions for the magician's role. If you're still interested, be here on April 21 at 10 PM sharp. Come prepared for magical combat. Spirits, foci, fetishes, bring whatever you feel you need. But bring your A-game."

Suileor leans back, gold flecks once again dancing. "Now, tell me about yourself, Puck. What are your specialties and what can you bring to a team of professionals?"

Puck bowed slightly to Mr. Fixit as the man left, much less flamboyantly than before, and then resumed his seat across from Suileor. He smiled as the man ordered the wine. When the bottle arrived, he gratefully accepted a glass, and sipped from it as Suileor spoke. When the elf had finished, Puck sat the glass down, and in a faux-concerned tone said, “A team of professionals, eh?” He looked down at himself, plucking at the edges of his shirt, a green button-down which might have gone well with a suit, if its sleeves hadn't been removed, were it pressed rather than as wrinkled as an octogenarian's face, and the buttons done up so that it didn't expose its wearer's chest and stomach to the world.
“Truly, I think perhaps I'm a bit under dressed...” With that, Puck seems to wink out of existence, to be replaced by a human man with mousy-brown hair, severely combed and styled, rimless glasses in front of mild brown eyes, and a very serious mien. He was dressed in a highly conservative black business-suit. The man leaned forward, his movements stiff, bringing his hands together and stippling his fingers in front of him. “There now, that's better, I believe.” The man's voice was level and deep, far different from Puck's. “As for my credentials, sir, I believe that you'll find I'm competent in disguises. Further, I can acquit myself well in matters of communication, particularly in matters requiring improvisation.” He looks at Suileor levelly then bursts out laughing, his form blinking away to leave Puck back in true form, laughing uproariously and slapping the table, causing the wine glasses to jump.
“Ah... ah... it's just too fun! 'Well, sir, I can efficiently synergize the paradigm,'” he said between wheezing laughs in a terrible, mocking impression of the voice used by the suit. “Too funny!” He finally calmed down and leaned back in his seat, a twisted smile on his face as he looked back at the elf.
“Of course, that's not all I can do.” He raises a hand and snaps his fingers. In the back, the suit eating his ribs began to cough. He jumped out of his chair, causing the thing to fly back off its feet as he started pounding himself on the chest, his face turning red as he choked. The waitress, seeing the display, rushed over, only to slip and fall forward into the table, face-planting squarely into the left-overs of the man's meal. The bartender started out from behind his station, but hand only taken a step when he found that his shirt had caught on one of the taps. He yanked at it, trying to free his arm. The shirt ripped, and he fell backwards into the shelves holding various bottles of liquor and wine, which fell all around the man, shattering and breaking, covering the bar and its tender in various forms of alcohol.
Puck laughed loudly at the the display. When he looked at Suileor across the table, and saw the look of consternation on the man's face, he sighed resignedly. “Oh, don't worry.” He snapped his fingers again. The waitress managed to get to her feet and, wiping barbeque sauce from her face, got behind the suit. Reaching around his wide girth, she made a ball with both hand and pressed in sharply on his diaphragm. The man gave a wheezing gasp and launched a half-chewed chunk of meat out of his mouth. The bartender got to his feet, wiping away a bit of blood from a cut caused by the breaking glass, and hurried over to the two.
Puck chuckled. “See? No permanent damage done, and rather entertaining to boot.” His smile widened even further, seeming to touch his ears. “A little bad luck makes for a bit of fun. Entertaining, and useful on a run.” He picks up his glass, swirling its contents around as he looked at it contemplatively. He took a sip and looked back to Suileor.

Another Monday rolled around, and Ashley had nothing to do. The apartment was painfully empty; she had the whole thing to herself. Normally that might be cause to do somersaults off the couch, or to see how long she could play music at obscenely loud volumes before the neighbors complained, but today the stillness in the air felt too heavy. She ran a finger across the drab coffee table in front of her, frowning at the swath of dust disturbed in its wake. She was probably imagining it, but it felt like the building had aged by years in a matter of days.

The couch felt lumpy, uncomfortable beneath her. The trideo was off, but still she sat staring at it, her knees hugged close to her body. Two days ago, she never thought she would be here like this, glancing at the door compulsively at every slightest sound, her floppy ears straining for some sound of her roommate's return. But the door never opened, Hannah never came back. Which was good, all things considered. If she came back after taking a shotgun slug to the head-

The thought cut off with a violent shiver, and Ashley fought to keep down her breakfast. Images of her dead teammates, the memory of decaying human flesh... the walls felt far too close, the apartment mockingly silent. Ashley knew she had to leave, so she packed her bags. There was very little she even owned in the first place, and once she was done she had boiled it down to a backpack and a large duffel bag. Then she left, struggling to get the luggage out of the door. She walked away, not pausing to look back. Her only friend was dead, and staying around waiting to make sure she didn't come back wouldn't solve that. She needed to get out and do something, earn some money; there were bills to pay, after all.

On the way to the bus stop she refreshed ShadowSEA to check for new posts, ignoring the disgusted and curious looks she usually drew from other pedestrians whenever she went out. As she had grown to expect, there were a plethora of jobs for the Seattle Metroplex, some in Denver, one in Texas, a few spread out in Canada, and a couple in Germany. Filtering her search to remove the Seattle, Canada, and European jobs, Ashley reviewed her options. Most of them seemed like single job deals, and not particularly well paying ones, at that. But one entry caught her eye, and she read over it twice to make sure she got every detail. The offer seemed perfect, just the sort of thing she was looking for. A long time commitment might be a bit much, but if she passed this audition she was guaranteed at least five jobs.

Still, Denver though. Ashley called up the bus station's public node and checked the ticket prices. Three hundred nuyen for a one-way ticket, leaving at 11:30 AM. That actually wasn't too bad, though the idea of being trapped with a bunch of other people staring at her the whole trip did put a damper on her enthusiasm. Still, maybe if she sat in the back...


One day, nineteen hours, and two transfers later, Ashley walked off the bus at 6:30 in the morning, horribly sore and suffering from a severe sleep deficit. But she wasted no time in milling about, heading immediately to a hotel, recently purchased mapsoft leading the way. At least the air in Colorado had a crispness to it that made each breath refreshing to her lungs and nose, especially after being crammed into foul, old buses for so long. And even with the pollution of the city, the atmosphere here was purer than Washington DC could ever hope to be. Must be the altitude, what with the city being 1.6 kilometers above sea level.

Although she moved quickly, dreariness sapped her strength, tempting her eyes closed if she didn't remain vigilant. This was hardly the time to be composing letters to potential employees, but after traveling all this way, Ashley felt too anxious to get some rest before sending it off. With a curt nod she hit submit, sending off the message upon which her employment here in Denver would depend.

"Just got off a job that failed spectacularly due to the arrogant risks taken by our rigger, risks no professional should have taken, so your intent to form a disciplined, pre-screened group before sending them into danger is highly appealing. I recently arrived in Denver, and am interested in auditioning for the role of weapon specialist. I am perfect for your team because, unlike the majority of the gun-toting, cybered up street samurai running amok in the shadows, I understand the meaning of subtlety. I have extensive experience infiltrating buildings and evading detection, and rely on precision and surprise over quantity and volume. If you need someone capable of exercising self-control and timing, let me know. I am more than willing to demonstrate my capabilities in whatever manner you request.

-Tricks"

A bit more succinct and brash than she had intended, but Ashley felt it got the point across, and it was better to just be herself than try to conform to some expected ideal that she couldn't live up to. She set her commlink to wake her if she received a response from this 'Suileor' character, and to remain silent otherwise. There was sleep to catch up on.

Suileor watches with narrowed eyes as the slapstick scene unfolds before him. He's impressed at the display, but dismayed by the attention his new acquaintance draws to himself during the spectacle.

As the situation returns to normal, Suileor finishes off the last of his wine and stands. "Thanks for the demonstration, Puck. I'd encourage you to attend the audition. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some arrangements to make." He stands and walks away without waiting for a reply.

Approaching the waitress, Suileor hands her a 20 nuyen tip. "You did wonderfully in saving that man's life, Jenny," he says sincerely, letting a touch of his Irish brogue tinge his voice. He exits through the front door, the waitress still smiling at the tall, devilishly handsome elf's back.

Puck smiled and nodded to Suileor when the man confirmed his invitation for Puck to attend the audition. He got up as the man left, giving another flamboyant bow. Suileor walked over to the waitress, speaking softly to her and handing something over. When he turned back, Puck was gone, vanished without a trace.

...//sr4.shadland.mtx/jackpoint/lgn
...Matrix ID Spoofed
...Encryption Keys Generated
...Connected to Routers
>Login
**
>Enter Passcode
**
...Biometric Scan Confirmed
Connected to [Error: Node Unknown]

Jackpoint Stats: 23 Users currently active in the network

Latest News:

• Welcome back to Jackpoint, omae; Your last connection was severed: 8 hours, 42 minutes, and 32 seconds ago.
  <sticky> This private p2p MoSoSo network is now gamma. There isn't software anywhere that doesn't have a fault, so report any glitches to me. -Fastjack

• 8 new members have joined this network.

• Seattle. It seems like every runner who's any runner has spent some time on her streets. New blood or old hat, Seattle has one of the highest populations of Shadowrunners in the world. Given that, we've compiled a guide of sorts, detailing some of the ins and outs of Rain City for those chummers who are new to her shadows. [tag: Seattle 2072]

Skuld's avatar materialized on the other side of the Jackpoint's security system. As much fun as it would be to play around with Fastjack's defense systems, she didn't do anything more than spoof and encrypt her ID and ftp protocols. While FJ enjoyed a good bit of code-jockeying as much as the next hacker, Jackpoint was his baby, and he could be very protective of her. As Skuld had discovered first-hand, some short time ago. She chuckled to herself over the memory. It had been fun... and educational. Whatever didn't kill you, after all... and FJ had been quite amiable, after he'd made his position on messing with Jackpoint's source code understood in no uncertain terms.
So, Skuld came in via the official entryway. Of course, any attempts to trace her would be problematic for the one doing the search, but otherwise she was in as a normal user. The Shadowland bbs was a simple rezz, no fancy icons or graphics to clutter up the node-space, or burn up resources. Skuld looked around the lobby, a wide, circular room, its walls and floors dark gray and without any texture. In the middle of the room hung a screen, the title over it “Latest News.” It gave the basic welcoming speech, as well as highlights and links to the various hot topics and news-bits listed there. Beyond it, several doors were set in amongst the walls, leading to the forum rooms themselves. She could walk through any one of them and find herself in a small virtual lounge, where she could stop to chat with the users there. Those coming in through VR like herself would have their avatars seated at various tables, done in the same no-frills ascetic as the rest of the site. AR users simply accessed the old-fashioned text pages, but both sorts were essentially sharing the same digital 'space.'
Above each table there would be suspended a semi-transparent vidscreen, displaying the comments made by the various the users. VR users simply spoke aloud, and watched as their comments posted themselves in text on the screen. AR users had to type things up the old-fashioned way, but both types of comments were shown on the board in real-time. Less public conversations could be entered into by selecting the privacy option, in which case the table the user or users sat at would go dark, and nothing that was said would be displayed in the room's chat log. Additionally, the users couldn't be overheard by those near them, as the privacy option essentially placed the them in a temporary and personal forum, a different space than the rest of the board. It was useful for discussing sensitive information, as Jackpoint didn't keep logs of such conversations on its network, for various reasons.
Skuld looked the doors over, each one labeled with its forum name: Arsenal, Street Magic, Augmentation, Havens... all were basically archives of various bits of information contributed by shadowrunners to help one another out. They were extremely useful resources, and Skuld had spent a lot of time reading through many of them. Arsenal was one of her favorites; it seemed that someone always had a new idea for modding various bits of tech-fun there. She wasn't in the mood for it today though... at least not yet. She walked further around the room, stopping at a door named “Want Ads.” This was the primary reason for her visit.
Stepping through the door, the long black-chrome cape of her avatar trailing behind her, Skuld looked around as she entered the board. There were only a few users in at the moment, all absorbed in reading the screen in front of them. She took a seat at an unoccupied table and started skimming through the various posts it displayed. A few were obvious requests from Johnsons or fixers, a common way to attract various runners to a mission when the employer didn't have a specific individual or team in mind for the job. Opening them up, she notes that most of them were now officially closed, meaning that the person who had posted the ad had everyone he needed, and the thread would be purged the next time the board refreshed.
Scrolling further down, she noted one post titled “Recruiting runners for a team...” She touched the screen with a finger, bringing up the post itself. She read through it, a small smile touching her virtual lips as she did so.
The runs she'd been on since coming to Seattle had all been done on a personal contractor basis -missions where solo runners had come together in response to an open call on the market. Such jobs were often dangerous: the expendability of runners on such jobs was the main reason for a Johnson to employ a loose group of individuals, rather than hire out a long-time team. Oh, not always: sometimes the job simply had a deadline that didn't allow for careful talent shopping. But each time a runner accepted that sort of run, it was a gamble. You never knew who you'd be working with, and you never knew if the Johnson would try something funny at the end.
Working for a team had many perks: you knew the people you'd be running with, competent, long-standing teams often commanded better prices, and were more likely to be dealt with honestly, as they were often better connected and respected than lone runners, with greater resources at their disposal.
Still, the post said it would be in Denver, quite a long way from Seattle. And there would be an “audition.” That meant she would need to travel there herself, with her drones and vehicle. That could prove problematic. Her fake Federal Firearms liscense didn't really cover all the hardware she had now. Trying to get through customs with her equipment would require either some serious code-work on her part, or quite of bit of nuyen expended in bribes. And there was no guarantee of getting a spot on the team when she got there. She could be out the expense of the trip with nothing to show for it. Still...
After a few moments, Skuld double-tapped the screen, enabling the “reply” option.

Hoi. Vet. runner out of Scandinavia. Equally hot with code or drone. Seattle resident ca. 1 year.
Will travel out for audition. References: [outbound link: Alexander Korben], [outbound link: Jan Thyssen]

She sent the reply, and made of note of the post's author. Getting up from the table, she walked back out into the lobby, where she logged off.[list][*]

(OOC: I'm still looking for at least another streetsam/adept and a magician for The Audition... Riggers and computer specialists also welcome!)

Skuld messaged Korben over her comm, telling him that she would be attending an appointment in Denver, and needed to find transport for herself and her equipment. While she waited for his reply, she spent a few moments amusing herself in AR, searching for sites with some background info on Denver. Most of the results were generic history and common events. That was fine, in as far as it went, since Skuld knew next to nothing about the city.
She remembered from school that Denver had been the place where the treaty between the United States, Canada, Aztlan, and the NAN had occurred, and was split between the signing parties. Her searches taught her that Denver was now a smuggling port, the various boundaries between the nations controlling the city making for an ideal way to slip goods in without going through official channels. It also told of how the great dragon Ghostwalker was the de facto leader of the city now, having appeared at the end of '61 and kicked out the Azzies while showing everyone who was really in charge.
Her research was cut short when Korben replied.

-I'm appending a list of smugglers I know who make regular runs down to Pueblo. One of them is bound to be running to the Denver area. Hope this helps.
-Korben.

Opening the attached file, Skuld read through the names. Each was a smuggler, and had notes appended that offered details such as the routes they were known to run, how often, what cargo they liked to haul, and how to get in touch with them.

Searching for a Candidate: Threshold 2

Contact's Connection Rating 2 + Data Search 3 + Logic 5 = 10 = 2 hits

Results: Success

Skuld picked out the likeliest candidate, a Navajo Indian who went by the handle Coyote, and sent off an inquiry to him.

She received his reply that evening. The two set up a meet in a restaurant off Canyon Park, a neighborhood near to Snohomish. The place wasn't exactly upscale, but it was out of the way, and had high backed booths that offered a bit of privacy. And Coyote said their burgers were the best in town.
Skuld arrived before the Navajo, and took a booth in the back. She killed time before the smuggler arrived by examining the restaurants LAN. It wasn't very secure, and Skuld smiled as she worked a little techno-magic on its code. Whatever came from the meet, at least the cost of the food wouldn't be a concern.
Fifteen minutes later, Coyote walked through the door. Short, only around five and half feet, but very broad and stocky, the man wore a brown leather jacket, a shirt advertising that he was an old Maria Mercurial fan, and well-worn but comfortable looking jeans, he had that rugged but unassuming look common to people who spent their lives on the road.
She waved to catch his attention, and he strode over, taking his seat in front of the young elf. The man's face was flat and broad, and his skin very dark, even for an Amerindian. “God dag, Coyote. Thanks for coming.” He nodded, smiling slightly. She offered to order fo them, and he accepted. Several minutes later, one of the waitresses brought over two plates, each with a large burger, soy for her and actual beef for him (vat-grown, probably, but still preferable to some of the meat substitutes you'd find most places), and a heap of fries on the side, as well as a couple of beers to wash them down with. They each dug in, tucking the food away in short order.
After the meal was finished, Coyote said, smiling, “What'd I tell you? Best burgers in town!”
Skuld grinned back. “To business then, ja?” The Navajo nodded to her, leaning forward on his elbows. “I can take you down to Denver, but it won't be cheap, and it won't be easy. There's a lot of terrain to cover, and we have to cross a lot of borders. My asking price is ten-thousand.”
The norse runner paused to consider, one black-painted nail toying at the bottom of her chin. After a moment she offered, “Ten-kay? I think you've mistaken me with someone with a few more decimal points on their account. What about a proxy transfer? I'm a hot hand with tech-toys: let me work some of the price off. Høres ut som en avtale?”
Negotiating a Trade-off: Threshold 3

Charisma 5 – 1 defaulting -1 Virtual Personality = 3 = 1 hit

Results: Failure.

Coyote shook his head and leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms in front of him. “I don't know what “hoe-rez oot some of-tawluh” means, but if you want to ride, you'll have to pay cash up-front, just like anyone else. Sorry, but I don't do barter.” He gazed at her levelly from across the table, his expression making clear that he expected a more legitimate offer.
Skuld frowned, pouting a bit and thinking, “I forget people don't always have access to translators in the meat. So much easier to talk in the matrix, where you can run anything through a language site if needed..” After a moment she said, “Still, ten-kay is too much. I'll offer five.”

Negotiating a better deal: 10,000 – 1,000 for every hit

Charisma 5 – 1 defaulting – 1 virtual personality = 3 = 3 hits

“Nine”
“Six”
“That'd be robbery. Eight.”
“Petty theft, maybe. Seven.”
Coyote grimaced, his face scrunched up. After moment though, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a lop-sided grin. “Alright, deal. But bring you own food and provisions.” He offered his hand across the table and Skuld reached out, taking it in her own and gripping firmly.
“You want to split the check?” he asked.
Skuld grinned and shook her head. “Don't worry about it.”

An expected interruption sent Ashley's eyes bolting open, her muscles tensing as her fight or flight response kicked in. The hotel room looked just the way it had before she collapsed on the bed, but something was certainly off. A split second later she realized what it was when the stimulus that had jolted her out of a heavy sleep repeated itself, and she groaned as she rolled over to grab her commlink off the nightstand. The high pitched tone made her ears twitch, but it was convenient in that most people couldn't hear it. Not exactly the way she wanted to wake up though, especially after... she glanced at the commlink's display, a measly ten minute nap. Ugh.

The address from the message cross-linked automatically to her new mapsoft, which was convenient because Ashley wasn't certain how to search for a specific address yet. It took her a full three minutes staring at the red blip on the map before she realized she could zoom in or even turn labels on, but when she did a plethora of useful information appeared on the screen, giving her much to think about. The pin representing her location of interest laid halfway between the 'Central Business District' and 'Commerce City'... and although she knew practically nothing about Denver, she made a note of the industrial setting. It seemed possible to her that her potential employer, this 'Suileor' individual, had a warehouse set aside for the auditions. But then it also seemed equally likely that the whole thing was a trap and if she showed up on time she would meet a firing squad ready to rob her dead body of any valuables. Or perhaps she was being used as a decoy, a distraction for security while someone else did something else that mattered. The emphasis on the timing of the meeting certainly lead credence to that theory.

Beyond the lack of details, the ominous phrase 'Come ready for combat' troubled her, but she decided it could wait until she'd caught up on her sleep. The commlink slipped out of her hand, bouncing once before falling off the bed with a quiet thunk. Ashley, too tired to care, flopped back over onto her stomach and closed her eyes, thoughts of warehouses and ambushes and preparation plans rushing about her mind at hurricane wind speeds. It was a long time before she finally reached the calmness of sleep, the eye of the storm.



That night found a dark bulge crossing a runoff stream, two eyes twinkling from under a matted hood of comically soaked crimson hair. Ashley hardly took any solace in the fact that she looked amusing, and once again she cursed her lack of ability to properly read a mapsoft. Coming in from the East had seemed like a viable option, but she hadn't realized there was a small river separating her from her goal, and the only dry path across appeared to be the bridge for the railroad tracks right next to the building, too close for comfort. At least security would likely be lax from this angle, if there was any at all.

She still had a day before her audition slot, but if past experience had taught her anything it was to never show up unprepared. There were too many unknowns, too many possibilities, and Ashley was determined to get to the bottom of it. What kind of response instructs applicants to 'come ready for combat'? A more appropriate advisement would be 'bring any equipment you require to demonstrate your abilities,' or something like that. 'Come ready for combat' implied she would be facing combat, and it occurred to her that being terminated in this job would likely be quite literal. So, she would just have to surpass all expectations and get the position then.

The opposite shore provided plenty of cover in the form of some shrubs and thickets, and Ashley carefully picked her way through the clawing sticks until she felt safely obscured, at which point she paused to ring out her hair. The unexpected barrier threw a wrench in her plan, and she hated having to leave her gun, commlink, and other gear hidden on the west shore of the stream. But she refused to let that nuisance stop her, choosing instead to adapt to complications instead of back down. It just meant she would have to stay sharp and rely on speed to find out what she needed to know without being noticed.

Hair sufficiently squeezed dry, or as dry as it could get for now, Ashley stepped out of the brush, padded feet leaving no indents in the grassy bank as she slinked over to the wall surrounding the building. Luckily the perimeter lacked a barbed wire topping, or jumping the thing might actually have been a challenge. After a sparing a moment to shake a flurry of water droplets from her fur, she bent down low, and then leapt straight up, placing a hand on the top of the wall as she cleared it to help ease her downward motion into a soft double tap of a landing on the other side, pressed close against the wall. This was potentially enemy territory, and Ashley was only here as an observer. And observe she did, taking a long moment to search for signs of surveillance or traps, patrolling guards or attack dogs. Her eyes pierced the darkness, seeing by the light of the stars alone, and her ears raised cautiously to sample the night's ballad for anything amiss. Then her body sprang into movement, transforming the stored energy in her legs into lateral motion. She stayed low, her form barely visible as she darted from shadow to shadow with unnatural grace. All she needed was a window or a door, although an exposed vent or way up to the rooftop would work as well.


OOC:
Roll results for easy reference:
Jumping: 6 hits (3 meter vertical jump)
Infiltration: 6 hits
Auditory Perception: 4 hits
Visual Perception: 6 hits

Please let me know if any assumed results or conditions (or conditional modifiers) are different than what I used. Also, I checked Google Maps to figure out the terrain near the address, so if it's completely different for your game please tell me.

As Ashley leaps the concrete boundary wall into 4600 Marion and observes her surroundings, she sees a decrepit 2-story warehouse. Besides the furtive scurrying of a river rat through a hole in the wall, there's no motion. The river bubbling behind her and the vague hooting of the wind is the only thing she hears. The compound appears completely abandoned, and for what looks like years.

As she looks closer, though, she sees what appears to be 18-wheeler tracks heading from the main gate towards the loading dock of the building over the dusty hardpan. She follows them stealthily, and sees a piece of paper tacked to the troll-sized door next to the loading bays. The printout says:

If you're looking for something to steal, leave. There's nothing here worth dying for.

If you're here for something else, you're early. Come back on time.


As she considers the note, Ashley hears the very distinctive sound of a machine gun bolt being pulled back to seat a cartridge. The sound appears to come from right behind and slightly above the 9-foot tall door.

"Hup!" The decidedly threatening sound sent Ashley into immediate action, her powerful legs throwing her directly backward and away from the door. She lowered her hands to turn the maneuver into a flip, and the momentum of her jump carried her lower body over her torso neatly. Droplets of water dangled and then escaped her hair as her head whipped around, like shimmering life pods fleeing a doomed vessel. The chalky dust and grit bites at her palms during the temporary handstand, and only plenty of training and experience kept her from scraping up her knuckles in the process. As soon as her legs touched the ground, they collapsed, storing up the energy for another release, and when her back straightened back up, she once more burst into movement, sprinting back towards the wall where she had entered.

The ground went by blurred, both from speed and the adrenaline buzzing in her brain as pounded the dirt, all attempts at stealth abandoned. The wall felt so far away, each bounding step having a painfully small impact on increasing its size in her vision. Eventually, though, it loomed in front of her, oppressive in its unyielding opposition to her escape. Ashley knew she was too jittery, and slowed her pace only slightly to give her a moment to steady her nerves. Then she was into the air once more, clearing the wall and landing with a soft roll on the opposite side, the cool grass and her natural grace cushioning any discomfort from the fall.

Not even pausing to catch her breath, Ashley leapt into the water, opting to swim under the surface for most of the distance. It was only when she reached the other shore of the stream did she finally slow down to a jog, heading back to pick up her hidden equipment before trying attempting to flag down a taxi at this hour. The night's outing had proved less useful than she had hoped, as she left with just about as much information as she came in with. But it wasn't all loss, she tried to look at the bright side. At least now she knew she wouldn't be used as a distraction... and she knew not to test her potential employer any more. Tomorrow night would certainly be an interesting one. But she had been through enough excitement for one night, time to head back to the hotel and get some solid rest in before the audition, not to mention a big, fresh salad at some point.


OOC:
Roll results for easy reference:
Gymnastic Dodge: 6 hits
Sprinting: 8 hits across 2 Initiative Passes, for approximately 50 meters in two seconds
Agility Boost: 1 hit
Jumping: 6 hits (3 meter vertical jump)

I'm going to assume she can either soak 1 point of Drain or just sleep it off. If anything interrupts what I've posted, please let me know. Plan of action is the same, but obviously edits would be in order.

Ashley didn't think it was possible for the abandoned warehouse's lot to become quieter, but even the crickets and night birds hush in the sudden tension. After racing madly back to the relative safety of the wall, she risks one look back at the warehouse. There is nothing to tell she had been there, and nothing to indicate the warehouse was anything but an ancient abandoned building.

As Ashley catches a cab (with a briefly curious expression from the cab driver at her... unusual legs), the birds and insects slowly resume their nocturnal dance.

(OOC: A nap before the audition will knock the drain off no problem.)