Butterfly Kisses

A soft, chill rain drizzles down from the night sky. The Black Dog is located in Downtown, but not the best part of Downtown. This is the part of town where the wealthy go to not be seen out in the wild of the night, but without danger of actually slumming it with the lower classes of society. The building is old: Built some time at the end of the 19th century by the look of it; all brown brick and wood trimmed windows, with glass that had that odd wavy quality that would make the world bend and bounce for anyone looking through it. A bouncer stands guard under a green canopy, watching customers enter through the brass-fitted doors of the club. The guard is human and wears a simply cut black suit, tasteful without trying to show up the people filing into the club. His eyes watch you carefully as you walk up to the door...

Inside, the room is filled with smoke. From the smell, at least half of it is from actual tobacco, rather than synthetic blends, and hangs in the air thick and heavy, causing the light of the lamps inside to wreath their sources in halos. Shadows are dim and diffuse, seeming to blend with the light itself, so that the whole room has a surreal, almost dream-like quality to it. The club is only about half full, and most of the patrons sit by themselves, nursing drinks, smoking, and watching the stage against the back wall.

"Lucky me...
I guessed the kind of man...
That you would turn out to be...
Now I wish that I'd been wrong and then...
I could remember to breathe...
And all along the watchtower...
The night horses and the black mares...
Ready themselves for the outcome...
For the strange times upon us..."

The lyrics drift about in the air, thicker than the smoke in many ways, until they find their way to your ears. The source impresses itself on you; A tall elf woman standing on the stage at the back, a stand mic wrapped in her hands like it was her lover. Her hair is dark and long, falling down to the middle of her back, in long, loose curls, and setting off the shimmering, shear white dress that she wears. Her voice is full and husky, her song sad and languid, full of regret and longing enough to melt the heart of any man or woman. You listen for a moment, as you adjust to your new surroundings. As you do so, you hear a voice beside you. "This way, if you please."

The gentleman the voice belongs to is old and human. His face bears serious lines, his hair a fringe of white framing a bald pate, and looked as though he'd been carved, fully formed as he was now. It just seemed ridiculous that someone who looked like he did might have been born, lived a life, and actually aged naturally into such a shape and role. He wears a butler's uniform, complete with white gloves and the gold chain of a pocket watch stretching across his waist-coat. When he has your attention, he will turn sharply on his heel, and lead the way up a set of stairs to your right, to the second level of the building. You walk down a hallway, old red carpeting worn thin under your feet over top of even older wood planks, passing doors made of dark hardwood and brass fittings on either side of you. Your escort eventually stops and indicates one such door. He raps on it three times, then opens it, allowing you to enter. The door closes behind you, and you hear the sound of footsteps receding away.

The interior of the room is spaced comfortably for a middling-sized party, and decorated in a style that keeps with the demeanor of the rest of the club. The dark carpet beneath your feet is no longer thread-bare; it now sinks down a couple of inches beneath your feet. The walls are paneled in what looks to be real oak. Brass and copper sconces holding electric lamps line them, and the numerous chairs arranged in a semi-circle look as though they were stuffed to suit a troll with back problems. A man in a brown duster over a conservative gray suit sits in one such chair across the room from you, his back to the rear wall, his arms laying heavily on the arms of the chair, a drink held loosely in one hand . His features are plain, brown hair and eyes, not exactly fit but not fat, having a small paunch which pushes out his white shirt and red tie in his seated position. His eyes regard you steadily for a moment, as he takes a slow sip from the drink in his crystal tumbler. As he finishes, he says, "Help yourself to the bar by the wall. Then have a seat. We'll begin shortly."

Auburn's idea of fashion left a little something... to be desired. She sauntered in the front door, her aelfin body moderately well concealed by the forest green one-piece Urban Explorer Jumpsuit which had become quite popular among the modern rowdy youth as an attempt to cheat nature of the normal bumps and bruises that occur as a result of the ... diletante behavior which their parents would otherwise have encouraged them to leave to their less well bred peers. Her forest green one-piece was not of uniform color, as is considered reasonably normal for a new suit, marking this one as well used, and perhaps as well loved. The colors which decorated the suit, at the moment, were the unexpected earth-tones which might be much more common among the non-city dwelling neighbors of the NAN perhaps. The colleidescope of colors included burgundy, light browns, dark browns, and even some moderately differed greens.
Strange as the suit seemed to be on a tall, gracefully moving woman, the hat and belt which accompanied the one-piece were even more bizarre. The hat - a throwback to some 100 years, or more, ago, and perhaps more commonly seen in the Rotten Apple - was a black woven hat, with a shallow seat, and a very wide brim. The material was flimsy, and draped somewhat to either side of her head, but managed, almost, to sustain it's own weight above her face. As a result of the strangely shaped brim, her face would be clearly visible in a well lit room or outdoors. As it was, the lighting conditions of this particular room caused the hat to completely obscure her face, but clearly that was not her design.
Her belt was equally surprising. It was a wide, seemingly leather belt, with a large silver or chrome belt buckle. The buckle, as striking as it was, was even more so because of it's size. In keeping with her hat, the belt and buckle were a similar throwback to 100 years ago, but would much more likely have been seen in the north eastern Aztlan lands. The buckle's size was so dominant on her slim frame, it almost seemed to be as large as her waist. On second consideration, it would be not quite half, but still quite large. It was also in the shape of a horse, rearing, with a rider on it's back.
On the jumpsuit, no two other clothing articles could possibly be more out of sorts, and it would likely have been less surprising if she had horns growing out of her elven head. However, with some moderate thought on the subject, it is easy to see that these are expressions of her personality, but are easilly enough removed so as to be entirely unrestricting in her current societal role: Shadowrunner. Auburn would never have to be concerned with her sense of style, or at least this expression of it, being restrictive in the slightest should a surprise occur.

Stepping inside the bar, Auburn allowed herself a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light. The smoke, as appropriate as it may be to a 'runner, was not something she was used to as a lighting condition. - I guess I should get used to it though, since this is Seattle. She thought to herself, allowing a slight smile to slide onto her face. As soon as her eyes were comfortable with the lighting conditions, Auburn stepped forward, looking for her contact.
She was somewhat surprised, but didn't show it, when her contact located her first. She turned her head slightly, looking the well aged gentleman in the eye before turning the rest of her body to follow him into the meeting room. - This should be interesting. Auburn considered, as she moved through the building. - It would have been interesting to see Taurus' face as he got a feel for that bar. Too bad he had to arrive later than me. Auburn finished her thought as the door was closed behind her. Looking around, she realized that she was the first of the 'runners to arrive, and that the choice of seats was hers.
"Help yourself to the bar by the wall. Then have a seat. We'll begin shortly." The suit stated.
Auburn frowned slightly, as her eyes started to take in the surroundings. She never liked the idea of wood panelling anyway, but American Oak was not handling the changing environment in particular, and the combination between the attempts at cross-breeding between the Chinese Oak and the acid rain was really cutting down on the life expectancy of the American Oak. In fact, with the exception the NAN lands, most of what the North American population would consider to be an American Oak was actually English Oak, and the proles of the population were simply too uneducated to be able to tell the difference.
- But that's not what I am here for today. Auburn told herself firmly, tearing her eyes from the walls and stepping over to the bar. Her frown redoubled as she considered the wood of the bar, but she repeated her firm mental shake as she took some of the ice from the ice-bucket, and filled her glass with a good helping of one of the single-malt scotches held on the shelf. Despite her dislike of the wooden furnishings, Auburn was pleasantly surprised by the available liquour.
Turning back to the circled seats, Auburn walked over and chose her seat. Since each of them was essentially equivalent, Auburn took a seat as close to randomly as she could, and sat and stirred her drink with her pinky finger, taking intermittent sips. She looked expectantly at the door, waiting to see who else would arrive, and how much of a delay Taurus would have.
For the moment she left her hat on.

Several passers-by are rather surprised to see Eva as she skates the half-mile from where she left her car parked to the bar where she is supposed to get her next job. She didn't blame them - after all, it isn't a neighborhood, or time, in which young children were very common. And that's exactly what Eva looks like. Standing only a little over 3 1/2 feet tall, Eva's wavy red-brown hair falls just past her shoulders, shifting with the wind, occasionally letting others catch a glimpse of her pointed ears. Her delicate features, over-large green eyes, and slim build all belong to a pre-adolescent child. Even her clothing and gear fits - she is skating leisurely down the sidewalk on a pair of pink inline skates, her long flower-print dress flowing behind her legs, and her blue vest opening slightly in the evening breeze, to reveal a strip of the white blouse beneath. A baby-blue backpack, with pink hearts and cartoon animal keychain bobs, hangs over her thin shoulders, the tip of one dainty little black shoe poking out of the main pocket where the zippers don't quite meet.

As Eva rolls to a stop outside the Black Dog, the bouncer gives her a frankly incredulous look. "Uh... listen kiddo... this is a bar, right? No kids allowed." Eva composes her face to a mix of anxiety and trust, lets a puff of what she though of as 'adorableness' out of her pheromone factory, and explains her situation with a desperate throb in her dainty voice. "Oh please mister... I was out skating and got lost, and... I... I called my neighbors, because my parents don't live with me, and they said they could come get me and take me home, but they're in the middle of something now, and so I gotta wait, and when I told them what street I was on, they said to come wait here, and I don't want them to miss me or something... I just wanna sit down somewhere inside... it's scary and dark out here and all..." As she winds down from her rambling, she lets a couple small sobs hop in her chest, squeezes a couple tears out of the corner of her eyes, and sniffles quietly.

---

Charisma/con roll to talk the bouncer into letting me sit inside (Roll info: 7 Charisma, 4 Con, 3 Glamour, 3 Tailored Pheremones, 1 Trustworthy, 2 First Impression): http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2506844/

Cold; He used to like the sharp, cold weather of the States, so different from the sweltering heat of southern India. But ever since his 'curse', even that pleasure had been denied to him; Now the cold only slowed him down, triggering instincts of hibernation that conflicted with the warmth of his limbs. Fortunately, this wasn't quite cold enough to truly affect him..

Trickles of rain slide down the brown robe, with its vague inscriptions along the cuffs reminding one of far more expensive 'I'm A Mage' lines of clothing. It was the type of outfit designed to mimic higher class 'new age' mystical clothing, as if to impress upon the viewer that here was an Awakened individual. But choosen, oh so carefully, for its lower class cut; A person seeking recognition without status, a wage mage gone slumming and not quite understanding the standards of neo traditional robing.

It's what one bought in the department store that said 'Special! Today Only!', and tried it's best to look like Heritage for the uneducated and undiscerning.

Supra cuts through the harsh white lamplights along the street like a wedge of shadow, face purposely hidden by the depth of his 'mage robe', his sleeves overly long and empty. Far too dramatic to be any serious threat. The hood twists slightly to peer as he passes row after row of distorted glass, the light reflecting dully on blackened eyes before he dips his head again. And when he finally approaches the door keeper, only a muted rumble of his voice is necessary to get a pass to the small world of sin within. At least, before the bouncer became preoccupied with a minor trying to get inside as well - something that doesn't concern the hindi Runner.

The berobed figure does not stay near the entrance, or stop to look around, but acts as if he knew precisely where he wanted to be - slipping aside with few casual steps to clear the entrance as he gains an understanding of his surroundings. By never quite staying still, it's entirely possible to become socially invisible; An opposite effect than one might expect. The dreary environment suiting him just fine, eyes nicitating briefly in irritation at the heavy smoke - but he ignores the distress, half turned as the singer pendulates in her entrancing song. The deeper timbre of her sultry voice stirring something in his hind-brain, an ancient reptile instinct, the sway of body and hips drawing more and more of his attention as his thermal pits flare beneath his jaw..

And then he is approached. Old, his first thought. His second is to watch the hands of this stereotype butler rather than the mouth, habits of a veteran killer. And then the old servant begins to head off, up the stairs. There is a moment - just a single - where Supra considers slipping back out to the night again. A run that has already begun unusually will not end well, in his experience. But at the end of the day, he'll need the nuyen. Every last bit he can scrape together.

With no more than a faint nod to keep his face hidden beneath the deep hood, Supra follows the man along the old hallway - and into something far more elegant. The Runner takes a moment to adjust from the light crowd and dreary smoke of the previous chamber to this new one, gaze shifting from his welcoming host to the other person in the room. A greeting dip of the head for Auburn, before Supra takes nothing at all from the bar. Rather, he moves to stand behind one of the available chairs, as opposed to sitting down. Speaking to his host as he does, with that strange baritone trembe undertone..

"I do not take drink... but I am grateful to the offer."

His com on hidden. Ghost or Jason he was not to sure these days, but for appearances he would be Ghost moon tonight. He got out of the cab and rain. He hated the rain. You cant really see the moon in the rain and he liked the moon. Well time to go to work. he approached the door and there was what appeared to be a little girl harassing the bouncer for entrance. she looked innocent he wondered was he in the right place? He checked the address yup. ok moving in he nodded to the bouncer. An entered when he nodded back and not before. Then strode in. Classy joint he thought. real old school. The lady singing in the background was a nice touch but not his style o' music. The old man frightened the young medic who had put his back against a wall in the back. He did not jump though it would take more then that to shake the young man. As he followed the old man he checked his angles exits potential threats and then he realized how paranoid he was being. Sanada Sama would say Be vigilant not frantic. So he breathed and entered the room as the man open the door. There were a few people there the Johnson and some others. So he took the chance when entering to enact his astral perception. Sharingan! he whispers under his breath. His Grey eyes become Red and one black Tomoe swirls circles around his iris. it stops and he can now see into the astral plain around him. He takes a look. One person stood Ghost was fine with that. but he was not fine with his back so open he waved off the mans offer to a drink. And walked to the back of the room never taking the scarf off his face. it was staying... He did open the buttons of his black trench though and untied the belt. He put the coat on his left arm and stood there in a shadow. Jason made sure that he looked no one in the eye as he Scanned the room.

Perception roll on the room any details.

Perception 3 intuition 3 6 dice = 1hit

What Ghost sees confused him so he considers it for a second.

Magic background 2, Logic 4, Arcana 2, 8 dice = 3 hits

The bouncer looks highly uncomfortable, and wrinkles his forehead as he tries to decide what to do. "Alright, honey. Look, give me the link for you parent's comms, and I'll send them a message that you're here and they should come pick you up. You can sit down on the bench just beside the door here. But don't go wandering on into the bar! This isn't the sort of place for little kids. I could get into a lot of trouble if you go wandering around in there, okay?" The man pushes against the old brass bar fitted on the door, and points to a scuffed leather bench fitted against the wall to the right, in a small open foyer leading into the club itself.

Nodding dutifully, Eva gives the man Val's public 'link number, knowing that the fixer will be able to cover for her long enough for her to get through the meeting. Then, thanking him quietly, she slips inside and sits down on the bench. Even as the door is closing, she opens her backpack and starts changing out of her inline skates, putting her shoes back on. Just as she finishes stuffing the second skate into the backpack and zipping it up, the elderly butler glances around the doorway, and sees her sitting there. Coming over, he beckons to her, and she follows him across the club and into the back room.

Arriving in the meeting room, Eva calmly absorbs the suit's greeting, then grins in unabashed delight. Setting her backpack down on a chair, she stands on her tiptoes next to the bar to pour herself a glass of sweet white wine, which she carries back to her chosen seat and sets down on the table, before climbing up and sitting down on top of her backpack - the extra height giving her a better view of the table's surface, and letting her drink her wine more easily.

...

Perception check, defaulting to Intuition. 2 hits.

Trolls were a hard thing to miss even in this day and age, given that the average one towered over everyone else, and Taurus was no exception, indeed quite to the contrary he stood out even more than the average Troll. In his particular case, what he lacked in height that the more common Trolls had, he made up for in stockiness that went well beyond 'barrel chested' to make him a rather tall, moving brick of a man. To top that off, his horns were not the typical sort most Trolls in North America had either, but were rather long, only slightly curved and very sharp. You see, in Taurus' case he was somewhat aptly named, given that he was a Minotaur, a variant of Trolls most common in the Mediterranean and some parts of Asia.

He'd walked here from home, not exactly worried about anyone trying to mug him since that sort of thing wound up being pretty rare except perhaps from where he'd come from. Of course there you had bug spirits, radiation, bandits and lord knows what else to deal with. By comparison the dirty, chilly acidic rain of Seattle was a nice change of pace. As he walked along he pulled up a recent message in his AR and read over it with a growing sense of depression. Well, there went another five grand for nothing. Damnit. I'll find you Trisha, I swear it he thought with a soft sigh and a shake of his massive head as he pulled his synthetic leather jacked in closer before approaching the club proper. So distracted was he that he barely even registered Eva talking to the bouncer at the door as he entered the club. He quirks a heavy, almost fur covered brow at the interior of the club. Huh, interesting. His surprise only grows as he's lead off in the direction of the meeting room and it grows from run down to outright lavish.

Once he's in the meeting room itself he recognizes Auburn easily enough and offers a nod of his head to her, though he seems distracted and somewhat moody. At the offer of a drink, he ambles over to peruse what's there before finding himself the biggest glass he can and promptly filling it up, the stronger the better before moving to see if he can find a seat near Auburn. He wasn't sure what he really thought of her but he preferred to be by familiar faces when possible. He took a long swig of his drink before shaking what ever was bothering him and switching over into a more professional, and critical mood, sizing up the others as they arrived, along with their J. He didn't like work like this really, this kind of work was just about the money, and beyond it being a resource he couldn't give a damn about money. Money wasn't important. Survival was.

Perception Test: 3 Hits

Manny's eyes went wide when he saw the Minotaur, and he could not help stare. He had never seen a troll like that, but he'd heard about them. The creature walked over to the bar and Ghost lost his hold on the astral he just stopped it. He'd gathered the info (Assuming i rolled high enough) he wanted on the room. He now started checking out the occupants the elf in the jump suit is the only one the troll nodded too so he figured she knew him. How many others knew each other, had the Johnson met them before hmmm? He very well might be the knew guy. Oh well he went back to the Johnson and moved around the room with his eyes not his entire skull. Now doing some sizing of his own.

Perception roll:

intuition 3 perception 3 visual enhancement 2, 8 dice = 3 hits

Stop, go. Rush, and wait. The brutal pace was worse than non-stop action. Frantic hurrying just to find another delay, but even those pauses brought no relief from the stress. Vanessa took her first ride in a taxi today. What a backwards experience, surrendering herself to the whims of a robot brain to get her to the destination. All the while she remained painfully aware of how easy a task it would be to hijack the cab for someone with the know-how, or even worse to simply fake a command that would send her into a waiting ambush. That was why the waiting was worse. Fighting she could handle, combat was acting and dealing with problems as they arose. But the awkward lulls between high-strung moments left room for though... and recollection. And absolutely no part of Vanessa wanted to recollect right now.

The Black Dog, a tribute to American architecture. The buildings in the area felt... 'cluttered' wasn't the right word... perhaps 'unfocused'? The emphasis on independence and expression carried over into their streets, and as a result one block could appear completely different from the one immediately adjacent to it, even if they shared the same function. It was maddening, almost as much as the waiting.

A deep sigh brought to a close her one-sided staring contest with the building, and Vanessa rolled her shoulders, popped her neck, and proceeded past the bouncer and his guarded doors. She didn't worry about his careful scrutiny; her appearance gave little reason to find her suspicious or odd. Perhaps the only thing unusual about her was her stature, which put her somewhat below (literally) most humans, but left her standing above dwarfs. Still, she carried herself with the upright posture of someone with enough confidence to justify her relaxed shoulders and open gaze, and walked by him without hesitation.

Once inside, she finally found cause to relax. The smoke-filled air reminded her of her favorite club back ho- back in Geneva (although unlike there, the cloud in the Black Dog lacked the tell-tale acrid scent of marijuana). Vanessa's furrowed brow finally relaxed as she admired the singer and the tale she wove through her music; far more impactful than the lyrics they were presented through. It elicited an approving nod from Vanessa, who found the atmosphere inside the building much more enjoyable than she had prepared herself for outside. Perhaps Americans weren't all the brash, cultureless thugs she had always heard they were...

That sentiment continued to grow as an attendant approached her. She gave him an intrigued stare, tilting her head down as she smiled in amusement, although she left unvoiced her question. "Certainly," she nodded, and followed the man up the stairs. Those were her options in this situation: agree or decline. This was their territory, so she would play by their terms. If that meant following old butlers down worn hallways to upper level meeting rooms then Vanessa would, but that there were always more options, more choices. Vanessa kept her head low and her eyes up.

Then it was time to meet the others. A well-off man, his demeanor giving him away as the one in charge a moment before his words did. A tall elf, her old-fashioned clothing a stark contrast with the haughty attitude that made Vanessa instantly frown. A animalistic troll, made even more outlandish and eye-grabbing by his bull-like characteristics. A young man, rendered remarkably bland compared to the outlandish people around him, her eyes instantly slid off of him and on to the next. A lone man standing who, upon closer inspection, appeared to have good cause to obscure his features, based on the glance of him she had managed to see. And finally, as though to put the cherry of absurdity on top of the dessert of ridiculousness, a little girl, sitting on a backpack just to be able to reach the table.

The composition of the other applicants made Vanessa sigh angrily, though she disguised it as an extended exhale while she took a seat. What level of professionalism could such a motley crew ever hope to display in the heat of battle? Accustomed to the uniformity and familiarity of her corporate security team, Vanessa felt insulted by the ragtag group of individuals, distinctly aware that her talents were being wasted here. But she kept her mouth shut and decided to wait, at least, until the job offer had been laid before her. Then, she would make her choice: accept or decline.

The man gets up, and walks over to bar, where he pours a smoky amber liquid into a tumbler. Returning to his seat, he sets the glass on the wood armrest and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, alone with a slim lighter. Depressing the stud at top, he takes on of the cigarettes in this lips and presses the end against the chrome side of the lighter. Inhaling deeply, his shoulders relax a bit as he pulls the smoke into his lungs.
He sits as he had before, but frowns when Eva walks through the door and takes her seat. He drinks and drags on the cigarette, burning through it quickly. When there is nothing left of the cigarette other than ash and filter, he stubs it out in an ashtray sitting next to his chair, and pulls another from the pack. It is not long before the room begins to acquire the same hazy look as the downstairs.
The man takes one last drag and grinds the butt out in his ashtray. Exhaling, the smoke pores out of his mouth and nose, which climbs about his head. "Alright, I believe that's all that're coming." His voice is raw, the sort of rasp that comes from decades of abusing the less forgiving substances the world has to offer. He gets up out of his chair and stands one hand held behind his back. His eyes pass over each of you as he speaks, weighing...

"You're all here because I work for a party that has a mission that needs done. You all came highly recommended by the people I contacted when I was talent shopping, so I'll assume you understand how these things go. You can call me Mr. Johnson." Without missing a beat, he continues,"The mission will be to find a certain party that is of particular interest to my employer, and to recover them. I must stress now that my employer wishes the party brought in completely unharmed." He waits a tick, then continues. " The mission will be extremely dangerous. The last known location of the target was in an area where few people venture willingly. The pay, however, reflects this." He stops pacing and faces the group, one hand still held at the small of his back.
"One hundred-thousand NuYen, to be distributed evenly amongst you."
He watches the group's reaction to this, his blood-shot brown eyes ticking from each of you to another. "The up-front will be only one quarter of this, as my employer wishes to incentivize a safe and speedy recovery of our target. If your share isn't enough of a retainer, you obviously don't need this job.. or any other, I'd bet." He gives a rather lop-sided grin a this, his eyes questing amongst the gathered runners. When no one bothers to give a courtesy-laugh, the grin disappears and he continues. "Alright. I'll answer a few questions. Of course I won't divulge any sensitive information until I've gotten a commitment. If this doesn't sound like your cup o', then thank you for your time and feel free to enjoy the entertainment downstairs." He holds himself still, and both hands are now pushed into the pockets of his duster, the cigarette held loosely between his lips.

The pay offer didn't really register much on Taurus, oh sure, it was a lot of money, but he'd come from living for several years in an area where money didn't mean too much. Granted it was starting to gain usefulness again but for years the area he'd grown up had lived off the barter system by and large, and mostly still did. "Given that certain sources of mine indicates where we might be headed, I'll just go ahead and ask. Is it Chicago?" Taurus asks in his deep rumbling motor kind of voice. "If so, I'm in." In the event he's right about where the team is headed, he'll then pipe up a further "For those of you unfamilar with the area, I strongly suggest that if you don't have one you get a dosimeter before going. I don't know what you may have heard in the news, but the reality is the place is still crawling with all sorts of drek, and if we need to go anywhere near the crater there is also gonna be bugs, and lots of radiation. Not all of it is centred on the blast either. You may also want to bring a few things to trade with the locals, that or be sure you bring enough ammo and food to last you a while, because it can be hard to get sometimes. Water purification pills can't hurt neither I suppose."

Ghost was making mental notes on what the troll (yeah lets say troll) was saying. He could not imagine what kind of dreck. That... Guy? had seen. but again he said nothing.

He had done some reading on Chicago not much but he knew a bit. Seemed a likely place that some one would need extraction from. A lot of people were still in the CZ. And he was sure medical supply would be needed. He'd pack some extra iodine maybe some real good band aids, gauze. That sort of thing.

Then it hit him was he really considering going to Chicago. For what four G's up front. When there was a real chance he might not come back from this. Still some one was in that hell hole for who knows how long. And they needed an out. How could he look the other way, and how was he making rent. Silence was all that found its way to his lips.

Infiltration and extraction was right up Manny's ally, but bug city. He rolled his eyes well at least there was no way Kenji would follow me there...

Auburn's first impression of the Johnson was a favorable one. He obviously did what he liked, and liked what he did. That didn't mean he would be a good Johnson to work for, nor that she would get out the other end with a smile, but he clearly was in the right place for him, and that is respectable. Her impression was rienforced as he killed first one, and then a second cigarette.
With the mention of the money, Auburn was caught in a quandry. This was most definitely a good job for her to take, being that it would put her back in her home territory. Like Taurus, she was comfortable with the Chi-Town dangers, and knew her way around. The green-stick kids in the room were likely to get themselves hurt without a local, or two in this case, to keep their noses where they belonged. After some thought, during which Johnson continued to speak, Auburn concluded that it wasn't worth pointing out that less than 20k each for an "extremely dangerous" extraction is really not anywhere near what the Johnson was insinuating that it might be. But, again, she had decided that it accomplishes some other goals of hers, and had resigned herself not to speak up.
Taurus' commentary, however, did more to change her mind than that terrible joke the Johnson tried to pull off. Once he was finished, Auburn figured that it was, in fact, time for her to speak.
"Yeah, this is Chi-town right? 'Cause like T-Large here, if it ain't Chi-town, your piddly pay ain't gunna get me anywhere near an "Extremely Dangerous" extraction. However, if it is Chi-Town, I'm down with it, on a few minor conditions. I want damages covered on top, since the pay is low. And I ain't talkin' about no little ammo slush fund. I want to know that my armor, and even the other's doctor's bills are gunna be comin' outta yer pocket." Auburn waves toward the group at large as she indicates "the other's doctor's bills". She snorted slightly whe she was finished, pulling her hat off - finally - so that all could see her face. She was clearly serious about her statements, and didn't seem to be too terribly concerned with what normally might occur with that kind of a statement in front of a Johnson.
"As fer some o'that tradin stuff T-Large indicated... Best bet: Ammo," She starts ticking things off her mental list on her fingers. "Armor, Tools, Med Supplies, E-Rats..." She continues for another few moments, completing a fairly lengthy, but intuitively appropriate list.

The offer did elicit a single outburst of quiet laughter from Vanessa, though not when Mr. Johnson had hoped. She nodded in appreciation when he indicated that their compensation would match the amount of danger they faced, and almost smiled when he said 'one hundred-thousand nuyen.' And then he finished it. Vanessa couldn't help but laugh in disbelief as he mentioned that the amount was not per person as she had assumed, but one lump sum. No one else appeared to be laughing, Vanessa quieted down and continued listening. This choice was becoming easier and easier by the minute. But then the bizarre troll spoke up, and that sealed the deal.

"Is zis troo?" she demanded of Mr. Johnson, eyebrows rapidly sinking from shock to a furrowed indignation. "Yoo vant to zent ahs to Chicago und yoo awffer zatch a zmawll amount?" The others could shrug and effect nonchalance all they wanted; Vanessa had seen the news trids. No matter how dangerous Geneva had become, Chicago's condition made the her home city's troubles look like mere inconveniences. She vehemently shook her head as she sat back, sending her hair sliding forward to hide part of her angry expression. "Yoo ken't be zeri-ahs, Chicago is a deat zentence. How little do yoo tink our lifes are vort? Or should I zay, how match is zee life aff zis 'target' vort? Because for so little, yoo ken obvi-ahsly affort to zimply make new friends," Once more she shook her head and chuckled, crossing her arms in front of her as she leveled the Johnson with one final, no-nonsense stare. "Yoo vant ahs to get yoor person out aff zat- zat deat trap, zen quit insultink ahs! Giff ahs a real awffer or quit vastink my time." There it was; she had laid her cards out on the table. It helped that she wasn't bluffing- her chair scooted back and she sat on the edge of her seat, ready to leave. He could insist that she needed the job all he wanted, but Vanessa would rather suffer in poverty than put up with such insolence.

Auburn gave a quick laugh as Vanessa completed here little speach. She followed through with her laugh by clapping her hands; but only quickly. She then gave a light, but obvious, elbow to Taurus' arm, and spoke up a bit in support of Vanessa.
"Good ta' see some-uhn here gots some bawls!" She said, grinning with clear approval. "So, how 'bout it Johnson? You gunna break open the piggly-bank and give us a bit o'sommat to work with? Huh?" What she had said before was true enough. Her actions were even more true. She honestly didn't care if the Johnson withdrew the offer. If he decided to "go get someone else to do the job," as Vanessa pointed out: he wouldn't likely get it done.
"Little lady here is right. For that kinda money, you can make new friends. Let's talk about some'uhm that let's us know that you don' wanna make new friends... That you wanna get us to go get this uhn." She realized after speaking that her tactic might be a little wrong for this Johnson, since if he started feeling a bit cornered he may not be willing to up the ante to what he was authorized to spend. She considered, for a moment, intervening on the potential situation to attempt to salvage that outcome, but decided against it. She didn't know yet if that was the outcome that may be coming. And she wasn't sure if she cared either.

Eva sets down her wine glass, and gives Mr. Johnson a frankly incredulous look. "I really must agree... whether our destination is Chicago or not, 100 mille nuyen is not so much, divided six ways. Sûrement, not enough to cover probable medical fees. Do you value your friends' safety so little?"

Glancing at Taurus and Auburn, she continues. "Some here may be willing to work as charity, but I think if you truly wish us to risk ourselves for little more than promises of money, then that money should be worth the effort, no? Covering our expenses and medical is good, yes... but everyone knows that you Johnson types never offer as much as you have - why pay us more if you can convince us to work for less? I should think that at least 1 million nuyen each would be a reasonable fee for such a task. Plus expenses, of course."

As she finishes, Eva fixes the suit with a very steady gaze, telling him with her eyes that her suggested amount wasn't really any more serious than his initial offer, but that she knew how the game was played, and they could still work something out to the satisfaction of all involved.



Charisma/Negotiate roll to get more monies from Mr. Johnson. (Charisma 7, Negotiate 4, Glamour 3, Pheremones 3, Trustworthy 1, First Impression 2) (20d6.hits(5)=4)

The elf's reaction earned her a reproachful glare, but Vanessa's expression rapidly melted into a relieved smile as she realized Auburn wasn't laughing at her but rather because of her. The distinction was a fine one, but it made all the difference and Vanessa took a steadying breath before settling her hardened gaze back on Mr. Johnson.

She listened with half an ear to Auburn's words, but the thick accent made them difficult to comprehend. The gist was clearly communicated though, and Vanessa felt a bit of smug satisfaction that her protest had gotten through to the others. In numbers they had more power, a better bargaining position.

And then the little girl chimed in. Years of experience kept her from staring, but Vanessa paid close attention. The child spoke with wisdom and experience far surpassing that of the youth she appeared to be. When she let some French slip in, Vanessa glanced in her direction, and immediately pulled a double-take. The girl was not only exceedingly young but also abnormally attractive. Vanessa tore her gaze away, blinking rapidly. That was unusual... and highly distracting. With a visible exhale Vanessa returned her focus toward their potential employer and waited for his response.

Quietly sitting in the back of the room. Ghost heard the out cry of the team. Well he had to give it to them. It was crazy. They all seemed to have postured up for the most part, and were trying to hammer out a better deal. All accept the one. The weird one with the funny skin. Hey! he thought Don't judge and with that he went back to his other train of thought.

The elf with the jump suit and funny accent did she not sound like she and the troll were both there in the CZ proper. Good to know. So he was not the new guy. This whole team was new.

The other lady with the heavy accent what was that french, creole what? He could not tell. But was more then open to learning. a thought for another time.

The shining intellect on all of this was the little girl with the skates. Now that was something. He seemed to like listening to her something like the lady who was singing down stairs. She seemed to be very intelligent well beyond her years, and if he was correct beyond his also. She had talked her way pass the bouncer, and she was now speaking almost on behalf of everyone. Whats even better then that was he believed her too...

Still he sat, and listened, and said nothing. Knowing that anything he said would more then likely hurt their chances. Manny was good looking under that scarf. but he left that kind of stuff (negotiations) to the pros... if asked anything he might speak but he wanted more to listen. His personality being described as well abrasive was not quite it....

New people; With the quiet self assurance of a lizard sunning itself, Supra had remained impassively still behind his own chair, fingers curled into the cushion. Each new arrival was studiously examined from beneath the cowl of that robe, the freak's features giving away no hint of emotion, though his internal thoughts are speeding up with every new circus act arrival.

. o O (A minotaur? I have not seen one of those since Turkey) O o .

The other three, by comparison, were relatively normal; Odd hair, odd attitude, and Auburn herself. And then a small girl enters, draws up a far too heavy drink, and begins sipping it as if she were perfectly content in the room - but sitting in a Runner's chair? Black eyes nictitate briefly in surprise, and for a moment Supra considers the very real possibility of this 'girl' being the Johnson's flesh. The insinuations were disturbing, at best.

The mention of a price brings no vocal admonishment from Supra, as it has the others, the hindi killer merely dipping his chin a moment as he considers. Ah, but one of the new-commers with the heavy accent makes a valid point. . o O (Less than twenty thousand. Closer to sixteen a person, if one were to be accurate) O o .

At last, he speaks, echoing the commentary of the others, but in a far less subversive manner. "They are not incorrect." He begins, with that strange rippling undertone. "Although I make no assumptions as to the location of what you consider a 'hostile area'. This place may well be near the Karavanli. However... a quarter of sixteen thousand may cover the cost of arriving. It certainly will not provide profit, unless the target is awaiting on a curb to be taken." Supra raises his head at last, the sharp edge of light brushing the burning red of his underjaw. "This idea I may dismiss as well. You would have summoned a cab, were that the case."

Mr. Johnson's face draws down, deep lines creasing his forehead as he listens to the team's reaction to his offer. Finishing off his current cigarette, he stubs it out in an ashtray on the table, before retrieving his glass and knocking it back. Lighting up yet another, he looks around at the gathered runners. His eyes finally rest on Taurus and he says, "I should'a expected at least some of you would make the connection to Chicago." He takes a drag from the cigarette before gesturing off-handedly. "Yeah, Chicago will be the destination. If any of you accept the mission, that is." His frown returns, deeper than before and he stands pensive, burning through the rest of his butt.

Finally, he looks back up at the team, his face going neutral. "I would not have expected a collection of runners such as yourselves to be so intimidated by a city's reputation... Alright. I'll offer you two options: I'll increase the lump sum to either half a mil', and offer to fully comp any medical expenses the team requires for the run, as well as supply you with a shipment of medical goods which can be bartered in Chicago." He looks at Taurus and Auburn, adding, "I expect some of you will find that quite appealing." Lighting up yet another cigarette, he continues. "Given the state of the economy there, the goods should fetch a high price. More than enough to cover any needs or expenses you'll encounter. We'll make available to you such gear as you'll need, so long as it can be acquired before you arrive in Chicago. Or," he sits back down in the chair he'd occupied when the team entered the room, "I'll give you a full million, and we'll still cover medical expenses, but you won't get the medical supplies for barter and any equipment you need will have to come out of your own pocket. And either way, you'll still on get twenty-five percent up front."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Now, I feel I should warn you: In Chicago, there are places Docwagon will not go. Which means that you may be on your own if you get wounded." He holds up a hand, forestalling any reaction from the runners. "This isn't trying to weasel out of our obligations. I'm simply warning you so that you'll be aware. Anyone hurt in a Docwagon serviced area will have platinum coverage. And we have taken steps to ensure that you won't be without some sort of medical care at all times." He motions to the one of the runners, the one wearing the red scarf around his face.

He pauses, and looks over the faces arrayed before him, waiting for a reaction to his offer.

Ghost was put under the spot lite. He did not like that, but the Johnson had spoken correctly. When ever majesty found him work it was body guarding, or medical support. Sometimes both. He stepped bravely forward into the lite for all to see. Those that had not already checked him out anyway. He doubted any of them had not.

Yes he said as he bowed low. He sighed ""Maa... Maa.." I am Ghostmoon, Ghost for short. And ill be handing out the band-aids, and stimulants" (he said looking at the hulking bull headed troll and he gulped hard.) as needed as well as monitoring team over all health." He thought for a moment... Then added as he stood up to see how his joke had been received "Please... un...der..stand (no one was laughing as expected) he finished quickly. "I'm no substitute for a good street doc, but ill do my best to keep the heeby-jeebys away..."

That being said he stood back in the Corner, and hoped everybody knew all they wanted to know about him now. So he said nothing...

(OOC T could you fix my Japanese please i forgot that one lol)

Auburn was all ready for the Johnson to see how low he could go, and give an offer of 150k or 200k as a counterpoint. With a 500k or 1mil offer on the table, her anger was burned right out of her. She sat up, and back, almost as if the offers had physically interacted with her. They had, sort of.
"Mister Johnson is correct, my choice of those offers is an obvious one. I cannot speak for T-Large here," she hikes a thumb in Taurus' direction, "but I suspect that his choice would be the same. That said, I will leave most of the discussion up to the rest of you, since this decision affects you all quite a bit. Allow me to point out that if the shipment of medical and technology are of any value at all, the barter potential will be significant. I am quite certain that Mister Johnson is prepared with a list of the medical and technology to be shipped." Auburn sat back into her chair again, intending to allow the team to do most of the arguing over the choice. She was stunned, and likely not hiding it much. This was the offer she was hoping for, and when did that ever happen?

Taurus didn't even have to think twice on that one either, he knew what his organization would value most, and indeed he agreed with them. Again, he wasn't in this for the money really. For better or worse he called Chicago home these days and the large Minotaur wasn't stupid. A little slow and rough at the edges, but not stupid. "Now, mind you depending where you go in Chicago, med supplies are about as easy to come across as anywhere in Seattle from what I've seen. That said, you go deeper in, especially if you have to go past the wall? Yeah good fraging luck chummer. It ain't as bad as it used to be, supplies at least flow in now time to time, but it's anarchy really, whom ever has got the guns and the most people sets the rules. Matrix connections are spotty at best in many areas and not too many folk are even setup for cred transactions. There's a few local currencies floating round out there too. Anyway, I happen to know a few chummers out that way that we could probably trade some of that drek to for a few favours. Places to stay, maybe even some wheels for the team if we are lucky. Odds are though if you want anything big they'll want favours in return too. But nothing too bad. I don't run with drug pushers, slavers or nothing of the likes."

He pauses then as he gives that little added fleshing out of the area the team was to go to, just to give em the option. "Now me, I'm happy either way, money I can use, med supplies I got chummers who can use it."

It wasn't hard to keep her surprise hidden. No, that was actually fairly easy. The difficult part, Vanessa found, was refraining from sneering in disgust. This Johnson was not at all endearing himself to her; he radiated unprofessionalism. She truly hoped his amateurish demeanor didn't carry over into the candidates he chose to contact for this job. It would mean she would be working with a bunch of rubes... and it didn't say much for her own credentials, either.

But work with them she would, for that price. He had jumped the offer up tenfold. Vanessa took it as an apology, and as far as those went, adding an extra zero to one's pay was a far more convincing approach than a bundle of flowers with a sticky note. Finally she uncrossed her arms and relaxed, nodding appreciatively. "Match better, zecahnt time 'rount. Not zo hart, is eet?"

She shrugged and glanced at the elf and the trollesque being, frowning slightly. It annoyed her that they refused to say what was so obviously on their mind, their decision already made. Instead they chose to 'present the options' better to the group, as though a little bit of misinformation might help them all come to the correct (and desirable) conclusion the duo had already reached. Vanessa wasn't falling for it, and she opted to call them out on it directly. "I haff no neet for medical zahpplies; I am a zoldier, not a merchant. I am not zo villink to gamble viz our zalahry as yoo two. If vee take zee zahpplies, zen maybe vee fint zomeone to buy zem zere, maybe vee do not. Maybe zey get schtolen, or vee mahst leaf zem behint to cahmplete our mission. Eizher vay, it is zomezink I do not vish to haff to keep track aff. I voult razher zimply focahs on our yob unt findink unt zavink zees 'party' aff yoors," she nodded her head towards the Johnson, though she kept her eyes on Auburn and Taurus. "I fote for takink zee lahmp sahm unt leafink zee zellink to zee zalesmen."