That fateful night a year and a half ago...

A tiny constellation of camera flashes pop against the neon lit night sky.  All eyes focus on you as you pour yourself out of the passenger seat of the Saab Dynamit. Smiling and preening for your public, you wait on the red carpet for your date to join you after leaving the sports car in the care of the attentive valet.

Where are you? Who are you with? Why are you here?

In the Prelude, we'll play through a short scene that offers some decisions that flesh out the character (attributes, moves, gear, contacts).  We'll also play though combat mechanics so you understand how the 'black box' works.  You'll win the fight, just try to act surprised...

Also, don't worry about the choices you make in Prelude. At the end of the scene if there is something you don't like, we'll just change it before calling character construction complete.

Bailey keeps her smile wide, even as she waits. Beaming into each pop of light around her as the cameras flash. Enjoying the attention all the more for how fleeting it was. She was someone's date. More specifically, she was Kishimoto Hashiro's date. The owner and promoter of the stylish new restaurant, and child of a notable commander in the occupation military. Bailey was just the girlfriend tonight. The pretty face on his arm. Which meant that the cut of her dress was the only thing getting the cameras' attention until he returned.

But, for the moment, she has their attention. Bailey steps forward, smiling still. Smoothing her dress out. Red hair covering her ears. Jewelry shimmering as the cameras hit it. She takes a stand in front of the shifting wall of corporate logos behind her, making eyes at the camera. For the moment enjoying herself.

Kishimoto arrives at your side and offers his arm to escort you up the red carpet, through the velvet rope, arm in arm past the pair of wiry, athletic looking Imperial marines doing plainclothes duty.  Looks like daddy’s rank does have its privileges...

You may be glad that you chose to wear your hair down, hiding your ears. You’re the only metahuman in sight and those I-marines aren’t exactly known to be models of tolerance and inclusivity.

But your ears aren’t the only thing that would give you away.  Elves are naturally taller, slimmer and have lighter builds.  They may have eye colors that humans do not.

Describe yourself and the steps you have taken to blend in...

Bailey is lucky. Well, as luck as a meta can be. Her parents had a little money. Enough for some gene-editing. Some of it had just been necessary, required for health reasons. The Free State had pitched in. But other bits had just been for her. Or just to pass by under the nose of the marines. Sure, she was still four inches taller than her date. A lot of people would just write that off to heels and ethnicity. The bigger chest helped- she had inches and inches more than most elf women. Same for the hips that stayed close to Kishi's side as they walked. Her skin tone honestly made her stand out more. A nearly milk white pale.

Her eyes were blue, tonight. The contacts covered her natural violet. Some concealer helped maintain her pale tone, covering the natural golden sparkle that would catch the lights otherwise. It took a lot, considering how much skin her dress shows- slit up to her thigh, and plunging down to her stomach. Held in place with a carefully placed combination of discrete adhesive, micro-structure fibers in the dress, and raw willpower.

Bailey smiles, arm on Kishi's shoulders. Her jewelry helped cover that her fingers and neck were longer, slimmer, more graceful than a human's. Just enough to take the fine edge off. To make her look exotic, rather than unacceptable. She knew this was part of the image- she was the girlfriend of a progressive, daring rule breaker. But the kind of rule breaker who would be great at a party instead of the kind who would actually break the rules.

Presence: your style, appeal, and charisma... (+1) PocSec updated

The front end of the party was always due to be a bore. It's a restaurant launch after all.  Despite his reputation as a progressive with a rebellious streak, Kishimoto is a businessman and he knows that putting nuyen in the bank means catering to his clientele, not his own personal whims.

Tonight you're dining amongst the upper echelons of San Fran high-society.  The mayor is here, as are the chief operations officer of Shiawase Marketing in CalFree and the star of the latest action-romance simsense sensation coming out of the Empire; Wairudosupīdo

Kishimoto had also extended invitations to the elite of the Imperial occupation forces. Unfortunately General Kowabe, commanding general of the 17th Imperial Infantry Division 'peacekeeping force' was not available.  In his stead, Colonel Keiji Saito, his Chief of Staff is attending.  He is a polite, if stiff dinner companion who insists on talking only about the challenges the division faces in securing the city.

He is currently in the middle of a muted diatribe about the recent terrorist bombing on the BART and the ineptitude of Californian security companies who let their sensibilities about personal freedom blind them to the menace of metahumanity.

Do you dutifully play your role as arm-candy for the scion of an imperial military leader, or do you have too sharp a tongue, too hot a temper to keep your thoughts to yourself?

And... keep in mind that it s 2058... years before Saito seizes power in San Fran...

She knows she shouldn't say anything. She should just stay where she is. Elbows back on the smooth stone of the bar. Fingers curled around the bowl of her coupe glass, slowly warming up her sake cocktail. Her lips should just stay still, hanging half-parted, the same incredible red as her hair. And they should be silent.

But Bailey can't help herself. "Oh my God. Wait. Colonel. Do you think, like, maybe, Shoko Asahara was an orc?" she'd seen the name popping up on the scream sheets since the attack. The leader of the group that committed the famous sarin attack on the Tokyo subway decades ago. Bailey's voice stayed high, her eyes wide. As if she were sincerely asking a question, a naive. Letting her sarcasm settle in more subtly. Sure, she's probably going to make someone mad but... Sometimes you need to take an opportunity to let someone know they're an asshole.

Craft your general education level (+1) PocSec updated

”Silly girl, what a preposterous notion.” the stone-faced old bastard seems oblivious to sarcasm while the rest of the dinner crowd assumes you’re just another dumb plaything for their rich host. Looks like you have them all right where you want them.

”The ills of the past are not my concern,” the Colonel continues, never shy about sharing his thoughts on metahumanity. ”As bad as they may have been, none of those past transgressors were so dirty and disagreeable as an orc. I am focussed only on the future. I believe that humanity is strongest when we are united. The poison of the kowaru can only be cured by unity of purpose and action.”

Before you can reply, Saito is called away by an aide and they move off to a corner of the room where a number of other officers are gathered.  Saito-sama’s response to your well concealed goading leaves the small retinue fawning over Kishimoto silent for a long moment. The old soldier makes everyone tense, but the moment passes quickly amid the clinking of glasses.

After a fresh round of cocktails, you find yourself alone with your date. ”That was... potentially damaging” Kishimoto says.  He is nothing if not perceptive; a key trait for those who profit from business savvy and dance the line trying not to offend their shareholders while cultivating a rebellious streak. It’s hard to tell, maybe you don’t know him very well, but he seems a little pissed about that little exchange with Saito. ”I’m all for bearding the old goat, but this is a business opportunity.” he chides.

Your sharp tongue gets you into trouble, but can it get you out?  You’ve got the brains and the looks to talk your way out of a tight spot. How do you do it?

"Oh, c'mon. He didn't even notice," Bailey answers, giving a flirty little smile to her date. Her fingertips brush against his arm. The Colonel wasn't the only person she was teasing tonight. "Anyway, by the time he figures it out, he'll only remember my dress."

She leans in to him, close enough that her voice can go soft. Heard by Kishi, but lost beneath the din of conversation. "And I promise? So will you."

Bailey does love this dress. She loves dresses. And looking good in them. Making eyes at Kishimoto from beyond the rim of her glass. Knowing just how to position it so that her lipstick doesn't smudge, so that she looks like she's drinking more than she is, so that she has enough time to give him that sultry, burning look that might melt through the real crystal coupe.

Ethereal: when manipulating someone via charm or seduction, you are boosted.

PocSec updated.

It’s always been this way, ever since you were a kid. It’s instinctive the way you always just know what to say and how to say it to make sure you get your way. If you ever really sat down and contemplated it seriously, you might even think it was something supernatural. Whatever it is, when you turn on the charm, you literally never fail to get what you want.

Though sometimes, it comes with a cost...

”I will remember that dress crumpled and discarded on the hotel room floor.” he whispers back.

There it is. The inevitable expectation. Sometimes the cost is that you need to see through your flirtations. There always comes the point in the evening when you have to make the choice to see it through to the end, or make an exit as gracefully as possible. How taxing. On your mind and your spirit. How much is real and how much is just another layer of concealer to hide from the truth.

Not now... melancholy reverie makes a bad party guest. Just ask Saito.

Taking the glass from your hand, Kishimoto surveys the crowd and waves in a vaguely dismissive gesture. ”This party has served its purpose, but it is dreadfully lame. Let’s go somewhere... you pick.”

Given the choice, where do you hang out?

"Finally," Bailey grins as she pushes away from the bar. Hand set to Kishimoto's waist as she draws him away, too. Out into the San Francisco night, gleaming with radiating neon and ever-taller towers. There were no soldiers in this part of town. Just the well-off moving from restaurant to nightclub.

But soon the pair are sweeping through a dim alley. Tucked between a sidewalk-side ramen stand and a bodega with a burly troll in reading glasses sitting behind the counter and watching the street. Bailey raps on the steel door behind the dumpster. A grate slides open. She whispers a word to the unseen figure on the other side. The door opens, and Bailey practically twirls in with her date.

The speakeasy is crowded, but there's barely a second human in sight. An elf in suspenders shakes drinks behind the bar. A trio of dwarves stand on stage, manipulating plastic and electronic versions of a classic jazz three-part. One twirls a razor-thin piece of neon plastic, an electronic upright bass, as the pianist twinkles. Bailey is quickly trading cheek-kisses with a pair of male elves. Sitting on the edge of their table, playing every inch the femme fatale.

I love the speakeasy! 1XP... PocSec updated

It’s a good thing Kishimoto opened his new place outside the HCZ.  At the next BART station over, this crowd goes from undesirable to illegal and you along with it. This speakeasy is undoubtedly the single largest gathering of metahumans east of San Francisco Bay and north of The Castro. Then again Haight-Ashbury has always been rebellious. Even the occupation hasn’t stamped out counter-culture here, but you’ll have to go all the way down to Daley City to find any metahumans moving about the streets openly.

Elves who are pretty, devious or both fair alright. Of course, people think all dwarves are tech savvy, so they are found more frequently in the city too. Most of the lower echelon metahuman workers, chiefly the orcs and trolls, are shipped out of the occupied city at the end of their shift.  Only a few hold residency passes that let them stay inside the occupied zone and all metahuman residency is temporary, measured in 3, 6 and 12 month permits.

Do you work under a false identity or are you using your real name?

Being legit and metahuman in San Fran isn’t cheap. Your SINner day job barely covers living expenses. A night on the town on Kishimoto’s cred is an opportunity that it seems you simply can’t pass up.  Now where did he go?

Elves certainly dominate the population of the nameless speakeasy. The beautiful, eternally youthful, the ones who have an easier time getting around in the parts of the city where the Diet has a more direct line of control. Even among this crowd, though, hats and long hair are the order of the day. Fashionable little tricks that let them blend in with the humans more easily. None of them knew how the troll on the corner kept his shop open- but he must have had some sort of secret.

Bailey's position was a bit unusual. Not a false name, exactly. More a stage name. A persona that appears for whatever modeling work she can pick up. A breathy whisper for this gene-mod. A sultry look for that shoe. Trilling laughter as she enjoys a late-night snack with her diverse friend group at the Aztech auto-shop on the corner. He identification had changed, legitimately, throughout her lifetime. And it seems to provoke confusion among at least most of the Imperial officers who stop to dig around. The Cal-State recording keeping was sloppy, at best.

She looks up from her conversation with her friends, glancing around when she realizes her date isn't present. Her lips push together into a frown, and she steps up. Cocktail going with her as she stands on the table top, perched on her heels, to look over the crowd from a troll-eyed-view.

Take ID ... PocSec updated

As you climb up onto the table. a well dressed elf pantomimes taking a peek up your dress then falling out of his chair. Haming it up with some ribald slapstick much to the delight of his friends.

From your vantage point up on the table, it’s easy to spot Kishimoto across the speakeasy.  Through cigarette smoke and clouds of vape, you see him over at the bar.  He’s leaning in close to hear whatever the woman next to him is saying.

Flaming locks of auburn hair, immaculate ivory skin and eyes of emerald green.

Jolene.

Who is Jolene?

Heard on the radio that it’s Dolly Parton’s birthday today...

Jolene. Jolene! Jolene!!!!

They weren't enemies. Not exactly. They weren't allowed to be. They were sisters, after all. Which made the two redheads rivals. Jolene more slender, elegant, the traditional, statuesque sort of gorgeous one associated with elves. And with her degree she had the education to match. Quite the counterpoint to Bailey's more pin-up ready physique and flirty, playful demeanor.

She mimes kicking at the elf who peaked up her dress, hopping down from the table with grace despite her choice of shoe.It's a simple thing to cut her way across the bar, slipping between groups, tossing lesser women aside with a glance. Until suddenly, she's leaning on Kishimoto's shoulder. "Jojo!" she exclaims, smiling bright.

"I thought you were still down on campus."

Your flirtatious riposte is well received. The playful paramour feigns indignation while his friends break out in another round of laughter that drowns out the clinking of their cocktail glasses.

Wouldn’t you know? It’s just like your sister to try and get in on the fun. All is fair when there are bills to pay as they say...

Cut from the same flirty and freewheeling cloth, neither of you have made a habit of trying to find someone to settle down with.  Since your both not looking for anything permanent, it’s probably pretty common for you both to play ball in the same diamond. Unless you want to be territorial, it’s all in good fun and no one ever takes it too seriously...

...well, there was that one time.  Arden. But you two don’t talk about Arden.

”Spring semester is over,” she squeals, throwing shapely arms over her head in celebration.  ”Just waiting on final exam marks, but I’m not worried.  Undergrad senior year was so much harder than first year grad school. No fun after summer break though, next year will be a real buzzkill”

”And what is it you study?” Kishimoto asks, eyes, like a kid in a candy store, flicking back and forth between the two of you.

”Oh,” she says with a conspiratorial wink and a light touch on his upper arm, ”Magic darling. I’m a mage.”

"She's studying to be a mage. Right now she's an... Apprentice? I think she mostly mops things. There's a whole movie about it," Bailey says, her weight still settled on her date's shoulder. Leaning forward gently, as her fingers brushed against the back of Kishimoto's head. He was fine, but now that Jo was here? The competition was half the draw. And probably all of the draw for her sister.

The pair were always trading boys, and barbs. Bailey knew, on some level, that both of them thought the other one was the favorite, the successful one, the one everyone loved. But that couldn't stop her from being jealous of Jolene, who everyone knew would be a big success, the talented mage and successful student.

"All the boys down in Palo Alto must be lonely, with you here in the city. Staying with Mom and Dad?" she ribs, as she pulls another chair closer with her foot. "Jojo doesn't have her own place. No job. Though it's funny. She's the one who always wanted to be a model."

Yeeesh.  Elven sibling rivalry.  You two will be at this for a century or more.

Kishimoto leans back into you, clearly enjoying your attention. Meanwhile Jolene trails her hand down his arm slowly and leaves it resting on his forearm.

”Haha...” her laugh lilting and light, ”Still watching cartoons? I suppose you do have the time. When you’re not learning about magic from a cartoon mouse, is that career of yours keeping you busy? Always leave the wanting more, isn’t that what they say?” comes the sassy reply. ”Is that why you’ve been left off the screamsheets recently?” she adds too innocently.

As the little *wink* pun intended jazz trio kicks into an upbeat swing groove, Jolene takes Kishimoto by the hand and says: ”I love this one, come on, we have to dance!”

It always a chess game with her...

Suddenly in my head: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7NLF6eNXNc

Bailey smiles, letting her sister escort her date to the dancefloor. Oh, Jojo. You've stepped into her trap. Bailey spins away as the dancefloor opens, letting the couples move. The trio playing on a standard, the bassist keeping the catching beat while the pianist twinkles in letting improvisations for the elves to partner off against. The drummer adds in with wire-brush rhythms that encourage a prompt pace.

And as Jolene and Kishimoto make their first turn, there is Bailey. Hand-in-hand with the elf who had, just a moment ago, been miming the peek up her dress. The two perfectly in time. Models, actors, dancers, the speakeasy was briming with youthful elves who thrive in the creative cracks that the occupation force allowed elves into. And Bailey knows everyone. Well, she knows enough of them to play with.

The pair keep perfect time, their natural grace amplifying their familiarity with the music. Stepping to beat, Bailey's heels clicking percussively. A whirl of red hair and black dress. Grabbing onto her dance partner's suspenders to pull herself back in. Clearing some of the floor to make room.

For all her book smarts, Jojo missed the trick. There she was thinking the object of the game was Kishimoto. It's an honest mistake, he is quite a handsome catch.  And rich.  Who could forget rich.

But no, silly sister, the object of tonight's game is attention. An adoring public. Fame.

Your dance partner twirls his waxed mustache with a flourish as you take his hand and lead him to the floor. Friends at the table let out a long "Oooooooo" in appreciation and follow you to the floor. Unspoken acknowledgement of their role as extras for this little scene.

As you dance your Charleston, the other elves play their part masterfully, egging you on and edging out any competition, including Kishimoto and Jojo, until you find yourself alone with your mustachioed partner.  The floor is yours and you take full advantage as the jazz trio picks up the swinging tempo. Lindy Hop... sendout and wheel... matador... dishrag and revolving door... big finish with a valentino dip.

Even though Kishimoto is gently kissing Jolene's neck, they have been banished to the side of the dance floor. Literally and figuratively in the shadow of your performance. You are the center of attention, winded and panting from your efforts, basking in the applause of the club-goers. The battle is won.

Pick one:

The Squad a group of elven dilettantes, normally found in the speakeasy, quirky art galleries or trendy coffee shops in Haight-Ashbury. You can count on The Squad to come to your aid whenever you are in need.  They might not be much for combat, but beautiful people with acting skills and a dash of drama might be a real asset running interference or as part of a scam.  The catch, this counts as both contacts. Mechanics: visit someplace trendy or cool in Haight-Ashbury and find 1d4 members of The Squad just hanging around and ready to help you out.

Faeranduil 'Dewey' Morwyn beautiful, elegant and sporting a handsome mustache, Dewey is a demon on the dance floor and son of the Tir Tairngire ambassador to Cal Free (strangely, the ambassador maintains a residence in San Fran in addition to the embassy in Sacramento, an open acknowledgement of the seat of power in the city). He doesn't hold much sway on his own, but if you make kissy faces at him, he can make a few calls. Elves look after their own after all.

Even as Kishimoto kisses, Bailey can feel her sister's burning anger. A little pulse of negativity in the sea of light and sparkling attention. Bailey takes a moment to catch her breath. Breathing hard in Faeranduil's arms. She catches onto his shoulder, pushing up from the arching deep.

Soon, Fae and Bailey are in front of the other couple. Arms around each other, but more with more friendly laughter than pawing lust. "Do you two want to grab something to eat? Fae and a few friends were about to find a late-night spot and get something. There will be cheese," she says, as if that would be a naughty secret. After all. They were sisterly rivals. Not enemies. And Jojo barely knew anyone in San Fran any more.

Social dominance!

Pick a Face move. Chameleon, Work the Angles, Honeyed Words and Irresistible all suit Bailey nicely, although you can pick anything.

I don't know what 'making someone sweat' is! But let's go with... Work the Angles!

Core and Secondary moves are all here: link to a message in this game

Make them Sweat: when you impose your will on someone by force or threat of force, roll+Combat.

So with Honeyed Words you use your social prowess to threaten rather than being physically intimidating.

Work the Angles is a good one!

PocSec updated

Also: Faeranduil Morwyn added to contacts

Jolene stifles her sibling irritation at being outplayed, content with getting the object of her affections and knowing there will be more pitched battles in the future. It really all is in good fun, you're her only worthy opponent after all.

The elves voices echo their agreement with stepping out for a late night bite, but Kishimoto and Jolene seem content to stay at the speakeasy. Among the elves, there is a general desire to get out of the occupied city rather than dodging imperials all night. They know a great little all night diner down toward Daly City and Fae has access to the embassy limo. There is of course that great little Sushi place just up the street; no cheese there, but seafood udon to die for.

Staying at the speakeasy?

Taking the limo to Daly City for midnight breakfast?

Walking up the street for late night sushi?

There was never a group of elves more elves. Young, beautiful, drunk. Almost a dozen of them squeezing their way into the limo because not one of them had fare for a ride that far down the 280. Laughter bouncing around, along with a set of flasks that suddenly produce from jacket pockets and purses. Bailey ends up set across the legs and laps of a trio of friends as the limo turns into the flow of traffic.

Fortunately, going south meant only the outbound checkpoints. And the Imperials were always happy to wave a carful of metas further away from the core. It was coming the other way that would demand ID checks and searches. Though maybe the swank ride would simplify things. Or maybe complicate it. It all depended on the mood of the Imp at the checkpoint. But there was no controlling that. Just more night to enjoy.

The decision to pile into that limo alongside that small pack of elves kicked off a string of events that changed everything.  At the time, all that was on your mind was a greasy egg sandwich...

>> FF later... not sure how long...

...with cheese, and soy bacon. No one makes them quite like Louie.

Before you realize your head is pounding and clear your mind, your sleepy half formed thoughts are back there in that Daly City diner. Your eyes slowly opening against the light of harsh fluorescent tubes, its clear you are in no diner.

Antiseptic smells, harsh white light, prone on your back you catch a glimpse of a woman moving near to your bed wearing institutional mint green. "Oh good, you're awake," the nurse says cheerily. "It's been slow going of course, but we didn't want to rush any interventions." she continues checking the instruments attached to you, monitoring your vital signs. "You magically active folks take a bit of special care, can't jam you full of drugs and cybernetics, now can we?"

Bailey recognized the smell of a hospital by scent alone. She'd woken up in one more than once. But it had always been less confusing than this. Less of a shock. Waking up in a strange place was easier when you'd gone to sleep there. Her eyes open, looking around. Taking everything in. Her entire body aching. Lips opening, a rough-throated gasp of air leaving before anything like a word does.

"What... Where..." she struggles, as her mind begins to race. Or feels like it is. Only a few thoughts manage to get through. The rest bottled up, running into each other. The jam refusing to let anything through. "I'm medically complicated?" she recites in the words of a former doctor.

”Well, yes, that is a rather elegant way to put it.” the nurse replies sympathetically. ”You’ve been out of it since the Doc Wagon brought you in. Good thing you had a platinum contract, any less and you might have ended up having more lasting injuries. But our doctors and mages have done a really good job making sure your abilities are not impacted. And no scars either.”

"What?" Bailey responds again. "Abilities? What're you..." and a Platinum contract? Whose ID was in her pocket? Did Fae pay for it, maybe? Bailey barely made rent. She slowly struggles upright, getting up onto her elbows she manages to sit up all the way. "Can you tell me what happened? I don't remember, like... Anything?"

”Well, your chart says Doc Wagon picked you up from a car accident.” the nurse says conspiratorially. “But one of the guys you were brought in with is shot up pretty bad. He’s stable now, but that usually doesn’t happen in a car accident. Oh, Maggie on the other shift told me, she’s such a gossip, but she said a bunch of heavy hitting elves came in and are doing security on one of the others from your accident.  You really don’t remember sweetie?”

Screeching tires. Broken glass. It’s hazy, but you remember. Was there gunfire though? You can’t be sure. If only you could talk to some of the others...

Security? That sure sounded like an ambassador's kid. "Fae? Can I see him?" Bailey asks, moving to stand up. A swirl in her head stops her, but only for a moment. It settles down as her feet near the floor. "How are the others? There was... Eelwyn and Davis and Marco? How many of us did they bring in? How long have I even been in here?"

“No, no sweetie,” the nurse clucks, laying you back down in the hospital bed. “You took a nasty bump on the head. Concussion. You need to stay still and rest. Your friends aren’t going anywhere and no one is getting in or out to see that fella under guard, so just rest while I go do my rounds, ok?”

The busy nurse hustles out of your private room, leaving you to collect yourself and maybe make another attempt at getting up and around.  Or maybe she’s right, you feel the warmth of the bed, sleep taking you, unless you fight it off.

This was not a time for sleep. Were you supposed to sleep, with a concussion? Bailey certainly didn't know. But she wanted to find out more. As the nurse left, she moves stand again. Shaky legs getting beneath her. She grabs the stand for the IV, using it to brace herself. She pokes her head from her room, looking down the hall. How hard could security be to spot? Those guys didn't tend to be subtle.

The strangest sensations flow through your aching muscles. Emanating from your core, waves of invigorating energy wash over you as soon as you set your mind to getting up and moving.  They wash away the headache, settle your nauseous stomach, push away the dizziness.

After a few steps, you no longer need to steady yourself against the bed. A few more and you’re upright and walking normally. Just a few more and you feel like a panther stalking her prey.

It’s good to feel this confident, especially since your ass is hanging out the back of your disposable hospital gown.

Out the window it’s dark and the hallway looks clear. Looks like it’s the night shift so there are probably only a few nurses and orderlies on duty.  No sign of any elven toughguys playing security guard either.

Whatever was in that IV? Great stuff. Bailey makes a note to hunt some of it down. She takes a few moments, stretching herself out. Stepping around her room and assuring herself that this feeling wasn't going to leave once she broke out of the doorway. She takes hold of the IV stand, rolling it along with her. A hand moving back to tighten her grip on the back of her gown. Just, y'know. In case.

Then it was time for a little journey down the hall way. Not sneaking. She strides, confident, smiling, not attempting to pretend like she shouldn't be up and around. Poking her head into rooms and looking for signs of any of her friends.

The hallway is empty, but there is someone sitting quietly in the ward’s waiting area. They shouldn’t be allowed here outside of visiting hours...

Who is it?

This is your second contact. This might be the first time you ever met or it might be an old friend come to visit you.

Bailey recognized her, but not her name. An older elf. She was sometimes in the offices that housed Bailey's talent agent and booker. Never as part of anything Bailey was doing. She had to be working a different portfolio. But always fashionably dressed, with real leather heels and subtle jewelry. She seemed to breeze through meetings and conversations. Everyone seeming to acknowledge she was important through sheer deference.

What was she doing here?

"Ahhh, Ms Mankowitz, you're up." the talent manager says smoothly, "I see that idiot nurse doesn't know what she's talking about. I must say, you don't look too worse for wear.  You'd think you were near dead, all the fuss they were making. Do you suppose there is somewhere around here we could grab a Bellini and chat a moment?"

"I don't think they have the ingredients for Bellinis," Bailey is quick to answer, "But I'll have to tell you- whatever they have in these is pretty fantastic." She reaches up, giving her IV bag a flick. "If you wanted I'll see if they can hook you up with something? I have an in," she winks, grinning.

"But I'm not quite dressed for cocktails. Maybe we could head back to my room? Unless you brought something?"

Smoothing her white suit as she falls in beside you, she replies "Well, I suppose it will have to do. Let's do head back to your room then.  The agency is very excited about your recent exploits. Very positive press.  We'd love to discuss an exclusivity deal.  Very lucrative, I assure you."

Lucrative deals? Color her interested. Suddenly, Bailey is aware she's not in any makeup.

"Right this way," Bailey says, extending a hand toward the hall. She leads the way down the hall, back to her little private room. Some of the mystery, perhaps, starting to be solved. When she returns, she sits on the edge of the bed. A tug removes the IV from her arm. Whatever was going on here, it was probably best not to be full of...

A glance up at the bag.

Saline.

“We’re all very excited by the buzz of course. So glad to have you on board with us already, it’s a real treat to work with young fresh talent.” she says briefly considering her surroundings before deciding to stay standing. “Gavanche was quite pleased to see thier dress featured so prominently and that thing with your Frederick’s stilettos! Absolutely feral!”

"Um, what can I say? Inspiration struck," Bailey was a talented enough improvisor to go along, and a smart enough negotiator not to show her hand. Especially when she didn't even know what cards she'd been dealt. "So someone must've caught something on a feed? I'd love to see it. Obviously, my access has been... Limited," she gestures around to the room by way of explanation.

"But people are talking? That seems like an opportunity."

"Oh, you haven't seen it? It's been all over the trids.  Well, not here of course. News of a beautiful and deadly bodyguard saving the son of the ambassador of Tir Tairngire doesn't play well here in the Bay City.  But up in Tir you have generated quite the buzz. Scrolling her PocSec, she stops holds the phone out to you. "They're calling you Nightshade."

> Play

Wet pavement shining under streetlights under a drone's eye view.  The limo, stopped in the middle of the street with the remains of a Yamaha Rapier crushed beneath the front end. Injured rider lying on the pavement. A half dozen men, all in red leather and all dismounted from their bikes, surround the limo.

Marco and Eelwyn stand off to one side with two of the men. There is no sound save the hum of the rotors, but from the body language, it seems like a heated conversation. There you are, with Fae. He is on his PocSec standing near one of the bikers, all of you standing over the injured man.

The drone's camera picks up on the AR coding of your dress and a gossamer silver Gavanche logo floats ghostlike over the image just before shots ring out.  Marco falls under the uzi spray. Eelwyn falls over him, shielding him with her body. Fae turns, shock on his face as a katana comes down taking off his arm. PocSec shattering glass and plastic on the street in a pool of blood...

The drone sinks low, catching your face in sharp relief.  Are your eyes glowing? Bright emeralds in the night...

Combat!

(1) You have the drop ...err... had the drop ...they expected you to panic, not... do whatever it is you do...
(2) Where the rider lies injured, there was a heavy pistol...
(3) ...and a katana.
(4) Did you pick one of them up?
(5) Or did you do it all with your bare hands?

Bailey [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
Go Gang (Rabble) [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

The drone pulls back. Out of danger, and with a better angle for what is no doubt about to play out. A kick- the camera zooms in quickly, catching the water droplets flying away from what the AR built-in reveals to be a Fredrick's buckle clasp stiletto in nightshade violet, available now in twelve riveting colors- the pistol flips from the pavement. The camera's spotlight bounces of the beads of water that arc away as it twirls against the woman's palm. The gun's AR coding comes up scrambled just as the holster sets against her palm with what must be a satisfying click. She twirls around, high slit skirt rising from the spin and baring long bits of pale leg.

The camera catches her face as she lines up the iron sight. Eyes beaming. The trigger pulls back. The pop manages to break over the sound of the rotors.

Chaos breaks out. The gangers turn their attention toward her as one of them spins around his heels, grabbing at his shoulder. The katana flashes down, only to be caught by the sole of Bailey's shoe. Her ankle as high as her shoulder, she twists it. Her heel drags across the back of the ganger's hand. The seams burst open and the katana goes flying.

The Morrisey Elite fits your hand perfectly. Even now, you can almost feel the knurled synthetic pistol grip, hard plastic with slightly sticky rubber to prevent it from slipping. The only thing better would be if you had found two...

You have the drop Deal Damage
Heavy pistol +4 / Armor -1 / AP +1 ... 4 dmg

Rock and Roll - Gunfighter
22:22, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 10 using 2d6+1 ((5,4)).
Strong success
Heavy pistol +4 / Armor -1 / AP +1 / Gunfighter +1 ... 5 dmg
Essence 5/6

Was that two shots? But three gangers went down... plus that guy with the slashed hand... that leaves two more in wet red leather, watching their friends bleeding on the pavement, standing there with stupid looks on their face.

“Did you get to the thing with the car door yet?” asks the talent manager.


Bailey [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
Go Gang (Rabble) [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [ ]

Combat continues!

Speak of the devil. One of the gangers still standing is larger than the others. Maybe an ork under those black and red leathers. Charging forward, shoulder down. Like a footballer ready to plow into the delicate elf. He doesn't anticipate her going over the open door to the limo. Instead of hitting her, the ork slams into the door. The bullet proof, ultra-hard door. He bounces back. And bounces back again as Bailey kicks the door into him. The ork stumbles and drops.

Bailey looks up from the video, eyebrows raised. "This is a great video."

Rock and Roll
20:42, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 8 using 2d6+1 ((5,2)).
Weak Success



Deal Damage
Combat 1 / Club (door) +1 = 2
Go Gang (Rabble) [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [/]

Rabble defeated, Take 1XP PocSec updated


but...

The force on the heavy door clips you.  You barely noticed at the time, but that explains angry looking purple bruise that runs up your ribcage.

Threat move Deal Damage
Combat 1 / Club (door) +1 = 2

Bailey [/] [/] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
Go Gang (Pair) [/] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] - fleeing

(1) The big guy is down for the count, leaving "slashed hand" and "stupid face" left
(2) They are shaken and looking for a way out

Last round of combat!
Did you let them go, or do you take people shooting and dismembering your friends personally?

The one goon remaining on their feet turns to run. Hoping on their bike with a whir of the electric motor. As it peels away, another pop of gunfire. The rear tire explodes, sending the biker whipping around. Fishtailing until the biker spills over the pavement. And Bailey, nursing the bruse across her ribs, steps onto the shoulder of the rabble whose katana she'd kicked away. The reaction suggests her weight broke his collar bone.

The video cuts out not long after that. The interesting part over. The elf babe asskicker finish.

In the hospital room, Bailey hands the device back to the booker. "And you mentioned something about calls?"

"Yes, I suppose I did." she replies taking the PocSec back.

Prelude ends

Finalizing the Character sheet... choose one:

Face
Awareness +1
Edge +1
You know the move Razor Insight
Light Pistol
Armor Jacket [1 armor, subtle, worn]
Take 1XP

Adept
Stamina +1
You know the move Enhanced Ability
Paired heavy pistols
Armor Jacket [1 armor, subtle, worn]
Armor Charm [1 armor, subtle, worn, magical]
Take 1XP

Let's do the Adept and put the fatal into femme fatale.

PocSec updated. Let me know if there is anything that you want to change.

I’ll get you started on a solo thread ... I’m thinking something that has a more social / suspense thriller feel. Investigating the suspicious death of a young starlet?

I’ll also put up a crew thread for Bailey and Laurie ... how about the classic ShadowRun corporate extraction?

What do you think?

Sounds awesome! I love th idea of a Shadowrun Corporate Thriller.

Feel free to spend some nuyen if you want before this scene kicks off. Just let me know if you plan on doing any shopping.

Fresh!

The LED sign flashes over an eclectic little spot in Sea Cliff that features salads and light fare. You're already seated and sipping some of the best oolong and dandelion tea offered anywhere south of Tir. This city may be casually racist, but they sure aren't shy about good 'ethnic' food.

The pastels of the patio decor are soothing and heat lamps strategically placed between the tables keep off the chill of the day's winter rain. The grey clouds can't stop the sun from finding a way to peek through in the sky over China Beach.

As usual, Mindi is late for your lunch date ...

Bailey owns many many pretty dresses and shoes. Oh god, the fashions. But for runner equipment? Let's keep the cash fungible and purchase as things come up. But the shoes. THE SHOES!

Bailey sits with her tea, legs folded up under herself. This was a truly charming way to spend a bit of afternoon. This spot was nice. Traditional elven food wasn't really her thing most of the time, but this place did it well without depending on people waving off that everything tastes slightly like grass. She keeps her hands wrapped around the oversized mug, warming her fingers.

Mindi being late wasn't surprising. It was, in fact, a little nice. Giving her a bit of time to people watch. To flip through messages in her display, compose a few responses to some potential boyfriends, do a bit of idle shopping while admiring the outfits of the lux and high end people who populate the tawny neighborhood.

Fresh! is a great little spot for people watching over the steam rising off your cup of tea.

There’s an older lady with a heavy British accent instructing what looks to be her granddaughter in the taking of afternoon tea. A pair of twenty somethings, honeymooners maybe, with that look in their eyes as they rush through lunch. An older looking fellow in an understated and carefully tailored suit, poised in a way that the middle aged Japanese corporate man has come to master.

Scrolling your phone, you note with interest that Fae is back in town. Daddy has kept him cloistered away in Sacramento since the incident so you can expect a Prince’s welcome when he returns to the Haight-Ashbury scene.

Glancing up you note that Mindi is yet to arrive, but...

Check the Situation
08:18, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 7 using 2d6 ((1,6)).
Weak Success

Something is a bit odd about that Corp... nothing dangerous or threatening, just a bit off putting what is it?

Bailey assesses the picture of Fae that came along with the news. He still looked good. In fact, the cybernetic arm gave him a certain roguish, dangerous look. His sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, showing every inch of the emerald-green chrome. His shoulders even looked a little broader. Bailey bites her lip, composing a quick message.

While she does that, she glances up over the edge of her phone. She settles her weight in the other way. Thumbs brushing over her screen, building out her message as she keeps a casual watch on the strange looking businessman.

It’s almost as if he is too poised, too proper. Is he so heavily cybered that he is missing his humanity? Is it some sort of magical effect that makes him seem so stiff?

It’s weird and off putting, but nothing to write home about. Especially when Fae is tapping flirty messages back to you.

Bailey's attention flicks up to the strange man for a moment, then back down to her phone. Her tongue taps against her teeth as she answers Fae's texts. Attention rapidly moving toward that instead of the unusual standing man. It was amazing how boring men standing around is. How easy they are to ignore. Especially when there are handsome elves right there on the phone.

But, then again. That guy was weird.

"Hey, check this guy out?" as she records the man, frozen on the street. To send to Fae to have a bit of fun teasing the random stranger between them.

:: Private to Bailey
Fae wrote: new beau? You can do better ;) ... unless... is he rich?? ... doesn’t look like he could keep up with you!!! Why does he look familiar? Know who he is?

"Nope!" Bailey responds quickly. "why? should i? is he rich? should you be worried?"

:: Private to Bailey
Fae wrote: Do I look worried?

Attached to the message is a pic.

Umm... he does not look worried...

Perhaps it’s best that you don’t try to reply in a public place, but no matter, because before you can reply, Mindi breezes in, obliviously unaware that you’ve been waiting.

Adjusting her peach-colored pant suit, she settles at the table. ”This is an exciting opportunity for all of us at Iconic.  This will showcase your intellect and emotions. Very powerful stuff. I’m so glad we could meet today and discuss some of the details.”

Looking over her shoulder, she continues ”Oh, the gentleman we’re meeting has already arrived, I’ll go fetch him. It’s a delicate matter, he is grieving the loss of his young wife, very suspicious circumstances. We would both do to behave.”

"Oh? Are we talking like... An acting gig? Because I'd love to get into that," said every aspiring model, Bailey included. But when word comes that their third was arriving, she quickly clears the screen of her phone. No reason anyone else gets to see that. It will just come in handy for... Some other time.

”No darling, investigating, not acting.” she calls back over her shoulder walking off and making a beeline right over to the weirdo corp in the bespoke suit.

Heads close together, they share a hushed conversation before turning and making their way over to join you. The lovely waitress breezes by, topping up your tea, then you are left with your fixer and your presumptive Mr J.

That’s when it hits you, he’s the guy from the scream sheets. From the recent media blitz of AR tags and trid commercials trumpeting the latest episode of Unsolved Grisly Murders.  It’s Yorinobo Uchicha. His young wife, who was rumoured to be having an affair with a handsome elf, was recently found dead in their downtown penthouse.

Bailey's eyes grow for a moment. Right. That story had been all over the true crime stories, all the casts and feeds. It had everything. The unhappy wife, rich and beautiful. The husband, clueless obsessed office man. The dangerous elven gigolo. It was a total cliche, the sort of racist garbage you usually found in the most lurid of the right-wing Imperial tabloids. But still... It was fun.

"Hello, Mr. Uchicha," Bailey straightens up, trying to look professional. Sound professional. How does one sound professional in this sort of situation? She tries to push her voice down, letting herself sound slightly more masculine and serious. Back straightening, trying to present a serious image.

"Konichiwa Ms ... Nightshade." Uchicha says with a stiff bow. "I am honored that you will consider aiding me in my plight. I find myself in a difficult situation where your unique talents and heritage may prove instrumental, that is, if you are willing to help."

Ugh. This guy was trying too hard. Imperials were always like this. Bailey forces herself to maintain her look and not roll her eyes.

"I think there's likely some sort of arrangement we can come to," Nightshade answers, laying an arm across the table. Trying to play the role of the badass runner babe. Project some confidence. "Tell me the details of the situation and we'll see what can be done."

Mindi settles in at the table while Yorinobo pauses, typical of a corp suit, always calculating the angles. Seemingly satisfied with your confident reply, he takes a seat and begins his tale.

Tell it to them straight
”My wife, Sakura, is dead. Murdered. There are no suspects.” he begins matter of factly, ”Her remains were found in our apartment, behind locked doors and layers of private security and wards against intrusion. There is no indication of a forced entry or a struggle. She has no enemies and my enemies are not the type to murder an innocent. The investigation has come to an unsatisfactory conclusion and I am seeking an agent to pick up where they have left off.”

"A grieving husband looking for closure." Mindi whispers, "Such a sad story."

Producing a datachip bearing the Securitech International logo, the businessman continues "This is the investigation report. The company has decided there is no profitable outcome in keeping it open. I am no investigator, but I am convinced that there may be avenues of inquiry that were not adequately explored."

Nightshade reaches across the table. She slides the datachip to herself with a single finger. She takes it in her hand, giving a squeeze. Trying to keep her straight face and cool demeanor. "What makes you believe that there are unexplored avenues?" she asks, an eyebrow lifted.

Yorinobo let’s out a long slow breath, somewhere between a sigh and a hiss, a wounded sound.  ”I believe the investigation culminated prematurely as a result of certain biases against my wife.” he says through gritted teeth. Clearly you have hit a nerve.  ”The investigation became fixated on unfounded rumor that Sakura had had certain indiscretions. To be clear, I have no cause to doubt her marital fidelity and I strongly believe that these disgusting allegations are an attempt to dishonor her memory and bring shame upon my house.” he continues, his voice rising enough to attract the attention of those seated nearby.  ”The investigation was either led by incompetent officers or their loyalties were bought off by my rivals. I will not allow this affront to go unanswered!”

He takes a long moment, concentrating on his breathing, taking control of his emotions. Very Zen.
This message was last updated by the GM at 03:22, Tue 08 Feb 2022.

"Thank you, Mister Yorinobo. I think that's enough information for me to take the case. I believe the only matter that remains for discussion is that of compensation," Nightshade says, trying to remain icy and serious. Even as she internally recoiled, the poor man. So sweet. In a different situation, she'd click her tongue and offer him a hug. But that was not the right thing for now. Right now, she needs to be a bit more mercenary. That's what people are after, right?

”Oh, we are agreed on the standard rates,” Mindi says casually holding up five fingers and giving you a pointed look while silently mouthing ‘five thousand’. ”Double if the matter is resolved to his exacting standards in the next two weeks.”

”With any reasonable expenses covered as well.” Yorinobo adds.

”Expenses…” Mindi agrees, letting the word hang in the salt spray air coming off Golden Gate Bay.

"Expenses," Bailey repeats, struggling to keep her persona up. She was not expecting him to volunteer anything like that. She clears her throat, returning to her lower, more professional tone. "Well. I'll be reviewing the case notes you've provided. I may need to reach out to you for more information. If that's so, my associate-" she nods toward Mindi- "Will reach out to you to schedule another face to face meeting. Until then, we'll keep this affair subtle."

”You understand my intentions completely.” Yorinobo replies with a satisfied nod. ”It would not be to my advantage to keep this matter in the public eye. That damned trid series has done quite enough damage already. If there is any more that I can provide to aid the investigation, please contact my office.” he says, leaving most of his tea and departing with a dignified bow.

After he has left the restaurant, Mindi leans in and whispers ”They say the boyfriend did it. Flew into a jealous rage because she wouldn’t leave the rich old stick in the mud…”

The act is dropped almost the moment that Yorinobo is gone. "Yeah, I know, Mindi! I've seen the same tries you have!" she answers, in a tone that suggests she's very eager to discuss the scandalous details. The model practically bounces in her seat. "Oh my God! And that interview with his friend? About his dancing career??" Bailey can't help but tap her fingertips against the table.

"This is gonna be awesome! So... Um... I should like, probably read this stuff?"

"Dancing? That's not all he was doing at that nightclub." she says suggestively, "All signs point to a lover's tryst that ended badly. But how can the jilted husband accept that his innocent young wife was mixed up in a lusty affair with that sexy elf. And his friends. If you believe that trid, of course." she adds with hasty relish, delighting in the sordid details. "We'll need to give Yorinobo something to help bring closure. There must be some loose ends on the chip you can tie up so you can report back to him and bank a few thousand. The whispers in the shadows will help boost your career and open up some new contracts for you with bigger clients - both in the shadows and on the catwalk."

Collecting her things, she gestures toward the chip. "Shall I leave you to it, darling? Need anything of me before you get started?"

"Reading true crime case files? This one is so in my wheelhouse," Bailey says with a smirk. She pushes up from the table, practically skipping down the street toward the subway stop. She'd review the details back at her place and see what she can dig up. And no matter what, there would be some juicy details that would make for amazing gossip.

After a short BART ride back to your apartment, you settle in and begin to review the files.

Crime Scene:
Sakura's lifeless body was discovered in the penthouse suite master bedroom. Water had poured out of the large soaker tub, soaking the floor. It seems she was about to enjoy a relaxing bath. Her body is lightly bruised around the wrists, ankles and throat. There are ornate silver and black restraints on the floor of the bedroom and signs of a struggle.  Seems that the tabloids weren't exaggerating about everything...

Coroner's Report:
The coroner, Dr Hiroshi Wanatabe, was provided by Genoform Biotech. He concludes that the superficial wounds were insufficient to cause Sakura's death. He offers no commentary on the nature of the wounds, possibly out of deference for Yorinobo's standing in the company. The toxicology report indicates Bliss in Sakura's system, but Dr Wanatabe does not assess the dose would have been sufficient to cause death on its own. He has ruled cause of death a cardiac arrest. Heart failure.

Back to the Crime Scene:
Evidence of drug use is conspicuously absent from the penthouse bedroom.

The gigolo:
There is circumstantial evidence to suggest that Sakura was indeed carrying on an extramarital affair. Her PocSec and wristcomp contain a number of calls and cryptic messages, often at odd hours, from Kerall Soares, an elf who was tutoring Sakura in Sperethiel, Spanish and Portuguese. He is a native of Piracicaba, Amazonia. He was deported immediately after the death and was never questioned during the investigation.

The security guard's statement:
Genoform's contracted penthouse security guard is on duty at the penthouse at all hours. The guard on shift at the time of Sakura's death was Kenji Iwasaki. The middle aged rent-a-cop reports no visitors and no disturbances on the night of the murder. The investigating officer noted several inconsistencies in Iwasaki's statements, not least of which is the physical evidence that suggests someone else was present in the penthouse bedroom at some point and that there are signs of vigorous activity. Despite the noted inconsistencies, none of them appear to have been investigated in detail.

Security footage:
Now this is strange. Seemingly without any cause, a vase in the hallway shatters. Moments later a door slams in the bedroom.

Investigator's determination:
Genoform's contracted investigator, Hiroko Matsume concludes that the death is a result of misadventure. A combination of genetic fallibility, fatigue and recreational drug use.

Bailey sprawls out across her bed as the watches and listens to the recordings, reads the annotations, all attached to the files and reports. Her PocSec reading aloud as she paces around and makes a bowl of popcorn in the tiny microwave on the other side of her studio's single space. Kicking laundry out of the way to tumble back into bed. Occasionally flipping over to send a message to a friend or watch a bit of trid on some other grisly murder.

That movement was strange. A vase knocked over, and a door slamming on their own? Someone invisible? A spirit? Potentially. But the investigators should have noted something like that. Sent one of the corporation's security sorcerers through on a sweep for Essence trails. There didn't seem to be notes about it. And someone would have needed to clean up carefully to remove any signs of drug use. While stoned and their lover just died? Not likely. The doorman could have easily missed someone coming and going, especially if they didn't want to be noticed.

Maybe Yorinobo was on to something. Maybe there was more going on here. The first thing to do would be to eliminate the official story, though. Bailey starts to research Kerall Soares. Establishing an alibi for him would be the first step to seeing what else there was to look into.

It’s almost like Genofirm has never heard of Howling Coyote, the way they overlook magic it in the investigation. In her final report, Matsume makes cursory mention that the penthouse wards remained intact and therefore rules out magical activity as a factor in the case.  Yet the broken vase and slamming door seem reason enough to suspect something unseen in the penthouse. It’s too early to tell, but this is either incompetence or cover up.

Fortunately inquires into Soares pay off pretty quickly. It helps that he is continuing to advertise himself as a language tutor and that it pays to be accessible if you want to be hired. His host doesn’t say anything about him being deported however, and lists a local LTG contact number.

Check the situation
22:40, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 9 using 2d6.  Check the Situation Weak success

Ask me one thing about Soares and I’ll either answer the question outright or dodge the question and tell you two things of interest.

Bailey starts to reach out, saying she's looking for a tutor. For... Portuguese. That was plausible. But including a high angle pic oh herself, lips parted, low slung top. The sort of student every teacher is hoping shows up.

OOC: Hmmm... This guy speaks a lot of languages for someone who is actually mostly seducing housewives. How legit is he as a language tutor?

You get a quick reply to your message, his voice a rich baritone in barely accented English, "It is not difficult for me to take on new students right now. I could perhaps find the time to meet with you, if weekly would work well for you? Would you be willing to meet?"

His command of the language, tone and accent all seem educated and professional. His on screen image is handsome, though older than you expected for a wife seducing Lothario, into his early fifties at least, it is hard to tell with elves and the myriad ways that modern technology helps prevent signs of aging.

Very plausible that he could be both a tutor and have seduced a lonely wife like Sakura.

Seems like those rumors of deportation were greatly exaggerated, do you set up a meet?

Regardless if you do or you don't, you have some time to pursue other leads.
-dig up info on the investigator?
-question the security guard?
-or the coroner?
-check out the apartment?
-get your hands on Sakura's things?
-something else?

OOC: Yes, going to schedule a meet. In the meanwhile, Bailey wants to investigate the investigator. The quickest way to get the client happy to to poke holes that might get the investigation reopened by someone who is... Actually good at investigating.

Citation Needed 22:57, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 9 using 2d6+1.  Weak success … ask me one thing about the investigator.

Or…

Edge bump Strong success … tell me one thing about the investigator and I’ll tell you two more.

Sure, let's go for the Edge Bump. Why not!

Hiroko Matsume likes the idea that he's she's doing justice. He She wants to be a real detective, solving real mysteries. Not sweeping stuff up for his her bosses. That sort of thing gets under his her skin. Unfortunately for Genoform, they occasionally need a real detective in the rotation.

Edit: Hiroko is female.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:34, Wed 23 Feb 2022.

Edge 2/3

Stumbling across a couple of Hiroko’s past investigation reports, you can’t help but wonder about Genoform’s internal security. The nightwatchman seemed lazy in an unremarkable ‘salaried security employee holding down a cushy job’ kind of way, so you didn’t think all that much of it. Now, finding investigation reports in public access files you’re having serious doubts about Genoform’s ability to keep their house in order.

Reading an older report, you’re taken aback by the sharp contrasts. Hiroko’s investigation is detailed and thorough. She includes detailed consultation with an arcane investigator and ensures all digital evidence is verified by a security minded decker to ensure that it has not been tampered with.

It's definitely striking. How was Yorinobo even able to get this material? Is certainly suggested something was not right. Maybe, maybe, it was time to reach out to the investigator? It felt like a risky move. Play it wrong and it could raise the corp's hackles. Play it right, and maybe she'd get some real knowledge from a real detective.

Bailey reached out to Hiroko, hoping to set up a meet. Somewhere private.

>> FF Sunday afternoon, Land’s End Park

The surf crashes constantly on the rocks beneath Cliff House. It’s a beautiful mid-afternoon vista with the garish billboards and glass spires of the ‘plex in stark relief to the power of the Pacific. It’s also a natural white noise generator that makes it all but impossible to eavesdrop on the conversation that you’re about to have with the petite Japanese woman seated on an iron park bench. The collar of her long coat pulled up against the wind covers most of her face, dark glasses hide the rest.

”This meeting would not endear me to my employer.” she says without waiting for your introduction. Curt and businesslike, ”But I will not accept my professionalism being called into question. What is it you have discovered about the Uchicha case that you wish to discuss?”

Bailey is dressed almost identically to the detective, but the two give extremely different impressions. Bailey's long coat and dark sunglasses make her look glamorous. Like a celebrity or model trying not to be recognized but secretly hoping someone will. Which was, technically, true. But a play at mystery, rather than the real thing. She takes a seat on the other side of the iron bench.

"Well, I was just reviewing some of the public access files. Did you know a bunch of the files are public access?" Bailey asks, rhetorically, a subtle dig at the quality of the security. Hopefully enough to make the detective want to prove her skills. "And I was just noticing that there was not magical analysis of the area done. And it just seemed, to me, like there were some potential suggestions that an intruder using magic fits a lot of the patterns...?"

When you mention the fact that your were able to find investigation reports in public access data, Hiroko responds with a frustrated hiss, but no more. Perhaps her corporate loyalties prevent her from offering her opinions on Genoform’s information security lapses.

She is much less reserved when you mention the lack of arcane consultation during the investigation into Sakura Uchicha’s death. ”To suggest that no magical advice was sought is simply preposterous.” she says heatedly ”A sorcerer provided by the company advised in the case. I was assured that none of the penthouse wards had been tampered with or breached. During his on site investigation he assured me that only nominal levels of mana were present and there was no indication of spiritual activities. This was all included in my final report.”

Aside from the brief mention of the penthouse wards remaining intact, this information is not included in the copy of the report that you received.

”There were no physical manifestation of magical activity”

There was, the lamp and the door slam.

”I don’t know what you mean by intruder.”

"There must've been a paperwork error," Bailey says, as if she's brushing the disagreement off, "Because I was wondering about the things on the recording? The lamp, the door? How did you rule out magic causing those?" as if she were merely curious about the case.

"Recording?" she asks. "What recording? At the time of death, the penthouse surveillance system had been disabled using Sakura's user access codes. This was not uncommon in the Uchicha residence. Both Sakura and Yorinobo routinely deactivated the cameras for their privacy."

Hmmm... Genoform's terrible information security... no magical report included in Yorinobo's copy of the investigation... inconsistencies in the evidence...

What's going on here? Has the original report been doctored or suppressed?

"Yorinobo gave me video footage of the exterior of the residence," Bailey says, "It sounds like one or the other of us isn't getting the full story. Maybe you should get me your records. I am an independent operator. I can pursue paths that you may not be able to?"

”Your proposal puts me at great risk.” she replies flatly. ”If I were to cooperate, I would need some guarantee of discretion or of deniability.  Perhaps I can arrange for copies of my original reports to be left… accessible… you will know when and where of course. If Genoform’s security is as lax as you believe, you will not have any trouble getting them.”

"I think we could work something out," Bailey agrees, tossing back a stray bit of red. "But if you know anything else, that may not be in the reports? I'm certain my employer would be interested in knowing whatever you can provide. They simply want to see the truth revealed."

"How could I possibly guess what was deleted or altered in the report?" she asks rhetorically. "What I don't understand is what is gained by changing the report. Why push Yorinobo to continue to pursue the investigation? Distraction from his research is not to the benefit of the company. The evidence was quite clear that the wife died as a result of misadventure. Regrettable but in all probability accidental." she says with a degree of finality. "Who benefits from Yorinobo chasing ghosts?"

Bailey's head tilts to the side, toward her shoulder. Her lips part. The answer seems so obvious to her. That the detective wasn't on the same page was simply baffling. Or maybe that's what the elf wanted wanted the detective to believe. That she was a naif who couldn't possibly really be a danger to the corporation.

"I mean... What if he just loved her?"
This message was last updated by the GM at 04:11, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

Hiroko sighs, allowing your moment of humanity to penetrate her prickly corporate facade. "Of course he did. What I'm saying is that someone is manipulating that love to attack him. In fact, I'm certain of it." she adds slapping the park bench. "Think about it, Genoform gains only a distracted researcher by altering my report to suggest there were leads that were inadequately pursued. Looking back, I must admit that I always felt they were too involved in the investigation, rushing things, steering me toward completion. Probably just to get Yorinobo back to work as soon as possible. It is possible that the inconsistencies are based on real evidence that was withheld from me. It is equally possible that someone has revealed that evidence only to create uncertainty that would keep Yorinobo from his work."

"Tomorrow, I will leave a copy of my original report on a chip in the Genoform rejuvenation clinic in Bayside. If you can gain access to the accounting office, you should be able to acquire it without risk to me."
This message was last updated by the GM at 04:11, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

Bailey nods as she listens. Then she stands up, adjusting her sunglasses. "Thank you, Detective." A breeze blows, releasing a bit of crimson hair. It falls across her face as she turns and quickly exits. An exit fitting of any noir detective. She should really buy a suit...

OOC: Do we want to go directly to the next day?

>> FF Next day

Gene therapy self optimization centres like Genoform’s Bayview clinic are a dime a dozen in this part of the Sprawl. From the Cross Arc all the way down the coast through Dogpatch and Bayview, the urban landscape is dotted with trendy nutrition advisors, cosmetic surgeons and rejuvenation spas that cater to a corporate elite that cannot bear to see their avarice reflected back at them in the mirror.

Tucked between a coffee house owned by a corporate juggernaut and a doctor who specializes in Zeiss optical implants, Genoform’s storefront is clean yet inviting. A mirrored glass facade hides an interior decorated in cream and blue where a flawless blonde woman sits at reception.

”Welcome to a better you,” she says amicably. ”Do you have a treatment scheduled or would you like to discuss optimization options with one of our expert consultants?”

Bailey was familiar with these sorts of places. Not quite this lux, but... Well, all elves are blessed, but some elves are more blessed than others. And Bailey had to work a little harder from starting out. But she had come a long way. And now? Well, she fit right in. Or, she would with a bit of hair dyed and some skin pigmentation to fit in with the upper class around San Fran. She's still got on the sunglasses from the day before, but now paired with a trendier, sleeker design. Something that fits in well, jeans and a top, showing off how well she belongs.

"Hi. I think I'm just here to discuss some options. See where we can get to and what my choices are. Oh, can I get a water?" Always get the free water.

”Oh of course,” she says with a perfect smile. ”Let me get that for you right away and I’ll make the arrangements with one of our consultants. I believe Ruis is free this morning.”

You’re left alone… no telling for how long… could be seconds, could be minutes…
This message was last updated by the GM at 02:35, Tue 15 Mar 2022.

Bailey waits, inspecting her manicure as she does. God, expense accounts were great. Look at those things. Glossy, shifting chromatic paints. Little waves of color rolling up their inch long span. They cost nearly half her rent. But just look at them. And they fit right in here. And Yorinobo was paying. This was a legitimate part of a disguise!

But the big thing was to convince everyone here she was just a normal aspiring model. Someone who would like some work... But might need to talk with their officers about setting up a line of finance.

Your patience pays off. The receptionist is only gone for a few brief minutes before returning with a young man with delicate features and tiger striped hair who she introduces as Ruis.

”Oh very nice,” Ruis coos. ”Such beauty already, but always room for improvement. What did you have in mind? Some dermal rejuvenation around the eyes? A bit of genetic modification to minimize pores and prevent blemishes?”

"Actually, I was hoping you could help out with my little," Bailey pushes a hand up into her hair. Twisting her head to the side as she lifts her hair. Showing the distinct almond-point of her ear. "Problem? Not the whole thing. Just a little more... Subtle?" she grin. Knowing that there was nothing about her that could possibly be described as subtle. At least not for this conversation.

It's a tricky gambit. Sure they want your cred, but they could be less than accepting of your elven heritage...

Manipulate 19:19, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 5 using 2d6+1 ((2,2)).  Work the Angles +1 = 6 FAIL Take 1XP

...Ruis gasps, perhaps a tad over dramatically, and says "I'm very sorry, but all of our cosmetic alterations specialists are booked well in advance. Perhaps you should consider a less exclusive facility."

or... edge bump WEAK SUCCESS

...Ruis gasps, perhaps a tad over dramatically, and says "I think we can arrange something, but that kind of procedure is... very popular... we've recently had to double the consultation fees."

OOC: Let's bump that up because I don't want to have to break in here. But, as a question, should that be a +2 instead of a +1? +1 for Work the Angles, +1 for Presence?

"I think we can figure something out. Maybe I should speak with someone in your financing?" Bailey suggests, letting her hair drop back into place.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:17, Tue 15 Mar 2022.

”A very reasonable request,” Ruiz replies with an annoying smirk, probably feeling quite proud of himself. ”If you will follow me.”

He leads you out of the cream walls and blue accents of the reception area into a small consultation room a short way down the hall.  It looks like there are three more of these private meeting rooms clustered around a fifth door marked ‘restricted access - patients and employees only’.  Inside the meeting room, he takes a seat in a comfortable looking leather lounge chair.

”Please sit,” he says indicating a second lounge chair. Pulling out a small tablet he projects a catalogue of cosmetic surgery options onto the wall. ”Now let’s see what kind of options we have for a better you.”

forgot to answer…



2D6+1 covers the Presence modifier to the roll, then +1 for a Work the Angles… does that make sense?

OOC: Yup! Sounds good to me!

Bailey has had this conversation before. Or, at least, versions of this conversation. She sits down, legs crossing. Leaning forward a bit, her hand on her chin, elbow on the chair. "Well, so, there's obviously the big thing. But I think there's some other stuff that might be nice to have. Y'know. While we're in there playing around with stuff," she smiles.

"That's the spirit." Ruis coos excitedly. "I'm sure we can find something. OUr financial department has a very reasonable payment plan."

After a few moments of paging though information on sonic massage, micro dermal rejuvenation and cartilage ablation, Ruis presents you with a final sum. It is not insignificant, and contains a very generous 15% commission.

"If I could get your credstick, we'll be all set to start setting up financial aid and repayment schedules."

Slot your cred? Your ID is solid enough and Uchicha did put on an expense account, but this might be tough to explain, especially if you want to keep Hiroko out of it.

He is completely at ease. You could probably take him quickly... but would you have enough time to get past that door and find the chip?

Threats are always an option too. Normal folks usually respond pretty predictably when you stuff Morrisey Elite in their face.

If you have a good line, maybe you can scam your way into the back.

Or something else?

OOC: Is there an access card or anything I'll need to get into the Employees Only areas?

Hmmm… it seems reasonable that there would be some sort of access control… you only got a quick look at the door, but you’re pretty sure you saw a thumbprint scanner

Bailey has trouble not reacting to the number. Her eyebrows lift. Sure, she'd had some work done, but... Not that kind of work. Even she couldn't imagine that expense getting waived. Or possibly working off the kind of debt that would require. She smiles, "Um... Wow, ok," she struggles, head swimming for just a moment.

Right. Ok. New plan. New plan. What should she say? She could try something. After all, it wasn't like a throat chop was going to become a less appealing option because she wasn't able to lie to him first. "Look, I... Actually just need to get back to the finance office. I think my boyfriend is cheating on me."

It's a risky play, switching up stories like this...

Stay Frosty w/ Ethereal 09:17, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 4 using 2d6+1.  boosted WEAK SUCCESS

...but it looks like he is buying it.

"Oh girl, he's a dog." Ruis says sympathetically. "But why do you need to get in the back?"

"There's some evidence," she says, leaning against a table. "I- He keeps all his private passcodes and stuff on this drive he takes with him to work. If I can get back there and grab it? I'll be able to out what a creep he is to all his friends." The vengeful, jilted lover. Ruis seems like a guy who enjoys a bit of drama.

Ruis is the kind of guy who enjoys a bit of drama. Hold 1

"You gotta do what you gotta do." Ruis says balefully, escorting you into the back of the clinic.

The door lets you through into a large open concept workspace where there are a couple of network terminals and a few plastic office chairs. Through a large glass panel you can see the surgical pods and a few medical staff, but its just you and Ruis in the office.

The office is pretty much paperless, which makes the envelope marked with a pink cherry blossom sitting on a nearby desk very noticeable.

"Oh my God, can you believe this?" Bailey's eyes roll as she walks to the desk and snatches up the envelope. "Hey, what're your social handles? I'd love to loop you in to the big reveal." She asks, already on her way out of the office.

Ruis spends a brief moment looking stunned before it dawns on him that he may have been had.  You're on the way out of the office, but he is right on your tail. "Hang on just a sec." he calls out as you are exiting, "I ... uh ... I could get into a lot of trouble for this."

"Bummer! Then you probably shouldn't tell anyone!" Bailey calls back over her shoulder. Eager to get out with her prize. "I know I won't!"

"Hey, stop! Ruis calls out loudly.

In the lobby, the receptionist moves a bit uncertainly to block your path.

The receptionist. Petite. Dark haired. Supposed to appear Japanese, though Bailey doubted that was natural. Bailey. Tall. Fiery bombshell. Oh, and ninja. Who will win? As the receptionist moves, uncertain and confused, Bailey simply steps to a side. She rolls past the poor young women with a twirl. On her way out the door, simply breezing past.

"Stop!" Ruis calls again fruitlessly, "Stop her!"

The receptionist seems like she is about to make an effort, but your side step has her completely outclassed. She twists and trips over her heels while you breeze past and out the door.  Ruis follows close behind, about to chase you out into the street.

Once they're outside, Bailey spins again. Her hand goes out, catching Ruis' on the shoulder. She smiles, "Sweetie. Think this through. What are you gonna do? Turn me in and you'll have to tell them what happened. And you'll definitely get fired. Like, definitely. Let me out, and I'm gone. I don't want to get caught. You just don't give them a reason to go looking. Tell your little friend in there we're fighting over a guy or something. Or," Bailey pauses, and looks the consultant up and down, "Maybe that he cheated on you with me? That feels more realistic?"

The cosmetic modification consultant struggles briefly, before coming to the quick realization that he is outclassed. The mental gymnastics take only a moment and you know that the fight is going out of him. "They'll fire me for this." he says dejectedly. "It'll be all over the office before lunchtime, I'm gone unless I can figure out some way to cover this up."

"Honey, seriously. Your options today were figuring that out or me breaking your leg. You got off light. And this shit? Is not my problem. You're lucky I'm the one who got hired for this," Bailey pauses, sighs, and sets a hand on her waist. "But I guess if you wanted, you could try to to convince whoever is watching the recording that you're more valuable to them being blackmailed than being fired."

Ethereal:
12:53, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Bailey, rolled 10 using 2d6+1 ((3,6)). STRONG SUCCESS

Ruis considers your words and seemingly concludes that his unbroken femur is precious and his options are few. "That's an angle." he says thoughtfully, "Plenty of dirty laundry in those files back there. We need to make it look like I made every effort to stop you." he adds hastily. "Hit me. Make it look good for the cameras."

"We all make compromises. Hold this," Bailey chirps, offering out the envelope. When Ruis lifted his hand to take it, Bailey's other hand snaps forward. His wrist in her fingers, pulling the weight of him forward, turning him around. But her fingers still keep his wrist in place. Whipping the young man to the ground, shoulder popping from its socket. "Thanks for being so cool about this, yeah? Caio, seriously, coffee sometime!" As she turns back and continues out of the building.

Scene ends, take +1XP.

Late in the afternoon, Ruis is having minor shoulder surgery and you are back at your apartment with a fresh bowl of microwave popcorn.  Your PocSec reads through the chip while you paw through an array of hard copy.

Matsume’s report reveals some notable discrepancies:

Surveillance footage: Just as Matsume revealed during your conversation, there is a long gap in the apartment’s surveillance footage. The security over-ride passcodes are a match for Uchicha’s personal codes. Everything is just like she said, the security cameras were disabled by Uchicha and as far as Matsume knew, there was no footage from the night of Sakura’s death.

Wage mage report:  The corp brought in a wage mage from home office. Iwao Hotaka arrived early in the morning, completed a cursory report then caught a sub-orb back to Nippon on the same day. The mage conducted a site visit and concluded that all wards remained in place and that there were no major disturbances. The mage’s report details a thorough physical and astral inspection of the executive’s apartment.

Wait a sec… running both sets of footage side-by-side, you notice the angles are off just a bit; the camera from the Uchicha videos seems to be just a few inches higher than the Matsume footage. There must have been another set of cameras in the apartment that Matsume didn’t know about. But Matsume is a pro, there is no way she would have missed this unless someone removed the cameras before she got to investigate the apartment.

On top of that, during the time that the wage mage was supposed to doing a physical survey of the apartment, there is no one on the surveillance video. Hotaka says he checked the apartment, but the video and the corp cop access logs say the mage was never there.

Surveillance that Uchicha didn’t know about…

Someone tampering with the scene to remove the cameras before Matsume had a chance to start her investigation…

A faked mage’s report…

Looks like someone inside Genoform is going through a lot of trouble trying to cover something up.

Oh drek! Look at the time, you’re running late to make your meeting with Soares!

Can you remind me who Soares is? Is that Bailey's sister? I've forgotten this particular piece of fiction and can't hunt it down.

No problem, it’s been awhile!

Soares is the language instructor. Rumors abound that Sakura was having an affair with him.  Check msg #71-84.

"Oh, shit," Baileys murmers to herself as she waves away the display from her AR. Say whatever you want to about the Shogunate; they make sure the runs run on time. It was the only part no one complained about. Bailey hops from her bed, where she'd been watching the security footage from inside a brightly colored pile of pillows. A rush around the room to gather bits of an outfit. A rushed assortment of makeup poured into a handbag. She'd have to put it on during the train ride. Heels in hand, she scampers down the hall. Only getting her shoes on while she cruises down the elevator.

There is a sort of DMZ south of Geary Boulevard and East of Van Ness Avenue where the Imperial presence is noticeable, but more relaxed. It no accident that the trendy tourist traps of Mission, the Castro and Haight-Ashbury fall inside this zone. Billions in nuyen flow through the carefully maintained cafés, art houses and clubs. Affluent tourists from the home islands don't want to be reminded that they have created a police state while they enjoy a tea ceremony at Maison Blue, traverse the Vulcan Steps at Twin Peaks or tour the Clarke Mansion.

Elves and Dwarves enjoy a degree of freedom here, 'adding to the local color' to quote Hisaaki no Sanetomo, the Special Advisor to the CalFree First Minister of Tourism.

Soares is waiting in a small café near the University reading today's screamsheets and sipping a mug of kaf. Slat and pepper hair, neatly combed over a face that shows a few laugh lines; mid-fifties at most. Like most of the crowd here, his outfit is professional but casual. A khaki jacket (Vashon Island if you aren't mistaken) dark color dress shirt, slacks and real leather loafers (imported, Amazonian, very nice).

Bailey spent her time on the BART with one arm hanging from the cuff. The other shuffling through her bag to grab the parts of her change. Earrings and accessories pinched between her lips. Swinging when the train pulls to a halt. By the time she was at the meeting, Bailey was completely changed. Gladiator heels and short-shorts. Half-jacket slid down around her elbows. Star-shaped sunglasses slowly shifting through the hues of the rainbow. The very picture of street-fashion Runner.

"Hey, handsome," Bailey rolls up to the table. Sliding out a chair as she waves at a passing Japanese couple that stares as they continue on their vacation. "How's Brazil?"

”It’s home,” he replies giving you a long, slow once over, ”But I’m beginning to prefer it here.” he adds smoothly. ”You had mentioned learning Portuguese when we spoke, is that what interests you?”

"I'm thinking about it," Bailey says, grin on her lips as she leans forward. "I was actually thinking of traveling some, y'know? When's the last time you were back in Brazil?" Without missing a beat, she tilts back. Speaking her order into the AR menu display. "Ummm... Can I try the... Golden Gate Honey Latte? Does that sound any good?"

Bailey tilts herself back in, looking over the edge of her sunglasses as they shift from purple to violet. Trying to size up the man in front of her.

”It sounds very nice, probably light.” he replies. ”It has been many months since I was back home. Work here has been quite demanding but now I find I have more time on my hands. I may take a bit of a break in the New Year perhaps. Might I ask, what makes you interested in learning Portuguese from a native speaker? Most would simply slot a chip and get by with whatever the machine told them, no?”

"Oh, yeah, totally. It's just like..." Bailey shrugs her shoulders. Moving in, elbows on the table. "A recommendation? From a friend. Sakura? She spoke very highly of you." Just to test and tease out his reaction.

”This is some kind of sick joke?” he replies angrily as soon as you mention Sakura. ”You’re another candela mentirosa from the scream sheets? Didn’t get enough from smearing her name through the mud, now you want another victim.” he snarls as he gathers his things. ”You can go frag yourself.”