”Ok, let’s go.” said the man as he climbed into the back seat, shedding rain, soaking the leather.

Rafael Werner, an operations director for Proteus AG, visiting CalFree working through a subcontract dispute. The BMW sedan that Proteus AG has provided sits at the northern terminus of Alameda island, in the dockyards on the airfield of the old Naval Air Station.

The station is separated from the rest of Orkland by a large wall.  Constantly monitored by the Imperial Navy’s shore patrol sentries, armed drones and ever present surveillance cameras, this is the sole enduring Imperial presence east of San Fransisco itself.  The shadow of the Imperial presence looms over Orkland’s metahumanity like the shadow of the light carrier USS Hornet, now renamed Suzumebachi, formerly a floating museum that the imperials are upgrading to put into service as a drone carrier under contract of Mitsuhama's Heavy Shipbuilding directorate.

Which is what brought Werner out here into Orkland’s d-zone. Proteus AG has a systems integration contract that is weeks behind schedule. Werner is here to get things back on track.

”Back downtown.” he says. ”To the office.”

@Pacer, @Sidewinder: This is your not too distant past. Your corporate past. You both happen to be on contract for Proteus AG … today is just a routine driver and security gig assigned to the executive protection team. It’s your first outing together. Let’s play a bit to establish a bit of background between the two characters.

"Got it," Pacer said, leg twitching with inaction as he flicked the sedan into gear and tightened his black necktie.  Waiting around was always the worst part of the job.  That, and all the dry cleaning.

As the wheels began to roll, the sound of raindrops on the windshield scored Pacer's thoughts: questions he had about his current employer (Herr? Mr? Werner?  Must be a big deal going on if a Director is coming to Orkland in person?) and his new partner Sidewinder (wonder how they hold up in a firefight, and do I detect the whiff of magic?); observations he had about this contract (this is the smoothest gig I've ever had in Orkland...so far) and the current state of Orkland (this place looks more like a warzone every time I come here...)

Thoughts he knew he'd better keep to himself, at least for now.

So he sipped the last of his cold soykaf and settled for a quick glance over at his new partner Sidewinder, before muttering, "Office sounds good.  I could use a hot cup.  You see anything out there?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:20, Sun 22 Oct 2023.

Being called away from her research is always irritating, a fact Viktorie Dvořák keeps to herself. The ‘doctor’ in ThD should rightly keep her out of the field. But logic dictates the scarcity of mages inevitably calls for the grunt work of a standard wagemage. Especially since there is no doubt in her mind that her division is the corp’s least profitable enterprise. The fact that she was specifically tasked to a director’s security detail is both a blessing and a curse. If she performs too well, this could increasingly draw her away from her postdoctoral fellowship. If she performs to poorly . . . best not dwell on that.

The driver spilling water about the vehicle is distasteful—unprofessional—but ‘hot cup’ does trigger a momentary twinkle in the elf’s lethargic eyes. She didn’t dare bring soykafe inside a vehicle in the presence of a director—professional—and the trace of a headache is setting in.

“Slower; mildly,” she succinctly instructs the driver without clarification as her lidded eyes droop completely closed and her body slumps against the car door for a few beats. This would grant the most negligible advantage possible, but it at least appears that she is putting a little extra care in answering his vaguely reasonable question. A question posed in Werner’s presence

OOC: Perfunctory sweep with astral projection.

Pacer eased off the gas a touch.  He was starting to get the feeling his new partner viewed him more like an employee--or maybe a liability...

It wouldn't be the first time an elf gave Pacer vibes of superiority.  He tried not to let it bother him.  For starters, he knew that some people just came off that way--high and mighty, or aloof and distant.  Doesn't mean they all felt they were superior to him.  And second, it was a goal of Pacer's to seem more innocuous than he was--to keep his head down, to be the ultimate fly-on-the-wall.  Let people think whatever they wanted--he couldn't control it.  And being underestimated gave him an advantage.

"You got it," he muttered softly, wondering if Sidewinder's request was due to her scanning for threats--getting a clearer picture at lower velocity--or because she didn't trust him as a driver, or she was nursing a headache, or...  Whatever; he didn't care.  He was paid to follow directions, and he took pride in his work.

Pacer scanned the wet pavement, slick and shiny, as he drove, conscious of the many cracks and potholes, and dared a single glance at Werner through the rearview mirror, wondering if he'd have time to hit up the bar after work, of if he'd be stuck babysitting this Werner guy all night.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:24, Sun 22 Oct 2023.

Neither of you is surprised that Herr Werner connects his datajack to the car’s jackpoint and logs into the corporate host. Whatever simulated worlds he is navigating, he isn’t paying attention to Pacer’s need for hot soykaf or Sidewinder’s cold shoulder.

As the sedan rolls past the security gate, the neat and orderly base gives way to the litter and chaos of the Orkland dregs. The streets of Alameda Island are lined with empty storefronts and broken cars. A knot of tuskers in gang colors and openly carrying a sawed off shotgun give you a mean glare, but decide on discretion, weighing their firepower against what the beemer might be hiding beneath that shining tanzanite blue exterior.

@Sidewinder. peering into the astral reveals a dead world of plastic, steel and concrete. The life essence of the gangers and rats light up the cold dead grays, but there is nothing noteworthy here except the wards and watchers that patrol the Naval base.

@Pacer. through your control rig, you feel the engine’s power waiting to be unleashed. Your system’s display shows everything operating in normal parameters. It’s a perfect example of flawless engineering. You’re itching to get this thing into the highway and really open it up.

Spying nothing of interest, Dvořák’s astral form flits over to Pacer, momentarily assensing the driver for anything glaringly obvious. This serves no purpose whatsoever outside idle curiosity.

No matter what she saw, her eyes then partly open as she pushes her body to its original position like a sloth.

“I see nothing of concern,” she says, answering Pacer’s question with her head tilted toward Werner then moves her gaze toward Pacer. “I missed your name, Mister . . .”
This message was last edited by the player at 03:34, Tue 24 Oct 2023.

"...Wilcox."  Pacer's grip on the wheel loosened a bit.  This gig was turning into a bore, and he knew wasn't going to have a chance to really do anything fun with the ride, fancy as it was.  He was tempted to engage the autopilot, but he didn't want to seem too relaxed in front of the elf.  He had the feeling Herr Werner could care less--Pacer could see the man was already jacked in, mind somewhere else.

"Avery Wilcox.  And it's *Doctor*...?" Pacer's voice trailed off in question.  "Sorry, I don't want to butcher your name."

Silently in his head, he continued to question her. ("How long you been with Proteus, by the way?  I'm not sure I've seen you around.  Of course, they don't let errand-boys like me up into those research labs very often.  Not without good reason, which seems to continually elude me.  Ahh, who cares, I probably don't even want to know what they get up to.  This car is fucking sweet, though.  Wonder how much she costs?  I gotta upgrade my ride.  Everyone's got so much fucking money in the Bay.")

He had given his a full name, so it is only fair to reciprocate. “Viktorie-” this name is spoken at a normal clip then slows for, “-Dvořák.

“And ‘Miss’ is appropriate.” Precision may be imperative, but academic conventions would be an waste of words to explain here. And waste is, well, a waste.

“Though one must wonder . . ” she leans forward, fingers just barely touching the driver’s seat. “. . . why are you here, Mr Wilcox?” she asks an octave or two above a whisper.

In reply to Sidewinder (msg # 3):

OOC: By the bye, did Sidewinder see anything when assessing Pacer? From an OOC perspective, it was just for the presence or absence of cyperware and its vague extent. (ie, Essence)

Actually, that’s also pretty much true fot the IC angle as well.

Avery shifted slightly in his seat as the sedan sped forward.  Was she was trying to get under his skin, or...  Avery had met more than a few elves who were unnerving by nature.  He'd learned it was important not to take it personally, if he wanted to work with the Awakened.  And that's where most of the money was these days.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that she--Miss *Dvořák*?--along with most of the other elves and magic-types he'd met--viewed him as lesser than them, *mundane*.

"I got no problem being mundane", Pacer thought to himself, wondering how to answer the elf's question.

"A job's a job", he thought, before reconsidering.  Herr Werner might be listening, and it was never wise to make a client feel like...just another client.

He settled on a simple response.
 
"What can I say?" he said with a smirk.  "I'm a workaholic."  Avery shrugged.  "Or I just haven't hit that payday yet, you know?"

The sound of the rain on the windshield commiserated his sentiment.  He always liked driving in the rain, even if it did require more attention to detail.

"What about you?" he said after a pause.  "Should I expect to see you around more often?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:45, Thu 26 Oct 2023.

You two are taking the thread exactly where I hoped it would go. Some light getting to know you chit chat. Keep it up!

@Pacer. cruising down Stargell, you pick your way past the burned out cars near the turns that lead toward the pair of tunnels that cross under the inner channel. The tunnel entrances look worse from this side then they did from the  Orkland mainland when you passed them up on the drive out here. It looks like ambush alley down there with no escape options. Better to brave the Alameda Orkland slums and push south to Park Street.

Next time they should send a VTOL or maybe a fraggin’ t-bird.

@Sidewinder. your quick scan of Avery reveals an aura marked with the black tendrils of the machine. It’s fairly extensive, running throughout his body, a datajack tied into his brain and some kind of neural mesh that connects to his nervous system.

“Ah,” she mutters with a sliver of disappointment. His answer is surely true, but it isn’t true in a right way. “Who can say? I go where Proteus desires,” she replies with a true answer, but not true in a right way. I really, really hope not! flutters through her mind every time the subject enters it, unless the corporation wants her back at the northern rim of the Bering Sea. But the fact that she is a poor choice for a bodyguard suggests he might indeed see her around for a while.

“Tell me, Mr Wilcox-” she kind of wants to call him ‘Driver,’ but decides against it, “-what does Alameda Island tell you?” A pair of compact optical binoculars appear to his right in a hand which would make for an exceptional violinist. A hand that has never been turned to that purpose.

She doubts he’ll take them. The first organs to go tend to be the eyes, and he is missing quite a bit of his body. The vehicle should be able to drive itself, though she knows nothing apart from its expensive appearance. So it should be able to do expensive things, right? If it can’t then this will have been an embarrassing thing to say.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:38, Fri 27 Oct 2023.

Pacer switched on the autopilot, accepting the optics from his partner wordlessly.  They were even lighter than he'd thought they would be.  Fancy.

The car had its own sensors, and Pacer had optics of his own, but he knew better than to spurn someone offering help, especially a partner.  He'd done it enough inadvertently in the past to have learned: People get touchy about these things.

He scanned the slums, on the lookout for movement and heat signals, hoping he could keep the fact that they were taking a slight detour--albeit hopefully a safer one--to himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Wed 08 Nov 2023.

Dvořák is somewhat surprised Wilcox took the binoculars. She had expected rejection. They should enhance his long-distance vision—no amount of cyberware can defy the laws of physics—but she suspects they will be useless to him. Possibly less than useless. Though she has learned that vehicles can drive themselves. At least fancy ones. This technically renders a driver redundant, a concept which usually has negative connotations, but she adores redundancy. Anyone who fails to appreciate it is an imbecile.

His compliance does improve her opinion of him. Anyone who does what she wants without complaint and with competence is invaluable. Time will tell for the latter. They reap benefits of some manner or another. Quid-pro-quo is a creed. Of course, getting the better of the quid or the quo is another creed, whichever is better. Wilcox will surely give another true answer, but not true in the right way again. Data are her lifeblood and there is nothing without some datum or another.

She abhors waste, and comes up with an efficient use of her time. But she’s not going to try anything with this worsening headache. Professionalism sometimes require a touch of the unprofessional.

“Do you still have soykaf, Mr Wilcox?” The simple words somehow manage to be steeped in academia as they slide off her tongue.

Pacer tried not to interpret any intent behind the question, but he still didn't know how to answer.  He figured there was no way this elf was going to put her lips onto the same surface as his, so...

"I left the brewer at home," he said.  "Hold on." He waved his head vaguely, trying to concentrate on the view, keeping an eye on his surroundings.  The rain continued to pelt the windshield.  The last thing he needed right now was a distraction.

OOC: Can I make a move: Check the Situation

@Pacer. Sure, what are you looking for?

Dvořák leans back with a half-smile. Sure, no relief from caffeine withdrawal, but his answer pleased her nonetheless.

In reply to Mr. Johnson (msg # 16):

OOC: I'm looking for any signs we are being followed or watched.

Through the car window, the slums pass by. Shells of buildings in disrepair patched over with discarded building material, old tarps and abandoned sea containers to create a functional, if disorganized warren. The majority of the people here are orcs, with an almost equal mix of humans and trolls rounding out the population.

Alameda Island is objectively poor, but there are sparks of functioning community. A street doc or clinic here, an auto mechanic there, the locals have a society that is governed by different laws and customs. But you both know that stopping here would be a disaster. Park Street can’t come soon enough.

Picking your way through Central Alameda, suddenly Werner pipes up from the back seat. ”What exactly does that mean Rown? How did we get this intel?” he says onto his PocSec.

@Pacer. you constantly scan your surroundings…

Check the Situation. 18:27, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 7 using 2d6+1. weak success

…Werner’s words snap you into focus. Something about his tone of voice or the way he asked that question puts you immediately on edge. What should I be on the lookout for here? Out here, where Lone Star and Nobunga Security never go, if you were planning to take out the competition, you would probably hire local runners to set an ambush. Take +1 forward to escape, evade or fight.

Rown...

The name thudded against Pacer's memory like raindrops against the windshield.

Do I remember hearing that name? he asked himself.  Either way, he didn't like Werner's tone.  And the scenery was only getting worse.

Avery handed the loaned optics back to his partner.  "Thanks," he said, squeezing the word through a clenched jaw, hoping his tone was icy enough to signal that something wasn't quite right.  "Get ready for an ambush," he said as quietly as possible.  "What are you seeing out there?"

OOC: Can I use a secondary move such as "Citation Needed: Corporate" to determine if the name Rown is someone known (or heard of, etc.) to Pacer?
This message was last edited by the player at 02:01, Sat 04 Nov 2023.

Dvořák arches an eyebrow at Avery while pocketing the binoculars. The man does not seem to see the forest through the trees, but a forest never fell on anyone. And he appears to be concerned about those trees. If she interpreted his tone right, perhaps she should be too.

He doesn’t get a direct response, but he is certainly close enough to hear some mumbled words with oddly extended sibilants.

OOC: Cast Detect Enemies

”Well can we try and get a bead on that team? What about a counter strike? Can we mobilize a team of our own?” Werner says into his PocSec, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

@Pacer. there can only be one Rown in the company that would make or take direct calls from a director level executive. Rown Walters, Proteus’ Bay ‘Plex security chief.

As you listen in on half of the conversation, the car receives a message from Proteus’ operations centre telling you the risk assessment for your current task has gone from Moderate to Extreme.

@Sidewinder. the mana flows through you…

Cast a Spell. 17:31, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 8 using 2d6+1 ((6,1)). weak success

…opening your eyes to more than your mundane senses can see, hear or touch.  You feel the new awareness and will know if someone means to do you harm. But the spell was difficult and a wave of fatigue hits you. Take 1 stun.

“Here?” she asks rhetorically after the hissing whispers cease with a touch of true fatigue in her voice. Drain may be a phenomenon mages are well acquainted with, but that doesn’t do anything to take the edge off. “None wish us harm. I will alert you if this changes,” she continues, answering what she believes was Avery’s actual question, choosing her words very carefully.

“Alameda? Its beating heart.” A finger is aimed at the docks. Something else is boiling, but it may or may not have anything to do with her. All she can do is eavesdrop and hope that it doesn’t have anything to do with her. Because a Proteus asset has obviously been attacked, and “counter strike” is a phrase best applied to others.

Shit...

"We have a problem," Pacer muttered quietly to his partner, hands gripping the wheel.  "Proteus is upgrading the threat level.  Keep an eye out...or a mind's eye, or whatever..."

Pacer's fingers twitched, but he resisted the temptation to reach down and finger his weapon.  Best not to look like a *total* amateur in front of the mage.  The number one rule of sticky situations was to act like you'd been there before--and he had, especially if his intuition turned out to be correct.  Something from Avery's past was tingling in his subconscious, and he couldn't shake that feeling.  Orks.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:39, Tue 07 Nov 2023.

“Aha,” she quietly acknowledges, her native tongue showing through. This is not exactly surprising news, but that doesn't make it any more appealing.

“How familiar are you with the area?” She has never set foot in the CFS before today. So even if she does perceive something with this newly grown sense, this ignorance might mean she wouldn’t know the best way to use the information.

How familiar?

Avery felt his skin flush as memories flickered through his mind.  Less than two miles away in either direction stood at least two motels Avery had patronized in the past.  Back when his stim-habit required something stronger than soykaf.  Or when youthful lust--or loneliness--had driven him to pay for a stranger's time: sixty minutes in a dingy, rat-filled room, sweating at the thought that someone was waiting outside to beat him up and rob him.

Avery had grown tired of being a slave to passion. Better to be wage slave to well-paying corporations. But while those times had passed...they were never far behind.

"Familiar enough..."

He gently tapped down the gas pedal, accelerating without disturbing the flow.

"If you've got something up your sleeve, I'd suggest you get it ready."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:02, Wed 08 Nov 2023.

As you get closer to the shore of the Oakland Estuary, the urban density fades behind you, leaving a wider field of view. You can make out the raindrops hitting the trunnions and fading green paint on the Park Street bridge.

There is something blocking the bridge. Out in the centre of the span, cars are beginning to back up on the bridge itself. Maybe a car accident, but it is tough to make out with the naked eye.

Werner spends a long moment in silence, presumably listening to something Roan is saying on the other end of the phone.

@Pacer. You know the area and have real time traffic feeds. Aside from the ‘No-man’s land’ of the two tunnels, Park Street and High Street are the only viable crossing. One side of the Fruitvale bridge locked in the high position about five years ago and can’t be used. The Miller-Sweany bridge went down in the ‘56 shaker.

"Looks like we're taking High Street," Pacer said, resisting the urge to slam the gas pedal.  "Traffic jam on Park," he muttered, more to himself, trying to keep calm--at least outwardly.

Inside, the familiar acid-taste of fear was bubbling up his throat as the sedan sped east toward High.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:55, Thu 09 Nov 2023.

“How many paths span the river?” she idly inquires. Dvořák sees no obvious reason anyone would go through the effort of setting up an ambush for Werner—after all, whatever has the director agitated is located elsewhere—but Avery’s anxiety is worth consideration nonetheless.

As Pacer mulls the question over and gets the car turned around…

Check the Situation.

20:17, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 7 using 2d6+1.  weak success

20:17, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 9 using 2d6+1. weak success

…you both take notice of a dark shape that emerges from under the bridge. A quad-copter of some kind, makes a lazy turn then picks up a vector heading directly toward your car.

From the back seat, Werner suddenly screams into the phone ”Why would they fraggin’ target me directly!?”

Dvořák tenses up but, without sensing any hostile intent, doesn’t immediately act upon spotting the aerial vehicle. It isn’t until Werner echoes her own thoughts that she decides they just don’t care what happens to anyone else in the car.

She takes a deep breath, trying to shove the urge to panic out of her mind. The only true danger she’s ever been exposed to is spirits who did not take kindly to being summoned. As formidable an opponent as a spirit may be, they are at least a threat she understands how to deal with. So she takes half a step onto the Astral Plane, briefly scanning for anything out of the ordinary.

OOC: Aside from astral perception, is an estuary close enough to an ocean to be considered a marine environment?

It’s salt water and connects to the Pacific. So yes.

But it’s polluted with garbage, debris from the last major earthquake (including a beached cruise ship) and Orkland’s waste water.

Company...

OOC: Is there anything instantaneous and obvious that can Avery tell about the copter?  For example, does it look like the copters Proteus uses for security or bear any obvious markings?

"Buckle up and keep low," Avery spat the warning before gunning the engine.  He glanced at his partner.  "If the High Street Bridge isn't clear, we head for Bay Farm Island."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:08, Tue 14 Nov 2023.

The street. for the next two hundred meters or so, it’s open ground between the bridge footings and the buildings of the Alameda slums. No problem for the BMW to outrun the drone in the flats and straightaways, but the little bird will probably be able to keep up once you have to manoeuvre inside the narrower streets between buildings.

The drone. it’s cheap garbage. Probably a Guangzi knockoff of the cheaper end of Wuxing tech.  This is definitely not something a Mitsuhama black ops team would use. Street tech. Shadowrunners.

The exec. he’s yelling rapid fire German into the phone. Whoever is on the other end, Rown or someone else, is getting an earful. Werner is demanding a rotorcraft be sent to recover him.

The astral. Sidewinder detects no hostile intent but perhaps the cars out on the bridge are too far away and there is no other life around aside from Pacer and Werner. The drone is a cold dead thing of metal and plastic, it has no intent, but may well be hostile. Out in the bridge the auras are hard to read, but there is something that catches your eye. The electric crackle of mana. Someone out there is magically active, but you’re not sure if they are a magician or an adept.

Avery gunned the engine, heading east for the next crossing out of Alameda.

"Keep your heads down.  We've got runners on our tail."

He turned to his partner.  "If you have any way to cover our tracks, now would be the time."

Dvořák does her best to divorce intellect and emotion. Because this was not a scenario in her job description. She’s already trying to contain her own fear, and Werner’s hysterics are not helping. If the director cannot keep his cool then he is overdue for a demotion in her opinion. An opinion she’ll keep to herself unless someone higher in the Proteus food chain asks. There are only two things going for her: the discipline required by magicians and the ever-present influence of a cold-blooded mind.

Stínovéběžce, enters her mind at the same time Avery says ‘ ’runners.’ Because the three of them would probably be dead already if they were up against a bona fide megacorporate force. So these must be hired hands. Aka shadowrunners.

“It is a machine,” she urgently informs to Avery, her voice on edge as she tries to remember the precise translation of dron. “A drone.” Wasn’t difficult. And now she knows why she cannot sense hostile intent from the aircraft. Because something that cannot think cannot have intent of any kind. A fact that assuages both pride and confusion. Her magic has not failed her. There is no flaw in her formula. “And an Awakened on the bridge.” she adds while pointing in its direction.

“I do have means to conceal and confuse, but I do not know its nature. It might detect this if it can see as I can see.

“I also have means to neutralize the dron,” she continues, using one of her favorite English euphemisms while accidentally reverting to Czech at the end due to the stress of the situation. “But this may reveal a mage’s presence to the Awakened.” Even if a spirit affects the world in a subtle manner, there is nothing subtle about a spirit’s presence in the Astral Plane.

How her talents are used is left to Avery. After all, he figured out they were up against shadowrunners with mundane methods alone. And as arrogant as she might be, she is also smart enough to know she’s way out of her depth at the moment. Though the fact that astral projection would allow her to get a closer look isn’t mentioned.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:24, Fri 17 Nov 2023.

The drone swings in behind the sedan as you make a break for the cover offered by the buildings. Fortunately the little ‘copter is too small to carry anything heavy enough to threaten the BMW, but it can keep up and keep and eye on you.

@Pacer. You know a little drone like this will have about a half an hour of juice. No telling how long it was idling under the bridge. Thirty minutes in a car chase or combat is an eternity, but at least the thing has a best before date.

Out on the bridge, the forms of the people involved in the accident fade into the distance, but careful observation on the astral plane and through the car’s sensors shows them piling into the vehicles involved in the ‘accident’. One car breaks toward the mainland while the other chases after you onto Alameda Island.

“Automobiles as well.” Oddly enough, her anxiety diminishes now that the threat is becoming clearer. Fear of the unknown and such.

Great.

Avery looked for Werner's eyes in the rearview mirror.  The man was locked on his phone call, so Avery shouted.

"Any idea who these guys are?"

Shifting his attention to the sensors, he spoke quieter to the elf.

"You picking up those cars?  I'm seeing at least two.  How many people you think are after us?  The company do something lately I don't know about?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:33, Sat 18 Nov 2023.

Backing her awareness completely off the Astral Plane, she produces her binoculars and uses them to peer backward.

Check the Situation: number of pursuing vehicles
This message was last edited by the player at 01:01, Sat 18 Nov 2023.

Avery glanced over his shoulder, then peered ahead toward the slums.

"I got a bad feeling they sent a car to cut us off at the next bridge.  Get ready for a fight."

Check the Situation for the roads ahead, scanning for other vehicles or signs of an ambush.

Avery breathed out slowly, trying to control his emotions.

I never shoot first on a job unless someone gives me a reason, he reminded himself.  Give me a reason.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:34, Sat 18 Nov 2023.

”They will send pickup to Lower Washington Park.” Werner says from the backseat, just the time to start backseat driving…

Alameda Island is a warren of streets that appear on the map, only to be blocked by some illegal building or the discarded refuse of rabid development. Park Street is wide enough that there isn’t too much concern about it. Broadway, Central, High and Santa Clara all leading away from the potential pick up site show as being open enough to drive. The neighbourhood of Gold Coast, where Lower Washington Park is, goes deep into the devil rat’s nest and you may not be able to drive there.

Check the Situation.

18:45, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 10 using 2d6+1.  Check the Situation. strong success

18:45, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 8 using 2d6+1 weak success

@Pacer. You are pretty confident that the second car is going for a cut off and that if they could have ambushed you on this side of the bridges, you would already be geeked. That leaves you with a tough choice; option one is a race to the High Street bridge that you have to win. Option two means that to meet the pickup crew you go deeper into the slums where it’s a complete crap shoot wether or not you will be able to drive and heading toward the park puts you on a back track toward Mitsu’s home base at the old shipyard.  Finally, option three is to do the unexpected and take Encinal Ave and the 61 CTTR over to Bay Farm Island.

@Sidewinder. only one car follows. It’s a janky looking Jackrabbit. You’re no gear head, but the BMW should be able to outmatch that thing all day. The other car was an Americar. The awakened went in it, so you feel a bit safer to use your talents knowing that the possible magician seems to have left the field for now.

You’ve got a choice to make: looking for pickup from Proteus or trying your own escape plan?

Dvořák is ambivalent regarding the disappearance of the Awakened. But freedom from the risk of Banishment gives her a real chance to deal with that nettling drone. She doesn’t know what it can do, but it’s clearly keeping an eye on the car if nothing else. It’s time to blind the enemy and prepare for its return. She stops concentrating on her extra sense, as this next step will require all of her attention.

Cease Detect Enemies

The mage emits another set of strident murmurs, longer and wispy-yet-domineering, head tilted backward.

Summon Sky Watcher: Essence 4, Edge 1
Total: Essence 0, Edge 4

The feeling of emptiness eats at her mind; every cell in her body sapped of its magical potential. But it is a fair exchange.

Grant the drone an Accident, she mentally commands the spirit in her mother tongue.

OOC: Decided to go with cursive for spirit commands as opposed to simple italics for thoughts.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:27, Mon 20 Nov 2023.

Before last post . . . forgot to answer Pacer

---

“There were two. Now there is one. The other contained the Awakened,” she answers. “The one in pursuit is much slower than yours.” As for the rest of Avery’s questions she gives a minor shrug. She’s a scholar, and Fringe Sciences are classified. Nor could any of her work possibly relate to their current predicament.

But she silently agrees with Avery as she secures her field glasses. Why would one car pull away if not to set up an ambush?

"Lower Washington Park?," Avery growled. "That's the ambush!"  He cleared his throat, trying to remember whom he was speaking to. "My professional opinion?  We go there?  We're dead."

Avery gunned the engine, but even as fast as the sedan could drive, he knew the High Street Bridge was too close to get any real distance away from trouble, so he took the next turn toward Encinal and sped southeast toward Bay Farm Island.

Sweating harder with every breath, Avery struggled to stay calm. Spitting his words at the mage next to him, he hardly cared if the boss behind him heard.  "This is an inside job, I can feel it.  Everything about it reeks.  Just be aware...once we get back...it might not be over."

OOC: Let's go with Option 3, the furthest bridge South to Bay Farm Island.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:45, Tue 21 Nov 2023.

@Pacer. Things start moving quickly as Werner loudly threatens your jobs if you don’t do as he says and take him to Lower Washington Park. Better get the flat faced suit to safety if you still want a job tomorrow.  Better judged by twelve than carried by six, they say…

Chaser. 22:42, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 8 using 2d6+1 weak success

…the BMW jumps ahead, putting distance between you and the car behind you with ease. The Jackrabbit recedes in your rear view and after a few quick turns you think you’ve lost him…

…but the fuel cell is dipping (use 1 Fuel).

@Sidewinder. you whisper the song snake showed you to call upon the zephyrs to answer…

Conjure. 22:36, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 9 using 2d6+1 weak success

…and a little spirit of wind heeds your call…

…but a wave of exhaustion hits you like a hammer(Take 1 Stun).

You can sense a moment of confusion when you give it your command, watchers being passive little beings who avoid a fight…

Accident. 22:41, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 11 using 2d6.  strong success

…but the dim witted little wind spirit puts its natural energy to good use, mustering up a powerful gust that knocks the cheap little drone off course and into the estuary.

Great round for the good guys. You’re away clean with the only real threat now being the pissed off executive in the backseat.

Dvořák is probably not alone in shivering at the Watcher’s presence, but the inexplicable breeze suggests she is ultimately responsible for the drone’s dip into the Oakland Estuary.

You may return home until recalled. This will be very soon, she informs the spirit.

,,Entschuldigen Sie mich für einen Moment, Herr Werner,‘‘ she says in a diffident and soothing tone, inserting a trace of uncharacteristic seductivity she learned in order to take advantage of her stereotypically attractive elven physique, desperate to keep Werner’s rage aimed anywhere other than herself. It is distasteful, but she would be a fool not to take advantage of every tool at her disposal. Though she definitely needed some tutoring on all three fronts. Her cold and clinical manner is where she is most at ease. Not to mention arrogant and enigmatic. Though she already had a classy and expensive suit tailored to emphasize said physique in all the right places. Now including a matching armored jacket acquired just after her conscription.

“Will you patch the vehicle’s data into my PocSec, Mr Wilcox?” she asks. It is phrased like a question, but has the nature of a command. But an exceedingly reasonable one. Technology is the solution to her ignorance of the region, and therefore a way to understand the root of some of the current dispute. “And do not disturb me for a minute or two.” This one is technically a command, but it would simply be tremendously difficult and extremally inconvenient to rouse her after she slumps while her consciousness travels to her mentor spirit’s realm, doubtlessly accompanied by her ally spirit. Natrixs is always most comfortable in her true home.

Commune

Most people with a decent knowledge of magic would call Dvořák a shaman, but she considers herself a mage. When a Great Dragon gives a lecture on Unified Magical Theory, only a fool wouldn’t take it to heart. Especially with the privilege of that one lesson in dragonspeech when Schwartzkopf was in his true form. So she believes there is no fundamental distinction between mage and shaman, and mages tend to have a more ordered and logical view of the world, a paradigm that fits her mind better than conventional shamans’. (And far more respectable in both corporate and academic settings.) So she chose “mage.” And it would take an extraordinary situation to refer to Snake as a “totem.” Snake is a “mentor spirit.” One courteous enough to teach her magic with a Hermetic bend to the sounds and gestures. But those in the know will be able to tell the difference.

Edit: Yeah, German has weird quotation marks.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:14, Wed 22 Nov 2023.

"Got it, sir," Avery muttered, redirecting their route in his mind's eye and pressing the pace as far as possible without losing control.  He raised his voice over the engine.  "Lower Washington Park on the double."

As the sedan sped toward Lower Washington Park, Avery thought through his decision.  He had been tempted to override the boss's wishes--to save his own hide, if no one else's.  But he had a partner here, and he couldn't sabotage *her* career along with his own.  Plus, he didn't have enough saved up for next month's rent.

The mage's question echoed in his mind.  "Sure," he said quietly to his side. "No problem."

Avery blinked, found the elf's PocSec ID on his HUD, and granted access. "You're in."

He liked the way *Mr. Wilcox* sounded.  It sounded even better knowing it might be the last time he heard it.

Avery's gut roiled.  All soykaf today.  Need some food.  He had a bad feeling about what lay ahead.

Whatever was waiting for them at Lower Washington Park, Avery--Mr. Wilcox--hoped he was wrong.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:09, Thu 23 Nov 2023.

@Sidewinder. you close your eyes while Avery does the driving, calling out to Snake to attune yourself to the mana that flows all around you…

23:19, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 6 using 1d6 ((6)).

…and you know she has heard your call, you feel the gift of her mana flow into you…

…which, as it turns out, is a pretty good timing…

@Pacer. Werner seems momentarily placated, at least enough to stop his rapid fire German threats to your livelihood. Unfortunately, that’s the only good news. You knew that turning back toward Lower Washington Park was a bad play and you’re kicking yourself for not following your instincts. The Jackrabbit never turned back toward the estuary; all but confirming your suspicions that the other car went on head looking to cut you off, the two runners in the Jackrabbit stayed back to corral you in.  They have been scouring the streets looking for you. There are only a few passable options heading northwest, so it doesn’t take them long to find you…

…the little car careens out of a cross street, an ork hanging out the passenger side window with an SMG firing wildly…

The elf takes a deep breath brimming with pleasure after the meal, having consumed all available mana with pupils possibly narrowing into viperine slits for the blink of an eye before morphing into normal H sapiens orbs. Or maybe it was a simple optical illusion. Yet the relish doesn’t last long; that car had caught up.

“That is the vehicle that continued pursuit,” she hastily informs Avery. Meaning the other one could be anywhere. Probably exactly where he thinks it is. But what truly worries her is the enemy no longer needs the drone to pinpoint their location. “I will search for the other,” she relates in spit-fire English.

Return, spirit of the winds, she commands, yanking the Sky Watcher back from wherever it had gone, hoping for a repeat performance. “Evasion may be necessary.” She does not elaborate. Grant that automobile an Accident, she instructs, focusing her gaze on the Jackrabbit while forming a mental picture, hoping the BMW and its driver are up the task of dealing with an ‘accident’ of a two-car collision instead of a crash into a building or a hurtle into the estuary.

Everything had been articulated too quickly to give room for any response, and she does not wait for one or to observe the results of the Watcher’s power. If he had anything to say, it fell on deaf ears attached to a head now awkwardly folded beneath the window line, her awareness now wholly in the Astral Plane. (Her neck is going to pay for this). No matter what, she is planning on using another trick up the sentient gust’s sleeve after she gets back. There is a reason she had bound a Watcher, and a fairly powerful one at that. And Snake had gifted the means to pull some more rabbits out of her own hat. She must be pleased with Dvořák’s subtlety thus far. But Avery is on his own with the irate director until her psyche returns from astrally projecting.

Her mind vacates her flesh, reconnaissance beginning in the direction of Lower Washington Park, moving at the speed of thought. The BMW had transmitted an entire map of the region, so she actually has an idea of where to start. There is always the risk of being seen by the other Awakened, but this risk is either acceptable or possibly even necessary. Especially since the secondary goal is to assense this threat. However, she is careful to remain close enough to keep her Watcher from getting too addled.

At the sound of gunfire, Avery jerked the wheel.  The sedan swerved, streaking through the rain toward their pickup.

This is a bad idea.  Avery glanced at his partner, wondering if her career was worth his life.  "That is the vehicle that continued pursuit," the elf's sage advice echoed in his mind.  Ya think? Avery bit his tongue, sounding the sarcastic response silently in his mind.

"Keep your heads down."

Avery wrenched the wheel sideways out of instinct, hoping to evade any oncoming fire, but maintained their heading toward Lower Washington Park.  He considered returning fire but wasn't keen on using auto-pilot in a race.  And besides, sticking his hands out the window--armed or not--didn't seem like a great right now.

OOC: Does Avery know if the vehicle has any countermeasures?
This message was last edited by the player at 00:59, Sun 26 Nov 2023.

@Sidewinder. the little watcher struggles to conjure up a gale strong enough to effect the car…

21:34, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 6 using 2d6. fail Take 1XP

…but attacks are really in its nature and the tall buildings blotting out the sky don’t seem to help at all. The Jackrabbit cuts through the still wind effortlessly.

With the Jackrabbit still in pursuit, you streak across the sky, weaving between the dead gray concrete and glass of the island’s buildings. You soon find Lower Washington park, which may as well be called Lower Washington landfill the clutter of garbage is so deep. Among low shelters built by squatters, there is a broad open area, less than ideal, but entirely possible Roland a VTOL on the site. The only life in the park are the devil rats and the squatters.

@Pacer. As a rigger, you are the machine. Your meat and the metal are one. You know everything about the BMW. You can feel the fuel flowing as if it’s blood in your own veins. The engine pumping is your heartbeat. The slight rattle in the left side middle piston on the powerful V6 feels like the tickle of a bad cold coming on. Those bullets glancing off the pavement behind you feel awfully close, if they do enough damage to the car, you’ll start to feel the feedback through your nervous system, taking damage directly to your brain stem. But this isn’t your car, so how lucky did you get when the corp cut you the requisition forms for the vehicle quartermaster? Spend 1 Edge to add a useful detail and I’ll give you a pop up turret with an automatic rifle.

She can feel the Watcher’s impotence, both irritating and unsurprising. These may be useful spirits, yet the weakest ones at her command. It is left to its own devices at the moment; the potential Accident was merely ancillary, and it still has work to do while bonded to her will. All of this is detected just as she leaves her body to go to where the map indicates Lower Washington Park. She had barely formulated the thought and she is arrives at her destination.

Dvořák moves skyward, performing a rapid census of the Park’ aurae. There is a faint pleasure from the Sky Watcher as she moves closer to its domain. The first order of business is filtering out the irrelevant: the dual-natured devil rats and pointless squatters. Pointless? These are suffering H sapiens, yet Dvořák can find neither sympathy nor empathy. How quickly her compassion evaporates in the face of true danger.

Her astral form somehow feels an intoxicating pressure, confined while, unable to breathe in a state that does not breath. This impossible sensation is follows by a familiar hiss, something that makes her long for her true home. Snake’s influence departs as abruptly as it arrived. But the soothing hiss is all she hears, and everything becomes clear. The squatters’ misery is irrelevant. As the cold-blooded should be.

She shakes the visit from her mind and ascends ten meters, searching for vibrant aurae and the fizzling of that Awakened that has become her obsession. Her attention includes the grey presence of absence of a rotocopter. Ambush. Inside job. Avery’s speculation cannot be discarded, Unfortunately, the devil rats have robbed her of a tool. They are all enemies.

Feeling the sedan's tires peel away as it sped across the cracked concrete that passed for pavement in the East Bay, Avery pushed the pace faster as he queried his partner.

"Can you see ahead to the park?  With a spell or something?"

Avery scanned the streets around them, driving as fast and unpredictably as possible, hoping to evade bullets and possibly their pursuers.  Helpful...?  Maybe.

Unless, he thought grimly, They already know our pick-up spot.



OOC: I'll spend that 1 Edge to add a pop up turret with an automatic rifle.  If that works, and when it's his action...

Avery prepares the turret.

If the pursuing vehicle is in range, he returns fire with a stream of bullets.

“-park?  With a spell or something?”

It was easy enough to infer what she’d missed

“I saw only squatters and devil rats,” she replies while slightly lifting her head and rubbing her neck. First soykaf withdrawal, then the stress of weaving magic, and now this neck pain. Oh, and the terror held in check by nothing more than a desperation to present as a consummate professional and a couple decades’ worth of learning the discipline to properly harness what her Awakening had given her.

But she is probably just as nervous as he is about an ambush and the location of the other car as he is, if not more so.

“This has weaponry? Then why did I blind the enemy?” she criticizes, referencing the drone then waives the issue away.

“Break line-of-sight and I can attempt to conceal us. Or accelerate the vehicle if you prefer and-” she lightly places a hand on his shoulder and marginally inclines in his direction. This can occasionally cause an unintentional seductive shiver down the spine as a result of her appearance. If she were aware of its existence then she would be far more judicious in its use. “-you and your-” Machine “-cyberware can handle this,” she offers, intimating she may have rooted around his insides.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Sat 02 Dec 2023.

This message was deleted by the player at 17:09, Sat 02 Dec 2023.

@Sidewinder. At Lower Washington Park, loose trash blows around, dead gray tumbleweed leaving barely any impression on the astral plane. A tarp tears loose from a dilapidated shack, it shows a brief flash of emotional connections as the squatters bemoan the loss, but that the only life beyond the devil rats.

But a hissing sound in the back of your mind leaves you with misgivings all the same. This is a puzzle but some prices are still missing. Too soon to tell what it will become.

@Pacer. oh yes, this thing has guns…

Rock and Roll. 23:31, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 10 using 2d6+1 ((3,6)). strong success

…and a burst of automatic fire from the pop up turret stashed in the trunk makes the Shadowrunners think twice. Stitching the Jackrabbit with holes, they veer off onto a side street, suddenly much less interested in tangling with the BMW.

Leaning back, she takes a moment to analyze her own psyche. Does she care about the collateral damage? Should she care about the collateral damage? This is virgin territory for her, but using logic unpolluted by emotion is second nature. Secrets cay be found anywhere, and pointless death is wasteful. So it’s mere coincidence that her reason lines up with her emotions. Both tell her the squatters’ aurae should be kept from flickering out.

Decelerate that automobile, she instructs the Watcher while looking at the Jackrabbit and forming a mental picture of the car, the spirit’s tether now a single service away from snapping.

While spirit is set to work using its Movement power, her PocSec is set to work scouring for up-to-date hydrologic maps of the San Francisco Bay, flagging any containing salinity data. This is of no immediate concern, but she wants every last datum on hand if it does become relevant.

“Disable the shadowrunners’ vehicle if you can, Mr Wilcox,” she cordially requests with some ice in her lidded eyes.

,,Empfiehl ich, dass wir im Moment der Intuition von Herrn Wilcox folgen.‘‘ The sentence is not translated for Avery, but if he doesn’t speak German he should be able to intuit the advice Dvořák is giving Werner. If he does, he’ll recognize the imperative case, giving this ‘advice’ the hint of a command.*

She turns back to Avery and adds, “I want to speak with as many as possible.”

*My own is spotty, so apologies to anyone who actually knows the language for any errors.

Avery forced himself not to smile as the turret erupted.  He could feel the sound of metal being punctured as the bullets struck, and he fought himself from muttering a quiet Yeah! as the Jackrabbit veered off their trail.

There was still too much shit waiting to happen, he knew.  Bad shit.

The touch of his partner's hand on his shoulder barely registered as he continued to focus on the sedan's sensors, navigating the worst, most cracked and divot-ridden parts of the pavement, which was all of it.

He wanted to shake his shoulder, shrug off her hand, but he held still, wondering if he looked that nervous that he needed reassuring.  Or was the doctor reassuring herself?

Check the Situation. He scanned for additional targets.

Careful, he spoke silently to the car, to the turret, to himself.  Avery had killed a bystander once, returning gunfire, and he wasn't keen on repeating the experience.

He had been about to ask Werner what the plan was when they reached the park, but the mage spoke first—in German, no less—so he kept quiet and hoped she'd get whatever info Werner was going to share.  Probably not much.

Who are meeting with?, he wondered.  Proteus security, presumably--hopefully?

Who's after Werner, and what's their next move?

The why of it didn't matter...  Not right now.  Not until they had survived this.

Approaching the park, you see a rotorcraft coming in low over the water.  Red and grey, Proteus logo on the nose. As the small aircraft lands in the park, blowing debris around in a garbage tornado, Werner is about to leave the car when a shadow dives out of the setting sun.  Another drone, this one much larger than the first comes in from high above.

Smoke and fire streak toward the ground as a barrage of rockets scream out from the drone. Miraculously the rotorcraft seems to have avoided damage and perhaps Werner is left wondering if he should have paid closer attention to his security team instead of letting home office armchair quarterback the operation leading them right into an ambush

@Pacer, Check the Situation. 21:09, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 10 using 2d6+1 full success

Your LZ is hot but you have kept your ride out of the line of fire and your options are still open.

Fight your way to the evac rotorcraft?

Bail on the evac and take your chances on the ground?

Something else?

Wir der Intuition von Herrn Wilcox folgen, rings in her head. “We will follow your intuition, Mr Wilcox,” she partially translates with a partial lie. A gunship cannot be the whole of the danger. She believes her craving for puzzle pieces may be the craving of a fool, but it is nearly impossible to keep in check. Even through the terror. Then there is the perfect excuse. A true one! Still, there is a gentle coiling around her entire body, an intoxicating experience lasting precisely one second. She must be pleased, but there is work to do. And that grip of sinuous scales soothes much of the suppressed panic that had been gripping her just a second ago. Though Dvořák is frustrated at her inability to decipher the significance of the duration. Why one second? There are several possibilities; possibilities she has no time to ponder.

Well, Werner has not contradicted her—yet. Though the transition from an imperative suggestion to complete command might step on some toes. But even subordinate mages seem to possess a special dispensation. So long as she doesn’t abuse this privilege, she is perfectly fine exercising it in a life-or-death situation. But what if she is too effective as a bodyguard? To take her out of the arkoblocks in fringe science departments would be an unspeakable tragedy.

“The drone may destroy the rotorcraft.” The authentic excuse. “I have-” jak se řekne? “-cards up my sleeve. But the Awakened must be near. I must know its nature.” Any magician could interfere with her magic; shamans and mages have each have countermeasures of their own variety. And a simple pair of binoculars can dramatically extend their influence. “I will search for the enemy.” All of her speech has been delivered at breakneck speed.

Search for the Awakened and its companions. Uncover all you can. Share all you can. Then you will be free.

A mental image of everything she had seen through her own binoculars is provided to assist the Watcher, and the make and model of the car is fetched and provided, courtesy of the BMW’s database.

Then Dvořák opens her psyche into astral perception. Those cards up her sleeve will be played, but not until she knows more. It shouldn’t be long, but Avery on his own until she has a better grasp of the situation. It will likely be useful, but that gunship is a fairly imminent problem. But is it the only one? The Jackrabbit pressed them here. Where is the other car? Her comment about the Awakened’s location will hopefully explain her practical thoughts to the driver. And she suspects he shares her greatest fear: The drone may destroy the rotorcraft.

Check the Situation

As soon as the shadow of the drone appeared, a pit grew in Avery's stomach.

Within a split-second, two options fought for Avery's attention, presenting simultaneously in a flash of images and impulses.

The first was to Gun it!  The destination—rotorcraft or elsewhere—didn't matter.  Just don't stay still!

But they were too close to the rotorcraft to accelerate now—if Option A was going to be viable.

Option A.  Stick to the plan.  Suppressing fire.  Guard the client with your body.

Option B.  Get the Hell out of here.  Where doesn't matter.

There was nothing to feel good about—being right about the ambush.  Besides, it didn't matter.  That drone would have tracked us down on the highway, anyways...

Escape routes presented themselves, but something about the drone made them seem less than feasible.  Option A it is.

Make It Rain

Avery unleashed the sedan's turrets against the drone as the sedan sped toward the rotorcraft's projected landing point.  With suppressing fire from the turret and Avery guarding Werner with his firearm and body while he transferred him to the craft...they just might make it.  That, and anything the elf could unleash on their pursuers.

He shouted back to Werner between bursts from the turret.  "We're coming in hot! Stay in back until I clear a path to the rotorcraft." He glanced at Werner in the rearview mirror.  "But if we don't take care of that drone, the rotorcraft isn't going to be viable, and we're going to need a Plan B."

Turning to his partner, he tried to sound in control.  "Any tricks up your sleeve?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:44, Wed 13 Dec 2023.

She directs her gaze toward to the driver, pausing the dual-natured scan of the area. The Machine has dulled his aura, but the even this glance is enough to hint at emotions he is doing an admirable job at hiding.

“Many,” she replies with an enigmatic half-smile before returning to her tasks. “Yet the drone may not be alone.”

She would grant a little assistance if the Watcher was not trapping her in the Sky. But a better understanding of the situation may open up her sorcery or reveal the truly frightening trick up her sleeve.

Edit: Continue to focus on Watcher and immediate surroundings.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:09, Thu 14 Dec 2023.

@Sidewinder: The Watcher flies off to search, fast as a whisper on the wind...

Check the Situation (aided by watcher) 00:05, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 9 using 2d6+3 ((4,2)). weak success

SHE was pleased... there was a secret to be learned at the end of all of this... you could feel in in your/her sinewy bones...

The little Watcher soon returns with a message, ...the spell weaver comes... moving as I do, not tethered to your world...

The mage is coming, in astral form.
The Watcher has one more service to deliver

---

@Pacer: The BMW lurches forward, gasoline surging through your veins into the heart of the engine. The turret barks in little bursts tracking the drone...

Make it Rain Suppressive Fire 00:17, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 7 using 2d6+1 ((4,2)).weak success

...and you unleash a hellish rain of bullets that forces the drone to take evasive action or suffer the wrath of your fire. It pulls up into a high arch to escape, putting it out of combat for the next turn...

...but your turret goes click-click-click... you are out of ammo.

Score one more for the good guys. You have a round to do whatever you want without enemy action.. like maybe "Get to the chopper!"

Avery's jaw clenched, teeth grinding as the sedan sped towards their exfil craft.

He tried not to let himself feel pleased with their pursuer's temporary retreat.  He knew the drone—or something else—was going to show up any second now.
 
There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do—except get to the chopper.

Avery drove as fast as possible, one eye on the road, the other on the sky.  Expecting more trouble, he reached into the console to retrieve his SMG.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:01, Tue 19 Dec 2023.

Dvořák immediately steps out of the astral plane at the Watcher’s news, the Sight reverting to nothing more than sight as a glint of hunger flashes in her amber eyes. The wind spirit has been worth its weight in mana. Now that there is confirmation of a magician in the area, she speculates that the other car had initially turned away due to her own presence on the astral plane at the time. But speculation is not knowledge. Knowledge now of dubious value.

Leave until I call again, she commands the Watcher, adding a vague impression of pleasure as a small reward for its performance. Especially given its most recent tidings. She desperately wants to send it on a final task, but exercises the restraint to feign its freedom.

She can practically feel venom dripping from her canines. Serpents tend to wait for prey to come within striking distance of its own accord. The magician would surely notice any working of magic, but it would only be logical to observe. It’s certainly what she would do. Foolishly, in this case. Any time taken to apprise Avery of the development would be time she cannot afford to waste. And she’s too eager for the thought to even enter her mind. Yet he might overhear another bout of mumbling, shorter and with stronger sibilants than before, ending with an odd sinuous pattern traced in the air ending with an extended, “-xssssssssssss.”

The drawing of mana typically accompanied by a nebulous sensation of loss, but this time is different. It is oddly comforting, and performed to the absolute limit of her concentration. But she resists to the temptation to drain herself dry. As alluring as it may be to ignore mundane threats, she cannot uncover any secrets if dead.

End astral perception
Sky Watcher sent on stand-by
Summon Natrixs: 3 Essence, 1 Edge

Edit: Damn, burning through Edge, but there can be a certain amount of Essence a mage simply can’t afford to waste.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:25, Tue 19 Dec 2023.

The BMW screams across the park dodging debris...

Pacer - Look Ma No Hands (boosted): 00:26, Today: GM, on behalf of Belit Ilani, rolled 5 using 2d6+1 ((3,1)). weak success

...and with the drone unable to target your car, you make it unscathed, but have to slow to avoid the squatters and other obstacles.

---

The words flow from your lips, calling upon your greatest magical ally...

Sidewinder - Conjure (edge boost): 01:06, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 7 using 2d6+1 ((1,5)). weak success

...the snake's rattle fills your mind, she is a prickly being at the best of time and has arrived perturbed but ready to answer your needs. Two services available.

---

The drone circles back around for another pass and the astral form of the mage appears at the edge of the buildings...

You are close enough to board the rotorcraft next turn but leaving the threats unopposed means they will be able to act.

Engaging the threats will keep them at bay, protecting Werner and the aircraft, but it will take two turns to get abroad.

The moment she feels the new spirit’s presence, Dvořák forms a mental picture of fangs skewering the astrally projecting mage as coils embrace the H sapiens separated from its body. This is not a manifestation of a natural force, but something different. And extraordinarily rare.

Bring it for interrogation. If it begins to slip free . . . its fate is yours to judge, she affectionally communicates, trying to placate the snake spirit’s foul mood while knowing full well what Natrixs’s judgement is liable to entail. She tries to keep notions of ingestion and any other brand of murder out of her mind. Particularly since there’s a clock if it can be captured: unless it can be trapped within an astral barrier, when dawn approaches so would its ability slip free.

Come, spirit of the winds, she continues, her psyche moving from her most intelligent spirit to her least. Search for the spell weaver’s body and nearby aurae then report. Dvořák sees no reason to clarify that the account will free the Watcher. Simply redundant. And, as useful as it has been, it bonds her to the Sky just as it is bonded to her will. So, just as she has summoned her most powerful spirit, she will twine her most powerful spell. She attempts to spider the astral vicinity with barely perceptible thread which flicker and glitch.

Cast Chaotic World

Edit: I’m not sure whether this will matter, but ally spirits get an extra service. So subtracting one would result in three services, not two.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:18, Wed 20 Dec 2023.

@Sidewinder. Yep, my bad. Three services. Should ingesting the astral projection of a magician counts as two or should that be free?

OOC: Maybe free if envenomated or a strong success in exchange for standard spirit rules otherwise? A balancing act of time and services, which can make a huge difference in combat. Though the former would obviously require astral venom as well.

OOC: After all, snakes do require some time to get prey down. Perhaps she could even steal a random Move from the meal?

As always, this is at your discretion.

PS Not as badass as Komodo dragons. They sometimes slam prey down their against a tree so hard enough to knock the thing down!

I’ve seen an osprey do the same thing. Smashing a mouse into a branch, I’m guessing to tenderize it and break up the little guys bones.

Swerving through the detritus–human or otherwise–strewn across the streets, the rare obscene outburst escaped Avery's lips, bringing life to thoughts he would have rather kept silent.

"Damnit!  Fuck these bums!"

Avery cleared his throat, irritated at himself for losing control.  The sedan sped toward the pickup spot.

"We're not out of the woods yet," he said, clearing his throat, trying to sound calm.  "If we don't take care of that drone, we're not going anywhere."

Avery glanced at his partner, thinking, I gotta warn you.  I'm a terrible shot, hoping *this* weakness, at least, stayed silent, or between them two, if it had indeed escaped his lips.

Speaking louder, to Werner, Avery advised his boss.  "Stay in the car until we clear a path.  I'll get you when it's safe."

Avery drives as close to the pick-up craft as is safe, readying his weapon to engage any targets and protect his charge—no matter the cost—still chastising himself for losing control of his emotions...
This message was last edited by the player at 04:15, Sat 23 Dec 2023.

“The mundane is half,” she lethargically corrects. “The astral is being addressed,” she adds with a slow, ambiguous blink. The fear is not gone, a fear she has done her best to conceal behind bookish speech, but Her presence numbs some of this fear. Not just fear, but most emotion altogether. The telepathic bond between magician and ally spirit is exponentially more intimate and intense than a mere conventional spirit. So she’s feeling a little pissy right now. And craving more than just soykaf.

And her mind could very well she could very well echo Avery’s, I gotta warn you. I’m a terrible shot.

OOC: Free action for a little flavor. Plus, I’m not sure what a good pronominal font for Natrixs. I like your call for the mono all-caps for Snake.

Edit: In reply to Sidewinder (msg # 71):
It occurred to me that this was worded poorly. I was thinking of one service if envenomed—which would cost a service itself—or with a strong success, and two sevices otherwise.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:35, Sun 24 Dec 2023.

The mundane.

,,Hör auf zu reden und hol uns von hier.’’  Werner cries in frustration as the BMW picks its way through the debris of Lower Washington park. But for the fact that your turret had forced the drone away, you would be sitting ducks for its next attack run. But even though it makes a tight banking turn to come back around trying to bring its rockets to bear, you have time to get to the rotorcraft and dismount.

Taking cover behind the door of the sedan, the little German sub machine gun barks as you bring it up, spraying full auto toward the drone…

@Pacer. Suppressing Fire. 20:35, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 13 using 2d6+1 ((6,6)). CRITICAL something good happens.

…precision engineering and a steady hand serve you well. Your spray of bullets force the drone to bank away again, but the rigger in the other end misjudged your fire and steers into the spray of bullets. The hail of fire catches the drone across the dorsal edge and along the port side wing. Sparks fly as the electronics controlling an aileron are severed putting it into a flat spin that brings it to the ground.

Chaotic World seems unnecessary unless you just want to show off.

The sky is clear of mundane threats and you can move Werner safely to the evac aircraft.

The astral.

Suddenly the aetheric planes surrounding Lower Washington Park were crackling with mana and mage light. The two spirits and the astral presence of the opposing mage cast glaring light on the dead greys of the urban landscape.

Natrixs’ hissed her frustration at not being permitted to kill the mage outright. she isss not permitted to sssstrike? your motivesss confusssse …

Ally Spirt - Harm 20:58, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 9 using 2d6+2 ((5,2)). weak success.

… she obeyssss

The sprit slithers off toward the mage and rears up to confront the astral traveller. She strikes, fast as a thought, throwing herself at the mage and wrapping her sinewy form about the ghostly image…

The mage is grappled.

…but you can feel the hold on your spirit slip as the the mage grasps it’s mana and tries to banish it.

Lose one service, services remaining: 2

seek and find…

Watcher Spirit - Search 20:59, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 8 using 2d6+3 ((4,1)). weak success

The little spirits' voice comes to your mind as you feel it spring free of your control. it is here... it reports, and you see its form flitting off in the distance, somewhere across the estuary if you have the geography right, but you can't be certain since the little spirit slipped away.

Chaotic World seems a bit unnecessary now...

The astral is clear of mundane threats and you can move Werner safely to the evac aircraft.

@Sidewinder. Didn’t we settle on  Natrixs as ‘she’ in a PM? I mean the spirit itself is neither male nor female, but, in the construct within which this particular spirit chooses to ally with Sidewinder, she chooses to be she.

Snake, is an egregore, born of human collective consciousness but very very real. The collective belief in the totem gives it a presence that approaches the status of the divine. Snake is most definitely SHE.

Dvořák ponders how to address her Ally as the BMV approaches the VTOL. She tries to find a good idiom. The English, dead men tell no tales, is perfect, but she doesn’t know it. Luckily, there is one in her other mother tongue. (Czech is merely preferred.)

Tote Männer erzählen Keine Geschichten. The implication is unmistakable: death can obliviate secrets unless she finds a way past that barrier. The must be possible, but she’s never heard hair nor hide of such powerful magic. And all astral entities fled at Your presence; homicide may have drawn the enemies back.

She is started to get irritated at Werner. Avery and she are trying to keep him alive and all he does is panic and whine. And ignore Avery’s instincts. She had effortlessly pushed this emotion out of her mind, but Natrixs doesn’t even try.

It was fortuitous the mage escaped. Now all ethical paths lead where she had been desperate to avoid. Yet . . . I . . . I never forbad killing. Still, I should always be consulted first if possible. This is an irrevocable act. Consider all when you are free to use your own judgment. Staying alive is a peak of her own morality.

So the mage is still paranoid. Even without any apparent threats, she wants to be prepared if any pop up. Good way to stay alive outside the lab where she truly belongs. So she hands Chaotic World to Natrixs and slumps again to commune with SNAKE, for a gift of mana to be consumed.

OOC: Not sure if handing a spell to a spirit lets a magician take exclusive actions like, say, commune.

PS And, yeah, since the Proto-Gaelic word is in the feminine, the spirit would be addressed as such. An initial capital seems like a good way to different the feminine Sidewinder from the from the ‘feminine’ Natrixs.

PPS Proto-Gaelic also implies a knowledge of languages predating Sperethiel. Could get Natrixs some fun lines. Or not.

PPPS I have never encountered the word ‘egregore’ before. It’s awesome!
This message was last edited by the player at 16:16, Thu 28 Dec 2023.

In reply to Sidewinder (msg # 77):

The theft of the Watcher was forgiven. So long as other bonded spirits are used appropriately, She is liable to get away with it.

In reply to Sidewinder (msg # 78):

Not stolen, released from servitude, services complete

OOC: By “stolen” I meant Sidewinder didn’t command the Watcher. Natrixs used the service of Her own volition.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:10, Thu 28 Dec 2023.

"We're clear,"Avery said, struggling to control his breaths as conflicting directives fought for his attention.

Reload.

Or guide him to safety.

"Move," he managed to hiss between breaths, guiding Herr Werner with a firm hand between his shoulders, pushing him toward their exfil craft.

"We're getting out of here now."

Avery moves to board the craft with Werner in his grasp.

While maintaining his focus on Werner—keeping his hand behind Werner's back and using his body to shield Werner—Avery does whatever else he can to prepare for the next encounter:  reloading or scanning the scenery ahead, whenever possible.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:04, Sat 30 Dec 2023.

You escape unscathed and with your client intact. Take 1XP each. Start the game in 2060 with an extra 2000¥. PocSecs updated.

This scene explains how you met, but not how you find yourselves working together a year later …

What happened in the past year that put you on Proteus’ naughty list? What forced you into the shadows and got you working together as running partners?

I have an idea for part two of your backstory/flashback but I’m open to fresh ideas (collaborations make for better stories). Send me a PM with your ideas for what happened after the Werner job and I’ll let you know if I like your idea(s) better.

Aftermath. the changes are subtle, but insidious.

It’s all high-fives and talk of combat bonus pay when the rotorcraft’s skids touch down at the Proteus AG headquarters skyraker in San Fran. But, in the coming days, you begin to feel the freeze.

Rumors swirl that Werner suspects it was an inside job. Everyone who touched the Mitsuhama systems integration deal seems to suffer at the hands of the paranoid executive. At least you’re in good company.

@Pacer. you were lined up for a rotorcraft pilot course, got through ground school and through the beginning of flight training, but then without warning, you get a transfer to San Jose.

Effective immediately. Singed, Rafael Werner.

The next four months are spent driving middle management. In a corp uniform, in a branded corp limo, can you fragging believe that? They couldn’t touch your pay though, so there was that.

But the writing was on the wall…

@Sidewinder. before the Almaeda job, you had an application in for a Proteus AG scholarship. Deep sea research, based out of the CAS, working with the Atlantean Foundation. You were more than qualified and with Natrixs’ tutoring you were more than qualified.

It was heartbreaking to get denied. Worse, a transfer to Tir Tairngaire and a research grant for work at the Proteus offshore research station at Sector Bend North. A literal backwater tracing ley line impact on spirits in the Pacific Northwest.

And guess whose signature was on the scholarship refusal? Non other than Rafael Werner.

@All. Pacer sent me this one as a PM. It’s a great bit of RP so I’m giving it the light of day.

@Pacer. Great job. Take 1XP. PocSec updated.

-Your friendly neighborhood Mr J.

After the shit-show that was the Alameda/Orkland gig, Avery laid low for a while, waiting for the phone to ring from Proteus but somehow knowing it wasn't going to.

He thought about contacting Werner to apologize for threatening to change their destination unilaterally.  Well-intentioned or not, subordination was never tolerated well in this line of work, Avery knew that.  Still, he wouldn't have taken any of his actions back, and he figured that was why the phone wasn't ringing.

In his experience, corporate gigs tended to require a particular quality.  Discretion wasn't the problem.  He knew how to keep his mouth shut.  The problem was compliance.  Avery had fought the tendency earlier in his career—in his 20's and early 30's—but lately he found himself going off the rails because he thought he perceived something others did not—a situation had arisen where he knew better than they did.  He knew it was a bad tendency—a by-product of getting older—but he didn't know if he could stop it.  Awareness was Step One, at least.

After days of rest and a week of indecision, Avery reached out to Werner, knowing that his reputation would not repair itself without direct action.

Reaching only a corporate voicemail after navigating a host of executive admins and automated attendants, Avery left a message for (someone he hoped would be) Werner, wishing the man well, and—deciding not to apologize over voicemail—hanging up without expressing his hope of staying in the rotation of active drivers and security agents at Proteus.

In any case, he could only hope his actions that night had earned him consideration.  But he wasn't so sure they would...

Ultimately, a few weeks later, a contact from a prior gig reached out.  An operation the contact was running needed a set of wheels and security.  It was obviously criminal, but potentially low-risk, and Avery's funds had run so low that he couldn't say no.

The gig paid no money up front and required the use of Avery's personal vehicle—plus a codename.  Still, he had no other options—and no real idea what the hell he was getting himself into.

Avery stayed up late that night, running background checks on his contact to the best of his ability, before he settled on the pseudonym he'd use for this job.

Pacer.

@Sidewinder It turned out there were strings attached to the fish spirit job. It was no coincidence that you lost that Atlantean Foundation opportunity, no accident that you ended up in Proteus arkoblock doing apprentice work in a forgotten fringe sciences department.

That’s where they first made contact…


Your new handler makes you an offer that is difficult to refuse. To complete your end,  you need to acquire an artefact from the Proteus AG Biotech Research facility in the old California State University campus in Escondido. Then they want the thing delivered to them in Joshua Tree National Park. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime

That’s a lot of road to cover. You’re gonna need a wheelman…

Part two of your intro story. It has kind of grown a life of its own, but you guys are making play very fun with your great RP and the dynamic between the two.

This one is game on though. Playing for keeps, no freebies (there weren’t in the last scene either, but could have been if things went the opposition’s way).

Sidewinder: give Pacer a ring and line up a meeting with your contact (your first Mr J), welcome to the shadows chummers.

Any questions, hit me up in OOC

Dvořák had immediately realized she would not be able to pull this off on her own. And that she has very few contacts who could or would help, assuming they didn’t decide to turn her in. Even worse, the better she knew someone the greater the risk of them both getting flagged by Proteus.

There was only one name Natrixs and she could agree on. Someone she had only met once with a viable personality, plausible cover, pertinent skills, and is low enough on the corporate food chain to inject a degree of danger into any accusations. And, crucially, possibly able to be motivated to take a risk like this one.

She chose to make this call from her childhood room in Pilsner on an ostensible visit to her parents, a steaming mug of soykaf sitting on the table in front of her and a large carafe in arm’s reach. The region had bordered warring German states until the Marienbad Council had been united under the Czech flag by none other than the great dragon Schwartzkopf. Best of all? Saeder-Krupp is the strongest megacorporate presence in the region. Though a flight out has already been booked.

Heavily alloyed pyramids of orichalcum are attached to each of the room’s eight corners to form a temporary astral ward. (Small ones. Is she made of nuyen?) A pointless precaution, but any magician capable of summoning spirits gets too accustomed to using them to avoid developing a healthy paranoia.

This call will be made under her National SIN, which will not be defunct until she defends her postdoctoral thesis. Of which even the subject matter had to be reworked due to the denial that had taken her by surprise. And how is she supposed to get anything actually interesting at this post?

---

Alea iacta est, passes through her mind as she finally works up the nerve to make that final touch on her PocSec: Wilcox, Avery
This message was last edited by the player at 20:29, Tue 09 Jan.

Avery slouched further into his dingy blue couch, enacting a series of minor revenge dramas against Werner in his mind, nursing a stale beer.

The fucking corner store had sold him months-long-expired ale, and he hadn't bothered to look at the expiration date—who does that with beer?—but it was better just to drink the damn things than to risk his life by taking them back, judging by the size and disposition of those fucking orcs manning the counter.  And the size of the shotgun one of them was constantly fingering.  Looks like a goddamn eight-gauge.

A cup of cold soykaf sat nearly empty on the side-table next to him, and a set of monitors flickered with the night's games—basketball on one screen, hockey on another—but Avery wasn't watching them.  He was too busy hating life.

That's when his pocsec rang.  At first it didn't register.  Then he glanced at the screen.

He couldn't believe who was calling.

The elf?  The mage—or whatever she is?

He straightened up, set down his beer, and cleared his throat before answering.

"This is Avery."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Wed 10 Jan.

Dvořák has had similar thoughts pass through her mind when it comes to Werner, just of a more severe and serpentine variety, but she has two things that Avery doesn’t: something to look forward to and a growing suspicion he may not have been acting entirely of his own volition.

The former might even go so far as, ‘hope for a better life,’ but that is a scoff-worthy phrase in any language she is familiar with. Yet it might just be more accurate if she were willing to admit it to herself.

“Mr Wilcox,” she greets curtly without bothering to actually introduce herself. Though she does sound more relaxed than intended. Something that took her by surprise. Irrelevant, but not part of the meticulous planning that led up to this conversation. “Good . . . evening, is it?” she continues under the presupposition he hasn’t strayed too far from the time zone they had last met.

“How have you fared since our encounter?” she asks with a muted slyness after taking a draught of soykaf. The word ‘fare’ can carry many meanings; a deliberate choice that doesn’t have any meaning itself.

Avery grunted in response, avoiding a direct answer to the query.

"Evening, is it?"  He tried to keep the joke out of his voice, preferring to sound just as he felt: dour, depressed, and slightly disturbed.

"Let's just say that I've been keeping the shades drawn lately.  Anyways...it's, uh, good to hear from you."  It was the truth, for now, though he wasn't sure how long it would be.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

Dvořák tilts her head at the unexpected. ‘Good to hear from you,’ had sounded sincere. That’s the purview of the attraction-addled, the elf fetishist, the scholar of the right persuasion, and the mundane superior set on exploiting a mage’s talents. She’s not the type who makes a lot of friends. Surprised?

But Avery doesn’t fit into any of those categories. Perhaps he is lonely? Or even unhappy with his lot? One can hope.

“I find myself in need of a lift to a meeting,” she answers in the British manner. Asking for a ride is asking for something rather different there. But why wouldn’t Proteus arrange transport? Why can’t she just hire a taxi? Or even just drive herself? Those are the questions. “And a simple chauffeur would go to waste.

“Hm,” she hums after several seconds in the vaguely different Czech and German cadence then pauses for an even longer spell, pretending to ponder something. “Have you, ‘hit that payday yet,’ Mr Wilcox?” she asks quietly as if leaning in conspiratorially, calling back to the beginning of their first conversation. It was that line that put his name on the top of the list.

"Have you hit that payday yet?"

Something about the tone in which the question was delivered made Avery smile despite himself.  He wanted to be angry at the reality.  Hell no, I haven't, and she probably knows that.  But the very fact of the good doctor's call—with a job offer, no less—was the best thing that had happened in a while.

"I'm interested," Avery said, feeling eager but trying to sound as disinterested as possible.  "When and where?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:23, Wed 17 Jan.

“Tomorrow. The ’plex where we met,” she responds, examining the flavor of her mental wariness. Results that come too easily are suspect. But it would be even more suspicious if she had to work for it. Because that would make her more comfortable, and if anyone cares enough to set a trap then they should want her as comfortable as possible.

“I will transmit a more precise time and place when I am ready.” Ready to check for surprises. After all, there’s a reason she isn’t giving him much notice. It also means she’s going to need to move fast after touching down in San Francisco. Her itinerary has practically been scheduled down to the minute.

“I trust this is acceptable?” If so then it’s down with the rest of the soykaf, down with the astral ward, then off to the airport with a lie to her parents about which flight she’ll be taking. She does actually have one booked for Tír Tairngire; the short timetable is for Proteus just as much as it is for Avery.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:54, Thu 18 Jan.

Avery thought for a moment before responding.  The 'plex where we met... I trust this is acceptable?  He had never wondered whether the elf was on the inside part of their inside job, but he wondered now.

As her question lingered in his mind, Avery's response dripped off his tongue.

"That's acceptable."

He was already planning the outlay of his surveillance gear to be deployed at the site ahead of their meeting.

He set down his stale beer.

"Are we talking days or hours?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:28, Mon 22 Jan.

“The former.” The mug of soykaf is drained to the dregs. “Give or take,” she continues without clarifying how long the give or take would actually be. The mug is refilled.

“Arrive with anything you may need for an extended trip.” Soykaf disappears down her gullet once again. “The meeting will be safe, but after . . . I do not anticipate violence, but I do expect preparation.” The carafe is emptied into the mug and a long draught leaves the only soykaf in the room within the lumen of her gastrointestinal tract. “Including an encryptable microtransceiver.”


These are partially intended to give him an idea of which direction they’ll be headed. She does not speak a word of any Amerindian language, but she is fluent in Spanish. The problem is it is a Peninsular dialect.


Not that she’s had much time to peruse either. And it would take some time to get this foreign pronunciation right. Time she cannot afford. And she’s already got that Czech-German accent she can’t shake.

The flight would be the perfect time to study up, but she’s planning on getting as much sleep as she can. Who knows when she’ll get another chance? And it’s not like soykaf will disturb her rest. It goes in the opposite direction for this particular addict.

“Wear your most professional clothing for the briefing.” She stretches her arms over her head and glances over at the materialized snake in the room. “Ah. Yes,” she mutters with the PocSec muted. “Sober.”

Dvořák abruptly ends the call and dismantles the ward, the ally spirit relaxing with the demolition of the astral cage and satisfied with the call.

---

Before entering the airport she hugs both of her parents unusually tight with an unusually affectionate, „miluji tě máma,“ and, „-táta,“ in kind.

---

The address and time are transmitted to Avery’s PocSec. She is waiting in a different building with binoculars and patrolling Watcher in tow. If she is satisfied with the situation, she’ll set the spirit free then slink her way to the car and rap her knuckles against the passenger side window. Assuming Avery doesn’t beat her to it.

The former, she said.

"Good."  Avery picked up his beer.  The bottle was warm.  He swirled it.  "My suit needs drycleaning, and the closest shop just shut down.  Kept getting break-ins."  He took a swig of his beer.  "And don't worry, I've got a pair."  He paused, suppressing a burp.  "Of microtransceivers, I mean.  Encrypted."

Avery felt the pulse of new information flow through his datalink as his PocSec was updated.

"Spanish, huh?  I know a few words, but...  Hopi?  Looks like I've got some work to do..."

He set down the beer, engaged by the prospect of new information.  Time to get learning.  He was just about to verbalize his excitement, then reminded himself, Keep cool.  Slow it down.

"I'll be there," he said, then realized he had been speaking to himself.  She had already disconnected.

Avery scanned his PocSec for the rest of the information.

The site was a nightmare, security-wise.  Sightlines everywhere, too many points of entry.  Still, overwatch would be a requirement, he knew, since the elf had specified days, not hours.  Mentally counting his cameras, including the ones he had currently deployed, Avery realized they wouldn't suffice.

Time to go shopping.

He stood up, stretched his arms, and headed for the shower.

[End of part one of two describing Avery's pre-meeting preparation.  Second part within a day or so.  Also, Mr. Johnson, I'll be hitting you up for spending some ¥ in the other thread.]
This message was last edited by the player at 02:11, Wed 24 Jan.

A pair. Cogs began churning in her mind. That makes three. If Herr Schmidt does not provide a third member to the team—after all, her expanded sorcerous repertoire is no more injurious than before—how might the extra transceiver be used? A signal booster? A dummy ’runner?

The speculation is cut short. Now is not the time and she lacks the expertise to know what is possible or feasible. All she does know is that he had the foresight to already have the gear to set up an encrypted network. A point in his favor.

Avery stood in the shower, thinking.  He reached for his razor to shave—it had been several days—then stopped himself.  He smiled.  All the best ideas seemed to come in the shower.

A surveillance plan had begun to form in Avery's mind, and he needed to look as scruffy as possible for it.  There was a homeless encampment not far from the meet-up site.  He would park around the corner, somewhere out of view, then pass through the encampment on his way to the site.

Just in the case the gig went south.

It wasn't foolproof, but you never wanted to be immediately recognizable as yourself when you scoped a site for a job, in case you were being recorded.  And assume you are, Avery reminded himself.  If things got messy later on, it was best not to lead them straight back to your front door.

A few cameras and his bug scanner would fit in a small backpack.  He'd wear his Saturday clothes, grease-stained from working on the car.  Once onsite, he'd scope out the best locations to deploy his limited resources.

He needed to act fast—tonight.  But first, he would try get his hands on a few more pieces of gear—like a drone, a better bug scanner, or at least a few more cameras, thermal—that could go a long way toward keeping him safe and informed.  But it was getting late.

He knew who to call.  An old friend who worked in the gray market.  Friend might be a stretch, Avery admitted to himself.  So might gray.

Still, it was his best shot for a midnight hook-up.  He could only hope his number hadn't changed.

Avery made the call.

OOC: I'll get a few gear items sorted with Mr. Johnson in the other thread.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:39, Fri 26 Jan.

Earlier

---

Dvořák is sitting in her private quarters with the obligatory soykaf having recently returned to the arkoblock off the coast of what used to be Oregon.

There are two sheets on a long table containing magical formulae, though only one is complete. This is on coyote parchment, a shortcut for the shaman who cannot spare the time for a totem’s tutelage. The other is on a personally woven writing material with a warp of serpent castoffs and weft of fibrocartilage, pressed into a sturdy and essentially flat surface.

While clearly based on the generic formula, the latter has longer lines with elaborate spirals; occasional bifurcations; and, oddly enough, the integration of some Hermetic elements. A fudepen is resting in a ceramic saucer with a nearby filled cartridge, though the writing material is not the only oddity: rattlesnake venom has been mixed into the instrument’s ink.

But the magician is taking a break. It would be simple to just study the purchased formula, but it is a matter of pride to alter it to her own tastes and honor her connection to SNAKE in order to please the ally spirit who randomly peeks over her shoulder. Dvořák’s astral wards do not seem to deter Natrixs. And she is learning the spell by the very act of composing this personalized version.

Right now she is reassembling a freshly cleaned and oiled Ares Predator. After the final component clicks into place she checks the sights. The posts appear to be perfectly aligned, but she will need to test the firearm to feed wholly comfortable with it. A perfectionist through-and-through.

She studies the mundane weapon in her hand for a while. It’s awfully loud in the firing range, not to mention the muzzle flash. Dead giveaways to anyone or anything nearby. And easy to pinpoint if it comes to an actual firefight. Then there’s her mediocre accuracy. There are surely ways to mitigate these obstacles.

After all, she’s had enough of plate tectonics, seismology, oceanography, volcanology, geology, parageology, and ley line cartography for now. And these seem to be complicated by the odd magical phenomena blossoming in Tír Tairngire. And she suspects Mts Hood and Shasta may have some push-and-pull of their own. So the accursed ley lines don’t stay in place. They never move by much, but they do move.

This all sounds very interesting, but it really isn’t to anyone who isn’t into geomancy or pertinent mundane research. But she’s a glorified traffic surveyor of free spirits whose work would be nothing more than a footnote in a few papers. If she’s lucky.

So there’s a reason she’s learning spells that have nothing to do with her postdoctoral studies. And a reason she’s examining the pistol in her hand, wondering how to make it more effective.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:14, Tue 30 Jan.

You guys rocked this! 1XP each. Meeting post on the way.

It's unwise to try and conduct shadowbiz in San Fran itself. Between the corp cops and the imperial marines, keeping a low profile is all but impossible., especially when you're planning to tangle with a AAA megacorp like Proteus AG.

San Bruno is conveniently close to the airport and conveniently close to lawlessness that is suits the needs of Herr Schmidt. A lot of the old residential buildings were lost to the big shaker a few years back; the one that prompted the Japanese peace-keeping force. Urban renewal took a bit to get going with the war against the Elves and the war against the Azatlanders. There are little islands popping up these days, where bulldozers are clearing away broken homes and making way for new residential skyscrapers. Between these islands, there are dangerous waters where gangs and criminals are being pushed to the fringes, but still move about with relative ease.

Herr Schmidt chooses to meet at a large chain hotel in Belle Air Park. Clean, efficient, businesslike. Entirely unsuited to shadowbiz. Perhaps that's a smart play, perhaps it invites trouble.

@Sidewinder. snakes rarely take up such a high perch Natrixs hisses, but no more foul than her usual prickly self. mundane solutions rarely yield definitive results

Check the Situation (aided by Watcher) 22:33, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 14 using 2d6+3 ((5,6)). strong success

Despite your companion's pessimism, your patience has paid off...

You may ask a question and add a useful detail or Hold +1

@Pacer. Once you know the address, you spend some time milling around the place and getting a good sense of the neighborhood. Regrettably, in the past year you've become very accustomed to the subtlety and nuance of the C-zones. Out here the gang that is top of the drek heap is a bunch of cutters calling themselves the Belle Air Kings. Strictly small time, but they keep a firm grip on things on a small patch of crete that runs east of Huntington Ave all the way to the CTTR.

choose: take 1 Prep or use your knowledge of the area to start your Security Tally at -1

I can only smell volatiles and my pallaesthesia is lacking, she rejoins while sipping some soykaf from the lid of a thermos which doubles as a cup. I must use sight, she smirks, and Sight, she quips as her awareness expands into the astral then contracts back to mere mammalian vision. And astral projection is a given whenever it feels called for. Besides, the Watcher is dutifully performing its assigned reconnaissance.

Though she does understand where Natrixs is coming from. It must be difficult for such a potent spirit to fully grasp and/or remember just how limited a metahuman can be.

Once Avery is spotted she briefly continues to observe the area and performs a quick flickering patrol in her astral form. Before picking up sticks, her consciousness enters the indescribable state of communing with a mentor spirit, accepting both boon and flaw. This marks the end of the Sky spirit’s services, loosing it from her control.

(+1 to conjure Seducer spirits, Destroyer spirits summoned lose 1 spirit point.)

The thermos is stowed and she ensures her suit has not been contaminated by any grime. Once satisfied her appearance is up to par she skulks her way to Avery.

OOC: Gonna go with the boring Hold +1

The splash of yellow graffiti caught Avery's—Pacer's—attention.

Gang signs.  Kings.

Pacer's grip tightened on his bag.

This is no good.

He walked toward an overhang and felt for the shadows.  He needed to think.  The presence of the Kings was a complication he should have expected.  Still, his heart was beating...

Slow it down, he reminded himself.  Slow it down.

Pacer pulled himself further into the shadows, readying his drone for deployment as silently as possible, surveying the site around him as he prepared his next steps.

Take 1 Prep
This message was last edited by the player at 08:13, Fri 02 Feb.

Dvořák does her best to sneak up on her partner while his attention is directed elsewhere.

“Saludos, Sr Wilcox,” she greets with a voice somehow containing a drowsy apathy with an undertone of soothing amity. And, despite the risk they will be taking, she also seems more relaxed than before. They may lack Proteus backup, but there is more freedom of action than a megacorp would permit. Especially for a mage. And no director to impress. If she didn’t have her suspicions, she would believe impressing a director could bizarrely manage to be irrelevant.

She leans her arms against the cleanest spot on the overpass’s barrier and clasps her hands.

“Is this why your nervous system is fused with-” the Machine, “-cyberware?” Her head bobs toward the drone, the first time she revealed any of what she had previously assensed in his body. “To control Machines?” The balance of probability is augmenting reaction time. But, despite her substantial ignorance when it comes to cyberware, she does at least know there are other applications.

Pacer recognized the voice immediately.

Damnit—I was too late.

"You made it," he said, with genuine surprise.

It was only then he realized: he hadn't actually trusted this Dr. Dvořák to even show up to the gig.  It wouldn't be the first time someone farmed out their grunt work to street toughs.  In his old life as a low-level driver and corporate security flunky, Avery had to work alongside plenty of meatheads who were eager for a fight.  He had found the elf-doctor's company, in contrast, pleasant, maybe even stimulating—at least free from too much testosterone-fueled bullshit.

He hoped she would show.  But he was surprised she did.

Is this why...I'm fused with...? Her question floated between them.

Does this hippy chick got a problem with machines?  Or is it just one of those magick things?

Cyberware is a job requirement, he thinks. And I need to work to eat.

Then he decided to lie.

"It wasn't by choice.  I was in an accident.  Paralyzed.  I needed the surgical implants in my nervous system to survive."

Then a half truth.

"Truth is, I prefer to drive–and live–like they used to.  The old-fashioned way.  This modern technology is...a double-edged sword.  That said..."

Reaching for his bag of electronic surveillance toys, Pacer flashed a genuine smile.

"You want to try some out?  I was going to use them to spy on you, but you found me first.  And, I just got a brand new drone.  Well, not brand new, but... brand new to me.  What do you say?  Want to patch in and take her for a spin?  If you need a link, I know a street doc in the encampment around the corner who can fix you up in a jiffy."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:21, Sat 03 Feb.

“Naturally,” she states haughtily while tilting her head. Why wouldn’t she come? Perhaps this is a problem he’s run into before?

Though his explanation of the cyberware prompts a simple languid blink. “An odd accident.” She knows very little about cyberware and is no a medical doctor, but she has more than her fair share of knowledge of anatomy and physiology under her belt.

Because why would the Machine spider throughout his body without any other voids extending beneath the brain? His answer is dubious, but she is forced to consider it plausible in the wake of her ignorance. More thorough questioning may be called for, even if it is true, but this is neither the time nor place. But she is curious.

“It would be fascinating to experience a drone’s experience,” she admits with a fleeting morose look at the ground. “Yet cyberware enervates. Only Awakened can know the loss. And fewer can ‘see’ it,” she lectures, with a vanity at the end, implying/confirming/bragging that she is one of those few. Because astral perception is a rare talent among a rare population. “It seems a fair trade in others.

“And we both arrived early.” She nods approvingly while turning the subject toward the relevant. “I ‘spied’ on you for some time. You came alone without die Beschattungen- . . . ehm . . . any shadows.” After tripping up in two foreign languages, she moves on to examining her fingernails.

“Though I was settled nearby. Such convergence is curious, no?” she asks enigmatically, with her eyes turning toward Avery with an expression that is almost seductive. “Though I do hope you have intelligence on these Belle Air Kings.” A half-hearted gesture is directed at the Kings’ tag. Then she changes the topic.

“But  it is fortunate you did not surprise me with a drone.” A smirk dances along her lips. “Swatting such a Machine onto concrete is liable to be even more destructive than an estuary.

“Perhaps I can help with this one.” A finger is pointed at the drone then joins the minute gestures of weaving magic.

Summon Urban Teacher: 2 Essence

"Ask me about corporate security protocols or anything with an engine.  Street gangs?  I was too good in school for that shit.  Seems like when your friends are the ones who beat you up, you picked the wrong friends.  What I do know is how to stay away from them–and how to pull a trigger if I need to.  Let's hope we can stick to the former without too much trouble."

Pacer squinted and jacked into the Microskimmer, feeling the electronic hum pulse through his veins.

"Hopefully birdy here can provide us some intel."

A translucent HUD flashed across Pacer's vision as he directed the drone skyward.

"By the way, what do I call you?  Now that we're...running in the shadows?  Call me Pacer."

Drone Rigger: Check the Situation
This message was last edited by the player at 18:26, Sun 04 Feb.

@Mr Johnson What obvious things would Sidewinder have picked up about the Kings prior to the scene with a Watcher, astral projection, binoculars, and PocSec at hand?

Somewhere up the street a siren wails, probably c-zone cops leaving Belle Air and responding to a call in a more upscale neighborhood. You find each other, instinctively using the overpass to conceal yourselves from any overhead surveillance. It's too early in the game to think that Proteus has a bead on you, but who knows whether or not Herr Schmidt has covered his tracks well enough to avoid a megacorp.

These questions roll through your mind as you consider all the angles. You were born to run these shadows.

@Sidewinder. Observation reveals much to an ambush predator. The Kings are everywhere, in small numbers spread over a small patch of urban decay. Black leather and yellow-gold like the graffiti tagging any accessible patch of bare concrete. Strictly small time, not needing to be very covert, they run shake down protection rackets while peddling drugs or chips. The gangers you spot know the turf and avoid any patches where the Ares Knights or Nobunga Samurai patrol the little islands of development.

You sing a song that calls to the spirits to send you a teacher or a mentor...

Conjure. 23:18, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 9 using 2d6+1 ((3,5)). weak success

The energies of the 'plex coalesce, solidifying in the form of an elderly man wearing a beat up old fedora with a card that reads 'Press' tucked into the band. When the spirit speaks, there is intonation you aren't entirely familiar with, from another era when men spoke more formally to women you suppose.

you looking for information miss manaweaver? this one can lend its service to a lady

Choose: take 1 Stun, pay 1 extra Essence or lose 1 Service

@Pacer. The skimmer sails skyward in near perfect silence, a complicated system of rotors and couter-rotors spinning inside it's frame. The little drone wears the badge of the crop that once hunted you on the streets of this very 'plex, how fragging ironic is that, chummer?

Drone Rigger: Check the Situation 22:58, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 9 using 2d6+2 ((3,4)) weak success ... your drone uses 1 fuel, bring it in, or, if it stays up it will either crash (on a fail) or crash land (on the next complication).

Choose one:

Option one: Herr Schmidt is careful and exacting, he has chosen well for the meeting site. It may be a c-zone, but the hotel has a-zone security, catering to business travelers who come in on or go out on suborbs traveling at ungodly hours. Security means someone is always watching, but playing it cool in the hotel will keep security cool and the Kings off your back if nothing else.

Option two: Herr Schmidt may be hand chosen by his order, but it's clear his talents don't lie in shadowbiz. In this part of the 'plex that hotel chain's name is drek. It may be a c-zone, but the hotel attracts d-zone clientele. Lack of security means freedom from unwanted eyes, but the Kings might prove to be picky about who does biz in their turf.

Either option adds a variable beyond your control, but at least you get to pick the variable.

An alias? she ponders, realizing this should be obvious. The only excuse is Viktorie Dvořák may still be needed for this first step into the shadows. She rapidly flips through her mental catalogue of snake species in the region. There are three deserts poking in from the Pueblo Corporate Council and Aztlan. Why did these come to mind? Js skipping along dunes? Ah! Crotalus cerastes. A petite rattlesnake with an unusual ability.

“Sidewinder,” she answers, feeling particularly clever. “Abbreviate if you wish.”

Pay 1 extra Essence

The Mentor’s form elicits a half-smile. This is also the variety of spirit she has summoned more frequently than any other, to an astronomical extent. Seducers come the most naturally, courtesy of SNAKE, but what scholar wouldn’t capitalize on Mentors to the fullest extent? She may think of herself as a mage, but there is no denying the profound advantage these offer over elementals in academia.

To merely mark and tarry for this moment, my good spirit, she answers, attempting to mirror his archaic manner of speech. Every memory that might be useful during a service flickers through her mind, offering the spirit information.

“If the drone is lacking, I can loose from my body in the astral plane,” she lazily informs Pacer, ignorant of its fuel problem. “And see the ‘colors’ of the living.” She shrugs. “Only the living.

“Though patching its data to my PocSec would be appreciated in any event.” If she knew about its thermographic sensors then she would have begged for this from the beginning.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:58, Tue 06 Feb.

"Dammit," Pacer muttered to himself, trying to keep his voice down.  "Drone's running out of juice.  My guy said it was fully charged..."

Pull her in.

He turned to his partner.  "We may need to do this the old-fashioned way.  Cyber-eyes and shotgun mics."

As Pacer brought his drone back down, he mulled their options.

I vote for Option One.

"I think we'll do better working through the hotel than out here on the streets.  I've got experience dealing with the staff there.  I can blend in.  Only thing is, I need to change first, but my suit's in the car—it's not far.

"We need to split up, anyway.  They see us together in there, and it's game over before it's even started.  Here."

Pacer pulled a small earbud from his pocket and handed it to the doctor.

"Encrypted comms. As long as we're in range—inside the hotel should do—we'll be in touch.  What do you say?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:07, Wed 07 Feb.

Natrixs is offered a private chuckle at the drone’s impotence. Mundane means didn’t gather any intelligence other than a failure of mundane means to gather any intelligence. Sidewinder would prefer it the other way around, but She probably wouldn’t.

Pacer’s earbud barely receives a glance before she taps an elegant serpentine brooch. (Surprise, surprise.)

“Encryptable microtransceiver,” she states, transmitting a single-use encryption key to his PocSec after waking up the normally dormant device. No matter the situation, he is right: comms are useful, and encrypted comms are key. Still, his spare is redundant in her case.

“Now, Viktorie Dvořák is a Czech national at Universitas Carolina,” she says with pride in her voice, using Charles University’s Latin name out of habit. Though ‘UCP’ is less of a mouthful. “My Proteus citizenship is provisional.” Her tone changes, though it is difficult to pin down the emotion. Even she would have difficulty verbalizing it. “So I do not need to use my corporate SIN.

“We can surely concoct business I could have in the hotel.” A hand circles in the air. This would be her plan’s lynchpin. “You are accustomed to being a body man, no? Perhaps you could be mine.” She crosses her arms. “The best lie contains a kernel of truth,” she asserts didactically. And arrogantly, depending on the audience. “And astral security would truly confine me.” The hotel’s security does looks tight. Even astral perception could trigger scrutiny unless she can find chinks in its armor. Or if its Awakened security is sloppy.

“Which approach do you favor, good spirit?” she asks the Mentor newsman aloud, inviting it to Materialize if it wants to.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:44, Wed 07 Feb.

Pacer agreed with some of what Sidewinder said, and disagreed with some of it.

Being seen together could be a risk, depending on who was there at the site, and what the gameplan was.  If stealth and discretion were paramount to the gig, then one good strategy—maybe not the only one—was to stay apart, enter the scene separately, under different cover.

Then again, I'm paranoid, he reminded himself.  But maybe that's why I'm still alive, he countered.

"I have thoughts.  But either way, it sounds like we're decided—we're taking the clean route.  And bodyguard, I can be.  So I need to jog to my car and change.  It won't take a minute.  In the meantime we can test the range of the comms."

Pacer set off at brisk pace walking toward his car a few blocks away.

"The plan is I change in the car and then pick you up," he said, ticking up his pace without jogging.  "We can decide then on entrance—how and where.  I'm not sold on being seen together—yet.  There's an advantage you have when people don't know you're together.  The element of surprise.  But it's not always necessary—if you don't mind going hot early."

Pacer shrugged as he reached his car.  "Me, I tend to run a bit cold.  But I'm...open to ideas.  Hold on, I'm here.  You still with me?"

Pacer changes into his black business suit, pulls his submachine gun from his bag, and drives back to the meeting point to pick up Sidewinder.

Is there anything Pacer can do to charge or refuel the drone while they leave the car?  He won't be taking it into the hotel either way.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:55, Thu 08 Feb.

This message was deleted by the player at 01:59, Thu 08 Feb.

Are you both ready to head into the meet with Schimdt?

Impatient.  The mental sneer requires no elucidation.

You still with me?

“Five by five,” she responds with a delightful piece of radiotelephonic slang picked up from a few pilots.

“And no temperature,” she begins to clarify for Pacer. “A rehearsal.”

Another article and you will be freelance once again. Depart until assigned, my good spirit, she telepathically commands the Mentor.

She takes a moment to focus on SNAKE while awaiting Pacer’s return.

Commune

By the time Pacer has returned, the provided mana has been devoured and any debris has been been thoroughly removed from her clothing.

@Mr Johnson: Ready for the meet
This message was last edited by the player at 08:00, Fri 16 Feb.

On the short drive back to pick up Sidewinder, Pacer reconsidered their options.  Sidewinder's idea—that they enter together, Pacer posing as the Doctor's bodyguard—had drawbacks, but on the plus side it was simple and would allow Pacer to be armed.

"Alright, we'll do it your way," he said when he picked her up.  "I'm your hired gun.   I'll do what I can to keep you safe."  He looked at Sidewinder.  "And remember, when we get inside, you're the boss."

Pacer readied his submachine gun, stowing it in the small duffel bag he would carry inside with him, then plugged the drone into a backup battery—Piece of shit—and knotted his necktie.

"Let's do this."

@Mr. Johnson: Ready.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 00:44, Sat 17 Feb.

when we get inside, you’re the boss

Sidewinder takes a second to decide whether she should be offended at such an obvious statement, settling against it. Better to state the obvious than risk someone overlooking it. Her follow-up is somewhat less self-evident. And certainly more arrogant.

“No satchel,” she instructs while reaching under her coat to produce an Ares Predator and offers it to Pacer, a weapon which had somehow managed to be hidden beneath the form-flattering wardrobe. A silencer is also slipped in the previously concealed holster. “This is a prop. The hotel’s security appears adequate.

“So only what will not disrupt the lines of your suit,” she adds, producing a compact to examine the state of her cosmetics and hair to emphasize the point. The black eyeshadow is refreshed a smidgeon. “More will only attract attention.

“As for this-” she indicates the Predator, “-use your own judgement.” She doesn’t have the faintest clue when it comes to open carry in this situation. He’s the one with bodyguard experience. The difference is he no longer has a megacorp at his back.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:34, Sat 17 Feb.

“Yet there are 7 km to our rehearsal, no?” she says while pointing WSW. A map of San Bruno is transmitted to Pacer’s PocSec containing points, vectors, and timestamps with the respective logos of the Belle Air Kings, Ares Knights, and Nobunaga Samurai. Of course, these are only Watchers’ and her observations. And therefore incomplete.

“Ebb and flow of the past two hours.” She leaves it at that while ensuing her hair is precisely how she prefers it. Two hours can be a very long time, which is why this was the cutoff, but it could give him general idea of the present spheres of influence and choose his route accordingly. Or not. This is a basic skill that she’s never had to learn.

Notably, there is no overlap between the Kings and security. The former appear to know how to get along with the latter: by managing to simply avoid them.

Edit: @Mr Johnson: Still ready, just some extra flavor for Pacer to use or not in the interim
This message was last edited by the player at 20:41, Sat 17 Feb.

"Fine."

Pacer didn't like guns too much, anyway.  He preferred to talk his way rather than shoot his way of out of bad situations, if at all possible.  Or drive like hell away from them.

But if this plan of yours backfires and we get outgunned, don't expect too much sympathy from me, he thought.

Instead, he said, "First sign it looks like this," he accepted the Predator with a tug, "Isn't going to cut it...Get some magic ready to cover our retreat to the sedan so I can re-up."

He glanced at the doctor and tried not to glare.  "That cool with you?  What are we doing here, anyways?  What are we after?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:58, Sun 18 Feb.

“To every thing there is a season,” she opines softly while leaning back. “And a time to every purpose.” There are somehow drearily religious Hermetics out there, and she absorbed some of their obsolete texts as a result. As if the Awakening hadn’t thrown the concept itself under the bus. At least it armed her with some quips to toss out.

“That will not cover it,” she agrees with a nod toward the pistol with eternally lidded eyes. “Nothing will cover it,” she avers through a smile. They would be hopelessly out-gunned and out-magicked; why bother considering how to deal with the hopeless? The Mentor spirit somewhere in astral space would be just as effective as the potent Natrixs.

“Such tools will be useful later. After our meeting with Herr Schmidt.” Her head tilts toward Pacer. “A ‘Mr Johnson’ over here.

“As to our task . . . I am interested as to what our client has to say.” The non-answer is a not-so-subtle implication that she might already know something. Yet her amber eyes do not suggest any intent to share if she does. But mages do often like to play coy, though there are some subjects that render them particularly tight-lipped.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:37, Mon 19 Feb.

The mundane.

Herr Schmidt has been careful. He has chosen well for the meeting site.

Gang signs fade as you get closer to the hotel entrance, institutional muted grey paint over a faded yellow crown tag on the thick metal post that holds up the hotel's roadside sign. The last indication that the Kings rule these streets, or arguably the first, depending on which direction you consider home territory; the anarchy of the streets or the security of the hotel.

You used to know which was home. Now, plotting to rob a megacorp where you once found shelter, you're not so sure.

It may be a c-zone, but the hotel has a-zone security, catering to business travelers who come in on or go out on suborbs traveling at ungodly hours. Security is especially tight around the small casino that you find just off to the right of the lobby bar.

Smart play Herr Schmidt. Security means someone is always watching, and money moving in a casino means extra security. Your presence doesn't stir up any suspicion and in this part of the 'plex, a man with a concealed Predator isn't all that noteworthy.

The magical.

People pay big money to protect bigger money. Awakened security is rudimentary but not sloppy. A woman in a sort of crop top and harem pants ensemble that conjures images of Arabian Nights stalks the casino with a small tabby cat lazily meandering in tow. A flick of perception reveals much, the wand at the woman's hip crackles with power and the small tabby reveal a toothy grin from a wide face three times the size of the domestic cat it appears to be.

This little casino must do well enough if they can entice a shaman and her talis cat (peer+) to provide magical security. Either that, or the streets outside are dangerous enough that the hotel keeps her on staff to keep the place free from whatever the Kings' finger wigglers might toss their way.

Lady Cat keeps a Watcher about. She gives Sidewinder a look of studied disinterest.

Herr Schmidt waits at the bar, wearing a nondescript suit that serves as efficient urban camouflage. Slightly overweight and balding, he looks at something on his PocSec while sipping from a brown glass bottle marked with a bright red ship's anchor. Not surprising that the Bavarian mage would choose a beer.

You are thus far unnoticed, or at least your contact gives the appearance that you are unnoticed. One can never be too certain in these kinds of shadow-games.

Mechanics.

@Sidewinder: Commune. 21:14, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 6 using 1d6 ((6)).

Sidewinder: Essence 6 / Edge 4 / Hold +1 / Seducer Spirit +1 / Destroyer Spirit lose 1 spirit point
  Urban Teacher Spirit: Services 2
Pacer: Edge 4 / Prep 1
  Ares Predator: silent / Ammo 3
  Mitsuhama Microskimmer: recharging

“See the tabby?” she says just above a whisper, discreetly drawing Pacer’s attention toward the parafeline as Sidewinder slowly makes her way toward Herr Schmidt. “Felis mutabilis. Talis cat. Could rip out your throat before you even notice it grow.” This is an exaggeration, but not a large one if the texts are accurate.

Almost as fast as a serpent’s strike.

Parazoology was among the top of her prospective specialties before her exposure to the Unified Magical Theory. Ley lines weren’t even on the list.

“And with its shaman, we could cover nothing,” she continues, doubling down on the assertion that the pair is fairly impotent at the moment. Still, a mana-fed Natrixs would be a comfort. But She would set off alarm bells. Like a security blanket on fire.

„Servus, Herr,“ she greets Herr Schmidt upon arriving at the bar, pitching her voice as if speaking to a minor superior. She weighs how bold a tack to take, and elects to lean an arm against the bartop.

“May we join you?”

Pacer may have been given a mumbled explanation of the talis cat, but has not received so much as a glance. As if he is expected to execute his duties without instruction or intrusion. Still, she has been using reflective surfaces and pointed ears to try to observe him. The is only an act. He is a peer to his ‘ward,’ not a servant.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:16, Tue 20 Feb.

Pacer was being rushed, but he knew how to slow things down.  He wouldn't go in there unprepared.

Before they exited the sedan, Pacer did three things.  He checked the Predator for a smartlink—dammit, of course not—but at least its silenced.  Next, he stowed his directional mic in his suit pocket.  Finally, he tested their micro-transceivers one more time.

Knowing they weren't going in completely unprepared helped somewhat, but Pacer could feel his pulse beating faster, so he concentrated on breathing slowly.  Adrenaline was starting to hit.  I hate this part.

As they entered the hotel, by the sight of it—ultralux for these parts, with some mystical shit thrown in for fun—Pacer was starting to feel that Sidewinder was keeping him more in the dark than was healthy for a man's survival prospects.  There was nothing he could do about that now, but he was starting to get pissed.

Knock it off, he reminded himself.  Stay cool or die.

The sight of the woman and her cat caught him off-guard.

Alright.  Pacer kept his thoughts silent, fighting to keep his expression as blank as possible.  So now we have magic cats.

He avoided looking at the animal—and the human it was following—though he couldn't help but notice, the genie-lady looked kind of hot.

He regretted being in the dark, under-prepared, missing his wheels, firepower, and most of his new toys.

Still, he admitted, taking note of the A-level security and professional environs.  Sidewinder had the right idea.  Keeping the lowest profile possible here is mandatory.

To that end, Pacer reminded himself to stay as silent as possible.  To treat Schmidt like a total stranger—or better, a ghost.  If the situation permitted, Pacer resolved, he would pretend like he couldn't even see the man, sitting there drinking his...what kind of beer was that, anyway?

Pacer blinked through a flood of emotions.  Being forced to rely solely on the "proper" behavior—and speech, or lack thereof—was a skill Pacer had practiced on the job as a driver, personal assistant, and bodyguard for two decades now.

In short, he knew when to shut the fuck up.  And now was the time.

Pacer kept one eye on Schmidt.  Fingering the mic in his pocket, Pacer flicked it on, attempting to discern the distant sounds of the room through his datalink, starting with the cat-lady.

Check the Situation.  With his eyes, Pacer is looking for anything out of the ordinary with Schmidt or the nearest people.  With his ears, Pacer is pointing directional mic in his suit pocket toward the Genie/Cat Lady (to the extent possible).
This message was last edited by the player at 03:35, Wed 21 Feb.

@Mr Johnson: I have her rudimentary knowledge of talis cats as parafauna for expedience’s sake. Though there is certainly Awakened life she would need a Citation Needed for.

Edit: She would have also tried to sex the kitty. An academic reflex, with a foolproof methodology to discriminate between a tom and a queen. (Gibs too, but I doubt there was any neutering.)
This message was last edited by the player at 16:01, Fri 23 Feb.

The mundane.

At a glance, Lady Cat looks every part a pro. The harem girl chic says she is confident and the tame talis cat says she is capable, both signs that is would be bad to cross the svelte little minx.  There is no telling exactly what she is capable of unless you press the issue, and that doesn't seem like it would be good for biz.

„Ahhh, Hallo guten Tag,“ the portly mage says amicably. "Yes, please join me. I think there is a free booth in the corner," he says gesturing to an empty space tucked away from prying eyes.

@Pacer. Check the situation. 20:00, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 10 using 2d6+1 ((6,3)). strong success … Ask three questions or add a single useful detail

The magical.

There is no doubt, this fella is a proud and intact Tom. His astral form is bigger than a lynx but smaller than a leopard. About 30kg or 70lbs of magically active, rippling animal muscle. He follows the shaman with the aloofness only a feline can properly convey, but you are confident that this cat is firmly bonded to the shaman.

@Sidewinder. Just go ahead and try to spay or neuter a talis cat. See how that works out for you...

this one watches the spell weaver and it's pet Natrixs says with a hiss into Sidewinder's mind. from a distance... best not to come too close

this one stays away miss manaweaver... comes the other voice in your mind, the teacher spirit naturally a bit skittish around the other magician. you go to a place that this one does not wish to follow... but this one is dutifully waiting for your return

Schmidt leads the way to the booth and leaves space for each of you to find a seat. He is polite but businesslike in the way you would expect of the emissary for a magical society headed by a Great Dragon.

>>>>>from Shadowlands: Allianz Deutscher Länder

*translated in 0.0001 seconds by Polyglot^(tm) a proud Shiawase affiliated product*

As far as secret societies go, Benandanti XXV isn’t the type to hide behind shrouds and skulk around the fringes. Frag, they maintain a world-renowned magical library at one of Europe’s premiere universities.

They are mostly harmless, holding moonlight rituals and pushing magical theory into practice. Seekers of knowledge, not power.

Naturally Schwartzkopf’s methods vary from legitimate and perfectly legal to shady and nefarious. Such is the way of things in the Sixth World. It’s actually quite surprising that the Dragon plays by the rules at all, hells look at Hualpa…

The point is that no one with ambition keeps their hands, or claws, completely clean.
-posted by Jutlander <<<<<

As you will, good spirit, she telepathically communicates to the Mentor. These spirits manifest wisdom itself. Only a fool would disregard their judgement. Yet it did not offer an explanation. Is there something about Hr Schmidt that would scare it off?

Yet Natrixs receives a simple psychic imprint of respect and gratitude. There is nothing more to convey. The fact that such a proud and potent spirit would prefer to do nothing but observe with slit pupils on the cat speaks volumes. F mutabilis is categorized as a high-threat paranimal, but there’s always a difference between a library and field work.

And right now she is glad to have pursued magical theory. The notion of specializing in parazoology feels incredibly naïve at the moment.

“Soykafetière,” she curtly orders soykaf from the bartender with the tragic portmanteau with cafetière, what was once the preferred term in Britain for a coffee press. But there isn’t much bona fide café to be found nowadays, hence the neologism. And academia is hardly the place to find such expensive aliment.

Three fingers are held up as she languidly turns her eyes to Pacer and Hr Schmidt, silently requesting three cups made available. It doesn’t particularly matter whether the others would indulge, it is merely an act of courtesy as well as a haughtiness toward the staff. A performance of being important enough to warrant a bodyguard with magnanimity and expectation to be waited on hand and foot.

Ruder than normal? Yes. But she had told Pacer the truth when she called this a rehearsal.

However, her aloof demeanor sinks a little when settling down to the appointed booth. Her heart rate increases and she can feel a hint of a blush that she tries to hide behind the wisps of steam rising from the black soykaf. Such emotion is not befitting a Snake mage. Though its root is acceptable.

Sitting in Dragonspeech lectures by the Sixth World’s première expert on magic, and nothing less than a great dragon, were truly cherished experiences. Now she is being contracted by Schwartzkopf’s personal magical order? This has not been the preferred route to associate with Benandanti XXV, but that doesn’t stop the creeping fangirling. But she also nurtures a suspicion that this path is no coincidence.

Not to mention the payment, which only increases her excitement. And while the mundane Pacer may not have the same interests, there is an opportunity that will excite him as well. And it isn’t whatever his payment will be. Probably nuyen.

The thoughts buzzing through her head are left unspoken. She takes draughts from her mug, not intending to be the first to speak.

@Mr Johnson: So she brought the scalpel and lidocaine for nothing???

Edit: Oh, and she would have taken a peek at Hr Schmidt like she did with the shaman, cat, and Watcher. Seems like nothing would have stuck out other than ‘mage.’
This message was last edited by the player at 18:57, Thu 29 Feb.

Pacer sat silently next to his "employer," he thought with sarcasm—though she's starting to act like one—and did his best to execute the plan.

Ignore Schmidt at all costs.

He held his head still, but his eyes wandered behind his sunglasses.

Already he was expecting a curveball from the good doctor.  Who knew when it would come, but he knew it would.  In the meantime, it was best to keep as still and silent as possible, senses pricked.

Tell me one useful detail.

“You are relieved from duty,” she quietly assures Pacer after a simpering quaff of soykaf. “This business includes us both, nicht wahr?” The terminal rhetorical German question aimed at Hr Schmidt is designed to redirect Pacer’s attention to where she believes it belongs.

If he thinks this is a private enough area to discuss what will surely be illegal, then this is surely private enough to suspend the performance. Well, a partial performance. She is the more significant of the pair. Obviously.

Though she sees no reason to mention Natrixs’s overwatch. At least for now.

A useful detail: Schmidt is out of his depth. He is doing a fair job of keeping his cool, but he is not a shadowplayer. He's a formally educated magus, so book smart obviously and by extension, is clever enough to have figured out that using this spot for the meeting was a good call, but he is an amateur...

..of course, so are you.

Schmidt's timid demeanor sent Pacer's mind into overdrive.  Somehow the threat of the Bel Aire Kings could be useful if Schmidt misbehaved...

"Huh." Pacer cleared his throat in a kind of nonverbal half-cough half-laugh, trying to signal to his partner, This fucker is more afraid here than we are.  Squeeze him.

It wouldn't do for the driver to speak first.  He waited for the doctor.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:31, Wed 06 Mar.

”This is an Amulet of Ethereal Shores,” Schmidt begins, flashing a photo across the screen of his PocSec.

Tell it to them straight…

”As best we can tell, seven were made during the Fourth World.” he says, flipping through a series of pictures. ”They appear in different cultures throughout antiquity. Egyptian, Babylonian, Persian, Carthaginian, Greek, Byzantine and this one, Roman.” he continues, showing each picture in turn. Each amulet crafted from orichalcum, twelve-sided and marked with symbols of power appropriate to the time and place they were crafted.

”Proteus AG holds the Roman amulet.” he said, stopping on the photo of the golden polygon bearing the image of a woman with a hissing snake coiled around her arm. ”Salus, not immediately apparent as an appropriate image, but when one considers her role as a protective force and as a healer her presence on an amulet like this seems more fitting. The Romans of course believed that personal relationships with the departed were natural, so considering the contemporary beliefs surrounding worship of the deity, the presence of Salus on an amulet like this at the early dawn of the Fifth World is not at all surprising.” he said, with the tone of a tenured university professor, which of course he probably was.

”The amulets are shadows of the Fourth World. Under the right conditions they could tap into the old magic, even as the Fifth World snuffed out the light of mana for a time. The amulets are quite valued from a historical perspective and for the relative novelty of the old ways being reflected in the same manner through different cultures,” he continues with his ponderous lecture, eventually getting to the point. ”This one is different now though, a millennium is a long time. Since it was crafted, the magic has returned and this amulet has touched the San Andreas Ley Line. It has Awakened.” he added dramatically.

”The magic of the Fourth World was different, primal, pervasive in a way that is not possible with the technological innovations of the Sixth.” he continued. ”Herr Schwartzkopf is … interested … in how the old magic might react in the new world. His generosity and openness to a deal with Proteus AG has been rebuffed, or so I am told. So we find ourselves in need of a less direct approach to securing the amulet for the Order.”

The image is taken in and analyzed, but this doesn’t last long.

“Fourth World”

She does her best to avoid hurling out the soykaf in her mouth and fails. At least it all made it into the cup. And none of it out of her nose. The lack of professionalism is profoundly embarrassing, but how else is she supposed to react?

“Fourth World”

Her eyes remain fixed on the Hr Schmidt’s PocSec.

Salus, she ponders, something more productive to think on. Salus, Salus, Salus.

She had greeted Pacer with saludos. Odds are there is a straight line through the Romance language to Roman itself, though the meaning must have morphed somewhat along the way. Irrelevant. Probably. Which declension should that be, now? Irrelevant. Definitely.

A deity with a snake should immediately come to mind, but her thoughts drift toward the Greek Hygieia as the daughter of the far more famous Asclepius and his even more famous rod. Serpents associated with all of them.

The depictions of the goddesses are extraordinarily similar. But it would be perilous to equate the two religions. She’s not exactly a fan of interpretatio graeca. And the qualities ascribed to either goddess do not fit the SNAKE she knows, but every Roman deity big and small did require a specific sacrifice proportional to its designated power.

Of course, the Fifth World would lack the background mana required to interact with a spirit, but there could still be some type of lingering cultural memory.

Citation Needed: Does Salus mean anything to you? she asks Natrixs while racking her own memories.

Then she moves on, ensuring not a drop of soykaf remains on her person. The ley line is the key to its Awakening. Focus on the proximate.

Her suspicion moves up a notch. She has been studying ley lines off of Tír Tairngire—much to her chagrin—and now there is a job directly related to a ley line. All lying along fault lines, and therefore assuredly naturally-occurring ones.

The west of the Tír is more complicated with its Juan de Fuca Plate; the San Andreas Fault is simply the North American Plate strike-shifting against the Pacific Plate. Though there are other fault lines in the area, something she buffed up on to aid in a cover, but the San Andreas is certainly the big one.

Why is such mind-numbing material so necessary to learn at her level of education?

“Fourth World”

She is lucky her soykaf is not adequately potable, because to hear Schwartzkopf’s name out loud is another shock to the system. While this is not new to her, this conversation must be two-to-three steps away from the attention of great dragon himself.

But the chaos in her mind is unacceptable. So she takes a moment to compose herself, managing to achieve the neutral, controlled mien she typically wears. And forcing her mind into obedience. Hermetics have taught her approaches to centering the mind. SNAKE does not seem to allow her to draw mana from anywhere other than HER, but the techniques can still be useful in other ways.

“What does ‘Awakened’ signify in this case?” she asks. The finer details could prove invaluable in the theft. The fact that it’s what she’s most intrigued by is simply a silver lining. As thick as that line can get. “Its properties,” she clarifies. ”And any potential . . . interactions?” As in, ‘what might happen if a magician touches it?’ Or even, ‘what might happen if a Snake mage touches it?’

“Fourth World”

OOC: Yes, I also buffed up on plate tectonics. But her narrative sounds so much smarter now!

Edit: For anyone who is interested in how polytheism generally worked in the ancient/classical world, this series is a great primer: https://acoup.blog/category/co...ractical-polytheism/
This message was last edited by the player at 22:59, Sat 23 Mar.

It has Awakened.

Pacer's mind snapped back to the present.  Schmidt's history dissertation had bored him to distraction—he'd always been bored by mythology.

Same story told a thousand fucking ways.

Then he caught himself. What the fuck have I got myself into?

His foot had been tapping softly.  He stopped it.

Listen up, he reminded himself.  Your survival might depend on it.

Check the Situation.  As the mages discussed...whatever it is they're discussing, Pacer is subtly looking around, listening, and re-directing the mic in his pocket in an attempt to keep apprised of anything nearby that might impact their security.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:01, Wed 27 Mar.

@Sidewinder.

salus... hisses your ally spirit.

Citation Needed. 13:46, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 8 using 2d6+1 ((4,3)).weak success

this one knows one who knows much... they will have heard that name... a turn of the sun is what it will take to come back with more...

Natrixs can find out something useful, but it will take the spirit a day to bring back the info. Send her off or lose the opportunity?

---

@Pacer.
Check the Situation. 13:47, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 8 using 2d6+1 ((1,6)). weak success

The handy little mic picks up voices beyond the kitchen door. Two men, shooting the drek about the daily grind. There is a sound like a heavy door scraping on the tiles and you briefly catch the sound of a suborb engine. There must be a door back there that opens to the outside.

A possible escape route or the direction of a surprise attack.

Take +1 forward for any action that involves that door as an escape. Any attack that comes from the kitchen cannot get the drop on you.

---

"When the amulet touched the ley line, the old magic returned." Schmidt explained. "Fueled by the mana of the Sixth World, one presumes the amulet has Awakened to it's original purpose. Although we cannot be certain as Proteus AG has denied our researchers access to the talisman. If our assumption is correct, it would allow a magician to speak to the dead. Not the spiritualist chicanery of the 19th and 20th centuries. Real access to the spirits of the departed residing past the near umbra on the distant ethereal planes."

Citation Needed (Natrixs): Salus

Distance is disconcerting, she flatters the spirit. Though it is also true. But go.

This may prove helpful, but she has to admit to herself that part of the request is mere curiosity. She doubts Natrixs would bother a run-of-the-mill mythologist. The source could even reside on the astral plane for all she knows. No matter what, this should be something more esoteric. Something more secretive. How could a Snake mage possible resist?

---

Nekromancie? She is taken aback at the sheer potential of such an artefact in the hands of someone who can properly use it. Or in the claws.

Citation Needed: Divination (Necromancy)

As humiliating as the event of defiling her soykaf may have been, she is still supercilious to the server when remedying the situation. The staff is probably laughing behind her back. But what does she care?

“Do you know of any means to fabricate a sham amulet?” she asks after the waiter departs and resumes indulging in her addiction. This is clearly a question regarding some sort of trick that could delay the discovery that a theft has even occurred.

This would require a method of astral masking. Sounds doable with enough nuyen. As well as crafting a replica given a talented enough sculptor. More nuyen . . . it’s not like academia pays well . . .

But to fashion a convincing Fourth-World astral signature? For any length of time? Far beyond her means. And the subtle gestures needed to weave magic don’t exactly translate into sleight-of-hand. Nor does she know how the fake could even successfully be smuggled in.

So, yeah, there are a lot of needs and ifs for this nascent idea. But if they manage to acquire everything they need and if it all works, they’ll have absconded without danger to life or limb. Job done. But all of those ifs coming together does admittedly feel rather iffy.

“And-” she raps manicured fingernails against the tabletop, “-do you have any details regarding the interior of the facility?” This is partially a demonstration for Pacer. Her handler was kind enough to provide information she hasn’t decided to convey yet. Though there is something begging elucidation, but she hasn’t elected to ask yet. Or whether she will. “I have spent the majority of my time on Proteus AG territory aboard arkoblocks.”
This message was last edited by the player at 16:13, Sat 30 Mar.

@Sidewinder. Necromancy …

Citation Needed. 12:38, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Sidewinder, rolled 6 using 2d6+1 ((1,4)). fail Take 1XP and Advance

… was not an area you studied extensively you can try again with the mentor spirit later if you like.

”Fabricate a sham?” he says, scratching his beard thoughtfully.  ”A physical replica would be a simple matter, easily done. Something that had the right astral appearance, now that would be an interesting practical exercise for my masters class on applied illusion. An intriguing idea indeed.” Tapping a lengthy note into his PocSec there is a long pause, plenty of time to top up those kafs.

”The interior layout of the college building where the amulet is held should not be difficult to discern. I’m certain our initial investigation determined the floor plans and other mundane information.” he replies with far less interest than he had in the idea of creating a false amulet. ”I’m sure it is secured in a vault or some sort of secure and warded lab, but I don’t have any information on that exactly.”

Pacer kept one ear on his mic while Herr Schmidt made his proposition.  Whatever it was, it had better result in a payday.

So far, the threat level seemed low—which meant they were at their most vulnerable.

Between the inner operations and passages carving through the heart of this place (Pacer could feel the core of the building pulse with activity: there were layers inside here that would not be easily penetrated) and the meek, mealy-mouthed man in front of him (Pacer had to keep his mouth from chewing his cheeks in disgust, had to keep his eyes roaming to avoid burning the man with his hateful gaze) did not inspire confidence that a great payday was on the horizon.

But maybe revenge is.

Revenge.  Pacer hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about revenge, generally, in his life.  But in the past few weeks, the topic had bubbled to the surface...more than once.

Pacer looked for a waiter, hoping to wave down a refill of his kaf.  Maybe a cute one.

He let his eye wander toward his partner, waiting for the right pause in the conversation before speaking, and thought about the doctor next to him.  She was the reason he was here.  Money didn't grow on trees, but it was easier to find than a woman who interested him.  And at this point, he didn't know if this one was even interested in men, human or otherwise.  But the elf had a certain... authority to her that was attractive to Pacer.

He snapped back to the present, one ear on his microphone, one ear on Schmidt, trying in vain to decipher the magic-speak while remaining thoroughly unimpressed with the man's lack of attention to security.  Typical.

"...but I don’t have any information on that exactly."

That's when Pacer took his shot.

"Then you'll get some", he said.  "If you want our help."

Pull Strings (Schmidt is one of my contacts).  Pacer wants more information from Schmidt on the less mundane details.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:42, Fri 12 Apr.

Try as she might, she cannot recall anything regarding communing with the dead. Then she realizes why the subject never interested her. How could she know who or what she would truly be interacting with? How could anyone know? Why interrogate the unanswerable?

But, if this artefact does what Hr Schmidt said it does, it’s possible she could catch a glimpse of a truth from that inscrutable abyss!

And his mention of illusion magic starts a gear turning in her mind. The initial proposition doesn’t lie in the realm of her knowledge, but the clash of the ancient with the new . . .

Pacer’s words arrest her train of thought. This is a member of Benandanti XXV. Benandanti XXV! Not only is he deserving of a more respectful tone—she is more than a little starstruck—there are better paths to trace. Magical ones, to be specific. Something that seems so obvious to the Awakened that it hadn’t even occurred to her that anyone else wouldn’t be thinking the exact same thing.

“Or perhaps direct us toward those who can?” she asks with a more diplomatic tone and suppressed wince. Though she is forced to admit that it’s possible Pacer could be asking the right question at the right time. She doesn’t agree, but it’s not like she’s ever planned a heist before.

In either event, perhaps she can help Pacer get what he’s after. It’s not like this is a superfluous detail. How her own illusory talents could be utilized is put on the back burner.

OOC: Dunno if she can help Pacer’s roll in some way, but she can try.

Schmidt isn't a contact ... maybe after the run if things go well, but not quite yet.

The Face move Honeyed Words would get Pacer the same result and is very consistent with the way he is playing this scene right now ... if Pacer took that move on this Advance that is.

Schmidt is out of his depth a little here... so, without Honeyed Words, I'll roll +Presence (glitched) and +1 with Sidewinder lending weight to the press for info.

In reply to Mr. Johnson (msg # 141):

OOC: Got it, thanks for clarifying.  Maybe Manipulate instead?  Although that's probably the same roll as what you're suggesting.  I trust your judgment!
This message was last edited by the player at 23:06, Fri 19 Apr.

Manipulate 23:16, Today: Mr. Johnson, on behalf of Pacer, rolled 6 using 2d6+1 ((4,1)). (+1 aided by Sidewinder) Weak Success

"Ja, vielleicht," he says rubbing his bearded chin, "But I will need assurances that my efforts are not wasted and that We do not risk further exposure. You will take the job?"

“We will,” she answers, brazenly speaking for both burgeoning ’runners, dictatorialism concealing some anxiety. Besides, without Pacer, this is dead in the water. So may as well act as if he agrees. All of his actions do at least point in the proper direction anyway.

„Natürlich,“ she adds after another draught of soykaf, taking full advantage of the meeting’s location. “Jedoch another conspirator could increase the odds of success?”

Sure, adding skills and expertise into the pool would do exactly that, but if things turn ugly the pair could certainly use extra muscle. Subtle magic could be difficult to effectively employ during a firefight.

Pacer exhaled slowly.

Bluff accepted... I think.

A subtle nod of the head should suffice, but he opted for clarity instead.

Keeping his voice low, Pacer spoke.

"I'm in."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Sat 27 Apr.

”Very well, it will be done,” the Dragon’s man replied.  ”It will take some time.  A few days, perhaps a week. I will need to make some calls. It would be best to avoid meeting in person again?” he adds, the last almost a question, betraying perhaps some uncertainty on his part.

”You will want layouts of the known parts of the building? Security measures and protocols if we can manage to get them. Mundane and magical,” he adds, making an itemized list. ”Pardon my ignorance, but what Elise would be of value?”

Sidewinder’s head assumes a slight tilt. Until an approach has been settled on, it is impossible to know what exactly would be needed. But neither does she want to be spoonfed.

“If possible, a referral to a local talismonger who deals in die Esoterik could prove invaluable,” she answers. No matter how the plan pans out, foci and fetishes would luxuries, not essentials.

“One interested in more than conventional currency,” she adds. “Money is only worth what it affords.

“And I may lack appreciable nuyen, yet barter-” a smile-smirk appears on her face, “-is a different matter.” She figures a Benandanti could appreciate this approach. It is also her only one.

It worked.  I think.

Face pointed at Schmidt, Pacer's eyes wandered behind his sunglasses.  He was still concerned about their surroundings.

There's too much magic here to keep straight.

"...best to avoid meeting in person again?"

That really depends, Pacer thought. But he knew he'd pressed his luck already.  Besides, there was no need to warn the man ahead of time. It was better not to meet—unless they needed to.  And we'll be the ones who decide whether and when we do.

After a moment, Pacer cleared his throat softly and nodded, mouthing silently, Yeah.

Pacer planned for their exit.

Check the Situation.

Pacer receives a lethargic glance during a quaff of soykaf. His silence suggests he has nothing more to say to Hr Schmidt. Which isn’t all that surprising. A mundane individual isn’t liable to comprehend the significance of Benandanti XXV or the magnitude of what Fourth World magic Awakening into the Sixth.

Her eyes move back to the client. “And I concur. Remote communication is prudent.” Prudence aside, it is still disappointing to have less face-to-face time with a Benandanti. “I trust your Order has the means to do so securely? Lauscher would compromise the operation.”

As the conversation droned on, Pacer fought to keep himself alert.  Not only was he ignorant of the magical side of things, he preferred to keep it that way.

Driving cars, playing with electronics, and drinking coffee or beer alone in his apartment was all Pacer really cared to do—depending on the time of day.  But somehow, he had to pay the bills, and that's where other people came in.

If he was honest with himself, he preferred the company of himself, or people like himself.  But the world wasn't like that.  And people like himself didn't hire other people.  They were hired.

He couldn't wait to get back home, and maybe read an old book to the soundtrack of vintage rock-n-roll blaring in the background—or dead silence.  Then he caught himself.

Stay sharp, asshole.  You're on the clock.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:26, Today.

"Jawohl, that would be best. I must be back to the college on the next suborb to Europe anyway." Herr Schmidt agreed. "I will follow up as soon as I can with information about the location. A local talismonger is a bit beyond my reach I'm afraid," he adds, which sort of stands to reason since he is hiring you to be his local agents.

"Although local is a relative term I suppose. If it would serve your needs, I could have someone from the logistics side put you in contact with one of the College's suppliers," he offers helpfully, "Deutsch, you understand? Subject to complications of shipping and such, I suppose, but of high quality and fairly priced I'm sure."

The meet is wrapping up (although you didn't talk payment, let's assume you're being offered 10,000¥ (all in) which is a pretty fair payout for a couple day's work.

You guys played this one pretty cool and it all seems to have worked out well enough. You can walk away from the meet clean and take a couple of days for legwork (Play it safe) or I'll give you a random encounter that will spice things up; if it plays out in your favour there will be a modest payday (Gamble a little).