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