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