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Trinity Universe: Carbon Shadows


Asbjørn

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Bolivar & Ransam

Ransam barks a laugh. "Ha! Here's to the ones that can't talk back. May they always be our solace." He looks around. "Guess we'll need something to finish that toast proper...be bad luck otherwise! Got anything appropriate?"

"Sure." Martelo opens a small cooler by his deck chair and produces two more cans of beer, tossing the one to Ransam.

Bolivar blinks in surprise, then crumples up the note. "Darn. I knew I should have put a bit more time into studying the boat."

"A lesson learned, I'm sure. Just lose the jacket for now."

"Wow. Looks like I'm in good company."
"Damn straight. Course, I could be here to kill ya, so try not to assume too much, kid."

The Hammer grins and throws the second beer can to Bolivar before he picks his own back up and raises it to toast.

"Relax, boys. No killings just yet. At least not each other." He looks from one man to the other, gesturing with his beer.

"Ransam. Bolivar. You'll be working together. But first a toast. To the ones who don't talk back." ::cool

With that he toasts his guests, then puts the beer to his mouth and takes a big sip, before sitting back down in his chair and gesturing to the other three seats.

"Sit down. Make yourselves at home."

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Catching the beer with a practiced grab, Ransam has it cracked and to his lips before Martelo finishes his next sentence. Taking a deep draught, he finally pulls it down and sighs happily, tipping his head to Martelo in thanks.

"Relax, boys. No killings just yet. At least not each other." He looks from one man to the other, gesturing with his beer.

"Ransam. Bolivar. You'll be working together. But first a toast. To the ones who don't talk back."

Ransam raises his beer in salute and grins. ::ultracool

"Sit down. Make yourselves at home."

"Don't mind if I do." Grinning, the merc walks past Martelo to another chair, snagging another beer on his way. Finishing his first in three huge gulps, he crumples the can in his fist and lets it drop. Setting the new can on the armrest, he sits down and pulls off his own shirt, exposing a muscular and scarred torso to rival Martelo's. A patchwork of old bulletholes and random scars decorate his chest, sides and arms...doubtless there's a matching pattern on his back. Also like Martelo, tattoos share space with scars: an evil looking warthog glares with reddened eyes at Bolivar from Ransam's left tricep, while a highly stylized pair of tomahawks adorn his upper right pectoral. An eagle clutching what looks like a sheaf of missiles in it's talons resides on Ransam's other tricep, with the words 'Death from Above' scrolled over the eagle's head.

"So what's the job?" , he asks, cracking open the second beer.

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Buck & Romeo

"Dammit.." Romeo sighs as he leans against the column with Buck. "Remind me what we were supposed to be doing here again?"
Goddamn it, I thought you knew - I'm high as a kite, I can't be trusted to remember shit!

During the brief whispered conversation, Ms Ferreira directs her two boys to come around the pillar from a different angle as she herself squares her shoulders and puts her right hand in the pocket of her coat.

"Try to act somewhat sober, and be polite and apologetic and sh!t."
The slick Southerner does the opposite of Romeo's routine, slicking back his hair, making sure his shirt is tucked in, and trying on his most sincere smile.

Just as the men finish their respective styling up and down, Ferreira walks into view between two couples walking by. With a manner to rival a jungle cat's, she sets her eyes on Romeo and smiles. The bluish tint of her glasses makes her green eyes seem darker, but they still have the same intensity as earlier.

"Why, hello there.. Romeo," she purrs as the two men come around the other side, boxing Buck and Romeo in.

"Small world, hmm...? What brings you here this time of night? Who's your friend?"

The Tubarão

Martelo puts his shades back on as he leans back in the deck chair. A wide grin spreads on his face as he answers the american's question.

"Jobs, man. Plural. As long as you both are as good as we think you are, there'll be lots of jobs, ranging from security, investigation and courier jobs to intrusion, hits, espionage and so on. You won't be bored and the pay is good. For now, however, we wait. Got one more colleague of yours coming before we go into the details of the job at hand."

He points a finger to the eagle on Ransam's arm.

"'Death from above.' Airborne, right? Means your experience is primarily with aircrafts and hybrids, not boats?"

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The Tubarão

Martelo puts his shades back on as he leans back in the deck chair. A wide grin spreads on his face as he answers the american's question.

"Jobs, man. Plural. As long as you both are as good as we think you are, there'll be lots of jobs, ranging from security, investigation and courier jobs to intrusion, hits, espionage and so on. You won't be bored and the pay is good. For now, however, we wait. Got one more colleague of yours coming before we go into the details of the job at hand."

He points a finger to the eagle on Ransam's arm.

"'Death from above.' Airborne, right? Means your experience is primarily with aircrafts and hybrids, not boats?"

Ransam takes another swig and nods slightly, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah. Not much use for boats on my old jobs. VARG's mostly." He barks another laugh. "Lame ass tattoo." His teeth flash in a broad smile as he remembers when he got it. "Some joker in our unit picked it outta some old book or magazine or somethin'." The smile dims slightly all of a sudden, and Ransam goes back to drinking his beer. "So this last guy, he need a new watch or what?"

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The Tubarão

"Jobs, man. Plural. As long as you both are as good as we think you are, there'll be lots of jobs, ranging from security, investigation and courier jobs to intrusion, hits, espionage and so on. You won't be bored and the pay is good. For now, however, we wait. Got one more colleague of yours coming before we go into the details of the job at hand."

Bolivar raises his beer for the toast, and sips it calmly. He looks very interested in everything except the hits as he pulls off the jacket and settles back in the chair. "Perhaps security is just giving him a hard time?" He glances over at Ransam. "Or it means we're going to have to pull his weight during the lengthy periods he's not around." Somehow, he seems amused by the idea.
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Mateo

The sound of laughter and wartime classics are in the background as the deep voice of Mateo's old partner answers. He listens in silence while the ex-cop explains, then seems to get up and move away from the crowd.

"I don't want to know what you're dealing with, man, but you gotta tell me one thing before I do anything like that for you. Is this a cover, or are you smuggling biohazardous material? Cause if you are I don't think you can afford this favor..." ::sly

"C'mon man, you know me better than that. Just a stiff that one too many people are interested in, nothing dangerous. Just do this for me and I'll owe ya, cool?"

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The Tubarão

"So this last guy, he need a new watch or what?"

Martelo flashes a broad smile. ::biggrin

"Actually, I..."

"Perhaps security is just giving him a hard time?" He glances over at Ransam. "Or it means we're going to have to pull his weight during the lengthy periods he's not around." Somehow, he seems amused by the idea.

"Well, it's not like you'll be sleeping together anyway," the Hammer points out.

"We can set you up with places to stay, cover your gear, excercise, education, medical needs and all that, but you're not gonna be around each other 24/7 unless on a long term job or in a crisis. That said, I want you to know each other. Strengths, weaknesses, bad habits... Bolivar, I bet your new buddy here can teach you a bit about team effort. Speaking of which..."

Opening a panel in the wall next to his chair, he produces two individually tailored minicomps, exact copies of the ones Bolivar and Ransam carry. He places them on the table between them and explains.

"They're much better shielded and encrypted than the ones you have. Otherwise they're much the same. Should let you keep in touch easy enough. It even tells the time, although I bet your last colleague is just fashionably late. Chicks are like that."

Mateo

Mateo

"C'mon man, you know me better than that. Just a stiff that one too many people are interested in, nothing dangerous. Just do this for me and I'll owe ya, cool?"

"Sure. I'll call right away."

When the line goes silent, Mateo finds himself walking down the corridor towards the door to the loading dock, marked Authorized Personnel Only. Through the bioglass surface he sees a security guard approach the door and say a short phrase, and the door opens sideways, disappearing into the wall. Armed and armored, the uniformed guard gives Mateo a suspicious look as they meet in the hallway. He looks as if he's about to stop and say something, potentially delaying the civilian for the few seconds the door needs to close...

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Ransam picks up his new minicomp and examines it while replying. "In that case, I'll give you a list of some items I'll be needing, for general purposes." Digging out his old 'comp from a pocket, he slides the new one in, and starts idly tossing the old one up and down, bouncing it off his palm. His other hand still holds his beer. He looks out over the deckrail towards the beach, and speaks sideways to Bolivar.

"So kid, how are ya on the streets? Can you handle yourself?"

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He looks out over the deckrail towards the beach, and speaks sideways to Bolivar.

"So kid, how are ya on the streets? Can you handle yourself?"

Bolivar raises an eyebrow. "If you mean in a fight, fairly close to worthless. In my line of work, needing to use violence usually mean things have gone all fubar'd. But if you need to sneak someone inside, get past a lock or a security system, or just be a general distraction, well, that's more my line of work." He palms and then holds up one of his usual grenades. "I'm sure you don't need extra hardware to deal with security. But then, you're built for it." He glances meaningfully at his non-bulging muscles. "I'm not."

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Bolivar raises an eyebrow. "If you mean in a fight, fairly close to worthless. In my line of work, needing to use violence usually mean things have gone all fubar'd. But if you need to sneak someone inside, get past a lock or a security system, or just be a general distraction, well, that's more my line of work." He palms and then holds up one of his usual grenades. "I'm sure you don't need extra hardware to deal with security. But then, you're built for it." He glances meaningfully at his non-bulging muscles. "I'm not."

Ransam chuckles grimly, still watching the beach and idly bouncing the 'comp on his palm. "You ain't gettin' it kid. I don't give a rat's ass if you can fight like a badger or cower like a skunk. What I want to know is whether you're gonna freak or be useful when the dung hits the oscillator. You understand misdirection?"

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Ransam chuckles grimly, still watching the beach and idly bouncing the 'comp on his palm. "You ain't gettin' it kid. I don't give a rat's ass if you can fight like a badger or cower like a skunk. What I want to know is whether you're gonna freak or be useful when the dung hits the oscillator. You understand misdirection?"
He holds up his hands, twiddles his fingers, and the mini-bomb vanishes from one hand and appears in the other. "Quite," he says with a smile.
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He holds up his hands, twiddles his fingers, and the mini-bomb vanishes from one hand and appears in the other. "Quite," he says with a smile.

"Well, good then. Glad that's settled." Ransam smiles. Taking a sip of beer, he suddenly hurls the minicomp in his other hand straight at Bolivar's head.

((OOC: Yes, Ransam's actually trying to hit him. Not throwing it hard enough to hurt real bad, but hard enough to hurt.))

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"Well, good then. Glad that's settled." Ransam smiles. Taking a sip of beer, he suddenly hurls the minicomp in his other hand straight at Bolivar's head.

((OOC: Yes, Ransam's actually trying to hit him. Not throwing it hard enough to hurt real bad, but hard enough to hurt.))

Bolivar will attempt to dodge, while tossing the sleep-gas grenade somewhere in Ransam's general direction.

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"Well, good then. Glad that's settled." Ransam smiles. Taking a sip of beer, he suddenly hurls the minicomp in his other hand straight at Bolivar's head.

The instant the small hard oval spins out of Ransam's hand, he realizes two things. One: The kid saw it coming, and two: his aim is too low for a head shot. ::angry The minicomp slices through the hot summer air as Bolivar twists sideways and forward, his right hand snapping back for a throw of his own. The grenade never leaves his hand, however, since Bolivar's attempt at evasion put his forehead directly in the missile trajectory! ::ohmy

Hit square between the eyes his hands instinctively go up to cover his face, knocking his own beer over in the process. The can tumbles end over end, spinning half a turn before it's caught in one of Martelo's hands. In one fluid motion the big man picks the can out of the air and places it back on the table.

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The instant the small hard oval spins out of Ransam's hand, he realizes two things. One: The kid saw it coming, and two: his aim is too low for a head shot. ::angry The minicomp slices through the hot summer air as Bolivar twists sideways and forward, his right hand snapping back for a throw of his own. The grenade never leaves his hand, however, since Bolivar's attempt at evasion put his forehead directly in the missile trajectory! ::ohmy

Hit square between the eyes his hands instinctively go up to cover his face, knocking his own beer over in the process. The can tumbles end over end, spinning half a turn before it's caught in one of Martelo's hands. In one fluid motion the big man picks the can out of the air and places it back on the table.

Barking a laugh, Ransam never leaves his chair, but does raise his sunglasses and squint at Bolivar's hand. "A grenade, kid? You were going to toss a grenade at me?" He snorts. "Just like I thought. You panicked, kid. Overreacted to a tiny f*cking threat. A grenade, on an open deck, near a crowded dock and beach, with your new boss sitting right near where it'll go off. Out-f*cking-standing." He finally gets out of his chair, just enough to grab another beer. Cracking it open, he shakes his head. "Get your head on kid, or you're gonna get killed."

Leaning back, he lets his sunglasses settle back on his nose and goes back to his beer.

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On being addressed, Romeo nods repeatedly, more as though he is agreeing with something she said than as a greeting.

"Small world, hmm...? What brings you here this time of night? Who's your friend?"

"That's right. Friend," the big Latino says, vaguely indicating Buck with a renewed burst of nodding. The motion seems to spread down to his body, and he sways slightly before stabilizing himself.

He looks up at Ferreira, squinting as though seeing her for the first time.

"Kayla." The way he says it, it sounds like a kid's schoolyard insult. As an afterthought (and several seconds later), he adds, "..bitch."

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Barking a laugh, Ransam never leaves his chair, but does raise his sunglasses and squint at Bolivar's hand. "A grenade, kid? You were going to toss a grenade at me?" He snorts. "Just like I thought. You panicked, kid. Overreacted to a tiny f*cking threat. A grenade, on an open deck, near a crowded dock and beach, with your new boss sitting right near where it'll go off. Out-f*cking-standing." He finally gets out of his chair, just enough to grab another beer. Cracking it open, he shakes his head. "Get your head on kid, or you're gonna get killed."

Leaning back, he lets his sunglasses settle back on his nose and goes back to his beer.

With a sour look on his face, Bolivar turns it around so that the green dot is obvious. "This is a sleeping gas grenade. I'm not dumb enough to take out my boss's expensive boat in the first meeting." He glances sideways at Martelo. "Besides, I'm fairly sure he knows the kind of distractions I carry, and he wouldn't have let me on the boat if I was armed with explosives."

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With a sour look on his face, Bolivar turns it around so that the green dot is obvious. "This is a sleeping gas grenade. I'm not dumb enough to take out my boss's expensive boat in the first meeting." He glances sideways at Martelo. "Besides, I'm fairly sure he knows the kind of distractions I carry, and he wouldn't have let me on the boat if I was armed with explosives."

Ransam grimaces. He growls back, "Listen to me, you maggot. I don't care if the thing farts puppy dogs and dandelions, that's not the point. The point is that you panicked. You didn't observe, you didn't think. Don't make excuses, they matter for exactly jack squat with me. And since I'm likely going to be the poor asshole who will be serving as cavalry for your skinny twig of an ass, I'd like to know that I'm at least saving something worth more than the lint between my rosy red cheeks! Now, hopefully, you can man the f*ck up and admit your mistake...otherwise, I may be inclined to treat you with the same regard I have for the aforementioned lint!"

Shotgunning the rest of his beer, he tosses the empty can angrily over the side and waits for Bolivar's response.

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Magellan arrivals hall

On being addressed, Romeo nods repeatedly, more as though he is agreeing with something she said than as a greeting.

"That's right. Friend," the big Latino says, vaguely indicating Buck with a renewed burst of nodding. The motion seems to spread down to his body, and he sways slightly before stabilizing himself.

Frowning behind her tinted glasses the scientist looks Romeo up and down for a few seconds, her hand still in her coat pocket.

He looks up at Ferreira, squinting as though seeing her for the first time.

"Kayla." The way he says it, it sounds like a kid's schoolyard insult. As an afterthought (and several seconds later), he adds, "..bitch."

Adjusting her glasses the scientist only smiles at the insult, measuring the two men guardedly before she turns to her former dance partner.

"Dogged determination..." she smiles. "I like that in a man. Did you follow me here, Romeo? Drink yourself shitfaced to get over the rejection, and come after me all the way out here? Still not very bright, I see."

Her dark eyes linger on the latino for a few moments before she turns to Buck.

"Who are you?"

The Tubarão

Bolivar studies him for a moment. "You get into fights; I stay away from them. If there's fighting, I'm getting the hell out while you take care of it."

"If you notice them happening..." Martelo comments dryly. ::sly

"I promise you one thing, though. If you ever plan to drug me again you might as well kill me. Or run very fast. I generally don't like getting drugged much more than people blowing up my boat. And while we're on the subject; yes, I do know what you carry. Just like I know the weapons Ransam's carrying. That doesn't mean he's got my permission for target practice."

Placing Bolivar's beer back on the table he adds, in a slightly milder tone of voice

"Now, while I appreciate you sticking to what you know best, Bolivar, I also expect you to hold your own in a fight. Keep that in mind next time you're lacking something to do in the evenings, ok?" ::wink

The big portuguese stretches and puts his hands behind his head, the multicolor pigments making the tattoo move almost like living flame over his muscles.

"Speaking of evenings, I don't know how you want to do this. I want you available 24/7 in case I need some fires put out, but there will be a lot of spare time as well if that's your only involvement with the organization. The Boss' got his hands in lots of trades, so if any of you've got your eyes on a 'day job', just let me know. Not that I think any of you want to tend a bar or anything, but you both specialize in trades where it pays to have a team behind you.."

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"You get into fights; I stay away from them. If there's fighting, I'm getting the hell out while you take care of it."

Snorting in disgust, Ransam starts to reply, but bites his tongue as Martelo speaks.

"If you notice them happening..." Martelo comments dryly. ::sly

"I promise you one thing, though. If you ever plan to drug me again you might as well kill me. Or run very fast. I generally don't like getting drugged much more than people blowing up my boat. And while we're on the subject; yes, I do know what you carry. Just like I know the weapons Ransam's carrying. That doesn't mean he's got my permission for target practice."

Placing Bolivar's beer back on the table he adds, in a slightly milder tone of voice

"Now, while I appreciate you sticking to what you know best, Bolivar, I also expect you to hold your own in a fight. Keep that in mind next time you're lacking something to do in the evenings, ok?"::wink

Ransam chuckles appreciatively.

"Speaking of evenings, I don't know how you want to do this. I want you available 24/7 in case I need some fires put out, but there will be a lot of spare time as well if that's your only involvement with the organization. The Boss' got his hands in lots of trades, so if any of you've got your eyes on a 'day job', just let me know. Not that I think any of you want to tend a bar or anything, but you both specialize in trades where it pays to have a team behind you.."

Lifting himself out of his chair and stretching as Martelo did a moment earlier, the Nordamerican barely manages to stifle a yawn. "More of a night person myself, but hey, I can always use the money. Any fights lined up? Hell, I'll even take one of those lame bouncin' gigs...least there's some decent scenery most of the time."

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The Tubarão

"Speaking of evenings, I don't know how you want to do this. I want you available 24/7 in case I need some fires put out, but there will be a lot of spare time as well if that's your only involvement with the organization. The Boss' got his hands in lots of trades, so if any of you've got your eyes on a 'day job', just let me know. Not that I think any of you want to tend a bar or anything, but you both specialize in trades where it pays to have a team behind you.."

Bolivar shrugs. "I don't have anything lined up at the moment. Although ... " He gazes out across the pier at some of the other boats. "I've never stolen a yacht before."
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  • 2 weeks later...

Magellan arrivals hall

Frowning behind her tinted glasses the scientist looks Romeo up and down for a few seconds, her hand still in her coat pocket.

Adjusting her glasses the scientist only smiles at the insult, measuring the two men guardedly before she turns to her former dance partner.

"Dogged determination..." she smiles. "I like that in a man. Did you follow me here, Romeo? Drink yourself shitfaced to get over the rejection, and come after me all the way out here? Still not very bright, I see."

Her dark eyes linger on the latino for a few moments before she turns to Buck.

"Who are you?"

Buck shakes his head sadly.

Madame, I have the distinct misfortune of being this boy's personal physician and best friend; you would not believe the rambling, incoherent message he left for me on my service. I was entertaining some friends at a nearby club, and I had to make some flimsy excuses and haul my sorry butt over here to help out my good friend, Romeo.

He slaps Romeo on the back with a bit more than jovial force and flashes a forced smile.

Way to go, bud; ruin my chances with another French heiress, why don'tcha?

The Southern smoothie sighs as he roughly props his 'buddy' up.

I hope he wasn't too much of problem, m'am; when he gets in one of his moods, boy, you better watch out!

Buck stops and slaps his forehead.

Oh my goodness gracious, where are my manners? I know my momma raised me better than that!

He extends his hand with gentlemanly flair and gives her his warmest smile.

Dr. Harold Wayne Emmerson, m'am, but all my friends just call me 'Buck'.

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Magellan

Ms Ferreira smiles and shakes her head a little at Buck's apologetic monologue. "That's a very touching story, Doctor. It's good to have friends like you."

"Shut up, Buck. You're.. drunk."

Sparing a sideways glance for Romeo, the scientist rolls her eyes for Buck's benefit as she continues.

"Poor thing, isn't he? Alcohol poisoning is a dangerous thing, I've heard. Sneaks up on you and then WHAM!! Would you believe that half an hour ago this man was dead sober and drinking coffee?" ::sly

Her eyes linger on Buck's for a moment, before she continues in the sweetest, most innocent voice

"You know, I think I'd love to get to know you two boys a bit better, but I've got a little business to attend to first. Why don't you wait outside with my friends, and I'll catch up with you as soon as I can, ok? Show them to the car, guys."

As she gives the order, the two men take Romeo and Buck by the arm and and gesture towards the exit and outside.

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Mateo:

When the line goes silent, Mateo finds himself walking down the corridor towards the door to the loading dock, marked Authorized Personnel Only. Through the bioglass surface he sees a security guard approach the door and say a short phrase, and the door opens sideways, disappearing into the wall. Armed and armored, the uniformed guard gives Mateo a suspicious look as they meet in the hallway. He looks as if he's about to stop and say something, potentially delaying the civilian for the few seconds the door needs to close...

Mateo gives a slight nod to the man as he walks by without maintaining prolonged eye contact, and continues on through the doorway; his years of investigating crimes of all sorts had proven to him that you can get into just about anywhere as long as you look like you're meant to be there and don't act suspicious.

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Mateo:

Mateo gives a slight nod to the man as he walks by without maintaining prolonged eye contact, and continues on through the doorway; his years of investigating crimes of all sorts had proven to him that you can get into just about anywhere as long as you look like you're meant to be there and don't act suspicious.

At least, that's the theory of it. Years later Mateo confessed to me that this was one of the first times he'd actually had to try it himself. It was pretty damn close to turning violent at that point, but luckily the badge got him through. F*cking stupid security guards, always giving people the benefit of the doubt... ::rolleyes

The guard looks Mateo up and down, then glances at the badge clipped to his jacket before he nods in return and walks past. The ex-cop reaches the door just in turn to slip through, stepping into the loading dock area. Shelf upon shelf filled with suitcases, boxes, crates and other, more exotic containers are lined against the opposite wall, and through a double door at the back of the room the lights of a forklift can be seen as an expert driver unloads new shipments. To Mateo's right is a good old fashioned floor to ceiling wire fence that separates him from the customer garage. There's a closed gate in the fence, and an unattended counter next to it.

The lighting is sparse and some of the corners are darker than the ex-cop really likes, but the garage on the other side is well lit. Hard white light reflects off the surface of Jax's car, parked right outside the gate. As Mateo looks around for anyone working here, a set of headlights come gliding into the garage, deepening the shadows even more. The maglev stops right outside the fence - opposite to Jax - and out of the red Shendai comes Paolo Bonasera, adjusting something under his jacket as he walks up to the counter to press the caller button.

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Mateo:

Mateo quickly scans the area, trying to take in all of his surroundings in case he needs to react quickly. Seeing the bodyguard about to press the buzzer, he quickly makes his way to the counter to preempt the man, "Yes sir, may I help you?" Waiting for the man to respond, Mateo glances around the counter area, looking for anything that might be used as a weapon.

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