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Shadowrun: Everybody Lies - [Team Blue] - On the Run


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Diamond in the Dump

Jamming his finger into his mouth, Kerwin Loomis tasted the metallic tang of blood mixed with sweat and grime. He wondered if this whole thing was worth it.

Kerwin slumped back, running a hand back across his sweaty, bald head. He stank, he needed a good whiskey – not that synthahol crap- and he was seriously beginning to doubt that there was anything worth his while. At this point, it was probably a waste to have spent the cred on a plane ticket to paw through Dad’s collection of crap before it all got hauled off to the dump.

It wasn’t like the two of them had gotten along or anything. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kerwin was K-Spot’s only son, he doubted he’d have even gotten the formal email from the lawyer announcing Dad’s death and informing him that he, Kerwin, had been left everything. This large storage locker was all that remained of dear old Dad, known to the entertainment world as Clarence “K-Spot” Loomis, mid-level purveyor of mostly two-bit acts that everybody with any sense had forgotten about twenty years ago. Naturally, since Dad had been about as good with cred as Kerwin himself was, “everything” amounted to some clothes, a few random bits of furniture and household appliances, two ratty old guitars, a nonfunctional pre-2055 cyberdeck, and the key to the storage locker.

From the look of things, the place hadn’t been opened in a good ten years. The locker company was making noises about dumping everything in the street if the last three months’ back rent wasn’t paid, and since Kerwin didn’t want to pay it, here he wsa to grab any good stuff that might be hanging around. The hell with the rest of it – let them dump it. It would save him the trouble, and it would serve his old coot of a father right.

He didn’t quite want to admit it to himself, but he had a reason for pulling open carton after carton of junk. It was probably just another fib, but his dad had mentioned it enough times when Kerwin was growing up that he had to believe that it might just possibly be true. That faint chance that it might be somewhere in the locker was what kept Kerwin going long after he’d normally have given up the job in favor of getting good and drunk (and maybe even laid, if he was really lucky). It sure as hell hadn’t been in the apartment – Kerwin had made sure of that, going through every drawer, every possible hiding place, even looking under the smelly old carpets before he’d handed the key back to the landlord. No, if Dad still had it (and hadn’t sold it to finance any of his sleazy habits), it would be here. Kerwin was going to keep looking until he either found it or was convinced that it wasn’t here. He had a feeling that if Dad had sold it, he’d have heard about it. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could keep quiet.

“Come on, you old bastard,” he muttered to himself. “You better not have been lying, all those times you ran your mouth about this thing. Don’t make me sift through all of this crap for nothing!” He savagely threw yet another box full of junk into one of the locker’s walls, where it burst and scattered its contents all over the floor. He was sullenly about to move on to the next one when he spotted a bulky cream-colored envelope in the midst of the spilled junk. He’d been so impatient he nearly missed it going through the box, hidden as it was inside a folder with some other old papers.

Something was written on the envelope. He kicked his way through the trash-drifts and snatched it up, peering at it in the grimy overhead light from the single naked bulb. “To K-Spot,” it said in a flowing, somewhat old-fashioned hand.Enjoy these with my gratitude.”It was signed, “JB.”

Kerwin held the envelope in front of him, just looking at it with wide eyes and open mouth for several seconds. Then, his body seized with a kind of jerking urgency, he fell back into his chair, ripped open the envelope, and allowed the contents to drop into his lap.

He stared at the old-style optical disc in its paper slipcover, entranced as the quivering light made dancing rainbows on its silvery surface. Written on it in the same handwriting as the outside of the envelope was: “Carrion Sessions, ’48. JB. For enlightenment, seek out absent friends.”

“Holy shit,” Kerwin breathed, hardly daring to believe his sudden change in luck, “This is it!”

Letting his breath out slowly, he slumped back, clutching the precious disk. His eyes were already beginning to gleam with the light of avarice, but he knew he had to be careful. He sat abruptly upright, realizing he was alone in the storage building and it was getting late. His plane back to Seattle was due to leave tomorrow morning; the sooner he was packed up and on it, the better. He slipped the disk inside his jacket, kicked the boxes back inside, and closed and locked the door. The devil rats could have the rest, as far as he was concerned.

He had what he’d come for – old Dad had come through for him in death as he never had in life. But he’d have to be careful... very careful. If he didn’t handle this right, he was likely to lose his prize.

He didn’t even consider that it might als cost him his life.

OOC Info

[OOC: This team is considered to be mostly new comers on the scene with some minor exceptions. Communication OOC is allowed and encouraged, especially if help is requested from Dawn or Malachite (that’s Kemuri and Zan’nen). I’m not going to penalize actions on this first run if a “mistake” was made because a mechanic was not known or wrong interpreted. The more experienced Players are allowed to make ooc suggestions what the others can/should do. Of course chat can also be used or PMs.]


Another day, another struggle for survival on the mean streets of the sprawl. It’s raining. Lone Star’s running a high-profile “serve and protect” visibility campaign lately, and pickings have been a little lean for you. Occupational hazard, omae - newbies gotta make a rep before they get the good jobs, but they gotta get the good jobs before they can make a rep. Ever heard of Catch-22? Congratulations - you’re living it.

You’re awake one night pondering where you’re going to get next month’s soymilk money when a familiar number pops up in the corner of your AR display. Your fixer’s on the line, and that can only mean one thing – a job. Cred. A way to keep the wolves of your back for a couple more weeks – if you survive, that is.

“Yeah, I got a job for you.”, the fixer says. “Looks like something you should be able to handle. Meet Mr. Johnson at 21:00 at Infinity. The meet’ll be in one of the private conference rooms – tell the elf bartender chica that you’re with the Johnson party and she’ll show you where to go. Oh, and dress like you know what you’re doing, willya?”

[OOC: This intro is for all of you. The fixer in question is someone recommended by one of your contacts. You can RP freely how you get to the meet, do some chores or whatever suits you. Enjoy]

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His hands barely cupped the woman's breasts. They were fake, but they were big and fake, so it was completely fine by Marko's, rather low, standards. The raven haired Russian 'what's-her-name' moaned with the hint of a playful giggle as he pinched her nipples most teasingly. She continued to gyrate her hips, letting slip a moan as she leaned down to face Marko. Her hair tickled his face and her own hovered just inches above his own. Passionately she kissed him, her tongue plunging ravenously into his mouth to which he quickly obliged her with a passionate retort of his own. Pulling away she hovered over him, still gyrating. "Do you know vhy my vather don't let me date men like you?" She cooed, enjoying every moment he was deep inside her.

Her accent drove him crazy. The more she spoke, the harder he became, and she had no qualms with the arrangement. "Because he still hasn't invested in Trojan?"

Her neck arched back as she laughed before she quickly plunged back down upon him, kissing him passionately. "Grrrrrr! You fuck me like tiger!" She moaned ecstatically.

He thought about that for a moment, "I'm curious how you know that. Shamefully aroused, but mostly curious."

Now thoroughly entertained the giggling like a school girl she picked up the pace, riding him faster and her loud moaning was evidence that she was having a great time. It's not like he cared about the girl, no, unfortunately she was just a cog in the greater puzzle that was underworld politics. The Vory, the Russian equivalent of the Mafia, still owed a great debt to Marko that'd yet to be paid: a name, nothing more. The raven haired 'what's-her-name' was nothing more than a stepping stone to Marko getting some payback for not receiving payment for services rendered. She was the daughter, and rather young at that, of the Pakhan's (Don's) Sovietnik (Councilor), and once he found out that Marko was balls deep in his prep-school, cheerleader daughter it should send the message that Marko was still interested in getting his name, or he'd be taking payment in other ways... deflowering daughters was the best he came up with at the moment, and the execution of the plan left him very little time to think up something better. Not that he wanted to.

When his commlink beeped and Andrea appeared in his field of vision, superimposed onto his contacts, his mood was almost broken. When he saw the low cut sports bra she was wearing, the cleavage helped him recover. "Chunin? Chunin, what the fuck? Aren't you supposed to be somewhere in an hour and a half?"

"But mom, it a school night." He smirked, talking to Andrea while he squeezed 'what's-her-name's' hips.

"Who iz calling you? Tell them we busy..." She giggled and sped up the pace a bit.

The look of shock on Andrea's face almost made the whole plan worth while. "Oh, no. Oh, shit, Chunin please tell me you didn't, that you're not, that you haven't... she's not even legal!"

"Semantics, she'll be eighteen in three days. Besides, I kill people for money, it's not like this is really a new low for me." And it wasn't. Chunin had done far worse things than deflower a seventeen year-old three days from her eighteenth birthday.

"What about your code?" She scowled at him, the whole time continuing to listen to the two of them enjoy their coitus.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "This is vengeance, my code doesn't apply. You know that. Sides, this is a fun kinda vengeance..." His ear to ear smirk didn't improve her mood with him any.

"Get. To. The. Meet." She snarled through clenched teeth. "You owe too much to not make this job happen."


Despite his vengeful proclivities with underage Russian girls, Marko, or Chunin as the Shadowland called him, was a pretty decent guy. Didn't smoke, didn't drink, and despite his rather whimsical outlook on everything, remained pretty serious most of the time. Now was one of the serious moments. Andrea had bitched his eyes nearly out of their sockets by he time he arrived at Infinity. So dumping a Russian mobsters daughter off outside her friends house and taking off without a word was prolly not the most professional of ideas, but revenge was sloppy, and he wanted it to be that way. He was intentionally making mistakes for the Vory to make a play on. Vengeance was war and: "...all warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near."

"Right you are, Master." He said softly under his breath as he heard the quotes of Sun Tsu's: The Art of War from a distant part of his memory. It truth, his code did permit him the use of any means nessecary to accomplish his vengeance, especially one on the scale he was seeking. Placing babies heads on spikes was fair game, but that really wasn't his style. He thought "what's-her-name" was already eighteen, but when she told him the truth in the middle of their first time... seriously... what guy would want to stop. Maybe a well adjusted, white collar worker with a day job and a pension, but Chunin was a SINless speck in the shadows of Seattle. A nobody with a score to settle.

It was almost cliche'.

Okay, it's totally cliche... but with large breasted Russian chicks.

With some flirting he made his way to meeting point. Although the elven woman was no where near into him, she did find him witty and a refreshing break from most of the assholes she'd found herself dealing with tonight. She walked away laughing and he at least got a free drink out of it, sorta clean water, yummy. Outside the door an Ork stopped him and, as was standard, patted him down.

"Left side, under the shoulder." Chunin told him. He held out his coat so he could remove the weapon. As soon as it was in the Orks hand he nodded, appreciateing the Savallet's weight and balance. With a 'click' the biometric reader locked the gun's functions.

"Nice piece." The Ork complimented with an approving nod.

"You shoulda seen what was playing with an hour ago..." His smirk was accented by the raising of his eye brows. "Can I uh... go play with my Johnson now?"

With a tilt of his head the Ork waved him through.

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"Hud, are you kidding me?" Saori’s groan was heartfelt, starting down in her abdomen and rising in a wave from there. Even in the musical tones of Sperethiel, the whine in her voice was fairly unattractive.

“What? I thought you’d like a job.” The handsome street sam was draped over the futon that graced Saori’s bedroom and doubled as her bed – when she slept there. She was just as prone to drifting off on the couch in the main room, the Trid playing the latest horror release starring an elf.

“Yeah, but not one where I’d be meeting in the Infinity!” Saori pouted as she reached up and put her finger on the tip of Hudson’s pointed ear. While the Sam frowned, Saori wiggled his ear back and forth as she grumbled, “I’ve been trying to get into the Infinity for months, and when I finally do, it’s to meet a Johnson? And I have to dress in work clothes?”

“Luv, you cannot be this shallow. I mean, the grip on my katana is rainbow-ilous, and I’m not this shallow.” Hud was staring at her, his cybernic eyes glowing softly as his brow furrowed at her. Her assault on his ear continued; the elf-poser’s ear was not as sensitive a real elf’s.

“If I were shallow, I’d not do it at all.” Saori released his ear, her fingers brushing his highlighted hair as she slumped gracefully against the futon. “I just wanna bitch about it, you know?”

“Bitching noted. You gonna do it?” Hud smirked. “Or is your hottie roomie going to stop you?”

“Zan’nen’s never stopped me from doing anything.” That probably wasn’t true, but Saori wasn’t going to let a tiny matter like facts interfere. “Hell, he’ll probably come with me. I’ll just need to talk to him.”

“I’m not sure he’s invited, Kitten,” Hudson replied softly. “You might wanna exercise some discretion...” His voice trailed off as she hopped to her feet and headed for the main living area. “Which is not what you’re going to do...”

“Zan! Zanny!” Saori burst into his office, practically bouncing on her toes. “I got a job! Did you get it too?”

Carver *rolls* 4d6: 2+6+2+1: 11

I’ll coordinate with Zan’nen for an entrance. Sorry to not get one going immediately!

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John was in his humble abode if one was to call it that. It wasn't as lavhish as some of the places he was in. At the same time it wasn't the worst place he has been in. He was listen to one of his favorite songs when he got an call in. It was from an old acquantice of his Axel. He was at times boss, or helped him find jobs with other people wanting to get various things done around the place they were in. For the most part they had not push him to the limits as he jobs in the past did. He wonder if he was losing his edge.

"Hello Axel how are you doing today?" John asked. "I got some info you might like. Someones been looking for you. They told me to tell you something, oh what was it again?" Axel asked. "What do I have to do in order to get the message." John asked. "Meet me by the shop in a hour. I know you live nearby. Get ready I have a job for you to do before I will give you the message." Axel said. "Okay, be there in a hour." John replied.

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Seishiro had quietly retreated when Hud had materialized at the door of their suite in the Aglorand Hotel. He was not hiding - well, not entirely. He had received a message from Arnette about a possible run for him and that was as good a reason as any to leave Saori and her overly flirtatious street sam elf-poser to their own devices. He winced when Saori bounced in, not from her, but from the ever-hopeful looks Hud was giving him from a few feet behind her.

He nodded to Saori, "Meeting at Infinity?" At her enthusiastic crow of victory the elf actually smiled.

Hud leaned in the doorway, trying to look casual. "Well, sounds like a reason to celebrate to me," he grinned at Zan'nen. "How 'bout I take you two out to dinner and dancing? I can't afford Infinity, but I know a place that's got a band in from Tir na n'Og for the week and a great bar. They've even got some real food if we really want to splurge." The last was directed at Seishiro, probing for a soft spot to get more out of the elf than the usual polite nod and quick retreat ever since the movie-night debacle.

"Oooh!" Saori swung around and back out the room, dragging Hud with her as she bounded back to her room to pick out an outfit for the night. "I know the place! They have real strawberries!" Her face popped back into Seishiro's office long enough to plead, "We are going, right?"

Sei held back most of his grin and nodded. "I suppose a night out is in order."

The face was gone just as quickly as it had reappeared, but Saori called out, "Just don't dress in a suit! Or I'll tell everyone you're Hud's boyfriend!"

Both men flushed, Hud glaring at the whirlwind that was Saori 'Kemuri' Xiao as she grinned unrepentantly at him and Seishiro heading to his room to pick out an outfit that would pass muster with the fiery teenager as "not a suit".


Three days later Kemuri and Zan'nen were dressed for business and far too alert at the entrance to the posh club called Infinity to be merely another pair of jaded clubbers; their names and a the bribe Arnette had set up for them got them past the officious and ultra-chic human scanning for on-the-list patrons and the green-and-chrome Ork bouncers flanking her. Just inside they were both patted down and all obvious weapons removed. Kemuri got a few appreciative looks for the small arsenal removed from her - and not nearly half the actual weapons she carried, but it was only pat-down - and Zan'nen was ignored with the disdain of the violent once the elf was found to have only a single pistol on him.

The two moved smoothly into the club, keeping their guard up and covering one another with long-practiced proficiency. While Kemuri watched the club and its denizens for the more direct threats, Zan'nen tested the waters of the Matrix woven through Infinity, looking for hidden dangers and the Johnson they were here to meet.

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The building in the Puyallup Barrens was, as far as most were concerned, as creepy pile of bricks, cement and mortar you could find outside of Bug City. Boarded-up windows dotted the old hotel, some of them broken in and giving the place a hollow-eyed look. The look of the place alone would deter many would-be squatters - it was probably infested with ghouls, devil-rats, and spirits-knew-what-else. A mildew-crusted sign hug lopsidedly over the entrance, the faded paintwork giving the place it's name: The Albius Hotel. In fact as the locals could attest the old pre-Awakening hotel was even worse than it looked, a remarkable feat all things considered. Prior to a few months ago, people that stayed there, whether through desperation or bravado, rarely did so for more than one night, no matter how desperate or macho they were. Some merely reported not being able to sleep. Others came out pale and tightlipped about whatever they had seen. Others... didn't come out. There was something bad about the place that caused the local kids to dare one another to approach it in the daytime.

At night, not even BTL junkies or ghouls would go there.

But now the Albius was inhabited, and the faint glow of warm light could be seen from between the slats covering the windows, even as the broken-in areas remained dark and forbidding. Inside, the devil-rats and ghouls were not in evidence. Instead, warm golden faux-candlelight played over the restored walls of the innermost rooms, illuminating well-concealed apartment that, in it's luxurious appointment and decor, would doubtless have attracted the greed of the Barren's various denizens - if it weren't for two things.

Firstly, this area and in particular this hotel was under the protection of a wiz-gang, the Black Hands. Strong in magical talent, if not yet in numbers, the young collection of mages, adepts and shaman had made it clear that the Albius and it's owner were friends of the Hands.

And secondly, the owner of the Albius was every bit as daunting as his residence - by reputation if not looks.

"I appreciate it." Tomas Saint-Etienne told the face on the other end of the old pre-2.0 vidphone. "Tell Mr Johnson I shall be there." After the customary parting pleasantries were done with, the black magus leaned back in his armchair and stretched a little. Truth be told, he was glad that the fixer had called. Funds were low after his having spent most of his nest-egg on setting up his, for want of a better term, sanctum. The Albius was worth the renovation, though. Every nuyen. The mana flow in this place was perfectly aspected, the property was all-but unknown to the wireless world, and there was a wonderful astral rift in the basement that, once he learned to harness it, would be a source of power as well as a constant test of his strength. Where others, even other Awakened individuals, saw and felt danger, the sinisterly-handsome elf merely opportunity. He smiled to himself as he considered that, and went to dress.

* * * * *

The orks on the door had exchanged a look when the self-possessed elf had revealed no weapons. None. Not even a Saturday-Night Special. In a neighbourhood where even the slumming corp suits brought their designer popguns so as to have that 'walking the edge of the Shadows' appeal, for anyone to have zero heat meant only one thing.

Wizard. And a confident wizard at that.

The nearest ork appraised him with a street-experienced eye. He was dressed just this side of flashy - individual enough that no-one could mistake him for a wagemage, yet with elegance and taste. The deep red shirt and rich brown pants were perfectly tailored, as was the cream-colored longcoat with the telltale panelling that betrayed it's armored nature. A white-gold watch and an earstud worn high on the left ear, carrying an amethyst the same shade as the elf's eyes were the only ornamentation... aside from a bracelet worn on the left hand: embossed with orichalchum, it was probably a focus of some kind, and therefore best left alone.

"You here to work or play?" the ork inquired. Mages were tricky bastards - you couldn't just scan them for 'ware, you couldn't take their 'gun' away, and they could pull drek out of their hats that would laugh at armor, bullets or street-toughness.

"I'm here to meet someone." Saint-Etienne admitted. His accent sounded exotic, English with a hint of something else. French, perhaps? Damned if the bouncer could tell. "Mr Johnson is expecting me, I believe."

"G'wan in."

Darkling nodded his thanks and moved into the club, feeling the harsh pulse of the music. He set his 'link to passive - essential though the cursed things were in today's society, he disliked the intrusiveness of the wireless world. A gold-rimmed pair of smartshades, with circular purple lenses, were donned as he approached the bar, satisfying both practicality of having to use a commlink and the magus's sense of taste. The female elf behind the bar was easy to locate, and Darkling rested one hand on the bar to call attention to himself. Together with the pair of scintillating amethyst eyes peering directly at her over the tops of those smartshades, it sufficed to bring her over. He gave the woman a dazzling smile.

"I'm with the Johnson party." he said without breaking eye contact, the curve of his lips at once inviting and playful. "Is Mr Johnson available?"

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Infinity is one of the current novahot nightspot on the Seattle scene. Before you even schmooze past the formidable pair of Troll Bouncers at the door, you can hear and feel the pounding beats of the latest club hits. Once you’re inside, the bassline thrums through the walls and floor like a giant subsonic heartbeat, making it difficult even to breathe out of time with the music. All around, people dressed in the latest clubwear fashions writhe and gyrate on the dancefloor, with holographic images skittering over and above the moving display and adding to the sensory overload.

When you subscribe your PAN to the club’s network, things get even more chaotic; Dozens of messages and signs flash across your vision, everything from mundane AROs, like directions to the restrooms and a list of the bar specials, to private messagaes from clubbers who want to get to know you better. Only proper adjustment and filtering of your commlinks make it even bareable to deal with the sensory input.

You spot the elf bartender your fixer mentioned immediately – she’s the only woman back there, and she’s a beauty.

She smiles and nods as you mention your meet with the Johnson and points toward a door across the room. “You’ll find your party in the Blue Room.”, she half screams over the music and hands you an RFID-Chip while a new room appears on your commlinks’ floorplan diagram.

The Blue Room is in the club’s second floor, accessible via a wide catwalk surrounding the lower level. The catwalk is lined with several such doors, probably leading to other conference rooms. Once you reach your room the red light at the door flashes briefly and turns green. This room in particular is a conference room, with an oval table made of genuine wood and several chairs. A mushroom-shaped white-noise generator is prominent in the middle of the table. The music and noise is immediately shut off once the door locks and the entire decoration, floor, walls, everything is held in blue.

You are greeted by a troll of medium height, no longer young but not quite middle-aged. He’s handsome in a rugged sort of way, wearing a purple and chartreuse suit in the latest style that somehow manages to stay on the tasteful side.

“Welcome,” he says, smiling. “Please sit down. I’m Mr. Johnson, can I get you anything?” he offers waiting for your reaction while he lites himself a havana cigar.

[OOC: You all arrive more or less at the same time, just fyi]

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John stare at the man. He wonders what's really going on here. Then again he does not know the whole deal yet. Plus he wonders how he connected to Axel. Also why did he contact Axel and not him with the info.

He had to do some tracking for a friend of sorts. John did not know if to trust Axel or not. Even so he had helped him in a jam and he doesn't go about making foes out of friends. Still he wonder how Axel still knew him after all this time. He had change alot since he last left his home town. He was barely an young man when.... no, it doesn't matter now all that matter was the job. Still pain in the neck to have to do so much leg work just to know that he had a job. Axel was kind of a odd man in that aspect. I guessing he wants to get the best bang for his buck.

"No thank you, I am curious what type of work are we going to be doing for you?" John asked in a calm, polite manner. He did appear rather clam and relax. He would appear non threatening even with some of his obvious enhancements. He was dress in a professional attire.

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Dressed like the Devil's Advocate in his black suit with his satin red tie, Chunin certainly looked the roll of a corporate hit goon than a Shadowrunner. Indeed with his clean cut appearance and disciplined expression on his face one could easily see him as a young executive and rising star within a local company... until he opened his mouth.

"Bottled water would be ducky." He replied to Mr. Johnson as he draped his coat across the back of the chair he claimed as 'his'. He looked to Mr. Johnson as he sat down, crossing his legs. "So, you come here often? I must admit, I'm not one for blind dates but you're certainly prettier than my last one." The conversation fell short once people started filing in. With his legs crossed he simply waited for the deals to begin.

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Zan'nen and Kemuri made their way into the room, do the same quick and coordinated surveillance of the space as they had done in the room. Kemuri nodded him to a seat, which Zan'nen took while she remained standing just to the side and behind him. Any other time, Seishiro would have been the gentleman, but this was business and had no illusions about their respective roles. He could shoot a gun with minimal necessary accuracy in a tight spot, but Saori had been his literal bodyguard for years on runs. He politely waved off the offer of drinks from the Johnson and settled in to wait for the entire invited team to assemble.

He sifted through the Matrix while the small chat of waiting occurred, doing what he could to learn about his prospective running mates for this job. In part it was his own test of them: if he could find too much, they were security threats that would either need to be excluded (or exclude his own involvement) or educated in the need for some Matrix skills or paid services to keep them alive. He preferred the second option, but many runners, especially new ones that weren't going to last long anyways, bristled at being told they'd left their cyberselves effectively naked with a sign saying 'kill me please' over their heads.

Zan'nen usually phrased it more politely than that. Usually.

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After serving everyone his desired drink the Troll proceeds.

“Shall we get down to business, then?”

“Someone has stolen an object from the people I represent. We would like to get it back quickly, as we have reason to believe that this person is trying to sell it. What you’re looking for is some music-related data that’s important to my employer’s business. I don’t know who stole it—my employer’s home was broken into a couple of days ago, and the disk was taken along with some other items in which we have no particular interest. Your best bet is probably to keep your ears open to whatever channels you think might be appropriate—if the thief is going to sell it, word will have to get out that it’s available. The object storing the data is an old-style optical disk. We want both disk and data returned, in the eventuality that the one no longer resides on the other. In case it’s not clear, my employers don’t want the disk’s data getting into the hands of anyone but themselves, so if the data gets out, we expect you to track down and eliminate any copies.”

“Once you’ve located it, the second part of the job is to track down the person who’s offering it for sale—probably not the same person who’s offering the information, since the thief will probably be working through intermediaries—and get the disk back. You can do this in whatever way you see fit: if you can get it back by making an offer for it, my employers can cover the arrangement and take care of getting my money back later. If you’d prefer something a little more larcenous, that’s fine too. Just do it as quickly as possible and make sure the disk is not harmed."

“I’m authorized to offer your team 10,000¥ for the job, half up front and half upon the return of the disk to me. Do we have a deal?”

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Kemuri didn't say anything as Zan'nen took his seat and she took her place behind him. It was their usual arrangement. It was also usual for Zan'nen to make the deals and do any haggling or questioning that might be required - not that Kemuri wouldn't ask questions, but Zan'nen tended to ask the same ones she thought of and then some better ones. When offered a drink, Kemuri responded with a polite shake of her head and a murmured decline. Then she studied the others there.

One man was frighteningly bland. Kemuri couldn’t get a read off of him; while he spoke politely enough, there was something about him that put her on edge. Of course, most runners put her on edge, aside from Zan’nen, and the ones that didn’t tended to be really bad at running.

Next was the human male. He was dressed far nicer than she thought he would be for this run but it wouldn’t surprise her to learn he was a fixer of some type, particularly with his good looks. Again, he put her on edge somewhat, so that was good, at least if they were going to be working together.

And then there was the other elf. He’d been really bothering her, but elves always tweaked her Kem-radar harder than humans. Kemuri considered his dress and manner, but couldn’t really get a sense for what he did. He was cute, though that didn’t matter so much on a job. Outside a job maybe, but on the job, it wasn’t a factor. When the troll was done talking, she waited for Zan’nen to speak for the both of them.

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"That depends." The dark-haired elf spoke for the first time since entering the room and sitting down at the opposite end of the table from Mr Johnson. He'd cast a cursory glance over the others present, nodding politely in greeting but neither dismissing nor paying overly much attention to them. Saint-Etienne leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table and looking over his steepled fingers at the troll. His voice was smooth and mellifluous, deeper than one might expect from such a slender frame and tinted with an accent that was hard to place, but sounded European... kinda. "Are we talking ten thousand each, or ten thousand in total?"

"Because if it's ten thousand in total, between the five of us, then that is not something I consider to be a deal, Mr Johnson." He made a dismissive flicking motion with the slender fingers of one hand off to the side. "It's a little low, hiring shadow talent for two thousand a head." He lowered his head, peering out at the troll and the others present with a slight smile, eyes gleaming. "Surely for discretion and speed of recovery, a little more change can be found behind the seat cushions, hmm?"

If it is 10,000 for the whole group, then Darkling's going for a Negotiation roll.

[Ravi] 10:40 am: Making a Neg roll for Tomas

Ravi *rolls* 9d6: 1+5+2+3+3+2+6+4+1: 27

[Carver] 10:40 am: Neg?

[Ravi] 10:41 am: Ouch. Mildly sucky that

2 hits

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Zan'nen nodded briefly to the other elf, quietly adding his own, "I concur." He leaned forward, hands interlaced in front of him. "If this were a simple enough run for any of us to take individually for 2,000¥, well, then there would not be five of us sitting here, would there?"

Keeping it brief to give the Johnson a chance to respond without feeling snowballed, but also looking to make the point and get better pay. Doing a conditional Negotiation roll just as Tomas:

Malachite *rolls* 4d6: 2+5+4+5: 16

[Malachite] 11:19 am: Someone witness that, please?

[Jordan] 11:20 am: Witness

2 hits, which is pretty good for Zan'nen. :D

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Chunin just leaned back in his chair, tipping his bottled water back in a sweet gulp. The meet and greet after the show was going to be an interesting one, that was for sure. He wasn't much a socialist, that was certain, so he simply let the others do their thing. Sure he took the obligatory inventory of his fellow runners and for the most part the seemed competent, but then again, he'd not seen them do anything yet, so he could have just been a really bad judge of character.

The others seemed rather embroiled in their negotiating, which didn't really move him at all, until Kem scanned her surroundings and he caught her eye. With a grin and the universal thumb and pinky in the shape a phone gesture, he lipped 'call me' as he tipped his water back again. It was true, he was a handsome guy, but his 'never take a thing serious' personality usually got in the way of that.

Nothing to see here, just being an obnoxious idiot while the other people do their business.

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John remain quite. The situation was not something he figure to be outrageous. The group seem intriging. He did not know the group, but looked like they were from various different backgrounds. He did not complain about company nor care as long as said company did not stab him in the back. Then again that could easily happen.

He did not like the fact at best he could be getting not as much money as he hopped. Even so he wanted to get his feet wet in something new. Even so he knows that others are negotiating for more money. To make sure this is not an meaningless debate he asked the Johnson an simple point blank question. "Is the amount you asked to pay us the maximum amount your employer is willing to pay for the mission?"

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Only one person can make a negotiation roll. I added one success bonus (normally would've been +1 Dice) for Zan'Nen's good roll so you guys totalled 3 hits. Mr. Johnsons Roll: http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3502533/]Charisma+Negotiation that's 3 hits - sorry guys, no dice
The well groomed Troll briefly considers Darkling's words but slowly shakes his head. "The offer stands as is, I'm not here to negotiate. You have no streetcred at all and have only been contacted by recommendation. I can easily round up another team who will do this for the same money, why should I pay more for a simple recovery-job?" The Johnson takes another long draw from his cigarette and smiles a toothy grin. "Who's in?" Even though he still seems friendly the temperature in the room just dropped by a few degrees.
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"What you're asking is not a "simple" recovery job." Chunin spoke up, finally. His words were calm and collected and while usually obnoxious he seemed now to speak with confidence. "What you're asking us to do is a lot of legwork at great personal cost to ourselves. We're the ones who grease palms, we're the ones who stay out at all hours of the night, we're the ones who buy the drinks for the people who tell us what you need to know."

"Look, I understand your position, Mr. J, can I call you Mr. Jay?" He didn't wait for an answer and just continued on. "You want to hire quality help with as little expense to yourself, and your employer, as possible. I can respect that. However you know as well as I do that two thousand will barely cover our rent, let alone our expenses for doing your work for you. We may not have a lot of street cred, but smart runners don't because all cred, good or bad, puts a spotlight on us and our jobs are to remain silent, discreet, and in the shadows. So, here's the deal. We'll work for two thousand plus an additional one thousand to cover our expenses. There's a lot of work to be done and I'll expect that we'll be away from our friends and family for quite some time, that means we'll be eating a lot of fast food. Have you seen the prices at the Big Kahuna Burger, lately? It's robbery, I tell ya. A thousand is cheap, we're doing you a favor, trust me." Chunin smirked and folded his hands, elbows on the table. "We're going to do do this for you, and your going to be impressed, of that you can be assured, but honestly ask yourself 'Once your impressed, will we want to do another job for you knowing you pay barely enough to keep us fed?' That's how this world works for us, either we're running the shadows for you, or we're running the shadows for the other guys out there. You're in this to save money, we're in this to make money."

When Mr. J looked like he was about to reply Chunin simply raised one hand calmly. "I'm not negotiating with you, I'm putting on a table a price tag. A non-negotiable, price tag."

Spending a point of Edge to help convince the Johnson that his offer is a bit low, even for low cred runners. We could be doing courier runs for 300¥/run four nights a week and not have to fire a single shot with very little out of pocket expenses. Chunin isn't negotiating, he's appealing to the man's business and common sense.

Revenant *rolls* 7d6: 2+6+5+3+5+4+5 = 4 hits

Revenant *rolls* 1d6: 4: 4 (Popping the 6)

[salmonMax] 12:21 pm: 4. Nice roll

[Revenant] 12:22 pm: Thanks, and I'm not asking for a witness because people either trust me or they don't.

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The Troll waits a moment giving everyone in the room a long look and sighing once as he looked back to Chunin.

"Deal...", he quietly states with flaring nostrils. "15k then.", the Troll slowly reaches into his Jacket producing a golden laced credstick placing it neatly infront of him. "5k in advance, the rest on delivery. NON-negotiable.", he adds and then pushes the stick to the middle of the table. He takes a long draught from his Cigar and waits... once again.

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Chunin let no sign of his victory show in his expression, he was ninja, and that would have been disrespectful. "I assure you that we greatly appreciate your generosity." One of his steepled hands made a slight gesture that indicated everyone else present. Technically Chunin wasn't permitted to haggle over a price for a job, his code demanded that he be modest in his dealings, something to which his handler, Andrea, completely loathed about him. Thankfully he was permitted to be factual about expenses and to make sure his payment might include an amount that would financially assure he'd have the tools necessary to complete the job... he also wasn't bound by his code to return any expense money he hadn't spent. Honor had its gray areas.

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John remain silent. He was impress that he actually did it. To be honest, he did not care either way. He did not want to do this mission alone. He figured the others might be useful and was waiting to see who was going to do what. He would make his decision then.

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Kemuri smirked at Chunin’s gesture. He didn’t have much in the way of a chance of getting that phone call based on the brief interaction they’d had today. He was cute and Kemuri could see the potential that his mere presence would drive Zan’nen nuts, which was always a bonus.

Zan’nen nodded. “I accept.”

“As do I.” It was the first time Kemuri had spoken aloud and it was almost surprising to hear her voice. Leaning in, Kemuri picked up the stick, wondering if anyone would protest. Zan’nen wouldn’t even though he handled their money; she was the one that publically carried the money after getting betrayed by another Runner in Tokyo. Kemuri could handle being stabbed a lot better than Zan’nen could.

The moment the stick was in her hands, it seemed to disappear. Merely a trick of quick fingers but visually impressive nonetheless.

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The Johnson smiles again and give the Runners a nod. “Feel free to enjoy yourselves but I recommend not wasting too much time. Don’t contact me unless you’ve got results. Bon Chance”.

He stands up and retreats through a door at the back of the room leaving you behind to yourselves and just enough Info to barely get a clue where to start looking. Someone must’ve contacted potential buyers, maybe your fixer knows more...

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"Well that was interesting." he said. "So either way the job is going to be done. So what will you guys do? Either way we have our own things to do. I must bid you guys good bye. If you accept or not I don't care. Seem our employer has not a care of if we do this or not. Me I don't care of what you guys do. I am doing the job. So unless we are going to discuss some stragity then I am leaving." John said in a calm tone.

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Zan'nen arched a brow at the calm speaker. "Well, that's a rather....unintelligent....statement." It was stated with the same mild tone that John had spoken with, but Saori winced inwardly: Seishiro being that direct was never a compliment.

"This is obviously a group mission," the elf continued, "else the Johnson would only have hired a single person. You may not care, but that simply makes you ignorant, stupid, or suicidal. Out of respect for having only known you for a few minutes, I will assume you are grossly ignorant. If you have other things to do besides this job, then do not accept it. If you accept the job, then you will remain here until we, as a team, have discussed what skill set each of us was contracted for and decided on our first course of action." He leaned slightly towards the other man, "You say you are doing this job and that you don't care what the rest of us are doing. These two thoughts together are death for you and possibly for anyone working with you. You must care what your team is doing on a run or you will find yourself outnumbered, outgunned, and dead. Quickly, if the gods are kind to you."

He glanced at the nicely-dressed human and the other elf, motioning to where the Johnson's agent had been sitting. "Will either of you be joining the run?"

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John smirked. "I know. I also know what I said was rather stupid, I apologize for being out of my element. I am just annoyed that things are not well . I don't like people wasting my time that's all. I am not naive that I can do this all alone. I also don't like when the boss leaves before things are said and done. Kind of makes me wonder if he even gives a shit about all this, or who he hires or not. Also kind of bad bussiness since. Either way I also want to make sure people are either in or out before I leave. If we are actually doing this and everyone's in then I am in. I just don't trust the people here that's all. As you said yourself, you do not know me and vice versa. I am just a tad nervious in all this."

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Saori had been staring at John like he was a particularly unpleasant specimen almost from the moment he started talking. Her expression conveyed complete disbelief that this person was a runner. She’d let Zan’nen speak for both of them, but when he said he was nervous, Kemuri couldn’t stop her tongue.

“If going on a run makes you quake like a French grandmother then bug out. Because if you come on this mission and frag it up for us, I’ll bleed you like a Jew in the camps. I don’t run with gonks.” Her eyes and voice were hard and cold as she stared at him. Most runners she knew would rather cut off their balls than admit nervousness or any kind of weakness. And that went double for when they were in front of other runners.

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"Don't worry I will do my best not to mess up the mission, and I hope not to let you guys down as long as you can keep your own promises." he said. "If anyone else has something to say that's ugly I suggest now is the best time before we start planning this out. I don't really care much for idle chat when there work to be done." He said as he was still sitting there, waiting for the barrage of insult, threats, and such. He tried to salvage the situation if he could. To be honest he asked the same question himself a few times as well.

Yet in the end of it, he was more or less bored then anything else. Sure vegence and justice had some small part to play in it. Yet in the end he was more or less into the excitement that draw him into this world, like the last one he was in. Work was work to him. He knew no man was an island, plus this mission needed others to do so or he would have been the only one here tonight.

Yet part of him like the fact he riled them up. He partly planned on it, and to see how they react and know a bit more of the personalities of his fellow co workers. Yet at times he did not use his words to the best effect and sounded like an idiot. He hated when he did that. He wanted to see if they were even caring about the job. He was not really intimdated by words a whole lot. He wasn't the most toughest guy in the street either. Most of the guys here could probably kick his ass in a heartbeat and he knew it more so then the others. He had also not know any of the others so he could not tell if he could trust any one of them.

He was rather bland in the looks department. White male, early 30's. Short neatly comb brown hair, and silver metallic eyes. He was someone who could blend in a crowd and probably get lost in it. Yet in the end it did not matter. He also was confident in himself even if he did not show it. He knew that these people would most likely keep him in the mission. He figured like him, they were all in the same boat. Down on their luck. This job all had the smack of desperation in it. Yet he did not say so at all. Why else did the boss not even care about them declining?

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"Gentleman, lady." Chunin was as calm as Zan'nen with his words. "Let's tone it down a notch, hmm? Do any of us really know any of the others here? Let's put the insults and personal critiques aside for now, because anyone who isn't a bit nervous when out there doing illegal things that might get their head blown off is someone who has their mind firmly planted in reality. I'm a professional and I get the little butterflies swimming in my gut all the time. It reminds me I'm still human and not some callous killing machine who shed his soul a long time ago for a few extra nuyen. Put the bravado away and fold up the intellectual cross examinations and put them in our pockets. If one of us screws up, we can hate each other then."

He stood and straightened his jacket, flattening his red tie before sitting down once again, crossing his legs and getting comfortable. "I am called Chunin and I am Shinobi." The intellectuals noted he didn't say 'a ninja'. "The skill set speaks for itself, I infiltrate, do what needs to be done, and be on my way. I am Awakened, I like long walks on the beach, drinks with umbrellas in them, women in mini skirts and high heels, classical English literature, and I've recently taken to river dancing in the nude." He glared at them all, unblinking, with that obnoxious dead-pan expression that dared hem to smirk, giggle, or do something. "So, who wants to go next?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

"I will handle the Matrix concerns for the run," the Asian elf stated simply, more than ready to be moving on to the actual business at hand. He still eyed bland man speculatively, but ceded the conversational space for the next person to speak up.

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Chunin did get a giggle from Kemuri; she was never one to stand on ceremony. “I can also go where I’m not wanted, but I do not river dance, in the nude or otherwise.” Saori fought back a grin at the various, quiet expressions of disappointment around the room. “I am also skilled at target acquisition and termination. You can call me Kemuri.”

Her eyes fell on the asshat and the elf, waiting for one of the remaining men to speak up and tell the room what they could do.

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Who's Selling?

Although the club invited to stay longer and have a good time it wasn’t half as entertaining knowing that the clock was ticking. The job required a certain haste unless the requested Disc was traded.

The Runners disbanded taking some time to gather their resources and make some calls. They had to find someone who was giving out word of said disc meaning to sell it. Since it was a rather unusual format it should be easy to find out if there was an offer.

After roughly 2 hours of making calls and waiting you gather at a small bistro as agreed upon earlier before you split. Chunin and Tomas excused themselves but relayed their information to Zan’nen who could only verify what they already had gathered.

Nabo – a local Ork Rockstar and lead singer of his self-named band expressed increased interest in obtaining the disc. As a bonus your contacts found out that Nabo was giving one last concert today in the Industrial district at a Warehouse in the Seattle Barrens before he went on World-Tour. Yes, you heard right, the former local Celeb and face of the Orxploitation movement managed to hit it big time and today was his farewell to his loyal fans.

Details Details Details

Current Scene Who’s Selling:

The first part of the job requires the team to find out if anybody is offering Mr. Johnson’s disk for sale. By using your contacts you found out that Nabo, an tip-and-coming young ork-rock musician, has been offered the chance to buy the disk. Since the only way for the team to get close to him is during one of his shows, you should arrange to sneak backstage (go Kemuri, Chunin and John!), while he’s performing and hack his commlink (Go Zan’Nen!) to get the information. This should lead you to the seller’s intermediary, who you then can intimidate to cough up the seller’s identity and location.

I skipped the part about your contacts in-game, since I originally expected, that someone would come up with this (it’s a standard procedure, if you don’t know, your contacts should know or know who you should ask).

You’ve been given the lead to check out Nabo since he was given the offer to buy the disk. It is very likely that the necessary information you need is on his Commlink – so you need to get hold of it. Nabo is giving his last concert tonight and will then leave for his world tour – so it’s now or never to get it.

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John was waiting to hear from the others. He needed intel on how they were going to deal with this. He was waiting paitently for the others to contact him in some way or another to discuss the topic. He was fiddling with his comlink looking in on the current news going on about in the city.

He was rather bland in appearance for a typical human. John was average height. He was athletic looking, but not very handsome. He had a tan white skin to him. He had short neatly cut hair. His eye were a metallic grey to them, that appear somewhat unattural. He was wearing an black bussiness suit.

He was rather bored. He was having trouble trying to keep himself contain. He was walking around the city. He was bored and had nothing else to do at the time. He needed to relax his nerves. He did not hear much from the others so he was concern about them at the moment.

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“Hey, Zan. Yo, Zan!” Saori’s voice exploded in his comlink and across his perception. With it came the sense of her – her young, impulsive energy and buoyant nature, carried across distance and the radio waves.

“Yes?” her elven roommate asked. Like her, his nature was perceivable as well, but where she was gregarious and even borderline annoying, he was quiet and reflective. Reflective could be annoying too, but generally only to people like Saori. Despite this, they got along very well.

“Guess what I know.” He could hear her smile.

“I’m sure it will amaze.”

“The concert is in a warehouse in Seattle Barrens, in the Industrial District. Nabo is getting big, and this place will be crowded, like four times more people in the building than it’s designed for.” Saori’s voice had become all business now. “They won’t be able to keep me and Chunin out. You won’t even have a problem, and unless John is an utter waste, he won’t either. The two big downsides are that most of the fans will be Orks and Trolls and the music will be terrible. Bring industrial strength earplugs. I’d hate for Nabo to shatter the tips of your cute ears off.” Zan’nen could hear her grin as she added, “If you want to blend in, you’re going to need to get out your punk elf get-up and snag a couple of fake tattoos. I’m going to call Chunin, Tomas and John and tell them too.”

They might already know, but Saori dutifully called and told them anyway. Chunin was first and relayed the information about Tomas as well, meaning she had one less call to make. While disappointed that she called for business, he was all business when she disclosed her information. After hanging up, she left Tomas a message just so he'd know, too. Then she was on to John, calling him and filling him in. Because he’d acted completely clueless before, she added a question: “Got any questions for me, John?”

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Zan'Nen's commlink alerted him that Chunin was 'on the line'. With a mental command the elf answered the call. "If you mean to keep me in the loop, Chunin, I assure you, I already know."

"Of course you do." Was Chunin's reply. Zan knew he was walking in the streets out in the open somewhere, just not where. He could hear the vehicles and the chatter and the bustling life of Seattle happening all around him. "Two reasons for my yammering and I'll leave you alone. First, nice work on the info. I'm a bit embarrassed, but my sources gave me nothing this time, good news that some of us could come through on this. I'll be happy to help cover a portion of any handling fees you or your associate may have incurred. S'only proper." It was strange how he came off as both incredibly professional and completely off his mental nut all at once. "Second, Tomas will be doing some astral recon for us, nothing to invasive so as to not draw any suspicion, but I've made arrangements for his meat-body to remain safe for the time being. If he sees or hears anything, he'll let us know. As for me, I'm on my way to the concert site now-"

Zan's avatar gave him a gave him a glare and was about to speak.

"Relax, I'm not about to cause any issues. Just some recon of my own so we know what's what. Unless absolutely necessary, I'll be minding my own business. So, does Kemuri like flowers, or chocolate... or, y'know... white guys?"

"That's three." Zan responded dryly, using Chunin's self proclaimed 'two reasons' clause to escape having to actually talk to him for any longer than necessary. "I'll pass the information along and please pass along anything of importance to the rest of us." With another thought Chunin was no longer on the line.

"Pleasant guy." Chunin said aloud as he took off his expensive jacket in an alleyway, tossing it into the trunk of a car. The gorgeous blond next to him quirked her brow at the comment and slapped a magazine into a Savalette Guardian, pulling back the breach and loading one in the chamber.

"Hung up on you, didn't he?" She smirked, tossing a tailored armored vest at him.

The runner prepared, as he continued to get undressed in the street, trading his expensive shirt for the ballistic vest, tailored though it may have been, it was less than conspicuous. "He's just warming up to me is all."

She closed the trunk and Chunin stood ready. "Alright, now that you're all Batmaned up, I'm going to the club, this is my only night off this week..."

"Well, drive safe." He popped the collar on his leather duster then refolded it back down so it was more comfortable. Briefly Ken and Kokoro were visible in the pale streetlight in jet black ink. "Do your home work, be in be by ten thirty, bend at the knees when lifting and..."

"...and wear protection if I get laid, got it."

"No, have him wear the protection, you'd look silly trying to putting it on." His grin was enough to charm her panties off.

She rolled her eyes and smirked along with his humor. "G'night, Cain." Her door lowered and she sped off into the damp, misty alleyway.

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"Not much. What's the plan?" he asked. "I was waiting for info on how we were going to do this. So are we going to be gathering in the same area, or we doing this here? Also what can I do right now?"

“The plan is pretty much as I said just a moment ago. We get inside and keep an eye on Zan’nen while he does his Matrix voodoo, then we bug out.” Saori wasn’t sure why that was unclear but apparently she’d lapsed into Elven or something. “I’m going to get Zan’nen in and Chunin can take care of himself. If you need help slipping into the club, let me know and I’ll get you in the door too.

“What you can do now is work on blending into a bunch of Ork-punk music. Stone-washed jeans, tattoos, uncomfortable piercings in all your orifices and holes – that kind of thing. Unless you are sure you won't be seen. You need to not be noticed. That clear it up for ya?”

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Zan'nen sighed and headed out, giving himself enough time to put together what he would need for the night before heading to the bistro. He pulled up the list of shops nearby where he could put together an outfit for the night, while also reviewing what he might need to know about Nabo and the Ork-punk scene, and also leaving a message with Arnette to see if she had any information on who Nabo did business with regularly and how he'd gotten his recent boost in popularity. A short shopping trip had him decked out in studded leathers, a temp tattoo sleeve on his left arm, enough metal clipped to his ears to drag him down in water, and a spike leash collar - and a note to Kemuri that if he ever heard a word out of Hudson about this, he'd change the locks on the suite until the elf-poser moved out of Seattle.

The elf that slipped into the seat next to Kemuri at the bistro looked like a teenage reject, complete with sullen pout, spiked black hair with black-light white tips, and black-varnished nails. He glanced over at Kemuri. "This work?" he asked, his usually light and cultured voice pushed down to a similarly sullen growl, grinding out the city-speak words without any hint of his native Japanese accent or the flowing tone often heard from decades of speaking Spetheriel. He ordered a spicy dish from the bistro, flicking through streams of advertising to follow ones involving Nabo, Ork-punk, and the concert tonight, so that anyone glancing through his Matrix presence in the net would see the expected kind of information floating around any regular fan.

He gave a half-nod to John, and began indelicately consuming the onion-and-jalepeno heavy sandwich and spicy nacho fries that the waitress brought him. "Chunin's checking out the place for tonight. Anyone score tickets yet, or do I need to find a scalper for us? And you're not going like that, are you? 'Cause Kemuri'll ditch you at the door, if you do. And no one else'll let you in, lookin' like a suit."

It wasn't perfect, as far as disguises went, and someone used to looking for the odd little tells that person gave off when they were out of their element would find Zan'nen just a little too interesting for comfort, but then that's what practice was for.

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