Into the Shadows IC

[Ghost49X]

New York City
Chapter 1: Cold and desperate

Neon lights barely broke through the freezing cold rain blanketing the city, steadily melting the snow before icing over a few moments later. The cold cutting right to the bone, it was going to be a hard night to be out in the streets. The downtrodden, chewed up and spat out by a society who couldn't care less, gathered in the alleys clinging to what crude shelter they could find. And those who walked the streets, did so with a purpose, occasionally slipping on ice as they made for whatever shelter they had. No one wanted to be outside tonight.

[lizardbyte]

It's a nice apartment, Foxglove thinks again. Most of the furniture has plastic tarps over it, but what's uncovered is comfortable, and still so new it squeaks when she sits on it.

She turns on the lights one by one, setting her bag on the couch, her jacket on a chair, and her feet on the coffee table.

Foxglove leans back on the sofa, waiting, but nothing happens. Yeah...nice. The weather outside is utterly dismal, but here, with LEDs shining down on her and all that thunder on the other side of an expensive window, it looks almost charming. After another moment of nothing but watching her silent comlink, she takes out the electronics she had carefully tucked under her jacket against the rain—a set of tools and a plastic trinket with LED lights and a pair of googly eyes. Picking the smallest screwdriver from the tools, she starts prying the emotitoy open.

For a while there's no sound but the rain against the glass and the scratch of metal against plastic as she removes tiny screw after tiny screw.

As she shakes the last screw onto the table, her comlink finally beeps. She grins. In her image link display, the message appears in a floating blue line of text over the comlink.

Glitch
y r u in my apt

Foxglove waves the husk of the emotitoy above her head, where it'll be in clear view of Glitch's cameras, wherever they are.

"Just a little surgery." She shrugs and delicately pulls out the circuit board, careful not to disconnect any wires. "I needed a quiet place to work where no one will take my tools." She enjoys the way her voice echoes off the empty walls and bare floor, so she clicks her tongue and adds "Ten minutes to notice I was here. I expected better."

[Denomar]

'This place is a pile of sh....' The thought had crossed the mind of the old elf before. It applied to both the rundown apartment and the grungy streets that he could see through the broken pane of the window before him. He took a long drag on the nearly spent cigarette; the flare of light revealing lean deep set features and dark eyes. He blew the smoke out the shattered glass with a long breath before he crushed the cig out on the pane, tossed it out and stuffed the hole closed with the ratty old towel.

The towel wasn't his.

Neither was the apartment.

He'd talked his way into the apartment a couple weeks ago, promising the junkie enough money that he could buy himself an extra few percs for the month. That wouldn't last long, he'd have to pay rent soon.

The elf known professionally as Candle pulled his jacket tighter around his thin shoulders and shivered against the cold that encroached through what little insulation was left. He tapped a button on the old fashioned commlink on his ear and keyed up the group chat for the crew.

"-Heads up. There'll be work soon."

[Feathersnow]

Naga don't shiver. Nevertheless, Kravyard was shivering. He hates this place. So cold, so dark, no trees.

But the UCAS was the Land of Opportunity, where, as the old philosopher said, "no one cares enough to make your death a matter of public policy." And NYC was the best place in the UCAS, where even a Naga might go unremarked.

And what opportunities he had! None, as far as he could tell, but he could still keep looking. As he was doing this night. He could go begging to Horizon, be a token metasapient for their faux-diversity program. But that was a huge step, one he would put off as long as possible.

So he desperately searched the matrix for any job postings that could be done without hands or feet...

[gac3]

The storm is inconvenient. Normally this time of night she would we walking the streets, looking for leads on her father. If not that then advertising her ability to get people drunk to make a little extra money. Neither of those seem like good ideas on a night like tonight. So as she makes her way down the street, she went into some crappy little restaurant down the street. She manages to get herself a table by the window and when the waitress comes around she orders, "Just a coffee, thank you."

As she sits, trying to wait out the storm, she activates her astral perception and gives the restaurant a quick look over before turning her attention to the street outside. She isn't looking for anything in particular, just anything worth noticing.

The coffee comes and Mari offers up a few words of thanks and appreciation to the Baron and the ancestors for it.

[Togo]

The place was almost deserted. Canary yellow strip lights flickered overhead, making the tiny tables bolted to the floor alternate between a swirled and sparkling iridium when they were on, and a sort of cracked chrome when they were not.

Over against one scarred orange wall, a solitary figure sat finishing off a soy-burger, his metallic-purple and silver jacket catching the light as he shifted slightly. Two earbuds and a glowing pair of glasses showed him to be watching something, the glow of the leaking light from the inside of the glasses casting it's own little bubble of calm blue light about him.

On the other wall, a large view screen was presently showing, with practiced hyperbole, a piece on the grand opening of a shopping mall that few patrons of this establishment were ever likely to visit. As the final corporate logo, ProtoP, trailed across the screen dragging a "your hope, your strength, your cure" behind it, the scene dissolved into an strident advert for living a happier, more joyful, and more fulfilled life, through amphetamines, available in a rainbow of flavours and colours.

Between the tables a looming figure shuffled along, cheap plastic boots over utilitarian coveralls, and topped off with a batted wide brimmed hat, set at the kind of awkward angle caused by a head that is both too large and somehow the wrong shape. Two holes had been punched into the hat, through which rose two heavy but delicately curled onyx-black horns. His practiced slouch kept them angled forward, where they wouldn't catch on the lights.

He picked up a cheap wicker basket from a table, as he passed and another and another, methodically collecting them as he moved around the room, stacking them carefully together with the detritus of the meals they had contained on top. When he arrived at the grinder he carefully tipped in most of his load, and then stacked the empty baskets on top.

Apart from the mostly eaten remains of a soyburger, which he discreetly kept, and an origami flower half-full of seaweed flakes, which was rather more obvious. Noticing the loitering Irasshaimase girl looking at him, wide eyes under LED-laced eyebrows that made her look 12 going on 30, he gave an awkward bow, and moved back to his seat. It wasn't clear if he was embarrassed or merely acknowledging her. His soft, red, velvet-like skin, washed dark under the yellow light, did not permit him to blush.

The seaweed flakes, foam like half-inch deep fried disks that were more oil than seaweed, and more air than either, might have been a mistake, Damon considered, as he moved back to his table. They knew he was taking food, and he knew that they knew, but it was only less hassle to let him do it than to throw him out, if he made it easy for them to ignore. But while the flakes were almost insubstantial, carefully metered they would give him plausible cover for lingering for another half-hour or so. Sitting there listening to the rain drum off the windows, and watching it steam from the neon signage, rather than being out in it.

As he gets near his table, he's surprised to see someone come in. The somewhat distracted air and decorative bones for accessories suggest she is some kind of shaman, or maybe talismonger. His initial wariness loosens a bit when she orders soykaf. His own cup is over an hour old, so hers will be good cover.

Brow creasing, he carefully flips the bleached woven mat his meal came on, smooths it flat and extracts a one of his precious half-pencils from an inner pocket. Looking at her carefully, he begins to draw.

[Xetheral]

As Tiny walks home from the Stuffer Shack in the cold rain, the water starts seeping through yet another tear in his ragged coat. Shivering as the water runs down his back, something inside Tiny snaps. This was one rainstorm too many; one freezing walk home too many; one interminable shift at the stuffin' Stuffer Shack too many. It's time for a change, he thinks. Long past time.

He hasn't touched his hacking skills in years--he'd sworn them off when he went straight and got himself cleaned up, for whatever good it had done him. But he still knows how, and still remembers the thrill it brought. Tempting as the extra money those skills could bring had been, he'd resisted the urge so far. But no longer. Tonight's the night, he thinks. Tonight's the night I fall off the wagon for good.

At long last he reaches the miserable little hovel where he sleeps, and steps inside. He leaves his tattered, wet long coat by the door, and fires up his commlink, ready to break every promise he's ever made to himself.

[Feathersnow]

There was one call left to make... Mr. Patel. As a priest, he knew things others didn't, heard things. People went to him.

"Mr. Patel, this is Kravyard. I need work. The money is nearly gone, and I can't bring myself to go begging to Horizon. And I would be dead if I lost what I have. Please, Pujari, if you hear anything, anything, I can do for some nuyen, let me know"

There. The penultimate venture. It was done. Now just to avoid freezing until one of the seeds he planted bore fruit.

[Ghost49X]

Foxglove

Glitch

"6usy, Y my pl4ce?"

The comlink goes silent for awhile, as Foxglove works on her toy.

Glitch

"Y u n0t us3 some of 7h4t ch33k 4 a gig?"

"Get'ya some k1bbl3."

---

Candle

After a few minutes later the comlink buzzes and a feminine machine voice reads the texts

"Sorry boss, no hard feelings but I'm calling it quits. You're gona've to find yourself a new wizkid."

"Yeah same here. J and me r getting out of this dump"

It figures. His team quit on him, to add insult to injury he'll probably find them working for another fixer by the end of the week. Or maybe they're telling the truth and going to skip town? Quit the life? This weather ain't doing anyone any favours...

---

Mari
It was hard to compare soykaf to actual coffee, this cheap junk was barely drinkable, but at least it was hot. The look the waitress gives mari when she brings her the drink shows surprise that anyone expected anything of quality from this neighbourhood.

---

Tiny
Rage! Time to stick it to the man! But first he'd need a target or a gig, something more focused than just flailing wildly at the ominous hand playing the shadows like some sort of strange game for selfish amusement.

---

Diamondback
"Oh Kravyard. Yes, work. Hmm... You want work? I've got an extermination gig, low pay but it's still work. Interested? You'd be hunting devil rats down in the tunnels, nasty vermin. Bounty is 100¥ per tail if you're interested. I'll let you know if anything better comes up?"

[gac3]

Mari

Not nearly enough is happening outside the window to calm Mari's nerves. She wants to be out there doing something. Every day that passes, leads get colder. Unsure of what else to do, she pulls out her tarot deck to consult the Baron, her patron. She mumbles her prayers under her breath as she shuffles.

"Baron, please offer your guidance to your lowly serviteur. What should I do next?"

The soycaf comes out as Mari is dealing out three cards. When she looks up to thank the server, she notices a troll paying her special attention. Is he just drawn to a small dwarf with long curly hair and bone jewelry? Or does he know who she is? Maybe he knew her father?

Activating her sight, she looks at him again, trying to read his aura and get an idea for what he might be up to.

[Feathersnow]

Hunting rats. Like an animal. Except, ironically, he wouldn't even get to eat them, because he would need to kill them to prove the bounty. And he would be starving before he ate something that was already dead. But ¥100 was ¥100.

He slipped into a warm body sock and a harness, ordered Bust-a-Move to hang on to it, made sure he had scissors and a bag. and activated the door actuator. Into the shadows...

[lizardbyte]

'Y my pl@ce?' Foxglove turns the question over in her mind, testing its weight and edges like a rock she's going to throw in a pond. She could have gone to Waltz's shop instead, with its spare counterspace and gentle teasing and the faint smell of burned soycaf. She could have gone to a bar, maybe one of Charming Betsy's favorite haunts, and moved into an empty booth. But an hour ago, with one roommate having a belligerent, one-sided conversation on her com about some kind of custody dispute, another roommate roommate shaking on her bunk and muttering about where to find 'it', had to find 'it', and the third eyeing Foxglove like she wanted to know if she'd be a good accomplice for murdering the first roommate, it had seemed like an easy choice to walk out. And with the beginnings of dark clouds swarming overhead, it had seemed like an easy choice to go down into a subway station. And when the train to Glitch's neighborhood has been the first to arrive in the station with a beckoning screech, it had seemed like an easy choice to walk onboard.

Maybe I just want to see how you get with your feathers ruffled, old bird. The week before, Glitch had sat across that plastic-covered coffee table from her and tried, in a prickly, stilted kind of way, to apologize. It was a nice gesture, but. Well. Nice gestures only went so far. Foxglove needs to know if she can trust Glitch not to turn around and bite her the moment she stops being an abstract regret and starts having real problems.

Besides, breaking in had soothed some part of her that had been angry for five years and wasn't quite ready to cool down yet.

"Bold of you I don't got enough cheek for the job and you, abuela. I'm gonna hit up a couple people when the rain stops." Foxglove holds up the emotitoy to the light, inspecting her work. It occurs to her that she does have a good reason to be here, kind of, beyond just testing the waters with Glitch. "Just gotta figure out how to handle a passport issue first. If I do a job with my black card and it draws attention while I'm in the radius, pigs'll have questions for me. Unless you got a suggestion for that?" There's probably a way to fake a name besides getting a whole new identity from Waltz, right? Her ID is on the comlink, after all. How hard would it be to change a few numbers?

If it was possible, Glitch would know. And if Glitch knew, she wouldn't be able to resist giving an answer, busy or not. It had been obvious in the way her eyes had lit up explaining how she got into Citigroup's account, in the badly hidden pride woven throughout her whole crappy apology, in the way she had offered her own teaching and expertise up as a bandaid. 'You should learn how to hack, kid. There's no shaking the rep, and it's a useful skill to have.' Like it was for Foxglove's own good, and not some kind of narcissistic need to recreate her own genius. And maybe it was both and maybe it was neither, an offer could be more than one thing at once, but it wasn't the kind of offer Foxglove was willing to take without holding it under a light and studying it close, first.

As she waits for a response, she slides the final wire into place and closes the casing with a click. Holding the emotitoy firmly against her wrist, it's silent, but a series of indicators light up her AR display. Satisfaction/happy/anticipatory/curious—she slips it into a pocket and lets go, and the indicators vanish.

[Denomar]

Well that figures. If those fraggers wanted to tank their reputation that was on them.

Time to start from the bottom again.

Crossing the grungy apartment to the cramped closet of a bathroom Candle opened the mirrored medicine cabinet. Lifting the false bottom he reached in and pulled out the granite grey block of a Raekor Defender. checking the slide he set it to rest in the holster at the small of his back. Straightening the leather jacket he peered at the dog eyed figure staring back at him in the mirror. After all this time, it seemed strange even to him that he still didn't seem to age. A dark T-shirt with its faded lines of 1's and 0's, merch for a matrix that no one else remembers any more. Jesus, did he need some gloves. And the twenty year old Naots on his feet were getting so thin they wouldn't keep the cold out for long.

Starting fresh meant he needed the shadowlands bbc, but there was no way to access that in this little junk hole. He'd have to find some place where he could. But after this long in the shadows Candle knew something of the places where his kind would congregate. He didn't know the name exactly. But he'd know it when he saw it.

The door didn't even have a lock. Candle took to the stairs with a loping stride. His desire for a cigarette warring with his desire to keep his hands warm in his jacket pockets. As the cold blasted into him, pockets won. A wan smile curved his lip. speaking in low tones he welcomed the streets. "Now chill the kite, brings home the night..." he stepped over the slouched form of a chiphead leaned back against the wall, lost in their own dreams and nightmares. A shaman sat by the door like a rodent in a parka offered his profane tcotchkes for a low price that even Candle couldn't afford. "...That Mang the bat set free."

Outside the snows were a mire of muck and slush. Cars creeping past in a monotonous drone as the grid kept the otherwise untenable traffic moving. Candle felt his eyes drawn towards the enormous hab blocks with a hint of jealousy, at least the prisons would cut out the draft of the wind tonight. He shook himself from the desire for that comfort with another wry grin. "The herd is shut in byre and hut. For loose till dawn are we."

As if by invoking this imagery conjures it into reality Candle sets off into the snow covered streets following a a crowd of obvious gangers. They're hollering and posturing loud enough to drown out his quiet recitation. "This is the hour of pride and power. Talon and tush and claw."

They were yelling now, and the bright lights of city security were getting brighter. As the coppers and the gangers set to trying to drown each other out Candle slipped through the growing chaos. Too small next to the cacophony to be noticed.

The poem finishes in voice over as the camera draws outwards in a kaleidoscope of color, of neon and steel and slush. "So hear the call. Good hunting all. To those who keep the jungle law." There's only noise and the city now as the view crawls up the side of the familiar silhouette of the Empire State Building as gunshots and traffic horns and blaring music scream together into sudden silence and with a final bang the title screen INTO THE SHADOWS paints itself over the view.

Smash cut to whoever posts next.

[Ghost49X]

Mari
She looks at each card as she turns them over.

For the past — the Two of Swords, representing difficult choices; for the present — the Ace of Coins, representing a new venture; and for the future — the High Priestess, in her reversed position, representing hidden agendas.

---

Foxglove
Her comlink goes silent for a bit before buzzing again and displaying a longer message.

"y0u c0uld 4lw4y5 cl0n3 50m30n3'5 1D 4nd fl1ck 7h47 0n. 17'll buy y0u 4 c0upl3 m1nu735 unl355 y0u h4v3 70 60 7hr0u6h 4 ch3ck p01n7. u5u4lly 7h3y f16ur3 17 0u7 b3f0r3 17 6375 700 f4r. 1f y0u fl1ck 4ny 1d 0n 4nd 0ff 17'll buy y0u 4 l177l3 b17 0f 71m3 b3f0r3 y0u 637 qu3r13d 4641n. bu7 7h47'5 47 b357 4 h4ndful 0f m1nu735, y0u'r3 n07 601n6 70 637 v3ry f4r 1n70 70wn d01n6 7h47. bu7 17'5 3n0u6h 70 h17 50m3 pl4c3 n34r 7h3 3d63."

After a short pause it buzzes again and adds to the chat.

"5ur3 1f y0u p0p n34r wh3r3 y0u'r3 h1771n6 7h47 m4y b3 3n0u6h bu7 y0u c4n 0nly 7ru57 y0ur luck 50 much."

---

Candle
As he walks down the street, peering into alleys and shops for people worth looking into. So far nothing but posers and people who would be more trouble to work with than what they'd get paid. After close to an hour he comes across the Burgatory, a small restaurant with a sparse clientele. Inside he notes two individuals that could be worth the time to check out.

---

Diamondback
As he rides the trolly Diamondback searches for what he can and finds an old national geographic mini-documentary on Devil Rats. He plays it during the commute.

"This week on National Geographic: The Devil rat, one of North America's most tenatious pests! Brought to you by MBN, the World is Yours!
These medium sized awakened hairless critters like to avoid direct sunlight and are highly resistant to most pest control poisons. They also seem to cunning enough to avoid most traps set out for them.

And now a quick word from one of our sponsors:
Need to get somewhere out of reach? Or maybe you just want a bit of automation in your life? Ngwenya Exploration Technologies is here to fill your need! Our newer line of drones are more autonomous, self-sufficient and are harder to damage. Remember! Where ever you go — go NExt!"

Now back to our regular programming.
Devil rats can be found anywhere you can find regular rats and are mostly seen within the sewers or subways systems of big cities. Their presense often leads to infestations that are difficult to get rid of.

Communities dealing with an infestation usually end up contracting local mercenaries or posting bounties in attempts to fix the problem. Specialized professional options are possible but difficult to find."

[Thundercracker]

Chillax

Within thirty seconds of stepping out into the freezing drizzle, Mark wished he’d stayed back at the apartment and put up a ward; he and Mari could replace it the next time they were both there.

He cursed to himself as he nearly took a spill on the slick sidewalk. Passing headlights created halos and after images on his vision. The last time he was in New York, it was on business. Everywhere he’s gone had been via taxi, expensed to the company. Once again, he cursed his bad luck and naïveté that had gotten him into this predicament.

He found the entrance to the subway, with its unique fragrance of mechanical grease mixed with urine wafting up from the stairwell. A few loud screeching stops later, and he was back in the cold night drizzle, huffing his way up the grimy steps and trying his best to avoid touching the handrail.

“Maybe all this hiking will finally help me get in shape,,” he thought. It took him another ten minutes to find ‘the wet spot’, the bar BB Hobbes supposedly liked to do business out of, mostly because he desperately tried to avoid looking like he was lost as he kept his head down and plowed down the street, past a group of dwarf hookers and various junkies of all metahumans.

He finally found the place, down a half flight of steps. The warmth of the bar hit him as he entered, as did the smell of years of accumulated beer spills, long dried. A large bar dominated the center of the tap room, and booths and tables populated the outside. Barred windows near the ceiling looked out at the street above. A troll bartender looked up at him, then went back to wiping the counter.

The thought of turning around and going home crossed his mind.

“Do you want to work or not?” he thought.
Steeling his resolve, he looked around and spotted an ork at a rear booth, his face lit up by no less than two screens, one showing a sitcom and the other some scrolling text. Recognizing his contact from the video call they’d had previously, Chillax walked up to the booth.

[Feathersnow]

Well... that was slightly informative. Mechanical traps wouldn't work. That wasn't a problem. They required overhead he couldn't afford, anyway. But there was the kernel of an idea there. Bait he would get some slop from a diner, set it out, hide, and bite any of the beasties that came nibble...

It required a slight expenditure, but nothing outside Diamondback's dwindling supply of cash. And it required going to the cheapest diner he could find.

[lizardbyte]

"Huh. I'll look out for SINs to clone, I guess." She waits a minute, but there's no response. Foxglove takes the emotitoy out, twirls it around her fingers, and puts it back. "If you're too busy to respond that means I can raid your liquor cabinet, right?"

Still nothing but the rain.

Foxglove eyes the sound chip she had removed from the emotitoy. Just a tiny circuitboard attached to a cheap speaker. If it were attached to a new power supply, maybe inside an electrical outlet, it could keep making intermittent noises for days, maybe weeks, before it was found. It would drive someone nuts.

No, bad idea, stop it. Or rather, fantastic idea, bad target. She's testing Glitch's patience, not trying to burn it to the ground, and hiding a random noisemaker in Glitch's living space is firmly on the wrong side of that line.

Tempting a prank as it is... but no. Besides, Glitch just helped her out.

Foxglove pockets the sound chip and starts gathering up her tools. Rain or no rain, it's better to remove herself from temptation before boredom outpaces her good sense. She doesn't want to go back to Serene Heart, but it's a big city out there. Maybe she can track down some food and a job.

With a grimace towards the window, she lets herself out, resets the security system, and goes out into the night.

[Denomar]

There was something familiar about walking into a pub that not only smelled like urine, but looked like it too. Whomever designed those lightbulbs ought to be shot.

The temperature wasn't much better, whoever owned the place was clearly trying to save money on the electrical bill because it was maybe five degrees warmer than outside. Still, the windows had a fairly good seal, and once the door was shut the wind stopped biting. Shaking out his long hair Candle took a good long look at the patrons in the bar.

First and most obvious was...Well, Candle *thinks* its a troll, though he hasn't seen one that looked quite like a Diablo poster before, but how many other meta's got that tall? Who looked to be watching his own glasses as much as he was watching the bar, and a dwarf buried deep in a deck of collectible cards on the other side of the bar.

The Orc slouching between the tables collecting glassware definitely didn't stand out. The greying man parked at the bar itself looked more like a permanent fixture of regret and woe than a human. Hmm. If he wasn't careful he'd end up like that himself before too long. The two metas could be runners but there was only one way to tell. It wasn't necessarily a good idea to advertise, but sometimes you had to make exceptions. Besides, someone comes around looking for an elf well, that doesn't really narrow it down very much.

Candle's lean stride took him from the door to the bar. Pacing his steps in just the right fashion to be just a bit too slow, you notice something like that even if its subconscious, its just....not quite right.

He leans at the bar and flashes a grin at the bartender and says.

"Hey man. I'm here to see Mr. Johnson." his voice is low and graveled after long years of too many cigarettes, but its loud enough that the tables close to the bar probably wouldn't have difficulty hearing him either.

[gac3]

Mari

Mari looks at the cards she has delt. A new venture and hidden agendas. As she works to absorbe the guidance of the Baron, an elf walks in and makes his way to the counter, asking for a Mr. Johnson. Most likely he is looking for some shadow work. Maybe this is the new venture she was warned about. Or maybe it relates to the troll and his attention.

After a few moments of contemplation, she decides she should try to pursue both leads for the moment. She made her way to the bathroom for a moment of privacy.

Once alone, she begins praying to the Baron again.

"Baron, I have gotten your message and intend to act on your wisdom. Please allow me the service of one of the many spirits of the nearby waters to aid me in your service."

Once the summoning is complete, Mari bows to the new spirit. It appears as a skeletal alligator in a top hat and a black tailcoat, with a carved cane in it's hand.

Noble spirit of Manhattans waters, thank you for coming to my aid. I require your service to spy on a an elf who may be a lead I need. I suggest perhaps you try to possess his jacket, should it be ammeniable to you, and ask that you tell me of his meeting that he is about to engage in.

Once the spirit is clear on what is he is asking, she makes her way back into the main room, picks up her drink and approaches the Troll. "Is this seat taken?" she asks, gesturing to the seat next to him.

[Togo]

The troll is scowling at his table as Candle comes in. As the newcomer stands near the entrance, shaking out his hair, the troll deigns to lift his head for a moment, agate-black horns reflecting in the neon glare, red eyes burning from a face of red textured skin, before returning to glare at the table.

A minute or two later, at the mention of 'Mr Johnson', the troll's head jerks up again. His eyes carefully sweep the room, before settling on the dwarf, who is also glancing towards the bar. As if by silent agreement she rises and heads for the restroom, while the troll's head drops again, frustration written clearly across his deep, red, velveteen visage.

After a minute or two, she returns from the restroom. Rather than return to her own table, however, she approaches his. He settles back in his seat, and speaks a few words. She is looking to take not the chair opposite, which would put her back to the room, but to the one on his left, putting her back to a wall, and giving her a clear view of the room as well as him.

***

Damon sneaks a look as the elf came in. Pretty, even for an elf, and that long hair was definitely a statement. Bet he had running water. Damon watches as he made his brief but effective dramatic entrance, and then talked off to the bar. Important. Or thought he was important. Either way, anyone like that wouldn't be Damon's concern.

Instead he turns back to his drawing. He somewhat regretted using the back of the place mat, now that he's gotten into it, but then it's only a quick sketch. A plan. He glances up at his subject again, who was focusing on her cards as if they would speak to her. Maybe they did.

He carefully crumbles a small portion of graphite onto his finger, and brushes onto the rough surface, leaving a grey plume. He wasn't so sure about that, something about it made him nervous, but it felt right. He added a few minor details, and then glanced over at her again, slightly frustrated he couldn't see the face of the card.

He'd had cards once. He remembers, an odd detail, losing a rabbit baker down a crack in the steel grill floor. He could have lifted the grill, the bolts were only small and would have snapped easily, but the guards wouldn't let him.

The elf's loud question startled him. Johnson? Who was Johnson? He carefully peers around, looking for this mysterious Johnson. The elf was grinning, at the bar, his self-confidence provoking a faint stab of envy. But he was ignoring the other people at the bar, so not there. Damon himself wasn't a Johnson, so Mr Johnson must be...

His roving eyes settles on the dwarf. Damn. If she was styling herself as 'Mr' Johnson, then... He eyes drop down to his image of her, complete with an slightly exaggerated female form that he'd had to guess at since she was sitting down. Should he redo the hips there? Or should be true to his original impression? He preferred his impression, of course, but this was the kind of situation that could end in people shouting at him.

Glancing up again, he sees her coming out of the restroom. No, the body shape was accurate. And it's not like the dwarf would ever see the picture anyway. He adds a few more touches here and there until he gradually became aware of her presence, standing opposite him. Very very carefully he presses himself back into his seat, until he can hear the plastic start to creak under the strain.

Sure, that's seat is free.

Damon forces himself not to panic. While, technically speaking, strangers wanting to talk to him is a good thing, his experience didn't hold many examples of it working out well. And if she was 'Mr Johnson', or if that was just a code phrase, that meant the elf was probably working with her.

He blinks. No need to be paranoid, she's probably bored and wants to talk. It's not like they're secretly working together to trap innocent trolls in seedy diners. It's not like the elf is suddenly going to join them.

With long sculpted finger, he pushes the basket of seaweed crisps an inch or so in her direction, in invitation.

[Feathersnow]

Kravyard goes to the diner he saw on his mapsoft. And... it has no automatic doors. He logs onto the local node and sees if he can contact a server to come out and let him in. While he waits, he sees a spirit of an unknown religion summoned up.


Maybe that mage knows something helpful. Devil Rats are awakened, after all. They might even tell me if I agree to buy them lunch.

[Xetheral]

Tiny

Tiny cautiously checks to make sure that the piece of discarded foam he'd stuck on the exposed bedspring of his bedraggled mattress is still in place--he might be about to start back down a dangerous path, but he still doesn't need a case of tetanus--before he lies down on the pathetic cushion. He lets his body go limp as he switches over into VR and loads his Oracle 7.2 program. It had been years--more than a decade, actually--since he'd followed the siren song of the darker corners of the matrix. All of the places he used to know were long since gone, but he still knows the culture well enough to have an idea where to start looking. If he is going to be of any use to anyone in the Shadows, the legal programs on his 'link aren't going to be enough--he needs actual cracking software. Heavens know he can't afford to actually buy legit security software, so he needs to find his way back into the Cracker Underground. It isn't going to be a quick job, but he's still got the skill, and the thrill of finally venturing back into forbidden territory keeps him going.

Fatigue finally catches up to him after he'd been at it for hours, still not having found his way onto a pirate VPN. Objectively he's made good progress, but having crossed his self-drawn line in the sand he's impatient to dive-in headlong, and isn't pleased with his efforts so far. As he logs off and starts to fall asleep, he makes a mental note to himself to juice his link in the morning before he resumes the search.

[Ghost49X]

Chillax
BB held a finger up towards Chillax asking him to wait as he maintained eye contact with a guy in a suit and dark sunglasses. A fiber optic cable linking them together gave them unparallel privacy in their conversation, though by the look in the fixer's eyes it seemed like serious business.

The ork standing at the entrance of the booth holds his hand out, blocking Chillax's path into the booth. Giving Chillax a tusky grin, he nods towards the bar "Get yourself a drink, Mr Hobbes is busy right now."

---

Foxglove
The weather was worse than before, or perhaps she had gotten used to the comforts of the tiny apartment before stepping out on to the fire escape, now completely iced over. Getting down would be tricky, and falling from the fourth storey wasn't an enticing prospect...

---

Candle
The waitress behind the counter, a pretty little elf with black hair and neon pink highlights who had otherwise seen better times, shrugs at Candle's mention of a Mr Johnson. As she opens her mouth to speak an older Ork yells out from the Kitchen "Har! This ain't a classy bar where you'll likely catch some shadow-work." He walks out of the kitchen up to the counter, where he reaches over to shake Candle's hand "The name's Breaker, I've been where you are though I'm glad I've since left the life."

---

Kravyard
After a few minutes, a man leaves the diner. As the door opens, he stares at the giant snake and shuffles over silently, leaving him free to enter the diner. Naga aren't exactly common, and although Kravyard didn't feel any hostility from the man, the man probably wasn't expecting his kind or perhaps doesn't even know what Naga are. Nonetheless the door into the small diner is open for a few moments.

[Thundercracker]

Chillax

Chillax nodded to the ork and walked to the bar, finding himself a spot where he could sit and see BB, and the entrance at the same time. He thought about ordering a real drink, but settled on a coke instead.

"The sugar and caffeine will keep me awake," he thought.
His sleeve stuck to the bar when he lifted his arm to take a drink, but one look at the troll bartender and he decided against saying anything. He thought about making small talk, but figured he'd just keep to himself this time.

After about ten minutes of waiting though, he started getting bored. He shifted his vision over to Astral sight, to see what was around. The dingy bar faded away into the multicolored eddies of the Astral plane, with the living metahumans standing out as bright swirls, except for their cyber, which came across as empty nothingness. The video screens and other technology also showed as dead space, no astral signatures whatsoever. Chillax glanced around, looking for any other Awakened who might be in the bar.

[Feathersnow]

Kravyard slithers into a booth next to the troll. Hello, friend. You don't know me, and don't need to, but I'm interested in hunting devil rats, and if you or anyone watching could give me a few pointers, I would be happy to buy their dinner.

Once a member of the waitstaff comes, he offers a tip for staying for a little while, and requests "smelly metahuman food" in a to go bag.and to cover his neighbor's order.

[gac3]

Mari

Mari takes the seat next to the troll as a Naga slitheres in through the door and approaches them. She looks over to it and smiles. "Devil rats are well named. Nasty little critters. They can conceal themselves well and are immune to toxins. Even trapping them probably won't work because they control other rats. Nasty creatures not worth the effort." She geatures towards the elf. "This man might have a lead on some better work though. I've been keeping an eye on him."

Giving the naga a wink, she turns back to the troll. "Any special reason you were keeping such a close eye on me?"

[Denomar]

Candle smiles returning the bruising shake. "I bet chummer. Some of us don't got that luxury, but its nice to dream." he could feel his own smile becoming a touch more genuine, there was a forthrightness to the ork that he could definitely appreciate. "Sorry 'bout my rough exterior, its snowing like crazy out there and I think the lining on this jacket is starting to go." He hooks a thumb back towards the door, jesus his coat was soaked...And he couldn't hang it up for fear of freaking the crowd out with the holster at his back. That's ok, keep cool, Candle had worked while being pelted with water before and this wasn't some sort of high intensity choreographed fight scene. He could keep his manner in check.

"Call me Candle. Anything I can do to pitch in with your problems, or if you know someone who has them, I'm your guy. You know what they say about opportunity." He combs the hair out of his eyes. "Only comes to the lucky or the stupid, and I've been at this longer than most."

[lizardbyte]

Foxglove regrets her choice to go outside the moment she slides the window shut. Icy water drips down her collar, cold air climbs up her sleeves, and the metal gridwork creaks under her boots.

She sticks her left hand in her pocket for warmth. When I get back to SHT, I gotta check the community closet again for gloves. Or even just 'glove'. One would be enough. Her left hand is cold, sure, but her right—cybernetic, even if it doesn't look it, some of Mercy's best work if the doctor herself is to be believed—is thankfully not equipped with nerve endings. She uses the cybernetic hand to hold onto the railing as she climbs down, only using her left when it's absolutely necessary for balance.

She takes her time, checking each step for traction before placing her weight. The cold is bad, but falling from four stories would be worse. So she climbs carefully, slowly.

The cold is awful, but falling from three stories would probably be worse. She only climbs a little bit faster.

The cold is excruciating and she hates everything, but falling from two stories would suck. She grumbles and only skips the last step on the ladder.

At the first story, the ladder is frozen stuck and won't go all the way down. Foxglove kicks it until it falls all the way down with a screech, then scampers down.

On the ground, sheltered by buildings and warmed by car exhaust, it's. Tolerable. Almost tolerable, anyway. Tolerable enough to huddle by a wall and look up the list of bars Charming Betsy said she liked to frequent. She checks the map on her comlink, biting her lip. She doesn't like it, needing to look up every other new location. It makes her feel like a tourist in her own city.

Whatever. There'd be time to memorize the streets later, when it was dry. First bar on the list, the Wet Spot, isn't too far away. She sticks her left hand back in her pocket and uses the right to pop up her collar against the wind. Time to play hide and seek with a fixer.

[Togo]

The two of them look like they know each other. Mari smiling at Damon, sitting close to him. The red velvet-skinned troll giving her his full attention.

However, Damon is so entirely wrapped up in carefully watching the dwarf sitting next to him, that he manages to miss the huge snake-creature coming in through the door. That is, until it curls up in the booth next to him, with the sound of leather against plastic. Just like someone at Choppers sliding a leather cover over one of the hot-rods they're working on, the sound is immediately understandable, but somehow smoother and carries on for longer than his ears expected.

Keeping very still, his eyes slide away from Mari, and over towards Kravyard. Hearing him speak, he relaxes a little. A 'friend' who doesn't want him to worry about who he really is. That was fine. He'd dealt with gang agents before. The trouble was, most gangs around here were divided on ethnic lines, and he couldn't tell whether the naga was Chinese or Japanese or Italian, or whatever. But wait! Nagas were mostly from that country with the tea, and the turbans, and the buddhism... what was it... France! Yeah that was it.

He listens carefully, the movement of his delicately curled agate horns betraying gentle nods, as he takes in the information and tries to work what the heck the snake is talking about, and what kind of job a 'devil rat' is a metaphor for. Probably something illegal, and very heavy. It always was - why else would anyone be talking to him?

As Mari fills in a few more details, Damon worries about how to respond. The advice of his friend Timmy came back to him. "You're a troll, Damon. No one is going to ask you a question thinking you'll know the answer and they won't. So if they ask, give them an answer that tells them..."

At that point Mari asks him why he's been watching her, and his plans melt away like a slushy under a blowtorch.

I... ah... well... I thought you looked... um... good? I mean... uh... interesting... She must be convinced he was a pervert. Or a bruiser from a rival gang! Any moment now she was going to spot the sketch work lying on the table between them.

Spoiler: What the picture looks like, if you check it out

Show

The picture is drawn on the back of one of the restaurant's place mats, processed and textured paper made to look and feel like bleached reeds, which is presumably traditional somewhere in the world, or at least thought to look traditional by whoever runs this place. The reed paper is off-white, and not very flat, but serviceable.

The focus of the sketch is a definitely Mari. She's a little cartoonified, and certain curves on her are exaggerated as part of the style, as are the very tight cargo shorts and explorer's pith helmet. She's climbing into the eye socket of a far larger and more detailed study of Mari's face, set in three quarters profile and in a more naturalistic style, save for the eye sockets having no eyeballs. The cartoon her is stepping up into the socket, the distance she has to climb exaggerating the curve of her hip and the briefness of the shorts. In her right hand she holds a torch, one of the sturdy models that doubles as a club in dangerous places, which she is shining before her. In her left hand she holds two cards, one of which is a heart. Behind her winds a stylised trail, dotted with doodles of hazards. A deep chasm forms a gap in the trail, which has been bridged by a playing card bearing a club. A small toothy maw on stick legs lies dead on the trail, bleeding from spade card buried between its eyes.

The rest of the picture is vague and unfinished. A haze of light coming out of the other giant eye-socket. Some kind of shadows cast from the off the picture to the right. Something about the hair of the giant face, suggesting flowing water.

And then she and her snake partner... would make a really cool pair for a hoverboard design, now that he thought about it. Black background, pick out that scale pattern in bold colours, and then twine them - no! Focus Damon, focus!

He looked carefully left and right. Large caliber revolvers had not appeared. No one was preparing to work him over with razor blades or tasers. They were waiting for him to say something. What had he been thinking.? Timmy's advice...

"...an answer that tells them what they want to hear, which is what you can do for them."

Have you tried spear fishing?

Damon inclines his head carefully. All his movements are careful, controlled, like the world was a glass box, that would shatter with rough handling. His voice is slow and deep, the kind that reaches down to tingle the base of the spine.

Down at the construction site, near the sim-sense store on 4th, there's a whole mess of reinforcement rods coming out of that old building they're tearing down. One of those and some duct tape would make a spear, if you're not too fussy. It would be blunt, of course.

He pauses, concentrating

Roof of that Shiwase building. Climb up the back, between 11th and 12th. It's a sheer climb at first, but after a few stories it's got advertising, big signs, makes it easier. The top's got a few cameras, but it's an anti-flier formation, covering the big spaces, and the doors. Not the ledges. Not the big old heat exchangers. They rotate, all day, grind a bit, no one cares. If you press your spear against the hub, past the fan blades, you'd get a tapered point after an hour or two. Boring. Bring a sandwich or something. Enjoy the view.

Damon's stops talking as one of the staff comes over. His eyes flicker at the sound of Kravyard ordering food he clearly doesn't intend to eat, but he says nothing.

Then you just set yourself up... where ever the rats are, and wait. I don't know what your hearing's like, but when you hear one, just stab. You don't need to see them if you know where they are. Like spear fishing.

He pauses.

I'm Damon by the way. How long have you three known each other?

[Feathersnow]

"Call me... Diamondback. I admit I'm a little new to this, but that sounds like something worth trying. I was going to set out some food, but that isn't going to work if they can make actual rats do the schlepping.

Would you like a contact number, in case you find real work?"