He listens to her story intently... not interupting.

It was a tale surprisingly hard to tell.  It sounded crazy even to her own ears, but she also knew that if anyone in the universe would believe it without question it was him.  What bothered her was that her memory still had spotty areas.

There were many problems with her story, but it wasn't her honesty that he questioned.  He understood many of the difficulties of her life.


Anyhing else he might have said is cut off by a knocking on the door.  His movements are deliberate.  He rises, moving to the door, no weapon in hand.  He stands  off to the side when he speaks.  "Yes."

"This is Sally, one of the barmaids.  I am just bringing up food."

He nods, but still doesn't stand in front of the door as he opens it, standing off to the side with his right hand free.  He seems uncomfortable with the fact that he has to take the tray with his right hand, but he hands the woman some coins and takes the tray, locking the door behind her.

Tensing at the knock, it took her only a second to remember sandwhiches, and she let out a long exhusted breath, waiting for the tavern staff to completely their task.  As she waited she'd tried to remember if there was anything significant that had happened, some detail she'd forgotten.  A conversation she'd had with herself a thousand times.

He sets the tray down on the table, shaking his head in answer to her question.

The food looked good, but she had no appetite, some what odd for her.  Instead, her attention followed him, he was still moving fine and again she thought, she needed to be nice to that strange Fire Boy.

There is the slightest laugh, a great show of emotion for Mason.

She had to chuckle too, though exhustion was threatening, and her whole being was starting to feel heavy.

He lays back on the bed, starting to fall asleep with his boots still on.

Perhaps the one thing that Vanessa liked most and least about The Tavern was that it appeared to be outside of time and space.  A minute, an hour, a day it was all relative.  This was true in a wakened state, asleep and it all became even more so.

He is slow to wake, and even slower to move.

With Mason stiring, Vanessa too, shrugged off sleep.

Truly peaceful sleep is a rare thing when you haven't spent you life on the edge, when you have become a mercenary and runner.

She knew she needed to broach the subject of returning, but she was hesitant, not sure how the topic was going to be met.


Mas... I really think we need to go back and have you checked out.  I'd rather go with you, but if you want I'll wait for you here, but I think you need to and the sooner we get it over with the better.

The answer is an adamant "No!"

Was that a no to going at all, or a no to me waiting for you here? She asked carefully, seeking clarification.

"We will go together." 

She let out a clear sigh of relief with his answer. Arguing with him about going at all would have been difficult.  Going together she is perfectly agreeable to.

On this subject at least they are in complete agreement.

There were still things to talk about on that, but she was not going to press her luck immediately. There were other issues that had to be addressed.

He starts to think about his clothes, they are tattered and bloody.  He has always been a neat and orderly person and the idea of wearing that suit rankles him.

If I know me, I would have left stuff here... She commented, now trying to peer under the bed.  I don't believe I wouldn't have tried to have at least a change of clothes for both of us... What did we do with the clothes we wore to New York? She looked around the room.  She left clothing everywhere as it always seemed to be needed.

He had indeed left a bag here, but it wasn't in the room when they came in.

It's here.  I'm sure... no one would take anything... She now gave a thorough look under the bed and in the closet, producing two weathered bags with a satisfied smile.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:09, Thu 06 Sept 2012.

He is fine with letting her get the bags.  Machismo is something that he had long gotten over.  He had worked with too many female runners to still hold any of those illusions.

He stands and moves over to the table, picking up his bag and pulling out the doc box.  He plugs the data jack into his neck and runs the diagnostic on his cyberware.  He makes no visible sign but after a minute injects some black fluid into the box and it is quickly running into his system.  He has them programmed for slow and efficient work, this is not an emergency, and they can get more done if they move at a moderate pace.  He still focuses most of the nano's on his knee and the damage to the enhanced muscle fiber there.