This message was deleted by the player at 00:28, Sun 31 Aug 2014.

In reply to Quinzella (msg # 78):

Vonon leans back against the bar, crosses his arms across his chest, then reaches up with his right paw to pensively scratch under his muzzle, as he studies the unknown human woman.

After a few moments, he lowers his hand and slo-o-owly turns his head towards Sharik -- not moving his gaze from the other woman to Shar'r until the last moment.

His gaze now locked on Sharik, Vonon cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows in a near-human expression of puzzlement.

He'd never been much at conversation, certainly not small-talk, so he found the current situation a bit uncomfortable.

He really didn't know what he was doing here... on Grendal, certainly in this nightclub. Well, maybe. He'd caught a glimpse of someone he thought he knew entering the club, though it had been years since he'd seen the Count. He'd since learned the Count had been an actor, so he'd watched a few vids. He couldn't help wonder what had brought the Count to Grendal either.

He barely caught Quinzella's comment as she indicated someone she knew... who was walking with the Count towards one of the back rooms.

Although the Marines had taught him how to plan, his nature still tended to be more spontaneous. Without that military structure around him, his instincts took over.

"And I know the Count that she's with!" he said, jumping up. "Let's go see what they're up to! We've got an hour yet before this meeting." He held up the business card he'd been given by the blue-haired woman.

He started heading in the direction that the Count had gone, only to be stopped by a security person.

"I know the Count," he explained to the security person. "He'll want to see me."

It sounded good; it sounded reasonable. But was it true? Would his old acquaintaince be interested in seeing an ex-Marine?

As Ikram suddenly came alive and charged forward -- in a completely oblique direction, as usual -- Vonon just rolled his eyes and threw his hands upwards in resignation.

"He's always been like this, quiet for hours at a time, then suddenly a ball of frenetic energy. For as long as I've known him." Vonon explains to the ladies, "I blame his upbringing; leaving a little pink primate out under the desert sun can't be good for the brains."

Vonon nudges Sharik in the shoulder, as Ikram starts after this 'Count' of his, he's almost bouncing in place, "In fact, Shar'r, he kinda reminded me of you; always impulsive, quick-tempered, distracted by shiney things...hurr-hurr-hurr."

Vonon's growling chuckle ended suddenly as a rather large individual suddenly manifested out of the crowd in front of Ikram.

"Alert stations, Ladies! Unfriendlies on the scope. Let's bounce."

Vonon straightened up from leaning on the bar and walked over to Ikram in an unhurried manner. He knew Shar'r had his six; he assumed the other woman had hers, but really neither knew, nor cared enough to check.

Vonon walked up behind Ikram just in time to overhear his nomadic friend say, "I know the Count, he'll want to see me."

Sharik craned her own neck slightly to try and catch a glimpse of the woman that Quinzella had been pointing out.  "Really?!?" she asked with more than a hint of incredulity creeping into her dulcet timbre.  The thin dilettante added with a touch of playfulness, "I think that I know her preferred lager..."  There was a pause of perhaps a heartbeat, then she added rather nonchalantly, if much more seriously, "Interesting.  I think that I have seen that woman.  At the TAS accommodations earlier today."  For it was more than coincidental, it seemed to Shar that this woman kept popping up.

Then Ikram burst into action.  She glanced at Vonon, since of course, the ex-Marine was his contact and not hers.  Sharik couldn't help but admire the man's bravado.  It must be the Imperial Corps training, she mused mentally to herself, quite taken with his style.  The thin fingers on an open palm were held out, a gesture for Vonon to lead on.  "Time is a-wasting, apparently..." she noted with slight chuckle watching the quickly receding back of the Imperial Marine disappear into the crowd.

She couldn't help but notice one of the men that she was walking with.  He was very handsome.  And something about him was vaguely familiar.  More than vaguely familiar. she decided.  Or rather the intelligent personal assistant program on her sleek dataglove computer had decided that it seemed.  Since it was linked to her datashades and her personal communicator, the local public subnet was easy to scour.  But, more importantly (at least for someone like Sharik), it had an up-to-date gossip chain Who's Who database at its disposal.  And the man's face, the Count Darrel Cromwell, was all over it the subsector feeds; the price of celebrity is seemed.

She licked her lips slightly.  It was quite possible that they had met previously at on of her parties.  Though that would have been almost a decade ago.

With her vargr guide's ample warning, weaving through the crowd was straight-forward.  Hot on the heels of her furry friend, Sharik multi-tasked in the fast moving people train, trying to get her PDA to pull as much public data on Count Cromwell, while watching Vonon's six, assuming Quin was on her six, and keeping her eyes peeled for anything else unusual all while dodging traffic.  It was almost as much fun as grav cycle racing through chicanes.

She almost bumped into Vonon as he abruptly stopped when Ikram did.  But, Sharik was lucky to catch herself just in time (pretty much, it was only a tiny bump).  She ran her right hand through her hair, while pushing her shades up onto the crown of her head.  Following hot on the heels of Ikram's request, Sharik noted clearly with her chin held high, "Dame Kaagira-Mepede, and entourage, to call upon his Lordship, the Count Cromwell."  She brushed an invisible speck of dirt from her smart leathers, a show of mock impatience.  Then the dilettante with the dirty brown hair gave a slightly mischievous smile to Vonon and gently pushed him forward as Ikram was lead in, and as though entry was a foregone conclusion...

Quin frowned as everyone was leaving, "What meet...?"  She was soon nearly alone (sorry too many players at times for my 2400 mind to track who is near).

She swirled her drink, keeping a close eye on those that went off without her, watching if she was needed.  Seeing lack of any outward motivation, except to follow her friends that seemed to be having fun without her, she stayed at the bar.  She had plans to search the net, look for jobs, and finish her drink.

Quin sat at the bar, she was reaching for her pocket book to pay for the finished drink.  Having been told her first was free.  She felt the soft buzz of a text message.

She softly smiled, she had hoped for that, but was rather unwilling to admit it, and took a look.  It was her friend Sharik, her smile was a little more obvious now.  She fired back, **You and those two men quite ran off to a private room.  I saw the door close and a bouncer outside, I am still at the bar if you need me.  May I inquire as to the goings on of this private party?**

She then looked over the bar, "What do I owe barkeep?"

"Put it on my tab," a voice behind Quinzella says. She turns to see that it is the person who gave her the card earlier.

"Hi, again," she then says to Quinzella. "It seems as if your friends have abandoned you."

Quin smirked, "Um, yes it does."  She wagged the nearly empty glass in her hand, "Thanks."  She smiled.

In truth she had yet to receive the card, having been on the dance floor earlier when this woman was making her rounds, so she was not sure why she was being graced by this gift.  "So tell me, to what is the pleasure of the drink?"

"Oh, excuse me! I've been handing out business cards to people that seem like they might be interested in... an opportunity," Ceruleanne replies.

"You were on the dance floor when I reached your table. Looks like I forgot to return. As it says on the card, my name is Ceruleanne Blue."

Ceruleanne hands Quinzella a card.

________________________________________

        ACQUISITIONS and RECOVERIES
                    AcquireCorp LLC
             5000 Dragon Boulevard
                 Beowulf T292-Z114

                             Ceruleanne Blue
                             VP of Talent
                             5050-2250
                             cerulean@grendal-com
________________________________________


Turning the card over, Quinzella sees that '8pm back room' has been hand written on it.

"My company is always interested in hiring talented people, which is why I frequent the clubs when new ships come into the starport. Sometimes it pays off, sometimes it doesn't."

"I don't hand out a card to everyone, just those that look the part. I'm pretty good at reading people, even when they try to hide behind a facade. I got the impression from you that you might be looking for work. Thus the card."

"I'm not always right, but... am I in this case?"

Quin looked at the card as though contemplating it, and then flipped it over to do the same, "Yes, you assume right.  In fact I was directed here to find the work I desire."

She slowly drew out her comm device and idly began to press a few buttons, "I am not much for grouping though, so depending on the work I do like to find the selectness that fits.  What did you have in mind?"

She made a show of forcefully pressing 'send' on her comms, little known she had dialed the number on the card.

"We fit our people to the task, Ceruleanne replies. "I wasn't really expecting everyone of your group to show up, but they've already gone to the backroom. The particular task I need done should only be discussed in private."

"Would you care to crash the party with me?" she adds, nodding at the back room.

Quinzella's comm unit connects with the number dialed.

"Acquisitions and Recoveries. How may I direct your call?" a voice says on the other end.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:21, Fri 05 Sept 2014.

She chuckled at Cerulean, smiling.

She held up her hand as though to ask Cerulean to wait a second while she handled the call, "Cerulean Blue please."  Her cheeks were almost rosy as she smiled.

"Just a moment," the voice on the other end says.

About 2 seconds later, Ceruleanne says with a smile, "Hello." Then she pulls her comm out of her pocket.

"Whenever I'm out of the office, they forward my calls to my comm. It's on silent mode."

Quin chuckled and quietly clicked off the call.  "Thanks for the number, I hope there is no reason I should forget it."

She turned and grabbed some of the salty treats that adorned the bar, "Normally when someone wants my particular skills they see me alone, or at least you know, in a more secure way.  So what about my skills stands out?"  There was a beep over Cerulean's comm, Quin's resume had just landed on Miss Blue's little screen.

"For most... jobs, I don't look at a person's resume, mostly because there's no way of knowing whether what the resume says is true or not," Ceruleanne answers. "Most people are rather bad at writing a resume. They either exaggerate, put in things that they think are significant, or omit things that they think aren't important."

"As I said, I'm a good judge of character... not just my opinion, but others as well. I'm not in the business of quantifying skills and abilities. I don't really need to know if someone can type 70 words a minute; what I need to know is what they'll do if the system is down. 'Innovative resourcefulness' just doesn't show up on anyone's resume."

"For the most part, I can't even tell you what it was about you that caught my eye. Con artists call it 'cold reading'. It can be learned, but the best ones seem to come by it naturally. Comportment, stance, walk, pace, head gestures, dress, manners, eye scanning, smile, hand gestures, touch... It's all of that and more."

"In other words, you fit the profile of someone who could possibly assist me in this endeavor, as did those in the back room. Although we do repo work from time to time, if either the money is right or it's for a friend, that's not our main function."

"I handed out a number of cards tonight, but only you and those in the backroom got the personal request. If the others are interested, they'll call the company and set up an appointment. Those are the ones we'll interview and test to see just what their real skills are."

"Now, any other questions?"

Quin waved her comm at Cerulean, "Judging by the last message from inside there I got, I am not 'on the list'."

She chuckled, "I am more than familiar with the 'cold reading' term, and its use.  I do not send my resume lightly, or false, ever.  Lies are beneath me, I only use them when actually on the job, not when applying.  And I submit the info for the jobs that interest me, as I do not know what you are offering, I sent you everything.  You can run background scans plenty on me.  What you see is mostly me."  She grinned, since the first time she donned an alias this had been a go to phrase for employment.

"So I should ask you if you have any questions, after all if you dislike or disbelieve something, ask about it, if I can't answer the questions it is an obvious lie.  If I can, but not well it will show the 'forward thinking' you say you seek."

"You may not be on their list, but you are on mine," replies Ceruleanne with a light chuckle. "As they all are. Besides, they're in my backroom."

"They are in the room I arranged. It's always smart to get the lay of the land, so I expected at least one or two to check it out first."

"As for asking you a question... Well, asking you an ethical question is moot because it will always depend on the situation. There's always going to be a situation that makes you re-evaluate your ethos, perhaps even violate it."

"So, how many words per minute can you type? I ask this because not every world, not even every locale on this one, has voice recognition software. Sometimes you have to do it the old-fashioned way."

Quin chuckles at Cerulean's words, "That seems like a welcome list.  One I should never mind being on."

She looked back and began to sort of fiddle with her cocktail napkin, "Well my skills are normaly better used outside the type rooms, so I am not the best, but last I checked, my best accuracy was at around 100 words a minute.  Kinda slow."  Quin as blushing oddly as she revealed this news about herself.

"Really? That's actually rather respectible," Ceruleanne responds.

"But that wasn't really the question. The real question was whether you could fake an undercover role as some sort of admin, secretary or data entry clerk. It doesn't matter even if they test you. It's about getting around minor barriers."

"I'm quite sure there isn't a skill on your resume called Bullscheiss. Do you understand now? I can't really ask you a specific question about your abilities because the abilities you might need are dictated by the situation, which could be anything."

"For instance, I knew this guy named Voltgar the Lucky. Didn't need a resume; his name said it all. He and his pals decided to start a salvage company. He claimed they'd salvage anything. So what skills would you expect to need for that job? Turned out that their first client wanted them to salvage his marriage. Same skills you think?"

"By the way, they did it."

"So, ready for the backroom now?"

Quin chuckled, "A roundabout way to ask how well I can act.  A respectable way to be obtuse I should think.  And I actually have done things similar to the hypothetical situations you have layed out.  I am an exceptional pilot, pretty good shot, and can disguise myself pretty well.  I do not have a name similar because it would be Quinzella the Lucky Extreme Awesome Piloting Subterfuge Specialist, or there abouts, basically it would be so long it would not be worth knowing it, especially since those that do usually keep the 'why' as to why they know it, to themselves."

She sighed, "I am great with secrets, and working around secrets."  She chuckled, "Best moniker is Q of all trades.  Will you be there as well?  In the back room?  I hate to go in there and find my efforts futile as to be without a participant I desire there."

"Oh, sure, I'll be there," replies Ceruleanne. "Since everyone is already there, no reason to wait until the designated time. And there is a bit of an urgency to my offer."

She gets up, waits for a second to see if Quinzella will join her, and then starts heading back there.

Quin sighed as she reluctantly followed along, not sure how they would get past the bouncer though.  Not for the first time tonight she was ready to use her training to subdue someone.

"Tell me Cerulean, why the rest of them?  I can vouch for at least one, but the rest I know little about, except a few are rather excitable and like to sprint, not usually the best traits on a mission requiring stealth and guile."

"Don't confuse situation with circumstance," Ceruleanne responds. "What is a reasonable spontaneous reaction in a nightclub seldom translates into the same reaction under stress."

"As for the others, they all have that... for lack of a better term... adventurous spirit. I'm quite sure the job will require more than one person."

She doesn't respond to Quinzella's unasked question about the bouncer though it's clear from her glance, but the bouncer doesn't even blink or move when Ceruleanne approaches. She walks up to the door, opens it and walks in.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:04, Tue 09 Sept 2014.

Quin trails as best she can, hoping not to be stopped.  "No you misunderstand, I meant that I can only vouch for maybe one, period.  Kind of what I said.  The rest was all chagrin, I know of one in there I have worked with and she is A.mazing."

Unless stopped, TO Private Room