"Thanks."
Anya nodded and looked at the door but headed to the bar instead.
"Soycaf. Black." She checked out the bar's other selections. Mostly standard fare, but a few higher end products. And a locked cabinet that probably held the really good stuff - for those celebrating a big score without the good sense to know what to do with their earnings.
Steaming mug in hand, she headed for the door in the corner and then down the hall, trying to get a sense of where she was within the building. Somewhere right in the middle of the basement. The cavalry was going to take a while . . .
On opening the second white door, she paused in the doorway, surveying in the occupants. None of them were familiar, but that wasn't a huge surprise.
She moved into the room, allowing the door to swing closed behind her, but opted ignore the two empty chairs, preferring to stand in one of the corners. She leaned quietly against the wall, left hand in a pocket, the other clutching her mug. Her sunglasses and respirator were still in place - the latter looking military issue, though a little the worse for wear. A black skull-cap, now rather damp, covered most of her head. However, visible patches of skin around her forehead and cheek still exposed the discolored and misshapen skin of a burn victim to anyone looking at her for more than a second or two.
The rest wasn't much to look at. A dark nondescript long-coat with the odd bulge, hung almost to her feet, still dripping with the last remnants of Seattle's current weather. A pair of combat boots left slightly muddy tracks where she walked. After waiting a few moments for reaction or comment, she unstrapped the respirator, allowing it to hang beneath her chin, exposing significantly more of her face.
Copperhead kept her mouth closed. The Johnson obviously knew who she was - well enough to send her peons out with her name, a description and a pretty good idea of where she'd be. Whatever the Johnson said about herself would be lies. The information from the other runners too, most likely, though perhaps with a few more half-truths mixed in. No-one worth anything dropped trou in front of a Johnson or a bunch of strangers. At least at no one who hoped to last long.
She took a long, slow sip of her drink and waited, lazily studying the others in the room as well as the room itself. There had to be another entrance. The only point of the long hall was to give whoever was in the office sufficient time to bolt before whoever was coming in got through the second door.
quote:
15:29, Today: Copperhead rolled 1 success using 6d6 with the Shadowrun system with a target of 4. Observe in detail.