Ears is a high-class restaurant in the Elven District of Downtown. Its storefront is relatively small, almost demure, clearly a place that gets business by name recognition rather than glitzy advertising.

Firefox and Carver both arrive at Ears early.

Also Cloudbreaker, St. Nougat, Warlock for you, and PCO Spvnky (did I say that right?) are also there.

By 'there' I mean 'outside', because the doorman, who is the orkiest looking elf you've ever seen, won't let you enter. One look is enough to tell him that you rabble have no business in a place of class, refinement, and mandatory pants. Firefox is the possible exception, except she has the poor taste to associate with people wanting in said class, refinement, and pants.

He crosses his arms as you approach. "The homeless shelter is in Bellevue. You need me to call you a cab?"

In reply to Papa Bear (msg # 1):

I take a look around this glitzy establishment, hoping that my good kilt is enough crotch coverage to enter this fine establishment. It shouldn't really matter my rocking mage sigil robes cover up most of it anyway, although the cool wind does rustle a jimmy now and then. I look the faux ork up and down as he dares speak to me, I slide the hood down and look directly at him and say in the best dead pan baddass mage voice I can muster. "Can you afford the cab back to your house?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:30, Thu 23 Jan 2014.

In his grungiest Americanese accent possible, Carver replies with "We're here to see a guy named Big Johnson who's name isn't Johnson. We were also told you guys have the best spinach puffs in town. The first is forgiveable, but the second... That I have to see for myself. With my tongue." damnit that sounded cooler in my head. And in filipino. Pants or no, Carver is not about to be upstaged by some ork-faced daisy-eater.

Apparently "wear pants" was Rock's version of "dress to the 9s".  And unfortunately most of this group was barely able to pull off a 2.5.

The size of the team was both promising and worrisome.  You didn't order this size of a crew unless it was a pretty big job.  And a big job meant decent nuyen.  Unfortunately, based on the way everyone was eyeing each other just as much as they were the doorman, none of her fellow drek-heads had worked together.  And that had cluster-frag written all over it.  Though she supposed that with the job being from Rock that had likely been a given anyway.

Her lithe form slipped towards the front of the group, her hands subtly straightening her leather jacket to further accentuate the ample cleavage visible through the cut-out of her neon tube-top.

"It seems our future employer neglected to mention that an alternate door would be more appropriate.  Perhaps we might enter in a manner that would be less 'disruptive' to your other guests?"

Her smile and voice were both pleasant, but still made it clear that disruption was pretty much a given if their little group didn't make it inside somehow.

She held the bouncer's gaze, waiting for the slightly blank look that signified he was talking to someone inside - preferably confirming and locating the private room of "Mr. Johnson" rather than summoning a KE squad.  Once that look appeared, she leaned non-chalantly against the wall beside the door, regarding the assembled rag-tag band with a slightly bemused grin.

"Firefox".  The nod of her head addressing both everyone and no-one in particular.

OOC: A quick check, Firefox, are you wearing pants?

Is anyone else in the party wearing pants? Anyone?

Considering the trouble I went through to get them, Carver is wearing pants and his jacket, but shirt and underwear are optional.

I believe I specified I was wearing leather pants.  Snug ones.

The HELL WITH PANTS!


KILT FTMFW!

Noug watches impassively as the rest of the team banters with the hired muscle.  he could get in if he had to but going in without the team would look bad for biz.  for now he just stood back and watched.

(for the record yes, Noug is wearing pants.)

Twitch walks up to the establishment, wondering if everyone else got the same message that he did.  Having researched the place before coming he knew there would be a dress code and has dressed appropriately.  Walking up to the doorman he hands over a business card and an ID, "Excuse me, these are my associates, if you could please let us by?  We have an important meeting to be attending." he says indicating the others.

"I am assuming that You are all at least dressed as shadowrunners so I am leaping to the conclusion that we are all here for the same thing.  Have any of us done any runs together before?

how exactly does a shadowrunner dress?

Like a murder hobo. But dirtier.

In reply to warlock4u (msg # 12):

in that case, no my character is not dressed like a shadowrunner

With a flick of his tongue, Saint Velveteen flung his toothpick into the gutter and pushed off from the wall he had been leaning against.  All this talk seemed pointless and a waste of time.  They were here for a scheduled meeting and the only thing stopping them was this one puny doorman?  St. V had half a mind to shove the guy out of the way and walk right in.  If there were mooks waiting on the other side, it would be the Ears that would wind up on the losing end of that bargain.

He took half a step toward the door with the intent to try out his plan, but he stopped when a well dressed individual started schmoozing on their behalf.  More talking, but that seemed to be the way these guys liked to do things.  He leaned his massive bulk back against the wall.

"They call me Saint Velveteen," he said, answering the neon-chested lady, Firefox.  Then pulling out another toothpick from his pants pocket, he stuck it between his tusks and answered the guy with the fancy clothes.  "I don't know 'bout these guys, but none 've been on no runs with me."

The doorman looks at Firefox, then at the party, then back at Firefox, then back at the party. He lifts a little microphone built into his collar to his mouth and talks into it, "Rizzo, Mr. F's party is here. We've got one and uh ... five shadowrunners. ... Yeah, get that table ready for them."

He then looks at Firefox, "Right this way."

He leads the way around to a side alley, then behind to the back of the restaurant. A server is there with a selection of suit coats in all different sizes. Once everyone is suitably, well ... at least partially covered, he leads the way in through the kitchen to a well-obscured corner table, well out of sight and easy hearing of any other diners.

A waiter arrives quickly. He places out five paper place mats and six menus. He also puts two small packages of crayons. The place mats have word jumbles, connect-the-dots in the recognizable shape of an Ares Predator, and a 'Help Fastjack find the paydata' matrix maze.

The menus are in High Sperethiel, and do not include prices.

Carver dabs at a stubborn curry stain on his shirt collar. He has in fact put on his best clothing - and as it happens his very worst. They are, in fact, his only clothes. Seeing as how the delicious red sauce has no intention of giving up such prime real estate, Carver pulls a carnation from the table arrangement, pulls out the suture gun from his "Dr. Feelgood Medkit jr" (with authentic anaesthetic smell!) and staples it to his collar. The suture bites flesh exactly as it is designed to, and Carver winces a little before returning to the menu...
Which is in Elven.
Knowing this is his time to shine, he pulls out a small plasteel cigarette case lined with electric green-on-black spikes and slides one into the datajack behind his right ear. "DONDE ESTA LA BIBLIOTECA? ESE ES LA CASA DE MIGUEL. YO TENGO ALERGIAS DE LOS PECES. YO TENGO BABOSAS EN MIS PANTALONES." As his vidlink insists on making him yell out "mi tía está en fuego", he ejects the chip into his palm, slides it back into the case, and carefully reads what chip he puts in next.

After he decides on the most flavorful and/or least bland option on the menu (and spinach puffs), he sneakily grabs Firefox's purple crayon and gets to work coloring Mork the Ork's Vindicator LMG. Purple is the best color for a gun.

He also nudges the person to his right and points to a tick-tack-toe board where he has put an auspicious purple X in the top right corner.

Carver is rolling them in! +1 for my morning laugh.

Twitch looks at the tic tac toe board and shrugs.  Grabbing a green crayon he puts an o in the bottom left corner and slides the board back to Carver.  Looking at the menu he begins mumbling under his breath about the fact that is in sperethial and makes it a point to try to learn something of the language later.  Pulling out his pocket secretary he begins looking up a translation page for the damnable language.

Carver puts an "x" in the bottom right corner, offers Twitch his Sperethiel Linguasoft chip (if Twitch has the right mods for it), and points to the least-disgustingly-healthy foods on the menu.

After putting on his complimentary suit coat, St. V couldn't help but flex his arms in front of him.  It was too tight and needed some stretching.  But he quickly stopped when he heard the shoulders starting to tear.  Hopping that nobody noticed, he hurriedly crammed himself into the back corner seat of the table.  The delicate looking chair strained under his weight and the table sat on his knees at a weird angle, but he fit.

Taking one glance at the menu's cover, Saint Velveteen threw it back to the waiter and said, "Just bring me something you think I'll like.  On second thought, make it two somethings."  He assumed this meal was being paid for, so he might as well treat himself.

"So what are your specialties?" he asked no one in particular.  Finding out what people were good at might clue them in as to what type of job this might be.  Not to mention it would help him know who's skull to bash in first should things take a turn for the worse.

As he finally finds a translator Twitch puts an O in the center of the board and slides it back to Carver.  Setting about translating the menu he selects something he believes he will like and sets down the menu to order, "I will take an order of your mushroom risotto with the veal meatballs, an cup of crab bisque, and a Waldorf salad.  I would also like a glass of willow wine 2048 please."  Turning to the troll he replies, "I am very good at maintaining subtlety in a place where certain topics of conversation might cause a bit of a panic." he then smiles and begins coloring on the place mat.

Firefox ensconces herself between Carver and Twitch.  Slightly odiferous, but she's smelt worse.

She glances at the menu.  It's the one for sarary-men looking to impress their dates by blowing their year-end bonus.  She considers raising a fuss, but it's not worth it.  She does however order a single bottle of one of their higher priced vintages.  Not enough to alienate their Johnson, but perhaps enough to send a message about his choice of meeting establishment.  Besides, may as well start off by introducing her teammates to one of the finer things in life.  Plus a salad.  Quality greens were hard to come by, and the sage & fennel here were amazing.

Cloudbreaker's question is met with a smile and a quiet response.  "Mage, face and all-round handy gal.  Not a bad dancer either, though this is probably not the best place.  You?"

"I'm real sneaky, a good shot with a pistol, and can make live things dead or almost-dead things live." he mutters something in Filipino under his breath (waving his hands in thought) before continuing "Also cook, sew, plants, and chemicals." To drive the point home he takes his dull knife from the dinner arrangement, pours a little table salt over it, makes a slashing motion across his palm, and then drops his head on the table and snores. "Otherwise, smart, strong, fast and tough. She goes down," he points his chin at Firefox "I carry her out. You go down," he chin points at the troll "we have little problem."

Carver, confused, puts an X in the middle-right segment, puts a line through the three "x"s and returns to Mork the Ork's riotous purple mohawk.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 14:24, Sun 26 Jan 2014.

He ignores the crayons and the placemat and looks over the menu pretending he can actually read Sperethrial before closing it and setting it down. "House Salad with House dressing on the side, water, and no meat of any kind please," he asks politely of the Waiter.

since introductions are being made, "I am the opener of ways," he says a little cryptically and slightly overly dramatically, "I am pretty good at getting into places that the general public isn't supposed to."

folding his hands in his lap he observes the rest of his 'team'

Saint Velveteen took little notice of Carver's thinly veiled threat.  He was too busy counting his fingers in front of his face, deep in thought.  "So we've got at least two sneakers and two smooth-talkers.  One a medic and one a mage?"  He was probably way oversimplifying, but he didn't really care.  St. V scanned the fifth guy and his outfit screamed mage of some sort.  Probably.

St. V shrugged, causing the whole table to wobble. "I guess I'm the odd one out then.  I'm the wrecking ball.  Gimme a wall of mooks and I'll destroy 'em."  He slammed his fist down on the table to drive home the point, causing some crayons to roll their way onto the floor.

Twitch sighs, looking at the tic tac toe board, "How long has it been since that happened?" he thinks as he lets out a little giggle.  As the rest of the group begins talking of the ways they prefer to inact violence he cringes a bit and looks around, hoping no one is paying attention to the conversation.  When the troll slams his fist down Twitch stares pointedly at him, "Do you think it is necessary to break the table before we get our orders?  Or can we at least wait until after the meet?"  He then goes back to coloring.

Carver flits his fingers about to catch crayons, though his dwarven reach does leave a number of the wax sticks tumbling off the table. He smiles at Twitch, offers a green and a purple, and mentions "If you could convince our Johnson to swap out some of my pay for a security helmet, I'd be grateful. Possibly even 'finder's fee' grateful."
"Is not a threat, it's just a statement of fact. I may be strong, but you are very large and I am not. I would rather not have to drag you if it can be helped, wall-sama."

"Who said anything about a threat?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:19, Sun 26 Jan 2014.

He smiles again, "Evidently no-one. Do you have a blue? The Matrix should be blue." He looks down to the Fastjack puzzle and begins tracing a path with his finger.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:42, Sun 26 Jan 2014.

He selects a blue one from the, now disturbed, stack of untouched crayons and passes it to Carver.

While waiting for the other two to disclose their abilities - or not - Firefox leans down and picks the red crayon off the floor.  It would make a decent candle, but it was probably best to avoid setting off the automated sprinklers until after the Johnson had turned up and said his piece.  She'd give him another five minutes anyhow.  In the mean time, she settled for slowly peeling the wrapper off, trying to make as long a strip as she could.

"Anyone else wanna share their monikers?  'You with the pants' could get old pretty quickly . . ."

Realizing that he has forgotten to introduce himself Twitch rectifies the faux pas, "My name is Twitch." he says simply smiling to the table in a friendly fashion.

"Carver, Doctor Carver, Doc, whatever suits you. I have been called Sandman on occasion." He bites his lip as he wanders the maze. This one certainly is a brain teaser, much more difficult than the last time. Finally he gives up, and draws a green "back door" on the outside of the maze and draws a line around it instead of through it.
If the puzzle designers wanted the maze to be solved the normal way, they should have written it for street sams. No wait, they have explosives. Wage slaves?
This message was last edited by the player at 15:38, Mon 27 Jan 2014.

He chuckles a little bit "Actually, I'm fine with just being called 'Pants' for now.  Maybe when we aren't so exposed I will share my name with you."

OOC: until the gm approves my sheet my name may change at any time.

My understanding was this was play time, not an actual run. Is this true or no? I am working on an assumption here. Else things are likely to change drastically for me.

This is indeed play time, but in the format of a run. Expect silliness. None of the bad stuff resulting from this run will follow you afterwards (including PC death), but karma earned will.

Pants stands up and kills all the other members of the team.  he then pulls out a phone and calls a number, "It's done sir.  You don't have to worry about them anymore."

Pants shakes himself awake and realizes that he dozed off some and was daydreaming while waiting for the food and the Johnson.

:P I have my next post drafted and was ABOUT to post it when Warlock posted, so I figured I'd hold on just a little longer.

I follow the Elf who fell out of the ugly tree and fell on the ugly ground back around to the side of the club. I attempt to keep all comments to myself as I take a seat with the rest of the group. I quietly wish I had a comprehend languages skill as I have no fucking idea what some people are saying. I point randomly at the menu and use haughty dismissiveness to hide the fact that I cannot read the damn thing.

I look around the table as people do introductions. I try to remember what I can, as it seems expected of me to respond, I do. "You can call me Castanova. I think my name pretty much says it all." I pull down the hood of my KICK ASS robes to reveal a very young man sporting an unkempt red afro with pasty "never been outta the basement before" skin tone.

I go back to surveying the placemat, and flip it over to start drawing some really terrible anime on the back while I wait for food, and try and figure out exactly which one of these people is out to get me. Or if they all are. I should probably just plan for that....

(Thank goodness Warlock is playing dumb. That post made me flinch so hard...)

The waiter waits patiently, then takes down your orders. She makes a face at Twitch's order, but doesn't say anything. She heads towards the back and intercepts the sommelier. The two have a hurried but whispered conversation. He laughs, nods, and heads back.

You continue to wait until nearly half after before the maitre'd arrives, ushering in a tall, impeccably dressed elf. The elf sits and rattles off a quick food order without even looking at the menu. The maitre'd takes the menu and bows, then hurries off.

Once the staff is gone he acknowledges you. "Ah, I'm pleased to see you made it.

"You may call me Mr. Johnson, of course. I know it is rude to go immediately to business, but by doing otherwise we would have to suffer either uncomfortable silence, or your banter, so let us make this quick while we wait for my food."

He produces a pocket secretary and pushes it across the table, then waits for you to read (six heads crowded around a tiny screen, I imagine it's a bit of a feat).

The p-sec has, neatly tyuped out, the following statement:

"This year the popular trid show, UCAS Idolize, goes into its seventh season. It would seem that a candidate in favor with those in power is not in favor with the voting public. Without the votes of viewers, the favored candidate will not proceed to be crowned as the greatest new pop singer that week. This is unacceptable to several powerful parties who are willing to pay for an unexpected shift in the competition. Each member of the party will be paid a sum of 10,000¥ for successfully <<press down>>
kidnapping the current leading contender. Payment is due on successful delivery of said contender, alive, to me, Mr. Johnson. If any other UCAS Idolize contestants are eliminated from the competition, no payment will be rendered. Upon payment, the contract is terminated, and neither party holds any further obligations over the other. <<end>> "

As the party finishes reading, Mr. Johnson pushes a manila envelope across the table. Careful block letters across the top say 'TARGET'. Within are pictures and dossier on the leading candidate.

Name: Becka (presumed to have no last name)
Species: drop bear
Weight: 23 kg
Height: 1.2m
Physical description: Sable colored fur with coral colored eyes, ear tips marked with self-described "chocolate tufts"
City and country of birth: Australia (more detailed information lacking)

Current status:
Becka is currently the leading contestant in the popular competitive singing trid show, UCAS Idolize. Poorly rated by journalists due to her inability to actually vocalize words, Becka has, every week, pulled in record numbers of votes. Shows oriented around Becka have gotten unprecedented ratings, which have encouraged the corporate sponsorship to allow her continuation in the competition despite requests to the contrary. Analysts believe she will easily win the competition.

Residence:
She is currently residing in a hotel suite adjoining the trideo studio. The suite and its security are all provided by U-Luv-It productions, a media subsidiary of Mitsuhama. She is believed to share her suite with a personal trainer by the name of Baz Ulbrich and three Elvis impersonators. Her room number is 1213, at the address 1414 124th Ave. NE in Bellevue.


While you're reading (and discussing), the food arrives;

St. Valentine is given a plate of two hot dogs and a large side of french fries.
Twitch receives his order of soup, salad, and risotto. The meat tastes a touch odd.
Firefox is handed a platter of green leaves, small, white flower carvings, colorful fruit and an assortment of other vegetation. It's not precisely clear which part is meant to be eaten.
Snow (the shadowrunner previously known as St_nougat) is handed a colorful salad, or possibly a bouquet
Castanova is provided with a tasty-looking, flaky, fruity tart. Sort of describes most of the people in the restaurant, actually.
Carver receives an extra plate and set of silverware.
The waiter brings out two bottles of wine and opens them, and pours water for everyone.

In front of the Johnson is placed a plate of live kittens which he proceeds to eat with relish.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:17, Mon 27 Jan 2014.

When the Johnson is finished spreading relish over his mewling kittens, Carver takes the rest of the ex-cucumber chutney and spreads it over his plate in an iconography most commonly referred to as a "frowny face". Embellishing with some of Valentine's Mustard and/or ketchup, he proceeds to demonstrate his condiment-laden sadness at the waiter until some form of food (preferably neither presently alive nor mewling) is placed on his plate.

"Has she been declawed and fanged, or has she slid past that terrible 'gruesome mauling' incident involving an underage fan two weeks ago?"

"No. She is, unfortunately, completely uncut."

"Kittens are better with mint chutney," Pants says offhandedly.

"A few questions, Sir.  First what is our time frame for retrieving the bear?  Second, assuming we accept the job because frankly I think it would be great for a bear to win that abomination that is considered entertainment, how are we to contact you?  Third, What is a Drop Bear? Fourth, can you prove us with any information on U-Luv-it production or their security?  and fifth, again assuming we accept, we will need a retainer for our services, are you able to pay that retainer?  there is nothing mentioned one here in this note."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:31, Mon 27 Jan 2014.

I lean over and take a bite of the flaky fruity goodness after processing the job for a moment. Hmmm...Flaky and Fruity. Must be elven. I grin to myself and pull out my spell book, and do a Fuchi Search for "Drop Bear" and pulling up the most relevant info I can. "This is all I know" I slide the pocsec that has "Spellbook" written on the back of it over to Mr. Question pants.

"If we are acquiring this sort of critter, I expect part of my payment to be a street-legal security helmet, up front. I don't even know how you are supposed to cuff them. Splat glue and a cabbage?"
Seeing no food is forthcoming, Carver pulls out a ReelKrill MRE, rips it open and spreads the contents on his part of the table. He sets the burner on his clean plate, lights it, and begins heating his faux chicken-massala. He briefly considers trying to make a "ranger cookie" out of the sugar, but instead dumps it and the dehydrated lemon-flavored chemical extract (or as the package calls it "lemon-flavored ade-product") into his glass of water. When the fizzing dies down, he picks out the reconstituted lemon-esque (tm) pulp out, and wipes it on the table cloth.

Firefox suppresses the surge of bile as she watches their Johnson break the first kitten's neck before sawing off one of its paws.  She held a spell ready to stun the remaining kittens should the elf not prove so compassionate the next time.  Apparently this one liked making an impression and so far she wasn't terribly impressed.

"There was no mention here of the degree of subtlety required here.  Obviously deniability on your part and that of your employers is a given.  However, this could be done noisily or quietly.  Is the objective here for Ms. Becka to simply go for a walk and not return with her manager expressing concern about her whereabouts, or are tabloid feeds of masked commandos throwing her into a van acceptable?  Naturally there is somewhat of price differential.

Given your employer's interest in the outcome, it seems likely that they may have some resources in place.  Is there any chance of gaining access to some of those?  Given that there will be expenses incurred prior to delivery, some sort of retainer or arrangement for expenses will naturally be required.  A portion of this could naturally be provided 'in kind'."

quote:

13:07, Today: Firefox rolled 2 successes using 6d6 with the Shadowrun system with a target of 4 with rolls of 2,4,1,2,5,3. Negotiation - bargaining (keeping dice).

That was pretty poor . . .

Mr. question pants hands the phone back to 'Fro, "Thank you."  and then looks at the dwarf, "Seriously?"

Twitch pushes his plate away no longer hungry.  The spectacle in front of him reminding him of a circus more than a meet.  He waits patiently for Firefox to finish with negotiations before saying anything.  After she finishes he merely states, "I will require buying some gel rounds for this mission."

OOC:  I am willing to share my karma pool if Firefox would like to reroll."

Confused by Mr. Pants' expression, he mumbles "do you want some?"

"No thank you but maybe you should let the adults do the talking now before you deep six the deal demand impossible things."

I give a nod to Mr. Question-pants and take my spellbook back and look over the details again. As things seem to be heating up, I put it away and focus a bit on my tasty fruit pastry. I make sure my fireball spell is ready in the event that things take a turn for the worse. I consider this thought for a moment, as there are many bystandars, and elven wood burns best. Perhaps a stun spell is in order...

Carver shrugs, looks back to his curry and mutters "You wanna talk then talk, stretch. Don't be bringing height in so early like it earns you a privilege." He glances to Warlock and points at the PDA "Mind if I take a peek at that? Non-metas not exactly my forté"

Saint Velveteen frowned at his hotdogs.  When he ordered two somethings, he had been hoping for something... more impressive.  He took a small bite anyway (causing half the hotdog to disappear), and it tasted pretty good.  Seeing their Johnson snacking on kittens, however, was a bit off putting.  He cringed when he thought about how many hours it would take to pick that fluffy fur out from between your teeth.  And with relish?  Now that was disgusting.

St. V leaned back in his strained chair as he waited for everyone to finish their bickering and bargaining.  Everyone seemed to need something.  Everyone but himself.  As long as he had his arms and his legs, he had everything he would need to complete the mission.  Of course other tools would be useful, but he always seemed to somehow end up on the losing end when he tried to negotiate.  He didn't know why, seeing as he was pretty good at it...

"We almost done here?" St. V asked impatiently as he nibbled on his last fry.  He doubted the answer was yes, so he pulled one of the place mats toward him that everyone seemed so engrossed in.  Saint Velveteen lets out a fart he had been holding in since arriving, silent but deadly, then says, "Let me know when we are."

Twitch is stunned at the blatant display of racism in front of the Johnson but manages to keep his professional face on and looks over the information the Johnson provides also wondering what a "Drop Bear" is.  "This meet is certainly not going well." he thinks as he reviews the information.

"nothing to do with race, everything to do with behavior."

Pants pauses, "you should be careful about playing the race card so quick."

Pants shrugs.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:58, Tue 28 Jan 2014.

"We can talk on this later." Carver grins through gritted teeth, slots a chip into his jack, allows his implanted cybergoggles to slide into place, and eats his MRE.

(I don't normally quote, but there's a lot going on ...)



"Before she wins, obviously! The big finale is on ..."
Mr. Johnson peeks under the table, where a small booklet labelled "Bear With Me" is tucked, just under the table cloth... "It doesn't say. Let's go for Tuesday. Is Tuesday good for everyone? Okay, Tuesday."



"Did you know that drop bears are not actually bears? In fact, they're more closely related to pandas! It's true."

"I'll give you my phone number. Just don't call me on Monday. Scandal is on on Monday. If you interrupt my Scandal, I swear to God, I will cut you."



"Ah! An excellent question. So good in fact, that I won't answer any of the ones that follow, because they pale in comparison."


warlock can find a quick article online. Renraku's Rakupiki gives an article something like this:
http://australianmuseum.net.au/Drop-Bear



"Oh, I'm sorry, I think I missed the bit where I'm a haberdasher.

"I don't pay in hat-wear, nor in kippers, nor bitcoins, nor little bags of drugs, nor whatever else you kids are using these days. I pay in nuyen, or sometimes VHS tapes of old reruns and expired Arby's coupons. At my discretion, of course."

(BTW, love the image of someone eating an MRE in a fine restaurant. Fantastic!)



"If subtlety were required, I wouldn't be hiring you lot, would I? Smash, grab, I don't care. It's reality television; no one believes anything on there anyway. Just don't kill any of the other contendors. That's important. Or do; I prefer not having to pay my runners."



"Well you would be mistaken. I .. my employers don't have any special 'ins'. That's why I'm hiring you lot. Just use one of your ... kablooey gun things, make a hole, and put her in a sack. Then hit her with clubs until she's compliant. And call me on the cellular telephone."

"And I don't pay ahead. Give you lot money before the job's done? I may as well flush it down the toilet. Look, you're not even done with the meeting and that one is talking about his next round of gels. Damn addicts."

Mr. J got four successes on his negotiation check. I believe that reduces the pay per person by 10% ;)

On a more serious note, SILLY FUN. Don't get bent out of shape with other people on the goofy adventure. Save that for Silver Angel.

I also love the idea of the party fighting over the negotiations table and warlock fireballs everyone. My normal runs are never this good!

I begin to slide my poc-sec over to the other man tremulously, and am very happy to see his visor go down, I listen quietly to the Johnson as he replies. Something tells me that this is not going very well. Not well at all. Then. It hits me. Like a ton of bricks, it hits me. I stifle the laugh as best as I can. How am I going to tell my friends about the meet with the Johnson who was eating pussy RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. I do everything I can to contain the chuckles, but it is useless. I try and distract my situation by contacting my bookie and seeing what kind of numbers there are on the competition. If the numbers are good, I make a bet.

"Tuesday," Pants says slowly, "seeing how today is Monday I believe that you're going to have to pay us a hell of a lot more and then get home so that you can watch scandal."

Pants looks at his wrist where a watch would be if he had one, "tick tock.  Scandal is on at what time?  oh an hour.  and with the traffic out there today.  if we can seal this deal quickly you might make it before the first commercial break..."

He glances at his watch. "Next Tuesday. But you're right." he motions for the waiter to box up the remaining kittens.

Twitch stares at the Johnson in blatant "what the frag" all over his face, "The man eats KITTENS, fragging KITTENS, and then accuses me of being a junkie because I am wanting to use non-lethal ammo?  What is next?" he thinks as he wonders what exactly this job is going to do to his already fragile psyche.  He gets an image in his head of an old video he watched with Cathy once.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnzHtm1jhL4

The doggie bag is brought to Mr. Johnson, still mewling. He stands, "I expect to hear back from you. On Tuesday. Next Tuesday, not this one. ANd don't forget to get that bear!"

With that, he heads out.

A few minutes later, the waiter leaves the bill on the table; 1,878¥.

I finally get manage to get a hold of myself and nearly loose it at the guy putting his pussy in a box. Seems redundant. I wipe the tear out of my eye and look to him as I speak "It sounds to me like you hired yourself some contract workers kind Sir. However, I must state for the record, that I only accept payment in nuyen, in cash or certified cred. VHS tapes and Arbys coupons will not be treated as legal tender." with that he looks to the rest of the lot "Now, we should find a place to get to work. We've got a bear to steal."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:08, Thu 30 Jan 2014.

After the Johnson leaves Twitch picks up his plate and heads back out the way they came.  "Meet you guys out front to discuss the particulars, I need a smoke." he says, sticking his wine bottle his pocket.

"you know what guys," Pants says still sitting at the table, "Its not every day that someone like me gets to enjoy such a posh restaurant.  One of you give me your number and I'll call and meet up with you after I am done here."

Snow pulls out his phone and hits a number, "Jasmine, its me.  Hey I'm having dinner at Ears and the tab is on the J.  why don't you swing by and join me."

hangin up, "No reason to let a perfectly good table go to waste, especially when there is a beautiful women to share it with."

Carver mops up the last of his MRE with some of the table arrangement (mostly the fresher leafy greens), grunts and pulls out a deck of 3x5 index cards. "I've got a warehouse for runs. Meet me here, show this card to the guard, tell him Malory sent you. He'll show you to a warehouse. Thank him, and walk over to the next warehouse down, away from the gate." He scrawls out an address and a gate access code, and shuffles out the drying ink to each of you.

If Twitch leaves before the cards go out, Carver will excuse himself from the table, leave the rented jacket with the doorman and keep Twitch company. "Here's my hideaway. Instructions on the card." He pulls out an ink-black case of cigarettes, and taps one out for Twitch,"Ono-Sendai's. My treat," He makes a cough of a laugh, "Doctor's orders."
The cigarette smoke skitters out his nostrils and mixes with the incoming Seattle rain. He watches the crowds for a minute or two, tasting the nicotine mix with the smell of sweat and cash, before he stubs it out on his boot and scuttles over to his powdered-avocado green two-stroke scooter.
It's difficult as hell looking cool on a scooter while wearing a bicycle helmet plastered with biologically improbable red daisy stickers smeared across it, but damn he tries.

upon seeing the scooter, Twitch brightens up a little bit, "Decent little putput you got there, " as he spews technical data about the scooter he looks it over, breaking off the filter of the cigarette and lighting it up, "Um, I can't tell the address here?" he asks showing Carver the card and pointing to an unintelligible part.  The rain pouring down isn't helping the poor card but somehow Twitch manages to avoid every kamikazi drop heading for his smoke.

After impatiently waiting for a few people to get out of his way, Saint Velveteen ungracefully freed himself from the far back corner of the table.  With a little salute to Snow he said, "thanks for the grub, Fancypants.  See ya round."  Then before anyone remaining could suggest he pitch in for the tab, St. V made a b-line for the exit.

After removing his suit coat (adding some fresh rips in the process), he examined the card the Doc gave him.  "Sure does write like a doc..." he mumbled.  He wasn't sure if he got all the words and/or numbers deciphered, but he would figure it out later.

Once he stepped out into the rain, Saint Velveteen popped up his collar and stuck his hands deep into his pockets and started the long walk home.  Or at least, the place that passed for home nowadays.  He would need to grab the rest of his gear.

"Yeah, it's my little TukTuk. High quality Malaysian recycled aluminum and scrap." He pats the handlebar lovingly and a rearvier mirror snaps and falls to the pavement. "It's ok, I have extras."
Carver leans closer to read the card where Twitch is pointing. "Oh, I must've used that when I was practicing my 'Q's in Or'zet. If you don't have your own wheels I'll give you a lift." He gives Twitch the option of either a non-cursive new card, or a 1960's style crash helmet and the back end of the seat.

Firefox accepted the proffered card, glanced at it briefly, then passed it back.

"What time?"

She made polite conversation with the dwindling team as she finished her salad and a single glass of the wine.  She finished before the arrival of Snow's date.

"A word of advice.  Mr. "F" doesn't think he's paying.  I'm going to see what I can do about this with management, but if you start running up too big a tab, they may re-think whatever arrangement I come to.

Have fun with your girl and I'll see you soon."

As she slid back her chair and stood, she gestured to the bottle she'd been enjoying.  "Happy to leave that for the two of you if you wish.  If not, I'll take it.  Shame to have it poured down the drain."

Picking up the bill, she headed back to the kitchen entrance, pigeon-holing the maitre'd.  "There seems the be some confusion as to who is responsible for this.  It is the understanding of myself and my companions that this should be charged to Mr. F's account.  We will discuss with him later whether it shall be debited against the reimbursement for our services.  In any event, it would be unfortunate if this understanding were inaccurate.  Some of my friends are not as familiar with the nuances of etiquette in an establishment such as yours.  It would be a shame if some of your other guests were to be disturbed or injured as a result of a disagreement."

Placing the slip of paper on the wall, she added a 30% tip before passing it to the server and concluding in Sperethiel  "I presume my understanding of the arrangements is accurate?"

quote:

08:15, Today: Firefox rolled 6 successes using 6d6 with the Shadowrun system with a target of 4 with rolls of 5,(6+3)9,4,5,(6+3)9,(6+3)9. Negotiation - bargaining.

Hopefully 3 9s will do it . . .


Negotiations concluded, she contined out the back door, grabbing an appetizer from a waiting plate.  Quite good actually.  She'd consider returning in the future, but serving live cats was a bit much for her taste.

The others seemed to have departed, but her bike was still where she'd left it.  Time to see what she could learn of drop bears from her library before trying to find Carver's warehouse.

Pants is and can be quite friendly and charming while he chats with Firefox while waiting for his date to show.

"Sure, leave the wine," He says, "I don't normally drink on the job but I know she will enjoy it."

---

09:51, Fri 31 Jan 2014: Snow rolled 22 using 5d6 ((6,5,5,5,1)).
During dinner Pants will ask his contact if she know anything about the Idolize show, the hotel the bear is staying in or the security setup.  No need to let time with a contact go to waste.
(no need to RP out my 'date' with a contact)

After Pants' date he has Jasmine give him a lift close to where Carver indicated the should meet up.

Heading inside he follows Carvers directions and joins the team.

"So have we learned anything."

I look over the card, and consider that this is likely a trap. How many people would it take to capture a tiny little bear anyway? Unless its hiding in some tweens collection, it should be pretty easy to spot. I pull out my spell book and take a picture of it, just in case it gets wet or lost. I slide it into my SWEET ROBES and finish my pastry before dropping some lint, buttons, optical chip and 2¥ on the table as a tip.

I walk around the block to the spot I left my GMC Rex. I hit the fob and climb up into the cab. I turn the key to on, and wait for the glow plugs to warm up the engine. I turn the engine over and black smoke and the roar of an un-muffled turbo diesel comes to life. The truck looks like something straight out of mad-max, welded plates and all. Nice thing about a giant armored truck, You can park where ever the frag you want.

I look down over the cab and say "Thats cute." Apparently someone who drives a runabout thought it was a good idea to try and park me in. I sigh put the truck into first gear, turn the wheel to the left hard and pull out. The big truck tears the runabout out of its space in a squeal of tires and black diesel smoke, I pull away and head to the meet with a new battle scar on my battle worn rig.

The maitre'd is a little flustered by Firefox's resistance to paying everything, but a little smoothing and he'll agree to a few concessions, reducing the bill for the party to a mere $600, with the remainder going to Mr. F, or being "included in other costs". As the only people still in the restaurant are Firefox and Pants, that may not be a major coup (plus warlock's contribution). (Firefox can bring the bill to pick on everyone else later if she'd like :P )

Pants calls his contacts. This is information is quite available to anyone for the checking.

UCAS Idolize is the new Pop Show! It's been on the air for 7 seasons, but it's ALL THE RAGE. Every week contestants CONTEST EACH OTHER for who is going to be the NEW UCAS POP STAR UBER-GOD, where he or she will be offered a FOUR-MONTH CONTRACT WITH RMI RECORDS and then promptly NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN.

Viewership is in the millions, primarily teens and their parents. Tickets to the live studio viewing are available for purchase, but with a long wait list, and far overpriced. Each contestant sings a song, with an instrumental accompaniment and video background he or she pre-selected. While performing, viewers get to cast votes via the matrix, which are then immediately forgotten about because everything is decided by the three judges; lovable Eva Diola, funny-man Lucien Page, and snarky Simone.

UCAS Idolize is produced by U-Luv-It Entertainment, a subsidiary of Mitsuhama.

Love the truck. A man after my own heart. The only bit that tears at me is my own diesel's glow plugs are broken, so I've been hitting it with the heat gun to start it up the past few days. Clearly I need to upgrade. Sorry, these comments have nothing to do with Shadowrun. Carry on.

OOC: Firefox, I'm going to retcon my response to time as "as soon as possible". Carver's leaving now to make sure he gets there first. Unless Warlock does, in which case W's gonna be waiting outside for a little while.

Firefox arches her eyebrow when the maitre'd refuses to transfer the full cost to the Johnson.  However she doesn't really want to waste time.  She does however make a show of igniting her finger and carefully burning away the generous tip before forking over the remaining nuyen.  Snow was going to be on his own to cover his date . . .

Deciding that heading home before the meet was going to take too long, she dialed up Adonna.  "Hi love.  Can you chat with some of your friends with a parabiology background and see what you can dig up about drop bears?"

The Harley rumbles to life between her legs and she smoothly pulls onto Seattle's night streets.

Oops, i also need to retcon. Somehow my mind wasn't working.

If the manager's choice is between $600 bill or a $600 tip, he'd PROBABLY go with the tip. For some reason it didn't register to me that the final number I came up with (about 30% of the bill) is the same amount as what Firefox offered.

But you're welcome to play it any way that is most fun for you.

Adonna picks up, "Of course, dear. I'll email a dossier? Or do you need an interview?"

I'd just as soon not be out the cash

"A dossier for now.  If I need more, I'll let you know.  Thanks as always"

Twitch looks at the helmet and backseat for a second but shakes his head, "If anyone saw me on the back of that I would never hear the end of it." he thinks as he sticks the address into his pocket.  Seeing St. Velveteen walking too he decides to catch up and make small talk, "Hey chummer, how ya doing?"

Since Saint Velveteen stopped under the eave of a store to watch some amusingly terrible driver try to pull out of his parking spot with completely disastrous results, he hadn't made it too far before a familiar voice caught his ear.  Glancing back without breaking his stride, St. V noted it was one of the runners from the meeting.  And the guy was being awfully friendly.  "Twitchy, right?  The subtle talker or whatever?  You need something or is this an actual conversation?"

Velveteen wasn't trying to be rude, but the friendliness from someone he had only just met had thrown him off his guard.  Already he was going through a mental checklist of his possessions to make sure he hadn't been pick pocketed.  However, he quickly reminded himself that this guy was an ally now, and not an adversary. Even if he was going to leave his guard up, he should play nice.  Pulling two of his remaining toothpicks from his pocket, St. Velveteen stuck one between his teeth and held the other out to his fellow runner.  "Toothpick?"

Twitch takes the offered toothpick and begins walking with St. V, "It's Twitch, I just saw you walking and figured we could talk more openly now.  I like to use guns and race bikes." he says.

"Guns are fun," St. V replied.  "I'll show you some of my favorites at the warehouse.  Bikes though, not really my thing.  Hard to find a good helmet to fit over the rugged canvas that is my head."  St. Velveteen glances down at Twitch and takes careful note of how the guy was walking and not riding a motorcycle.  "So what happened?  Lose a race and someone stole your tricycle?"

Twitch scratches his head a bit embarrassed, "Well, no..... I won the race.  The last corner was a drek of a turn and I kinda trashed the bike." he says laughing at himself.

Carver shrugs, hands off the card (after checking to make sure it was legible and in english), and putters down the street. He knows a few back alleys to cut through to make the ride closer to twenty minutes, give or take a devil rat.

The Shenlong warehouse yard is massive, well lit, and extremely organized. The entire lot is based off of a double canal system that leads all the way out into the bay, built wide enough to handle light traffic all the way up to hovercrafts. The warehouses are all squat ugly things, barely two stories of concrete with corrugated aluminum siding slapped on top to make them seem less bunker-like at a casual glance. The entire area is well lit with several dozen security cameras at key overlapping points of view.
After all, it would be poor form for Triads to lose a shipment.

Carver's warehouse only stands out by the large black number painted to its side. The cargo door is massive enough to allow a full sized tractor trailer through, perhaps something a little bigger.

Old Willy Jiang is on watch tonight, rolling up crinkled cigs and stopping in doorways to keep himself out of the rain and a little warm during his rounds.

In reply to warlock4u (msg # 72):

As Jasmine arrives at Ears she sees a particularly conspicuous truck with a particularly bad driver hit another car and then leave.  She quickly takes a picture or two of the scene with her cell phone and then sends to the picture to LSSS to report a hit and run before heading into Ears.

+2 karma to everyone (1 for great introductions, 1 for completing the scene).

$200 bill to Snow for feeding his girlfriend after the deadbeat Johnson and the helpful elf friend have already left.