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.