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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


Good. I was beginning to think Reavers gotcha.



Posted on 2018-07-16 at 10:49:21.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject:


I have posted for Asovil!



Posted on 2018-07-15 at 18:54:29.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject:


Stardate 2365.02.11
USS Peregrine, Main Bridge - 11:12


Asovil deeply focuses on the console before her. Heart racing, she can only imagine the consequences her bold captain faces. The concept of standing up to a superior officer is not alien to the Andorian but in her experience, nothing good comes of it. She cannot imagine this scenario ending well as the Peregrine shifts and her stomach lurches. Orange indicators on her screen show the gap closing between the two Star Fleet vessels and her lithe fingers dart from command to command adjusting the shield polarization to the front hull in the hopes that any beam weapon attacks from the Coronado will be greatly reduced.


"Captain, the Coronado has locked on to a Kuldar vessel and is closing to optimal firing range."  The Ops officer's voice is understandably tight.

Silas nods., "Lieutenant Berk, lock our phasers on the Coronado. Are those calculations complete?"

The TAC officer pales and swallows before answering, "Aye, Captain. Phasers are locked on. Calculations are complete."

"Captain," Lasad interjects, his voice several notes higher than before, "the Coronado is charging her phasers!"

The Andorian Science Officer frowns and double checks her calculations. This is really happening! she thinks, her mind matching her heartbeat. 


The Captain swallows, "Mister Berk, fire."

Was there hesitation? Was there even a second thought given? Asovil glances over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of her captain's stern face. Clenching her jaw, she draws a deep breath in through her nose and returns to her console. The following moment feels like an eternity and then the orange-red beam leaps from the Peregrine and lights up the shields protecting the Coronado. Within a second, the first phaser fire is joined by two more. The older Miranda class vessel's deflectors gamely try their best, dissipating the energy around the surface of the shield bubble, but they are no match for the Saber class frigate's power. Berk keeps the energy pouring out, and within a startlingly small window, the diplomatic ship's shields collapse and she pitches to the side. 

"Target's shields are down, Captain," Berk speaks rather unnecessarily. "Minor hull damage inflicted."

"We are being hailed from the Coronado," Lasad adds. After a nod from the captain the viewscreen shifts to the bridge of the other Federation vessel.

Front and center is the visage of Captain Jacobs, whose skin is mottled purple with rage. The man had been angry before, but now he is truly apoplectic. "You filthy piece of dog s***!" He spits. "You treacherous bastard!" Spittle drips from the lips of the Coronado's CO's lips as he rants. "When this is over, I will hang you myself!"

Lasad chimes in, his voice now filled with regret at having to interrupt. "Captain, the Coronado is changing course, she's coming around."

Berk joins in, a note of panic hanging heavy in his words, "Captain, they have locked phasers on us... they are firing!"

Asovil's fingers tap quickly across multiple buttons bringing up the readings assessing the Coronado's attack. With the nose of the Peregrine facing into the attack, the Andorian braces for the impact and sets her rich blue eyes on the numbers showing the strength of the hull and the shields. An instant later, the deck pitches from the force of the blow. "Direct hit, sir! Shields are holding," Lasad reports. "No physical damage, shields at ninety-two percent."


Breathing a sigh of relief, Lt. Sh'iraolnas allows herself a small moment of relief. Her calculations had been correct and the buffer has done its job.


His voice more even, the TAC officer speaks up again, "Captain, the Coronado is charging for another shot..."

Drake's voice cuts through the chaos, "Captain Jacobs, stop this madness at once," he orders in a commanding tone. "This has gone far enough!"

Asovil reads another barrage from the Coronado's phaser banks and blazingly adjusts the math to take some of the power from the phaser attack and disperse it across a wider berth. Physics... physics within war... Father would be so proud...The deck pitches again. 


"Another direct hit, sir," the OPS chief reports. "Shields are holding, down to eighty-three percent."


Scanning the readings, the science officer initiates a structural scan. Everything is holding up just fine except for the slight reduction in shield integrity. If she debuffs, she could potentially regenerate some of the shields. Setting about the task, she barely pays attention to the following conversation.

On the viewscreen, Jacobs sneers. "What a surprise. The coward is not prepared to deal with the repercussions of his actions. Did you honestly think that I would be bullied by the likes of you, Mister Drake?"

Once again, the deck pitches. "Captain!" The Risan OPS chief exclaims. "Sir, one of the shield generators has failed! Backup coming online, overall shield capacity down to fifty-nine percent!"

Asovil's heart clenches in her chest. She wasn't fast enough. But there's still the need so she presses on.

"Lieutenant Berk," Drake speaks calmly, "lock phasers on the Coronado. Target their phaser bank. On my mark, remove their offensive capabilities, please."

"Phasers locked on, sir," Berk reports. "Captain, you do know that with no deflector shields, even localized phaser damage will likely cause loss of life aboard the Coronado."

Lt. Sh'iraolnas practically glues her eyes to her work.


Drake's voice seems unnaturally calm to the science officer. Focus... focus..


"Captain Joshua Jacobs," Silas says aloud in a measured, almost disinterested tone, "as lawful commander of this battle group, I hereby find you unfit for duty. You are relieved of command of the USS Coronado, effective immediately. Commander Bethany Farr will now assume command of your vessel. My phasers are locked onto your own; if you do not comply, I will render your weapons useless. If that is not sufficient incentive to ensure your acquiescence, I will move on from there to cripple your engines."

Jacobs, if possible, turns a darker shade of purple. "You wouldn't dare!" he shouts. "Even your treason does not run this deep!  Our shields are down, thanks to you! If you fire on this vessel, you will surely kill Starfleet personnel!" 

Drake nods his head ever so slightly, "You are correct, Captain... and I will regret each and every one of their deaths for the short remainder of my own life. But you leave me no choice. I cannot allow you to harm my own personnel, nor can I allow you to kill innocent Kuldarians." His voice deadly calm, he continues. "You have ten seconds to comply."

Jacobs sputters in fury. "I... I will do no such thing! You are bluffing! You will lose your commission, your freedom, your life! For what? Some ignorant, backwater sentients too stupid to take advantage of the dilithium under their noses? Why, I will…"

Silas tempered words flow over Asovil's shoulders and send shivers down her spine. "Your time is up. Mister Berk, fire on the Coronado pha..."

"STOP!" rings a feminine voice from the bridge of the Coronado. "Captain Jacobs, I relieve you. Please leave the bridge at once."  Commander Farr appears next to her commanding officer.

"Not now, Farr!" Jacobs roars. "I don't have time for your nonsense right now, I..."

Commander Farr interrupts. "Captain, I must insist. She gestures to her left, and a gold-suited officer appears with phaser drawn and leveled at the Captain. "Ensign Phillips will escort you to your quarters, sir. Please do not force us to stun you." 

Unable to help herself, Asovil pauses in her work to look at the screen just as Jacobs gapes, opens and closes his mouth twice as if to speak, but no sound comes out. For the briefest of moments, his muscles tense, and it looked as if he might attack the security officer. But the moment passes, and the now former CO of the Coronado visibly deflates. His shoulders slump and the Captain allows himself to be led towards the turbolift. For a brief moment, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at the viewscreen.


"You will burn for this," he spits. "The both of you." The ensign then places a hand none too gently on Jacobs' shoulder, and the two disappear into the lift.

Somewhat surprised, the Andorian science officer watches as the new commander of the Coronado settles into the command chair. A fairly pale Farr barks orders, "Phasers offline, Lewis. Helm, all stop."  She then turns her focus to the viewscreen. "What are your orders, Captain Drake?"

Silas responds with amazing composure, "Hold position for now. Let's see if we can still salvage this thing. Drake out."

Turning back to her console, Asovil cannot help but smile in relief. Captain Drake has pulled off what was needed and now she can focus on her duties of helping TAC and Engineering repair what damage has been caused to their vessel. 

"Captain," Lasad reports, "several ships from both sides are moving to engage one another. Weapon systems are armed... it's about to become a full battle out there."

"Open all hailing frequencies, broadcast on all available channels," the Captain snaps. 

"NOW HEAR THIS!" Drake bellows in that stern voice that had first caused Asovil to be frightened of him. "This is Captain Drake of the USS Peregrine. All Rytain and Kuldar forces will stand down AT ONCE. Power down your weapons systems and hold your positions! This is a peace summit, and as God is my witness, there WILL be peace talks - terrorist attack or no! If any vessel makes an aggressive move of any sort, I will cut through it like paper. The delegations will proceed as planned to the rendezvous at the station, OR ELSE. Drake out."

"Captain, it worked!" Dio exclaims and Asovil can't help but feel his surprise. The approach was, after all, less Starfleet and more Klingon Empire. "all vessels have powered down their weapons."

Silas promptly responds as though he had been expecting those very results. "Inform the Coronado to resume their original path to the station. Offer the Rytain our assistance in their rescue and recovery efforts; we can dispatch another shuttle if they want our help. Lieutenant Zai, lay in a course for the station; I want these diplomats off my ship."


Glancing once more over her shoulder, her white hair drifting about her cheeks, the Science Officer catches the determined look on her captain's face and resolves herself further for it. Tapping the console's comm section, the Andorian woman brings it to life. Seconds later she has opened direct lines of communication to her staff and has set them to work assisting in the repairs. Captain Drake has earned her respect and loyalty time and time again. Even if Starfleet court martials the man for his actions on this day, Asovil is determined to stand beside him.



Posted on 2018-07-15 at 18:54:02.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject:


I just read what you've posted thus far and am eager for more, Mr. Olan-boss-sir.



Posted on 2018-07-13 at 14:04:28.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject:


We're all gonna die!!! 



Posted on 2018-07-12 at 18:49:29.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject:


Day 2, Whitefall - Necessity, Rocinante, 10:25 AM PT


Refraining from resting his hand on the grip of his Colt, Wyatt Sung inadvertently strikes a grim figure as Sam pilots the mule into Necessity. Stark blue eyes graze the settlement's landscape searching out possible roosts for Patience's men and other dangers that might be lurking about. He's already played through countless scenarios during the overland trek from Roc to town, prayed to the Powers that Be for the safety of his crew, and sworn revenge upon any who hurt them. Now he's about surveying the situation, assessing the trouble, and...


"Is that them?" Wyatt furrows his brow and looks over the hood of the mule with no small amount of dismay. Asher and Dr. Young are walking down the street as if nothing unusual is underfoot; a morning stroll in a town with no armed men chasing them or anything by all appearances. 


“Oh good!” the Doctor calls out, “Thank you for coming, Captain. I wasn’t looking forward to the walk back to the ship. On the plus side, I can let you all in on what is happening with having to repeat myself over and over. Does anyone have any food? I’m starving.” She says as she climbs into the mule. Looking at the stares she is getting, “What? I did not eat breakfast.”


Shifting in his seat, Sung hooks his arm over the rest and pushes his hat back on his head. "Well, Miss Stephanie, I can't say that we came this way intent on catering a picnic. So, you 'ave my apologies. As fer what's goin' on... well, I'm keen on the education. Sam, take us home, if'n you'd be so kind."



Posted on 2018-07-11 at 11:01:24.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


Love it! Made me smile. 


I'll have a post up tomorrow or the next day for sure.



Posted on 2018-07-09 at 18:37:10.

Topic: Olan's Blog
Subject:


And another HUZZAH!



Posted on 2018-07-09 at 18:31:45.

Topic: RDINN Feature Updates/ Suggestions/ Bugs
Subject:


Huzzah!



Posted on 2018-07-09 at 18:30:58.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


I've added to the game. We're moving again.



Posted on 2018-07-07 at 23:58:36.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject:


Edgerunner Enclave | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 11:34 P.M. PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


Fixer listens as the egos go back and forth: to steal or not to steal, to rent or not to rent, to work for Charlie or to walk... to act like a complete dick or to hold up your end of the deal...


Vegas finishes insisting that everyone join this little parade, so Fixer figures it’s time to add his two-cents. Sadly, two-cents is about all he has, which is part of the problem. But whatever problems this causes, they need to find a way to save the kid. As had been pointed out, their reputations depend on it. And after all this time he is beginning to feel like he knows the kid – and likes him. He wants to succeed at this thing and for the first time, feels like they have a real clue. The kid had disappeared and Upstairs Downstairs seems to be involved in some way.


He looks at the others, “Ok, folks. As Vegas said, we need to act. If that means trading a bit on our skills, then so be it.” At this point he looks directly at Vegas and Charlie, “But, I do want to know what we are promising. Yeah, I can fix things. Stuff. Gadgets. And sometimes ‘things.’ But I want to be sure we know what we are promising. I’m not signing on for a long-term gig on this thing. I’m in for the trade, but only enough to cover 1/8th of two days rental of two vehicles. And cash at the end may cover it. Plus...” and here he looks at the medic, “my trade is clean. If I’m doing dirty work, I want to control when, where, and for whom I do it. In other words, if I’m jacking a ride, it isn’t to pay off renting no damn ride. Right?”


“Ok, we need to get there and get moving. Also, we still have those walkie talkies from earlier. Let’s make sure those going by public transit and those arriving later with the rides can all communicate. And both vehicles need one. This is our best lead yet – we actually have reason to think this might lead to info. We need that data.” He rubs his hands together a bit. “I’m in. Let’s move.”


"If you all are set on a break-in, you are gonna need a lookout,” Ghlahn adds flatly. “Sure, I’m fine to stay outside and keep my eyes open. Bloodbank can join me so we have two sets of eyes."


“How long will it take to get those rides, Charlie?” Vegas asks, assuming that Casino and Ghlahn are now on board with the reality of their situation having been fully explained.


“I can get you guys that Air Jeep in about 3 1/2 hours, maybe sooner if I seal the deal with these other guys. As for the Bedouin Truck, in maybe about 12-14 hours... maybe sooner, yet again no promises... No promises,” explains Charlie as watches the group for reactions. Reading people is difficult enough when they aren’t wearing masks, but this group is geared up and only Vegas and Blossom are without a mask and Echo is the only other one with visible eyes.


“I’ll be in touch via agent, texting with potential drivers where to meet your vehicles when they come in. Besides, I need my rest and I have long day ahead of me tomorrow morning.”


“Damn!” Vegas looks around in frustration. “OK, I say you get to work on those rides and we’ll use public transportation to make our way to the offices. No more wasted time, savvy? You’re with me, right, Casino?”


(OOC: Assuming Casino is, like, Right on! Let’s ride!)


“All right,” Vegas nods, “Where’s the nearest terminal?”


“Two blocks south,” Blossom replies instantly. “This enclave’s got a hold of it but there’s still public access. We can take the train and it’ll put us within a block of the office.”


“OK, one last time… Everyone on board?”


“I’m good,” Bloodbank replies.


“Count me in,” Blossom remarks with a charismatic grin.


“So for now... you’re on your own and it’s very late. That light lev-rail is ran by NCART and they stop running close to midnight or slightly afterwards, so you might want to consider getting there by other means. I would suggest you find a way to procure wheels along the way. But I will leave the kid’s life in your hands, I’ve made my offers and that, for now, is the best that I can offer,” Charlie remarks as the group mills about. “Well, that kid isn’t going to rescue himself, so you guys better get started. God’s speed to ya.” Charlie tips his hat to the ladies and gentlemen, then returns to his agent and tapping away at the keys as he makes his way to the Giri board.


(OOC: Charlie’s evening continues below&hellip


Vegas stares at the man for a few seconds as though considering whether to address him further, but after shaking his head just a little, the solo turns and says, “Let’s go, folks. The band is winding down and the night is short.”


Leaving the relative safety of the enclave, the team (less Cred Stick Charlie) make their way across the remainder of the enclave courtyard and back towards the alleyway checkpoint where they are checked for any unregistered tech before being allowed back onto the wet streets of the Night City Integrate.


“Fixer,” Vegas calls ahead to the techie, “Hail us a cab, will ya? I don’t favor ruining my shoes any further with this rain.” Feeling that the quiet fellow would do as asked, the crooner turns his attention to his partner and proceeds to engage in a quiet conversation.


“Hey,” Bloodbank turns his masked face away from watching the pair of solos and addresses the techie. “I appreciate you siding with me back there. I’ve got no problem doing what’s necessary to get the job done but if I can do so without causing harm to people who aren’t involved… well, that’s my preference.”


(OOC: Fixer’s answer, if any, and I’ll assume Fixer will use his agent/app to hail a cab that can hold all seven of the current edgerunners.)


Crammed in a black City Traveller van, the team takes a little comfort from the momentary relief the dingy cab provides their weary dogs. Blossom spends the whole ride lost in her VR world doing—Bloodbank hopes—things that will help them in the long run. Vegas and Casino continue their private conversation but for his part, the medtech pulls up his agent and begins to run searches on news of missing children. Unfortunately, there are a large number of recent stories, the pure number of which have him lost in the forest for the duration of the ride.


Drawing near the destination, Vegas orders the AI driver to drive around the block. Peering through the rain-slick windows, the solo observes the street and the traffic thereupon. No exterior security that I can see, the crooner observes. But he’s never been the keenest eye so he turns to his companions.


“See any sign of security out there?” he asks with a nod of his head to the outside.


“The offices we’re looking for take up three floors,” Blossom explains, coming out of her virtual world. “I couldn’t find the actual floorplans for the place but I was able to get a directory. The floor we’re looking for is the eighth.”


“Twenty-three-thirty-and-some-odd-minutes…” the medtech chimes in with little humor to his voice. “I doubt that the building is open at this time.”


“I agree,” Vegas acknowledges. “We need to get up close. Ghlahn, you need to find yourself a perch that will provide proper support for those going in. We also need to find out what else is in the building. What’s on the main floor? How can we gain entrance? Ideas?”


“There’s a garage, if that helps,” Blossom pipes up around her lollipop stick.


(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 01:38 A.M. PST)


Edgerunner Enclave | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 11:34 P.M. PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


Figure out the vehicle situation. That’s the plan for the fixer. That’s the value he’s adding to the company of edgerunners. So, to the boards he navigates intent on finalizing the agreements.


Hitting the Air Jeep response first, Luther rereads the correspondence from another Edgerunner Enclave near the Central Valley Integrate. Luther will be working with a guy by the name of Fluke to pick up this ride and they aren't trekking anywhere, so he will have to go get it. The truck belongs to a nomad combi going by the name of Vagabond Santiagos. They are a ways north on the freeways and it will take hours for them to be within range of a connection. They'll meet Luther in the southern part of the SanFran Integrate at a fueling station called the Long Mile. The bloke Luther is dealing with in that group is called Nightowl. Cred Stick Charlie isn’t dealing in cash or credit… he’s dealing in favor; trading future services. He’s already worked what little magic he can manage. Now, he needs to bring the deals to fruition. The crew of edgerunners he’s currently teamed with are busy, so where is he to get his drivers from?



Posted on 2018-07-07 at 23:57:27.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


I've updated the game!



Posted on 2018-07-06 at 21:05:10.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject:


Wednesday, June 4th, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 6:30 A.M.; The Sand Dollar || Clear, High: 124°F (51°C) /  Low: 108°F (42°C) :: Wind Force: Light :: Wind Speed: 1 mph (1 kph)


Dawn finds the sailors boarding a smaller sloop of approximately 50 feet keel-length under the captainage of one Leonardo Collazo, a Latino man who is reluctant to take the three on, but was convinced over a few drinks the previous night by a persuasive Crowe.


Standing to the right of the gangplank, Captain Collazo scowls through his heavy black mustaches and narrows his beady eyes. Grunting with a finality that speaks of little joy, Leonardo motions his crew to bring up the planks.


“Stay out o’ me way an’ we be square once we hit port,” he snarls and uses the cloth about his neck to white the resulting spittle from his lips as he walks towards the poop deck.


Other crew cast wary glances their way but ignore the three while going about their various duties. There’s not much room on deck but around the forecastle and within minutes of being aboard, that’s where the Dog’s crew find themselves.


The ocean is calm and there’s nary a wind. The weather doesn’t look fair and the cursing and bellowing of Captain Collazo confirms that the conditions are less than optimal. Still, a small taste of wind can move a sloop and that’s what they have. Within an hour they’re underway at a ponderous pace.


Despite the Sand Dollar’s graceful lines, the heated hours drift by like seaweed upon the swell. Devilishly slow does not suit the captain of this vessel and Collazo is a loud fellow when cursing the winds. It is mostly what the crew of the Dog hear throughout the rise and fall of the sun. While the captain swears, the sailors remain sullenly quiet.


Once the sun kisses the waters of the horizon bringing relative relief from the burning rays, Leonardo Collazo stomps into his quarters and slams the door shut only to be disturbed when a lone man brings him a tin plate filled with his dinner.


Dinner is nothing to be excited about, consisting of salted herring, boiled eggs, and sea biscuits with a mug of ale to wash it down. After the meal, while the day shift settled down and the night shift came alive, the passengers are left to sleep on deck at the stern. However, as small a vessel as the Sand Dollar is, interaction is inevitable.


With the changing of the shift a figure practically floats onto the forecastle. He’s olive-skinned with a split beard and wide, curled mustaches. His nose is large and beaked, painted black at the tip and he wears heavy eyeliner. Thick black hair is braided down his bare back and his muscular form is covered by only a broad brown belt, a scimitar, and a burgundy wrapped cloth about his loins. His feet and hands are blackened through to mid-forearm and mid-calf.


“Up for some dicing?” he grins broadly and says in a heavily accented voice dripping oil. Holding out his painted left hand, the man displays five bone die.


(OOC: roughly 9:00 PM)


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Wednesday, June 4th, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 7:30 A.M.; The Sand Dollar || Clear, High: 124°F (51°C) /  Low: 108°F (42°C) :: Wind Force: Light :: Wind Speed: 1 mph (1 kph)


Properly refreshed, Goncalvo is awakened by the clomping of boots on the deck overhead and the muttering of his fellow shipmates stumbling from their hammocks about him. Following the pattern of his mates, the sailsmaster has time to prepare himself for the day. He can tell from the way that the air hangs heavy with humidity throughout the belly of the Sun Dog that it is going to be a scorcher. Barely bobbing in the water, the ship is an indicator that there’s not much wind to boot.


Before he had managed to climb into one of the free-swinging hammocks in the aft section of the ship, Goncalvo had been told by the captain herself that he would be assisting her with their situation in Ile de la Tortuga and no sooner than he’d snagged a plate of boiled fish—likely near the last of their stores—and climbed the hold ladder to the main deck does he catch sight of Captain Cole peering across the remainder of the bay to the settlement beyond.


She strikes a mean pose; commanding, domineering, and sullen. Red hair hangs limply about her shoulders, already caught up in the salted mists and dampened by the sweat the early morning sun coaxes from her brow. A paisley sash is wrapped about her head and hangs down the back of her dingy white blouse, of which the sleeves are rolled to her elbows displaying the many bracelets she wears on both wrists. Her broad black belt bears a brace of two flintlocks and her saber as well as a dirk. Red and black striped pants are tucked into knee-high leather boots with buckles at the ankles and slightly raised heels common amongst the French aristocracy.


“She be lookin’ fer ya, mate,” Nico Berganza, a Spanish fellow with a nose that has been broken multiple times steps up near the sailsmaster and shoves the remainder of a hard roll into his mouth.  


(OOC: Assuming that Goncalvo approaches Anne.)


Glancing his way as the well-dressed man sidles up next to her, Anne Cole returns her gaze to the buildings along the shore. “Still no sign of the harbormaster,” she mutters through a frown. “I don’ like it none. ‘Tis no’ like the other ports. They would no’ ‘ave allowed us t’ stay sittin’ in their waters without so much of a hello. I don’ like it none.”


Straightening, Anne wipes the sweat from her cheek with the back of her hand causing the baubles about her wrist to jingle. “What could they be waitin’ fer, Mr. Goncalvo?”


(OOC: Room for an answer&hellip


“Huh,” chewing on her bottom lip her frown deepens. “Well, whate’er it be, I want you t’ go pay the harbormaster a visit. Check us in. Make sure there’re no surprises. Take a couple o’ the crew with you. Send one o’ them back when you’ve accomplished as much. Then, I want you t’ set up a meetin’ with Mr. Davenport. Savvy? I wanna read the tides within his eyes an’ see where he sails.


“If he asks what the meetin’ be ‘bout, tell ‘im I’m lookin’ t’ set up business relations.”


(OOC: Questions, acceptance, and other things&hellip


(OOC: roughly 8:10 AM)



Posted on 2018-07-06 at 21:04:38.

Topic: High School IV
Subject:


Huzzah! 


You aren't a true gamer if you don't have your own version of "The Die!"



Posted on 2018-07-03 at 17:18:12.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


We've been locked in a bottle waiting to be unleashed upon the oceans once more. 


Translation: I have been really busy at work and Eol has let me know that he has been dealing with a situation at work as well... and has been knocking honey-do's off his list. I will post to get us moving again this weekend.



Posted on 2018-07-03 at 17:15:40.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


Still waiting on my good friend, Robert the Black.



Posted on 2018-06-17 at 16:38:09.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject:


Edgerunner Enclave | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 11:20 P.M. PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


 


*------------------------------- Casino and Echo Back Post -------------------------*


 


Watching as the others besides Charlie and Casino filter into the sleep pods, Echo moves over to stand by Casino.


“Aren’t you going to get some shuteye, Choomba?” she asks quietly, indicating the pods. “I can keep watch over you all, unless you’re not tired,” she says, “Or I can just keep you company so we have two sets of peepers keeping track of the team?”


Turning to face this young edgerunner, Casino thinks to himself as he smiles, what had caused such a young girl to get into this type of scene?


“Sure, I’d like that,” My god, I’m falling for a kid, the big solo has to be honest with himself that he is, in fact, falling for Echo. However, as his thoughts move forward he has to ask himself, was she really a kid anymore? He has no way of knowing what she has been through and what brought her to this run, but knowing Starlight and her rep, Echo is no slouch. Casino has to admit, even though he is 35-years old, he feels years older from all that he has been through. From getting shot more than once—the wound in his arm sending a spurt of pain as his Pain Editor faults for just a moment—to remind him of his latest, to the number of people he has been forced to kill in the course of a run. From the number of skills learned and bettered over time and the smarts and ways of the street that has kept him alive this long. Who is to say how many bodies lay at Echo’s feet, or kknowledge learned, for just like him and Vegas, she is muscle on this run. Only way to find out more about this dangerous beauty is to ask, and Casino always sucked at asking.


“So, ahh, tell me...what got you started as a runner?”


 


*------------------------------- End Casino and Echo Back Post -------------------------*


 


*------------------------------- Current -------------------------*


“Damn... you all look like hell...warmed over,” Charlie muses and changes the subject as he looks over the group. “I know that we as a collective don’t have too much and we have even more questions. So, I’ll make my part quick so that you guy can figure out what your going to do.”


“I would like to recommend that if you’re going to go through all of this mess that you should get a little something more for it, right?” Charlie smiles, “And what I mean by that is, my next proposal…”


Charlie leans into the group with hushed tones, “Make your move on Upstairs/Downstairs look like a 211, you know...a burglary, and that way if something goes awry, then the kid doesn’t get moved or hurt. Anything that you guys take from the offices, you can take your time analyzing at your leisure later and make a few credits along the way.


“This is the part where I come in again.


“Anything that you take, you drop off to me and I’ll fence everything off for you. Look...you’re going to the home office, they also have several vans and maybe a few cars too. Load one up, or two...then I’ll help you get a clean pair of tags, registration, and a new ID if you wanted one. It will beats sleeping outdoors.


“Anyways...think about it. But I’m sure that everyone here is tired of walking, am I right, yeah?”


“I don’t mind making some extra dough, choomba,” the crooner smiles his crooked smile. “But, do we have the skills to jack a ride?” He looks directly at Fixer as he says this.


Fixer looks at the crooner and shakes his head a bit, "I've done a few jobs and I can jury rig a lot of things, but I wouldn't want to promise something I can't deliver. Hitching a ride? Maybe. But that isn't where I usually work."


“Any further objections?” Vegas looks around.


“Yeah,” Bloodbank folds his arms across his chest, his battle mask facing the two fedora wearing men. “I’m not averse to breaking the law in the course of doing good—like finding Jace—but breaking the law solely for the sake of profiting is outside of my comfort zone.”


“Cool yer jets, Goody-Two-Shoes,” Blossom grins at the medic and pats around in her leather jacket before producing a wrapped lollipop.


“The man has a point. Makin’ our little B&E look like we came for some goods and not information’ll throw any bloodhounds off our trail. It’s a good’ne an’ I’m for it.”


“Think of it as an additional safety precaution for the kid,” the dapper solo adds, but the medtech is having none of it.


“No deal. If you choombas are heading to the LZ to rob innocent people—because for all we know that’s what they are—then you’re doing it without me.”


It becomes obvious to the techie that his opinion on the subject doesn’t really matter. It seems the medic isn’t up for a life of crime. Fixer is happier not being a thief anyway. "Ok, Bloodbank, I'm good with not being a thief. Happier that way even. But you gotta know that at the very least we are breaking in and stealing data. Nobodies harmed, but one or two laws might get stretched." He grins at the rest. "Lets get on site. We want the best chance of success and now that we are all fully rested and relaxed after two hours of shut-eye, lets get a move on. That kid’s chances are ticking."  


Fixer knows that at this point most of what they are doing isn’t really up to him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to get moving. Standing around and doing nothing has never been his strong suit and now they are on a clock.


“Data is one thing…” Bloodbank mutters behind his mask but falls quiet when the team leader speaks up.


“OK, Ok,” Vegas holds up his hands. “We’re not heading into a possible hurt situation without a barber, so you win. No stealing nothin’. We good?”


“Yeah…” but the tone of Bloodbank’s voice is cautious.


Casino, quiet the whole time up to now, looks directly at Bloodbank.


”Well, choomba, way I see it is you hired onto this run the same as we all did to get the kid back, and I don’t remember Starlight putting limits on how we do so. If breaking into the place and stealing some petty s*** to make it look like a robbery is not to your taste, then ok, pull out and you can tell Starlight yourself. But trust me your street cred with the fixer’s in this town will go hard and you’ll be damn lucky to get another good paying run. Only jobs you’ll get will be cheap ghetto trash ones for self styled Johnsons. But hey, that’s your call, Choomba."


Turning to the rest, the gruff solo continues.


“I’m in with Charlie’s idea of making it looking like a snatch and grab, however in difference to Bloodbank, we only take things a bunch of drugged out crack bangers would want. Easy money, shiny things, the easy to sell in pawnshop s***. Nothing major that could hurt these people too bad if stolen. If it’s as easy as you say, Charlie, to retag a vehicle; we can steal one someplace else on the way there so the lack of transport we all face is gone. We need to find the kid and soon and playing at being a bunch of goodie two shoes ain’t gonna get us there. I’ve already killed more people than all of you on this run and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna start playing f**king nice.”


With his voice and choice heard the big solo folds his arms across his armored chest and waits on the possible fallout with the Medic or any of the rest of the group.


“There’s nothin’ wrong with having a bit of honor and self-respect, meat shield,” the medtech retorts.


“Cool it,” Vegas orders. “The both of yous. We already determined we weren’t gonna reduce ourselves to common thieves so there’s no reason to snap at your teammates, capice?”


“Good,” turning to the rest of the group, the crooner continues, “So, we good? Everyone on board? Fixer? Blossom? Echo? Ghlahn? Bloodbank? Casino? Charlie?” He waits to receive an affirmative from each of them before laying out the plan.


“Yeah, yeah... I’m still good and everyone is still poor here,” Charlie frowns. “I might know a guy... or two, that I can talk with. Give me a few moments alone to make a few well placed calls.” Charlie explains as he momentarily excuses himself from the group.


“Make your calls,” the crooner waves him off. “What about you, Echo? You got any in’s?”


“I’m afraid not,” the pretty nomad shakes her head, her eyes still visible above her balaclava darting to the ornery blond solo. “Best not to try and involve any of the nearby caravans unless we want to operate on giri and that might delay our current run.”


“Sure ‘nuff,” Vegas looks over to where the fixer is trying to work his magic. Hours versus minutes, here, choomba. Let’s see why Starlight puts her trust in ya…


Charlie walks over to a more secluded area, stopping near the entrance to an old army tent from within which a very old man with a scruffy white beard and a grimy old bandana around his head is trying to sell knives. Tapping away at his agent, he waits for the replies he hopes are forthcoming.


Moments later, his agent and the visual splice shows that he has a couple of messages.


His original reach across his network is to seek out the possibility of procuring a jeep, sky barge, Agro Nomad, Family Flier, Bedouin Truck, or a Gevhog. Some responses showing up from his agent’s search algorithm show the Gevhog as a kind of water-going, large jetski.


“Damn,” Charlie looks at the photo and frowns. That isn’t the Sk5 hovercraft that I was thinking of… His head bobs up and down for a bit as he rattles the idea about.


Walking back over to the group, he decides he isn’t going to put in the work without knowing what preferences the others have. “Ahem… I have had a few new ideas since we all need to stay on the same page here, I thought I’d run them by you all. First things first...” Charlie eyes the group over, “If I’m scratching someone’s back... they want something in return. It’s just the basic nature of the game. Play or get played. So...


“I can get a vehicle but I need to make promises that it has to come back as it left, capisce? Price tags are just too high to try and buy, so we’re renting. Also, I need everyone to kick in with NOT CREDITS, but the use of their skill sets, can we agree upon this?”


Bloodbank scratches at the back of his head below the bandana knot and eyes the fixer through the heightened visuals of his combat mask. Promising anything to dealers is a dangerous gig in his experience, but the idea of trade isn’t a unique thought. He’s done so before and for a cash-strapped edger, trade is kind of a lifesaving solution when in need. So, he remains quiet, waiting to see what the others think and still feeling more than a little put out by Casino’s argumentative tirade.


Blossom shrugs the rain from her jacket’s shoulders and pulls the sucker from her mouth with a slight popping sound, “Sounds like a standard deal.”


Charlie looks to the techie, “Your street name is ‘Fixer,’ right? So, I’ll assume that you can either—” Charlie's uses air quotes, “—fix things, or you fix mechanical things. Either way, I can borrow these services when needed.” Charlie turns to the solos: Vegas, Casino, Ghlahn and Echo. “You three work the mean streets and don’t take alot of drek, right? So... from time to time, I'll need something delivered, picked up or... a friendly reminder that someone is owed something. In return, I’ll then be able to get you rides, and even meals from time to time, would  this interest you?” Finally he turns to Bloodbank. “Well, Mr. Paladin... can you provide me with some of that humanitarian aid that others will need from time to time, patients that would need a no questions asked medical person? If so… I’ll have a ride for you if you wish it. Besides... I would like for you to make a wish list of item that might be needed so I can keep a look out for them as well, like some field bandages, pain killers, and other medical things. Or, if you know anyone that makes or sells low to high grade drugs, point me in that general direction.” Looking at the whole group, he adds, “We all have something to throw in, so help me, help you. Let me know a name or names of who you do business with so that I can serve and assist you better, please.”


Charlie claps his hands with a rub, after his small speech. “Okay, those that are willing to aid me, I have what you are looking for. It’s what everyone needs to find a kid in the hood, it’s a jeep.”


Ghalan listens as the others talked about stealing vs not-stealing. It is interesting where some choose to draw the line after all that has occured in the past few days. Personally he doesn’t care if they snuck in and out, made it look like a drug-user stole stuff to sell, or robbed the place blind. However, when it comes to the idea of getting a ride, he certainly has an opinion. "You want me to promise to be your attack dog in return for a ride?  Not gonna happen. I may be many things, but a low-level flunky is not one of them. I'll walk."


“Okay,” Cred Stick Charlie draws out the word, “I’ll take that as a maybe…”


“Wow,” Casino adds without the inspired inflection, “I admire a man who is confident in being able to get and give what he offers.” The solo looks to the China girl who is still perusing the contents of a nearby shop. “However, your lack of ability to read the people in this group just shows your lack of street smarts and plays heavy on your credibility. I work for cash, not a ride, not for a meal, and sure as hell not for you. If you think my partner and I will act as your on call little errand boys, then your living in a world of dreams.”


His hands on his H&K, the big solo looks to the rest of the group, his gaze holding on Vegas, Echo, and Ghlahn the longest. Then without a word he starts heading away from Cred Stick Charlie and his bulls***.


“For the love of—” Vegas declares. “Did everyone wake up on the wrong side of the coffin, or what? Casino, get your ass back here.


“Look, we’re short on time,” the crooner explains. “We have already established that the kid has a limited amount of time. Right?”


“Every hour counts,” Blossom confirms, staring right at the leather-clad solo.


“We need a ride,” the Sinatra clone smacks his right hand into his left with a wet splattering sound. “We’ve wasted hours on sleep, on—stupid decisions—and chasing ghosts. Casino, you rode Bloodbank pretty heavy on his decision not to participate in stealing from the innocent. You even said his cred will take a shot. What do you think’ll happen to ours if this kid dies on our watch? Especially if word gets out that he drew the ace of spades because of our pride?


“Maybe the lot of us has got some cash sitting around that we aren’t all aware of, but near as I can tell, Charlie’s right. We can’t afford to buy a ride, and even our techie is unsure of whether he can lift one, so our options are to rent. I got news for you all, I don’t have the credits to rent sh**. But what I do have is trade. I can trade my services for a little something to carry us forward. Pride be damned.


“What’ve you got, Partner?” Vegas turns to Casino and spreads his arms wide. “You got some dough tucked away somewhere I’m not aware of? How about you Ghlahn? You got enough scratch to buy?


“There’s a number of us… we might need more’n one vehicle.”


Not waiting for the other solos’ responses, Vegas turns his attention back to the fixer. “What’s the full story, Charlie?”


“We’ve got the air jeep, like I said, and next we have either a nomad agro truck or a bedouin truck available as well. So? Ms. Echo?” Luther looks to Echo for her comments about what vehicles if any could be acquired, but interrupts again before she starts, blurting out, "Oh! And you can use them for 48 hours... just sayin’." Then he nods with a sinful gin and mouths, "Go ahead, your turn" and gives an "okay" sign to boot.


“I’ve seen the air jeep in action,” Echo replies tentatively. “Ugly, but it is a solid ride. Won’t carry the lot of us though. Especially not if we find the kid. I’d suggest we try to get the Jeep and the Bedouin. There’s eight of us and the boy will make nine. The jeep will carry six people max load while the Bedouin will take six. The Bedouin is covered, so that’ll be important for secrecy.”


“How long will it take to get those rides, Charlie?” Vegas asks, assuming that Casino and Ghlahn are now on board with the reality of their situation having been fully explained.


(OOC: Charlie’s answer&hellip


“Damn!” Vegas looks around in frustration. “OK, I say you get to work on those rides and we’ll use public transportation to make our way to the offices. No more wasted time, savvy? You’re with me, right, Casino?”


(OOC: Assuming a yes&hellip


“Ghlahn?”


(OOC: Assuming a yes&hellip


“All right,” Vegas nods, “Where’s the nearest terminal?”


“Two blocks south,” Blossom replies instantly. “This enclave’s got a hold of it but there’s still public access. We can take the train and it’ll put us within a block of the office.”


“OK, one last time… Everyone on board?”


“I’m good,” Bloodbank replies.


“Count me in,” Blossom remarks with a charismatic grin.


(OOC: Everyone else’s replies&hellip


(OOC: Time is 11:34 P.M. PST)



Posted on 2018-06-17 at 16:31:08.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Thanks for the post, Tann, but please remember that while I encourage back-posts to keep the RP alive, there's still the matter of the current events. Please provide Casino's actions for the current events too.



Posted on 2018-06-05 at 16:23:22.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


Looks as though we're back to waiting on the good Quartermaster to lead out with his next post.



Posted on 2018-06-05 at 10:40:46.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


I, too, have posted. I've laid out a plan but Tann and Robert, feel free to offer up other suggestions. The intent is to completely avoid a gunfight if at all possible and once we're inside, maybe we can figure out a way to get Petrie out with the rest of us.



Posted on 2018-06-05 at 10:39:26.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject:


Around and around it went, but the constant reminder of it not being easy to fake a death without the person in question being part of the plan.  Breakfast is served, you eat and discuss and then clean up the dishes and still discuss when you realize that you haven’t heard from Asher and the Doc for awhile.


Closing his eyes, Wyatt rolls his head about stretching out his tightened neck muscles. Planning a kidnapping is difficult enough when that's all one has to do. This mission during the War is brought to mind where Wyatt's ship was running barricade to insert and extract the team that was charged with intercepting a courier. They received live reports from spies concerning the target's position and had to develop a plan on the hoof. He had ended up transporting three corpses back with no luck in snatching up the courier.


*Thump* *Thump* *Thump* comes the heavy metal knocking of someone at the cargo bay door.  


Sam frowns and runs to the cockpit to check the camera while Captain Sung casts a questioning gaze Ma's way. "We expecting a delivery?"


The scarred woman shakes her head and then turns her attention to the surly mechanic as he rises from his seat at the table and heads off for the door.


"Well, the Kid better not be I some kinda trouble with the Law, or I'm trimmin' his rations some," he mumbles while eyeballing the retreating shoulders of the big man. "It don't look like there's a-bettin' chance were gonna come up with nothin' reasonably resemblin' a plan, do it, Ma?" Sung muses surly while picking at a stray splinter odd wood from the tabletop.


Shaking her head, the ship matron expresses her apologies with a sympathetic look on her mottled face.


Responding in kind, Wyatt pushes the chair out and pressing his hands against his thighs, he forces himself to his feet. "Ain't no harm done an' nothin' wasted but a couple o' hours seein' how I didn't make no mention o' this fool's errand t' the little miss at least."


Hearing the sounds of two sets of booted feet on the metal gangway leading up from the cargo bay, Wyatt falls quiet and rests himself against the table, thumbs hooked in his belt, gazing calmly upon those coming his way.


“Captain Sung.” Hewlett nods a greeting to Wyatt, “Nice to meet you. I won’t waste your time. Seems your Doctor Young has gotten herself into a situation involving a young man with injuries. Petrie Tubbs? Anyway, she is doctoring the boy in the offices of a Dr. Amber’s office in town – he was the closest doc with an operating room. She caused a bit of a stir, in the church of all places. Drew a lot of attention to herself in the process.”


"She responsible fer this Petrie Tubbs' injuries?" Gorram it! We're into the next set o' three. And how in the bloody 'Verse did we wind up gettin' mixed up with Petrie Tubbs despite it all? 


"Nope," their guest states. "Was just there when the injured man showed up and took charge of his care right quick."


"Ain't that a good thing?" Wyatt presses. Why's the very one we're lookin' t' abscond with showing up needin' Doc Stephanie's attention?


"Would be normally, but she might've bit off more'n she can chew."


Sung presses his lips tight together and raises his eyebrows, "That so?"


"Well the Governor is got the doctor’s office held tight, yes, Patience, that Governor, and your man Asher is there as well. He won’t leave her behind despite her telling him to, seems to believe she needs protecting. Might be right too, hard to say. I get the feeling people around here don’t see many people stand up to Patience and they liked the first act."


“Ok, not to be a skeptic but why are you helping him out? Whats in it for you?” Fenris could not help asking. This guy could just as well be working for Patience and this could all be a set-up.


“Asher did my crewmember a … favour last night so I wanted to return the gesture.  My man was drunk, looking for a fight and Asher could have laid him down hard, but he didn’t. Right honourable man you got there. Anything else I can do for ya?”


A firm but not so much a hostile look from Hewlett made the big mechanic nod his head in acknowledgment and relax down from his aggressive stance.


"Yeah," Wyatt turned his gaze from Fenris back to the messenger. "What was the scene like last you saw?"


“Patience has four men around the office and two within. Her and the Rev were in for awhile but left as I did looking none too happy. I get the impression your Doctor doesn’t really care who she makes friends with. Asher had made his way inside the office as I left.  One against six, I don’t like them odds but he didn’t look worried. Oh! Asher said the Doc had her ear comm in but I also heard Patience tell one of her men to block all comms.”


"You been right goodly comin' out here and I thank ya fer it." Captain Sung replies in a level tone though his insides are already spoiling for a fight. "Looks like we're makin' a trip t' town."


“Listen," Hewlett says as he is leaving. “We are on channel 1742, be here until late tonight. If you need anything, give me a call. I can’t stand by and watch a good man stand alone.”


"I appreciate it," Sung answers and leaves Wolf to walk their guest out.


"Sam!" Wyatt spins about and storms off towards his bunk. "We need t' prepare fer bear. Meet me in the cargo bay loaded an' ready, an' make certain Wolf is there too. Ma, button down the hatches. No one comes aboard Roc less it be with one o' us and were in good health."


Once in his bunk, Wyatt tears off his shirt, throws on his armor and then shrugs his shirt back on. Strapping his weapons in place, he slips into his coat and snatches his hat from the bed. Rejoining the others in the bay, he explains, "We're not lookin' get trouble—as much as I'd love t' see Patience an' her bunch no longer causin' good folk harm—but be ready for it should it find us. Follow my lead and play it Ku. If Buddha is lookin' our way, we might jus' get of this rock without makin' us the target fer every gorram bounty hunter in the bloody 'Verse."


Leading the way down the gangway into the warm open air of Whitefall, Captain Sung continues his discourse, "Here's the plan. We walk int' town peaceful-like. We're jus' gonna see t' our own. We got no reason t' believe that Patience won't allow us t' join Doc Stephanie an Asher, so that's the way we're gonna play it out. We all shiny here?"



Posted on 2018-06-04 at 22:57:37.
Edited on 2018-06-05 at 10:38:02 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


Dun, dun, dun...


I'll have a post up as soon as I can. Spent most of the spare time I had today making the post for Flesh & Blood, so it will not be today, unfortunately.



Posted on 2018-06-01 at 17:09:00.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Indeed! And now, so have I.



  • Espatier, I've modified the results of your story, so read through your evening activities to have a clear understanding of what's what.

  • Aletheia and Tann, if you two want to play out any of the conversation over the course of that two hours, you're welcome to. 

  • Everyone, please stay current with your posting. This last time we had a number of people post responses and interaction to what happened at the beginning of my last post, but ignore everything at the end. While back posting to bring the characters current with all that's going on is important, it is equally important to be able to move the story forward. Thanks for your contributions and attention to this.

  • Espatier, I've awarded Luther 1IP in each of the following: Education & General Knowledge, Persuasion & Fast Talk, and Streetdeal.

  • Espatier and Aletheia, please check your PMs.

  • Everyone, I've marked my post with black, bold text to help you see where interactions are absolutely necessary, but please feel free to add character insights, thoughts, feelings, observations, declarations, conversation, etc. throughout. It might help to notify players whose characters you're interacting with as well.


Here's where I've left off...



  1. Echo and Charlie have both been questioned about procuring a ride for the group.



Posted on 2018-06-01 at 16:47:17.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject:


Edgerunner Enclave | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 11:05 PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


******************** Luther’s Evening *********************


“You know, choomba, that there other encraves in city, right?” the Asian vendor explains with a grimy grin.


“Awhhh yeah, but this is the only one that I know about,” Luther responds congenially.


“Is so? You need get out more. You find encraves each wide variety of services”, the vendor instructs, still eyeballing the finely dressed fixer as though he’s a sideshow oddity.


“But I’m looking for a more personal service, if you know what I mean.” Luther says as he looked through the various wares that the vendor is showcasing in cracked and filthy wheeled display cases.


“Awhhhh, stuffit, jam, hook up, input,” nodding, the skinny little man turns his head to yell behind him. “Feng, call Hui Yin. Hurry! Man in need.”


Luther is a grown man, but when the man shouts out that he wants to buy “flesh,” he looks about to see many faces turn his way accompanied by knowing grins and more than a few giggles from females in proximity.


“Awhh…no, no, I’m not like that!” Luther exclaims.


“OH! You want boy then?! Feng,” grit-covered hands motion towards a young man in a green and orange Oriental robe lounging on the parameter of a monstrous olive green army tent. Almond-shaped eyes scope out the fixer with appreciation and he starts towards them. At the same time, heavy canvas flaps part and a petite middle-aged Asian woman with her hair done up tightly in a bun wearing a bright red gown emerges.


“No, wait a sec…” Cred-Stick Charlie shakes his head causing rainwater to flip from the brim of his hat, “I’m just looking for some information about a boy.”


Ms. or Mrs. Feng arrives at the vendor’s side. She looks Luther up and down from her vantage point behind the counter. She stands on the seller’s platform, a faux-wood structure that places both the male vendor and now here, three-feet higher than the slippery, mud-covered, courtyard ground. Over her cybernetic glasses—then though them—she asks in a no-nonsense tone, “Why you no want gir’, Hui Yin—joygirl—good genes, smart and cheap... she love on you rong time; you no want boy whore, I get you nice gir’ instead.” Hui Yin reaches out a delicate hand clutching her agent to interface with Luther's and seal the transaction.


“I’m looking for some information about where I can find a missing child.”


“Oh! Why you not say so, ShÇŽzi (foolish)? You need post over by monitors,” the man exclaims pointing across the sprawl of human traffic to a tall light post upon which a number of flatscreen monitors have been hung displaying various new channels. “You find I-N-F-O B-R-O-K-E-R.” He speaks slowly to Luther as though the Native American is touched by God or something.


“You still want girl, yes?” Ms. Feng asks bluntly. Luther smiles and politely declines with a shake of his head. “Are you lazy American? You have no money? Why you dress nice when you have no work?” she quizzes.


“Yes, I work... well I was a teacher at one time, but now I...” Luther attempts to explain his current line of work but is abruptly cut off by the woman.


“You teacher?” She smiles broadly showing crooked yellow teeth. “You meet Hui Yin. You help her with study, make her smart like you, yes?”


Mr. Feng breaks into his native Chinese language and the two started to bicker in front of Luther.   Attempting to take advantage of the opportunity, the fixer turns to walk towards the monitors but is stalled when he hears Feng call out to him again.


“Hey Mr. Fancy-Pants, you come back.” Now, more than a few onlookers have gathered.


“Are you real teacher? You dress too fine. Make too much credit to be real teacher,” Mr. Feng gazes at him with a critical eye. “Feng think that you a erementary schoo’ teacher but I say no way. You too pretty. Is right?” Luther walks back over and places his hands on the wet counter and says, “No, I’m sorry that isn’t correct.”


Mr. Feng immediately breaks back into Cantonese again, addressing Mrs. Feng and shaking his finger in her face while she dismisses him with what sounds to the fixer as not so nice language.


“I was a high school teacher, actually.” Luther loudly interrupts them. Both Chinese vendors stop their argument and turn to gaze down upon him once again.


Ms. Feng’s face screws up, “Then why you no speak good Engrish?” she snaps sourly.


Luther is shocked at Ms. Feng’s retort and then finds himself wanting to laugh, but refrains. “I’m Native American, but the high school thought that I speak and teach English well enough.”


“You might be smart but you have no... no... MÇ”qÄ«n de zhìhuì,” Mr. Feng shoots back.


“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what that means,” Cred-Stick Charlie apologizes.


“Mother’s wit... street smarts.” a new voice calls from behind him causing Luther to glance over his shoulder where a few people around him listening in on his conversation are pressing inward, interested in the discussion. Looking for a way to escape from the crowd, Charlie begins to feel a bit of anxiety building inside of him. A crowd focused solely on him can turn south fast. He’s outnumbered and in a very ethnic part of the enclave, so now is a good time to leave the area and quickly.


Striking his most charismatic smile, he began to excuse himself, “Nice to meet everyone but I need to go. Thank you for the information.” Tipping his fedora he takes a few steps towards the innermost people. (OOC: Persuasion & Fast-Talking to make a smooth exit: Exploding 10 = 32.)


“Hey! Hold on a sec,” someone in the crowd shouts out the plea. Luther hopes that this is going to be a quick fight and that he will be able to get a few before he falls.


“Teacher! Teach our people?” another voice calls from behind him and to the right.


Luther stops his attempt to retreat and turns to find the speakers. A multitude of hopeful, dirty Asian faces peer back at him and not one of them is threatening. They haven’t even made any further attempt to converge upon him. Instead, they appear to be looking to him for his reply with both respect and admiration.


“Our kids—our people—need a good teacher, but we can’t pay a lot of money.” Standing at five-foot-six, the woman who steps forward is wearing grungy brown overalls. Her face is finely chiseled with high cheekbones and a high forehead. Grease is smeared across her pointy chin and left cheek and a light tattoo peaks out from the collar of her outfit with a faint red glow. Those around her appear to defer to her as their representative.


“I really don’t teach anymore,“ Luther explains apologetically.


“But can you teach?” a voice from the crowd asks.


“Why me?” Luther answers in question.


“Our people are in need of a teacher... for basic language skill and overall, just general knowledge, in your American schools.” the woman offers. “We, as a people, don’t work for any of the Neo-Corps. Some of us are doctors, some scientist, and others are very skilled at their trade, but we aren’t accepted in the schools because we aren’t affiliated. So,” she looks around and spreads her hands wide. “This is what we have. Most here can’t even speak English.”


“Well that's nice, but I need to find a kid that is missing, so, I’m sorry that you're having some problems but—”


“Maybe,” she interrupts, “we can help each other?”


Looking her over, Luther strikes upon an idea, “Can you help with a broken transmission, finding a child and paying my bills?”


“We find you man-boys you like,” Feng calls back grinning.


“Why does everyone think that I want a man-boy? Damn...”


“Because you ask for personal service, Mr. Fancy-Pants!” Mr. Feng shouts back and laughs as though that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.  


“Look,” the woman in the coveralls tries to draw the fixer’s attention back to her. “Ignore him. Can you teach English well enough to help?”


“Mr. Feng,” Luther responds using the name on the neon sign hanging over the man’s head. “I ask inquired about a missing child.”


“I’m Boa. My Sister Feng, I no Mr. Feng, just Boa,” Boa responds with his face all screwed up as though he’s offended that the fixer didn’t know that.


Luther lifts his hands in the air. “See... this isn’t going to work, I’m sorry.”


“What type of car do you need help with?” The women presses hurriedly as he starts to walk away. She drifts up beside him and leads Luther to a shop with a small but firm hand on Luther’s arm.


“You know anything about a 2025 Shiltron, twin cab SLT pick-up truck by Spinelli Autotech?” Charlie asks as he looked about at the parting crowd.


“I... might know a guy” the woman answers cocking her head to the side as she continues to lead Luther down one of the many vendor isles.


“Well, I need tires, new, or an R&R, transmission, my radiator leaks, oh! And the power steering is dead. And I have—”


“So…” she stops and looks up at him, her brown eyes meeting his. “We can make a deal? You teach and proctor the tests at the state level and I’ll compensate you by finding a way to fix your truck?”


Luther pauses and considers her question. “So…how much are you talking about?”


Darting a cautious eye about, she tugs at his arm and leads him into a food tent with the aroma of Ramen noodles hanging heavy in the humid air. Seating them at a table, she glances over the fixer’s shoulder where the chinese crowd had followed.


“We will get to that soon enough. Please sit and drink with me,” she glances over her left shoulder and catches the eye of the proprietor, holding up two fingers.


“Why would you need someone like me, can’t you get someone, like—”


“Like ourselves? Chinese?” the woman shakes her head with a ghost of a smile (OOC: Luther’s Human Perception check = 13). “Our own people charge us more to educate our kids and to assistance. We know how to get here but I.D.s are hard to come by.” Her voice lowers. “The Tong have a stranglehold on everything Chinese.”


Two tea cups of white and blue are placed in front of them on a dingy silver tray with a small pot that matches the cups. Cred-Stick Charlie catches the faint beep of the woman’s agent being charged for their libations. Thinking about what she has shared with him, Luther watches as she ceremoniously pours the tea. He waits quietly, still contemplating the information she’s shared with him, until the tea is prepared. Drinking hot tea is very nice and calming.  


“Shoes, huh? I might know a guy,” He smiles back at the woman. “Maybe we could help one another, after all.” Luther nods with his infectious smile. He wonders if the Koreans are pressing these chinese? Are they going to sell his passports (Shoes) to these people? Luther ponders before continuing, “I have a need and want list if you want to wheel and deal.”


The odor of something fantastic is in the air making it difficult for him to stay focused. Luther hadn’t eaten at the restaurant earlier and the odor is making his stomach growl.


Eyeing her table companion, the woman produces her agent. Allowing her gaze to linger on his face for a moment longer, she looks down at her screen, presses, then swipes and slides the device across the table in front of the fixer.


“You got information already about Upstairs/Downstairs and the kid?” Luther queries with unfeigned surprise.


“Can you answer these questions without using your agent?” she glosses over his question with her own as he looks down at the screen. Picking it up, Charlie stares at the series of questions before him.


A twelfth-grade general education test for students takes up the whole of the available screen real estate. Luther lays his agent on the table and powers it down to show that he isn’t cheating through his neural link.


(OOC: Espatier’s General Education Roll 10+12 (mod) = 22, rolling 1d10 (10) = 10 (another exploding 10) +12 mod + another 1d10 for the exploding 10 = 31.)


Luther answers the questions in about 3 minutes, then passes the agent back to the woman. Awaiting her assessment, he smiles.


Picking up her agent, she tapped the screen twice and then holds up the device to show the crowd the results. “We can deal,” she sets her agent back on the table amidst the muttering from the crowd and leans in to ask this stranger his name.   


“Cred-Stick Charlie, or just plain ol’ Charlie, Ms...” Luther leans in as well.


“Mo Yimu, but you can just call me Mo,” she replies.  


(OOC: Espatier Rolls for Persuasion & Fast-Talking: 28.)


“Help me find that missing kid I posted about on the Giri board, pay rent to my current level of comfort in a place ‘round here, help fix my vehicle and in return, I’ll teach twelve students during the day for eight hours of instruction at 0700 to 1500. During my breaks, I will stay and take care of my own private business.”


“So you’ll stay the whole day? Five days a week?” Mo clarifies.


“At times, I will need to make runs—”


“Not acceptable,” Mo interrupts. “You’re asking us to fund your life for forty hours a week and you want to be able to run off on whatever fool mission you’ve arranged whenever you want? It’s not going to work, Charlie.”


“Look, I’ll run a night school for anyone from time to time, but I need sleep, good money and this job might sound more interesting if it had a good benefits package.”


“Seven days a week morning till noon. And any day that you miss will need to be made up before your benefits come into play,” Mo changes the offer.


“Five days, morning till noon, or I’ll take my chances with the Giri board and other people helping me.” Luther counters again. “And I pick what the days are. Deal?” he quickly adds.


“We pay your rent in one of our areas—” Mo narrows her already narrow eyes and tilts her head to the right just a bit.


“In this enclave? Thanks, but no thanks. Your right, I’m American and you guys have places that are way too small. Besides, most round-eyes are not welcome in certain areas with your many booster gangs.”


“We don’t have cash lying around to cover your expenses,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s why I offered to work on your vehicle. You’re talkin’ a few thousand to fix that truck of yours and a class to teach basic English shouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks. You want to work for four hours a day, five days a week, and demanding more than the Tongs. I’ll get your transmission fixed, find some tires, and your power steering, but that’s it.”


“You’re kidding right?” Luther looks over the crowd.


Ms. Feng, who is standing just inside the tent, shakes her bun, “We no kid, Mr. Charlie, E-V-E-R.”


“Can’t you just pay the rent where I’m at right now and fix my truck?” presses the fixer.


“ NO! Too high! You ask pay too much, no good,” Feng snaps. Mo settles back in her chair and spreads her hands.


“Perhaps, we can renegotiate after we see that your flowers have blossomed,” she raises her eyebrows and folds her arms across her chest.


(OOC: Espatier’s Streetdeal Roll: 32.)


“Look,” Luther turns the tea cup about on its saucer and peers thoughtfully into the swirling cream-colored liquid. “Teaching is a time-consuming job. I got out of it because it didn’t pay enough. You want me to dedicate hours a week I could be putting towards my own business so there’s a price to pay.”


“We don’t have a lot,” Mo stares him down, “but we will keep you safe when you’re here, our families will bring you good food and you’ll earn Giri with passing grades from our children. They’re our future, and we take that very seriously.”


Charlie listened but remains stoic.


“To house you here, we’d have to displace a family, and like you said… it’d be small. You don’t want that.” Mo shrugs. “I’d be willing to bet that you’ve got a decent cube right now. Why walk away from that for less than stellar accommodation?”


“Augh... I don’t know if this is going to work guys and I’m sorry if I wasted your time.” Luther moves to get up.


“Please... wait...” Mo looks over his shoulder and speaks in Cantonese after which Ms Feng leaves through the crowd with haste. “Please sit and drink some more tea. Please,” she gestures again for Luther to sit.


He makes a show of returning slowly to the chair.


“You have spirit?” the grease-smeared woman enigmatically asks.


“What?” Luther looks confused.


“Do you have spirit...umm...Religion...a belief in, like...Jesus or Buddha?”


“Somewhat but—” Luther answers.


“Then listen to your heart and your spirit...do what’s right and help a woman and her community.”


“Look. I need credits, Giri or something to make this work me…” Charlie frankly answers his hostess. “Priority one right now is that I need information and then I might be willing to start teaching the kids for you and help to assimilate your community better into Night city. I’ll even help you find someone that will get you new shoes and other items that you might need from time to time.”


“I don’t know if I can help you with the missing child, Charlie,” Mo shakes her head again, her shoulder-length black hair drifting wet and languid about her elegant neck. “But, you put this time in and you’ll be helping people achieve a better life. I’m not naive enough to believe that’s going to take the place of credits, but I’m also offering to help get your truck back on the road and that’s something. Not to mention the food you’ll receive when teaching and the Giri from this community. That’s no small thing.”


“The deal is this, Mo. I get info to pass to my teammates, I have a need—not a want—a need to pay my rent. But, if you can find me a place that is to my standard American living conditions and find someone that can get my vehicle up and running in a safe fashion—then yes, I could start teaching when you want me to start.”


Mo smiles politely, stands up and refills Charlie’s tea before setting the pot back on the platter and turning to the patiently waiting crowd. Speaking in Cantonese once again, she addresses them. It seems to Luther that it’s something like a town hall meeting with various people asking questions. Some shaking their heads no, but a mostly, it was some form of debate and finger pointing.


(OOC: Espatier’s Human Perception Roll: 16.)


Minutes pass as Mo and the crowd debate. As is common with such things, irrational emotion rises from time to time. Ms Feng arrives with a woman wearing a bright yellow dress. The woman is very pretty with doe-eyes and a pale complexion. Her long, black hair is slicked back with rainwater and the dress clings to her petite frame.


Feng pauses at the mouth of the tent but the girl continues forward. Luther follows her progress with unabashed interest as she passes him. She makes her way to the kitchen area and gracefully serves up a bowl of noodles. Carrying the bowl of soup, she gracefully glides back to Cred-Stick Charlie’s side and places the bowl in front of him—and it smells like real food, which is rare.


“Please eat,” the girl in the yellow dress instructs with a melodic voice.


Luther smiles and offers a, “thank you.” She returns the smile and introduced herself as, “Hui Yin.”


“I’m told that you’re the one that is going to help teach us this year so we can send others to the American universities, yes?”


Luther is quiet, a spoonful of soup halfway to his lips as he smiles. “Perhaps...it depends on what is going on right now.” This comment results in more finger pointing, hand gestures, and argumentative words flying around. Mo watches his face with disconcerting interest from across the table, having returned to her seat.


“You want to teach Hui Yin to get smarter, yes?”


“No. No. its—”


“Joygirl, Hui Yin, will teach you, clean your room, wash your clothes and shop with your agent as needed, yes?”


Luther stops eating. He doesn’t want to, but the implications behind her comment are holding him fast.


“No one shops with my agent but me,” his voice grows cold. “We are talking things over and working things out still.”


“Hui Yin will sit and wait with you, yes?”


Charlie returns to slurping more noodles and nods, trapped by her insistence. After a few minutes, Mo leans forward to address the fixer.


“Charlie, here’s the final offer,” she looks to Hui Yin for a moment and then swallows with a faint downturn of her lips. “I’ll work on your truck’s transmission, power steering, and tire situation. Hui Yin will accompany you to your domicile, where she will… be yours… for the duration of your class. You’ll receive food while you’re teaching—that’s at least two meals a day—and you’ll teach for a minimum of twenty-hours per week for a total of one hundred and twenty hours. That’s six weeks. You’ll earn some definite Giri if your students proved decently proficient in basic English during that time. Should it all work out, we’ll look at renewing the contract for a second block of one hundred and twenty hours. By the end of the third block, your students should be fluent if everything I’ve read about these courses is correct.


“This is a generous offer from a people who don’t have much,” Mo’s eyes flick to Hui Yin and then back to the fixer. “And quite the commitment. Take the offer, Charlie.”


Luther considers her words while enjoying the flavor of the soy sauce laden broth and then nods, “So...maybe we can start as soon as—”


Mo passes her agent across the table once again.


“No more tests, please, Mo,” Charlie shakes his head tiredly.


“That’s not a test, Charlie,” she replies and Luther slides the device into his hands only to have Mo’s rough fingers cup about the top of his hand.


“We ask that you honor our customs and, this is not negotiable, Charlie. While you are teaching, you will be our guest. Will you agree to these terms?”


“Terms? Like what?” Luther asks while glancing at the contract on the agent.


Mo looks to Hui Yin.


Luther shakes his head, “I don’t need a babysitter. Besides, her English isn’t the best and it's just going to interfere with—”


“So, if I spoke better English, the very smart American teacher would be able to save all of the poor Chinese people?” Hui interjects in flawless English without even a hint at the accent she’d been affecting previously.


“You speak perfect English!” Exclaims the fixer, surprise written all over his face.


“Yes. I can speak it better than you, and several other dialects as well, but all you Americans ever want is some cute, weak Chinese girl that needs to be rescued. Forget it! the deal is off.”


She rises from the table still poised and elegant but spewing angry Cantonese words. “I don’t need, nor want, your help!”  


Hui Yun turns to leave in haste. Elders from the crowd speak harshly to her in their native tongue and fingers start to fly yet again. Hui pouts before seating herself again.


“I apologize for the outburst,” she states sullenly to Mo, but turns her body away from Cred-Stick Charlie. Hui falls quiet but it is blatantly obvious to the fixer that she remains mad about this whole deal.


“I didn’t mean to offend you, Ms. Yun. I came in here to get some information about a kid that I really need to find fast, before I got tangled up with your mom and dad.”


Hui peers over her shoulder towards the crowd, “They are my surrogate family that I owe because they bought my debt for the fees incurred to get me over here to the states. So, I make my money anyway that I can. Don’t take the offer, don’t eat our food, and continue to judge me by my work. I don’t need to be pitied.”


Hui stands and takes the bowl right from under Luther’s mouth leaving him dangling a dripping spoon over the table and even more Cantonese words fly again before she stops and sits back down again, slopping the bowl back in front of the well-dressed man.


Luther speaks, “Okay, let’s try to make this work without anymore yelling or raised voices. So, tell me why you need a outsider if Hui, here, can speak so fluently?”


“The schools here will not recognize my degree from China. In China, I’m a professor, not a joygirl. I have to do that here—I survive, okay? But, my sin card doesn’t work and I need a new one to work a legitimate job, but everyone knows me now, so even if I get a new sin it wouldn’t matter. I’m likely stuck working as a joygirl until I’m used up, and then what is there for me?”


“The Tong won’t let her teach,” Mo explains further as Hui sniffs away her emotion. “And, there are some pretty traditional people here who look at her as soiled. They don’t want her teaching their children.”


“Stay underground for about a year maybe, and then reapply. People change jobs or transfer all of the time. Apply for your teacher license under your new sin...simple,” Luther offers a solution.


“Yeah? Simple for you, maybe, but your corporations are different here.” Hui Yun counters.


“IF I help—not saying that I will—can we all get along here at the enclave?”


Hui eyes him suspiciously before relaxing her face back into softness, “Yes. My intent has always been to help the enclave. You finish eating, I’ll get my things, and then we will go to your home and begin.”


“With me?” Charlie asks incredulously.


“Yes,” she gazes at him with slightly parted red lips and wide eyes. “That’s the agreement, no?”


“What? No. That will not work.”


“Fine,” the joygirl sighs. “I will stay with you until you’re ready to leave, then.”


“No. I don’t need you to babysit me, but thank you.”


Hui throws a look Feng’s way and says, “Your right. He wants a man-boy instead still.”


“Just because I say NO to you does mean that I like man-boys, okay?”


“Okay. But I’m ready to leave after your done talking,” Hui replies.


“So... do we have a deal?” Mo interrupts with an exhausted expression on her face.


“Wait, no…” Luther stalls them. “Wait...this is all going too fast and I need time to think things over for a bit.”


“Charlie, there’s no time, right? Aren’t you searching for a missing child? We’ve offered extremely favorable terms. Hui is not a problem, she’ll be a big help to you.”


Luther looked hard and long at the agent in front of him, then turns to Hui and stands up. He holds out his hand invitingly. Hui adopts a quizzical expression but finally places her delicate hand in his and stands.


“I need a minute to confer with my new...partner about somethings in private, please.”


Mo nods approval and the two step deeper to the side the restaurant tent.


“Look...you don’t want me around and I don’t want you either. So, how can we work this out then?” Luther asks, not trying to be mean but needing to make sure his position is fully explained as quickly and succinctly as possible.


“I want to stop working as a joygirl, got that?”


“Yeah... so?”


“So you help me and I’ll help you, OK?” Hui proposes.


“What's in it for me?” Luther shares his infectious smile.


“That’s already been explained. Maybe you aren’t as smart as you think,” Hui smirks.


“I could always cut a new deal...leaving you out in the cold and back at work as a joygirl.”


“Yeah? I’m no dummy. I’ve got skills. I’m working for you once you agree to that contract—” she stares right into his eyes, “but no sex.”


“Fine with me,” rolling his eyes in a mocking fashion after Hui’s many such demonstrations, he ends it with a shake of his head.


“You’re really are not into Chinese girls are you?”


“Nope...36-24-36 only means something if she is five-foot-five-inches. I like them thick and not a stick!”


Hui giggles and smiles for the first time at Luther, “Okay, can you help me get my teaching license and a new SIN...maybe help some of the other girls too?”


“Help the other girls?” Luther asks. “We will see what types of contacts and friends that you have, later on, then I’ll see what I can do, Okay?”


Hui nods.


Both return to the table. Chinese words were spoken from Hui as she addresses Mo and the crowd begins to murmur again. Then, Hui steps to Charlie’s side and, with her head down, stands in silence.


Luther watches the submissive behavior, then turns to Mo, “Help provide info when I need it as you can, pimp out my truck as you’ve stated, food when I’m teaching, one hundred and twenty hours at twenty hours per week taught in the morning, Hui Lin, and Giri—” Hui elbows Luther “within Chinese culture.”


Mo continues to listen as Charlie dots the I’s and crosses the T’s.


“I teach no more than twelve kids 0700-1200, no restrictions, and Hui will work with me helping at your school. And she stays with her family.”


Hui Lin coughs politely into her closed fist.


“I mean,” the fixer glances up at her with a little annoyance written on his face. “She stays with me in my Americanized apartment.”


Mo makes Charlie wait for an answer and it seems to the Native American like an eternity before she speaks in response.


“Agreed,” Mo looks pointedly at the agent still resting on the table in front of him. “The contract awaits your signature.” Hushed exclamations of various levels of excitement rush through the gathered crowd.


“You start tomorrow morning, Charlie,” Mo offers him a look of finality as he puts his digital signature to the contract and returns the agent to its owner.


“I might be late...”


Mo begins to frown.


“My vehicle isn’t working and I’m already on a gig.”


Mo sighs and speaks to Hui for a bit in Cantonese. As they wrap up their conversation, Hui bends and softly speaks in the fixer’s ear, “Mr. Charlie, I will need your address and for you to sign a release form so Mr. Wong can pick up your vehicle from where ever it is, please.”


“Yes...that is fine,” Luther replies.


“I EXPECT you to be on time tomorrow. We’ll start on our end of the contract right away.” Standing, Mo Yimu holds her agent up. “Pass me your contact information, please.”


Charlie nods and complies, holding his now powered-up agent so that it can send the data direct.


Hui raises her agent to Charlie’s once the other two are finished, “I need to transfer some books about our language and culture to your device. You can start to learn about our traditions as soon as possible. I’d also like your contact information.”


Luther raises his agent to make the file transfer and notifications flood his neural pathways letting him know that the books on Chinese culture and the Chinese language, Cantonese, are needing his permission to download. He gives it with a thought.


“By your leave, Mr. Charlie?” Luther looks up to Hui as she draws his attention away from Mo.


“You’re going?”


“If it pleases you, Mr. Charlie, I wish to perform some tasks so that you will be ready for a very early morning. Perhaps you would like to look over the curriculum with me later, yes?” She’s adopted her joygirl act once more.


Luther nods to Hui knowing that she’s going to make her way to his conapt and use the code he provided to access it. He’s a lot of work to do on his own and the two hours he’s been given before linking up with the rest of the crew is fast coming to a close.



******************** End Luther’s Evening *********************


“Feelin’ better?” Vegas calls as the medtech steps into the mud and strolls towards where the team is gathering.


“A little,” Looking about, Colin continues, “Anyone up for EnduroDrink? Bet we could find some shops selling the stuff nearby.”


“That stuff tastes like s***, but you can live on it,” Blossom injects with a smile as she unwraps a lollipop. “I could use the boost.”


“Fine, we’ll see about grabbing some on our way out,” Vegas concedes. “Now, where’s that fix—There he is! Charlie! What’d you find out?


Charlie appears from a crowd of people with a youngish Chinese girl that is wearing a bright yellow dress with thigh high boots. She’s very pretty and carries herself in a submissive manner. A few words are exchanged between them and the woman turns to peer at a vendor’s wares well out of earshot. After Charlie approaches he explains, “Not much, but I hope that I’ll have more information later on.” He smiles to soften the blow of his failure.


“Well, that’s that,” Vegas grumbles and looks out at the mass still milling about despite the later hour of the evening. “OK, I’ll put it to the lot of you. Should we pay the headmistress of Bartholomew School a visit at her home—a place that is likely pretty heavily secured—or do we head on over to the Upstairs Downstairs, Inc offices and see if we can’t get Blossom some alone time with a server?”


Fixer had joined the others to get some rest. Even with it, he was still tired. He hadn't realized how tired he was before—he was used to running long hours when on a job. You just kept going on adrenaline until you no longer could. But the crashes could be long and he couldn't afford that now. And he'd never been a very big fan of running extra on the juice. One type of juice could lead to another type of juice which could lead to another and, well, bad things. So, he tried to avoid it. Good old sleep was what he needed and if it was only to be 2 hours, then so be it.  The kid probably didn't have a lot more, himself.


When they got out of their little coffins and the conversation turned to their next action, he stretched and looked at the others, "As I said, I'm in for checking on Mrs. White. But we want those personnel files. Names and work schedules. Plus, you've said a couple of times that only their vehicles came and went from the school. Was there any video evidence of Jace ever leaving the school? If not, is that because they don't have cameras at the exits or because he didn't leave? Those vans would be another option. Can we find plates on which vans left and when? Who was driving them? What their scheduled stops were?"


“Naw,” Blossom rolls her shoulders to stretch out the kinks from the coffin. “The vans come ‘n’ go, but the video ain’t clear ‘nuff to see any plates and they weren’t parked on camera where we could see who was in ‘em when they left. Jace was in his dorm last we can tell from the camera angles. Only Upstairs/Downstairs personnel an’ security caught on camera between him going to bed and the next morning when students are waking up.”


Charlie looks at his agent and notes the time as being 2305. “Well, it's way past oh-dark-thirty, so I think that we should consider the home office of Upstairs/Downstairs closed. Mr. Vegas, you’re right...a headmistress of a school with some worth to it would be a hard target but you still can put some 24-hour surveillance on it and see what still moves.”


Charlie then switches his attention to Ms. Blossom, “Any chance that you can work your magic remotely so that you don’t have to physically be on site?” he queries.


“Sure… there’s a chance. But breaking through their firewall remotely will likely alert them to the attempt, especially if I fail. I’d have a much better chance of hacking their systems on site.”


“I’d rather not risk shutting down our access to data prematurely,” Bloodbank chimes in.


“If the odds are in Blossom’s favor on site, then that’s where we’ll go,” Vegas agrees.


“Damn... you all look like hell...warmed over,” Charlie muses and changes the subject as he looks over the group. “I know that we as a collective don’t have too much and we have even more questions. So, I’ll make my part quick so that you guy can figure out what your going to do.”


“I would like to recommend that if you’re going to go through all of this mess that you should get a little something more for it, right?” Charlie smiles, “And what I mean by that is, my next proposal…” (OOC: Streetdeal Check = 12)


Charlie leans into the group with hushed tones, “Make your move on Upstairs/Downstairs look like a 211, you know...a burglary, and that way if something goes awry, then the kid doesn’t get moved or hurt. Anything that you guys take from the offices, you can take your time analyzing at your leisure later and make a few credits along the way.


“This is the part where I come in again.


“Anything that you take, you drop off to me and I’ll fence everything off for you. Look...you’re going to the home office, they also have several vans and maybe a few cars too. Load one up, or two...then I’ll help you get a clean pair of tags, registration, and a new ID if you wanted one. It will beats sleeping outdoors.


“Anyways...think about it. But I’m sure that everyone here is tired of walking, am I right, yeah?”


Ghalahn listens. He is good at listening and at watching. What he hears is people hopped up to do something but with little in the way of a concrete idea of what to do. As for watching, that shows the fatigue setting in on all of them.


“I don’t mind making some extra dough, choomba,” the crooner smiles his crooked smile. “But, do we have the skills to jack a ride?” He looks directly at Fixer as he says this.


(OOC: Fixer’s reply… )


“Any objections?” Vegas looks around.


“Yeah,” Bloodbank folds his arms across his chest, his battle mask facing the two fedora wearing men. “I’m not averse to breaking the law in the course of doing good—like finding Jace—but breaking the law solely for the sake of profiting is outside of my comfort zone.”


“Cool yer jets, Goody-Two-Shoes,” Blossom grins at the medic and pats around in her leather jacket before producing a wrapped lollipop. (OOC: Blossom's Persuade Check = 16) “The man has a point. Makin’ our little B&E look like we came for some goods and not information’ll throw any bloodhounds off our trail. It’s a good’ne an’ I’m for it.”


“Think of it as an additional safety precaution for the kid,” the dapper solo adds, but the medtech is having none of it. (OOC: Vegas' Leadership Check = 20)


(OOC: Bloodbank's Human Perception Check = 20)


“No deal. If you choombas are heading to the LZ to rob innocent people—because for all we know that’s what they are—then you’re doing it without me.” 


“OK, Ok,” Vegas holds up his hands. “We’re not heading into a possible hurt situation without a barber, so you win. No stealing nothin’. We good?”


“Yeah…” but the tone of Bloodbank’s voice is cautious.


“Good,” turning to the rest of the group, the crooner continues, “So, we good? Everyone on board? Fixer? Blossom? Echo? Ghlahn? Bloodbank? Casino? Charlie?” He waits to receive an affirmative from each of them before laying out the plan.


(OOC: Everyone's responses… )


“I’ve done some checking while people were taking their catnaps and it’ll take us about two and a half hours to get to the offices using public trans. Once there, we case the exterior of the joint and let those of us with experience breaching a complex—” he looks directly at Ghlahn and then to Casino, “—plan out how we’re getting this chica—” he throws a thumb in Blossom’s direction followed by a wink, “—to a hardline port, or whatever it’s called.


“Unless,” he turns to Cred-Stick Charlie, “you can get us a temporary ride, that is. If we had wheels it’d take us about an hour to get there. With an AV, we’re looking at fifteen minutes, tops. Or, what about you, darlin’?” he looks to Echo. “You’re with the Rolling State, right? Think you could pull some strings and land us a ride?”


(OOC: Charlie’s and Echo’s responses… )


(OOC: Time is 11:20 P.M. PST )



Posted on 2018-06-01 at 16:29:50.
Edited on 2018-06-01 at 16:40:57 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


Egads, Man! 'Tis no sweat. We miss you, of course, but RL always takes precedence. If it would help, I can pick up the roles of additional characters. I know Robert wouldn't mind as well. Anything to keep the boat flying.



Posted on 2018-05-29 at 16:00:15.

 


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