adamu
Forum Replies Created
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“Yeah, I’ll crack the puzzle box at Ace’s place. But fer now, take a look at these.” He handed Sian the sheaf of papers he’d gotten from Bronwean. “They’s the ones covered in Satanist mumbo jumbo.”
They picked up Kynos – the pickup truck’s extended cab had plenty of seating – and he headed to Containerville while Sian looked at the papers. Once there, he pulled to a stop near the first person he saw near the outskirts of the area. “Say amigo, point me ta someone does suspensions?” He then ignored the helpful directions and made his way through the maze of temporary structures to the point Bronwean had indicated.
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Al answered Sian. “Course there’s room inna Gaz for ya – brought ya here in it didn’t I? Besides, pretty much ever’one else got they own rides anyhoo. Which raises a very good point…” he pitched his voice for the whole team to hear: “So I know folks like they own cars, but at some point can we PLEASE not drive around ever’where in damned caravan of eight hundred vehicles? Fer a bunch o’ folk that supposedly know how keep a low profile…”Al’s words made sense – and yet everyone instinctively knew that he was not going be giving his up.
“Ace, can we go back ta your place? If not, I can swap the truck out fer the Gov – all the comforts o’ home an’ space fer all, parked right outside o’ town. I’ll look at the puzzle box once we’s settle into one or t’other. An’ yeah, Ace, I’m guessin’ she can make such scratchin’s out jist fine.” He clarified to Sian – “They got some thaumatalugicalogical mumbo jumbo from the maybe-toxic’s house – maybe you can take a look while we drive?”
He hadn’t missed her conversational foray about Alyce. But before he could answer, the conversation had moved on, and he was glad for the excuse to let that paticular line of inquiry slide.
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“If I didn’t want ya along, wouldn’t’ve brought ya here. Others won’t like another split onna pay, but you can have my cut if ya want, though I’m guessin’ cred’s even less of an issue fer you than fer me.”
He pitched his voice so the prisoner could not hear him. “Anyhoo, sounds like yer on the right track – this toxic havin’ somethin’ the corp mucketedy-muck wants, and that somethin’ bein’ somethin’ he’s now loathe ta part ways with – tell ya what, I’ll talk ta the others, but if you help us kill the toxic fer free…and help us find the sorta-kinda-nephew, no charge on that neither…then I can pitch it to ’em fer you ta have first pick when we divvy up any knick-knacks an’ what-nots we find. Hard ta say if they’ll go for it but…”
Al shrugged. “So in answer ta yer other question, the one with the armor ya like’s Kynos – hard an’ cold – married ta the merc mindset. The little one with all the crazy mods is Lily. Lotta question marks there, but I done worked with her a couple o’ times now an’ she’s good an’ she’s reliable.”
He let a fresh cigarette with the dying embers of his old one. “Look around ya fer about one second and then I’ll give ya three guesses – an’ the first two don’t count – which one they call Batshit. Skills an’ then some, but jist WATCHIN’ her is like bein’ on novacoke. An’ the other dryad – yeah, we got two, what can I say, I’m a hottie magnet – the one with the face of an angel and the physique of an Amazon, that’s Beckie. She an’ ol’ Al go waaaaay back.”
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When Sian offered to help, Al said, “Feller’s already singin’. But Merc Man hits any roadblocks, well, if you can git the goods while leavin’ him intact, that’d be a help all right. Pieces start fallin’ off an’ next thing we know people’s at each others’ throats. Hate when that happens. Gits inna way o’ the work. “
He settled himself onto the winch apparatus on the front of his truck and lit a cigarette. Kynos seemed to be asking the right questions, the bad guy seemed to be giving the right answers, and, most important, what he’d said about his job was enough that Al no longer cared what happened to him. So nothing much left to do.
Bronwean was looking intense as usual, though. He tried to set her mind at ease.. “Gun fer hire. So…” and his shrug was clear enough.
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Kynos had chosen a fairly out-of-the-way spot, as was to be expected, and it took Al fifteen minutes to clear the city limits and reach the spot.
“Sorry ’bout the wait,” he rasped, hopping down from the truck’s cab with a crunch of hard rubber soles on frozen grass. “Coulda been quicker, but I saw no need ta further alarm the constabulary. This here’s a friend I run into. The sorta friend I trust, if that’s not a redundancy in terms. She can let ya know what she’s callin’ herself these days. I can’t be expected ta keep track.”
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Being a gentleman, Al opened the door of his Gaz for Sian. The big working truck looked like it had seen better days.
Pulling out into the road as Bronwean finished her account and came to the point, he asked, <<So, ya want ol’ Al ta keep the guy from gittin’ killed afore he can talk? Or jist keep him from gittin’ killed?>>
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Thanks, Mercy.
Sorry about the hassle.
Sometimes my analness can’t handle not knowing if something is clue or coincidence, intentional IC or fog of OOC.
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“Oh, this guy? He’s jist some long-lost nephew eighth-removed by step marriage or some shit from the J. Old man wants us ta find him so he can set some affairs in order. So part of the pay packet, but don’t seem ta connect directly ta the toxic. But what yer sayin’ could ’bout an artifact an such could be tasty indeed. Hell, ol’ Al ain’t saved the world in months, so this could make comin’ up here an’ freezin’ my hairy ass off more worthwhile.”
Al held up a scarred finger. “Hold that thought a tick.” His Fairlight was vibrating – two short pulses, one long – someone from his current team. He opened the line and Bronwean started up before he could speak. He listened.
<<Alrighty then Ace, open yer GPS feed ta my channel an’ I’m on my way. Bringin’ a friend, so remember yer manners.>>
He looked at Sian, nodded at the commlink, and waved his index finger in a skyward circle to indicate it was time to get moving.
<<Now tell me what’s the rumpus while I walk….>>
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@Mercy – in your last post, you asked if the guy in the picture was the “nephew”. And yeah, it is the (sort of) nephew of the Johnson.
But Al hasn’t said anything about that.
I am thinking PROBABLY you’ve been catching up on a huge volume of story-so-far and just got OOC and IC knowledge mixed up. If so, no big, easy to roll with.
But, this being SHADOWRUN, a game of deceit and intrigue, gotta wonder of the mention was intentional – a clue that Sian is already privy to the details of our run somehow?
So I can take the mention of the nephew at face value, and have Al come back with some sort of suspicion and ‘ I never mentioned any nephew ‘ sort of thing.
Or we can just blow past it if it has no significance….
Let me know what you think!
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“Over a beer, didja say? Well sure, then, reckon ol’ Al can make time fer that. Let us repair ta yon pavilion, milady.”
A few minutes later Al was on his third beer and had heard at least part of Sian’s story, including that she was going by Olga or Irina or some Russian-sounding name now.
Al was still going by Al.
“…So yeah, here workin’. Lurkin’ round this ice thing lookin’ fer a feller – say, long as you’re here, might as well help me keep a lookout – here’s his picture – this job’s got a maybe-toxic asshole at one end and this here iceblock Donatello on the other. Rest o’ the team’s off shootin’ the town up tryin’ ta git a line on the toxic. Ya may have heard some explosions. Me, guess I’m lookin’ around fer the other half o’ the paycheck. Don’t bleed him, though, he’s not a hostile.”
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Centuries of survival in not one but two dangerous worlds have left her senses acute even when engaged in otherwise frivolous pursuits. Even as Tatjana’s eyes take in the lifelike detail of a pouncing ice-tiger, her nose picks up a mix of ancient leather, unwashed clothes, and tobacco a split second before the familiar rasp grates over her left shoulder, scant inches from her ear.
“Well sheee-it. I’d o’ knowed they was lettin’ your kind in here I’d o’ had garlic in my eggs this mornin’.”
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@beta – hiatus is fine – the world is crazy.
I am trying to log in most days to see if there is anything to respond to, but I totally understand if people are preoccupied.
@Mercy – wow dude – what a great surprise to log in and find you here!
Don’t worry, Al won’t stake Sian at this point! That was her in Boston, right? And then in Colorado and on to Latin America, is that right (or am I getting her mixed up with other charactsrs?).
Anyway, super welcome back!!!
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Tracking skill to ID tracks: 15d6t5 5
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Al followed the local snow and hockey conversation as best he could, those being two topics that interested him less than not at all. He was made for hot climes, and was much more of an urban brawl/combat biker man, at least when there wasn’t any pro wrestling on the trid.
The food was good, and he complimented the waitress – again in French – when she passed by to refill their coffees. He continued conversing with his host and the other language in whichever language they seemed most comfortable with.
His host was named Grahame, and he was a heavyset guy, medium height, with a lot of whiskery skin dangling loose from his chin and jaw. It was funny because the rest of his skin was stretched taut by the fat beneath. Too much poutine, probably. Nice guy, though. Appreciated good engine work, and clearly liked his beer.
Al followed the poutine with scones and jam, commenting quietly so as that the waitress wouldn’t hear – “Good jam, but not what I’m lookin’ for. One reason I’m up in these parts, an aunt o’ mine sent me some raspberry jam last year, said she bought it around here. Wanted some more, but her memory ain’t what it was. An’ me bein’ a gentleman o’ leisure, thought I’d come pokin’ around….”
The gentleman of leisure thing had ended up being a good segueway into the conversation about ice sculpture, which Al thought sounded like the sort of time wastage that only people with way too much leisure time could hope to indulge in. But it tied into the job – he would much rather be chasing toxic freaks and killing them, but this was work, and the lead was falling into his lap.
“So Grahame, this ice sculpture business, they do any nekkid womern. Or leastways a big-tittied mermaid or somethin’?”
“Well, they try to keep it family friendly, which still means something up here,” his host had answered, eliciting nods from some other locals. “But it’s still worth a look. With the icing such as it is, they should be getting started soon. I can take you around for a peek if you like.”
“Yes Grahame, mi amigo. I would like. Thank ye kindly. Jist gotta hit the head first.”
Al excused himself, did his business, and then took the opportunity to quietly catch up on what the rest of the team was up to. He reviewed the footage of the cabin that Becky had sent, taking special interest in the tracks in the snow. Then he listened for a few seconds as the team explosively slaughtered some security people. Well, they were probably the evil and corrupt kind, so it must be okay. Now they were busy trying to catch one alive or something, so he decided he didn’t need to bother them about his ice sculpture tour – if they needed him they’d call.
“Alrighty then, kemo sabe, let’s take us in some ice!”
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Sorry for long absence – this COVID thing is tearing things up on every front.
I’ll get a quick IC up now.
Seems I’m being given a lead on Robert the nephew…@Beta – a few posts before they really get into the details on him, Sirius says he hopes we can bring “Trevor” to see Kevin one last time…is “Trevor” Robert’s last name?
When they talk more about Robert, they have some papers they’ve compiled. Do we have those?
Besides what you mentioned IC (photos, 32 years old, magic sensitive, ice sculptor in Spiffs group, and a one-year-old address), did the papers also include basics like last name and/or SIN?
As planned, I’m going to toss a raspberry jam reference to try to indirectly get a mention of Kevin from the locals. Then I’ll try to maneuver an intro to the ice sculpture scene. If I take any NPCs too far, just let me know – can always edit.
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So with the thing at the house happening I think at about the same time as my lunch meeting, I’m just assuming the lunch scene is paused while the much more post-intensive/very short in game-time scene runs its course.
Reckon we can get back to lunch after that.
No issues – just basically saying I’m here and just that’s why I haven’t been posting much.
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Thanks for all that, Gilga.
I’m definitely going to act on what she sent as soon as I leave the diner.
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@beta – not sure if the lunch invite was just color or supposed to be a scene. I can cut it short if it’s a distraction. If the guy knows anything about the Not-Thompson’s, he’ll dig as far as he can without mentioning the job or client. But he’ll have some toast with jam to finish up the meal, which will give him a chance to mention how much he loves jam and then say he’s heard that there is some award-winning strawberry jam made locally….see if that can win him some tips or rumors about the Johnson.
@gilga – so just a thought OOC – Al hasn’t had a chance to look at the footage you found yet – but if there was a six-hour buffer and you got the footage at nine-ish, then whatever made the tracks comes around a lot but hasn’t been around since 3ish in the morning.
Once Al has a chance to look at the footage, Tracking skill is pretty high- maybe he could try to determine more with more certainty if those are bear tracks or something else.
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“Poutine, ya say? Well sheee-it, kemo sabe, ol’ Al likes a good plate o’ cheesy fries much as the next feller. Lead the way.”
Al stood up easily from amid a scattering of empty beer bottles and discarded tools. There was a smattering of disappointed applause from the motley crowd of spectators as he stepped away from the newly modified truck that would not be theirs. He took a bow and flashed a peace sign, grinning around his cigarette. Someone tossed him a rag, which he caught in grease-covered hands, looked at in puzzlement, and discreetly laid on a nearby table as he smiled in polite but confused thanks at his would-have-been benefactor.
Across the street, Al ate with gusto. With poutine the specialty, he thanked the waitress in fluent French and was rewarded with a quick refill of his coffee. Made small talk with the mechanic from Joe’s who was not, however, Joe.
He knew he was due back to meet up with his co-workers once they’d scouted the mark’s doss. They wanted as early a start as possible out to the toxifarm. But he hadn’t heard any fireworks, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to chat a bit with a local.
And chat they did, a mouthful of food being no impediment to Al’s conversational prowess. He praised the food, and added, “Y’all got good music here, too.” He spoke the lie easily. “Caught them Not-Thompson kids out ta that axe-throwin’ place last night. They local talent, or jist passin’ through?”
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Yikes – does my “reply in progress” disappear if I go to Orokos?
I was just saying (previously with greater explanation) that i have 17 dice.
And my roll for the first hour is Showing off: 17d6t5 6
Whoa – it survived this time
Anyway, bad roll
Showing off again: 16d6t5 4
So Edge
paying Edge because I am a showoff: 12d6t5 5
And I finish well under the two hours.
Gaz all extreme cold modded.
I’ll hit my sheet for the cash and Edge.