Below is a log that Ducks edited and I colored with my new colorizer! See "New Implementations" board to download a copy of your own today!


Outside The Crusher 495 ----------------------------- District: Redmond

        Painstakenly painted on the front corner of this building is the logo for Crusher 495, Touristville's most popular bar and resturant. The logo depicts an ork holding a serving plate in one hand, balancing the words Crusher 495 admist various cocktails and drinks, and smiling a tusky smile at the rest of the world. Not even the bulletholes covering its face can dim that smile. Crusher 495 is owned and operated by a group of orks, and they open their doors to all of metahumanity, humans included. About the only people not welcome here are the Humanis-types, that are no doubt responsible for the bullet marked facade.

        The surrounding area is clean, the manager sees to it that the dues are paid and the environment is safe for all that wish to wine and dine here.

        At this time of evening, the resturant is serving dinner, an ork doorman stands outside under the overhang, greeting and welcoming the guest and wishing them a good evening and a great meal. Several limos are parked amongst the other well-to-do vehicles on the street and in the parking lot, each sporting their own guards and protective measures.

[Ducks.]
Doe-eyed, broad-featured and lightly freckled, this solidly-constructed and buxom ogre metavariant is -- to put it politely -- built like a fridge at about a meter-seventy and a hundred kilos. She has paid some attention to her tusks; their polish suggests a touch of pride or perhaps just fastidiousness. Her olive skin is clear and smooth. Her complexion is perhaps a touch flushed from some environmental allergy.
 
Her clothing is casual, with a strong undercurrent of "youthful virtual reality gamer". A long-sleeved white shirt emblazoned across the back with the bright pink logo for the VR Gamer's Network (VRGN), cuffs rolled halfway up her forearms, drapes unbuttoned over a skintight black tanktop shot with a chaotic pattern of glittering silver threads. Red suspenders clip to the waistline of surprisingly low-rise, stylishly hip-hugging jeans of baggy, pocketed blue-black-violet scratchpattern synthdenim. Her yellow and white sneakers are pristine, as are her AR goggles, AR gloves, and the cheap commlink clipped to one strap of her tank. A cute panda Emotitoy crawls all over her clothing and through her hair.
 
A hypnotic effect: dim waves of lightness drift through the glossily-illuminated optical fibers of her hair, each pass leaving in its slow wake a different shade or blend of colors. Here like a melange of watercolor pastels, now smoldering at the edges like burning paper, leaving a fragile gray, next deep and muted jeweltones beneath shallow wavelets... a luxurious timewaster, watching her hair.

-------------=[ New Seattle -=- At A Glance - Place Information ]=-------------
 +aag information provides basic info about the IC reality of your current
 location to assist you in roleplaying thematically.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Manager: Janus Koskey
LTG: 11206 (62-6768)
Racial Bias: None. Any racial bias is frowned upon.
Racists are not tolorated here.

After the Night of Rage, a group of orks organized themselves and established
the Crusher 495, a resturant and bar on the western edge of Touristville. The
place is popular with people from Bellevue and Downtown, all looking for that
real 'Barrens' experience. The owners and the staff work hard to make the
Crusher 495 a place where anyone can gather, a sort of community hangout.
Having weathered a few racist attacks in the past, the Crusher 495 still stands
as a place where metahumanity can gather in harmony. It's such a grand example
of interracial cooperation that Humanis avoids it, not looking for any more
bad press.

This neutrality is a big draw for Johnsons that wish to do business in the
Barrens area, and the manager is known to set up a few meets between local
talent and Bellevue big-wigs.

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


Andromeda's arrival is heralded by a rather annoying buzzing sound coming up the street. A rather battered looking Dodge Scoot turns very carefully into the parking lot and rolls up to park not too close to the many much nicer looking vehicles. A shortish person gets off and removes a helmet.. the length of brown hair and general body shape suggests a human woman, but who can tell for sure?

An empty parking spot or two down, sitting on a yellow-painted concrete block of curbing is, well, a broadly-manufactured ork, well, ogre. Clad casually and in the bright clean current unstyle of collegey-age slackers she fidgets with a small wiggling black and white object, and... her hair. That's something. Here and there she tries to whistle but stereotypically and embarrassingly her tusks don't quite allow for it. It's an ARO she's installing on the thing, sticking an RFID tag on it and setting it to signal a glittering bright-green jewel pointing down at it for those who broadcast the proper Sixth Life AR signals periodically. It's not much, just a customary 6L emblem of ownership and active usage. Kind of cute.

[Andromeda.]
In the meat world this young woman is at first barely noticeable. One might take her for one of the faceless corporate masses: plain, unassuming, slightly overweight, square black glasses she's certainly not about to win any contests. Mousy brown curls try valiantly to keep their spring as they hang loosely around her shoulders. The perpetual rain and fog don't make it easy for them; a lot of the time they just droop around her rounded face and try to distract from the rest of her body. It's just as well. She may not be overly large, but she's not overly small either. Maybe she doesn't care; maybe she doesn't pay attention; maybe she just likes to eat at any rate, she's definitely teetering on the line between average and more-than-average (some would say she's fallen over it, but others might say she's just 'comfortable').
 
Her apparent ease with her body obviously extends to her clothes as well. Browns and greys clash shamelessly. Her unflatteringly tight fitting shirt is a terrible exercise in horizontal stripes that would surely be ticketed by the fashion police were it not largely hidden by a worn UCAS army surplus jacket that seems oversized even on her. The only decoration are two actual metal buttons, one with a pink (VRGN) logo and the other black with a large (6L) in white. Under that is a long stretchy skirt that was probably designed to have some sort of color-changing capacity but must be burned out or something, because nobody would deliberately leave anything in Middle Primer Grey 115. Thick socks black socks and faded but serviceable tennis shoes show underneath if you look hard enough. On her head is often a rather threadbare safari-style rain hat, with only the smaller Ares Globetrotter logo still visible on the back; the large one in front has been covered with a self-adhesive patch which actually does read 'No, I don't like your logo.' (If you are using an AR display, please say so!)


Andromeda sets her helmet down and secures it to the seat of the scooter, for what it's worth. In the AR world, her hair sweeps up and styles itself, dropping a few shades to a deep indigo. Spilling down from beneath it all in a rush is a rather elaborate (especially for the barrens) of black and dark purples. Delicate trims with copper and bronze threads wind up and down sweeping and flowing lines. Whoever she is, she either has an inflated opinion of herself, or *really* likes her AR.


<OOC> Andromeda says, "Is the ARO noticeable from where I am? How obvious is what Ducks is doing? Would it attract the eye?"

<OOC> Ducks thinks. "The ARO is clear enough at about 40m (the fizzly limits of RFID signal range) away should anyone be using AR though it's meaningless enough to non-6Lers and just another piece of neon visual blight. Non-AR, her noodling with something is forgettable. AR, it's still probably not very interesting to normal people."


Ducks, not especially different in AR but for common-enough markers for social networking, system presence, current favorite song et al, does take notice of this caliber of augmented realitude. Cocks her head to one side, hair swinging in that pleasant but obviously-synthetic way that speaks of its already apparent artificial nature.

Via AR, a little wobbling cartoon panda drags a placard inobtrusively into your field of vision: ^Nice auggie.^ AR, it means. Thin colored line traces a messy stringlike path back to its source (as a courtesy): the ogre girl. She nods once, affable. Affable enough. Finishes placing the tag but keeps whatever it is cupped in her hands.


Andromeda can't help but notice the panda, and looks curious until she follows the lines back to the ork (right? wait..) sitting by the wall. Seeing that her outfit might actually be appreciated she steps around the scooter with a small spin to cause the hem and draping edges of her gown to flutter. The elaborate dress seems to continuously blow in a small nonexistant wind as she walks over to greet the.. ork, why not. "Thanks!" she says cheerfully, rather out of character with her rendered outfit.

A bit short for an ork; she's probably the not-uncommon ogre metavariant, though they're more common overseas (not that it matters these days). She gets to her feet, dusts off the butt of her low-slung jeans. No sign of preening and posturing. Maybe she just likes the look. Rather than dressing to look actively alluring. The thing in her hand is a toy panda, shiny plastic. Common-enough toy dronelet that's popular among children, technophiles, geeks and club-goers. She smiles, instant acceptance on looking at your badges. Pause. Okay, now what? "Uh... hi. Nice to meet you. Nice... wheels."


Andromeda doesn't seem particularly bothered or interested in the style of the ork's.. er, ogre's, apparently.. meat clothing. She's a lot more interested in what they say: the proclamation of membership in two groups she's rather fond of herself. Well then. This *is* a surprise. "No they aren't." she says with a smile and offers a hand, again, incongruously "I'm Annie."


Hestia arrives in this area, leaving the rest of the district behind.

Hestia has arrived.


Ducks and Andromeda are standing to one side of the parking lot, apparently chitchatting.

[Hestia.]
Hooves. Yes, thats right, Hooves. This female satyr's black and gray speckled, hairy legs and lower torso end in two, shiny black hooves in place of feet. Then again, that's the major difference between Satyr's and Orks, as well as a few other things that seperate this woman from the rest of the pack. Her frame is more slender than what would be expected, an expertly adjusted set of Indrustrious coveralls has been turned into a long sleeved dress, pockets still accessible but with hanging flaps instead of pants to allow comfort and full range of motion.


Hestia's eyes are a striking grey, that match the streaks sticking out from underneath the strap for an electronic monocle, resting over her left eye and parting her shoulder length, curly salt and pepper hair over her right side to cover the right eye with a barette made from a broken digital pen. Her tiny, curled horns stick out from underneath, just cresting the surface that her wild, yet forcibly controlled mat of a head controls. She smiles from time to time, showing off symmetrical teeth and tusks.

Somewhat outgoing, this woman can be caught rambling to herself as she digs through the debris, looking for components, or inspiration, for another project. The tools hanging out of her makeshift dress are always itching for some time with this strange tinkerer. Typically Hestia carries a broken sledghammer which she wields as a mace, at least as a visible weapon. Any one of her tools could be an instrument of death as well, or only thus. Thats an issue only if you seem to be getting in her way, as her mind and energy seems to be directed elsewhere.


Ducks accepts Andromeda's offer of a handshake, meanwhile. "I'm Ducks," says Ducks. "In six-ell I'm a scripter and casual builder, sometimes. Again, I totally adore your aug outfit."

An ork nartender come out of the ol' crusher 495 and starts to light a nic stick, quick to take a deep pull and release the smoke directly into the passing face of a Satyr woman. She is muttering to herself, her nostrils snarl the smoke in one side and blow it out the other in an almost comical fashion. The Ork scans her up and down once and then mutters to himself as she stomps on past without a second thought. The woman appears to be eyeing the side of the streets around this particular location, as if to be looking for something. She does not pass more than a scan towards the other two having a conversation not far off, and is standing two-hooved in the middle of the street, contemplating.


Andromeda smiles, no, she downright glows. "Thank you! I made it myself.. I'm kind of a designer in six-ell. I'm Andromeda." She pauses a moment to allow the word to be recognized, maybe. "It's still in progress. Where do you usually hang out?" She apparently doesn't notice the satyr yet.


Andromeda pages: (It's not all that likely that Ducks has heard of her.. she's not all that well known, but she does have Street Cred of 2 in 6L)


You paged Terse with 'Ducks and Andromeda are chitchatting on one side of the parking lot and if you have AR there's extra chunks of text available for you. Hestia is standing in the street for no obvious reason other than, er, that's where she was. The two nerds are discussing video games.'.


Hestia continues to survey the street, spotting some plastic bottles left discarded off towards the highway. With some pep behind her the Satyr woman goes to investigate, shooing some squatters aside. Bending down on one of her furry knees, which bends elegantly from beneath her makeshift dress, Hestia picks up green plastic drink bottle and holds it up to the light coming from the Crusher's Sign. Her tusks are coverd by a lip licking tongue with interest....


Ducks puts the little toy panda she's been holding to one of her sleeves. This seems to suit its coding; the little pseudo-drone industriously begins to crawl around the ogre's clothing and at this point it more or less seems to exit her mind entirely. She pushes her hair back from her eyes uselessly, causing little ripples of color from the contact (cute touch). She starts to say something, glances at the woman standing in the street, then say with a hesitation, "...Nowhere nice, really. I'm pretty low-rent, and..." Watches the satyr, expression saying: that's odd.

        Taking a look around Touristville, despite his general distaste for the area, Terse finds himself on the trail outside Crusher 495. Certainly a popular place with the ork-posers, and that's who he's trying to find tonight. He notices a pair of metahumans, an ogre and a...satyr? Place gets weirder every day. He starts heading the ogre's way, casually.

[Terse.]
        Standing some 5'10", Terse is an attractive man with a proud bearing. He stands upright, with good posture and is well groomed, apparently putting some effort into maintaining his appearance. His hair is a dark orange color, combed back loosely and kept at a short length, and he has a light amount of stubble around his face, a carefully maintained 9 o'clock shadow, offset by short sideburns, cropped at the middle of his ear. His eyes are a pale blue, marking him as very, very irish combined with the hair, and his somewhat round face only confirms that heritage.
        He dresses in neutral, dark colors, blacks, browns, and navy blues, preferring loose coats and shirts with matching slacks. He moves with a smooth flow, clothing following behind, a definitive grace marking his actions.


Andromeda blinks a little. Her confused face is pretty out of place with her clothing. "...I meant in six-el?" She's not about to presume to ask where an ogre lives. "I mean... that's your tag, right? Do you come around here very much?" It takes a moment for her to notice the ogre's gaze and turn toward the street. "Huh?"


Hestia continues to look at the green bottle with the backlight of the Crusher 495 sign, a few meters from where the other two are chatting. When Terse walks by, she flinches a little and steps away from him, but he's walking past and doesn't seem too interested. Hestia nods to herself very enthusiastically and digs into the apron-pocket at her belly. There are a number of plastic rectangles cut from a few different colors, held in a thick stack now in her right hand, the green bottle still in left. The inspired woman walks off from the road, haphazardly behind Terse and plops down without thought. She is talking to herself...." Emerald fits with topaz quite well, sapphire the same, just cut the jeweled shell....

To make the fan we need Ruby to bind and soon the breeze can again be mine.." Down go the materials into the dust, hestia holding her hands up around her eyes as she surveys the workspace....

--------------------------=[ New Seattle -=- +time ]=--------------------------
The current IC time is: Thu Aug 20 21:17:33 2072
Moon phase: The Moon is New
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

        Twitchy one. That's worth remembering. Terse takes a look back at the satyr, casually, before leaning against a nearby wall. He looks straight ahead, and into the crowd on the other side.


Ducks raises her eyebrows, turns back to Andromeda. "Not anywhere specifically. I'm kind of new to it still and usually I keep getting reminded drinking and being in aug or cold-sim are kind of wooze-inducing." Not just anyone would admit to drinking that much, nossir. "Am I keeping you from fooding up?"


Andromeda shakes her head right away and only looks a tiny bit disappointed when Ducks mentions she's new. "No, I was just going to go relax and work and stuff. This is one of the nicer places, you know..." The bulletholes outside attest to that. "I've been playing for a long time.. that's pretty wiz, though. Do you wanna go inside or are you just coming out?"


Hestia looks ready to go! Laid out on her apron style attire, between her fur covered satyr legs with hooves bouncing a little off the ground with excitement, are her findings around the area: Some bright red wire, the previously held up plastic rectangles, still stacked, and the green bottle. She literally takes the time to look at each ingredient up and down before moving to the last spot, her gaze on a vacant piece of her industrious dress. " Oh! " Her gaze shifts to more serious, looking straight out ahead, puzzled as she digs through her pocket carelessly....She looks up at Terse now, since she followed him with or without his care. "Mr. Slimshorts, hey you hey you! " She smiles a strangely ornate yellow and gray set of tusks at the man and adjusts the digital pen barrette she so stylishly tames her hair with. She waves him closer to whisper.

        Tuning to fast Hestia, Terse looks a little surprised to be called. Particularly to be called Slimshorts, if she means him. "Huh? Me?" He heads over her way, ever curious about what this could be.


Hestia nods a few times, she begins to mumble moreso than whisper to the man. "...listen... lost... But....so ...very..important..."

The little toy panda shuffles along Ducks' collar, climbs upward. After a moment the panda is clearly stuck in the pretty optical fibers so it parks there, partway emerged slash tangled. Tells Andromeda, "I went for a walk and this seemed safest. That and there's surprisingly good signal here. And the lure of a Singapore Sling or maybe a Long Island." She gets dreamy-eyed.


Andromeda nods and grins a little, actually blushing. "....yeah.. they have good signal, that's why I come here. I can't tell you much about the drinks, though.. uh.." She looks at the ogre in thought for a few seconds. "Y'know.. well. Sure." Her eyes unfocus for a moment as she accesses an AR display. She's not wearing gloves, just standing with her eyes moving back and forth. As she does she goes on as though nothing is happening. "What do you want to eat?"


Hestia oh's in response as Terse actually whispers back! She holds out the green bottle and grabs one of the rectangles, holding it up to surface-vert. The materials do look similar and it would seem she wants Terse to do something hastily as she extends her gifts out to him.

        Terse looks at the satyr in front of him. "What do you need done to it? Don't want to ruin it." He pulls out an old looking class cutter with a particularly sharp cutting wheel. "Should only take a second at least. Grampy O'Brian always knew how to keep it razor sharp", he says with a smile.


Hestia points at the rectangle and holds out the bottle, now much more enthused and not trying to whisper anymore. " Just like this, see? should get two of em' outta this piece and that's all I need to finish! You'll do this favor for me for me?" Hestia smiles again while playing with her hands out in front of her. "I'll take care of the rest, I'll give you credit promise promise Grampy O!


Ducks quips, s'much of a cupid's-bow smirk as tusks allow, "Don't worry, we can survive anything Redmond can cook up." Ogres, she means. "Annie, was it? After you." She gestures toward the door, or maybe at the satyr and handsome gentleman, or at least past them. Their activity catches her attention again, and she observes.


Andromeda steps back from Ducks. Her AR gown flutters and swirls to the side and behind her. One look inside gives her pause, though. "..wow. It's really crowded in there.. here's the menu, they'll probably bring stuff out." A paper appears in her hand, and flaps over like a butterfly toward Ducks, straightening itself out as it gets close.

        Terse nods, taking the bottle and rectangular guides. "Coming right up", he says, kneeling down on the ground. He sets the bottle flat, cutting two even shapes from it, popping them loose farily easily with the suction on the back of the cutter's notched head. "That should do. Anything else, Miss?"


Ducks pauses to look over either thin air or the 495's AR menu, case depending, and remarks, "Hey, they serve proper Red Eyes." Snaps her fingers. "Bingo." She blows a puff of air up at her hair, trying to keep it out of her eyes with nominal success for the moment.


Hestia examines the pieces with great scrutiny, taking almost a whole minute to nod. "Nice work Nice work. You'r gonna go places Grampy O just you wait! " She holds her hand to out and plucks the pieces from terses grasp. Abruptly, she stands, dramatically putting all the pieces of plastic together and holding them up to her face, the light she used to pick her work area now reflecting off of the plastic here in the meat realm. The satyr woma opens up her maw, quickly and precisely biting down with one of her smaller tusks right through the entire stack of plastic shapes. Immediately she is at work, bending down to pick up the wire she had seemingly tossed aside. Out pops her tongue again, licking her teeth as nimble fingers thread the wire through the plastic. 'Aha!' she exclaims, holding up the now altered stack of rectangular pieces up high. " Unfold the challange for the day, a shimmering fan that with wind will wave! " She now only holds it in the lowest middle portion between thumb and finger, then lets the fan roll forward. It is quite the sight, the plastic rectangles of blues and yellows, along with the now green bookends recently cut by our unnamed hero of the day Grampy O! Hestia waves it once in her face, the plastic pieces move with a beautiful glide through the air, refracting the glow of the Crusher sign in their own way....


<OOC> Hestia says, "Sorry "

<OOC> Ducks throws her arms up in self-defense, starled.

<OOC> Ducks says, "Startled even."

<OOC> Hestia says, "Its a show of true startledom"


Terse says "Huh. Pretty nice." The man holds a hand out to shake Hestia's, as he tries to get an assessment of her. She might be all sorts of crazy, eccentric, or just a little off. Maybe deliberately, but it's worth finding out. "Just call me Terse. Friends do."


Andromeda scans a duplicate menu after sending the other one over to Ducks. She actually giggles at once point and reaches forward to touch one of the pictures even though she isn't wearing gloves. "Oh yeah, that'll be funny. I wonder if they can even make those.. I wonder how the.. y'know.." she pauses, looking back at the door and returning to the menu "..I don't think I want to know how that is here." Letting the menu fold itself up she looks over at what the bright colorful.. object, is, that the satyr is holding.


Hestia is dancing with the makeshift fan, shaking it around her furry hips first. " Terse to call one who is you the friend eh?" Now she shakes it in front of her face, catching her graying hair in the breeze along with the overall body rhythm. Her speech seems a bit different, much more mature now. "Very kind to help , Hestia is grateful. I thought I Wasn't going to get it done in time! " She looks up at the moon, waving the multicolored fan up in the sky, capturing a full glow from the surrounding hues. " Now we can have fun before going home home!"


Ducks considers the dowdy-looking perhaps-office-drone, the handsome gentleman, and the artisty-eccentric hoofy woman. The impromptu fan. Then the 495's painted sign. She noodges her quasi-useless toy panda and it tumbles to catch itself neatly on: one of her broad ears. Ow, she mouths. "Exactly," she says, absently, "exactly."


        "Hestia, eh? That what you go by, or do you mean the goddess?" Terse smiles, watching her dance with some curiousity. "So what were we almost late for?"


Hestia pauses as she holds the unfurled fan in front of her face to cover her jaws and just exposing her gray eyes. " My name, but sometimes I have a muse to guide me to a project like this. Thank you...." She curtsies, her hooved satyr legs trotting in the dirt playfully as she turns shoulder on the man. " We'll see you again, its a resource we will use more often! " She closes her eyes and smiles, waving the closed fan to the man and the girls who were chatting nearby, as she trots off the way she came. The looming aggro-domes of the plastic jungles seem to glow as she clears the road , over the next hill....


Andromeda's eyebrows raise a moment. "oh, sorry... one second.. hi Pete!" She speaks to someone who obviously isn't there as her eyes move around her AR. "Just a sec, sorry!" she whispers to Ducks and moves out of the way of the doorway.


GAME: Terse rolls 9 dice: 1 2 3 3 4 4 4 4 5 (1 Hit) <+roll/verify <pass> to set verify>


<OOC> Ducks thinks one hit on sneaking after someone means you yell out, "Hey, wait a minute!"

<OOC> Hestia says, "lol!"

A call comes in over Andromeda's commlink. It's Tequila Pete.


Andromeda picks it up, naturally. "Hi Pete!" she says cheerfully.


Pete is in a bathrobe, shaving. "Hey, toots." He looks slovenly as ever. "Got a line on something that might be right for you."


Pete traces the razor around his mouth, careful to avoid the cigar he did not bother to remove.


Andromeda still doesn't care too much for Pete, but does know he's a good guy, and he did help her out when she came into town. A lot. "What's that?"


Pete chomps his cigar. "A milkrun, from the sounds of it. A little data smash and grab. Couldn't really shop it around to any of my other crews. This one is a small job." He clears his throat but doesn't spit.

"You interested?" he asks. "Easy night's pay."


Andromeda nods. "Sounds easy, sure. I've got a friend with me.. two is better than one, you know? Any idea whose job it is?" A basic question isn't impolite; it's just intelligent.


Pete smirks. "Oh, you'll like the Johnson. She's a piece a work. Don't let her pour honey in your ear."


Andromeda pauses a moment but nods. "All right, thanks.. she won't mind two of us, will she?"

"She's got a good street rep," Pete continues. "I'd let you see for yourself. Lemme slot you the details here."


Pete punches a few buttons and confirms a meeting at the Crusher 495 in thirty minutes. "Booth #2. Don't look for the suit, cause you won't see one."

"Who's the second?" Pete asks. "Anyone reputable?"


Andromeda looks over at Ducks.. come to think of it, she doesn't even know how reputable she is. "Somebody I know. I'll vouch for her."


Pete waves a hand vaguely. "I can't imagine it will matter for this. Bring a friend, bring a dozen. Pay's the same either way. Oh, and happy birthday, my commission is waive for this one." (Probably means it's not enough for him to care about.)

(Ducks is a polite ways off, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of her brand-new synthdenim jeans, and has the idle, raised-eyebrow, thousand-meter stare of someone messing with her PAN via AR, herself.)


Andromeda flashes a smile all the same. "Well it's good to stay in practice... gotta get out sometimes, you know? And thanks!"


Pete snorts. "Slot and run, girl. Go get it done." He coughs and disconnects.

It's not much, but it's home: Ducks lives in the Novelty Hill cube hotel, in at least two of the cramped, grimy cubes. After a brief climbing-into, she emerges dressed in handsome, well-kept coveralls. (The zipper strains a bit at sternum level.) She pats the left side of her ribcage to answer any obvious question of self-defense, and sometimes when she moves it's obvious there's a big lump there. "We don't have time for a quick cold one, do we?" she hopes.

[Ducks has switched to coveralls.]

Ducks opts for many-pocketed, slate-blue field mechanic's coveralls as a fashion statement, various pieces of personal gear clipped to the many loops and straps. The coveralls, her workboots, AR gloves, AR goggles and her cheap commlink all look to be brand-new. Cinched about her waist is a butt pack sporting sparkly-beaded fringe. Sparkle, sparkle!
 
A text message pops up on Andromeda. It's from Tequila Pete: "Oh, one more thing. Whatever you do, do not attempt to geek the Johnson with your bare hands. That is all."


Andromeda blinks. "Uh... Pete said not to try to strangle the person we're going to meet. So let's not do that. We can get something there I think?"

You leave the street and enter the Crusher 495.

Crusher 495 ----------------------------------------- District: Redmond

        From the foyer you can either go left into the resturant, where you are asked to wait to be seated, or you can go straight ahead to the bar. Crusher 495 houses a friendly atmosphere that appeals to a wide range of patrons. Touristville locals and Barren Rats, Bellveue big-wigs and Downtown well-to-dos all mingle and dine together, cheer and drink together, wheel and deal together weither they be elf, dwarf, ork, troll or human. The staff, mostly orks, work hard to see that eveyone's stay is a pleasant one.

        The resturant serves breakfast, lunch and dinner, with small meals prepared in between. The bar is open til late into the night, closed only at morning for clean up. The two are separated by one wall that runs straight down the middle of the building, keeping the noise level to a comfortable roar at peak times. There are booths in both the resturant and the bar, offering semi-privacy. There is also a private dining room in the back, set up for celebrations and business meetings.



Andromeda enters the Crusher 495 from the street.


Nokomis sits at Dining Booth #2. She looks to be on good terms with most of the staff. Her eyes scan the room.

[Nokomis.]
She's an Amerind ork in her early 20s, which makes her fully mature for that race. Standing about 2m tall, she is broader and more muscular than average. She looks quite strong and very athletic. Her black hair is pulled behind her head, revealing subtle tribal tattoos around her hairline and temple. Her brown eyes shine brightly. What's most distinct is her air of competence, which is almost tangible. She commands her space and somehow instills confidence in those around her, like a natural-born leader. Her charisma is undeniable.
 
She wears a tan leather jacket that looks armored. On the back is a white and red depiction of a wolf head. It is done in a tribal style, as are the markings on her leather bracers. Underneath she wears a vest over a white t-shirt. Her pants look like they could be deerskin leathers, and her boots are heavy.
 
She looks calm and relaxed. A sense of confidence radiates from her.


Nokomis has a commanding air. She waits patiently, undisturbed by the surrounding scene.
She looks more like a ganger than a Johnson, come to think of it.


Andromeda, a bit reluctantly, closes up Body Shop before entering the bar. Never know what Ms Johnson will think. She's glad she's done it, too, when she sees her and wanders over toward the booth.


Ducks looks, by her hair and coveralls, to be either a party-girl utility worker or... well, merely odd but not blatantly notable for more than a second or two. She follows Andromeda gamely, old chums, arms folded behind her back and taking navigational cues from her.


Nokomis looks up at Andromeda. She silently looks from her to the empty space across from her in the booth.

Nokomis' eyebrows raise ever so slightly when she sees Ducks.

Nokomis says "Lady hackers? Pete must be buttering me up. Take a seat."


Ducks slips into the booth, eyeing Nokomis in an affected harmless fashion.


Andromeda knows better than to ask about the relationship between this woman and Pete. She sits down and smiles. "Hello!" The greeting is cheerful as always.


Andromeda joins you.


At your table, Nokomis says "I ask Pete for one and he sends me two. That's fine."

*****


At your table, Nokomis says "I have a job that should be easy. A few pieces of information, nothing that should be too secure."

At your table, Nokomis says "There is a Stuffer Shack near the International District. It receives a shipment every night. I need to know everything I can about it."

At your table, Nokomis corrects herself, "The shipment, not the Stuffer Shack. They're all the same."

At your table, Nokomis says "I'm willing to pay 500 nuyen for the shipping schedule including it's route from the distribution center to the store, 500 for as many manifests and bills of lading as they have available..."

At your table, Ducks glances at Annie, hair swinging. Looks back at Nokomis. Mouth shut. Is nothing but attentive, all business. Except for the hair.

At your table, Nokomis says "500 to know everything there is to know about the truck, and a final 500 for the security procedures surrounding the shipment."

At your table, Nokomis opens her hands. "That's it. I don't expect any complications. I'd like to have it by morning."


Andromeda has trouble hiding her incredulousness. "...a stuffer shack shipment? Just.. their daily routes and stuff?"


At your table, Nokomis looks at Andromeda calmly. "That's right."


At your table, Nokomis maintains eye contact easily. Her body language and posture are almost flawless. Her bearing seems to differ so much from her clothing and appearance.


Long distance to Andromeda: Ducks sends an AR popup. "Do we hold out for more? And, shh. Never question the boss, don't you watch Shadow Team Alpha on trid?"

An ork waiter comes by the table to check on things. Nokomis makes the smallest gesture and he departs as quickly as he came.


At your table, Ducks looks, in a nutshell, stumped. Though she keeps glancing at the other woman. Or maybe she looks like an ogre who accepts what she sees because she is expecting to wake up. Keeps looking over the big ork, peculiar.


Andromeda nods slowly; whether at the Johnson or at Ducks it's hard to tell. "..this is important enough to hire out, but not important enough to make worthwhile? I mean.. Pete even said he wasn't going to take his share, and I've never heard him do that before.."


Nokomis pages: Quoting "The Matrix" are we?

You paged Nokomis with 'Ironically, that's not far from the truth. '.


At your table, Nokomis looks at you evenly. "Don't give Pete too much credit. He owed me a favor."


Andromeda doesn't look overly concerned or intimidated. The ork's body language isn't exactly subtle. "He did, but we don't.. sounds like he's expecting us to pay his favor for him."


Long distance to Andromeda: Ducks messages: "That's a good note to remember, maybe? That Pete knows this lady enough he got in her debt. I wouldn't ask him about it but it may be cool to know."


At your table, Ducks isn't transparent, but a trifle unguarded at times. Gears are turning... but only slowly. "I'm interested," she says, faint little slight lisp due to her tusks.


Andromeda sighs and turns it over in her head a minute. "...he's going to owe *us* a favor for doing this for nothing... all right, sure."


At your table, Ducks says abruptly and apropos of nothing, "He's kind of a gray mob anyway."


At your table, Nokomis nods once. "Good."

At your table, Nokomis says "Send the files to Pete. You will be paid promptly."


Andromeda says "Where is the distribution center? Will there be a physical shipment tonight?"


At your table, Nokomis says "Yes, but I'm not concerned with tonight's shipment specifically. You should find everything I've asked for at the Stuffer Shack in question. Corner of 7th and Weller."

At your table, Nokomis says "The office, presumably."


Andromeda nods slowly. "All right.. if we know the source of the shipment, that would help a lot is all.


At your table, Ducks moves her head from side to side slightly as gears get into alignment. "...Is the staff onsite aware of... anything interesting about tonight's... points of interest?"

At your table, Nokomis blinks once. "The nightly shipment comes from the distribution center. I want to know the exactly schedule including transmit times, the contents, and security procedures. It should all be there. And, no, the staff should be sleepy. It's a Stuffer Shack open in the middle of the night.

At your table, Nokomis smiles slightly. "Don't let me keep you."


At your table, Ducks smiles hesitantly back, glances at Andromeda as if expecting her to do the talking. "I... think we agree, yeah?"

Andromeda nods to Ducks and stands up. "All right, we'll send on to Pete what we find. Thank you." Her earlier annoyance seems to have softened a bit.

[The scooter ride is as unfancy as it is uneventful.]

Great tracts of neon and fluorescent lights that leech away color to make everything a uniform, dull gray indicate that you have arrived at the Stuffer Shack. But, to their credit, they are always open and the layout is always the same from location to location.
A floor-waxing drone patrols the store while the cashier does his best to stay awake. A stockboy moves between aisles to reshelve products from large pallets stationed inconveniently in the middle of aisles.

Outside in the damp, the ogre asks Andromeda, unsure, "What's your take on this? A stickup? Dig in while shopping? It's not like we can..." Pause. "Wait a minute. Every Shack has a simsense arcade. We could... pretend to play while actually going in cold, or hot?"

Andromeda sighs and looks up at the sky, wishing not for the first time that she had a car with a roof and all. "I don't know... do you know anywhere that gets good signal? We don't even need to go in there..."
The store is pretty quiet. The cashier is leaning on the counter with a tremendously bored look. A punk-looking couple walk in and head into the aisles. There might be one or two others around but it's pretty quiet.
The store's signal is weak. The outer plasticrete wall contains most of it. Inside is a giant nest of RFID tags and various signals, none of which extend beyond a Signal Rating 1.


Ducks glances at nothing to her right side: she's remembering. "Part of it may be hardwired-only." Grimaces very slightly. The blood... "Like I said, we could pass out in their own arcade, right? I can set Ham to watch and hopefully catch my attention if someone comes and molests at us meatside, right?" Abruptly she swears about needing a drink for this.

Andromeda sighs again. "I don't like this. We can try it. Nobody will bother us I bet."

Ducks holds up a finger. "Okay. Perfect. Okay, now... who takes the lead, and who watches out for countermeasures?"

Ducks next rubs her gloved palms together. Perched on one of her shoulders, Ham the toy panda drone mimics the gesture, only kyoooot-dorable.

Andromeda looks over at the muted neon glow.. that comforting light that feels like a welcoming beacon to any sprawl dweller, like the old lighthouses or roadhouse lamps may have felt to travellers in old days. A little of her confidence comes back. "..it's a *Stuffer Shack*. How hard can it be?"

Andromeda shrugs and smiles. "Let's go play some games."


Ducks and Ham shake a fist in a semicircle of agreement: "I'll be blue, you can be red."

You have the choice of four different games: Little Mutant Vik Ninja Cyberboy!, Orbital Ninja Death Commando, The All-New Ultimate Bike Race Ninja Street Duel, and Street Fighting Magical Ninja.
Ninjas being au courant, evidently.


Andromeda is admittedly biased toward Street Fighting Magical Ninja.. the ninjas in that are sort of cute, with different color costumes. Even though they're ninjas.

Andromeda says "Although..."

Andromeda looks at the All-New Ultimate Bike Race Ninja Street Duel too. "...we could race each other?"

Ducks plays the fangirl, or maybe not "plays". Or maybe she's fangirling over the ASIST gear inside the games and how it could subverted, or who knows. She pushes in through the double doors, ignores staffpatronsfloordroneaisles and almost runs over Andromeda. "What what?" She looks inordinately longingly at the games, hair patterns running something new: vertical sparkles. Steadily. "You're on, sister."
The cashier gives you a look of passing interest as you enter. He sighs.


Andromeda grins and goes over to the candy first, looking over the displays. "You want anything?" She calls across a few aisles toward Ducks.

Ducks makes claws out of her hands, disappointed. "Wh... what? I thought you wanted to race first?" She tries a sympathetic look at the clerk.
There's a crash nearby in one of the aisles. Sounds like some cans fell from the shelves. The cashier speaks over the speaker system: "Roland to Aisle 7. With a mop."
Roland drags himself out of the employee lounge with a mop. The floor polisher follows him faithfully, waiting for him to remove the unpolishable bits of the mess first.
The punk couple look about guilty. "Sorry," the man says with a slight lisp from the metal bar protruding from his lower lip.


Andromeda picks up two boxes of choco-bombs, and an OUT-OF-YOUR-FRAGGIN-MIND bar. She's already on her way to the check out.

Ducks ensconces herself in one of the simsense pods, pays it for some gametime.
The cashier looks up and has the price ready before you're even at the front. The RFID tags tell all. "3 nuyen," he says.


Andromeda opens one of the boxes of choco-bombs and offers some to Ducks, who is already lost in the game. She shrugs, more for her. She favors the cashier with a smile as her commlink automatically deducts everything without even stopping. She pops a few choco-bombs and sits down at the game.

The world drops away as you fall into VR. The computer system is antiseptic grey, just like the store. Everything is clean. The store is a veritable web of RFID tags.

An Unawakened orange-and-tan raccoon stands on its hind legs, forepaws on its hips, whiskers twitching. A silk scarf flutters from its neck. It studies its surroundings intently, as if... analyzing.


Andromeda feels herself falling and with a grateful stretch unfurls her wings until they fill with non-existant digital air. Her indigo scales glisten in the lights for a few moments while she does a lazy loop; her serpentine body all but flows through the sky until her Stealth program finishes loading, enveloping her with a dark shadow and deepening her color to black before fading to white and disappearing completely in the harsh lighting.

[Hot-simmed now, they roll Matrix perception.]

As one might expect, there are a bajillion programs running around the store. There are a few cameras rolling around lazily, the squishy machine in the back is sending constant signals to its temperature and viscosity, and the floor polishing drone is providing similar updates. Plus, most of all, all the RFID tags are sending signals to the office. Judging by the signals, the office is on the opposite side of the wall from you. It's not even hiding.

Its system and firewall seem minimal, at best. Nobody much cares about the store inventory.

The orange sherbet raccoon says, chirpily, "Let's get to it, Annie. Let's dig into this."

Ducks takes a moment, a little embarrassed, to toss out analysis software and load an exploit suite into her system.

[Ducks busts in, and Andromeda follows.]


Andromeda, her dragon form still invisible, swoops quietly over the tops of the aisles, near the ceiling, over toward the office. Opening the door is just another puzzle, and puzzles are something she's good at.

The poor system crumbles like a flower under the dual-assault. It takes less than 3 seconds to cut through to the other side.

The system buzzes along obliviously.
You're in! There are various files readily available: employee time cards, inventory levels, bathroom cleaning schedules, etc.


Andromeda lands softly. Her wings shrink, the long neck pulls back as the body stands upright on the rear legs. Her tail retracts, scales disappear and shift into a bland Stuffer Shack employee uniform. No longer the great beast, she's invisible in a completely different way.

The raccoon puts on a Stuffer Shack cap, and looks mournful. This time, it dumps its exploits for Browse, yes.

[They browse.]

Unimpressively, the raccoon just sort of stands there. A line of emitted sparks touches various files, hunting for paydata.

Andromeda shuffles through papers on the desk, just putting things in order. Gotta keep the boss's office organized. God knows he doesn't. Ah, what's this? Looks like something good.. a good employee knows juuuust the place for that, yep. In her pocket.

"Oh, here we go," says the talking animal, startled. "Stuffer Shack #10834, Manifest - Shipping." Still a little taken aback it immediately begins a data transfer.

The shipping schedule falls into Andromeda's hands. Looks like it arrives every night at 04:00:00 like clockwork. In fact, the regularity of the deliveries is shocking.

Andromeda nods. "And here are the schedules... two for four." She smiles.


Ducks starts to whistle but stops, wrinkling its muzzle slightly. Stay focused, raccoon. Narrows its beady eyes on searching for more information.
The manifest reveals that there are certain items delivered nightly - homemade sandwhiches and meals shipped in overnight - but that the rest is variable based on the inventory levels of the store.
Still, the store sells a lot of goods each day and maintains a minimal storage space. The nightly deliveries must be large.


Andromeda has finished those papers now and is on to another part of the office. Here is a box on the wall.. that's probably where they keep the keys, so this shelf below it might have information on the store security.
The silk scarf is animated a lot better than initially suspected: it actually blows to wrap over the raccoon icon's eyes before it tugs it clear. "Nothing interesting, but not my business," it says, studying a floating spiralbound notepad. "Continuing."

Neither of you find exactly what you want but you both come up with good leads. Ducks is hot on the trail of the shipping security procedures while Andromeda follows the shipping times upstream.

So close but still not quite.

The boring line of sparks begins to move over fewer and fewer system elements, as if closing in on the end of the datatrail. The raccoon flicks its brushy orange-and-tan-ringed tail a few times.

Andromeda keeps rearranging the papers, setting them out on the desk in chronological order. This was before that, that one goes over here.. one would think these would be easier to work through. Ah well, one more late night in the office.


Ducks begins to say, "This is almost what we--" And stops.

The system chirps.


Andromeda finally gets it all worked out, with the most recent information on top. Well, the next to most recent... the *most* recent joins that other paper in her pocket.

Cartoony drops of perspiration pop off the raccoon's head, its brow furrowed, paws wringing together. But the chirp isn't repeated. It sighs in relief. "Sorry. Almost slipped."

The shipment leaves the distribution center every night at exactly the same time. It is a 24-wheel drone with a good pilot program. It travels precisely 112kph down the freeway for fifteen minutes before exiting to city streets.

Andromeda turns back, smiling brightly, then quickly changing to a bored expression. Employees aren't supposed to be *too* happy after all. "Lunch break for me... did you find everything?"

Ducks looks apologetic but silently gets back to work, no comment necessary either way.

Assuming the vehicle does not deviate course, the route continues exactly the same each night. At any sign of disturbance, a remote rigger will take control of the vehicle.

Ducks straightens a little, whiskers and ears likewise perking. Pumps a little paw-fist, nodding firmly. Success.


Andromeda looks at the files she's found, and the ones the raccoon found.. looks like everything we're after..
The trucks have four entrances. The double doors behind, one door on each side, and an escape hatch through the ceiling.

Ducks looks over the little spiralbound notepad, the cutesy embodiment of her file manager and reader. "Maybe... one last check, just in case there's something we can use ourselves?" Maybe overeager.


Nokomis pages: You find a list of employee contact information.


Andromeda shrugs and checks the time clock. "..time for lunch, if you ask me. I'm more interested in what's out there than in here.. like some choco-bombs!

"Ooo. Useless, but you never know," says the raccoon, extracting one last file. "Let's bounce."


Andromeda waves goodbye to the raccoon and heads for the door, fading away before she gets there as she feels herself pulled upward through the ceiling, back up to another world, where she's currently involved in a breakneck chase with ninjas!
The checker stands above Andromeda, about to poke her. "Miss, your game expired a while ago. It is against company policy to sleep in the sim booths." His voice breaks with nervousness.


Andromeda doesn't know what that cashier is talking about... she can barely hear him anyway, dodging a volley of ninja stars at the moment. Well, if something was seriously wrong, he'd say something. As it is, ninjas!

Ducks drops, clean disconnect, back to an environment with gravity, temperature, the smell of floor cleaner and uncomfortable seating. She squints at the unpleasantly bland world: welcome to the desert of the real. Gets free of the game, eyes the clerk tuskily, hair reverting to its more soothing screensavery patterns. Eyes Andromeda.


Andromeda finally makes it to the finish line... how many ninjas are behind her? Well, how many pixels can fit on a screen? That's how many ninjas, at least. But she makes it! Pulling the trodes from her forehead and grinning like a mad thing, she celebrates with another handful of choco-bombs.

Andromeda makes a show of stretching. "Well... I'm done... almost sunrise, time for bed."


<OOC> Ducks says, "Do our heroes, then, give Pistol Pete his fileage, then shop an' Scoot?"

<OOC> Andromeda says, "And yep, I'll get a sloppie and then head out, and zap Pete his files once we're safely away."

<OOC> Nokomis says, "The data leads to another job."

The payment comes to Andromeda, as she is Pete's connection and he knows her information. It is up to Andromeda to split it as she sees fit.


Andromeda gives a full half of it to Ducks without even a question.


Ducks shares her extra find, too: employee database. How... vital. On getting paid, she becomes more formally respectful, thankful even. "I appreciated the callup for this."


<OOC> Tecumseh says, "Final act as GM is cast an area-effect stunbolt so that everyone sleeps."

GAME: Tecumseh rolls 20 dice: 1 1 1 1 1 2 2 3 3 3 3 4 4 5 5 5 6 6 6 6 (7 Hits) <+roll/verify <pass> to set verify>


GAME: Ducks rolls 1 dice: 5 (1 Hit) <+roll/verify <pass> to set verify>


Andromeda defaults on Counterspelling and rolls zero.

Tecumseh laughs.

[The end.]