GM: Dalton
Players: Ghostfist, Sage, Croc, Pyre
Synopsis: A meeting with a Johnson who won't give the runners the info they need.
Date: DATE HERE, remember to add 60 years to the year to get the timing right :)
«OOC» Baron says, "Ok: Rules, Please Consent, Also use PR1 for all ooc chatter, keeps my log clear."
«Plot» Croc consents.
«Plot» Ghostfist consents.
You are contacted through your various sources, the meet is at the Ragdoll, up on the roof. The Johnson will be a dwarf by the name of Ramone. The meet is scheduled for 10pm tonight, giving you plenty of time to get ready.
Croc is ready. He always is. As he pulls up to the Ragdoll, he's got a couple toys in a bag… not his best ones, but he never knows what people want him to bring around. He heads in and up, not dressed in his best- but not covered in blood, eithier.
Sage has arrived.
Ghostfist arrives at the Ragdoll with plenty of time to spare. Even he has to admit that owning a vehicle is rather a useful thing now that he has one. Frankie slips inside in his typical style, utterly inoccuous save for his long coat, and passes a few minutes at the bar before making as stealthy an approach as he can manage for the roof access.
«Plot» Sage says, "Consent is given."
Its raining, so the roof of the Ragdoll is pretty much empty. There are tables with those big umbrellas to keep off the sun, and right now they are doing the same job for the rain. At a table near the corner of the roof sits a Dwarf, he is wearing a suit, its not that expensive though, and that tells you a lot really. He sips from a drink, its an amber liquid with ice in the glass. As you arrive on the roof he turns to watch you, then gestures to the seats. The trolls in the group are probably going to get a little wet.
Pyre has arrived.
Croc doesn't really care about getting wet. He stares at the seat, but instead remains standing, watching the suited johnson and just folding his arms over his chest- staring grimly.
Frankie doesn't really care about getting wet, he wears a long coat for a lot of reasons. The less psychotic troll settles down on a seat at the table, reaching up to shift the collar of his coat just so. He steeples his fingers and stares patiently at Mr. Johnson.
«Plot» Pyre says, "Consent"
And Sage arrives in a semi-new Ford Americar… well, it's freshly stolen, and probably not even reported by its owner by now. Getting to the RogDall… whoops… RagDoll, he spends a few moments blending into the crowd in his usual fashion, ordering a drink or two at the bar, filling his silver flask, and then heading to the roof. What the hell, he's a rain nut too. And he's in rare form today — Freeman isn't disguised. Except that his usual white suit is dark gray, but that hardly counts.
Getting to the roof, he looks around for dwarves, and spots the one after a few moments. Gliding through the rain, his suit isn't even spotted by the time he gets there, but his hair is slicked by the rain. He sits down at the table without an invitation, hefts his flask, says, "Your health," and takes a swig.
Pyre, the red haired green eyed young girl, looks like a wet cat. Shivering and moving under the umbrella to get out of the rain. She hates the rain. For now she stays quiet.
Croc turns to leer at Pyre.
The dwarf grunts slightly, taking another sip of his drink then setting it down on the table. "I got a problem, I need some people removed from a location. 55th to 65th Street, and Almeda to Baltimore, thats ten blocks by ten blocks. I need all the dealers in that area removed, permanently. I'll give you ten each for the work."
«Auto-Judge[]» Ghostfist (#3238) rolls Intelligence + 2 (Enhanced Perception) vs TN 5 (to Frostlog and Baron) for "Assensing Mr. J":
1 3 4 5 5 5 11 = 4 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Ghostfist (#3238) rolls Aura Reading vs TN 5 (to Frostlog and Baron) for "Comp. Skill Test":
2 2 2 3 4 5 = 1 Success
Croc laughs. "Just because joo have been short-shifted by people all joor life, half-pint, doesn't mean dat I work for peanuts. Five Kay a block, or joo can let dese little candygrams do joor work."
To (Ghostfist, Frostlog), Baron pages: The Johnson is mundane, and not really that healthy, some signs of recreational drug use. He also has some cyber, mainly around the head.
Pyre glares back at Croc, "Listen tall dark and stupid, one, I'm not a candygram, and two..show some respect to our employer" Pyre pipes up in a snappy voice. She obviously took some measure of offense.
"What kind of dealers?" is Frankie's only question. His eyebrows knit together as he studies Mr. J quite intently, his gaze unbreakable in spite of Croc's leering and jeering and Pyre's taking of the bait.
The dwarf shrugs at Croc "Feel free to leave, these guys aint shit, so I aint paying shit to get rid of them. Its as simple as that." he then turns to look at Ghostfist "Well, they deal in mostly the fun drugs, novacoke and other shit like that."
Croc makes a kissy-face towards Pyre, split lips and all. "What's wrong, punta? Joo want me to pay attention to joo?" He shakes his head and step back. "Forget about it. Joo chucacabras want to kill for peanuts, go ahead. It's just de man paying joo to take out his garbage." He turns around and heads for the side of the roof.
"I see," replies Frankie. He keeps his fingers steepled for the moment, his gaze shifting to track Croc's retreat across the rooftop. With a slight snort, Frankie looks back at Mr. Johnson.
Pyre glares, little blue bolts of mana welling up around her hands before dissapearing again. Though she says nothing else.
Sage looks annoyed for a moment at Croc, but then just rolls his eyes. Trolls with attitudes, never a good combination. "If you're looking for exterminators," he says in his cultured voice, "I suggest 1-800-BUGS-B-GONE. If, on the other hand, you are looking for skilled shadow work," and he smiles reassuringly, "Then you may wish to discuss rates more commeasurate for such work." He looks to the retreating Croc. Sigh, there went a bargaining chip. "While I'm not averse to some action as such, there's the problem of flushing out the quarry in your area. We hit one, the rest will go to ground. Most annoying to dig them out again."
To (Baron, Frostlog), Croc pages: how high is this roof?
The dwarf nods "Of course, thats why you make plans for that, hit them all in a short period, take as many down as you can. The message will get across….." he then smiles "Tell you what, I'll pay you for results, every dealer you take down nets you three kay each. The more you are able to hit, the more you get paid. Sound good?"
To (Croc, Frostlog), Baron pages: Its a rooftop, so probably not that high, I'd say 7 meters
From afar, to (Baron, Frostlog): Croc is just going to jump off. that makes the damage 3s, reduced by half impact. so reduced to 2.
«Auto-Judge[]» Croc (#8805) rolls Body vs TN 2 (to Frostlog and Baron):
1 1 1 1 1 2 3 3 3 4 4 4 4 4 5 5 8 = 12 Successes
To (Croc, Frostlog), Baron pages: I'd like an althletics check to avoid a bad slip in the rain. TN 6, need 1 success
«Auto-Judge[]» Croc (#8805) rolls Athletics vs TN 5 (to Frostlog and Baron):
1 1 4 8 = 1 Success
To (Croc, Frostlog), Baron pages: Ok, you land alright and soak the damage. Pose away.
Croc reaches the side of the roof and steps off.
Seven meters later, there's a large crash, and Croc is stomping through the nearby alley to his bike, apparently unconcerned about the distance he dropped- or the large pothole he left where he landed.
Moments later, his Harley roars, and heeeeeeeee's OUTTA THERE!
"That sounds acceptable to me," replies Frankie. He settles his hands on the tabletop and adjusts his position slightly so that he can maintain the professional seating. Of course this means that his head is now pressed against the rim of the umbrella.
Pyre remains quiet for now.
Sage steeples his fingers in front of his nose, fingers spread wide. "Three thousand per dealer. We -are- talking nuyen, I take it." It's not even a query, but in a Free Zone dominated by six currencies, it has to be brought up. "What kind of dealer? You want drugs, BTL, guns, something specific, or you just want us to do the Hooding thing and go after anyone we see dealing?" Again, kind of a dumb question, but one that should be raised.
The dwarf turns to look at Sage "I'm talking specific dealers, drugs, novacoke and bliss. I know who runs that area, and who controls the dealing of specific things, this is a targeted message, and yes, thats nuyen."
Ghostfist glances at Sage for a moment and then back at Mr. Johnson. He leaves the clarification to Mr. J as he carefully considers what he knows.
"Sounds good to me," Sage leans back in his chair. The fact that this now allows the rain dripping off the umbrella to fall into his face doesn't seem to bother him in the least. "Since you know who runs the area, you should have a good idea of who the dealers are, yes?"
The dwarf shakes his head "Nope, I dont concern myself with the little fish, I worry about the big fish. Finding the right dealers is up to you all."
"Then whose little fish are we hunting?"
Frankie steeples his fingers again, narrowing his eyes as he stares pointedly at Mr. Johnson. Apparently Ghostfist prefers to have leads to go on.
The dwarf shakes his head "Nah, thats confidental information, I'm not paying you to know all my business."
Sage looks over to the red-haired girl. "She has a point," he remarks, "Albeit a terse one. I don't want to get messed up in Yak-Maf-Vory wars. If this is just you having a tiff with a buddy over property rights, fine and dandy, I don't need to know more. If this is the prelude to a mob war, I'm out, as I suspect so are these two." He acknowledges his fellow runners.
Pyre sighs and shakes her head, "On second thought, I agree with the Troll. You're obviously new at this and not taking us seriously. With respect, I'll get work somewhere else" she says turning to walk out.
The dwarf sighs "It aint no mob war, the guys unaffiliated, he is just a supplier with a string of dealers that I want removed."
"I neither need nor care to know your biz, Mr. Johnson," replies Ghostfist, "But I don't do imprecise wetwork."
Frankie keeps his fingers steepled as he stares at the dwarf. He breathes slowly and calmly, carefully considering the response to the other runners' increased pressure. The troll frowns ever so slightly, shifting his position to lean a little more forward under the umbrella.
"I just need to know precisely who we are supposed to be removing from play."
"I wasn't planning on wetwork in any case," says the Sage, leaning forwards. His suit is still dry. "Even though this is the dark future and you can get new kneecaps for what, 2k in parts and labor? — beating the crap out of these people is what 3k buys, from me." He looks to the dwarf. "If you want wetwork, start again at the 20k mark and provide me with names and faces. Otherwise, sure, I'll go beat some street slime for you."
The dwarf shakes his head "There are three of you, thats nine kay I'm paying per dealer, a fraggen dealer!" he jumps up from his chair "If you cant take what information I give you for nine kay for a pissant dealer, then forget it, I'll find someone else." he huffs a bit and starts heading for the stairs.
Sage doesn't stop him. If Ghostfist wants, that's up to him, but the Sage merely shakes his head sadly at the dwarf.
"I do apologize that we couldn't do biz, Mr. Johnson."
Frankie glances toward Sage and then over at Pyre. He slowly stands up from his seat half-under the umbrella and straightens his long coat to better keep the rain out. "Round of shots downstairs on me?"
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