Delivery for Miss Etegare

GM: Vulcan
Players: Air
Synopsis: Air receives a delivery for Miss Sigurdsdotter
Date: Tue May 4 21:54:07 2070

The main gate rings your Cellphone. Vehicle at the gate.

Air flips open his phone and checks the camera at the front gate to attempt to identify who's there before firing up the intercom adn speaking. "Who is it?" You know that sickly sweet Hollywood voice? Yeah, in that tone.

"Uh… Franklins Heavy Lift Delivery. I got a delivery for Ete… eteg… arjeh… sigords-dotter… yeah. Can you buzz me in."

Air frowns, "Etegare Sigurdsdottir? Uh, sure, thank you." With that the buzzy button is pressed. The man himself, while scratching his head steps out to lean on the new Land Rover and wait.

A few minutes later, a bobtail style delivery truck (A lorry, I think you call them) rumbles on up the driveway. It takes a few moments on some of the rougher patches.. The driver, a troll in his mid 30s, making him elderly, steps down. "You Siggorsdotter?" He asks, moving to the back of the truck.

Air shakes his head to the elderly Troll, standing up straight, "Afraid not, I'm Olifsson, Sigurdsdottir is a female name. Literally Sigurds daughter. Can I still help you? There's nobody else here right now."

He chuckles, opening the back. "Yeah, gimmie a hand with these boxes. No signature needed, whichs good, I ain't comen back up here."
Inside the back, are about 30 packing crates, all uniform sized and shape, high density travel plastic.

Air nods as he walks around to the back, "Not a problem sir, what have we…Oh, quite a few boxes." With that Air gets to work, careful to take only as many boxes as a thin human looks like he shuold be capable of, at a time.

"FRAGILE: MEDICAL EQUIPMENT" say many of the boxes. Most, actually.
And slowly, the truck gets unloaded.

Air transport the boxes with care, probably more care than the Troll anyway. Let's be honest, he's a troll, and however polite Air is to their faces, the big brutes are clumsy, and stupid. "Is that everything then?"

"Ayep." Says the old troll after about a half hour of hard, hard work. "Well." he says, looking at Air. "Sure was a long trip out here."

Air nods and agrees, "It certainly is quite a trip, I have to make that trip back tonight." He smiles with the 'shared heartache with the common man'.

The man raises a trollish eyebrow… "Uh… this… this is awkward. But I just unloaded 3 tons of boxes after drivign 3 hours to get em here, for 6 nuyen an hour, man…"

Air raises his eyebrows a little, looking like he doesn't understand. "Yes, I suppose that isn't a great job. But then considering the socially accepted racism against Trolls, could you really expect to get something better?" Then his attention seems to drift, as if he's thinking of something.

The man blinks, his jaw setting. He grunts then, moving over to the truck. "ASshole."

Air blinks back to reality, looking back at the Troll with a shocked look, "Excuse me? Why am I an asshole? I helped you unload the boxes." He takes steps to follow the Troll.

The troll swings up in to the cab of the truck. "Yeah. Your fucking boxes. I'm a working man, I see trees like this once in a month many and you're up here in the goddamn forest like a goddamn fucken elf lord. And then, you ain't even got the grace to tip a man for making it up here, and doing most the work. It's CALLED A GRATUITY because your supposed to be GREATFUL, drekbreath!"

With that, he starts to turn the big diesel engine back on.

Air lets a look pass over his face as if everything is made clear, "Oh, a tip! I'm sorry, I'm not from this country, we don't do tips where I come from. Let me see what I've got." Then he starts top head over to the land rover, there's nothing in the house after all."

The troll pauses, hand on the stickshift. Well… okay. Maybe he's the asshole. He eyes the boxes. They'd have scuffed the back of the truck anyway…

Air digs around in the back of the land rover and then heads back over, "I've got some of this… corp scrip, uh Ares I think. Or a bit on a credstick. I guess you want the credstick huh?"

There's a moment of contimplation. "Gimmie the stick… an'srry fer the drekbreath… just… I work hard for my livin', but they say 'half yer living's tips' and they don't even pay enough fer health care, ya know?"

Air nods as he hands the credstick over, "This country is a tipping culture, I always forget about it. Where I'm from they add the gratuity to the final bill already." He smiles and gives the big, old fellow a friendly wave.

Taking the stick, the man eyes it. "Uh.. Sir.. I think you uh… misplaced yer dot here.. cause this says abou' fiddy-one hunnered…"

Air had just been turning back and folding the corpscrip back up, then he glances back with a questioning look, "Uh, is that not correct? I'm never sure you see, should it have been more?"

«Auto-Judge[]» Vulcan (#3087) rolls 4 for "How honest is he.":
2 2 4 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Air (#8050) rolls Negotiation for "He's not this stupid.":
2 2 3 10

«OOC» Air says, "Just a con roll. I can't stand the thought of Air being this brainless. :D"

"Uh.. well.. its about.. uh… a lot too big. I mean… most folk tip like… twenty… this… uh… this is more than I make in two months, ta be fair."

Air frowns in consideration, "Well… get yourself some medical insurance then. Have a nice trip back."

Slickwilly Pete, the trucker, just stares for a moment, then decides the man's serious… "Okay. Okay man…" he says, pulling out a peice of paper. HE scribbles a number on it. "You uh… You call me if you need somethin', you scan?"

«Auto-Judge[]» Air (#8050) has the Contact Slickwilly Pete with the following information:
------> Contact for Air (#8050) <------
Contact Name: Slickwilly Pete
Level: 1
Type: trucker
GM Note: Slick met Air when slick dropped off some supplies at Air's ranch. Air was a dick, but clueless, then when air realized his mistake, he gave Slick a tip equal to almost three months of salary for the trucker. Air can call on Slick to move goods across Denver's PCC and CAS sectors. He won't go in the warrens or out of the FRFZ however. He does have a GMC Heavy transport truck.

Air reaches out and snags the info, "Sure thing, uh…" He glances down at the paper, "Mr. Slickwilly."
"ANyway, may wanna get that shit out of the sun. Some of its heat sensitive. You have a real good day now, Mr. Odinsson."
With that the truck heads off down the road, for Twin Forks.

Air scratches his head, "Odinsson, now there's a good name for my next SIN," he mutters to himself, before setting to and moving the boxes into the ranch house.

Vulcan dropped Packing Crates.

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