GM: Knox
Players: Croc, Knox, Cypher
Synopsis: Word goes out that an info broker is looking to add some names to a fixer's little black book. Knox is the info broker, hanging at the Cybered Arms. Croc shows up. Information and tension is exchanged. Cypher makes a cameo and eavesdrops.
Date: December 22, 2070.
Knox is seated at the back of the bar, a white noise generator clearly is positioned on the table top. The well dressed ork sits playing with a chromed zipper. Snap-Flash, Snap-Flash, Snap-Flash.
The Jukebox kicks over, starting to play 'Shadowposers' by Prime Runners.
The croc shambles into the bar. He's got his Sabre strapped on, but his various other weapons are absent… of course, he's not far from home, eithier. He walks straight to the back of the bar and sits down. "Joo hiring, amigo?"
A pair of Saints Gangers enter and take a seat at the bar.
Knox silently gestures for the troll to make himself comfortable. He lights a cigarette from a crumpled pack of 'Renraku Ol' Cowboys' and takes a puff. The embers burn a dull orange. Puff puff. "In a matter of speaking my friend, yes. But really I'm just the middle man for an information exchange for one, possibly two parties." He looks the troll right in the eye. Ballsy.
Two patrons at the bar get in to an argument about the current ballgame on the trid.
Croc's beady little eyes stare right back. There are tiny and pig-like, except for the strange green cast of the corneas. "Tell me about it," he says, staring grimly, but not with the usual rage that marks his interactions with J's.
Knox lets the cigarette bob up and down in the corner of his mouth as he lays it out. "I'm doing a favor for a friend, he's a higher player in the Denver shadows than I am……and you could say we're have a bit of a rival normally.", he shrugs, "That being said, my friend is interested in meeting new comers to the megaplex with particular talents be it of the magical or more mundane bullet dodging type. Free of charge you'll receive his contact information…..provided what you tell me about yourself is sufficient."
Croc grunts, then tilts his head. "Dat is de job? Information?" He frowns. "What kind of information? I am El Cocodrillo, no tiny newcomer. De streets know my name. Do joo?"
Keegan tunes in the Baseball Game.
Knox blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth, "Perhaps you misheard, but you a most definitely mistaken my large and presently docile friend.", he clears his throat, "I don't know your name, I don't know you, and there is no job.", he spreads his hands across the table to clear something unseen away. "I'm an info broker, and my colleague…..a fixer", he says fixer slowly for emphasis, "Is interested in making contact with talent in Denver. So why don't you tell me a bit about yourself and what you can do, and I can pass long the info to my friend who will give you his contact information should you like to use his services. Then we all go home, quite happy. So ka?", he asks in a laconic and even tone.
The Jukebox kicks over, starting to play 'Su Casa es Mi Casa' by Maria Lopez.
Croc's eyes narrow. "If joo don't know my name, why are joo talking to me?" He asks. "I am El Cocodrillo! I won the pits in tenochitlan! I survived two years alone in de bug city… here alone, I have thrown down de Air and de Vixen in single combat. Where I go, de white man trembles: and when my panther speaks, de streets echo wif her voice. I have wifstood de Demons, I have endured de lash of de monowhip. I have never been happy, and never will as long as my sisters and brudders lie under de white man's thumb. I place bombs. I cut froats. I move like a shadow and can wield de 'tunder. Does dat get it across, little tusker?" Oh, he's getting mad now. Another thing he's famous for!
Cypher comes in from the anteroom
Cypher has arrived.
Croc is getting irate at an ork.
Knox sits at a table smoking a cigarette and speaking in a measured tone to Croc, though it's tough to hear what he's saying
In the corner, Knox blows a cloud of smoke towards the bar and a pair of dwarves drinking quietly, "That nice. Mr. Cocodrillo. Do you have a way for my contact, Mr. Victor, to get in touch with you?
In the corner, «OOC» Knox says, "Do I look Arabic? I'd say I looked Middle-Eastern/mixed heavily with European. Sort of like the meta-sub type orks Hobgoblins but more Euro-American Ork. So, Bi-meta-racial."
Cypher makes his way in and pauses, he spots some familiar faces, and his natural curiousity makes his hearing augmentations kick in to listen to the corner, as he himself heads over to the bar to find a stool and order a beer from Keegan.
«Plot» Knox says, "Cypher roll me intell tn:3"
In the corner, Croc's voice doesn't stop yet. "* * * * * *"
«Auto-Judge[]» Cypher (#3540) rolls Intelligence vs TN 3:
1 1 4 5 5 5 11 = 5 Successes
In the corner, Croc calms down a little. But just a little. "Jes. Dis is a trix address…" He lays it down… "And I usually monitor radio band xxxx.xxxxx.xx. Yo no gusto cellphones."
«Plot» Knox says, " cypher can over hear our convo so i'll just start posing normal for now"
Croc started speaking in Arabic for a minute there.
Knox nods, his eyes roll up in the back of his head - a tell tale sign he's accessing head memory-, "Very good, please hold for a moment Mr. Crocodillo."
Knox begins a one sided conversation with someone through a cyberphone, "Victor. Yes- no I don't need any Novacoke. Look I found a street sam, heavy weapons type and a real brawler. Kind of senstive, must be in his blood. What? Yes he claims to have beaten that prime runner Air in some hand to hand match. Look do you want his information or not? I'm doing thisquid pro quo……..fine, I'll let him know. You're welcome.""
«OOC» Croc says, "want to throw down street rumors?"
«Auto-Judge[]» Knox (#4448) rolls Street Rumors (to Croc):
2 2 4 7 16
«Auto-Judge[]» Knox (#4448) rolls Shadowscene Players (to Croc) for "Comp":
5
The Jukebox kicks over, starting to play 'I got 99 problems, but a slitch ain't one of em' by G-Cap.
Croc pages: oh yes. All sorts of rumors. Heavy weapons specialist, stealth specialist… reliable problem solver. It will probably get messy, but he'll get it done. Won an Armed Melee tournament in july, defeating runners like air and vixen, though by the skin of his teeth. Supposed to be unstable, closely tied with the Demons uber-gang, and there are rumors of canniballism. but he's a known player. mid-tir.
Keegan watches as the Boston Red Sox play a game against the Richmond Generals on the Trid. "I got 50 nuyen on this game." She mutters. Duke offers, rather helpfully… "Sucker."
Cypher sits quietly at the bar, sipping a beer and listening to conversations. He appears to be bored mostly, just staring off into space.
Knox nods to something and he closes his eyes for a moment. He ashes out his cigarette and leaves it in the tray, wordlessly the ork pulls from a chest ocket a small pocket secretary and types something in, his eyebrows raise and he nods approvingly. "Well big man," - he says without look up, "Check your email. Mr. Victor says he's heard quite a bit of you and informd me. I'm impressed, though I have to admit the Demons scare the right drek out of me."
+prove victor to Croc
«Auto-Judge[]» Knox (#4448) has the Contact Victor with the following information (only to Croc):
-----> Contact for Knox (#4448) <------
Contact Name: Victor
Level: 1
Type: fixer
GM Note: Victor is a paraplegic wheel chair bound male Caucasian dwarf fixer who operates out of various bars in the Ute sector. If Knox can't get his hands on something, he will reluctantly go to Victor. He is extremely overweight and wears ill fitting street clothes. His matted curly black hair and beard frame his scarred and ruddy face. He is usually accompanied by one to three dwarf street sams, likely family members, at all times. Victor is the "Newman" to Knox's "Jerry Seinfeld": Slovenly, a braggart, and outside of fixing- a fuck up.
Somewhere in the trix space, Croc receives an email/voice greeting.
Croc grunts. "Me too. You should see how much dere bullets hurt." He rises. Sometime, when he gets home, he'll access his trixmail.
Knox rises with Croc, nods, and offers a well manicured but strong hand to shake, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
Cypher sips his beer quietly, then reaches into a pocket and pulls out a datacable to jack into his temple.
Croc will look down at the hand. "Take dat hand and spin, creepo," he says, turning away. "Just be sure I get some damn work."
Cypher smiles faintly, actually, he already arranged some work for the big troll, and it went well, all things considered.
Knox looks as though he is about to say something, then thinks better of it and smiles at Croc like a divorce lawyer. "Enjoy your evening sir.", he packs up his suitcase and white noise generator and turns for the bar where Keegan already hs his usual: synth-bourbon on the rocks, ready for him.
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