GM: Nightshade
Players: Nightshade, Pheme, Cannonball (Special Cameo Apperance).
Synopsis: Nightshade meets Pheme, they become best friends…well…they're both still alive at least
Date: August 26, 2070
Cool Cat Club
Cool and hip. That seems to be the message of this club. A stark contrast from the Metroplex outside, the inside of what was once a fairly small warehouse has been completely redone in a conservative style from some by-gone era. A dance floor dominates the center of the room, made out of synthwood, which has more than one couple going at it during the evening hours. Surrounding the dance floor are plenty of round tables at which to sit, smoke, and enjoy the music.
The bar is a decent size and dominates the south wall, to the right of the entranceway. The bar, like the rest of the room, is made up of synthwood, a darker mahogany, with a mirror along the back wall of it. During the afternoon and evening, a smoking hot twenty-something bartender is here, slinging the Martinis and Manhattan's as quick as the orders pour into her from all corners. Up against the north wall, that is, the area to the left of the entranceway, is a small stage for the bands that play here in the evenings, blowing out snappy dance tunes of the swing, new swing and neo-swing varieties.
During the afternoon, recorded music of the same is played and just about at any time the music is enough to cover any conversation going on around at the bar or various tables. The patronage is an eclectic bunch, ranging from the middle-aged crowd that likes to hear some good-time oldie's, to young clubbers looking for kicks, but a majority of the crowd seems to be the more conservative CAS business types here for a few hours' relaxation and fun before returning to their wage slave existence. Along the west wall, across the warehouse floor, are alcoves leading off to the bathrooms, a private conference room, and some sort of back office for the management.
----------—[ Shadowrun Denver ]—-
==========================> +scan for Cool Cat Club <==========================
Pheme Female Human Charisma: 6
Technicolor Hair, girl on the wild side.
Nightshade Female Troll Charisma: 4
A troll girl with calcium deposits on her hands.
Nightshade is standing by the bar, a drink held tightly in one hand with her other holding the bottom of the glass to keep it from slipping, she's watching the dance floor intently. She sets the glass down and tugs at her blouse straightening it, then picks the drink back up and takes a sip.
Nightshade(#3173POXc)
The young troll woman is only a hair over two and a quarter meters weighing in the neighborhood of 185kg. She is small for her metatype but solidly built with heavy calcium deposits on her hands and the sides of her face making her fingers appear clawlike and her face appear draconian. Her eyes are a dirty blue set below eyebrows that bear tiny boney spikes. The pair of horns that begin to show just behind her cheekbones run up and back from her eyes curling along the side of her head wrapping around her ear and tapering to a point just shy of the bottom of her earlobe. Her body, what can be seen of it, bears additional calcium deposits, stiff pieces that shift oddly underneath her clothing. What feminine curves she might have are distorted by these plates and points.
She is wearing a pair of thick baggy jeans that catch from time to time on the bony protrusions on her knees, outer thighs, and hips. Her top is a long sleeved tight fitting stretch material under a light blouse. The undershirt allows the blouse to sit more or less normally though she does need to adjust it from time to time when the sleeves start to bunch up behind the extended point of her elbow. On cooler days and in the rain she wears a sturdy looking greatcoat, the pockets of which appear to have been reinforced and lined with leather. When not worn the coat is tied to the outside of a large jean and leather backpack she carries.
Sitting on the stool between nightshade and the bar is a leather and jean backpack with an overcoat draped on top of it, saving the troll girl's spot.
Pheme has gotten bored of hanging out in the shadows and just accepting what she saw as rather… poor, 'bottled' jazz which played here, apparently. The young human with bright hair comes walking into the club, with a trumpet case in one hand. She is smiling brightly, and heading for the center of the room. A few people have noticed, of course… but the main thing she's worried about is the security. Whether they'd decide to try and throw her out when she got under way. She probably should have asked someone first, but… where's the fun in that?
That's some… impressive hair.
That's the main thing people notice about Pheme. She's got some truly incredible hair on her. Bright red and green mingled with yellow and blue in a haphazard, apparently random fashion. There's no evidence of any natural color there, and people who see her often will note that the colors actually change in proportion and brightness on a near daily basis.
By most conventional standards, she's a beautiful woman. Deep, soulful brown eyes and sharp cheekbones help to detract from the somewhat sharp point that her nose comes to. A single metal stud pierces her bottom lip in the right corner, and a single piercing in her left ear houses a parrot's feather, which dangles from the lobe in quite a distracting fashion.
She's not the most curvaceous of women. In fact, she's rather slender. But she doesn't look unhealthy, at least. In fact, despite her willowy looks, her skin color is flush with a health rarely seen by people who live in the Metroplex, with all its pollution and casual toxicity.
Her legs seem to go on forever, making up the majority of her five foot eight frame. This is only accentuated by her choice in clothing. A one piece garment lacking any straps at all, seemingly held to the olive skinned womans chest by magic. Starting with dark black material across her torso and melting as it goes down into a glossy silver pair of pants which may as well be painted on. Luminescent green and red lines criss-cross up the entire design.
Nightshade turns to look when a bit of color catches her eye, when that bit turns out to be a riot of color she blinks, then studies the woman with the look-at-me hair and painted on pants. When she she's the trumpet case she gives a little nod, then takes another drink half-dismissing her as the entertainment and shrugging off the attire as the girls attempt at being the next nova hot thing on the scream sheets.
«OOC» Nightshade says, "Want to throw an intimidation roll at the management to see if they'll let you play without at least asking what you're doing, figure them for a 4 TN. Default it to charisma at 8?"
«OOC» Pheme says, "Hm, fair enough."
«Auto-Judge[]» Pheme (#5238) rolls Intimidation vs TN 4:
2 4 4 = 2 Successes
The management takes a glance at the girl with the horn, then shrugs it off, either she'll be good enough to let play, or bad enough to be funny. A few sour notes won't hurt the club attendance too badly at this time of day.
Pheme doesn't so much deliberately scare anyone off, as she just strides into the middle of the floor with a kind of … innate certainty. She's not like the other band; for a start, she's new here. For a second, she's down amongst the people. Which is, she has to admit, a new thing for her. But wasn't that why she came to Denver? To try out new things? So, without wasting much more time, she unzips the trumpet case, and produces a bright, shiny silver instrument. The background music is still going on, just recorded at this time, so she does her best to slide in with it at first… adding a loud, but regular, undertone to it. If she's successful, of course.
«Auto-Judge[]» Pheme (#5238) rolls Jazz Trumpet:
1 1 4 5 11 11
The gent mannaging the music mix is a friendly but rather bored looking DJ. He works the hardcore clubs nights, but spends his days here switching between the classics and working on the mixes he'll be spinning at his 'real' job. He's been keeping an eye on Pheme's approach and nods appreciatively as she starts working into the music. A few slips of his fingers across his little synth and the recorded trumpet volume drops softens leaving more range for Pheme to work.
Nightshade glances out onto the floor as an obviously live trumpet sounds out from the floor, the piped in music seems to come from everywhere taking advantage of the accoustics and multi-speaker system but this new sould is directional, and good, and many eyes turn to see what's happening.
Pheme is finally feeling alive again! In a way that she had almost forgotten. It's been almost two months since her last proper 'gig', and this was totally off the cuff. The girl's trumpet sounds out clear and enthusiastic, channeling her energy, her optimism. It's surprisingly cheerful, but decidedly jazzy, with all the high ups and improvising sound that she loves. She's twirling around amongst the dance floor, which helps the directional nature of that sound, the 'real' quality of it, come across even more.
The crowd is thin at this time of day, but that leaves plenty of space on the floor for Pheme's impromptu performance. The dancing picks back up after the initial shock. Raymond the DJ, looks over towards Pheme as the song starts wrapping up, his eyebrow raised towards her curiously for some sign of what she had in mind.
Nightshade tilts her head listening critically to the noise for a bit, then smiles, she sets down her drink, leans on the bar and her finger starts tapping in time to the livened up music, each tap is a little click and rasp that eventually earns her a stare from one of the nearby patrons, she stops when she notices the annoyed look.
Pheme has no intention of stopping, that much becomes painfully obvious. The girl makes her way more towards the DJ as the music starts to go down, and pauses only briefly to murmur, "Just go with it, okay chum?~" Before she sings out to the crowd, completely off the cuff; "Come on friends, get up and dance!~ It's time we stop with all this jazz-in-a-trance~, shout and cry, let me hear you love it, we're here! We're alive! Life's too short for recordings!~" Of course… without backing instruments, the vocals likely suffer a *little* bit, but she's no intention of letting that stop her. She's in the zone!
«Auto-Judge[]» Pheme (#5238) rolls Jazz Vocals:
1 3 4 5 5 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Pheme (#5238) rolls Jazz Vocals for "KP:1":
1 1 2 2 5 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Pheme (#5238) rolls Jazz Vocals for "KP:3":
1 2 2 4 5 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Nightshade (#3173) rolls 3 for "Raymond keeping up on the synth, higher helps lower not so much.":
2 5 10
Raymond doesn't leave Pheme with only silence to work with, fading out the music and into a jazzy little background beat, light taps on the snare with the ting of a cymbol keeping time with Pheme's little riff. He's a decent synth jockey and looks to see where she's going from here.
Nightshade raises her eyebrow, a curious shifting of the hardened skin around the spikes of her face. She chuckles and waves off the troll who out of sympathy and racial solidarity excuses himself from his date to ask her onto the floor. Good thing too because his date was about to make a show of racial solidarity by demonstrating how solid her trollish fist was upside the back of the fools head.
«Auto-Judge[]» Nightshade (#3173) rolls Etiquette vs TN 4 for "Blowing off the boy without causing a scene with the girl (trollish hissy fits can get messy.)":
1 3 = 0 Successes
Truth be told, Pheme is deeply embarrassed by how pathetic that sounded. Obviously she was out of breath or something. But she sounded like a freaking amateur! She's not going to let it peter out at the first hurdle, though. The girl has the attention of the club on her, and it is making her heart flutter. This is what life is all about! So, she returns to the trumpet. Because that's her strong point right now. This time, the instrument blares out a lot deeper. A lot less bouncy and cheerful, fitting in with an existing sound. It carves its own sound, at least… that's the theory. Jazz trumpet leading the way, rather than following.
«Auto-Judge[]» Pheme (#5238) rolls Jazz Trumpet:
1 1 4 5 5 7
«Auto-Judge[]» Nightshade (#3173) rolls 3 for "Raymond trying to keep up.":
4 5 8
Raymond seems used to this at least, and quickly layers in tracks that follow Pheme's lead. Fading in the backbeat of a percussion, the deep notes of a bass, and the long supporting sounds of brass. His eyes are tracking her moves, reading her visual cues as well as her audible ones. There's no 'improve' coming from the one man background band so the style and soul is all Pheme's, he's just filling in the empty air.
Nightshade smiles at the troll gent, "Sorry hun, you're not my type." He starts to turn away but his girl, a professional looking troll woman in a suit that must have cost a fortune in tailoring to hang that naturally pushes past him, "Yeah, you're right. He's too good to be you're type." Nightshade's eyes light up and she ruffles her hand crackling her joints but she swallows whatever she was going to say. She turns back to the bar, to pick up her drink and the glass slides through her hand as she starts to pick it up. She scowls at it, apologizing and ordering another.
«Auto-Judge[]» Nightshade (#3173) spends 20 nuyen for "Buying another drink cause that bitch just made me spill mine.".
Pheme is paying sharp attention to the crowd. Normally, this'd be easier from the top of the stage, but thankfully, there's not that many people here, so she can gauge the mood pretty easily. She suddenly turns the tempo around on itself, going from the deep, slow speed, building swiftly to a near-frantic level… oddly enough, this peaks just before Nightshade swallows her words, and then starts to die off again into the slower, more deliberate level as she buys a new drink.
«Auto-Judge[]» Nightshade (#3173) rolls Intelligence vs TN 7 for "Noticing the mood matching (difficulty set at Pheme's current performance level.)":
1 1 3 7 9 14 = 3 Successes
Raymond fades out the tracks and brings in new ones as Pheme switches up the tempo, when she's doing the quick change ups he brings in just the percussion and the bass, when she gives him a longer stretch to match he brings in the brass and even some light vocals.
Nightshade blinks glancing out towards the dance floor and the girl playing there, then back at her drink, then to either side of herself. In that, 'I'm missing something here.' sort of way people behave when their subconscious is telling them something but their conscious mind is a bit pre-occupied to notice. She shrugs, then more carefully picks up the glass, making sure she's got a finger under it before lifting it so the slick glass can't slide through her calcified hands. She knocks it back at a single go, not particularly impressive or effective given troll constitutions, but it's a psychologically significant victory over stress.
Pheme brings this song to a close, allowing the trumpet to peter off to nothing, and then she holds the trumpet over her head. "That's all for now, folks!" She declares, cheerfully. "I'm Pheme, thank you all, you've been great!~" She twirls her instrument, and tucks it away back into the carrying case, before she starts to walk to the bar. A little bit out of breath, and grinning from ear to ear. Yes, she'd not held it up for long. But you need to keep them hungry, and she'd brought a little bit of bizarre fun to the floor. That's all she needed.
Raymond brings the house music back up, taking a second to queue up a few minutes worth of music before disconnecting from his synth and moving after Pheme, "Hoi…uh, Pheme. Hold up."
Nightshade reaches down to sort through her backpackpack, pulling out a skintight pair of gloves that she pulls on carefully, they're a matte dark gray color, once they're on she reaches over and picks up her refilled glass in one hand sipping at it, from the way she scowls at her hands once their own it looks like this was something she was trying to avoid doing.
Pheme comes up short as Raymond calls to her, and she twirls theatrically, to put her trumpet up on her shoulder. "Hey, chummer." She says, flashing a bright smile to the DJ. "You did pretty good keeping up with me. I figured I'd leave you in the dust, but you know your stuff. I got to give you that much."
Raymond rolls his eyes, "Yeah, you gimmie a week to get the right sort of licks lined up and you won't be able to breathe trying to keep up with what I lay down, but you're not bad either. I was wondering if you were looking for work. Live shows bring in tips, but for some reason folks never tip a mix artist. They don't get enough people in here to support a full band during the day, but with you fronting, and me covering the rest, well that's only a two way split. Interested?"
Nightshade her overcoat up off the barstool and shrugs herself into it, then starts patting her pockets searching for something.
Pheme grins, and shakes her head. "Nice offer." She says, "But, I don't really do the whole, schedule thing." The girl winks, and runs her free hand through her hair. "It's all about the moment, see? You capture that instant, where you feel inspired, and you let it all flow out. I can do concerts… but I couldn't perform the same place every day. Not even every week. That's why I don't like the band you've got in here every night. There's no soul in that."
Raymond shrugs, "Gotta eat every day so I've gotta play every day, you find me a way around the eating thing, then I'll happily worry about my soul, till then, it's my stomache that's got me onstage." He digs in his pocket then produces a card with a datastrip, "If you change your mind, or if you line up one of those concerts and need someone to make you look good, you give me a call, yeah?" He winks, "Or if you're just interested in dinner, dancing and deviltry."
Nightshade produces a battered looking packet of smokes, and a small stoppered bottle. With her gloves on she doesn't seem to have any trouble manipulating the little objects. The smokes are 'Big-guns' brand, with their slogan of 'Big enough to kill a man and satisfy a troll.' printed proudly on the packaging under a picture of two criss-crossed auto-cannons. She takes out one of the oversized sigs and stuffs the nearly empty pack pack into her pocket, uncorks the little vial, dips the cig into it then withdraws it, recorks the vial and puts the unfiltered cig into her mouth, the vial into her pocket, then starts patting around again facing the smoker's oldest enemy…the question of 'where the hell did I put my lighter?'
Pheme takes the card, and grins. "I'll keep you in mind, totally. Maybe we can jam some time, if nothing else." She doesn't comment on how, exactly, she keeps herself in food and shelter. But by the look of her, she's probably got a trust fund. Nobody else can afford to spend so much time on their appearance, right? "I've been thinking about trying to get a big Denver gig, but my manager… well, anyway, I'll be in touch." That said, as she doesn't want to elaborate on her relationship with her manager, and she really does want her drink, she starts heading towards the bar again. Booze! It's the best way to celebrate, right?
Raymond takes the hint, and needs to get back to his music anyway. Heading off to his spot on the side of the stage. Several people in the crowd offer Pheme compliments as she makes her way towards the bar, and when she gets there it seems she's already got a few free drinks waiting.
Nightshade grumbles, looking over towards Pheme as she approaches the bar, "Hoi, nice tooting…you happen to have fire?" She asks taking the cig from her mouth and pointing at it. Her speech is overly proper, hitting every consonant and vowel sound with a little too much effort, even when she uses slang like 'hoi' she hits the 'h' sound hard.
Pheme reaches into the side of her trumpet case, and produces a very beaten and battered-looking copper lighter. She flicks it open, and after a couple of false starts, a small flickering fire bursts into life. "Sure thing, omae. Here." She says, reaching up… and standing on her tiptoes, so that she can light the cigarette for the troll. Free drinks are a definite bonus, though, and she can't help but keep stealing glances back at the bar as she helps a partner in tobacco crime light up. "My manager always tells me I should give up but, you know how it is…"
Nightshade leans down a bit taking a few puffs off the lighter, she draws a few puffs to get it good and settled then nods to Pheme, taking a long drag off it then letting it out, the cig smells a bit off, whatever she dipped it in changing the smell. She chuckles shaking her head, "Not really, I don't have a manager."
Pheme leeeans back, and surreptitiously grabs a drink off the bar. Then she bounces back, to sip, and smirk up at the larger woman. She slips the lighter back into her pocket. "I meant you probably know how it is to try and give up." She explains, grinning. "Not that I've bothered trying. Life's too short to listen to what the money says. It's all about the now, right?"
Nightshade takes the excuse a long drag gives to consider that, "Depends on what the money is saying, and how much the money is giving you to listen." She says after blowing out the smoke, "I wouldn't trade listening now for money later, but if the the money is paying now, I'll listen to them now."
Pheme sips her drink, and shrugs. "I dunno." She says, "I mean, money is good. But freedom is more important. Sometimes you have to do something, but I prefer to do what I want to do and hope that what I want to do coincides with what the money wants me to do. If it doesn't, at least I'll have done what I wanted anyway."
Nightshade laughs lightly, "Only people who get to do that /are/ the money." She looks the girl over taking in her looks and attire using the advantage of height to peek and see if she's got roots showing or if that's a pro job on the hair. "You got a manager so you're some sort of name…" She looks down at the trumpet case seeing if there's any clue there to it's value, "…you're saying you don't play regular, so you're either that good…or you don't need the money…either way, you are the money."
Pheme's grin only grows wider at that, "That's the joke!" She says, cheerfully. "You only need as much money as you think you need, really." There's a little shrug, "I'm one of the best. No doubt about that. But my manager, well, he's seeing things a little differently. But I only need to do what he says if I give a frag about him getting me work. There's always alternatives, you scan?"
Nightshade considers for a bit, then shakes her head, "Not really, you're a luxury living a life of luxury. You're so far in the money that you think the money you want is the money you need and have no concept of what needing money means. Not that I'm in that range myself at the moment." She glances around eyeing the crowd, "I don't think anyone in this club would be, but there are people who knows exactly how much money they need, and don't have it or alternatives." The wording is cold but the delivery is still done in a somewhat polite conversational style.
Pheme falters a little bit, and then shrugs. "Well." She says, forcing herself to smile, though it isn't quite so genuine as it was before. "Parrot looks after her own. It's not *my* fault that I'm talented enough to get what I'm after. I think a lot more people could be like me if they just had a bit of confidence in themselves, though. I know there's a lot of badness out there, I just try and, tackle it without getting mired down in it." She shrugs. "It'd be patronizing for me to try and pretend I know what it's like to go hungry or something. I don't. Hopefully, I never will."
Nightshade blinks when Pheme uses the Parrot that way, her eyes flickering down to the feather, "You're a Shaman then?" She asks, looking over the little woman again. Taking another draw on her cig, "Meaning you're the magic type, not just the religious type."
Pheme laughs cheerfully, "Well, yes!" She says, shrugging lightly. "I'm not that… you know, practiced, with spirits and things. But Parrot has taught me a lot of tricks that I've woven into some of my performances. It didn't seem wise to do it when I'm right in amongst the crowd, though. People like to be warned."
Nightshade nods, "Yeah…I expect they do, though that pretty solidly explains why you're part of the money and why you're not worried about work. Though when you're pulling on odds like one in…what is it ten thousand that can do magic? Might want to rethink you're little 'with a little work anyone can be like me speil.'" She shrugs, "I'm not the type that'd hold it against you, but you make that kind of speech in the wrong place, people going to feed you your trumpet."
Pheme waves her hand vaguely, "It's not about *work*." She explains, "It's not even about what I'm doing. It's about attitude! If you can catch attention, you can work it. That's what the game is really all about. A lot of people think they can't do something, so they can't. It's self-fulfilling." She puts down her glass, and stretches her arms above her head. "I mean. Really, I don't even use my magic all that much. It just gave me the confidence boost I needed to kickstart… everything else!"
Cannonball walks into the club to relax a little bit. She waves at Pheme and Nightshade as she passes to get herself a drink.
Nightshade nods slowly, "Right…well I'm sure that's probably all the folks below the poverty line need, just a little bit of confidence then they'll be just fine." She shrugs then takes another drag of a massive cig that smells like somebody baking a chocolate cake. She raises her hand in response to Cannonball's wave. "Course, the problem there is, it doesn't really matter how much attention you can get when everyone around you has the same problem…only people in the money can make money just by getting attention, that's what makes you a luxury, not a neccessity."
Cannonball giggles as she hears Nightshades words passing the troll and the human. "Well, I know /I/ am luxury.", she says with a grin. "But luxury in vehicles…"
Pheme huffs, apparently a little irritated with that description. "Ex*CUSE* me?" She exclaims, tossing a loose wave in Cannonball's general direction as she preens herself up. "Not a necessity? Now, maybe you don't understand, but actually, YES. Music *can* help those poor people. Maybe I'm not one of them, but I do see their plight. Some of my best friends live in the Warrens! I'm the conscience! I make sure that 'the money', if you want to call it that, pays attention to those people sometimes. I'm VERY necessary!"
Nightshade glances over at Pheme, "You know something I've always found funny, white folks are always saying some of their best friends are black or native, christians are always saying some of their best friends are jewish, and rich folk are always saying some of their best friends are poor…you know what I'm thinking…that if you're someone's best friend you don't pay much attention to whether their black, jewish, or poor…and the other thing I'm thinking is that it makes an awful lot of sense that the conscience of the money only works when it wants to, and thinks that the poor folk could better themselves with if they just tried harder, because no-one really needs money."
Cannonball quickly got herself that drink then returned to the two discussing women. "Oh, comeon… This is a dance club. You really here to start the poor-rich quarrel again?", she asks. "Simply put, I guess the both of you have a point. Though I have to admit that /my/ best friends have four wheels…"
Pheme turns a very interesting shade of red. The young woman glares up at the troll, "Well, frag you too!" She spits, grabbing her trumpet off the floor, and slinging it over her shoulder. She looks to Cannonball, and her hard expression softens, if only momentarily, "Cannon, babe, we'll have to have a drink some time properly." A dirty look is shot at Nightshade, "Somewhere *pleasant*." And, with that parting shot, the fearless, prissy defender of the downtrodden (so long as she doesn't have to actually *talk* to them), spins around and storms across the dance floor. Huff!
Cannonball blinks as she looks after the parrot shaman, "Ummm…sure…", is about all she can say before the colorfull human leaves her reach. "Wow…", she then says not really directed to anyone. "I didn't know she had /that/ much of a temper…"
Nightshade doesn't even bother glaring at the little bit of feathered fluff as she hissyfits her way off, "Not arguing about rich-poor, arguing about the neccessity of money…if you don't think it's needed, it's because you've never had anything less than more than you need." She comments to Cannonball.
Cannonball shrugs, "Oh, frags, I've never had enough money since I've left my … old employer. Not that I had a choice. But I can see her point of view, as well as yours… Well, she at least tries o help I guess. Most things just seem to be an adventure for her, though."
Nightshade nods, "It happens." She looks over towards Cannonball, "I take it that since you know her and of her adventures that she runs in the same sort of circles we do on occassion?"
Cannonball shrugs, "I dunno if it really is the same circles. I'd more call it her going on an adventure, while the rest of us works for a living. She's a capable mage though. Pulled of nice trick during the piece of work we did together, Smoke called it a … forked spell or something. Hitting two guards at once."
Nightshade nods, "I'll keep that in mind, though I dislike working with people who don't need to work…no reason for them not to bail."
Cannonball shrugs, "Well, basically I would not have a need to work, but for my only fault…", she sighs. "But vehicles are so damn expensive…" She looks at the troll, "I could have been content and have lived a save life somewhere in peace and calm with my corp savings. But when I tried that, I found out it would destroy me to never touch a car, to never feel gasoline pumping into the turboes…" She sighs. "Made me to get Bully and drive right here into Denver…"
Nightshade waggles her hand, "That's still a reason, you want to work on vehicles, so you need the money to do it. Her attitude was more of a 'I could take it, or I could leave it.' sort of thing." She glances over towards the door, "Wonder how much of it is an act…"
Cannonball shrugs, "With her kind? Hard to tell…I heard parrot shamen live for the show…And she's one right out of the text book."
Nightshade nods, "Mmm, not my favorite type…but I'll make do if need be."
Cannonball giggles, "You always that serious? I've never really asked you what made you walk this path…", she says to the troll.
Nightshade takes a drag of her cig, "Neccessity." She says after a while, "It was something I needed to do to survive."
Cannonball nods, "I guess many have that reason. Mine was not to rot in a prison for a silly thing I did. I could fly an orbiter today if I hadn't done this shit…" She sights. "I actually heard my chanced to get onto the program were pretty good…", she adds.
Nightshade raises an eyebrow, "That must have been a pretty big corp you were working for if they had orbiters for you to fly." She it go at that, "My options were a lot simpler, learn to fight intelligently, or be as good as dead."
Cannonball shrugs, "I'm a rigger. One of the best. Well, at least I tend to think I am. I've done a few terms in areas I'd more dearly like to forget, so I'm not unfamiliar to shit and survival. Remember Chicago? I was there when it happened. Support squad, but damn the troops in the field needed a damn lot of support then. And it was far from harmless. I was lucky."
The conversation trails off…
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