[HydroRaven]

"The IQ of a sledgehammer, too" thought Clem but she decided to keep quiet and finish her drink instead. "Ever found out how you landed the last job?" asked the ork as she signalled the bartender for a refill.

[Necrogigas]

O'Connor shook his head, "Nah, all my guy could tell me was that he got word of a job needing firepower, so he sent me. Your luck any better?" As entertaining as it was pushing Clem's buttons, he was already getting sick of this place. He loathed sitting around doing nothing, he didn't idle well. Every muscle in his body was protesting his inactivity. In a futile attempt to quell his fidgetiness, he folded his arms across his chest and began strumming his fingers along his biceps.

[HydroRaven]

"Nah, nothing on my end neither. But I think Red might be onto something though." She could see O'Connor was getting impatient. Maybe he needed to get a fix, or maybe it was just from boredom. Anyways, Clem needed to change his mind. She looked around the bar for the sleaziest patron there was. She spotted a human with greasy hair talking with 2 friends. Pointing at him with her head, she asked O'Connor to follow her. She went to the table and asked the guy "My buddy here thinks he can disassemble a gun and put it back faster than you can. Care to wager on it? Loser buys a round of drinks."

[Necrogigas]

O'Connor's face furrowed in confusion when Clem indicated towards the trio across the room.  Out of curiosity, he followed without comment. Once Clem laid down the challenge, O'Connor was still a bit confused, *What's the point of this?* Though it was pointless and not of his making, or perhaps because of those, O'Connor took to the challenge with gusto. He gave the sleazebag a smug grin, "I'll be having a whiskey and cola."

[Crossbow]

Glancing at the security goon and the podium, which seemed somewhat incongruous in the parking facility, he stepped towards the smaller man. "Maitre d', I believe we have a reservation. Would you kindly show us to our table?"

SAMMY AND TORLEY


The gentleman at the desk smiles at Torley's little joke and moves to escort the pair of you into the luxurious elevator.  Once inside he addressed the runners, "Your sponsor in the organization has taken great pains to provide you with this opportunity.  As of right now, I can share with you as much information as you are likely to receive with the understanding that specifics of any kind will not be forthcoming prior to your acceptance into the organization, and probably not much more on the other side."

The doors close, but movement is not felt if it occurs as the gentleman continues.  "The organization is a highly skilled and highly secretive circle dedicated to providing a safe place for people who might otherwise be compromised to enhance their magical knowledge and skills.  Upon your acceptance as an acolyte, it is understood that you will defend this secrecy, by word, deed and magical bond.  As an acolyte you will further be expected to accept subordination to the more senior members of the organization, which at the moment would consist of everyone else in the organization.  While it is possible for you to eventually gain rank, understand that the nature of the organization and nature your position in it will not drastically change, as you will always be considered seconded to your sponsor.  In return for your loyalty and discretion you will be given access to the organization's resources, which are substantial, and will be exposed to the higher mysteries by instructors of unparalleled skill. What are your questions?"

[Thvor]

What are my questions? How about what aren't my questions? This is all way beyond me... were the first thoughts to run through Sam's head. Keeping his face calm, however, he says, "Well, I can understand your interest in Ms. Delavine here. I've seen her in action; real talent. But me? I'm just good at convincing people to do things. You guys seem to think I've got some sort of voodoo-hoodoo skills, and honestly, that ain't me. I can't cook your insides by looking at you funny. Can't lift a rock without touching it. The force, as they used to say, just isn't with me." He shakes his head. "I mean, no offense to our 'sponsor', but don't you think I'd know if I had some sort of special third-eye, sixth-sense, seventh-son-of-a-seventh son gig going on?"

[farothel]

"This really sounds like half of the trids I've made," Sammy said, "a mysterious organisation that recruits people.  In those trids, most of the time the organisation turns out to be evil, strangely enough.  I'm not saying that it's the case here, but I do want some reassurances.  While I know that death is part of our line of work and accidents can and do happen, I don't want to do assassinations.  I also don't want to be part of any organisation which promotes racism or genocide.  I'm not trying to insult people here, but I have my beliefs which I'd rather not violate."

She paused a second to see what the reaction was of the man at the desk.
"I also have a question.  You say that we will always be seconded to our sponsor.  I assume this is you?  And what becomes of us if our sponsor dies, becomes incapacitated or turns traitor?"

[Crossbow]

The gentleman consults a datapad, "Yes, I was told that you are an undeveloped social adept.  I can assure you that at least some of your talents are magical in nature, and while your aura does naturally conceal itself, someone with training can and will know your secret.  If you like, that might be a direction you wish to take your studies, into areas of masking your aura better." the man, seeing the doubt still evident on Torley's face, turn to Sammy, "Surely if have worked with him you ascensed his talent, correct?  Perhaps you can convince him."

Turning fully to the mage, "To answer your concerns, the organization has no particular ideology or agenda that I am aware of that will interfere with you personal beliefs.  I would seriously doubt that you will would even be considered for membership if there was any bias or bigotry that is involved in the process.  As to your concerns about your line of work, I should tell you that while I am sure the membership includes individuals who have 'worked the shadows', as they say, the resources available to them in the organization do not lend themselves to being useful in that regard."

"I am not your sponsor. I am, in fact, a seconded member of the organization myself.  I can tell you that once accepted into the organization, should you and your sponsor decide to part company, or your sponsor leaves the circle,  you may be still considered a member, though you may wish to find a new sponsor as the dues are quite exorbitant, and they are generally covered by the sponsor."

[farothel]

"It's been a while," she said, "but I did see some magic in his aura.  Now I must admit that assensing isn't my strongest point.  It's something I have to improve.  As for sponsorship, I can always make another trid, win an oscar and seduce Kline, now can I."
She said the last with a smile.
"Well, let's move on I would say," she added.

[RHat]

Fioon finally decided that he'd gathered as much information on Mason Ritchie as he could for now - now he needed to set a meet with the man.  <<Mr. Ritchie, I've been told I should reach out to you, that you'd be able to assist me with a missing person's case.  Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss it?>>  Fionn was perfectly happy to deal with things online, most of the time, but he had a bit of a talent for reading people which was more useful in a face-to-face meet.

He also posted a message up on the hidden boards maintained by the Circle, the resonance guild in which he claimed membership, about the unusual encounter he'd had with the being they knew as An Fairtheoir, the sentinel who barred the paths to what lay beyond the Matrix.  He hadn't heard of the like before, but he was hoping some of the other guild members might be able to shed some light.

Still, he resisted the temptation to invstigate his mysterious prior employer immediately - he'd be out of this clinic soon, and that was a task best left until he was mobile.

[Crossbow]

Clem and O'Connor

Considering the lack of work in the offing, meeting Frank, the leader of the mooks, along with the brothers Sal and Dino, keeps the evening from being a total waste.   The three are low level enforcers trying make a break from The Family.  As O'Connor and Dino trade rounds back and forth in quickly elevating games of danger and skill (Dino is as good with knives as O'Connor is with guns, and almost as fast.) Clem and Frank are able to speak and trade notes on the goings on of the various organized crime syndicates operating in Seattle.  After O'Connor has a particularly poor showing in Five Finger Filet, Sal leans over to Clem.  "You might want to help your friend, they are talking about going out back for Mumbly-Peg and my brother is double jointed with a pretty good pain editor on line.  Somebody is gonna end up in a clinic."

[HydroRaven]

Clem, always happy getting an update on underworld politics, listened while trying to give as little information as she could get away with. After O'Connor butchered his fingers, Sal informed her of their next game, which got her thinking. "Getting Con into the clinic wouldn't be half bad, but it reduces my chances of getting a job. And I know he's not going to back down because the brother said so..." thought Clem. "Do you know where we could find some Zen?" asked the ork to Sal.

[Necrogigas]

Though O'Connor still thought a bar fight would've been more fun, the game of one-upmanship with Dino had been a good time killer. O'Connor examined the hand he mangled during the knife game, *Damn, that stings. Good thing I'm ambidextrous.* He was brought out of his musings by Dino's challenge to a game of Mumbly-Peg, "Haven't played that since I was a kid. Let's do it." They'd been mostly neck and neck until the game of Five Finger Filet, time to even the score.

[Crossbow]

The lift that Sammy and Torley were in could have moved in any direction, or in several, but whatever inertial compensators there were prevented any clue.  When the doors opened they could see a remarkable view of the Seattle, but both knew enough that such things could be easily faked.

The thing that couldn't be faked, at least not in so large a group, was the sense of privilege that was an almost a physical wall they passed through as they entered the event.   Although, they were each familiar with such surroundings, the runners could feel their humble beginnings and, however brief, professional careers in the shadows as if they were glaring neon signs to these people.  There was money here, and a lot of it.

The room was outfitted for a reception, with approximately 20 metahumans as the clear primaries, their status denoted by ornate decorative masks, and half as many secondaries, also masked, but these plain, with a few quiet and efficient staffers.

The new arrivals garner a great deal of attention, it is clear they are something of a curiosity, and the purpose of the gathering.  Their guide, who has yet to identify himself, takes them through the next several hours, introducing them to the various individuals with the decorative masks and a few of the secondaries.  The idea seems to be a continuous interview process combined with a tour of the facilities, which could be most accurately described as high-end but not noticeable so.  What is pressed on you is the nature of the group, incredibly secretive, almost anonymous and a sense of status, they make it clear that this collective exists by their will and for their benefit, though that sounds a lot more nefarious than it is.  While you can tell that there are more than a couple that seem to have a desire to make use of your profession, none of the conversations you have give you any sense of unease.
(OOC: We are going to keep this simple, this is an interview for a spot that is pretty much guaranteed, so you have to actively not screw it up.  Each of you can roll a Social extended test with a threshold of 10 and an interval of an hour, and tell me how long it takes.  Magical etiquette and High Society add to your pool.  Obviously you need to report any glitches.  You will get a briefing by PM of the groups specifics.)

[farothel]

While talking to various people, Sammy tried to get an idea of who was behind the mask, should they be famous.  But she quickly had to abandon the idea, as the masks distorted the speech sufficiently that with her reduced hearing she couldn't identify the voices.  As she was used to high society gatherings, having done Oscar ceremonies and more cocktail parties than she could count, she felt at ease.  The only thing that was a bit less was that everybody could see who she was and she couldn't do the same.  But then again, they would know all about her as it wasn't that her life had been private the last years.  Only the last few months it had been more so.

[spoiler]
I don't have as much etiquette I see, so I need 5 hours.  Unless my fame somehow helps (my specialisation in etiquette is media, which I assume will not count):
charisma 4 + etiquette 1 =5 (5d6.hits(5)=2, 5d6.hits(5)=2, 5d6.hits(5)=2, 5d6.hits(5)=2, 5d6.hits(5)=2)
[/spoiler]