[Tecumseh]

It's a sleepy Sunday morning at the store, which you have largely to yourselves. Most of the available good is directed toward hunting or fishing. In addition to an impressive selection of rifles and shotguns, there are an extensive number of bows available. There's even an small indoor archery range along the back of the building. The shop itself is relatively utilitarian. The walls are painted cinderblock, and the ceiling wiring is exposed. As good at the Pueblo grid is, this place hasn't put much effort into their AR displays. Doc is disappointed that there's not much to look at or interact with other than the AROs that provide product descriptions and prices.

Chino slings on an Ares Victory Globetrotter jacket, its inherent warmth and protection (combined with the memory of a fire spirit scorching his arms) overriding any concerns he has about flexibility. He stares longingly at the form-fitting body armor but in the end it just isn't warm enough for the conditions outside.

Doc lets Ohanzee grab the requested shotgun shells, reasoning that the salesman's tolerance for an Anglo not broadcasting a SIN can only be pushed so far. Doc snags a white ballistic mask for Ace, figuring that it will camouflage better in the snow. The snowmobile helmet that Doc selects for himself has a white and black pattern on it that should blend in well.

Adding the PPP kit to the pile, Ohanzee slots the team credstick and thinks, just for a moment, that he sees a flicker of a smile from the muscular salesman. Chino wears the jacket out while carrying everything else in the provided shopping bag.

Chino shivers with delight as he steps outside. "This jacket is so warm!" he beams with a smile. "Like wrapping yourself in a snuggly blanket." Ohanzee and Doc double-check to see if he's being serious. He glows innocently enough, his look practically angelic. And here he almost killed you an hour ago.

It's about 11:30, so the trio decide to get some lunch and stay warm, uncertain of when (or if) DIMR will respond. It's a Sunday after all. Someone probably doesn't get to the top of the DIMR - even just a local office - by ignoring their commlink on a weekend, but response times might be slower than a weekday. Or maybe they'll be faster since there won't be any competing fire drills? The only thing you can do is wait and see.

There's a restaurant featuring Shoshone cuisine - camas root, bitterroot, wild onions, pine nuts, bighorn sheep, jackrabbits, squirrels - that Chino is eager to try. Ohanzee, more presently aware of the social dynamic in town than Chino is, balks in favor of someplace where two Anglos will blend in better. That's how the three end up at a Nukit Burger just off the freeway, the other option being a Nacho Mama.

Nukit advertising boasts a “one stop, beef-in-a-basket, feast-on-a-bun” kind of place, and that they certainly do deliver. It isn’t gourmet fare - Katsina would probably shiver, even if she couldn't eat it anyway - but they have managed to create a dependable menu that’s definitely tastier than McHugh’s, even if they don’t provide anywhere near the level of paranoid security. (McHugh's is famous for security, as every store includes a security guard and flimsy tables and concrete barriers around the exterior sidewalks to prevent gogangers from plowing vehicles through the doors.) The Nukit menu variety is pretty good, offering not just several kinds of burgers, but hot dogs, onion rings, chicken chunks and even their famous “Nuke and Serve Burritos” as well. They charge slightly more than McHugh’s, and the price is worth it if you’re looking for tastier fare than just soy and krill.

Chino settles down into a plastic booth, looking delighted at the kid's burger, kid's hot dog, kid's chicken chunks, and kid's burrito that he ordered for himself. The variety of kid's meals seems to have consoled him for not being able to go to the Shoshone place. Or maybe he's not as interested in the food as he is the small plastic toys that come with them. "Wooosh, booooom!" he says, making sounds to imitate a battle between two of the plastic figurines. "You didn't hit me!" Chino ventriloquizes for one of the figures. "Did so! Did not! Did so!" He looks delighted and passes the time easily.


"The different HMHVV viruses were haphazardly organized into classes and strains and are still referred to as such in older publications and among laymen, but the current accepted organization now divides them into three distinct subgenera," Katsina drones on.

"Vrykolakiviridae (HMHVV I) retroviruses are only spread through transmission of bodily fluids in conjunction with a vampiric attack. The actual retroviral transformation is triggered when the victim’s life energies are depleted; the dispersal of the victim’s aura is apparently halted and partially reversed by the virus. The transformed metahuman possesses vampiric or cannibalistic dietary requirements depending upon on their metatype. Each metatype is vulnerable to particular species of vrykolakiviridae, and there is substantial disparity in expression, including vampires, wendigo, nosferatu..." She prattles on, oblivious to Ace's body language cues begging her to stop.


Ohanzee keeps an eye on the surroundings. Picking this place seems like a good move, as a wide variety of highway travelers stop by, helping the trio to blend in. Hopi and Zuni are relatively rare, but there is lots of English. A group of sour-looking Russian men stop in, as well as a busload of Japanese tourists. The Nukit automated drone cleans up around you, never bothering you or urging you to move on. Chino enjoys his third partially gelatinated non-dairy gum-based beverage while Doc surfs the Matrix and Ohanzee scans the other customers.

It's getting late in the afternoon and the plastic booth is starting to feel pretty hard. Chino is fidgety beyond belief - a quarter-kilo of sugar will do that to you - and Ohanzee is starting to wonder if delivering the package on a Sunday was not optimal. Ohanzee gets up, leading the others back to the van.

"Ew, my new jacket smells like Nukit," Chino pouts. "Super ick!"

Chino climbs in the driver's seat while Ohanzee takes shotgun. Doc settles in the back and buckles up, just in case Chino drives like a child as well as talking like one.

Then, at 4:59:58, a call comes in on the burner commlink. Doc's finger snaps up in the air to get everyone's attention. He triple-checks to make sure it's slaved to his deck for the additional Firewall protection. Then he nods to Ohanzee.

[Zweiblumen]

Satisfied with his new purchases and glad to have gotten through the shopping experience relatively unhasseled, Doc is looking forward to eating.  The decision to go to Nukit Burger works for him.  He can load up on carbs there.

While Chino was working his way through his personality list, which Doc hopes is getting shorter but knows he needs more research on, the decker does some legwork to find the team a place to meet in the matrix.  Chatting with Ohanzee, the two decide that the CFS will work as good neutral ground.  Doc starts scanning through lists of posisble hosts to use and comes up with the San Francisco Public Library.  The top floor has a large conference room they can use.  Given it's Sunday, he hopes it will stay free until they need it.  'We can grab the big conference room at the San Francisco Public Library when the call comes in and tell them to meet us there for the initial meet and greet.  If that room is booked, we can fall back to one of the study rooms, but those are much smaller.  Sound like a plan?'  Ohanzee nods his approval, while looking worriedly at Chino's behavoir.

Doc continues to comb through the matrix splitting his time between search for information on the nanites, researching HMHVV, and the fastest way to access the SFPL.  Finally Ohanzee suggests they head for van and Doc greatfully leaves the hard plasic booth they've occupied for way too long.

Just as Doc is buckling in, he gets the alert from the burner.  He quickly gets everyone's attention.  'Ohanzee, you're on.  I'm gonna grab that conference room, and I'll monitor the call.'
Thankful they are in the van already, Doc slips into VR and races to the host.  Being public he is able to access it without having to hop grids first and stealthing a mark.  Keeping a window open with the call to the burner in his periphery, he walks into the libraby lobby.  Quickly going through the available options, he reserves the Martin Paley Conference Room for the next hour.  <<<@Ohanzee [Doc] Room's reserved, answer the call.>>>
With the first part of his job done, he quickly checks over his system settings making sure he's secured the teams devices as well as possible.

[Tecumseh]

The call is answered with meeting information. <<@Caller [Anonymous Burner Commlink] San Francisco Public Library, Martin Paley Conference Room.>>

Using Chino's sim module, Ohanzee piggybacks on Doc's connection. The experience is disorienting; one would think that astral projection might make you accustomed to a disembodied experience, but Ohanzee still finds the transition to the hyper-reality of the PuebloNet jarring.

Doc already knows the address for the San Francisco Library's host. It only takes a flicker of thought - and on the overclocked PuebloNet it really is just a flicker - to arrive at the host. From the outside, the host's sculpting looks like a giant white marble block, seemingly glowing a light blue light from within the stone.

Stepping inside, Doc and Ohanzee find themselves in an airy and spacious atrium, lit warmly compared to the cold exterior outside.



The most direct route is to fly straight up to the third floor, and while the librarians might tsk at this it seems like the central atrium does double as the 'elevator' inside. Ohanzee, master of levitate, isn't the least bit surprised when his feet leave the floor and his body floats upward.

The Martin Paley Conference Room has an ARO on it saying: <<Reserved>>. Doc flashes his falsified credentials and the conference room unlocks. Inside, there is a simple wooden table with wooden chairs in a room with white walls.



Ohanzee takes the spot at the head of the table furthest from the virtual doors. Outside, he can see personae flitting back and forth through the rest of the library. He steadies his breathing, waiting for company.

He is not kept long. The persona of a female with dark hair - either elf or human, but the hair is covering the ears - enters. At first Ohanzee wonders if she is a librarian, because she is dressed conservatively in a long, slim skirt and a tightly tailored wool jacket. She is sexy in a repressed, hair-up-dark-glasses kind of way. Her body language is confident and authoritative. She slips into the room alone, taking the seat near the door at the end of the table directly opposite from Ohanzee. She folds her hands on the table and opens the discussion with a business-like tone.

"With whom am I speaking?" she asks.

[Poindexter]

The groggy giant slowly peels his eyes open again, all three of them, the words of the massive bear spirit still reverberating in his head. Although his incredibly invasive chrome implants keep the discomfort of the damage he did to himself hidden from him, the shame of his actions weighs heavy on him. He's not sure where he is, or how long he was out; He just remembers everything going red and trying quite desperately, to eat Chino. The raging hunger in his belly tells him he was unsuccessful. Thank the Ghost. Katsina is still with him, although her astral bonds are absent. Perhaps she thinks the episode last night had humbled him enough that they weren't needed anymore or perhaps she's hoping he'll make a run for it, so the group could be rid of him once and for all. The light creeping in through the cracks hurts his eyes and he squints as he drags himself to a sitting position. Before he can form any words, Katsina speaks.

"Good morning. Do you remember what happened?"

"Yes," he lied with a throaty grumble. "Let's agree not to talk about it again, and I'll agree to not let it happen again, deal?" He reaches for a large bottle of water near him and takes a huge swig before setting it back down again. He puts his feet down and prepares to lift his massive frame into a standing position. "Where am I, anyway? And how long have I been out?" Then, with a wave of guilt hitting him deep in the gut, "And where's Chino? I owe him an apology." For a moment, he almost makes a motion for the outdoors, to go find Chino himself before remembering the sun and what it will do to him now. Rather than getting angry, he chuckles to himself, briefly. He puts his weight back onto his hands and talks to Katsina some more. "That bear from last night showed up again while I was sleeping. It wants me to 'protect the pack' while it's away. Not sure how good I'm gonna be at that, what with the sun being out and all. How have you been doing it, all this time, anyway?"

[Tecumseh]

Katsina nods to Sam's request to never speak of the incident. She gently pushes forward the plate of pancakes, cup of coffee, and raw bacon that she had waiting for him.

"You're still in camp," the young Hopi woman responds. "You slept all night; it's Sunday now.

"Speaking of the sun, I have a spell to alleviate its negative effects." She leans forward to cast, grabbing Sam's hand to make contact. She glows like the sun herself, then fades as the magic takes hold. It's a strong spell, firmly locked. The casting doesn't seem to phase her at all.

"You can see it on your aura now. I can make it permanent if you like. It will mean you don't have to wear gloves and a mask all the time, like I do. I could cast the spell on myself but I wear the mask for... other reasons. I feel more comfortable with it on.

"The spell might help you with what Bear wants you to do. Chino went into town with Ohanzee and Doc. They're getting some provisions and making contact with the DIMR. We expect them back tonight. You can talk to Chino then but it's possible that he might not even remember it, or care. He's been playing personality roulette for a while now. Might be the nanites.

"Speaking of which, you're free of the nanites now. That's the good news. The bad news is that you have some significant internal injuries. They happened last night when you tried to break free of the spell I was using to bind you. I'm sorry." She does look quite apologetic. "You probably can't even feel the damage but you might be able to see it on the astral."

She figures this might be a good time for a lesson, to teach Sam to see what she sees all the time. "If you look down, you might be able to see some of the damage. Those discolored spots there indicate internal trauma around your lungs and your heart. Those dark spidering lines are tears in your abdomen, including the liver and spleen and other soft organs. You'd be in a fair amount of pain right now if it weren't for your bioware." She grimaces again, conveying her regret at causing Sam harm. "If you look very closely, you might be able to see the damage compensators on your nervous system. They are cultured bioware through, which makes them much more difficult to distinguish.

"After you conked out last night, I got some sleep myself. Ohanzee took first watch, then I took second. I've been here ever since. It's quiet now, but if negotiations with DIMR go well then we might have company later. You should rest and repair as much as you can before then; you're our chief tactician and we'll need you for the meet."

[Malevolence]

Ohanzee stands politely as the woman enters, and reseats himself as she sits. Before any pleasantries can be exchanged, the woman gets down to business.


"With whom am I speaking?" she asks. The opening is obviously meant to establish control of the conversation to follow. Ohanzee has precious few advantages here, and he is loathe to squander them.


"A facilitator. You can call me Hanz if that helps." The name was short for Ohanzee without being obvious enough to give away his adopted alias. Since he was obviously Native American in appearance and the name was heavily reminiscent of European descent, it was also obviously adopted. He didn't wish to mislead the woman, and so he felt it best to make it apparent that he was not using a real name. This also served to maintain one of the few advantages he had - he knew her name, but she did not know his. Or did he? "Ms. Jäger, I presume?"


He got a quick update from Doc, confirming that this persona was created using her commcode at least. Doc also informed him of two other high end agents present but concealed.


"I imagine that your organization does a fair amount of business with troubleshooters - Shadowrunners in common parlance. I speak for a group of individuals that you would likely categorize as such. You are no doubt uninterested in why we do what we do, whether it's for money, or glory, or to stick it to the corps, so I won't go into detail about that. Suffice it to say that we have an interest in seeing our prize put to the best possible use, but we obtained it at great personal cost and risk, and so wish to be adequately rewarded for our efforts."

"Now, before we begin, I have to ask - are you here alone? I'd hate to mistake any compatriots of yours as intruders."

[Tecumseh]

The librarian nods curtly with businesslike efficiency.

"Hanz it is then. You may call me Ms. Jäger."

She blinks once as Ohanzee calls out her companions. If she's surprised, she doesn't show it outside of this one tiny flutter.

She lifts a finger off the table as a signal. They step forward, materializing against the white background of the the walls. They have classical styling that conflicts with her modern appearance. One is dressed as the wingéd god Hermes - Doc immediately recognizes the god's caduceus, and wonders if that's a message to him. The other is a black, cloaked, concealed figure; after some cross-referencing Doc concludes it is Erebus, god of darkness and shadow. Potentially another reference to you or your profession.

"You are ably represented," she says dispassionately, her eyes darting to Ohanzee's black-suited bodyguard, looming behind with sunglasses like a Secret Service agent.

"We occasionally find ourselves engaged with facilitators," she continues. "However, it is rather less common for them to approach us."

The finger that she raised earlier begins tapping on the table with the regularity of a metronome. After several beats, an image appears underneath her finger. She stops tapping, then flicks her finger across the table to the side. Doing so casts the image onto the white wall: it is the digital image of the quicksilver photograph, alive and bright with kaleidoscopic wonder that Ohanzee recognizes from the astral.

"A curious find, if find is the right word. While our presence here indicates our initial interest, you must understand that the acquisition of this artifact would put us in an awkward position with the prior owners. Your accusations to their corruption have yet to be substantiated.

"But, for the sake of our current discussion, let us set aside those concerns for the moment. You are interested in entrusting our organization with your 'prize'. I fear I cannot convince you to make a specific bequest, regardless of the tax advantages or the sense of well-being our donors often find." She smiles ironically. "What, in your minds, would be an adequate reward for your efforts?"

[Zweiblumen]

Doc continues to stand there playing the part of bodyguard while keeping an eye on the goings on in the host, specifically this room.  He scans over the area looking for any other lurkers, then gives each of the figures before him another once over.  Pulling all of the info he can out of each of the persona icons he is able to get a good read on Jäger and Hermes, while the dark Erebus gives up some but not nearly as much information.

She blinks once as Ohanzee calls out her companions. If she's surprised, she doesn't show it outside of this one tiny flutter.

She lifts a finger off the table as a signal. They step forward, materializing against the white background of the the walls. They have classical styling that conflicts with her modern appearance. One is dressed as the wingéd god Hermes - Doc immediately recognizes the god's caduceus, and wonders if that's a message to him. The other is a black, cloaked, concealed figure; after some cross-referencing Doc concludes it is Erebus, god of darkness and shadow. Potentially another reference to you or your profession.

"You are ably represented," she says dispassionately, her eyes darting to Ohanzee's black-suited bodyguard, looming behind with sunglasses like a Secret Service agent.

Doc's face twitches in an almost smile in spite of himself at the compliment, then he quickly returns to his stoic vissage.

The decker remains calm though he doesn't like the 3:1 odds and while tempted to bring out his agent to help even things out, he leaves things as they are.  He wishes he had another deck so that Ohanzee could have at least pretended to be a potential threat, this is what they have to work with.  With an inward sigh he continues his overwatch.

[Malevolence]

The first one to throw out a number loses. It's an age old adage of negotiation. It's also only a rule of thumb - a master negotiator can use the initial offer to control the negotiations. It's a technique that has been used extensively, and mostly invisibly, for ages. Most people were well aware of the trick of marking items at, say, 39.99 rather than 40.00 leading to increased sales, yet they still fell victim to the technique. Selling two different items, one in an upscale store and one in a dive, resulted in the consumer adding more perceived value to the item in the posh store even if they were the same exact item. Placing an expensive item next to an outrageously expensive item resulted in the first item seeming less of an extravagance, resulting in more sales. But he had little control over the setting, and he didn't have another, more expensive item to use as contrast. He supposed he could ask for 19,999,999.99¥ instead of 20 million, but in a verbal negotiation, such a technique had the opposite effect that it had for items with displayed prices - verbally, the mind preferred nice round numbers.


She had jumped into the negotiation and placed the ball in his court. She either assumed he was an easy target and would take the bait, or she was gauging his skill. Either way, he had to make his next step count. One technique would be to propose two payment options - one ridiculous and one more sane. The trick would be to make it seem like both were valid and that shrewd logic had found the better option. The mind is so pleased with itself for this accomplishment it fails to notice, or at least sufficiently care, that neither option was optimal. This worked when presenting a boss with options and trying to get them to pick the one you prefer, but in a negotiation it was trickier since both offers were just that - offers, and thus up for negotiation individually. It wasn't completely unworkable, but it wasn't a surefire tactic either.


Highballing was another option - start with a higher number and the other party is more  inclined to see it as a starting point and negotiate from there. Or, they would reply with a low ball offer, but in either case, the highball value means that the middle ground where you meet is correspondingly higher. The risk here was throwing out too high a number and having the other party be offended, or leave the table assuming it is too rich for their blood.


Regardless of the method he chose, the key was to be willing to walk away. And Ohanzee had one compelling advantage - the item was worth way more than they needed. Even a low ball value was likely to prove sufficient. Which was good, because he also had a major disadvantage - usually the seller's prime advantage is that he knows the true value of the item being transacted, but Ohanzee had very little idea what the artifact was worth. His knowledge of Magical Artifacts allowed him to guess, but since the item was unique and technically priceless, his guess was little more than that. Things like this were why Sotheby's did so well.


"I was rather assuming that you had done your homework and would have had your experts appraise it. For obvious reasons, we have not had that luxury. But, I know enough to know that it is worth something in the mid to high eight digits - at least. Fortunately for you, that is more than we can expect to get for an item of, let's say, questionable title. So as to not waste our time, let's cut to the chase and say 25 million."


The dwarf held the librarian in his gaze, continuing to ignore the new arrivals - they were Doc's concern, and the surreal experience of Cold Sim VR was already disorienting enough in the relatively bland meeting room. He had doubts as to whether he'd be able to focus on the negotiations at hand if he were to start taking in the scenery.

[Tecumseh]

Ms. Jäger jumps on the number quickly. "25 million Aztlan Pesos. Done."

Doc quickly looks up the exchange rate and finds that it translates to ¥50,000. Ohanzee informs her that, no, he had meant nuyen.

"Twenty five million nuyen?" she asks factually, relaxed. She does not respond with disbelief or theatrics. She nods slightly to herself as she considers the sum, looking away for a moment before resuming the negotiations.

"Let us establish a common understanding for the purposes of our discussion.

"First, it is difficult to appraise a photograph, especially one that does not convey the size or composition of the subject matter. Both magical items and quicksilver photographs may be forged by accomplished artificers, and given the rarity of ancient artifacts being unearthed you must admit that - from our perspective - the possibility of a forgery is far more probable than the story you are proposing. At the current time we have little basis to believe that the artifact in question is worth mid-to-high five digits, let alone eight."

She continues calmly, politely, as if she were exploring the matter philosophically.

"Let us approach it from a different direction. You are, by your own admission, facilitators. Very hypothetically, were someone to approach you with the task of acquiring this artifact, there would be many factors to take into account. The security at the site in question, who certainly would have outnumbered a team such as your own. We know that this site employed drones, barghests, and - given the nature of the organization - almost certainly spirits. A dangerous task indeed. An opening offer for such a job might be ¥12,000 per facilitator, perhaps negotiated up to ¥15,000 once all the particulars were understood. A small, efficient team might accept an offer of ¥50,000 and feel themselves satisfactorily compensated upon delivery."

Her gaze now seems to be directed somewhat over Hanz's head, as if she were speaking above him or past him. The raises her hand from the table to make a point with her index finger, waving it on the downbeat like a symphony conductor with her baton.

"And let us acknowledge the reality of the underlying economics. None of us are paid what we are worth, but rather we are paid the price that the market will bear. And what is the market for an object such as this, if it is indeed real and not a forgery? How many organizations have the institutional knowledge to understand what this might be, and thus what its value is? The primary interest would be archaeological, scientific, not commercial. These endeavors, as you must know, would not support the valuation you propose."

The persona puts her hand down. Her eyes drop back to meet Hanz's. He can feel the wind up, now here's the pitch.

"But, allow us to presume that this is not a forgery, and that this is an artifact worthy of study, if only as a historical curiosity. We would be willing to pay you a fair, even generous, price to compensate you for the risks you undertook in acquiring it. While you are certainly competent enough to do so with a small crew" - she glances to Doc's bodyguard persona - "we will assume that you had a more fully populated team at your command. Let us take the number I used before and double it. ¥100,000 for you to split among yourselves as you see fit. A handsome, six-figure payday, and the relief of no longer being pursued by the former owners, especially if they are corrupted as you say."

Jäger raises her hand suddenly again, her index finger extended but not pointed at you, which would be impolite.

"This is, of course, contingent upon a reasonable examination period so that we may conclude that this opportunity is indeed real and not a skilled forgery. A few minutes should suffice. If that is acceptable, should we come to mutually agreeable terms for delivery?"

[Zweiblumen]

As the negotiations begin, Doc quickly scans himself and Ohanzee for marks being sleazed on them.  He's currently playing fair, but doesn't expect everyone else to.

When he hears the number Ohanzee throws out, he feels that's a good starting number and hopes they don't get too beat up on the counter.  Doing his job, he keeps his face a blank slate while he scans the data windows he has visible only to himself of whats going on in the room. 

Ms. Jäger jumps on the number quickly. "25 million Aztlan Pesos. Done."

Doc knows this can't be right and sends Ohanzee the exchange rate.

Doc quickly looks up the exchange rate and finds that it translates to ¥50,000. Ohanzee informs her that, no, he had meant nuyen.

Doc runs what she's saying through a simple algorithm to let him know when she gets to the actual point of the matter so he can continue to make sure everything is, at least relatively, safe here.  Finally she get's to the point...

"[...]Let us take the number I used before and double it. ¥100,000 for you to split among yourselves as you see fit. A handsome, six-figure payday, and the relief of no longer being pursued by the former owners, especially if they are corrupted as you say."

... and he nearly chokes in disbelief at the lowball offer.  He, trusts Ohanzee to take this in stride, but knows he never could.  Watching Ohanzee work, he has a new appreciation of the diminutive mage.

Part of him is itching for something to happen so he has something to do besides watching his monitoring software and making sure things are kosher, but the logical side of him knows it's best if he never has to do a thing.

[Malevolence]

And there's the low ball. Expertly delivered - contrasted with an even more outrageously low offer to make it more appealing - but a low ball offer nonetheless. However, the non-monetary portion of her offer grabbed his interest - "the relief of no longer being pursued by the former owners." That assumed that they didn't continue to come after them after they no longer had the object just to make an example. If it were just the Atlantean Foundation, perhaps - there's no profit in it. But there were potentially nefarious shadow organizations involved, and they might be less inclined to just let them go.


Ohanzee allowed his face to briefly show shock and insult and a little anger before pretending to bring his emotions under control, returning his face to neutral. Similar to a game of poker, you only let your opponent see what you want them to see.


"Ms. Jäger, I really don't have the time to haggle with you, and whether you are stalling or just not taking this seriously, I can't tell." Playing a hunch, Ohanzee sends a quick message to Chino while he allows the pause to play out, looking pensive.


<< @Chino, Doc [Ohanzee] Chino, drive. Not directly away from camp, but away from camp. I fear Ms. Jäger may be stalling while she has us tracked. And keep an eye out for spirits. >>


Ohanzee let out a sigh. "But I have to admire your brazenness." Start with the compliment, but don't butter them up too obviously. "You are a very important woman. If all you were prepared to offer was 100,000¥, I doubt you would have made a personal appearance. On a Sunday. So we know this deal has much more value to your organization. We also both know that just because we would no longer have the obelisk in our possession doesn't mean that the previous owners will just let us go free. Indeed, while you have no reason to believe our claim of foul play, we are quite aware that such secret organizations are even less likely to drop the matter and let us go unpunished. We have, at minimum, a corporation and two competing" he paused, trying to find a better word but failing "cults that both want us for either revenge or just to make an example. It's also likely that law enforcement has gotten involved, and they are unlikely to simply drop the matter. No, doing the 'right thing' has placed us in a bit of a pickle, and will require more resources than the usual income for a job will provide."


Ohanzee cursed himself for opening the discussion by describing himself and his team as Shadowrunners, effectively making them the "dive" option. He should have come in as the Johnson, the "posh" option. It was time to fix that.


"And, you make a good point about what the market will bear. While a team of Shadowrunners might get 50 or 100k for such a job, the person hiring them would be selling the item obtained for a much higher price - covering his costs and the risk of fencing such a good. So stop thinking of my team as just the 'runners that grabbed the item, and consider what the item will fetch from the next party we shop it to. You are also being quite disingenuous when you classify the item as a mere curio. Items from the fourth age have tremendous power, and organizations such as yours spend hundreds of millions each year on researching such items. They can be a source of great power if their secrets are unlocked, and thus great wealth and benefit to their owner. And, eventually, the rest of the world, if the discoverer of those secrets is so inclined."


He debated telling her about the documents APB had liberated from the Atlantean Foundation describing what the artifact did to those unfortunate enough to interact with it. Better to save that for now. It could be used to up the appeal, and thus price, or even omitted altogether to provide a nasty surprise should things go south. And he'd been talking for long enough as it was.


"So, let's try this one more time. 25 million is a good deal. You should take it, contingent on your examination, of course." He still fully expected her to counter, naturally, but hopefully it would at least be in the same order of magnitude this time.

[Tecumseh]

<<@Ohanzee, Doc [Chino] Yup yup. We're going to Fun City!>>


Jäger waves her hand casually. "If you don't have time to haggle then you should go, Hanz. I am serious to the degree that - as you point out - I am here talking to you on a Sunday afternoon, where I did not plan to be this morning.

"And you are correct that I would not be here if ¥100,000 were our final offer. But I did not reach my position by throwing six and seven figures at unsolicited and unconfirmed offers of ancient artifacts. Hanz, you and your large friend here have to put yourselves in my shoes. The business, academic, and even scientific worlds are all inherently conservative and risk-adverse. If I pass on this opportunity and later learn that it was real, I will be laughed at." She shrugs, showing how little that would bother her. "But if I act on this and it turns out to be an elaborate fraud, then I am going to be fired." She stares daggers, indicating how unacceptable that would be. "I didn't work all these hours for all of these years to flush it down the toilet on a sweet-talking bulldrek artist. People have been killed for less."

That wasn't a reference to Gloria Winters, was it? No, likely not, but the barb still strikes rather closely.

"It is possible that the artifact is worth more than I have offered. It is also possible that it is worth zero. If this were an auction, there would be adequate time to ascertain a fair value. Instead, we are currently negotiating off a small quicksilver photograph with no context other than your assertion that it is a Fourth World artifact." She pauses, looking at you meaningfully, inviting you to see things her way. "If you would be willing to leave it with us for a reasonable period of study - a week or two, perhaps - we could offer a sum close to its intrinsic value. However, I presume you would find that arrangement unsatisfactory, which leaves us back where we began.

"You throw out these fantastical sums, Hanz. At a certain point, why would I simply not hire facilitators to take the artifact from you, or from the people you sell it to?" You're not quite sure if this is a rhetorical question or not but she continues on without waiting for an answer. "We are willing to increase our offer to save ourselves the risk and uncertainty of doing so, but our general ledgers are not unlimited. Let us say ¥250,000 for your efforts. Enough money to live well for many months, maybe years if you budget effectively." She smiles.

[rednblack]

"Vrykolakiviridae (HMHVV I) retroviruses are only spread through transmission of bodily fluids in conjunction with a vampiric attack. The actual retroviral transformation is triggered when the victim’s life energies are depleted; the dispersal of the victim’s aura is apparently halted and partially reversed by the virus. The transformed metahuman possesses vampiric or cannibalistic dietary requirements depending upon on their metatype. Each metatype is vulnerable to particular species of vrykolakiviridae, and there is substantial disparity in expression, including vampires, wendigo, nosferatu..." She prattles on, oblivious to Ace's body language cues begging her to stop.

One bit did grab Ace's attention, maybe because he thought he may have understood it.  "Wait, 'dispersal of the aura'?  So, the uh, 'victim' maintains memories, or a core personhood, or whatever, but are they the same, like personality-wise?  I mean, like with what happened to us, we've been talking about whether or not we're the same people we were before, right?  Does HMHVV leave a Katsina who was very much like the Katsina before but with a new dietary requirement, or did it change you?  Do you know?"

When she answer, Ace excuses himself, and says that the lesson will have to be reconvened shortly.  A study break, if you will.

Exiting the tent, Ace actually relishes the fresh sunlight and air.  It's been awhile now since the away team left, so he busies himself double-checking the perimeter and security lines.  He briefly considers trying his luck hunting for Sam again, but without a partner like Chino, he probably doesn't have the necessary skills.  Instead, he finds a spot about 100 meters from camp,and sits tight for a bit, keeping watch at the wildlife, and trying to wrap his brain around all the information that Katsina summarily dumped on him. 

Upon returning to the tent, he sees that Sam is awake, and Katsina is trying to teach him to read auras.  It's nothing that Ace can make much sense of, but re-acquainting himself with the finger wigglers and their ways can only prove beneficial.  At a convenient break in the conversation, Ace brings Sam some water and asks how he's doing.  The former troll looks like drek, but also much more in control of himself, not that Ace probably looks like much of a tasty snack anyway.  The real test will come when the away team returns.

[Malevolence]

Again, Ohanzee allows his disappointment to fly across his visage, and again he visibly clamps down on it. He sighs, and stares down at the glossy finish on the table. He ponders his reflection for a bit - Doc had helped him craft it so a to disguise his features, looking different enough that he would be unrecognizable should they see him outside the Matrix. The duds he wore were not as prim and well tailored as the lady facing him from the other side of the table, but they weren't the ratty armored jacket he'd emerged from an overturned van in a few days ago. The unfamiliar face staring back at him was disconcerting. He looks back up at the woman and stands, his body distorting so that he looms over the table, nearly matching the height of Doc's avatar.


"You are hedging your offers on the presumption that this may be an elaborate forgery. I am more than a little surprised that your intelligence network is so poor that you were unaware of what the Atlantean Foundation - one of your chief competitors - had dug up, or that it was taken from them. It is even more shocking that your intelligence failure was not the result of improved operational security on AF's part, since not one, but at least two organizations of lesser resources had detailed information on AF's find."


He pretends to ponder for a second or so, then continues. "No, I find it significantly more likely that you know all this and that you have every reason to believe that my offer is genuine. Either way, I am asking that you make your offer assuming the item is what we claim. I assure you, we would not expect you to pay until you have had a chance to confirm its authenticity. However, we need some assurance that you are willing to meet our price once you are satisfied with your appraisal, as allowing a representative of yours access to the artifact represents a significant risk on our part. So, for the moment, take my claim at face value, that the object is exactly as represented in the photographs and quicksilver plate. What would you pay to possess that? You are only held to that sum once you have verified that none of what we have presented to you are anything but what they appear. If you agree to our asking price, we will make arrangements for you to send one agent of your choice - subject to our approval - to inspect the item in person. We will return them to you unharmed and they can confirm what they have seen. We will then make arrangements for the exchange of goods. If they return and state that the item is a forgery or is not worth the asking price, you can decline to complete the transaction. But at that point you have only two options - meet the agreed upon price, or walk away - there will be no more negotiating over price."


The dwarf's face and body take on a less relaxed posture. The voice of authority, or perhaps just irritation with a tinge of exasperation.


"Last chance. 25 million nuyen for a 4th world artifact as depicted in the evidence we have provided to you - so powerful it is near-blinding to behold on the Astral. Insult me again with an inadequate offer, and the bidding opens to a wider audience - you lose your exclusivity and the price goes up. The claws will come out as the dogs fight for the treat. We will all get bloodied and the artifact risks being lost forever. Will you only be the target of some laughing then?"