[rednblack]

<<5 May, 2075 13:27 // Dallas/Fort Worth>>

Thunderclouds loom loud and angry over the city, threatening a rain that the locals know will not be delivered.  Tornadoes are possible, especially in the outskirts of Kaufman and Mesquite, and it's possible that some hail could fall later, only to melt to nothing in seconds on the scorching Texas plascrete.  Despite steady high temperatures and the imposing clouds, Arlington is already in full-swing for their Cinco de Mayo celebrations, a cultural heritage back from the days of the USA.  Reggaeton, Rumba-core, and the highly nationalistic Mex-flex music dominates the scene as refugees insist on their Mexican -- and most decidedly not Aztlan -- heritage with cheap beer, parades, and political stump speeches. 

Throughout the rest of the metroplex, it's another hot and humid Sunday, and for the runners of the city, it's about to get hotter.

@Hopeless,

Ian sits hunched over Breeze's old deck, periodically wiping sweat out of his eyes -- AC on the fritz again.  Surprise, surprise.  He'd like to take a break from all this decker business, hop in the shower to rinse the stink off of him, but water rationing is in full effect, and his shower won't turn on until Tuesday.  So, instead he tries to stay busy, and considers doing a little hot-sim work: it sure gets him out of his body for a bit, though coming back makes him even hotter, but before he jacks in, his comm lights up.  On the display he sees Dadlez's face, done up as usual, her eyes perfectly mascaraed.  No AC troubles where she's calling from.  He gives his face one last swipe with an old t-shirt and answers.

"Mr. Hopeless," the Johnson says, with a smile, "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time?

"If you're free tonight, I'd like to discuss some business with you.  I'll warn you now, it's a bit distasteful, but it involves the, shall we say intelligence breaches, that resulted in all of that trouble out east last month.  You never struck me as the vengeful type, but I immediately thought of you when this crossed my desk.  If you'd like to meet, I'll send off a Pin to you.  Meeting is at 8:00"

@Two-Timer,

Across the city in Dallas proper, another young matrix jockey is happily surfing away from the confines of a much more comfortable apartment.  Since the second of her two runs, she's had a hard time finding any sort of shadow work, and rent is coming up quick, and so "Wraith" is on the prowl for a little solo work.  On a whim she switches over to ShadowHeart, a hub for runners in the southwest CAS and sees a familiar persona, a praying mantis flitting around, obviously looking for someone in particular.  The figure stops, casts a gaze around the host, and his eyes set on Wraith.  In an instant, he's up next to her, his teardrop shaped eyes regarding her critically.

<<@Wraith [Bug] Looks like your lucky day, chummer.  My contact's late, and I got biz to take care of.  Steady workers r so hard to find, chip?  Whadya say?  J's looking for some matrix overwatch.  I'll do ya straight on this one.  My cut'll be 15% of your take home.>>

@Phoenix,

Marissa watches the clouds overhead, convinced that in any moment they will let loose with a Louisiana style rainstorm.  But around her, nobody else seems the least bit concerned. She'd always heard about the Cinco de Mayo celebrations down in Arlington, and now here she is, right in the middle of one of the largest block parties she's ever seen. 

A troll in synthleather cowboy boots, jeans, and a tanktop from across the street catches sight of the wide-eyed tourist, and calls out to her, "Eh, chica, Te estas divirtiendo?"  Seeing that Marissa doesn't understand, his smile broadens, and he crosses the street with two beers in hand. 

"I was asking if you were having a good time?  This your first Cinco, chica?  Say, this party is fine and all, but if you really want the experience, the way we locals do it, I got a partner down the way running a cock fight.  I'm not talking chickens, chica. I'm talking cockatrice.  You know cockatrice?"

He points the way, down an alley, with a cheap tin roof stretched between buildings, and Marissa catches sight of a familiar face.  We'll I'll be damned, she thinks.  There's Mr. House greeting spectators, and laughing his big phony laugh.

@La Sombre,

The bigger of the two birds kicks and pecks furiously, but fails to find any purchase against its smaller opponent.  The smaller cockatrice, likely little more than an adolescent, ducks backward before leaping with outstretched talons.  His right leg slashes down the breast of the larger, but fails to put him down before a counter-attack is in full swing.  The crowd claps and cheers as the fight just got a lot more interesting.  On the third row, La Sombre is wondering why she's here.  Certainly Kya could've found any number of spots for them to meet, but if the Coyote wanted to talk at a cock fight, and the pay was going to be the kind of thing she'd hinted at, well chummer, what's a little para-critter torture among friends.

Kya cheers gleefully, her betting ticket in hand, and leans over.  "They specifically asked for someone of the Atzlaner persuasion, and your skills in particular.  Johnson is very security-conscious.  I think something bad went down last night, and it's time for a cleanup crew.  I was told to stay off my comms, so if you're interested in meeting with the J, I need the go ahead from you to pass along your contact info.  What do you think, chummer?  You looking for work?"

[JackVII]

[05 MAY 2075 | 13:27 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]

>> The cloaked and hooded figure leaned against the virtual bar, examining the various icons and personas moving through the ShadowHeart Host. None approached Wraith. Scrolling through a data file she had lifted from a Stuffer Shack during one of the few drek jobs she had been able to score since her last run went south, Wraith almost missed Bug's persona approach her. Receiving the message, she considered the offer. This was the first real job she had been offered. 15% was a bit much, but considering her rep, she couldn't really turn it down. <<

<<@Bug [Wraith] Happy Cinco de Mayo, omae. I can do matrix overwatch. You got any more details?>>

[rednblack]

Bug's mantis eyes gleam at the inner pupil as he looks closely at Wraith.  Looks like old Bug is riding the trix hot-sim today, not that Wraith has known him to do otherwise.  He gives a little matrix chuckle, his persona twitching from his core, a bit of an unsettling sight really.

<<@Wraith [Bug] They talk a lot, but don't tell me much of anything, wiz?  Word around here, though, is you'll be working for the Johnson who set up the run against the Rangers down at College Station.  Prove yourself with a heavy hitter like that, and you just might be able to shake those whispers, you know?  If that sounds nova 2 u, I'll comm a chummer who'll comm a chummer, and some other chummer'll be along with a data pack for you?  I'm not going to touch the specifics.  Better for everybody that way.>> 

[SgtBoomCloud]

[5 May, 2075.  13:27.  Arlington, DFW]

Must be hella easy to spot tourists...maybe I'm blending in too hard..  When the troll called out to her, the Phoenix straightened up midstep, adopting a wide stance as she looked him square in the eye.  Her lined duster-style overcoat made a shift from the motion, giving brief sight to the dark jeans, heavy boots, and v-cut red tank she adopted to wear.  In some (supposedly vain) attempt to blend into the Texas locals, a cowboy hat was actually on her head, tilted a bit forward to obscure her view, her dark sunglasses doing the rest.  Her hand twitched, her mind's eye visualizing the Warhawk nestled aside her hip, only relaxing upon realizing his intent.  Listening, she cocked her head to one side, taking the beer he offered and sniffing it twice before cracking it open and sipping.

"Cockatrice, eh?  Big fraggin' birds, aren't they..?"  She trailed off, freezing as she spotted the familiar face running the event.  "well drek on me...  She thought to herself as she gave a little nod, handing the beer back to the big guy.  "Eh, why not.  Thanks"  Without glancing back, the human girl stepped across the street, striding confidently as her gloved hands fished around in her pockets, producing a cigarette in one and a lighter in the other.  Placing the smoke on her lips, she cupped her hand and lit it, taking a few puffs to keep it lit before inhaling.

Once arriving at the gathering crowd watching the fight, the Phoenix's eyes were deadset on the organizer, the slick-haired man in the nice suit.  Oh, a colorful tie, how festive.. she thought to herself before stopping right in front of him, jaw setting as she was blasted by the well-rehearsed and highly inflated fanfare.  She greeted it with an exhale of smoke, fishing into another pocket and bringing out a small red poker chip.  "Business so slow you got birds doing your work now?  Thought the light was bad for your skin.."  She spoke flatly, the lit cigarette balanced delicately on her lips whilst she awaited an answer...

[Jayde Moon]

Animal fighting wasn't something that Gabriela went in for, but Kya was always into it, if someone was organizing.  It didn't surprise her to find the coyote here.  The two of them went way back, thick as thieves, and Gabriela always came through for her friend.  When her military duties demanded turning the woman in, she often made sure Kya knew which direction not to go.  Kay did well in those years.  Looked like now that Gabriela needed it, she was returning the favor.

"Aztlaner?"  Gabriela leaned on the rail.  "I suppose I can make that happen.  And work, too?  Just in time.  You coming through for me, bruja.  I trust you, so if you say it's bueno... then send it."

She'd spent enough time fighting Azlan border incursions to make it believable if she needed.  She smiled at her friend and then looked over the crowd, noting the woman waving the chip in front of a fellow trying to pay attention to both the chip and the two birds in the 'ring.'  It only registered because she was the only person besides the look-outs that were engaged in anything but the fight.

Tucking that scene away in her mind, she continued to scan, not expecting trouble, but always ready for it.

[rednblack]

"Business so slow you got birds doing your work now?  Thought the light was bad for your skin.."

"Funny you should say that," House says turning to the newcomer.  "I'm always looking for a bird that could earn me a little cred, and I think the little Phoenix right here might be able to do just that." he eyes Marissa's red poker chip, and produces a blue one from his vest pocket and flips it in his hand.  "Walk with me some, little bird.  Let's get a better view, eh?"

Marissa leaves the now disappointed-looking troll behind -- no doubt he was looking to make a little cred off of a greenhorn's bad betting habits, but seeing that bigger fish were interested, he'd have to find some other tourist.  The pair makes their way closer to the fighting pit, and Mr. House continues, "Most fortuitous that you would end up here today.  I'm scouting talent, and not the feathered kind.  Still, if I'm working the tracks, and I see a horse named Chloe-fide, and it's my daughter -- her name is Chloe -- and if it's my daughter's birthday, I think, hey maybe that would be a good bet.  And what do I do?  I walk home with a little extra jing in my pockets, you know?  Now, this was years ago, long before I opened up my first better's palace, back before the house always won," he laughs at his own joke.

"So, when I come here, to the cock fights, out looking for talent of another kind, and another bird graces my presence, like the star of old that led the wise men to our Lord and Savior, then I must think that this too is a good bet.  What I'm saying, little bird," he momentarily drifts off, catching sight of a pair of women across the pit.  His tie flashes green, and the pair stands and begins making their way over.  "What I'm saying, little bird, is that I came to meet one, but perhaps this is work that you might be interested in as well.  I know of a lady assembling a team tonight, so what I'd like to know is, are your guns itching, Phoenix?"

"I suppose I can make that happen.  And work, too?  Just in time.  You coming through for me, bruja.  I trust you, so if you say it's bueno... then send it."

"Glad to hear you're interested, omae.  Here in a sec, I'll need to make an introduction.  See that man over there, the loud looking one?" Gabriela nods.  Of course she has.  He's the one who doesn't fit in this equation.  "Well, he's every bit as loud as he looks.  Annoying too, but he's the fixer for this little gig, and those poker chips of his stack high."

Gabriela takes in the sight of him showing another newcomer around, using grand gestures like he owns the place as they approach the pit.  She's careful not to stare, though, always looking out on the flanks.  It seems most people here are armed, which is to be expected, but she doubts most would know what to do with those pieces they're packing should it really come down to it.  All but the girl who's getting the grand tour anyway.  Despite the cigarette, the bad trid feel, Gabriela would guess that particular omae could handle herself, and from the way her jacket catches at her hips, Gabriela would also guess that she's packing something larger than LightFire.

A moment later, the man's tie flashes green, and Kya stands.  "That's our mark." Gabriela stands with her, and the two push their way through the crowd and approach the man and his companion just as the crowd goes wild.  It seems the smaller bird, while more dexterous and agile, just didn't have the fortitude to stand up against the larger opponent.  If Gabriela was superstitious she may take that as a bad sign, but before she can give it much thought, the large man has an equally large hand extended.

"Mr. House, at your service," he says beaming.  "Our mutual friend here said you might fit the bill, and from the looks of it, I'd say so.  Let me also introduce Ms. Phoenix, whom it was the greatest of surprises to see today.  If I may be so bold as to get straight to business, I am on a talent scouting mission today.  The meeting will be tonight, and I'm told that the work will take only a few days.  At the end of it, we'll all be a good deal richer.  Your employer, my associate, goes by the name of Ms. Johnson.  Perhaps you've heard of her."

[JackVII]

[05 MAY 2075 | 13:27 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]

>> The cloaked figure rolled up the scroll-like file and pushed it into the darkness of her body. Nodding, she sent the praying-mantis a message. <<

<<@Bug [Wraith] Sounds wiz. You know I don't get a lot of offers, so let's stop beating around the bush. I'm in, send the details when you have them. I need to get ready for the meet.>>

[SgtBoomCloud]

[05 May, 2075.  13:27.  Arlington, DFW]

Behind her dark shades, Marissa eyed the fixer she had known for these past many months, sizing him up.  She has run into him in too many towns, too many times to feel like getting work from him is mere "surprise" or "coincidence".  Was he tracking her movements?  Just a very mobile business man?  Clones?  It didn't matter much in the end, for the Phoenix couldn't help but appreciate his grandeur and outlandishly cheesy demeanor.  It made her nostalgic, that "crooked business man in the know" seen all too often, complete with the totally canned pun of his own moniker.  Admittedly she zoned out during his reminiscing about little birds and horse racing, but snapped back once the important bits came into light, the woman stopping her stride, the thud of her boots sounding as she turned to face him fully in the pause.

"What I'm saying, little bird, is that I came to meet one, but perhaps this is work that you might be interested in as well.  I know of a lady assembling a team tonight, so what I'd like to know is, are your guns itching, Phoenix?"

She let out a breath of smoke, a gust of wind blowing her red-auburn hair to the side as the crowd went wild from the fight reaching a dramatic climax.  In the uproar, Marissa's lips curled into a grin as she brought her left hand up, letting it come to rest on her hip, her voice grating out in a level tone as she spoke through her cig.

"There are two types of people in this world:  Those who shoot guns, and those who dig.  I don't dig."

...well, that was about as good of a confirmation as any.  As she finished her statement, she eyed the pair of ladies approaching them...looked like a human and an orkette by the statures, their dress befitting types familiar with this lifestyle.  Her hands twitched as she faced sideways to them, the breeze shifting her duster subtly to and fro.  In her mind, she saw the two Predators tucked away at the small of her back, and how one in each hand would be appropriate for them should things turn ugly...or the extendable staff at her left hip, maybe, if they rushed...

Staying those thoughts for the moment, Marissa turned to face them as the illustrious Mr. House greeted them in all his bluster, one of her hands reaching up to gingerly hold her smoke, lifting it and tilting her head in a nod upon mention of her handle.  Having already agreed to the meet, she spent the talking period sizing up Mr. House's mark....the orkette, and of Hispanic descent now that she could get a good look.  Hmm...what role do you play, I wonder...

[rednblack]

[05 MAY 2075 | 13:27 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]

>> The cloaked figure rolled up the scroll-like file and pushed it into the darkness of her body. Nodding, she sent the praying-mantis a message. <<

<<@Bug [Wraith] Sounds wiz. You know I don't get a lot of offers, so let's stop beating around the bush. I'm in, send the details when you have them. I need to get ready for the meet.>>

Bug's persona goes slack for a moment, hangs in suspended animation, and then he's back in "himself" again and produces a key hanging at the end of his tarsus, a little digital rabbit's foot on the end.  <<@Wraith [Bug] Locker 20.  Happy running,>>

And with that, Bug flits away out of the host, leaving Wraith with her "key."  Mentally, she pulls herself to the halls of ShadowHeart, laid out like an old high school, lined with lockers and complete with neo-anarchist graffiti.  She finds locker 20, turns the key in some ancient looking padlock and finds a digital slip of paper within.

8:00 pm
Rio D's
Holliday Room
Tremen's party.

[Jayde Moon]

Gabriella's eyes flicked to the Phoenix, taking her in quickly.  On edge, this one.  Bodyguard for Mr. house?  Or a peer?  Guess I'll know soon enough.

"Muy bonito conocerte!" she said, offering her hand to Mr. House.  Her smile was charming and gracious.  A gift of the Gods, perhaps, but despite her goblinization, Gabriella had managed to maintain an exotic beauty , one that had worked in her favor over the years.  "It is very nice to meet you," she translated for herself.

"I hear Ms. Johnson often seeks capable men and women for special work.  I am sure she will be very satisfied with my talents.  I am glad you wish to be direct, for I am eager to meet and see how I may be of assistance."

[JackVII]

[05 MAY 2075 | 13:30 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]

>> With a MARK on the note file, Wraith created a copy and downloaded it to her deck. Snapping her skeletal fingers, she set fire to the virtual note, deleting it from the Host. Checking her deck's clock, she figured she had some time to kill and decided to dig up a little more information on Rio D's to make sure she dressed appropriately to fit in with the crowd. She also wanted to do a little more digging on her employer as well as the run down in College Station. Figuring there would only be so much information on the ShadowHeart host, she exited the sculpted high school Host and moved to the Matrix at large. <<

[JackVII]

[05 MAY 2075 | 14:00 | DFW | Wraith's Doss in South Dallas]

Wraith switched from VR to AR with a sigh. She loved the freedom that virtual reality allowed her but knew that certain things had to happen in the flesh. Standing up, she stretched her arms, trying to loosen them up from having stayed in the same position fro a few hours. On top of that, her left leg was asleep. Frag, I hate it when that happens... Stamping her foot, she mentally clicked on the trid to the local 24 hour news channel, wondering what was going on in the 'plex on this Cinco de Mayo. Things tended to get a little weird during this holiday, with the odd tension between old world Mexican nationalism and modern day Azzie hatred.

Wraith walked into her small bedroom and opened the closet. Flicking through her clothes, she pulled out her business skirt-suit. Accessing it wirelessly, she recolored it in the red, white, and green of old world Mexico, figuring it would be a good choice for the day. The colors faded across the suit slowly for a subtle effect. To coordinate with the rest of the outfit, she pulled out a pair of boots and a cowboy hat to complement the look. Pleased with the outfit, Wraith laid it all out on her bed and returned to her living room to check up on the trid.

Accessing her headware, she recorded time reminders for when she needed to take a shower, call a cab, and get to the meeting location. She planned to get there early to do some preliminary hacking and get a feel for the area. She was still not ready to trust a Johnson.

[Poindexter]

Ian had never smoked deepweed before. It's not that he's anti-drug. He'd just had the ability to see the spirit world since he was a young man, and so an addictive drug with side effects that lets you see the astral was never something he took interest in, or looked into. But for the last two weeks, he's been in possession of three ridiculously high-grade samples of the drug; one of them, decorated by a red band may even be fatal. I'd have put a fuckin' skull and crossbones on something lethal though, wouldn't I? He'd sit, inspecting the sealed container and contemplate heading down the street to a smoke shop, buying a pipe, and smoking some of it, but never followed through. He tells himself that he never smoked it cause it was potentially worth too much money, but really, it's cause he chickened out. He has, however, bought a dose of regular street grade deepweed from a shady ork woman in Arlington at an outdoor concert. He's pretty sure he overpaid, but he doesn't care. He's told himself that he wants to smoke regular deepweed first, so that once he gets around to smoking some of the lab stuff, he'll be able to tell the difference. Yesterday, he finally got up the guts to leave the apartment, and he walked the six blocks to the smokeshop, and was almost to the door when the train went screaming by overhead. Again, he chickened out and headed home.

Today, it's hot as fuck and he'd like to not think about smoking or selling or deepweed in any fashion. At first his plan was to pay a small fee for temporary access to a low-noise game server and play some Xeno-monkey Fu, but just as he's about to "click yes", he has a responsible thought. He doesn't have many of those, and he's learned to cherish and obey them. YOU LAZY PIECE OF SHIT! FUCK Xeno-monkey Fu! Fuckin get on that fuckin deck and fuckin practice, bitch! The fuck is your fuckin problem, any fuckin way?! He begrudgingly follows his own abusive inner-voice, and exits out of the game.

After brushing his ratty, sweat dripping hair out of his face yet again, he stands up and heads into the other room; his bedroom. He sits down on his creaky bed, reaches under his pile of three limp, battered pillows, and removes "The Savior's Deck", wrapped in the nicest article of clothing Ian owns; a pair of tan suit pants that are actually clean and pressed. They haven't fit him in years, but they used to be his "school and job interview" pants. Back before the shadows, before a lot of things. He unwraps the deck, powers it up and spends the majority of the day going over the legacy left him by a legend, slowly gaining familiarity and skill with it. He hadn't noticed how fucking hot it had gotten in here until his Avalon pipes up. He's positively drenched.

When he sees the face on the other end, he's torn. On one hand, Dadlez set up the biggest clusterfuck of a run you've ever been on. But on the other hand, she knows that, and she knows that when she calls "Hopeless" for a job, the job gets done, even if there's security leaks, which she did admit to and apologize for. He hesitates for a moment, but he can see the place she's calling from in the background behind her. I wanna live in a place like that. It's not long before he realizes that water rations suck. He wraps and hides the Chariot under his pillows again, then answers the call.

"Mr. Hopeless," the Johnson says, with a smile, "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time?

"Ms. Dadlez," He gives her a casual smile back, amused at the way people's street-names sound funny with formals thrown in front. Although, you gotta admit, "Mister Hopeless" almost sounds like a superhero name. A self depreciating chuckle. "Never a bad time."

"If you're free tonight, I'd like to discuss some business with you.  I'll warn you now, it's a bit distasteful, but it involves the, shall we say intelligence breaches, that resulted in all of that trouble out east last month.  You never struck me as the vengeful type, but I immediately thought of you when this crossed my desk.  If you'd like to meet, I'll send off a Pin to you.  Meeting is at 8:00"

Not the vengeful type, huh? His mind briefly flashes back to the ride in Error's car on the way to blow up Big Daddy at the train station. Despite being "in charge" of the mission, he'd lost control of the team, and himself, to some degree. He had been against using explosives at a train station, but his words couldn't sway the team, and even he'd had to admit it was the only viable option. So, he just planted himself in the backseat of the car, trying to feel like a nova prime bad-ass. His team of four were on their way to avenge not only their comrade, but all the other "Not like us's" the fucker had probably hurt in his violent little life. Ian can remember feeling like a righteous angel of death at the time. He feels like an asshole, now; after a couple weeks to think about it. Ian thanks his lucky stars that they got stale info on him. He remembers being relieved when the team discovered it.

His smile turns into an embarrassed smirk and he nods. With a long exhale, "Eight o'clock it is, Ms. Dadlez.

What should I wear?"

[rednblack]

@Phoenix and @La Sombre,

Having made introductions and fulfilled her part, Kya gives Gabriella's shoulder an affectionate squeeze and politely excuses herself to get good eyes on the next match.  Once she's gone, Mr. House flips his blue poker chip to Phoenix, and produces another, which he flips to Gabriella, the blue plastic making a flawless arc interrupted by a quick sideways swipe with her hand.  "Muy bien, senoritas," Mr. House says, his Spanish inflected with a heavy southern drawl.  "I am sure you will find this to be special work alright.  You got the meet details in those greedy little paws a yours.  Happy running, ladies.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go make sure that pit master isn't getting any rogue ideas in his head, thinking I'm just gabbing away with two of God's most beautiful creatures and not watching his hand in the till.  Adios, omaes."

With that, Mr. House takes two steps before he begins booming in his big announcer voice toward the ork who's been taking bets on the next card, a fight between a cockatrice named "Wily Lee" and one named "El Presidente."  Marissa and Garbriella slot the data from Mr. House's poker chip to find the location for Rio D's, and a reservation for 8:00 in the Holliday room.

@Hopeless,

"Eight o'clock it is, Ms. Dadlez.

What should I wear?"

"Let's call it 'business casual.'  If you feel more comfortable with a pistol, that won't be a problem.  Slacks, a jacket if you have one, but this isn't really a suit and tie kind of place.  Fashion armor is always in style with these cowboy types." As she's talking, the Johnson sends a Pin for Rio D's, in downtown Dallas.

"I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Hopeless."

[Poindexter]

"If you feel more comfortable with a pistol, that won't be a problem."

Ian cocks his head to the side and makes a funny face as if she had suggested wearing a swimsuit. "A pistol?" He cocks his head to the other side, trying not to admire the pretty face on his comm too much. "I'd never bring a pistol to a meet with you, Ms. Dadlez." Still can't make himself stop smiling at her though. It's not everyday one gets to chat with an attractive woman. What harm is there in enjoying it, right?
 

"Slacks, a jacket if you have one, but this isn't really a suit and tie kind of place.  Fashion armor is always in style with these cowboy types." As she's talking, the Johnson sends a Pin for Rio D's, in downtown Dallas.

"I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Hopeless."

He smiles, nods, and gives only a one word answer before disconnecting the call; "Wiz."

Over the next six hours, Ian keeps busy. First, he lines up all of his gear, or everything he's bringing with him anyways; The armor jack, some half decent tan pants that aren't worn at the cuff too much, brown shoes that will look exactly as scuffed and shitty as they are if inspected at all, and a faded green T shirt finish off his clothing. As for hardware, he'll be bringing the Meta as his main comm, but plans on bringing the Avalon turned off in his pocket, in case he should need it. He'll bring the helmet and keep it in the shoulderbag along with his infared flashlight, his earbuds, and a slap patch. The stunrod is going up one sleeve of the jacket like it always does. He's scratching his filthy head for the hundredth time today, trying to decide whether or not he wants to bring a grenade or two with him. If the summoning doesn't go well, bring one.

Next, it's time to summon an appropriate spirit for tonight. Just something to watch your back, right? He spends an hour sitting at the window with his third eye open, just watching the astral go by, looking for just the right spirit to ask for help. Eventually, he sees the one he's looking for. A large and ponderous tortoise slogging it's way through the spirit world grabs his attention as soon as he spots it. A thick shell and the wisdom to not act impulsively. That's what I need. He calls out to it from the window. "Excuse me, Sir! Pardon me, Sir! I need to ask for your help this evening! Can we talk?"

With a low southern belle accent, it rumbles back, "It's ma'am." but smiles, showing she is not offended. "My apologies, ma'am." he apologizes anyway, humbly, then continues. "To the point however; Tonight, I fear I might require the protection and wisdom of one such as yourself, should events not go my way. Would you be willing to tag along with me this evening for a short time? As you can see, I'm quite flimsy, but I'm good company." She chuckles back at him, flattered. "I'll give you three wishes, sweetheart." her bass filled voice booms out in the astral. "Thank you ma'am. I won't waste them." He bows to her, then closes his third eye and the window.

-----------------------------

A few hours later, it's a quarter to eight and Hopeless is stepping out of a low end taxi-cab looking nice and ready to do business. Well, nicer than he'd expected to. He'd had no idea how he was going to make himself presentable for this meet and had resigned himself to looking and smelling foul, but luck was on his side today. During the short walk to the corner where he was to meet the taxi, he came upon a few mexican orkish kids who'd somehow busted open the fire hydrant on the corner and were partying like there was no tomorrow. Aint it a holiday or something today? He stripped down to his underwear, stowed his clothes on top of the bag and cleaned himself as best he could, as quickly as he could. The last thing he needed was some drunk dad asking questions about the naked thirty-something hanging out with his kids, or one of the kids stealing his bag or clothes, so he kept his eye on his stuff and he hurried, but just that little amount of water did wonders.

His hair is still a little bit wet under his tan floppy "Gilligan" hat as he tips the elvish driver ten on top of whatever the fare is and steps out onto the street Dallas in front of Rio D's. Approaching the door, he wishes he still had Dr Ken's crappy used SIN, but the Doc had, justifiably wanted it back.. Emmanuel Vasquez wasn't so bad a guy. Beats having no legal name at all.