[Number 2]

Welcome to Greenfield, New York chummers! While there aren't any fields, at least not any more, there are plenty of job opportunities. Greenfield is a bustling coastal city, with a population of about 90,000. It gets cold in the winter, as NY usually does. One of the more known things about Greenfield are the "House Boats". Ritzy people can pay a lot of money to live on a luxury cruise boat. The cruise boats are resupplied about every two weeks from small cargo boats.

You all know each other pretty well, being the go-to team for rich Johnsons. Right now you are at a bar celebrating the success of a recent run. (I'll leave the details to you ) It was your standard package retrieval job. The bar is pretty nice, with real alcohol should you be able to pay for it. There's pretty ladies and everything.

[Poindexter]

Duck is not having a good day. He sits sullenly, hunched over in the corner table, blowing through AROs in front of him aggressively. He jabs his finger and swipes things back and forth like the little neon screens owe him money. He's sending and receiving a flurry of messages to varius bill collectors, bookies, and fixers around town, trying to keep the man in his various forms off his back. At the same time, he scours various runner boards, looking for a job that isn't a suicide mission or a joke. Every penny from this last job but a few are gone as soon as they hit his account, but at least no angry men with shotguns are coming to his house now. Frakkin breeder mosquitos, suck a trog dry, day by day. He'd really like to be at home, hanging out with the girls and making sure they're adjusting well to everything, but rent is right around the corner, and he's gotta hustle or those girls are gonna end up on the street right along side him. Rrrrrrrrrr. This is why I aint GOT no damn kids.

>> Send Message
  >> Contact: T-Ball
    >> Message: Ayo Cap-I-tan! You been chillin over there? Shit's been crazy in the hood, but that's some drek for next time we burn one. Got anything that needs doin? Holler at a trog, wiz?

After sending the one last message to his old friend, basically begging for work, he closes all the AROs and leans back in his chair, letting out an audible "GraaahwaaaraaaFuuuckitall!" as he stretches his long arms high above him. Despite how cold it was outside, Duck had checked his coat at the door, wanting to see how much his outfit would offend this hoity toity buncha' breeders he was surrounded by now. He thought it'd be fun to see their reactions to his ripped jeans, combat boots, and faded yellow T shirt with the old El Chupacabracadabra logo in an old school 1990's graffitti font on it, but the longer he spent looking around this place with it's high end lighting system, and it's ritzy patrons drinking their top shelf liquor in thousand dollar outfits, the more irritated he was getting. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot that same elven bouncer with the tattoos checking him out again. He'd been watching Duck like a hawk since he almost caught him trying to smoke zen in the bathroom. That bald headed dandelion eater had BEST stop lookin at me like i'm bout to rob this joint before I make him EARN his frakkin paycheck tonight. And what in the ever fucking SHIT is this bubblegum pop elf jizz they play in this joint?!

Before the vibe in this horrible horrible place can start to get on his nerves, Duck decides he's getting outta here. The FUCK did they talk me into comin in here in the first place? He sends off a quick message on the group frequency to the rest of the team as he picks up his coat from the front, and heads outside to sit in the gopher. Might be cold out there, but at least the music is good.

>> Send Message
  >> Contact: TeamGroupspeak
    >> Message: This place is butt-pee, yall. I'll be in the truck when ya need me. Join me if ya wanna burn one, wiz?

[Number 2]

I'll be posting on Martinchaen's behalf.


Luther looked around the bar where his companions were celebrating and smiled. He went by Karl Müller most days, but right now he was still Pulsar; his icon in the Matrix was always with him, thanks to the deck that was implanted in his head. Even when he slept Pulsar usually had Glyph, his agent program, running simulations and play-by-play reviews of past jobs. "Damn, she's one hell of a looker", he thought as he spotted a red-head in the corner, but as usual he didn't quite have the nerve to go over there and talk to her.

He nursed his drink as Glyph brought up the imagery he'd collected off of the last package. Johnson hadn't specified what was in it and nothing irked Pulsar more than not knowing; he had a curiosity that was rarely satisfied, and this mystery package was no exception. With a thought, he sent some basic instructions through his deck to his agent. "Glyph, run the AR analysis again. I want weight, dimensions, a full 3D analysis. Anything and everything you can think of, old friend." He chuckled to himself as the agent program went to work analyzing the footage, muttering to itself as usual. He just couldn't bring himself to reset the slowly decaying personafix program the agent was running; Glyphs antics were... amusing, if nothing else.

The elf pretended to check on the motorcycle helmet that sat next to him on the bar while sneaking another look at the read-head. "I'll finish the drink, and that's it; I'm walking over there dammit." He made sure that his jacket was unzipped and nodded at the bartender to verify that she had his gear stowed away behind the bar. His trusty old Ares Crusader was still nestled underneath the aerodynamic racing hump on the back of his jacket, cleverly concealed in it's quick-draw holster that had been formed into the hump. The machine pistol was a little awkward on the draw when standing up, especially with gloves on, but when he was hugging the frame of his sports bike it felt much more natural.

Finishing his drink, Pulsar mentally ran through a few exercises trying to come up with all possible scenarios for what could happen if he just walked over and talked to the girl. "Come on, worst case she throws a drink in your face and you're humiliated in front of the guys. Well, and Arclight, but she don't barely count, does she; more chrome in that one than most drones, I bet..."

He stood up, and began making his way of to the red-head to introduce himself.

[Lusis]

This is pathetic. Luz grumbled to herself. The Club AR was an attempt at mimicking the high fashion clubs of Manhattan. The problem was that in those places, when you shut off the AR images, they were still high class. This hole was in reality just an empty room and a sound system - which had some sort of quality through her sound link.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a petite-sized cigar and lit it.  At least it had a decent rum, though not up to the standards of the southern nations.

But at least we were getting that New York scrip, and a wannabe metropolis like this was a decent place to lay low between runs. Still, it was obvious Luz was overdressed by a thousand nuyen.

She sat on the couch on the edge of the club, sipping her drink and watching "Pulsar"  stare uncomfortably at the ginger girl on the other side of her. Luz knew that Pulsar didn't have nearly enough gold in his pocket for that chocha.

She puffed on her cigar and watched him as he made his way over.

 at least there's a show. 

[Koshnek]

Wraith was sitting in a corner table when the message briefly flashed in his image link, and it was gone just as quickly. Ork is gone. I'm not sure about that one. Too ganger for my liking... It is nice having drones though, and we got the job done. Judgement reserved. Wraith was somewhat surprised he was invited being a newcomer to these chummers. Our first mission went without a hitch and we got our pay, so I suppose they feel the same as I do. Results are good.

This job was just what Wraith needed. It allowed him to put in a request for a much needed care package for future missions. Sorry Red. You're a good friend. A man like me needs as many friends as he can get though. This friend is special; you'll like him. Wraith let out a low sigh, grabbed his comm and laid back in his seat. Frag it. Might as well get this drek out of the way.

>Send Message
 >>Mr. Man
  >>>Mr. Man. It's been several days and still no word. What's the ETA on the requested Ordnance?

Moments later a text flashed in and out of Wraith's link.

>Message Received
 >>Mr. Man
  >>> Chill out, baby! Anyone else would have you sittin' on your hoop at LEAST A week for this! I know a guy, and his guy is good. Not as good as me, of course. Expect a delivery tomorrow! Who's the Man?! Yeah baby! Don't forget the spot chummer. This rifle doesn't see much street use ya feel me? Get it and get out.

Tell me, who's the MAN?!

Wraith stared at the comm for what felt like an eternity before replying. You are. He slammed the comm down on the table in a uncharacteristic display of emotion, muttering "I need a fraggin drink." He focused on the AR menu display at his table and quickly scanned the list before selecting a double whiskey on the rocks.

While waiting on his drink, Wraith turned his attention to the rest of the group as Pulsar was approaching the looker in the corner. Good luck chummer. You seem alright. Don't want to see you get burned. Wraith smirked as the guy stumbled into a chair on the way to the table. He played it surprisingly cool acting like he was pushing it in. Smooth. Gotta be quicker than that to fool me though. Wraith glanced at the girl, but she didn't seem to notice Pulsar's blunder. Nice. Looking at her pretty face reminded him of another girl with red hair. Except this one had the palest skin he'd ever seen...and the deepest blue eyes. NO! Wraith shook his head a little and spared Pulsar a final thought before turning away from the scene. Get her Wizboy.

Wraith shot Luz a glance while his drink approached. This one I like. A little dead like me. More obvious. He stopped to remember how the team slipped through the facility. Wizboy's info was spot on and the cameras' panning rates were timed perfectly. Then he recalled just how easily she slipped through the cameras. Trained too. I wonder who? She sneaks well. Not as well as me of course. She communicates well during radio silence Seems to know her tactics. Definitely a welcome sight.

Wraith nodded at the waitress as his drink arrived. "Appreciate it."

[Number 2]

As he walked towards the woman at the other end of the bar, Pulsar used the MARK he'd placed on her commlink just moments before to sneakily edit her AR feed, making it look like a single, long-stemmed rose, petals covered in morning mist, appeared on the bar in front of her. He'd seen the look on Luz' face as he'd finally worked up the courage to stand up, and at this point is was all or nothing. With a slight hint of a German accent, he spoke gently over the wailing music that was currently playing. "Hey, my buddies over there bet me that I wouldn't be able to start a conversation with the most beautiful girl in the bar. Wanna buy some drinks with their money?" He nodded to where Luz was sitting and smiled sheepishly at the red-head, hoping that the woman had brought her sense of humour with her tonight.

The Red-head smiles and says, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

[martinchaen]

Pulsar felt his heart pounding in his chest when the redhead smiled at him. "Yes! I've got an in" he thought, not caring in the slightest that she obviously had no idea who he was. "Anonymity is good," he reminded himself, then remembered that the woman had asked him a question.

"Huh? Oh, right, my name is... ehem... Karl," he finally managed to stammer out. "You got this, stay cool, man" he thought to himself before pushing on. "Wait, don't tell me yours; I'm really good at zis. Erm, guessing names, zat is. You look like you're a..." he said with the hint of German shining through on some of the consonants, and paused for dramatic effect while he rummaged around the in woman's commlink OS for ownership details. "Scarlett. No, too obvious. Hang on, I got zis. You could be a Belle... Hmm, well, there's no denying that you are, of course, but no, that's not your name." He paused again for an instant and then smiled at her. "I got it. Victoria! You're definitely a Victoria." He spoke the name he'd found on the link with some degree of satisfaction, almost as if he was savouring the sound of it, and decided to go out on a limb. "A beautiful name for an even more beautiful woman. May I sit and buy you that drink now, Victoria?" He waived the bartender over, and while he waited for her to acknowledge that she wanted him to sit he frantically searched through her MeFeeds trying to figure out if she had a favourite drink. "Wait, I don't want to come off as some creep stalker, leave the damned link alone and focus on what she's saying, dammit!" he chastised himself, then struggled to make eye contact with the woman in front of him.

All thoughts of Luz and Wraith and even Duckdown, the surly Ork, fled his mind as he lost himself in Victoria's eyes and smile.

[Lusis]

Luz watched the two would-be lovers through her magnified eyes, and her cyberears cut out the horrid, pounding, synthpop enough for them to amplify the conversation.

>Send Message
>>From: Luz
 >>To: Pulsar
  >>>Message: Oi! Look at the smooth talker! You'd think she's never seen one like you before! LoL!

Her eyes zoomed out and she puffed on her cigar and scanned the room. The crowd consisted of a few bored yuppie professionals, a lot of wannabe-yuppie professionals, a few kids that got in based on their looks and fake IDs, and one rich, creepy-old-guy sitting at a table attempting to woo what Luz cynically guessed was a younger co-worker, and an older lady who stumbled out of the restroom rubbing leftover novacoke from under her nose.

Luz caught motion suddenly next to Pulsar. A young, plump girl in a flower dress trotted out of the crowd with a drink in her hand with the other flailing about in excitement at 'Victoria'.

OOOOH! THEEEREYOUAAARE! IAAALMOSTMISSEDYOU! LETMETELLYOUWHATHAPPENEDTODAY! as she held out her fat arm. Victoria rose to greet her and the two exchanged a friendly hug.

Victoria turned to Pulsar. Oh! Hey! this is Karl, we just met.

The young woman (Genie is her name, or is it Jeannie? Luz never mastered the Anglo "J") then proceeded to excitedly tell both of her captives over the next fifteen minutes about some mundane transaction involving shoes or some such. Luz really didn't pay much attention and eventually set her sound filters to block out her rambling. Still, she was disgusted by the woman's jiggling flesh testing the tensile strength of her dress with every rapid movement. It was like a car wreck with fatalities, though Luz found those fascinating.

Luz could barely take a sip from her glass, she was repelled; yet entertained.

>Send Message
>>From: Luz
 >>To: Pulsar
  >>>Message: ¡Aj! Hope you brought a wingman...maybe Duck will jump on that grenade! ¡Qué mujer mas grandecito! And who wears flowers anymore?!

[martinchaen]

Despite the brief interrruption, Jeannie was quickly on her way to what passed as the dance floor in this joint, leaving "Karl" to converse with Victoria in peace once again.

>> Send message
>> It's all good, Arclight, I'm one of a kind...