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[5e IC] Call of Fate [2076 Game Thread]

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Jack_Spade

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« Reply #1170 on: <01-23-17/0631:10> »
The shutter rattled as if the whole structure would come done any second as Isaint entered his storage.
It had taken a bit more than a month to get from Italy back to Britain. Beside a slight detour to the cloister to visit his sick chummers and to refill his medicine he had taken a small security job in Vienna - above board and with a brand new Identity. Just a weekend to accompany two bratty Tir princes to the opera and all the other nice cultural things Austria's capital was famous for - plus of course all the other seedy places young rich people wanted to visit. The meditation technique allowed him to avoid sleep altogether - especially since he now had gotten into the habit of switching into the relax state whenever he had a minute. Beside an attempted robbery the whole gig had been quite boring and the two elf boys were now safely back in Ireland.
At least it had helped him get over the fact that he couldn't visit his family anymore. He couldn't remember consciously deciding to return to London, but he felt something like anticipatory happiness when he red the confirmation matrix-message for the ferry ride to Dover.
He wondered, what Arrangement Al and Robyn would have found for their wildly differing lifestyles. And what Rick had been up to. A powerful mage like him certainly had no trouble to find employment...

Yet for some reason he pushed back contacting the team.
It made sense after all to get your shit together before you started to make calls. Isaint knew himself good enough to know when he was making excuses. They had worked well enough together, complementing each other's abilities and even shared camaraderie around the camp fire - so to speak.
But as always there was that nagging feeling, that they were mere colleagues instead of friends. He had lost most of his friends, all his lovers and now probably all ties to his family as well. That left him with an extensive network of contacts and trusted chummers, but it had been years since he found himself with a group he readily wanted to be friends with. Better to postpone a potential disappointment.

So now he was getting all his stuff (and it had become quite a lot in the last half year) into his new domicile. The drones were quite helpful at that, carrying all the weapons, ammunition, armor, some more weapon and weapon related gear, tools and last but not least furniture into the waiting truck.   

During the trip he wondered again how his fixer always got to know so quickly about new available places. True, he wasn't looking for something in the city, but still the new dig was great: A small flat integrated into an old warehouse with enough room to set up his drone shop.

There were very little personal items - Isaint had long ago given up forming attachment to objects. There was always the possibility that he had to torch everything and leg it. Or - a he had learned while they had stayed at Al's place - someone might summon a super fire elemental and do it for you.

Finally, everything was in order, the drones were working on his guns and he had entirely run out of things to do instead of phoning his chummers.
'Well, time to get back into the game...'


#527
talk think matrix

To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield
Revenant Kynos Isaint Rex

obidancer

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« Reply #1171 on: <01-26-17/0212:16> »
And here he was. Above. Outside. Deckard just stood there for a moment, appreciating the drizzling rain dripping down his face and coat, as to wash off the evil of Below. The cold breeze would soon start to chill him, but for now he enjoyed its freshness -consciously putting aside the knowledge of pollution in London. It was rejuvenating. He took a deep breath letting the scents spark his memory and exhale slowly. He was alone in the street. So he walked, no minding getting rained on. He welcomed his return to a more 'normal' society. 

He caught a cab, a little more walk, then went to pick up his bike. Less than an hour and he was home. Finally. The Apartment was modest but comfy. Most of the bedroom was transformed into his 'study', an eclectic mix and match of many traditions, that formed his Lodge, of his Sanctuary as he liked to call it. The living room and kitchen shared the same room but it was big enough to not feel like he was watching the trids in the kitchen, and also partly due to the very comfortable couch separating the two. The Apartment was on the fourth and top floor; Deckard's probably favorite feature for he had a quick access to the rooftop.

He hanged his wet clothes, looking forward to send everything to the cleaner and went straight for the shower in which he stayed forever, as if London's water was enough to cleanse him his experience. Finally clean, dry and warm, the Mage collapsed on his bed and within  few seconds was sound asleep.

Deckard opened his eyes. The day was coming to dusk. He turned on his commlink and realized he had slept for more than 48 hours! Yet all he remembered was laying down after the well deserved hot shower. He sat on the bed, pondering about the past events. It was time to get back to a more 'normal' life. Fighting Horrors along a Great Dragon wasn't something he wished to be doing very often, if ever even.
Rick Deckard - Circles of Fate
Kachina - Shaking the Shadows

obidancer

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« Reply #1172 on: <01-26-17/0221:03> »
The long greasy blond hair of the emaciated man half covered his face and looking at him, Deckard wondered how the man could see the delicate work he was performing. He was "Trigger". He was a relatively young human, a little younger than Deckard maybe, but the wear and tear on his face added easily an extra 10 year. He was a man of a few words, but also Deckard's go to person for any gear related problems. Procurement wasn't his forte, probably a lack of proper connections, but if totally illegal items were not really to be considered, he had, in the past, got his hand on a few restricted item for Deckard and he was good with Ammo, all sort. What the Mage appreciated in the Armorer, however, was his skill at fixing and maintaining things. Most importantly, the man had always handle with care and respect the maintenance of Deckard's father's Ruger Superhawk.
The place they were was Trigger's workshop - a hidden room in the back of an isolated Stuffer Shack that could use some organizing and cleaning and certainly some fresh air. Crates, electronics part, damaged drones, empty food containers all litter the place, floor and shells.
So? asked Deckard
"So you should stop looking over my shoulder like a grumpy tutor. That ain't gonna make me work faster. "
Sorry. Deckard stepped back and roamed the small room, worried he probably break something if he touched anything.
"Well I'm done, anyway." Trigger offered back the heavy revolver that once belonged to Deckard's father. "Your gun is in perfect condition, you worry too much. It has been harden, believe me it can take a beating before it start malfunctioning. Beside, the flashlight under it is the only thing with a bit of electronics. You don't even have to worry about hackers and all."
Deckard approached and gently took the weapon, inspecting it a few seconds before holstering it back in his coat.
"You look stressed. "Trigger said, very randomly.
Me stressed? Nah, things are actually pretty quiet lately.
"What's with the shake, then?" He pointed at the Mage's hand.
Deckard lifted and looked at his own hand. His fingers were twitching with tremors. Again. Drek.

...Just ah... a little impatient I guess. He put his hand in his pocket. And changed subject, I send you list of some gear I'd like to get my hands on (terrible at changing subject on top of that!). Any luck?
"Yeah, your protections are pretty basic and even legal. The mask, it'll take me a few more days to install the required electronics.  "

Perfect, I'll transfer you the sum as agreed. Ping me when you're done.

"You got it Pal. "
Rick Deckard - Circles of Fate
Kachina - Shaking the Shadows

obidancer

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« Reply #1173 on: <01-26-17/1135:59> »
Deckard was sipping a drink in this low key lounge not far from West Elm. It had been yet again another 'black night' as he now called it. A dreamless night, just fall asleep and wake up, no a single image to recollect. He had been expecting some nightmares after the events in Lyonese. But instead it seemed he was barred from any dream. Some would say he had picked the right straw, but for a Magician like him, he had learn to appreciate and analyze his dreams and the visions, clues and understandings had strong impact in his understanding of the Mystical Arts.

But above all, his dreams had been the only place where he could still interact with his deceased wife. He felt like he was missing something now. Like his broken heart had taken over... That and -though sporadicly- the shaking had persisted.
 
"Prosto paren', kotorogo my ishchem" he heard behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know who they were. But he did, twisting around the bar stool. His two Russian friends, Alexander's goons. The taller and most imposing was a Troll with enough scars on his face to wonder if he was trying to shave with a Monowhip. The shorter of the two was nonetheless a force of nature; a Human at least two heads taller than Rick.  Alexander Dimitrov was the guy who had loaned him the huge sum he needed to keep paying for his wife's hospital care. Alexander was not a guy to mess with; clear ties with the Mafia and of course there were certainly a few people ahead of him in the 'hierarchy'. In other word, dispatching him was not a really an option worth the trouble.

"Comrades!" Deckard said opening his arms in an inviting motion. "I was just on my way to pay your boss Sasha"
"Mister Alexander Dimitrov don't like late payers."
"Late? No, no. no. I have till the end of the week. A deal is deal, I've been paying fair and square... mostly." The Troll grinned, certainly remembering the poor soul he last last beat up. "And seriously, I can pay him and... the tab is opened, why don't I get you fine gentlemen a drink... or two.
The two goons looked at each others and nodded.
"Deckard, my friend, let me show you how it's done. Bartender. Vodka!"

Two hours later, the trio had moved to a more private booth. The Troll's broken english was now barely understandable. The second bottle of expansive Vodka was almost empty. The big human was quiet, doing some contortions with his face, trying to chase away the heavy hit of the alcohol. Deckard was supposed to be in a coma right now; trying to compete against a Russian Troll was a stupid idea. Yet he was still standing - well, seated - to the wonder of everyone else. A subtle Detox spell had been enough to take care of the alcohol, the rest was all about his acting skill. He tried to 'look' drunk. He poured the remaining of what was in the bottle in the Troll's glass, And rose his, mumbling some sounds like 'Nasdrovia' or something like this. The Troll chug his glass. After a short pause, he held a burp, got up and stumbled his way toward the bathroom.

Deckard turned toward the Big Russian with a nonchalant grin:
Let's go see Alexander! ...
« Last Edit: <01-26-17/1140:57> by obidancer »
Rick Deckard - Circles of Fate
Kachina - Shaking the Shadows