Shadowrun Play > Play-by-Post

[6E] Dome Sweet Home IC

<< < (3/20) > >>

As he listened to Watcher, Tipperman swirled the drink in his glass.  It certainly wasn't bourbon, although there had been some effort with artificial flavors to nudge the synthihol roughly in that direction.  When Watcher paused for questions Tipperman took a deep swallow and let the stuff burn its way down his throat before he answered. 

The easy solution would be to decapitate the leadership of the two new gangs and let it be known that this would happen to anyone threatening The Tribe, but in the long run that would make The Tribe bigger targets.  And it was apt to result in a lot of bullets and bodies littering the streets.  Hopefully their Johnson would pony up a good enough offer to justify a more elegant solution.

His words come out in quick bursts of bourbon tinted breath, some words almost caressed, corporate buzzwords clearly air-quoted.  He sounds perhaps a bit more like he is making a speech or preaching than having a casual conversation, although he keeps his voice low enough to not easily be heard beyond their table.

“Do you have any ‘constraints’ or ‘incentives’
on what sort of mess we make in this process? 
Or how much we solve for the here and now
or how much trouble we leave fermenting for later? 
Are you looking for ‘quick’ and ‘expedient’
-- and keep us on speed dial for next time? 
Or do you want something more thorough,
a ‘re-engineering’ of the situation?
It changes the job profile quite a bit, you see.”

It wasn't how he'd wanted his words to come out, but his words seemed to have a will of their own since he was damaged.

Omen wore his scuffed and often repaired long coat that had kept him dry and warm for so long... and showed it through countless stains that no amount of washing were ever able to get out.
He had taken the time to shower and trimm his beard and hair - inexpertly. There was already a bit of grey in his hair and the deep lines in his leathery face made him look more like an average hobo. Except for the quite expensive glasses with the integrated vision enhancements.
Once or twice during Watcher's speech he put a green leave into his mouth and chewed.
He nodded at the other man:
"Paving gangs, is it? Not much restraint necessary. Just animals in need of culling.
But out of interest: What are those gangs names and how are they financing themselves? If you shoot them in the knees some gangs on the other side will carve them up for us just fine. We might even get something nice extra out of it if the pay is as shit as Mr. Watcher here has insinuated."

Tipperman runs calloused fingers through his bushy beard -- the radiation hasn't caused it to start falling out, yet -- as he listens to Omen.  He taps the brim of his hat to acknowledge the other man's point, and replies
"Just so I was thinking
Although i thought decapitating
-- Remove the leadership leaving turmoil.
Our basic ideas march together however:
wounded gangs won't threaten, but won't vanish,
It will take time for dangers to grow back.
To me that is the 'quick and expedient'."

Viktor watched the feed from his drones as a dwarf walked up to the Mysterious Mister Watcher. Shortly before the agreed-upon meeting time, a burly, mean-looking ork similarly made his way inside and to the prospective employer. With some reticence, the young dwarf grabbed his glass of synthetic bourbon, hopped down from the bench he'd been using as a hideout, and strode over to accompany the three men.


After the customary brief introductions, followed by Mr Johnsons' initial pitch, Viktor listened to the conversation. The other dwarf, Tipperman, seemed to be asking Mr Johnson for more information about the job; his way of speaking was something Viktor found odd, but intriguing.

"Not quite Cityspeak, but not quite English, either" he thought. "Strange; I wonder if the DSM-IX has any entries on disjointed speech patterns as a symptom." Between listening to the Ork, Omen, and Tipperman discussing options of how to deal with the gangs, the young hacker began running a search of medical journals. Cross-referencing peculiar symptoms like those exhibited by his kinsman should not take long. Once the discussion turned to more drastic measures, Viktor diverted his attention back to the real world.

"Ah..." he managed, then cleared his throat before continuing. "I'm not much for violence, direct or otherwise. That being said, a well-executed counter-intelligence campaign could have the desired effect." He paused for a brief swig of liquid courage, and he observed the reactions of the others over the rim of his glass. "Most gangs these days are beholden to someone or something. I say we find their respective pressure points and squeeze them until we have what we want."

Content at having said his peace, Viktor leaned back in his seat and continued listening.


Dynamyt checked the room as she entered, trying to not look like she was looking. She was pretty much sure she failed she ordered a drink at the bar for appearance sake. She saw a guy matching the description feather had described.
New to this she kept her introduction to a minimum.
She listened quietly to the man's explanation. Gang war OK she tried to listen to the other ideas as she thought of her own. Cat liked this job lots of thing to play with


[0] Message Index

[#] Next page

[*] Previous page

Go to full version