[adamu]

Al gladly accepted the drink. Then he grinned huge like an unshaven wolf, cigarette jutting from one side. "Heh, hon, ol' Al ain't never not all right."

He wasn't feeling it, and he figured maybe this one could see that, but if she wanted to look that hard she was welcome to it.

In any case, he appreciated her kindness. Though he was starting to worry he might have to punch someone soon. Literally every man in the place had their eyes on her, and some looked like they were getting antsy.

Naturally he congratulated himself on being the one she was talking to.

Then he played back the sequence and words of his last couple of conversations in his mind, and realized that she and Alyce were communicating with each other amidst his little personal drama. Which meant the Princess here had an idea what was going on.

"Yeah," he started again, more seriously, "I'll be all right. Git there one path or t'other. Jist need a minute ta git my bearin's, I reckon. Tell her that, would ya, next time yer doin' girl talk. Tell 'er in a way'll git through her thick head. Cuz ain't like I'm gon' have much chance for peaceful cogitation in the next couple days, it don't seem."

Then he turned and called to the bartender. "Belay that, amigo. The IPA's on me." He stuck his hand out to the tiny creature on the bar stool, grateful for the opportunity to catch up on his manners. "Alouicious Harlan Guthrie, esquire, at yer service. An' this here tall glass o' water's Iris."

[pistolgrip]

Jackhammer walked outside behind the little one, then watched as Al and that steampunk girl sped off, spraying the curb with tire splash. He watched them go for a while, trying to figure out how they might know each other, before he snapped back to the present. Trouble was, little guy was gone. An indignant sneer crossed his face as he looked behind him and back towards the establishment. He turned back in time to see a van pull around the corner and out of sight. "Drek, really?"

The cab pulled up to the King's Head in what Jackhammer figured was cabby scenic route time. Not feeling too generous, he paid without a tip and stepped into the street. A guy on some piece of drek bike honked his excuse for a horn as Jackhammer enjoyed a leisurely crossing. Sometimes it was nice to just remember where you were in the natural order. And Jackhammer knew that out here on the streets he was at the top of the food chain.

Once in the doors, Jackhammer snapped his jacket once to clear the rain. He looked at the door man and began, "I'm here with some--" the guy was pointing with his thumb before the rest of the words made it out. Jackhammer shrugged and moved on, his heavy bootfall announcing his arrival before he reached the top of the stairs. Once in the room, he noted a few of the team seated together and the cute blind girl conveniently sitting alone, and looking a bit wet. Jackhammer strode up and tapped out a drink order on his 'link before seating himself next to her. "By the way, my name's--" he paused slightly, still feeling a bit alien with his introductions in this shadow world, "--Jackhammer."

[Mercy Merchant]

Robyn passes by Al and Iris at the bar on the way in, but decides to just push on.   Once in the private room she sits at the table where she will be less likely to get people wet.  She pops up the virtual menu and orders the Shep'n'Ale special as recommended, and then watches as the others file into the room.   She is brought out of her funk when a man sits down next to her and introduces himself.  She turns her face to him and smiles as she holds out a hand.  "It is nice to meet you, Jackhammer.  My name is Robyn Lysander.  Sorry to be so wet, but my umbrella chose a remarkably bad time to bloody fail."  She reaches into one of her packets and pulls out a soggy pack of Lucky Strikes.  Frowning, she turns back to Jackhammer.  "Drek.  I guess the rain fragged the bloody things.  Would you happen to have a fag on you?

[pistolgrip]

Jackhammer blinked at the woman, staring down at her wet cigarettes. It took a moment, but the light came on and he figured out what she was asking. "Those things will kill you." he said with a shake of his head. "But I'll buy you a drink. Something to warm you up." he offered, pulling out his 'link and reconnecting to the menu.

"Uh... do you need me to read it to you?" Jackhammer asked nervously, quickly adding "The drink menu?" With a big ork with a little commlink sitting next to a strange blind girl, it might have been an almost comical scene to onlookers. Jackhammer only had two good jokes for people who liked to laugh at him though, and they were both busy trying to work a touchscreen menu. "Oh, and uh, nice to meet you too."

[Mercy Merchant]

Robyn stops to consider the man then nods.  "Yes there is a good chance that these bloody things will kill me some day, but I am sixty-five years old and still kicking about.  I actually quit once for several years, then fell off the wagon again about eight years ago.  And one would think a doctor would know better, right?  And it is kind of you to offer me a drink, but I had a whiskey at Angel's and have ordered an ale with dinner.  While it is ever so tempting to have another, I know my limits and more than that could have my clothes falling off and that could embarrass several people.  So I am afraid that I will have to say no to your kind offer.  But it is sweet of you to ask.  Oh, yes.  This place sells fags and I can get a pack sent up."

In a flash, she pulls up her virtual menu and orders two packs of Lucky Strikes.

[obidancer]

"Say mate, you do look a bit subdued. That bruise... you aren't having any family trouble, do you?"

Deckard seemed surprised by the question. His jaw clenched a bit. I... yeah... you could say that. His eyes came close to watering; it still hurt him a lot simply to think about Cora. He touched his cheekbone again. But that ain't it. It's a family of sort but definitely not mine.
His stared at ISaint. The bruising is just a small altercation with the Russians. I may have borrowed some money without reading all the fine print.
He omitted any comment about the passing of his wife. Maybe he just wasn't ready.

Robyn entered all wet, like the rest of some of them. ISaint had rode their bike in the rain, the two of them were wet too! Deckard had his coat drying on a chair. Don't worry, it's gonna take some time for a few of us to dry too.   

Everyone made their way finally to the private room.
So let see if I got that right, he said pointing at each one.
ISaint, Jackahammer, Half-Pint, Ms Robyn, Isis, and that would be what, short Al and Big Al, pointing first at human Al then the huge creature.

[Mercy Merchant]

Robyn notices when the others come in, to include Al, Iris, and Halfpint.  She nods at Deckard as he lists the team members by name.  "Yes, for me, but you do not need to place the Ms in.  I am perfectly happy with just Robyn."

[Csjarrat]

He nodded at Al in thanks, cheers mate, thanks very much. Nice to meet you too, iris! Seems like a few of you guys worked together before? You guys spent much time below?
He took the half pint glass and took a sip, for most humans the half punt was a small portion, but for him, it would last most of the night unless things got fun.
He followed the others upstairs whilst chatting and nodded as he was introduced to the other members of the team. Most towered above him as he saw the world from the height of a child, even as a fully grown adult. He popped onto the end of the bench at the long table and took a long glue of the hoppy ale and wiped his stubble clean of the head

[Jack_Spade]

Isaint did a short head count and nodded satisfied. The team had assembled and was probably as ready for business as it would get.
"So, Ladies and Gentlemen, Chummers and Chummerinas, it's time for a little audit. Most of you know some of the others, but for this mission we'll need full disclosure about our pooled resources and abilities."
He made his commlink display an AR construct with the data they had received from their Johnson while making also sure to send Al a 2D version on his link.

"As you probably all know, the Underplex is quite secure towards the topside - getting in and out with weaponry or tools of the trade would be pretty challenging  - not to mention the goods we want to transport.
That's probably why our Johnson suggested the route through Below. My personal experience with this place is pretty bad, but I'll defer that part to Iris and Robyn as I gather that they have a bit more experience regarding routes through that place.

Which brings me back to my initial statement: What do you have and what can you do and where do you need help. Don't hessitate to admit the last part. We are venturing into a pretty unforgiving environment. If you keel over because you have a mold allergy and didn't tell us, that might put a severe crimp in our style.

So I'll start: My handle is Isaint, I'm what's colloquially called a Physical-Adept, specialized on speed, gun play and stealth. I have quite a bit experience with urban warfare tactics and bodyguarding. I see it as my primary job to keep you all alive.
I do carry a lot of gadgets with me - the latest being an upgraded sparring drone, acting as my driver, paramedic and sentry. People tell me, that my greatest weakness is my lack of social tact. So don't hesitate to remind me of that when I'm about to commit a social faux pas.

My take on this situation is, we find out what we can about the target in the Underplex, look for the closest entrance to Below and secure the route beforehand. When we hit the target we hopefully have the advantage of a simultaneous distraction. Ideally we go in and out quietly. If that's not possible, we go in quiet and out really loud, get into Below and collapse the way behind us.

Your turn."

[BrickyardBabe]

Iris listened as Isaint laid out his bona fides, idly wondering who'd died and made this big lug God. Then she shrugged mentally. Didn't matter, she supposed. She was here on a job, and she'd do her job to the utmost. If he thought collapsing a way into or out of below was going to be easy though, he was in for quite a surprise.

Iris had remained standing, her back against the wall by the door, one leg bent to bring her foot up to rest on the wall. When Isaint finished speaking, she reached down to stroke the top of her wand and said, "I'll go next." She tapped the outside of one eye, which glittered and shifted in hue as she looked around the room. "I am called Iris on account of my eyes. To save tiresome questions, yes, they are real and yes, they came like that." She smiled along the table at Isaint and Deckard. "I am a mage and initiate of the second grade, as well as something of a social butterfly and passable knife-fighter. My skills in magic lie primarily in the direction of Health and Mental manipulation, though I am a fair combat sorceress." She drew her wand from her boot slowly, the slim length of elegantly carved black wood shining in the light of the conference room. "In terms of general assets, what you see is mostly what you get," she smirked and gave a vague gesture toward her chest, "and that has usually gotten me where I need to go without fighting, but for the sake of completeness..."

Iris activated her wand, the power focus roaring to life astrally, though to mundane eyes the carved designs and flowing script began to glow, mirroring the colors reflected in Iris' eyes.

"There is also this." She deactivated the wand and slid it home, saying, "I have a knife in my other boot that is similar, though far less powerful." She crossed her arms under her breasts again and said, "I am reasonably facile with recognizing, reading, ferreting out, and controlling thoughts as well. And I'm sure you've all noticed the voice. I am a dryad, so I am gifted with a singular ability to talk and sing and perform, which I prefer to employ to forestall combat as long as possible."

Iris met Isaint's eyes and said, "I think your plan has some merits, but also some flaws that are rooted in Below. Firstly, the idea of collapsing an entrance is...not without pitfalls. The West End is something of a disaster, structurally, especially around Shadowtown. The blast required to collapse an entrance to Below, which are usually somewhat reinforced and fortified and may be guarded in other ways, could wreak havoc on London Above. Collapsing tunnels usually does not pan out very well for the environment directly atop them." She shrugged. "I do not know if that is a concern to you."

"Second, securing a route in Below and then traversing it would require us to split our strengths over a considerable area." Iris continued doggedly. "The West End is close to Earl's Court and the seats of many of the powers Below. Without a guarantee of passage from one of the houses, we would be easy pickings if we tried to scatter to hold a route open, and if we simply cleared one and then went on our way, we would not find it as we left it. Below abhors a vacuum. I would not recommend a writ of protection from the first house, anymore. There are those who would not honor it, but there are several powers that might grant us passage and make our lives much easier. Several that we could use as cover as well, appearing to be on house business."

[Jack_Spade]

"Thanks and duly noted. No collapsing tunnels." Isaint respectfully inclined his head towards the sorceress.

"But maybe we can get our hands on some foam grenades or other means of slowing pursuers.

In your opinion, are those guards you mentioned enough of a deterrent that a corp sec force won't try to follow us?

In any case this sounds as if a little diplomatic mission prior to the heist would be prudent to secure an in- and egress with the least amount of trouble.

On that point - just so you know, I have to admit that the last run in Al, Jackhammer and I had with the House of Flowers will quite probably have made us some enemies there."

#248

[BrickyardBabe]

Iris considered the question for a moment. "It...depends," she said with a grimace, "like so much else in Below. Some entrances are more well-used than others, some lead to more interesting places. An entrance into The Warrens won't have the same security as one that leads you to the doors of The Iron Company or The Void Court. In the West End, though?" She pursed her lips, then nodded. "Yes, I believe they would. And even if they did not, crossing the Grand Span at Knight's Bridge to get into the court proper would lead them past the Tolltaker Knighthood, and not even a Firewatch team is going to find them a simple matter to pass."

Iris looked at Al and Jackhammer with some new respect, smirking. "I'm impressed, sirs. House Laesal is not to be taken lightly. There may be hope for you below yet." She shrugged artlessly. "I am not much beloved of The House of Flowers myself. If any amongst you have any musical or performance talent, we could form a troupe and guards and go by way of The Night Symphony. If anyone has any juicy paydata they're looking to offload, we could try the Webweavers. Otherwise, we fall back on our militant skills and talk to the Iron Company or The Void Court. One always needs grist for the mill, and the other is...well, an unknown, though Brannagh at least is known to me. Her court deals in necromancy, augury, and the summoning and binding of spirits, but little is known about their motives."

[obidancer]

ISaint description was pretty accurate for the time they had worked together. He could have emphasis the stealth part by explaining about his face changing abilities, which could be startling for some. Heck, if not for his own Astral sight, Deckard may not even have recognized him earlier.

Then Iris made her introduction. His mouth dropped, but not for the same reason than most mundanes. Big boobs, Barbie doll looks were not his style of women; heck Cora was this cute tiny brunette would could walk unnoticed in the street, until she smiled that was.... The mouth dropping surprise was at the most powerful magical artefact he's ever seen! When the girl activated the focus, the astral world came to life with an aura he'd never seen before. Whao... can I touch? Of course after Iris presentation of her physical 'assets' that sounded very wrong.

I guess I'll go next...
I go by Deckard, Magician extraordinaire, Bounty Hunter and Occult Investigator. I'm the best telekinesis you'll find this side of the pond. For those who know, he looked back at Iris, I'm an Initiate of the Higher Arts too, i.e. fancy word for badass magical talents, really. I can basically 'read' or feel past events that happened around objects. It's known as Psychometry. Pretty useful for investigations. And in a quest to communiate better with Spirits, I've lately developed some interesting bonding capabilities. So don't freak out if you ever see me with an energy aura or something.
Combat isn't my specialty, no fireball or mind wrenching death ray, sorry, but my old man taught me to never leave the house without my gun. I'm not saying I can bullseye every time, but I've practiced at least. 
Outside of that, well I'm known for breaking things down on the occasion. Not sure why... sorry. Oh and I hate snakes!  But my biggest weakness is to never dare reminding ISaint of his social faux-pas, so bare with him, he always means well.

As for the run... well, I'm afraid my experience with Below is limited, I'm glad with have more experienced consultants here. I've heard it's an entire different world on intrigue and trichery so I'll need some brush up on the politics there if we are to mingle with the populace. Iris, you seem to be confirming this.


#18

[pistolgrip]

Jackhammer spins his chair around and sits with his arms crossed over the back. The faux wood protests under his weight as he settles in. He speaks up to make sure nobody accidentally starts talking over him. "I'm Jackhammer. I win fights. Don't ask me to do computers or fix your car. I keep things simple. Guns, fists, driving... and I actually use a bow. Like a hunting bow, if it shot rebar." He takes a long drink, but holds up one finger so everybody knew he isn't done.

"And below," he starts again, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "nasty place. Stay away from fog, watch out for ghosts. Clowns..." he shrugs, tipping his head to one side in resignation, "they're alright. Everyone else is either a stupid fragger or an outright killer, so don't feel like you need to conserve ammo. But don't go picking fights either." With the last line, Jackhammer stands to emphasize his exceptional frame. "That's my job."

[BrickyardBabe]

Iris' gaze flattened as she looked Jackhammer up and down and she uncrossed her arms, her wand sliding out again and its script flaring back to life. "I'd be careful of those words, Mr. Hammer." She said softly. She squared her shoulders to face him more fully. "Less charitable folk than I would be inclined to make you eat them." The message and the stance were clear, and the challenge inherent in both. Iris wasn't worried. The day she couldn't blow one muscle-bound clod across this conference room with a breathy word, she'd hang up her wand, sell her reagents, and take up underwater basket weaving.

Her eyes not leaving JackHammer's, Iris clarified, "For those who think that brevity is not always the soul of explanation, if not wit, I believe our physically-minded compatriot means the Harlequinade. They have business with the Night Symphony often enough, and other houses besides. They masquerade as a troupe of players and musicians, but I and others are most curious what it is they really do, when they're not putting on brightly painted faces for the rest of us." Without a hint of the smirk she so badly wanted to put on, Iris added, "Having someone to pick fights is a useful asset. Much like a canary."

Iris glanced at Deckard and deactivated her wand, handing it over. "Here." She said. "Examine it to your heart's content. Once this is all over, or if we get a significant amount of breathing space, perhaps we can work out a deal and I can make you a similar one." WIthout her wand, Iris seemed no less confident and her gaze returned to Jackhammer for a moment before drifting to Isaint, and then the others. "Despite Mr. Hammer's blanket accusations, Below isn't so different from above. It has its rogues and villains, its heroes and its average citizens. It is a place of weirdness and the locals have learned to adapt to that, but despite Mr. Hammer's words, most of them are simply normal people trying to go about abnormal lives. Being Below means they are different in some manner, but that can be as simple as fleeing persecution for being changelings or metas." She shrugged again. "But by all means, if slaughtering civilians and drawing the wrath of the great houses down upon you doesn't concern you then by all means," her voice dripped condescension on the last few words, "'don't feel like you have to conserve ammo.'"