Past Tense, the second IC

You received a seemingly handwritten letter, wax sealed, with a crest imbedded in the wax. One of your fixers 'henchmen' hand delivered it to you.

“Dear [your name]

You are hereby invited to attend a business dinner at the restaurant ‘Mystery Meat’. The time will be this Saturday at 8 o'clock pm.
In case a satisfactory agreement about the run can not be achieved, you accept by your attendance that any information given during the meeting is confident and will not be used or sold.

The general topic will be archaeology.

Show this letter to the concierge and you will be shown to your seat.

You will be compensated for your expenses.

Sincerely,
Johnson”

The paper looks old with a yellowish colour. And it's thicker than the paper you usually know. And the ink isn't black, but rather purple. All in all, one could call it old fashioned.

Cougar was halfway through cleaning his guns when he received the message. Well, ain't that fancy? Hmm, archaeology? I hope it ain't gonna be no lecture. He was working on the small table he had set up in the back of his GAZ. It had a plastic canvas top to shelter his stuff from the rain, with an extra flap on the backside to keep his privacy. Inside he had a cot that could be turned over and put flush with the floor, and near it a special compartment for all of his lovely toys. The table was nothing more than a bucket with a flat board on it to put his stuff down on. A mini-fridge and small cabinet was fastened to the cab of the truck, and allowed easy access from the cot. All in all, one of the more comfortable places he's lived.

His truck was parked at Rodriguez's Car Park. Cougar had a special deal set up with Joe, the owner. Just keep paying so much a month, and I can use the parking spot. I can also use the employee's restroom, since there was only one employee working for him at the time. As long as Cougar made no trouble and paid on time, he was golden. Taking care and time to reassemble his guns, he stretched and laid down on his cot. May as well catch some z's. And he quickly went to sleep.

Soren let out a soft sigh as he left the retirement home, pausing to check the area and make sure it was clear before pausing for a few minutes to disguise his features. He didn't have the time right now for anything fancy, but he knew he needed to at least appear sufficiently different so as to minimize risk to Sarah. He'd brought enough pain into her life for everything she'd done, he didn't intend to add to it any more than was necessary...

Disguise test: 2 hits (Facial features only)

Just for added effect he paused a few moments longer to darken his natural skin tone (Melanin control) and add to the effect. At least this way he'd hopefully slip by, though it was far from his full capabilities in disguise, it would have to do. After all his full ability would require no less than a full 24hrs in preparation, and that seems to be something he didn't have right now. With the new disguise set he put his motorcycle helmet on and went to his bike. As he straddled the bike and started it up he paused to do another quick check around before opening the letter and reading it. He'd been worried it was a death threat or some black mail but was relieved to see, for what ever reason, it was an offer of work. Still, it set off warning bells that some one knew the connection, but with only 600 nuyen left to his name right now he simply couldn't afford to relocate Sarah yet again. "Frag." he mumbled, partially to simply curse, partially to simply test a shift in his voice intended to further conceal his real identity.

Using his AR Gloves Soren reached over to tap at the connection for his Fetch Module and the personafix for the agent popped up in his vision. He'd chosen to have it modelled after Frank Abagnale, a con artist from the 1940's and as the persona popped up in his vision he tasked it to find anything it could about the restaurant 'Mystery Meat' with specifications on Address, Dress Code and Customer Reviews. As the Fetch program went about it's tasks he started driving off, partially keeping his mind on the traffic as he wound his way home and thinking about what he might already know of the place (Assuming the game is set in Seattle).

Area Knowledge: Seattle; 4 hits, Bars and Clubs: 3 Hits
Initial Agent Search Test: 1 Hit
Extended Test: 4 Rolls for agent program. 13 hits total

Meanwhile Soren checked for any sign of a tail before heading back to his temporary apartment in order to change into something a little more suitable to the setting.

The ‘Mystery Meat’ is on the upper side of the elegancy (and price) scale. But it is not as elegant as one would be underdressed in casual clothes as long as they are clean and lack bullet holes. The waiters are real metahumans, no drones. They wear chic uniforms, the meat comes from real animals, not from clonebanks or soy. Rumours say that given two weeks notice, one can order any kind of meat and get it. For the right price.

The chef cook has three stars, and it shows in the reviews. Only vegetatians and vegans complain about the abundance of meat and the cruelty of using real animals for it. Although the salad buffet seemed of high quality. Furthermore there has been a few rumours that the restaurant would not even deny service to ghouls. And hence provide them with meals containing metahuman flesh. But nobody was able to confirm these rumours yet.

The location of the restaurant is in south downtown. Parking lots are available.

Soren considered the dress code as he drove, still occasionally keeping an eye out for a tail before he pulled up the directions to the restaurant on his bike's HUD and started to make his way there. He would be fairly early, but if they allowed casual clothing it might be worth his while to see just what sort of reaction the patrons and staff gave to the motorcycle armour. He had far better clothes at home, but without a car he thought the business attire would look... odd on some one on a motorcycle, and even the rich liked bikes, though his was more of a mid range affair.

Still, he only had so much to work with and it wouldn't hurt to have some good food and check the place out in advance of the meet so he could go in properly prepared.

When Soren got to the entrance, he was politely asked if he had a reservation. As he had not, he was told the next open table would not be available before roughly two hours. He was asked if he'd like to wait at the bar though. If the concierge took notice of the biker suit, he did not react negative to it. The bar was divided from the main dining hall by a wall with openings.

Soren simply chose the bar and thanked the waiter before leaving a simple small tip. It wasn't necessarily customary to do so when he'd not even been served exactly but it tended to leave a good impression in such cases, even if it was but a small pittance. By contrast many rich didn't even bother to tip at all he'd found, others tipped stringently and the rare one left a large tip. He decided to go the middle road, ordering a drink or two and pacing himself while just casually studying the other patrons while pretending to be doing something with his PAN. After paying his bill along with a slightly larger tip and taking his leave. In the end it was simply the reactions he wanted, for it helped avoid any social faux pas or at least let him know how much of one he could get away with and still pull off a good impression. With that done he headed back to his apartment to shower, neatly tidy up the trim of his beard that he'd grown in a few days ago to add to his cover and then spent a little more time finding just the right shade of tan to suggest he might not be from around here given Seattle's often lack of proper sunlight. The rest of the time was spent cleaning and polishing up his bike's crash suit so it looked a little more presentable and before he knew it he had just a tiny bit of a wait before he had to head right on back again, practising his best imitation of a charming tone of voice as he went.

The dark elf sat, legs folded beneath him, hands resting palms up on his thighs, eyes closed and breathing in slow, steady, measured inhalations and exhalations, as if in a trance or deep meditation. Surrounding him, myriad objects dived and swooped and performed complex aerial maneuvers in distinct contrast to what was commonly a more sedintary existence.
A micro directional microphone orbited the seated man, its receiver unerringly pointed toward him should the desire to speak come over him.
An autopicker flitted from door to door inserting itself in each locking mechanism only to zip away again.
A keycard copier and a maglock passkey buzzed by like combat aircraft, the keycard acting as the maglock passkey's wingman.
Various tools from both an electronics kit and lockpick kit chased each other back and forth across the room like schoolyard kids playing tag.
Four micro cameras hovered about twisting and turning to face each object that came close like a tourist snapping photos in an amusement park.
And many more normally inanimate items zoomed and zinged through the otherwise quiet apartment.

The courier approached the door and, double-checking the address against the information given him, rapped loudly on the old but fairly sturdy wooden surface. There was a pregnant moment of silence followed by such a crash from the other side as to startle the man who stepped quickly back from the door, glancing up and down the corridor in consternation.

After a pause, the door eased open and a face appeared. It was dark of complexion, seeming somewhat excessively hairy; almost like fur, and a pair of dark, too-knowing eyes regarded the meta responsible for disturbing his meditation.

The courier, feeling something odd emanating from this dark man - (those eyes) - but trying to maintain an air of worldly wisdom when faced with 'wierdos' in his line of work, simply held out the sealed envelope. The hand shook slightly though when recounting the experience later he would omit this detail.

The dark elf's eyes never strayed from the courier's as he raised a hand that silently crackled with an eldritch glow. The envelope, as if suddenly invested with a life of its own, pulled itself free of the courier's grasp and hung suspended before the dark elf, displaying itself for the man's leisure perusal.

Usually the type to linger for a tip, the courier only nodded feebly and hurried away, feeling inarticulately glad to escape.

With an inward grin - he really shouldn't get so much pleasure from frightening people - Bishop closed the door and crossed to his couch. He had to step lightly to avoid the gear scattered all over the floor. Taking a seat, he considered the envelope that had obediently followed. As if by unseen hands, the flap opened and a sheet of old-looking paper with a yellowish color slipped out. It was thicker than the paper he usually knew, and the ink wasn't black or blue, but rather purple.

“Dear Bishop

You are hereby invited to attend a business dinner at the restaurant ‘Mystery Meat’. The time will be this Saturday at 8 o'clock pm.
In case a satisfactory agreement about the run can not be achieved, you accept by your attendance that any information given during the meeting is confident and will not be used or sold.

The general topic will be archaeology.

Show this letter to the concierge and you will be shown to your seat.

You will be compensated for your expenses.

Sincerely,
Johnson”

Default Assensing= 1 hit

Bishop had always focused primarily on the casting side of magic, giving little to no time to the finer, more esoteric aspects of the craft. Thus it always proved difficult for him to Assense items. The only reason he even made the attempt now was the irregular use of a hardcopy letter and the signature seal. Whoever this Johnson was, he had something; position, reputation, notoriety, he wished to be known.
Unfortunately, all Bishop could discern was little more than that the document possessed some aura...any more than that was beyond his ability.

Still, the offer of work was always worth investigating further. So, returning the letter to its envelope, Bishop gazed about the litter of his gear and, with a flourish that was actually unnecessary but fulfilled that flair for theatrics which was common to most practicioners of the art, he gathered up his gear, slipped into his form-fitting body armor, then into his Synergist suit he kept for just such occasions, and headed out to his car.

Some time later, arriving at the designated 'Mystery Meat' - a name not exactly designed to entice the pallet - he went inside, pausing to display his 'invitation' for the concierge.

Doc Twitch pulled up to his home in one of the least savory neighborhoods in the greater Seattle area, he stepped out of his distinctive ride. He was an odd fellow, just shy of 6 feet, His albino features had gotten him odd looks many a time, so he opted to alter his appearance as much as he could without 'modification'. Clean shaven, and with a shaved head, he looked like a punk, his red eyes could easily be attributed to contact lenses, and hey if he was up all night, then he wouldn't normally get a lot of sunlight. His Blue pants and shirt looked normal, except for the White and red name tag saying "Doc Twitch" in multiple languages.

It hadn't been an easy day, John had just been to visit the creepy old doctor, and pay off 500 Nuyen of his debt, only another 20,000 and he'd be free of that maniac. Not even five minutes after he had gotten home had the first of the patients started showing up, and worse luck they were gangers (no money). Most of the time, he had to settle without being paid, only the mafia or runners ever actually paid for his work. He had deals worked out with most of the gangs in the greater Seattle area to not shoot at His truck, his home, or himself under threat of Denial of treatment. Today's group was the Bluebloods, it looked like Johnny Kang the leader himself had been wounded in a turf war.

Alright Johnny, lets see what the damage is... He said to the Ganger. It was a simple through and through on his left arm, the bullet just passing through the meat of his bicep. A simple procedure, a couple of stitches, and Kang would be OK. OK Mr. Kang, you'll be just fine, I'll stitch it up for you and give you some antibiotics, you guys have any big scores lately?

What? Drek you Doc, the ganger yelled, Fix my damn arm.

I'll take that as a no, this work normally goes for about 250 nuyen in a regular hospital, Twitch said as he grabbed a fresh needle, threaded it and started stitching, We'll just say that you owe me a favor

Twitch's commlink chimed in his ear letting him know that he had a guest at the door. He sent his house the operation in progress trigger.

............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Outside the Hired goon, walked up to the door of the address provided by his employer, the Bulldog step-van parked out front attracted his attention, and let him know he was in the right place. It was pure white, with Red letters saying "Doc Twitch" on the side.

Above the door was a large placard that after it had identified the individual outside as someone who does not work with the government it displayed a message in several languages saying "Doctors residence, treatment may be going on inside, no violence is allowed in this place of sanctuary, violate this rule and you will be forever denied treatment by Doc Twitch's underground Clinic." He knocked on the door, and heard a automated feminine voice say Welcome to the clinic, the doctor is treating a patient, come inside and take a seat while you wait, if this is an emergency please push the red button on the counter.

The man opened the door, and saw several crudely dressed gangers lounging around, seeing an open seat near the door he quickly sat down to wait.

.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

After Twitch had finished up with Kang, he stepped out into the waiting room, he looked around until he saw the goon who had came in while he was stitching up the Gangers arm.

What do you need? He asked the man.

[color=green][I'm here to deliver a letter, that's all/color]

Twitch accepted the letter, and read it quickly twice, by the time he looked up again the goon was long gone. The Gangers were now starting to leave, and Twitch called out Hey Johnny, i need that favor to be called in, I need to get downtown inconspicuously, and my ride won't cut it. Can you give me a lift?

......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Twitch thanked the Ganger, as he stepped off of the back of the motorcycle, he then walked toward the restaurant, He knew he was dressed wrongly, wearing the vest, coat, and carrying a smartpack full of medical gear. The Pistols were covered up by his coat, hopefully he wouldn't have to check them.

He checked his watch 8:15 great he was late. Hoping that his lateness wouldn't be taken out of his cut, Twitch walked into the building

Walking up to the Concierge he smiled, and said, Hey buddy, I'm a little late, but... well i was given this invitation. Is it alright if i bring the bag with me? I'm a paramedic on call.

After catching a few winks and heading out, Cougar realized about a block away that the place wouldn't likely let him in with the grease stained shirt. The pants he could probably get away with, but he wasn't getting in without a decent shirt. So, he stopped by a vending machine lot and hunted down a rather unused clothes machine. After transferring the 20 nuyen, a nondescript black long sleeved shirt without any logos dropped in a thin plastic sheath. Quickly ripping it open, he tore off his old shirt and tossed it aside, and pulled on the new one. It was a bit tighter than he was used to, which showed off the physic, dermal plating, and muscle fibers from his modified muscle replacements. But at least it wasn't stained. Worse comes to worse, he could pass himself off as a professional bodyguard if anyone asked. Not like it was far from the truth at one point.

After flexing his muscles in the shirt a bit, he made his way to the restaurant. After being greeted by a waiter, who looked at Cougar with a hint of fear crossing his face, Cougar showed the man his invitation, hoping that he was waving it to the right person. He didn't feel like botching a mission before it started. Again.

Soren could observe the other patrons at the bar, and through the openings in the wall the dining ones as well. They were a mix of the middle to upper class citizens. Mostly businessmen and -women, but also a family or two and a few couples. After a while, he could notice that the waiters uniforms seemed slightly armored, which was not very unusual.
When he left, Soren was thanked for the tip, and the concierge apologized, not entirely heartfelt, about the long and fruitless wait.

He was also the first one to come back. It was the same concierge, but you can not make out if he recognizes you. Upon receiving the letter, he calls for a waitress which leads you to a separate dining room with a large table, enough to hold at least 15 people. She also asks you what you would like to drink, reminding you that everything is on the host tonight.


The first thing Bishop noticed when examining the letter was, that he could read it even in the astral. Not just the meaning, not just motions, but the actual handwriting. The ink itself seemed magical. And the whole letter had a magical aura. But he could not determine the reason for it.

((You can try to get some ideas with a magic theory + logic roll. For you that would be a defaulting logic roll.))

He also gets lead to the room away from the other patrons. "What would you like as an apperetiv while you wait for your host?" The waitress asked politely.

Cougar was the next to arrive. After an examining look by the concierge, even he was lead to the room, where already two others were sitting. One of them some kind of furry elf.

The waitress brings the drinks and six menues, then leaves. "If you are ready to order, please push the button on the table."

Precisely on 20:00, The door opens again, and a human male enters. He is wearing a black suit in some steampunky retrostyle. In his left hand, he holds a wooden staff with a carved raven head on top. He speaks up with a charming, calm voice while he sits down. "Good evening. You can call me Johnson. It seems, our round is not complete yet, so I suggest we order now and maybe you can get aquainted with each other. Hopefully, the latecomers will not be too late."


((We will wait up a bit on Sly hound. And of course as Twitch already desctibed to come in later, he has to wait a little too. ))

Lin was enjoying some tea at his house when the call came...he raised an eyebrow at the name of the meeting place "Peculiar name for an establishment..I do hope it isint ran by ghouls....in any case one should not go unto the unknown unarmed" He finished his tea then carefuly putted his cup in the auto-wash and changed to some more presentable clothes, then grabbed his sword and attached the sheat to his belt making it plain visible. Exiting his appartment he sent a message to the lieutenant of the triads he was answerable to.

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To:Bong Cha
From:Lin Tou
Subject:Will be absent this evening

Greetings milady, I have received an job offer from a now unknown contact and will be busy for the evening...if our leader as need of me this evening I would be grateful to be informed before 8pm this evening so that I can change my plans accordingly to serve.

My most respectful reguards to you .

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The clan was the priority to Lin yet when a job presented itself he didint like to inconvenience any of the parties either clan or the person sponsoring the job..Lin was loyal to his employers but having more then one employers at the same time could be troublesome at times when order were conflicting..although ultimatly his clan had his loyalties and not some strangers...no matter how big the pay would be.

with this he jumped inside his car and made way to the restaurant

After giving the letter to the concierge, Lin was lead to the separate dining room. There were already four people, which looked up when the waitress knocked and opened the door.

The Johnson stood up to greet Lin. "Mr Tou. I am glad you could make it. We are almost complete now. Please have a seat." He gestured to the chairs around the table. "Take a look at the menu while we wait. We are still one man short and I don't like to repeat myself. By the way, the Cordon Bleu is exquisit today. Or so I have heard."

((For Twitch it will be the same procedure, giving the letter, then being lead to the room, and a greeting from the Johnson. You can describe it in your post if you like. sorry for the wait. ))

The Concierge simply raised his hand and a waitress walked over to show Twitch the way.

Boy am I going to get it, he thought to himself, this wasn't the first time he had shown up late to a clandestine meeting, and it had cost him before, but thankfully no one stays mad at the medic for very long.

The waitress led the way to the dining room, there were 6 seats, and 5 very impatient looking people, Two Orcs, a very dark elf, a Chinese man, and a man in a suit. well they can only be mad for so long, but might as well do some damage control.

Figuring the man in the suit to be the Mr. Johnson, he addressed him first Good evening sir, I'm sorry about being late, but work held me up. Turning he grinned and said to everyone else, sorry guys I'm the Doc, someone needed stitches on the way here.

Twitch knew that he had not treated any of the people in the room, and that made him wary, not many runners could avoid getting hit, were either new, really good, or were connected to one of the crime families.

Sitting next to the Chinese man, keeping his eyes on the Mr. Johnson to see if he understood what was being said, he said to the Orcs I Don't think we've met, but i have worked on a number of your Kin, and then to the Elf And I've never treated any one like you, Finally leaning closer to the Chinese man but you , you look like you won't ever need to step into my clinic, or id be a drekking monkey; all the while watching for a reaction from the Mr. Johnson

Visual Perception Test 1 hit

"I am glad you could make it." The Johnson greeted Twitch. He did not show any sign of anger or impatience. Nor did he seem surprised at Twitches talent for languages.

Instead he sat down. "Now that we are complete, I'd like to thank you all together for attending this little meeting. Mr Twitch, feel free to look through the menu." The man was leaning forward. "I am sure you all are curious about the reason for this meeting. To make it short, I want to hire you for an extended period of time. But first, there will be a test run, so to speak."

He looked at the round if they reacted somehow. "In a little museum, out there on a little island in the pudget sound, there is an ancient celtic statue. I want you to retrieve and deliver it to me. You will be paid 5000 nuyen each. When you have finished that run successfully, I will give you more information about further tasks you can then fulfill for me."

He leaned back again. "Any questions?"

Bishop followed the waitress, noticing but refraining from reacting to the few stares at his features from the less restrained patrons in the restaurant. Nowhere, it seemed, would he ever be able to mingle without such attention, even if no more than the widening of eyes or quick comments made behind raised palms. The suit he wore was in some ways 'social armor' against much of what could at times be quite hostile attitudes, but one corner of his mouth quirked up in a small, wry grin at the thought that he could, if he so chose, put on a 'performance' that would give these whisperers something to shout about...literally.

At the meeting room entrance, the dark elf replied, "Just a small glass of white wine, please," to the waitress's inquiry, and nodded his thanks before entering. He took a seat and regarded the other attendees with interest. He was glad to see that his was not the last arrival, and when the Johnson entered, Bishop let his attention rest on this man. The staff had to be some sort of fetish or focus; the simple fact of the letter's magical aura suggested as much, but Bishop chose not to attempt an assensing. Magicians could be a testy lot and were often quick to retaliate against perceived intrusions. Still, when the time came, Bishop had a question or two he would like answered...not the least of which had to do with the letter's magical purpose.

Soren calmly sat at a spot at the table, and since his host was apparently paying, he was far from above picking out a reasonably priced glass of wine for himself that would most likely compliment his choice of food. While he wasn't all that well dressed, still being in his motorcycle armour (Though of course having removed the helmet, as well as the gloves) he merely observed the others as they filed in and gathered, occasionally taking a bite to eat once the food had arrived. At the request for further questions, Soren had many. There was hardly any details being given here, though the sum of money being offered was fairly typical for a reasonably skilled group of runners. "Well we would need some more information than that if we are to break in and make sure we are grabbing the proper statue." he started off with, keeping an even tone of voice. "Specifically, the actual name of the museum, the name of the statue you wish us to acquire, your expectations on a reasonable time frame for delivery, and any conditions you have on the methods used in it's acquisition. Additionally I think it would be of great benefit to us all if you could provide what ever details you have on the security arrangements for the particular piece as well as the museum in general and finally if you wish the theft to be an obvious one or if you expect us to replace the original with a copy." he did his best to allow for properly timed pauses in his speech, as well as paying close attention to the Johnson's reactions, wishing all the time he had the benefit of an emotitoy's sensors and programming to make it easier, though it was hardly for lack of belief in his magical talents, but rather more of making sure he had the proper edge in negotiations. "I mean no insult of course, but the primary difficulty I see here at the moment is simply that your asking a group of strangers to, on short notice, work together to steal an item from a secure location on what is so far fairly scant information. While I'm certainly feeling up to the challenge, the core truth remains that if there are a lot of unknowns we would need to spend a greater percentage of personal funds to obtain the necessary information and reconnaissance to manage a successful operation. Then there is the potential value of the artwork itself, compounded by the attention it's theft will bring from the law as well as possible other parties." taking a sip from his wine the ork pressed on "As such, the greater the unknowns, the greater both the risks and the costs. I'm sure my compatriots here would agree that in lieu of sufficient intelligence on the job, we would require both an upfront stipend and possibly a slight increase in pay to cover any unexpected costs."

Etiquette Roll (2 Hits) + Negotiation (5 Hits)

As the ork spoke, Bishop nodded in satisfied agreement. He wasn't sure if the guy was actually a trained negotiator or not but he certainly sounded the part. And he was right on the mark about the need for more intel, quite a bit more in fact. He had not brought up anything about their mysterious 'invitations' being laced with magic, but Bishop would be more than happy to crack that particular egg before long.

As it was, the dark elf contented himself with attending to his meal, periodically sipping the surprisingly good wine, and listening intently to the discussion.

Hmm, i hope he's paying, because I gave old Doc Hughes all of my cash, and those Mafia Guys haven't come back in a while, they're the only ones who actually pay in cash.

Twitch flipped to through the menu until he found the drink list, and when the waitress came back , he asked for a double whiskey Sour.

More than a little impressed by the eloquence of the orc's words, Twitch grinned and whispered to the chinese man Damn, that orc is good, I wonder who's tongue he ripped out to speak so well

Sounds like fun Mr. J, but what he said, Twitch pointed at the talkative orc. If they're in, I'm in. he said, and then knocked back his drink, signaling the waitress for another

Cougar was keeping to himself while he took stock of the others. Well, as far as things went, he could have ended up with a lot worse. He didn't appreciate the one ork launching into speech before eating. That was rude in some places, but oh well. Cougar quietly ordered the cheeseburger and fries, hoping they actually had real beef. He hadn't had real beef since he was a kid back in the Souix Nation. After ordering, he leaned back and took another look at the Johnson. Well, I ain't about to lose a chance for decent employment for an extended amount of time. I'm in. He spoke slightly slow, and with a clear Souix accent.

The Johnson listened intently at Soren. He nodded his agreement at every point. He also nodded when the others spoke up to state their commitment.

He replied: "Of course you will be given more information. I have also contacted a decker who will aid you on the matrix side of things. She has also provided this little bit of information." He takes a foldout display and a data chip from one of his pockets and stretches it.

Display

"There is also a contact code for her on this chip. The timeframe in worst case is three months. The exhibition will last that long. It has just opened a week ago." He smiled. "Of course, if you can deliver the little trinket on a shorter notice, I would be all the happier." From another pocket, he retrieved six certified credsticks. "This is half of your payment up front. This last one holds a reasonable amount for expenses." He put the credsticks next to the display and leaned back.

"How you operate is up to you. Blatant theft, a stealthy exchange or anything else. Although I would like to ask you to keep bloodshed to a minimum. Just keep in mind that the continuing assignment might become more difficult if you create too much of a fuss."

Sorren ate at a polite pace while listening to the responses and trying to properly weigh the information. He hadn't been certain when the matters would all be brought up, but since the host had started talking while people were eating he'd simply gone with the flow and started the bargaining at the same time because it was much harder to try and bargain at a later date and worst yet could be seen as going back on a deal. The latter was a fairly serious thing to do in the shadows, even though such things happened fairly often. None the less getting a reputation for it could ruin your career if you were lucky, get you killed if you were not. He realized that the J probably had given up what he had mostly out of being prepared to do so in the first place, they usually did but getting such additional assistance was usually a matter of negotiation. The real question was how much he could push his luck in asking for more weighed against the potential for future work. If the J was honest about future work offers, Soren felt confident he could bargain hard enough in the future to make up for any losses made during the initial encounter, though he figured he might as well push for a few more details, if only to see how far he could trust the Johnson. "Do you have any information on the statue itself? Specifically weight, where it was found, what sort of materials are used in it's construction, actual age and so on? If we are to explore the possibility of getting a convincing forgery to replace it, we would need as much information as possible. Done right even a specialist wouldn't recognize it as a fake, though generally it's more important to make sure the weight, texture and appearance are correct so that no one ever thinks to investigate in the first place." Better, he decided to be seen as a little too pushy for information than greedy for money. Pushy for information was typical in the shadows and was more expected of 'professional' runners, at least when it came to certain jobs. For now he just had to try and carefully push as far to that hard line as he could, without offending.

Visual perception 1 hit, Audio Perception 3 hits
Judge Intentions: 2 Hits
Etiquette 4 hits, Negotiation 2 hits

"It has been found in Great Britain. It is a statue of a celt. A bard to be exact. It is made of bronze and the exact weight can be found on the plaque on it's post. And of course on the museums matrix presentation. 832 gramm." He smiled. "You would have to know how to melt and cast bronze to make a copy. As far as I hard a handful of people have made copies of it for other museums. The one we have in Seattle is said to be the real thing though. The archeologists say the statue is about 2300 years old."

Sorren had the feeling the Johnson did not tell them everything. Certainly all they had to know to steal the thing. But not more. What he told seemed to be the truth though.

Etiquette Test= 0
Bishop set down his wine glass, wiped his face with his napkin, and addressed the Johnson.

"Perhaps its time you let us in on the very real possibility that we're dealing with a magical item here? After all, the letters you took such effort to have hand-delivered were also magical in nature-" he glanced at the others gathered, "-at least mine was. Very interesting to be invited to a meet with a dual-natured hardcopy. Which, by the way, I was careful not to handle physically." He glanced around the room again, looking for reactions to his little nugget of info, then back to the J as an attempt to judge the man's intent by withholding what could be very pertinent details.

Judge Intentions= 5

They were enchanted? Well, I ain't dead, so couldn't have been bad. Yet. On the outside, Cougar made no motion that he even cared about the fact that there was magic about the invitations. Personally, he's always felt magic was blown way outta proportion. He's been hit quite a few times with a blast of magic, and they never seemed to have the same punch for him as they did everyone else. Worst comes to worst in a mage fight, he has to get his gear repaired, and maybe nurse a few scrapes and such.