[Celtibero]

@bewilderbeast

Hey Johnny! That cheap ass thing you call a commlink is flashing again! Just brewed some fresh soykaf, want some?

You rub your eyes and look at the old digital timepiece on the wall, 09:12 AM, the dry mouth effect seems to be on, the Bliss effect long gone, at least it was a peaceful night, no Julissa harassing you in your dream, she had been a handful in life, after she´s gone… well… let´s just say Bliss has its uses.

You pick up the sensei commlink lying on top of your coat, Smits shinny trideo hurts your eyes as soon as you turn your head in its direction, thing is still going full tilt at 9AM, you shake your head and grumble at the commlink to open the new message that seems to be “disturbing” Adam Smit’s.

The video message screen pops up only to show some static in the form of snow. Good morning Mr. Ju-Ju, It seems your services are required again, a Mr. Johnson has asked for a meeting, the place and time are attached in a file along with this message, as far as I was able to check it is a milk run or very close, his credit is good and your cut should you choose to accept is marked at 7500 Nuyen, I am counting on your availability to perform the run, should you choose not to I expect a response by today before lunch time. Goes without saying that forwarding names, is a measure of trust on a given individual and an expectation of further business as opportunities arise. Good day to you Mr. Ju-Ju.

As soon as the message ends a file pops replacing the snow static on the commlink display.

//attached file #001 // sender: Mr. Snow
Name: Banshee Bar
District Location: Redmond Barrens
Apointment time: 2200
//open map display//

A map location with the icon for the meeting pops in a smaller window.

Hey! You want the bloody soykaf or not? You ear Adam yell in his gruff baritone voice

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@JackVII

You wake up startled by some loud shouting

YOU LOW-LIFE MISERABLE BASTARD! YOU WENT WITH THAT SKUNK! ILL RIP YOUR LUNGS OUT the coffin walls barely able to contain the noise that seems to be coming from a few meters away keep it low lady, there are people who work here trying to sleep a more distant voice echoes, maybe on the upper stack of the coffin motel. MIND YOUR OWN FRAGGIN BUSINESS YOU PIECE OF DREK! yells back the shrill female voice, you think you recognize it, it’s that old beetle addict that keeps yapping all the time that her husband is a low life who doesn’t earn enough for them to live in a proper place. You try to block it out, its difficult yes, sometimes you wonder what on earth you did to deserve this sort of drek, the flashing commlink does come to your help, as you shift your attention to the message flashing on it, yet another piece of drek, but hey, at least it’s a way to stay in touch, drek or no drek.

The screen comes to life as you play the message, the all too familiar face of “Hex" seemingly fumbling with her commlink.

Hoy there, its me Hex… right you already noticed that by the image… no matter… listen I was talking to Snow just now… you don’t know him, remember you talking to me about wanting to know the lay of the land? Ok, here is the thing, Snow… he's a well connect chummer, he was trying to talk me into something… not my piece of cake… so I just say him no… he starts calling favours and all that… well not my thing nowadays… so I think of you, you could use the contact and some easy work on the sprawl to know the local wildlife… right, so things is gonna happen down at the Banshee bar… silly name I know… at 2200 today… Mr. Johnson wants to discuss a gig… and hey… before you think I am all flowers and sunshine I already have my finder’s fee,  you owe me one though

And as the dwarven female hangs off with a smile the sound of a gunshot sounds down in the allway, the sound too close to be considered reassuring in this part of town.

GOD DAMMIT WOMAN YOU ALMOST HIT ME ! a male voice shouts just after the tiny ring of a bullet ricocheting on metal YOU FRAGGER!! I WILL KILL YOU AND THAT SLUTTY SNOTTY BITCH!!


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@vandarl

It was a slow Morning that day, Sam had dropped by to check up on you and decided to grab some chow at Mogul´s, people came and went down the street, mostly middle class wageslaves, a few Pawns in blatantly marked vehicles also cruised up and down.

Anyways, those Pawn guys cruising still give me the chills, I'm cool, I'm cool, all wiz, so the new kid was loud-mouthing the  new old lady that setup shop by the old mall, supposed to be some kind of flower shop Sam Saturn, old Chumm of yours, back when you ran with the Cutters in the day and that was not so long ago although after doing some hard time it looked as if had already been an eternity ago

so, the woman, ork, middle aged, hand that look like a slab of meat, big right tusk, comes around the counter, grabs the kid by the ear, slaps a couple hard slaps across his face and throws him out, we where parked outside, really we did not know if we should do something or just stand out there laughing it Sam keeps on yapping like he has a soykaf IV jacked up in his arm, he always did that with you, but you know he is usually more reserved when it comes with dealing with the guys in the cutters, respect is a nasty thing to loose, thus he gives it sparingly.

As you listen to Sam's story the Mogul owner, an elderly ork woman, some weight on her weary bones and she has the look of someone who has raised more than a few dozens of kids and grandsons, clearly she goblinized early, she gives you a tusky grin, a warm one for that matter, you kids enjoying the Seviyan upma? she asks both of you in an heavily accented English, All Wiz maam Sam flashes his perfect smile back at her while holding the fork up with some vermicelli erzats on it, He is about the same age as you are, early twenties, a few guys in the cutters used to call him "prettyboy" but none to his face, the last one who did that had a brand new teeth bill on his wallet.

Its not a full house but clearly the place has patrons, the deco is clearly Indian, with Gods everywhere, one stranger than the other, the tables and benches are wooden like, most likely made of some artificial polymer, as you are deep in your thoughts Sam frowns at you  Bobby, I am sorry for that drek that happened, there was nothing we could do to get you out of the heat he sounds sincere, like he always did with you there is a new management down in the cutters, you know Waltz right? he asked me to say that he appreciates you keeping your silence, and that you are good to ride with us any time, your choice just then you notice why he's frowning, your right arm is protectively enveloping the plate of Seviyan Upma noodles, old habits die hard and down in the mainline joint it became an habit, for you and everyone to protect their food least somebody had any ideas. Just as you are about to answer a message flashes in front of your eyes, you mentally open it, the display superimposes the letters in the left upper side corner of your vision.

//sender: "Pops"// Time: 12:58

//text msg: Hey kiddo. i have some drek i want to talk with you, contact me over a secure line or drop by in a couple hours, all good, i have some work  for you//

[Triskavanski]

Somewhere, on a nearby island stood a figure, wearing a long coat fluttering in a local seabreeze. In his teeth was a smoldering cigar, wafting its smoke through the air. Captain John Cormac was this man, standing at six foot four inches, his braided dirty blond hair hung down around his neck, what was braided blew in the breeze.

He stood, one foot on the stone railing of his rather small house. It used to be rather luxurious, but after spending a fortune partying and buying all sorts of action figures, his house's grounds needed a lot of improving to be considered luxurious again. Hell, it was harder to pirate Triads with this slower grids he was forced to use. Tilting his head back, he chucked a mug of frothy stout, slamming it down on the milk crate table next to him.

"Hmm.. I think I need to go steal something. Maybe shoot someone."He rubbed his short pointed beard with a hand, "Just who would pay for that?" He wondered out loud to himself.

[JackVII]

[ 0915 | Stoker's Coffin Motel | Redmond Barrens | Seattle ]

Fraggin' mundies... Baron Mojo thought to himself as he heard the cacophony of sniveling voices surrounding him. Were his situation better, he would certainly have given them something to warrant the bitching and moaning. As it was, his situation was not, in fact, better. In fact it really couldn't get much worse. At least he was alive, which is more than the mage could say about the team he left behind in Bean Town. As, I always told them, only the strong survive. A pity, that...

Before cycling the coffin open, Baron Mojo laid in the relative silence and darkness of the enclosed space. While the trid projector was unsurprisingly broken, the small two-dimensional security screen glowed with a dull light, showing an image of the exterior of the coffin. Picking up his commlink, he replayed Hex's message again. Opening up the less-than-spectacular calendar application loaded on his commlink, Baron Mojo added the appointment with Mr. Johnson to his very unfortunately clear calendar. Well, at least this may promise some opportunity for work. This drek-hole certainly doesn't fit my station... he thought while composing a quick message to Hex.

<<@Hex [BaronMojo] Message received, Hex. Thank you for the referral. You know that I am still learning my way around here. Do you happen to have an address and any pertinent information regarding this Banshee Bar?>>

With the message sent, Baron Mojo checked the security screen and cycled the coffin open. With nothing more than the clothes on his back, his wardrobe options were decidedly limited. Gathering his few belongings, he walked to the shared, and fortunately unoccupied, restroom at the end of the hall. The overhead phosphorescent lighting flickered maddeningly, but Baron Mojo had grown accustomed to it over time. While the coffin hotel didn't maintain showers of any sort, the bathroom did feature a pair of sinks. Tapping in his access code, the mage turned on the water faucet. The ration of cold water was just enough for him to brush his teeth and wash his face. He had only managed a few showers since fleeing Boston; Baron Mojo hoped that the new job would promise many showers in his future.

The bathroom also provided the mage the privacy to perform another needed function. Even in his current situation, it was unseemly for him to go without a minion.  Channeling the mana around him, Baron Mojo slipped his senses to the Astral and tore open the fabric of that plane, pulling forth a struggling spirit form. Given the summoning occurred in a bathroom, the spirit appeared as a strange amalgam of a sink for a head, a wall-mounted urinal for the body, and various pipes and nozzles forming its limb; all of it wrapped in toilet paper, giving the vague appearance of a mummy.

"Cease your struggles!" Baron Mojo thundered on the astral plane. "Your will is now suborned to mine, serve me well and you may go on your way at sunset. Serve me poorly..." The spirit complied silently, clearly less than pleased with its current circumstance. The mage took the time to wipe away the astral signature left behind on the plane by the summoning before slipping his senses back to the Material.

Finishing his morning preparations, Baron Mojo exited the bathroom and headed for the front of the building. The two idiots were still yelling at each other. With any luck, one or the other would be dead by the time he returned. Walking out the front door, the mage straightened his rumpled suit and looked around. If I were a reagent, where would I try to futility hide?

[Celtibero]

@Triskavanski

A ship horn blows in the distance, the wind blows in your face and hair, your braided hair floating in the soft breeze and the commlink chirping... Instead of fishing it out of your pocket you don your monocle, instantly you see the virtual parrot flapping his wings and moving its beak, You have a incoming call captain sounds the virtual bird in your ears, its now the time to fish the commlink out of you coat, as you do so and accept the incoming call you notice its not any of your acquaintances.

A small windows displaying only snow static appears on your field of view.

Good morning Captain, Ol’ One Eye took the liberty of providing me you contact, hope you don't mind. You can call me Mr. Snow, a Mr. Johnson is putting up a crew for a simple job, Ol’ One Eye assured me i could count on you, and i am always on the lookout for new talent, are you following me so far Captain?

As it seems your proverbial luck strikes again, just when you where wondering how to gain some loot there comes the opportunity you where desiring for.
 

[Triskavanski]

"Ah Excellent. I've been expecting you Mr. John Snow." John says, moving back into his house going through his gear. His home was pretty much in shambles of what it used to be. No where near as bad if he could be considered 'middle classed', but it certainly wasn't as luxious as it should have been. Clearly the man needed to get some cash to fix that up eventually."When and where do I meet you? Or is this the meeting call? Where can I find my crew at the local tavern?"

He was already starting to pack his gear into a duffle bag, and hoist it over his shoulder. Except for his sword, which he slid into his scabbard, soon moving down to his island's docks, to a small rowboat, an antiquated little thing that could hardly be called a real boat, only good to get into the town.

[Celtibero]

@martinchaen

The low rumble of the Nigh Rod Special would be introduction enough had the MCT fly-spy not given you enough early warning that a group of 3 motorcycles where approaching and that they where parking just outside your workshop, doors closed and the street sporting the usual traffic, this was a place for those in the know and not for those looking for a random chop shop auto customizer.

it would be pretty hard to miss who the visitor was, as far as you knew only one person in Seattle, maybe two, drove this kind of Harley classic, and since you had been the one to customize it and bring certain specs up to modern standard  that meant that Valkyrie was coming to pick up the Diabolus she had commissioned you with certain modifications. it stood ready, gleaming and shiny in the centre of the workshops, its bright Ferrari red sparking in the gloom of the shop.

Parking the bike, two non-descript rapiers parking just after her, Tora stepped from the bike, the small effort to hoist the leg above the seat spoke of her height, the tall (huge in fact) muscular body, the swift and sure movements, the customized helmet sporting a mountain range, yup, that was Tora "Valkyrie" no doubt about it. taking off the helmet and shuffling her long blond hair you ear the voice over the drone microphone you in there? turning to the three guys on the two rapiers she spoke softly, her voice somewhat at odds with her appearance, although the accent was definitely not English, you guys stay here, i have to talk with someone.

[Celtibero]

@Triskavanski

Just as you start gathering your duffel bag you ear a soft chuckle, the snow static still going, i believe you have me wrong Captain, you will not be meeting me, the meeting will be with Mr. Johnson directly, the marked place is the Banshee in the Barrens, the time 2200 hours, is that.. good for you Captain?.

[martinchaen]

The AR pop-up from the drone patrolling the perimeter of his shop alerted Moto to the approaching motorcycles before he heard the low rumble of the liquid-cooled, high-performance V-Twin engine of Valkyrie's Harley-Davidson. The dwarf got up from under the hood of the Thundercloud Morgan he'd been working on, the lengthened springs of the fully-independent off-road suspension setup necessitating the use of a rather tall step ladder in order for him to reach the injection system of the antiquated large-bore petrol engine. Wiping grime off his forehead with an equally grimy palm, Moto mentally toggled his AR feed, minimizing the work plans he'd been using to focus on the video feed from his drone and mute the latest indie Powernoize-band blasting from his stereo system.

He watched through the video feed as the large Nordic woman stood up and walked more than climbed off of the genuine leather saddle; that thing had cost a fortune, but she'd been willing to pay for it, along with a host of other performance and armor upgrades. This was one Night Rod that was truly special, though Moto could tell from the way it idled that the number 4 valve timing was a little off; he made a mental note to have Valkyrie bring the bike in for a tune-up, free of charge of course, at her earliest opportunity as the nitrous system she'd wanted installed needed regular maintenance.

Looking over at the hypercar parked in his garage with lust-filled eyes, he wondered what it would be like to drive the thing; no rigger adaption, no GridGuide, nearly no electronics what-so-ever apart from the engine management system, the switchable traction control, and the alarm. The sleek-looking vehicle reminded him of a stealth-fighter, and it had been so tailored for track usage that it didn't even have floor mats, an entertainment system, or air conditioning. Moto walked over to the sink and washed off as he heard Valkyrie's somewhat clipped English ask for him over the audio sensors, and he mentally unlocked the side door as grabbed the key fob and walked back to the Ferrari, sending the Nordic Giant woman a text on the way.

//Compose message to Valkyrie
//"Good to see you, Tora; the side door is open, please come in."
//Send message

While giving the car one final look-over, he spun up one of his roto-drones and launched it into the air, providing an extra bit of overwatch in case Valkyrie had brought trouble. He didn't recognize the two stock Rapiers or their riders, and he always said it was better to be safe than sorry.

[Vandarl]

Time: 12:58

Bobby was just about to answer Sam when the incoming message flashed on his image link. Motioning to Sam, he held up a finger. "One sec."

//text msg: Hey Pops. Give me a couple and I comm

Focusing back on Sam he smiled apologetically. "No worries Omae. Life is what it is, I got tagged hard and square, Cutters couldn't have done anything about it. so ain;'t no hard feelings. I just got to keep moving and shaking, you know? And it hasn't been to bad lately, and I got a great plate of Seviyan upma, so life is good, am I right? Moving his right arm back so it isn't as obvious that he is 'covering' his food, he flashes a grin. I need to relearn a few habits maybe, that is all.

Scoping up the last of his food and washing it down with his tea he makes ready to get up. :I need to scoot now. Biz cal, you know? Time and money wait for no man, and all that drek. I will give you a comm and we can get together, catch a few brews...in the mean time, lunch is on me. Couple days, OK?" Getting up Bobby settles up with the elderly ork, giving her a smile as well as a tip, and heads outside.
A quick walk back to his apartment and he settles into his comfy chair. Warming up his deck he sets his firewall to the max and loads his sneak and monitor programs and makes his call. //"Hola Pops, the line is clean. Whats shakin?"

[Celtibero]

@JackVII

As you reflect on where any reagents can hide themselves the commlink gives you the distinctive buzz in your coat pocket, the commotion in the motel now distant as you stroll down the street. picking the commlink and looking at the display a text message flashes open.

yes, sorry about that, here is the map and the directions.

As you read the message you find no attached map nor any kind of directions, some thirty seconds later a second message containing a few lines of text and a map display with a tag reaches your commlink. The streets are far from deserted, the low building, most of them derelict or in the process of becoming are not an inviting sight, trash litters the street and the occasional group of go ganger's move fast in your field f view, no one seems to bother you though, maybe you look just shabby enough not to be noticed around here, occasionally a couple of winos and vagabonds peddle you for either booze or some spare Nuyen, but thats the worst harassment that you are subject to.

[Celtibero]

@martinchaen

You watch through the AR display the scene outside, Valkyrie waits a couple seconds before moving towards the door, her movements economical enough, she steps towards the door, its small frame accented by her size, her head tilting sideways as she opens and gingerly steeps inside, after a couple of seconds she moves inside the workshop.

is my new baby ready? she smiles while asking it in her clipped heavily accented english, the smile does become her, one would not call her pretty but she is certainly not dog ugly, depends on the preferences you reckon. plans for tonight? she adds.

[martinchaen]

In heavily accented English, Moto manages to mutter a response in the general direction of the woman standing in his shop, towering a full time and a half his own height over him.
"Ah, ah, yes, Valkyrie-sama, work has been completed; as requested, performance upgrades have been installed, engine has been tuned, and is now ready for road test."

He casts his eyes to the floor, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of the gigantic troll.
"Just, umm, be careful, please; suspension meant for track, not Seattle roads, and power-to-weight ratio makes rear end highly unstable if too much torque is applied. Aaah, also need to talk about... ehem... Night Rod; valve 4 needs timing adjustment, running a little rich. You can leave bike here at your... how you say... convenience."

Shuffling his feet, Moto lookos back over at the off-road vehicle sitting on jacks before answering the next part of her question.
"And besides work, ah, no plans, as usual. Why, you have something interesting for me?"

The dwarf smiles awkwardly at the prospect of working with one of Valkyrie's crews again; the jobs are usually both terrifying and exiting at the same time, the people are wonderfully strange, and the experience and the paydata is usually worth it.

"This might turn out to be an exciting night after all," he thinks to himself, taking another look through the sensors of his Roto-Drone to check on the riders outside.

[JackVII]

[ 1000 - 1300 | Bargain Basement Area | Redmond Barrens | Seattle ]

Examining the map attached to the second message Hex had sent, Baron Mojo studied it carefully as he walked down the street. He really missed the glasses he had to leave behind in Boston. He found that trying to walk and read a map without an AR display was challenging and paused at the next street corner as he figured out his location in comparison to the Banshee. Looks like about three miles by foot, thanks for the small things... the mage thought to himself. Plenty of time to harvest reagents.

Taking a right at the intersection, Baron Mojo returned his commlink to his pocket and focused on the task at hand. Harvesting reagents was a mix of art and skill. For whatever reason, reagents typically appeared in areas largely abandoned or rarely visited by metahumanity. An area appropriate for the formation of reagents tended to feel lonely and maybe a little spooky to the non-Awakened: the area around a water tower, stretches of train tracks away from road intersections, and abandoned buildings were all good places to find reagents, at least for hermetic magicians such as himself. He imagined most shamanic magicians probably took camping trips to harvest reagents, he'd have to ask Hex more about that later.

Off to his right, Baron Mojo saw what appeared to be an abandoned apartment complex. Rust-stained metal, multiple-layers of peeling paint, and shattered windows indicated the place was unlikely to be regularly inhabited. That, of course, didn't mean that no one was living inside. Additionally, abandoned buildings tended not to meet many, if any, safety codes for construction. Because of the potential dangers, the mage knew that he needed to take precautions. Accessing his mental link with the spirit following him, he commanded, "Minion! You will protect me from the vagaries of fate with your power!" The spirit begrudgingly complied, appearing next to the mage with the sound of a toilet flushing. A faint glowing nimbus surrounded the two as the spirit drew on its power and protected them from accidents. The gambit was too fold, the spirit's protection would help prevent any accidents during his search and also forced the spirit to materialize, which should deter all but the most dedicated miscreants.

Entering the complex, Baron Mojo slipped his senses to the Astral and tapped into his understanding of alchemy to home in on any sources of reagents. Over the course of an hour, the mage moved from door to door, occasionally entering apartments when he felt like there was an indication of a source of power. He encountered the occasional squatter, but they seemed to want to have just as much to do with him as he did with them. On top of that, his minion's presence seemed to dissuade any desire for conversation, be it the begging kind of otherwise. At the completion of his search, Baron Mojo cursed. These fraggin' mundies must be polluting this area with their very presence, he thought to himself as he sneered at one of the nearby squatters. Realizing that further searches here were futile, the mage decided to head deeper into the less populated areas of the Bargain Basement.

After a half hour of searching, Baron Mojo came across an abandoned gift shop. The back door of the shop was rotted from the constant drip of water falling from a four story building next door. Had the building not been shattered during one of the many disasters to befall the area in the past, it would probably not be leaning in such a manner to cause the damage, but the mage knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth and forced the rotted door open. Entering the dark interior, Baron Mojo tapped into his Astral senses and searched for any concentrations of power in the room. He was surprised when two such concentrations lit up. Moving over to the cash register, he opened the drawer and discovered two old coins. If he were a more sentimental sort, the mage might have wondered what story there was to tell about the place, but he wasn't that sort. Grabbing the coins, he slipped his senses to the Material, pulled out hit flashlight, and examined the coins. Featuring a face on one side and a building on the other, they appeared to be currency of the former United States of America, worthless now to most people. Pocketing the coins, Baron Mojo exited the building and continued his search.

With the sun overhead, Baron Mojo began to feel the pangs of hunger stirring. Deciding to head toward more populated areas and a source of food, the mage decided to cut through an overgrown and abandoned playground. At night, it was likely a playground for chipheads and gangers. Right now, it was relatively unoccupied other than a form resting in the sand under the slide. Whether asleep or dead, Baron Mojo didn't particularly care, just as long as it didn't interfere with him. As he made his way through the playground, he was surprised when his Astral senses indicated that a small concentration of mana was near. Using those senses to guide him, the mage walked over to the plaground's Merry-Go-Round and reached into the sand below it, pulling forth two large marbles, both glowing in the Astral plane. Slipping them into his pocket, he headed for the park exit.

Smiling to himself, Baron Mojo thought, So far, so good. Perhaps the rest of the day will be as lucrative.

[Bewilderbeast]

Johnny woke with a start and reached for his commlink, just in time to receive a live commcall from Mr. Snow. Flashing a grin, Johnny spoke into the receiver. "I'm your man, Mr. Snow. I'll be at the meet, you can count on it." He quickly saved the map file on his comm and rolled over on the futon.

"No soykaf yet, Smits. Gotta rest up. I apparently have a job tonight."  Johnny then spent the next several hours dozing on the futon, doing his best to ignore the sound of explosions and gunfire coming from the trideo display set and the loud crunch of Smits chowing down on krill chips. It wasn't an ideal situation for rest, but well, it was Smit's house and he wasn't about to complain.

He woke up fully in the early afternoon and took a cold shower, not wanting to using up Adam Smits' hot water ration for the day. Afterward, he examined himself in the mirror; rail-thin even by elven standards, bordering on skeletal, the waifish bliss-chique look was carefully cultivated. Johnny Juju took a moment to admire his ink; the swirling floral patterns on his chest and back, the Atzlan symbols snaking their way up his arms. His favorite, however, were the swooping organic shapes on his neck, cheeks, and on the dome of his shaved head. Julissa had always loved his tats, helped design many of them in fact. He sighed.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he helped himself to a cupful of cold soykaf sludge. "My meeting's not until later tonight," he said before bracing himself for a sip. "and I'm hoping I can find another place to crash afterward. Is it alright if I hang out til then?"

Adam shrugged his massive shoulders. "Yeah, that's fine man. You just have to get out of here by the weekend, I got company coming. Wanna play?" He tossed Johnny a controller and they proceeded to waste a few hours with split screen mode.

After some time, Johnny peeked through the blinds. Sundown. Better get ready.

Rising from the couch and skirting around a pile of energy drink cans and empty bags of chips, Johnny moved to the kitchen where there was a bit more space to work. His perception flickered briefly into the darkened void of the Astral, and he sent a call out to the churning primal darkness from where his spirits came. Johnny was never quite sure why only the darkest, borderline twisted spirits responded to his summons. It was his blessing and his curse, but they always served him faithfully... provided he never showed them any weakness.

Moments after his calling, a cloud of billowing black smoke began to congeal on the Astral plane in Smits' apartment. The demon was little more than an amorphous black thunderhead, but it seemed to seethe with an ancient and primeval power. A trio of three orbs swirled in the center of its mass, three points of St. Elmo's Fire that seemed to denote the creature's face.

I have taken your tongue so you can no longer howl, nameless one. Serve me tonight and you may receive it back. It was important not to give the demon a name unless proper offerings had been made, for names held great power to Johnny's demons. By summoning it in this way, the demon was helpless and could do nothing to harm Johnny. Juju smiled once the spirit was fully under his control.

Sit silent in the darkness until I call you, Johnny commanded, his vision returning to the material sphere again as he headed over to the futon. He could still sense the strange, alien eyes of the spirit watching him from outside of reality, but he knew that the creature could do him no harm, and felt a little safer having an attack dog of that caliber on a leash.

"Fraggin' creeps me out when you do that drek," Smits grumbled, still hunched over his controller.  Smits had seen Johnny work long enough to tell that his vacant stare meant he was summoning and bartering with demons, and the tell tale tingle of magic in his kitchen was obvious enough.

"Sorry, chummer," Johnny apologized without a hint of sincerity as he gathered up his coat and other belognings. He double-checked to make sure that his Ceska Scorpion, spare clips, and his "goodie bag" of bliss were all tucked away carefully in the interior pockets of his dull beige raincoat.

"Alright, I'm off," Johnny said as he made for the door. "Thanks for letting me crash here, Smits. Let me know if you ever need my services again, yeah?" Adam grunted non-commitally in response. Stepping into the hall, Johnny pulled up the file with the map to the Banshee, setting out a few ARO markers as he popped his imagelink-enabled contacts in.

"Aww, come on! Fraggin' lag! Fraggin' breeder-humpin' LAG!" Johnny chuckled at Adam's muffled rage as he exited the apartment and started making his way toward the meet.

[Triskavanski]

"If they got stout, its a great place." John says, rather unpickily. Even if the place didn't have alcohol, he was about to make money and then he could buy more alcohol. While his obessession bordered on the edge of a heavy drinker, truth be told, John was increadibly picking with his alcohol. Occassionally he'd try a few others, but quickly decide that that alcohol wasn't for him.

Oddly enough, he was into a dark strong stout that most people drank after acquiring the taste of alcohol. For now, he loaded up in his row-boat, and began paddeling his way towards the city. Not.. well the most impressive of things, hardly could even be called a vehicle, the row boat was just something to get him into town.