[Volker]

Mercy

"Please, Miss, we are only concerned about our customers' security."
He presses a button, clearly not scanning your retina. Then, just as if you had undergone the security procedure, he continues. "Thank you. Please step in. Steps and lift are at the far end of the corridor."
The man turns to the next customer. "Your weapons, please!"

Arachnos

The security clears his throat and repeats with a little more stress in his voice. "Sir, your weapons, please."

[SnowDragon]

Titanium

Elves, trolls, orks and dwarves didn't need to dress to stand out. They had their size, their looks, in some cases, their sheer imposing forms to get noticed by those standing around them, by those watching crossing the street to avoid them. Titanium *always* dressed to impress, be it a flight suit to take the imagination of youthful shadowrunners to the next level in order to take them for further of a penny or to dress in expensive splendor far beyond her actual class to make a Johnston sweat about his paygrade. Smuggler, Shadowrunner, the terms so separated but joined together to form what she actually did. And tonight, dressed in that fiery blue and silver dress, split down the centre and concealing the flight crew handgun she had always kept since so many, many years ago in the service in it's holster against her bear thigh flesh. Glasses across her eyes wobbling with tiny, soft glowing lights with her situational Augmented Reality. Compass heading, and all the other things the attentive (or paranoid shadowrunner could want).

It had been so long since she had actually met a Johnston, but this job she had been promised was special. Kirrim O'Hara, who's first name was merely a handle, the handle of that of her long standing partner in crime, occasional co-pilot and professional fixer, he had promised her this was something she wanted in on. And given the non-consensual vacation she had been on with the lack of decent paycheck smuggling runs or a Beenie, she did need the funding to maintain status quo. As good as the security she paid to keep her loft secure outside of city limits were, they wouldn't work for free. She was overdressed for the club, but she had intentionally done that. She always did that. Impression was always something to be applied. With that having been thought thoroughly, she advanced to join the queue.

And only armed her 'work' SIN (4) to broadcast when requested, deactivating it posthaste once the checks were done. And, as for her sidearm, slipping a hand underneath the split skirt to withdraw it, sliding out the magazine with a slow, almost caring touch, before depositing it to the tray provided. Giving the guard a stern sort of expectant gaze, before advancing into the club itself. She had a brand new team to meet up with, and a Johnston to be briefed by. And she had very little patience for wasted time.

[8-bit]

Arachnos stops and turns around. He says, "I left mine at home; I didn't think I would need it. I just came here for a few drinks. Is that a problem?"

[Landmine]

Well, I don't like that one bit. But it's already done. She decided not to make an issue of whatever scan the ork just made and walked into the club, looking for the area she was supposed to meet the new Johnson.

[Volker]

Titanium

Passing the security check without any further problems.

Arachnos

"It is not. Please let me routine-check you, before you enter." His face is stern, nothing any indication of something more than routin.

All save for Arachnos, yet.

Inside each of you who passes the security find yourself at a not-too-but-still-quite-loud bar shed in dull red light. The barkeeper is a young (?) elf, constantly smirking, who seems to have grown four arms, each simultaneously pouring beer, preparing a drink, accepting AROs and handing out champaign. And somehow he manages to file in a joke then and there.
To the left of the bar you can see a dancefloor sporting the most recent charts, the stuff the youth and wannabe-youths dance to. It's hip, it's fast and it's fun. At the far end you can see another dancefloor. The music that comes flooding from here is a little bit more neutral and old-fashioned. The stuff you listen to even without having done any drugs to bear the modernness of the shit they sell as music nowadays. Right before the entrance there is a staircase with an actual scarlet carpet.
In front of you dance six AR(R)Ows, each labeled with a name and, in small letters, the floor where it leads. They're all pulsating waiting to be activated. They say:

• Chester's Club, 1st
• Rave Cave, 1st
• Hard Rock Cafe, 2nd
• Jingle Jungle, 2nd
• Meet and greet, 3rds kl
• Chillout Lounge, 3rd

[8-bit]

"All right, do what you must." There's nothing incriminating for you to find anyway.

[Volker]

The man, still smiling his frozen smile, checks you swift but thouroughly. After finding nothing, he says: "Okay, thank you! Please enjoy your visit at Seventh Heaven!"
He waves you in, then goes on to the next customer.

[RagallachMC]

Beetle swears in disappointment as his attack fails.  Fraggin thing must be slaved to the club's host. Checking the time in his AR display he sighs with frustration.  if I had more time I'd show them what I can do.. He steps up to the troll, "No weapons, omae, but let's get this scan done. There's some fine ladies in there and I don't want to miss my chance.  Know what I mean?", he says with a wink and a smile.

[SnowDragon]

For a short, tiny little while, she mingled. Eyeing off the room, the bodies, the staff. Maybe even had a bit of time to enjoy the dance as well. Minimizing her AR feed from her 'link to avoid the spam zones. Body loosened and heart rate elevated through dancing, she moved to the bar itself, eyeing off what was on offer. Torn for a moment before making use of the night and the consideration that she'd probably not return her again in her lifetime, and not drinking while at work, so to speak, she decided against it, nodding to the 'tender, and heading for the stairs to get to the second floor. The team she was to join might already be up there, so it was a day of two greetings, team and Johnston. For a job that she could not miss, apparently.

[Volker]

Beetle

The security grins for a moment. "I sure do. Got free entrance here in my leisure time, mate." Somewhere between "got" and "free" you hear the slightest of buzzes as your retina scan is confirmed and he around "my" he waves you on. The second security believes you and also ushers you into the club.

Titanium

As you come closer the animated version of a Silver Linings Special cocktail hovers above the bar, a tempting six point ninety-nine nuyen that would make you feel light and cozy not only because of its great taste. Discarding it, you move on and can only do so much as wonder how this Vishnu-kind-of bartender manages not only to see you smile while he simultaneously  takes care of three customers, one of them ordering for four people, but also to answer it, if only in the shortest, but most welcoming smile you've received in a while.

As you move to the 2^nd floor, you find yourself in the corner of what is obviously the Hard Rock Cafe. You find posters - some of them, but not most of them AROs - of rock idols from Alice Cooper to Black Mass. The room is relatively dark, but not so dark as to be unpleasing. Here is obviously some place where you can enjoy music and a drink, but still have a conversation that is unlikely to be overheard without technological support. The bartender is a musculed human with arms like drain pipes and a beard like Father Frost. Small dark purple (or deep purple?) lights on the ceiling (you have to turn off AR for instant to realize they're actually real) help you find a place to sit. A help most welcome since almost every table is already occupied. A red-haired waitress in short jeans and a leather top is busy handling the various orders.
Some yards along the right wall you can see the second exit, leading to Jingle Jungle and the staircase and elevator.

[Landmine]

Mercy heads to the 2nd floor and gets the large bartender's attention.

"I'm looking for Mr. Johnson. I was told he would have a table here."

[8-bit]

Arachnos shakes his head. You would think they expected someone to smuggle a damn Assault Cannon in here.

He is barely able to make out the AROs flashing in his view. The damn technology was acting up again. Seems like directions. He manages to make out the words 'Cafe 2nd'. He activates it, and it shows him a path. Which then flickers and dies before him. Not again! With a sigh, Arachnos pulls out his commlink. He reboots it, which takes another minute. Finally, it reactivates and the path stays steady before him. He follows it to the second floor.

He overhears someone asking the bartender a question.

"I'm looking for Mr. Johnson. I was told he would have a table here."

Perfect. I'll just follow her. He moves closer to hear the bartender's answer.

[Volker]

Mercy/Arachnos

The bartender leans on both his strong arms, displaying his tattoos and eyeing Mercy.
"Uh-uh, that he has". He takes a closer look at you.
"Wow. Uhm, I meant: Titanium, I presume?"
He scratches his leg, seemingly embarrassed.

[SnowDragon]

It was like no club she had visited before, that much was for certain. The intricate combination of augmented reality and actual reality so well entwined that the unaware, or the easily affected might get confused between the two all together. Mix in achohol and you had the perfect way of making someone staying a little longer for just one more drink. The staff were trained and efficent, and presented themselves in just the right way. The knowledge the one who tended drinks here would gain over the course of a single night with skills like that would be astonishing. To gather accurate information from four different sources at once, and to be able to correctly relay that in the form of correct drinks to the customers would almost mean anything said in the bar at all would become knowledge to the owners. She wouldn't be surprised if the owner (or the 'tender's, in fact) Were in the information business. Bartending alone didn't pay all that well, afterall...

She'd have to be extra careful to check her tongue in a place like this. And it was when she was passing the bar, that maybe that earlier thought of professional worry was thrown out the window when she could hear the bartender refer to her name, that radio handle that had become her calling card. And the nerve! She wasn't even there speaking to him! And worse, he'd mistaken her for someone completely different. And while she had missed the earlier part of the conversation thanks to some distance, the mention of her name had her alerted. So, she stopped... And observed for the moment, facing the wrong way, but listening to see what was said.

Maybe the bartender would correct his mistake when he saw the *real* thing.

[Landmine]

Mercy/Arachnos

The bartender leans on both his strong arms, displaying his tattoos and eyeing Mercy.
"Uh-uh, that he has". He takes a closer look at you.
"Wow. Uhm, I meant: Titanium, I presume?"
He scratches his leg, seemingly embarrassed.

Mercy gives him a flat stare with her unnaturally perfect eyes, "No. Where's the table?"