After a short discussion, you've decided that to cut the search for trails around the ranch and roll the wheel toward Marcel's
At this hour the traffic is starting to die, so the van drove smoothly steered by the Wilco's sure hand, seems like the alcohol has so far no effect on his skill.
Belenkiy’s Extended Family
At 9235 Brighton Road, Marcel’s is your classic American Diner meets Heavy Punk. Espousing “All the Street you can eat,” the restaurant gets by a lot on the shock value of their wait staff who are all heavily tattooed and pierced or have undergone body mod surgery. Changelings who underwent serious changes are also hired. The food should be (from what you gather on the Matrix restaurants ratings chatnodes) decent but higher priced than most diners.
Primarily the patrons are corporate wage-slaves who want to add a little spice to their life by “slumming” it and teenagers who desperately strive for whichever type of youthful rebellion will upset their parents the most.
At the entrance you can get business cards to some of the best (according to the cards) tattoo and piercing parlors in town.
Getting access to Ramses requires a little bit of smoothtalk, but Mata got that in no time.
And now (the time is 08:50, 12:10 hours to the ransom deadline) sitting down at the table in Marcel’s, you only had to wait a moment before Ramses drops down into the chair across from you. Broad shouldered, the chicano dwarf is wearing a tight fitting tank top and loose slacks. The shirt reveals the intricate work of tattooed sleeves that goes from the back of his hand, all the way up to caress his jaw line. Chrome and steel catches the light at odd angles reflecting off the line of skin posts that starts at Ramses’ Adam’s apple and disappears beneath the tank top.
Alright, chummers. You called, so what are you pushing?
