[StarManta]

Monday February 15, 2072; 10:00, Seattle, UCAS

On a chilly February morning, seven people around the city received the same message. Seven people who appeared to be connected by nothing, no one person, not a unifying factor, save one: they all hailed from the underworld of Seattle.

The message might not have stood out from all the spam, but each of the seven was on the lookout for a job - for anyone calling themselves Mr. Johnson. None of them had had a team to fall back on for a little while, and without a team it was difficult to find work in the shadows.

When the messenger's face appeared in AR, it was almost laughable. The man in the message was wearing a latex mask, but it was so poorly made that it would be hard to mistake it for a face at any angle, let alone a convincing disguise. Most of those seeing the message had been in the shadows long enough to recognize that that, in itself, was a message - a message that this person intended to stay anonymous.

"I'm sure you are wondering who I am," the mask began, "But that is a habit you should break now. Come up with a name to give me if it makes you feel better, but I will not give you one.
"I know that you've not had a lot in the way of work lately. I'm aware of your talents, and I believe they're being wasted. I'd like you to meet your new team at the Edge at 5:00 this afternoon. This will come with an opportunity for profit, so be sure to act professionally."
He lowered his face, and even through the mask his deathly glare was apparent.
"And lest there is any ambiguity, no, you do not have an option."


Besides the "what you're doing that day" sort of stuff, everyone give me an Etiquette test with your reply, as well, describing your manner and dress when you enter the restaurant. Leigh Stark gets +2 to this test for being an elf.

[IrregularS]

Monday, February 15, 2072: 10:01, Beckman Mine/Luminous Coal Co., Carbonado, Puyallup district
Ironclad; PAN=Hidden SIN; Henry Fitzgerald, rt. 4

The message dinged in Ironclad's mail box, the annoying sound that he had set long ago waking him from a sound sleep. He rolled onto his side and grabbed for the commlink next to his, only succeeding on knocking it to the floor. It rolled under his bed, and he let out a loud groan that could only say, "For fucks sake, why am I awake!"

Ironclad sat up in his bed, his eyes slowly coming into focus. He blinked a couple of times to focus the AR displays that showed up in his vision. His morning cup of coffee had been brewed... three hours ago (Damn it, I've gotta get that thing fixed.) and a message was waiting in his inbox.

A voice sounded out, "Good morning. How did you sleep?" moments before an AR window opened, showing the smiling face of Sam.

"Not bad, Sam, not bad. How was the evening? Uneventful, I assume?" He popped open the message and started reading it.

"There were a couple of vagrants that passed by, but no one of real note."

"Alright, thanks for keeping an eye out." Ironclad furrowed his brow.

"Something wrong?"

"Looks like I've got a job, but the bastard's being really pushy. Threatening, even. Oh well, I'd rather not have someone come knocking, so I'll have to be going." He rubbed his chin and looked around again, actually seeing the room for the first time. "Well, I've got a bit of time to kill before I have to go. Anything interesting online today, Sam?"

Ironclad laid back down and dropped into VR.

Monday, February 15, 2072: 4:52 pm, Outside the Edge, Ninth Ave & Denny Way, Downtown district
Ironclad; PAN=Active SIN; Henry Fitzgerald, rt. 4

Ironclad tugged at the slightly wrinkled sleeves of the button down shirt he now wore. The feel of the fabric always bugged him. It was too soft, too yielding, and too thin. Same with the slacks he now wore. God, do I hate these clothes. He brushed a bit of the ash that clung to him that he had missed earlier.

Ironclad nervously tapped one of his capped tusks and looked down the road at the lot that he had parked his cycle, sighed, and walked into the restaurant.

I hope this kook already has a table reserved for us or is gonna have someone show us to the business site inside. It'd be kinda wierd to still be wearin' that mask inside this kinda establishment.

Charisma(3) + Etiquette(2)= (5d6.hits(5)=1)

[Netzgeist]

Monday February 15, 2072; 10:00, International District, Seattle Downtown, UCAS
Eliza Gebb; PAN=Passive broadcasting SIN rt. 4 Ada Byron. (Meta Link in passive mode slaved to "Major" commlink in Hidden mode)

Walking down the street, Eliza demeanor has not been affected the slightest while she processed the message. Even though it was a little disturbing that it seemed threatening, and that, by the time being, Eliza had no idea how the man in the mask had access to her commcode, she just continued strolling down the street with her shopping bag in hand. The way the message was delivered, there was no need to answer it yet.

The rest of the day, she wondered if it would be interesting to call some back-up to monitor her well-being during the meeting, but eventually she decided not to. Chances are that she was being monitored, and if that is really a job offer, this would sign her as a "not-confident person". And, after all, the meeting place was close to home and a place not suited for an ambush.

So she prepared herself for the meeting: The Edge being a fine restaurant (and an elven run one), there was a need to fit into it's standards. The meeting would be at early evening, so a fine dress would be appropriate. It's going to be a little cold, but a good first impression is worth the assumed discomfort, and the clothing would allow for some flexibility should it be needed. The black Moonsilver dress was in order. A light make-up (both the actual - real - one and the AR one) is also required; a measure of good taste, but not overly outstanding. She left her hair in the most natural look she found possible - the intricate braids her mother favored would be seen as a sign of good ancestry at The Edge, but it never really was among Eliza's preferences.

No jewelry this time; she does not have even one appropriate enough to use with the prepared garment. The only other visible accessory that accompanies the woman are her glasses.

Monday February 15, 2072; 17:00, Elven District, Seattle Downtown, UCAS
Eliza Gebb; PAN=Passive broadcasting SIN rt. 4 Ada Byron. (Meta Link in passive mode slaved to "Major" commlink in Hidden mode)

At five in the afternoon, the woman porting Ada Byron's SIN enters the appointed restaurant with a confident and graceful gait. With a soft voice she salutes the receptionist  in Sperethiel, waiting to see if she is going to be direct to some place or asked something.

5 (Charisma) + Etiquette 4 = 9 dice = 1 hit, no glitch
I'm not adding Vocal Range Enhancer bonus, neither  Empathy software (since I'm thinking the Etiquette test in question is more about the way one behaves himself in arriving at the place than any conversation, and there's no "other social responses" to evaluate at the time) . If some of this is requested, I may roll it again (or just the extra dices)

[Thermo]

Monday February 15, 2072; 10:00, Redmond Barrens, Dirk's Rooftop Apartment
Dirk Blackwater; PAN=Passive SIN: Johnny Renter Rt.1

Dirk had been up since dawn, and was working on his latest woodworking project when his commlink sent an image to his cybereye imagelink. Message waiting.

He opened the message and scanned its contents. Shit. This didn't sound like the kind of job that he was used to. The Edge? That fancy elven restaurant downtown? The only reason he ever went downtown was to hit up the Ork Underground, either to buy from the local underground market or to sell loot to the Trogs. There was just too much security for his taste. He hated to use his best fake SIN just for a meet with a Johnson, but it sounded like he didn't have a choice on this one. The fact that he was hiding his face didn't bother him in the slightest, as Dirk's own reconstructed face and permanently mounted sunglasses didn't exactly allow him to be holier-than-thou.

Dirk put down the oversized wooden baton he was tweaking and decided that getting an early lunch and then some sleep would be a good idea. Sometimes these things can take all night, and the last thing he was going to do was let a Johnson hear his stomach rumble or god forbid see him yawn. That would just be unprofessional. He needed to be frosty tonight.

Monday February 15, 2072; 16:00, Ork Underground, Downtown
Dirk Blackwater; PAN=Passive SIN: Johnny Renter Rt.1

Dirk stashes the cases containing his heavy assault crossbow and his sniper bow in a high-security locker in the Ork Underground near the entrance to The Edge. While he was on the way via the dreadfully slow (and dirty) public transportation, he ordered 50 nuyen worth of pizzas for the Trogs. This was their standard arrangement, which served two purposes. First, it let the Trogs know that he would be in the area tonight and might want their assistance, and second, it helped keep his stuff safe. Nobody messes with the Trogs in the Underground, and that includes their chummers.

(subtracts 50 nuyen from starting money account)

Ork Underground area knowledge (7d6.hits(5)=1)

Monday February 15, 2072; 16:55, The Edge, Downtown
Dirk Blackwater; PAN=Broadcasting SIN: Shin Shoryuken Rt.3

etiquette test (4d6.hits(5)=2)

Dirk arrives at The Edge right before the meet. He has sent his six Dragonfly drones out to do surveillance on the area, and has them running Covert Ops and Adaptability. He has a window open in his image link that is directly linking him to their optical sensors. Dirk himself is running Stealth and Encrypt to keep both the drones and his connection to them hidden.

Dirk is wearing his stylish matte black armored duster, buttoned to the top. He hopes it comes across as crisp and professional, like someone who is avoiding a fight, and not like the apparel of a street urchin, who might be specifically looking for a fight. Dirk is armed with both his heavy baton and his ceramic pistol crossbow, loaded with stick-n-shock ammo. He isn't enthused about meeting an anonymous "somebody" who is asking for his services while threatening him at the same time. Makes him very nervous. He's certainly made his fair share of enemies over the years, and there are probably a whole bunch that he doesn't even know about yet.

He'll hand over his heavy baton at the security checkpoint if they ask for it, but will only give up the ceramic pistol crossbow in the concealed back holster if they find it on the scanner and ask for it.

He's trying to look cold and frosty, as professional as he can, like a corpsec bodyguard from the trideo.

[Kylen]

Monday February 15, 2072; 10:00, Everette, Seattle, UCAS
Jackson Hart; PAN=Passive broadcasting SIN rt. 4 Roan Linth

Jackson blinked at the message, swerving between cars as he drove an early morning package, a legal one. "Is this guy for real? No options my ass." he growled, Weaving between some more vehicles, he decided it probably would be for the best. The Triad liked their members being a little aggressive when persuing personal goals. Afterall, side business can profit the group as well as the individual. Setting an alarm for 3 PM, he remote assigned the extra possible deliveries to others at the home base. Glad he had just enough pull to do so, hoping this opportunity pays out. Pulling off the highway, he pulled into a small suburb, dropping the package off at a house before taking off for his next delivery.

Monday February 15, 2072; 4:59, Downtown, Elven District, Seattle, UCAS
Jackson Hart; PAN = Passive broadcasting SIN rt. 4 Roan Linth

The delivery boy soon pulled up on his Contrail, parking. He showed up early to the meet to scope the place a bit, doing his best to get in early, wondering where the meeting spot was going to be inside. He was wearing his nicer armored clothes over his armored jacket, having left his shock gloves at home.

Etiquette, using Influence Group (3) + Charisma (5) (8d6.hits(5)=2)

[Chrona]

Monday February 15, 2072; 10:00, Renton, J's Apartment.
Conrad Johnson; PAN=Passive SIN: Conrad Johnson, Real.

A mask? Really? What is he a comic book villain? Or is Leather face hiring me for my first run?
J wasn't impressed, if he wanted anonymity why not just go voice only?

"She shadows are weird.. Soycaf, Black." Getting dressed he pondered his first run, he didn't want to be doing this but he had no choice.

"I'd better get some back up."
He waved his hand for a few seconds, willing forces to gather.

Summoning F.4 Spirit of Man: Summoning 3 + Magic 5 (8d6.hits(5)=2)
Resist: Force 4 (4d6.hits(5)=1)
Buy hits on drain.
F.4 Spirit of Man w/ Psychokinesis 1 Service.

"Ah Hatchi, it's you again." The man in front of J had features twisting into many many faces.
"This is not your place of work. What is going on Conrad?"

Monday February 15, 2072; 16:55, Downtown, Elven District.
Conrad Johnson; PAN=Passive SIN: Arthur Jones, R. 3.

Explaining had been awkward.
Standing in front of Edge wearing this suit over his Armour was awkward.
Becoming a runner was awkward.
At least even with no weapons he wasn't unarmed.
He entered slowly and turned to the greeter, "I'm meeting someone at 17:00?"
How the hell does his work?

Etiquette (Cha-1) (4d6.hits(5)=1)

[lwcoyote]

Monday, Febuary 15, 2072; 12:00. Apartment of 'Jenna McIntyre', Auburn District.
Dancer; PAN=Hidden; SIN Leigh Stark
Note: Using bold for speech, italic dialogue for 'under the breath' or subvocal speech, straight italics for thoughts, purple for comlink IMs and such.

A tired moan escapes the youthful-appearing elf as she rolls over in the king-sized bed, her lithe form hidden by a cream coloured silk sheet. Blindly, the elf reaches for an old-fashion (circa 2020) style alarm-clock blaring music loudly: Dragonfire Run, one of the new hit-singles by Sylkwurm. Abruptly, the sound is cut off as she finds the 'snooze' button, though the silence is broken by another moan as she slowly pushes herself upright.

"Too fraging early." she swears, rubbing her face a little as she eyes the clock with disgust.

'12:00p' it replies, silently.

Sounds from beyond the room, however, draw a tired smile to the elf, her thoughts briefly darting back to the previous evening. With a little laugh she shakes her head, then turns on the bed, swinging her legs around so that she can settle them on the hardwood floor.

Arching, the elf stretches, arms over her head first, then pressing at the small of her back,  until a soft 'crick' could be heard. Another moan, this one of satisfaction, as she reaches for a small metal container on the night-table.

Opening it reveals a half-dozen small green tablets, one of which is fished out and popped into an open mouth. The elf smiles, eyes closing... after a moment, a shiver of delight rolls through her slender form.

"Leigh! Breakfast is ready!" comes a female voice from beyond the open door, which draws a little giggles from the elf. Rubbing her face once more, she stands, reaching for a robe.

"I'll be down in a few, Ter... just going to take a quick shower." she calls back, turning towards the large bathroom. Ter, short for Terista; confidante, friend and lover, contact. Employer. How strange relationships mix these days, the elf muses as she steps into the shower.

Monday, Febuary 15, 2072; 13:05. Auburn district.
Dancer; PAN=Passive; SIN Leigh Stark

An hour later, hands tucked into the pockets of her custom-fitted Mortimer of London greatcoat and head ducked against the light drizzle, Leigh heads towards the nearby monorail station, intent on heading into the Downtown core. As she walks, she takes a quick mental checklist of her on-person gear: Fichetti Security 600 tucked into a concealed holster, two clips of extra ammunition in hidden internal pockets, combat knife also in a concealed sheath, and of course her comlink, transmitting to wireless contacts.

A grim look as she briefly goes through the news-cast in one window, while checking the status of her Everquest V guild in another window. A third window with her email, sorted by sender rather than date, sits just at the edge of her vision.

"Mm... Knight Errant has the Olympic contract.. that should make Morgan happy... and I better let Daniel know I'm going to want some event tickets.."[/i] she murmurs to herself after deleteing the message, then giving her head a shake at the next link. "And I think I better sell my Screamers season tickets.." the elf adds with a low growl of disgust.

 Stopping at a ticket terminal, the graceful elf woman pauses in her reading to purchase a ticket via her comlink, a day pass specifically - though she owns a vehicle, she prefers not to drive it in this weather. With a sigh, she ducks into the station proper, out of the rain, and moves to stand near a group of businessmen on lunch, waiting for the next monorail.

"Mm.. whats this... a new presidential candidate?"[/i] the elf then murmurs almost subvocally, eyeing this story curiously. "Mark Hanson... I'm not familiar with him. I'll have to ask around."[/i] Leigh then finishes, with a little nod. Glancing up, she frowns as she catches a tall human male staring at her, then quickly looking away. "Hope he's a fan." she sighs, half-turning away.. yet keeping her awareness open, in case he wasn't.

Once on the monorail, and settled into one of the uncomfortable, worn plastic seats that fill the individule cars, Leigh accesses her email. Mostly spam, as usual, along with an offer from a 'client' to entertain at a party. That one gets shunted into a seperate email box for later reply. Checking the time, and realizing she's running late, the elf then remits a quick message of her own.

-- Lyon, running late... don't ask. Long night. Where are we all meeting today?-- before settling back for the ride.

A new message, however, pops almost immediately. The man in the mask, with his offer. And threats. Leigh curses softly to herself... could this be some sort of trap? the elf thinks to herself, frowning. I might be the black sheep, but I know my family wouldn't leave me to hang... Unfortunately, the message did not give her nearly enough information to trace or to pass on to one of her contacts for identification. Feeling a little trapped, yet at the same time curiously elated, the elf decides to make the meeting, implied threat or not.

Monday, Febuary 15, 2072; 16:55. The Edge, Downtown district
Dancer; PAN=Passive; SIN Leigh Stark
Gear On-hand: armored clothing, Fichetti Security 600 Light Pistol, comlink

Dressed to the nines in her best 'upper-management' style skirtsuit, Leigh walks smoothly into the resteraunt. Although she hadn't been here in at least a year, it remained as familiar as ever, as if it rarely if ever changed. Offering a smile to the hostess, she looks past her towards the interior of the restaraunt, then turns back to the elf.

"Table for two, please... I'll be meeting a friend shortly." she suggests politely to the hostess, figuring her own table will give her a chance to scope out the patrons.

Etiquette Test: 5 successes
Link to Dice roll
http://www.palladiumknights.com/forums/showthread.php?336-Generic-Dice-Roll-Thread&p=3451&posted=1#post3451
Note: invisible castle has been really buggy for me the last few weeks, so the dice roll was done on another PbP website I play on, called Palladium Knights

[StarManta]

Monday February 15, 2072; 17:00, Elven District, Seattle Downtown, UCAS

Although it was hardly what one would call a regular occurence, more than one of those invited had been to The Edge at least once before. The marble facades of the building framed an immaculately maintained garden and a number of terrariums scattered throughout. Although the open atmosphere meant that most of the patrons could see most of the others from any given position - albeit slightly obscured by plant life - the vibration-neutralizing structure of the building and clever acoustics made audio eavesdropping nigh impossible, unless you were within a few feet of the table.

One by one, the strangers entered the restaurant to be judged by the wait staff. Only one of them truly passed the muster - the elven woman, of course - but at least the rest got by without anything worse than deriding sneers. In a bistro this picky about its clientele, that was accomplishment enough. Especially for the orks.

As Ironclad approached the front of the restaurant, the maitre'd glanced at him, then glanced just off to the side, viewing something in AR. Momentarily he snapped back to the real world. "We're expecting you. Right this way, sir." He was clearly less than thrilled about the lack of almond-shaped eyes and pointed ears on this customer, but such was the cost of doing business - sometimes, of course, you had to deal with the lower rungs to climb to the higher ones. The maitre'd led the ork to an empty table in the corner. Unlike every other table in the restaurant, this one was obscured by a considerable amount of plant life. Only one other table could even be seen from this vantage point, and the well-dressed elven couple there was just finishing a course of crème brûlée. This, though, was a table just for the ones they wanted to hide. Eight place settings were waiting there.

One by one, each stranger entered the restaurant and was led with varying degrees of acceptance to the same out-of-the-way table, each getting their respective "We've been expecting you" as they entered. All except Leigh and Sharp, that is, who each had their own respective tables elsewhere, along the path the others took to get to the table. Sharp kept one eye on the door for the duration of the meal, seeing nothing that seemed out of the ordinary comings and goings of elves on dates and business meetings. Ten minutes before five, however, the first clear sign of his 'team' arrived: an ork was an unusual sight here, and even with a button-down shirt and slacks he came off as being a little underdressed for a place like this.

Leigh wasn't picked out of the crowd by Sharp, and as she sat and pretended to read the menu, she also watched as the others passed her, one by one, on the way to the table. An ork in a black duster. A human in a suit that looked like its bulk was hiding a little more than chubbiness. A few minutes later, another human in another overly bulky suit. Was this her so-called 'team'? She probably wasn't the only one who'd felt more than a little threatened by the message. Finally, a girl in glasses and a black dress who could barely be called an adult passed by. Surely she was going to an unrelated table. Leigh glanced at the time: 5:00 PM.

At the table for eight, their messenger was yet to be seen. The first course - an anemic salad of field greens and sprouts, topped with some sort of vinaigrette even connoisseurs would have a hard time identifying for certain - was brought to the table a few minutes after five, just as the strangers were settling in and exchanging names (fake names, no doubt).


Talk amongst yourselves for a few minutes, and everybody roll a Perception test (any sense; if you have bonuses to different senses,  note them and use whichever is higher)

lwcoyote, be sure to note when/whether Leigh joins the others at the table.

[Deliverator]

Monday February 15, 2072; 10:00, Seattle, UCAS Downtown District
Sharp, PAN=Passive SIN; Nicholas Spikings, rt.4
Note: Using bold for speech, italic dialogue for 'under the breath' or subvocal speech, straight italics for thoughts, purple for comlink IMs and such.

Walking down the streets of downtown Seattle Talon is glancing into the storefront windows as he matches pace with a well dressed man with a attache case across the street. Suddenly in his peripherals a message pops up. Time to break off the shadowing practice...

Talon seamlessly moves through the door of a stuffer shack at the end of the block and brings the new message to the front of his AR while nonchalantly browsing for a late breakfast. Its a man, in a mask, with a threatening job offer. A new job with a twist. I don't like this, but it doesn't sound like I have a choice, yet. The Edge, higher end Elven club. Should be my kind of place. Talon left the stuffer shop, still hungry, but more curious. Jumped on the nearest public transport and continued his day. Need to stop by the apartment to pick up my nice clothes before the meeting. Thankfully its a restaurant, plenty of weapons to be had if needed.

Monday, Febuary 15, 2072; 16:00. The Edge, Downtown district
Sharp; PAN=Passive; SIN Nicholas Spikings, rt.4
Gear On-hand: comlink, Form-Fitting Full-Body Suit

Walked through the door with a beautiful elven woman on his arm. Nothing better to keep eyes off me than the best arm candy Stepping up to the hostess Talon leans in and whispers into her perfectly pointed ears, Hey there gorgeous, can I get a small table with a view of the door? There will be a nice tip in it for you The hostess nods, and takes Talon to his table for two. Talon pulls the chair out for his date, and sits in the chair facing the entrance. Now I will get a peek at this "team" as they enter.

Etiquette Test: Etiquette 2 + Cha(5) + Elf Bonus (2) (9d6.hits(5)=4)

[Kylen]

Monday, Febuary 15, 2072; 5:00 PM. The Edge, International District.
Jackson; PAN=Passive; SIN Rt 4: Roan Linth

Sitting down, the smuggler nods at the others, not really yet striking up conversation, though he did glance at the menu, wondering how truely expensive this place was. "Anyone else ever eat here?" he asked politely. "Wondering what I should try. Not in this district that often." he said with a little grin. "I usually only pass through on my way to dinner."

perception (4d6.hits(5)=2)

[Netzgeist]

4 (Intuition) + 2 (Perception) + 1 (Hearing Enhancement) + 3 (Earbuds: Audio Enhancement 3) - 1 (AIPS 1) = dice pool of 9
9 dice = 4 hits, no glitch

Monday, February 15, 5:00PM. The Edge, Elven District, Seattle Downtown, UCAS
Eliza Gebb; PAN=Passive, broadcasting Ada Byron SIN rt. 4

The girl in black was interested: things are peculiar, at least.
There is quite a long time since she came here last. Of course, then she had a legit SIN, and then she was well-treated. Well, she was with an elf at the time, and maybe that was the real deal. Probably they are not just very good not showing their prejudice when there is no other opinion they really care about at earshot. Even though she got quite angry with the maitre, there is truly no way to tell from her expression: she is still as adequate as possible.

The table to where she was directed was another surprise. No one seemed like the host she was expecting. But none of them also seemed like the people she usually worked with. She sits with them, cautious, but acting very resolute. She is the first to introduce herself.

"Hello, gentlemen. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems like we will need to wait for our host." She is quite certain they all received the same (or at least a very similar) message. "You would please me a lot by addressing myself by the name of Ada. Even though I can see the profiles you are broadcasting, I think it would be nice with everyone could say how they prefer to be called for this little meeting, if this is not a problem." She browses through the AROs showing the public profiles of the ones who broadcast them, and connect to the place public node to have a look at the wine menu. A rapid thought cross her mind: I hope this freak with the mask really appears; paying this would be too debilitating with my current credit.

All the time, she keeps analyzing the behavior of everyone around her. There's no way to tell yet this is not a trap, and the best way of being secure is by having the greatest amount of information she can get.

As soon as the one broadcasting the SIN designed for one Roan Linth asks about the food, she answer:

"I have come here sometimes, at better times, when the waitress at least tried to be polite. Well, if you would care for my advice, this would depend mostly on your preferences for the main course. It's not truly a good place if you have a need for beef, but if you like some veggie food, their channa massala is fantastic."

[Thermo]

Monday February 15, 2072; 17:03, The Edge, Downtown
Dirk Blackwater; PAN=Passive SIN: Shin Shoryuken Rt.3

Dirk slowly scans the restaurant as he follows the hostess to the private table in the corner. An obviously drunk (and obviously fabulously wealthy) human sets down a wine bottle with a loud bang. Dirk's wired reflexes kick in, and he turns to identify the noise with inhuman speed. The drunk man nearly jumps out of his chair at the sudden glance. Great, this is going wonderfully so far.

Perception(2)+Int(4)+cybereyes(2)=8d visual (8d6.hits(5)=6)

He identifies a seat with its back to the wall, but with a view over the foliage of both the terrace and the main entrance. Sitting down, his matte black cybershades don't give much away of what he's looking at, but he gives the impression of someone who isn't looking at anything but still somehow manages to see everything. He nods at everyone at the table in turn, finally resting his apparent gaze at a spot in space between two people, as though he's preoccupied looking at something in AR. (Checks the status of his Dragonfly drones, seeing if anything out of the ordinary is happening outside)

After a few seconds he snaps his attention back to the present, slowly scanning the people at the table again with cold scrutiny. Finally, he speaks in a gravelly voice with a slight British accent: "Name's Blackjack. I assume we're all here under the same dubious circumstances."

[Chrona]

"Yeh.. Um, I'm J.... look..." He shuffled nearer and hunched slightly, lowering his voice. "Before Leather Face gets here I just want to be honest about something... I'm completely new at this... I'm very out of my element, I'm surprised I got that call at all."

This was all too posh for Conrad, it made him uneasy.

Visual Then Audio (Perception 3 + Int 4 + Enhancement 3) (10d6.hits(5)=2, 10d6.hits(5)=7)

[Deliverator]

Monday February 15, 2072; 17:03, The Edge, Downtown
Sharp; PAN=Passive SIN: Nicholas Spikings

Smiling, laughing, and flirting with his date Talon continues to scan the room. Looks like five so far... Talon pours the last of the bottle of wine, trying to squeeze every drop out of it. This job better pay, this is going to burn a hole in my cred Talon leans back, crosses his right leg over his left and takes a sip while telling stories and listening to his date.

Perception 1 + Int (4) + Audio Enhancement (3) (8d6.hits(5)=5)
Perception 1 + Int(4) + Vision Enhancement(3) (8d6.hits(5)=5)

((Really trying to figure out this whole rolling system thing egh...))

[lwcoyote]

Monday, Febuary 15, 2072; 17:05. The Edge, Downtown district
Dancer; PAN=Passive; SIN switched to Jenna McIntyre
Gear On-hand: armored clothing, Fichetti Security 600 Light Pistol, comlink

Leight settles back into her chair, studying the menu with passing interest; Nothing new.. the same old cuisine.. she muses to herself, giving a slight headshake. It's not surprising that the reputation of the kitchen has taken a beating late.. the elf adds to herself, before setting the menu itself down.

Turning her attentions back to the spacious yet cunningly designed dining room, Leigh studies each of the newcomers briefly, enough to try and gather some measure of them. Mm.. none of them really seem to fit in... they're probably this 'team' that was mentioned in the message. But no sign of Mask. she ponders, before slowly standing. Briefly, she gives her skirt a careful brush, then moves towards the larger table, taking a slightly round-about route to see if there were any other eyes on her, or the gathering. Briefly, she checks each PAN at the table, enough to get a name, nothing more.

Finally, the elf gracefully eases up to the table, offering a cursory smile before settling into the seat next to the woman identified as Ada. "It seems like we are waiting on our host." Leigh comments, tone even. "I do hope he decides to leave the mask at home... there *is* a dress code here, afterall."

As the salad is brought to the table, Leigh politely thanked the server, then eyes the food rather dubiously. Although an elf, she prefered a more robust diet, one of the reasons why she did not frequent The Edge. Looking back up to the others, she smiles again, carefully yet genuinely. "I'm sorry if I missed introductions. I generally go by Dancer." the elf offers.

Leigh is about five foot and nine inches, and perhaps one hundred and thirty five pounds, giving her a figure that is a little more curvaceous than is normal for an elf. Wavey, light honey blonde hair tumbles down past the half way point of her back, framing her finely boned face, the bangs occasionally hiding her dark turquioise gaze. Currently, "Jenna" is clad in a sharp skirtsuit; navy blue blazer and skirt with gold buttons, a white blouse with the top two buttons undone and comfortable, conservative heels. A hint of makeup, enough to draw out her natural features and highlight her eyes. Lastly, a simple chain with a pendant can be seen just past the collar of the blouse. No rings or other jewelry is noted.

http://www.palladiumknights.com/forums/showthread.php?336-Generic-Dice-Roll-Thread&p=3453#post3453
Visual Perception -> 4 successes (damn, 3 sixes!)
other Perception -> 2 successes