@Iceblade:
You arrive a few minutes early for the meet, which you believe to be the most professional approach. You have to double-check the location, as it isn't what you were expecting. You thought that you'd been invited to every single exclusive club in the city, but you realize that you were very much mistaken. The club looks unassuming from the outside, but you realize that you’re being scrutinized the moment you step up to the door. You broadcast the code to enter the club and the enormous troll bouncer gives you a look up and down. You see a glint in his eye and realize that he's using a scanner to check you for obvious weapons or offensive cyberware. He gives you a nod and allows you to enter, stepping aside so you can walk through the nondescript metal door.
You walk into a small foyer with a desk and a sharply dressed elf sitting behind it. In addition to the door you entered from, there are doors to your left, to your right, and directly behind the elf. The foyer is paneled with expensive real wood, but the acoustics of the room tell you that there's something much more substantial behind it. The elf smiles and tells you that all visitors, even members, are scanned for recording devices, weapons, and offensive cyberware, and asks your permission to conduct a scan. You nod in approval, not seeing much of a choice. The scanner is mounted in a decorative chandelier directly overhead, and when it turns on you are bathed in a greenish light. Separate scanners hidden in wall-mounted sconces shoot similar beams of light at your person.
The elf checks his AR readout and frowns slightly. He politely asks you to allow him to check your weapons. He sends over a read-only AR message that indicates the club, through a third-party shell company, is fully bonded and insured with respect to members' and guests' personal belongings up to a value of one million nuyen. He opens the door behind him and removes a long padded case which was clearly designed to hold a sword or similarly-sized weapon. He places a thumb on a small black square and asks you to do the same on a similarly placed black square, which you realize is part of a sophisticated biometric lock.
What do you do?
@Lost:
You arrive more than a few minutes early for the meet. You have to double-check the location, as it isn't what you were expecting. The club looks unassuming from the outside, but you realize that you’re being scrutinized the moment you step up to the door. You broadcast the code to enter the club and the enormous troll bouncer gives you a look up and down. You see a glint in his eye and realize that he's using a scanner to check you for obvious weapons or offensive cyberware. He gives you a nod and allows you to enter, stepping aside so you can walk through the nondescript metal door.
You walk into a small foyer with a desk and a sharply dressed elf sitting behind it. In addition to the door you entered from, there are doors to your left, to your right, and directly behind the elf. The foyer is paneled with expensive real wood, but the acoustics of the room tell you that there's something much more substantial behind it. The elf smiles and tells you that all visitors, even members, are scanned for recording devices, weapons, and offensive cyberware, and asks your permission to conduct a scan. You nod in approval, not seeing much of a choice. The scanner is mounted in a decorative chandelier directly overhead, and when it turns on you are bathed in a greenish light. Separate scanners hidden in wall-mounted sconces shoot similar beams of light at your person.
The elf checks his AR readout of the results and nods satisfactorily. He tells you that your outfit doesn't quite meet the dress code, but that the scanner has determined your exact sportcoat size. He opens one of the doors behind him and pulls out an expensive Zoe sportcoat. You put it on and it fits perfectly. Again, the elf nods satisfactorily, and opens the door to your right.
"Welcome to 77, Sir. Enjoy your evening."
A gorgeous hostess in a skin-tight cocktail dress leads you into the club proper. It’s quiet, and the aroma of cigar smoke, expensive rum, and money drifts through the air. In private rooms, you catch glimpses of a few famous faces—Mafia dons rubbing elbows with trid stars and high-ranking corporate officials. The hostess leads you down a couple of wood-paneled corridors to a small room and asks if she can bring you any refreshments.
OOC: Feel free to order a drink and look around for a moment, the rest of the team should be arriving shortly.
@Hyena:
You arrive a short few minutes early for the meet. You have to double-check the location, as it isn't what you were expecting. The club looks unassuming from the outside, but you realize that you’re being scrutinized the moment you step up to the door. You scan for astral wards and you see that there is a powerful ward surrounding the entire building. You broadcast the code to enter the club and the enormous troll bouncer gives you a look up and down. You see a glint in his eye and realize that he's using a scanner to check you for obvious weapons or offensive cyberware. He gives you a nod and allows you to enter, stepping aside so you can walk through the nondescript metal door.
You walk into a small foyer with a desk and a sharply dressed elf sitting behind it. In addition to the door you entered from, there are doors to your left, to your right, and directly behind the elf. The foyer is paneled with expensive real wood, but the acoustics of the room tell you that there's something much more substantial behind it. The elf smiles and tells you that all visitors, even members, are scanned for recording devices, weapons, and offensive cyberware, and asks your permission to conduct a scan. You nod in approval, not seeing much of a choice. The scanner is mounted in a decorative chandelier directly overhead, and when it turns on you are bathed in a greenish light. Separate scanners hidden in wall-mounted sconces shoot similar beams of light at your person.
The elf checks his AR readout and frowns slightly. He politely asks you to allow him to check your weapons. He sends over a read-only AR message that indicates the club, through a third-party shell company, is fully bonded and insured with respect to members' and guests' personal belongings up to a value of one million nuyen. He opens the door behind him and removes a rectangular padded case which was clearly designed to hold a pistol or similarly-sized weapon. He places a thumb on a small black square and asks you to do the same on a similarly placed black square, which you realize is part of a sophisticated biometric lock.
What do you do?
@Jerry:
After lowering your head and storming past the troll, you walk through a nondescript metal door which the troll holds open for you. You get the sense that the troll is all business and has already forgotten about you, just another customer. He's undoubtedly dealt with worse.
You walk into a small foyer with a desk and a sharply dressed elf sitting behind it. In addition to the door you entered from, there are doors to your left, to your right, and directly behind the elf. The foyer is paneled with expensive real wood, but the acoustics of the room tell you that there's something much more substantial behind it. The elf smiles and tells you that all visitors, even members, are scanned for recording devices, weapons, and offensive cyberware, and asks your permission to conduct a scan. You nod in approval, not seeing much of a choice. The scanner is mounted in a decorative chandelier directly overhead, and when it turns on you are bathed in a greenish light. Separate scanners hidden in wall-mounted sconces shoot similar beams of light at your person.
The elf checks his AR readout of the results and nods satisfactorily. He informs you that the club has an extremely strict policy on recording while in the club, and with that in mind he tells you that you are expected to keep your goggles powered off. He tells you that your outfit doesn't quite meet the dress code, but that the scanner has determined your exact sportcoat size. He opens one of the doors behind him and pulls out an expensive Mortimer of London sportcoat. You put it on and it fits perfectly. Again, the elf nods satisfactorily, and opens the door to your right.
"Welcome to 77, Sir. Enjoy your evening."
A gorgeous hostess in a skin-tight cocktail dress leads you into the club proper. It’s quiet, and the aroma of cigar smoke, expensive rum, and money drifts through the air. In private rooms, you catch glimpses of a few famous faces—Mafia dons rubbing elbows with trid stars and high-ranking corporate officials. The hostess leads you down a couple of wood-paneled corridors to a small room and asks if she can bring you any refreshments.
