conversations: human
conversations:  Chapter One:
  The Vagrant Master 
  
  Your contact told you the job was her, but it doesn't look like any place you've accepted a job before. Sure, you've been to a lot of bars, and a lot of dives, but  The Vagrant Master  is a special kind of ramshackle, walls pitted deeply and warped as if from decades of neglect under Seattle's acid rain, despite the fact that the lease is lease, and the building itself, is less than a year old.
  In meatspace, that's all there is to the front, warped, pitted, and damaged hadwood. In augmented reality, the only changes are the words  Vagrant Master  in a half-hearted facsimile of red-orange neon, and your own tag, verifying that, yes. This was the place your fixer directed you to, and you didn't get lost in the barren snarl around you.
  Also: it's midday. That, in and of itself, is odd. Usually, Johnsons took the whole "Shadow" part literally and preferred to meet in the dead of night.
  
  There's a long, sleek, limousine, so black as to drink in the sunlight around it, nestled in the back of the tiny parking lot adjacent to the building, in stark contrast to the building -- and the barrens, themselves. A pair of bulky Harley-Davidsons flank it, saddlebags bulging with what are probably lazily-concealed weapons.
  The only other vehicle is a rusted, Ford Americar. I may have once been a bright green, but the rust and graffiti have long since obliterated that particular paint-job.
  
  The front door sits slightly askew, and opens easily to your touch.
  There is nobody in the small foyer to greet you, simply a small, hand-carved sign advising visitors to check their weapons in "the cabinet".
  The cabinet in question is a rotted wardrobe, with the lock clumsily and half-heartedly torn out and thrown away a long time ago.
  Through the empty door frame, the low, red-orange glow of the bar's lights creep into the room, illuminating a long stretch of polished mahogany bar-top with a human leaning against it, apparently deep in conversation with somebody over the AR in his glasses, his right arm popping and siezig as it numbly wipes down the same six or so centimeters of bar-top.
  He does not have a left one.
  
  Is this the place?
  It has to be.
  
  You check your messages again. The addresses match.
  
   Inside the bar proper 
   
   Spoiler 
  Aside from the barman, there are two other metahumans immediately visible in the bar, one is a burly troll in a shabby waistcoat with a raggedy bowler cap impaled on one of his horns, chew on the stub of an unlit cigar and impatiently checking a pocket watch encased in bright gold.
  The second is and elven man, sitting on a spare stool underneath a sign advertising "Private Matrix Booths" for the low price of 10 nuyen per hour. He glances up at you as you enter, but, unless directly interacted with, immediately resumes filing his fingernails, which appear to already be shaped into fine, sharp points and painted black, embossed with red and orange flame in Augmented Reality.
  He is the only one without a default persona in the Matrix, presenting himself there as a meditating chinese guru sitting cross-legged and levitating above the "floor" with a long, true-red beard trailing to the floor.
   
conversations: Thanatos 51-50:
conversations: human
conversations:  Case walked in to the ramshackle establishment, looking warily at the other customers who are within. His eyes finally fell on the Matrix booth, an inward smile telling of how easy it would be to pry open the security of such a thing, penetrate the undercurrent of pay-data, and liberate such things. Of course, then his gaze was drawn to the persona of the wizened guru, hovering before him in AR. His own persona, a quicksilver and largely featureless humanoid, raised a wave towards the guru, whose hovering was set against the green gridlines supplied by Case's reality filter. He didn't fully expect the figure to respond, but in his mind politeness cost little, and he never knew quite who was with whom, especially on a meet. He did make a mental note that not everyone in the bar was a complete techno-weenie, and he made a few subtle adjustments to his cyberdeck settings, flipping the icons on his Configurator controls, which responded to a flick of his quicksilver hand, to a more "Defensible" preset.
  
  That done he turned towards the bar tender and thought better of it. He didn't drink, and the prospect of starting here didn't make him very pleased. Plus, he doubted that his request for something with alot of caffeine, and alot of fizz would not instantly make him the most popular person here. Instead he pulled up the collar of his trenchcoat just a bit, and walked towards one of the recessed booths, waiting for the the contact he was supposed to meet to make himself (or herself) known.
conversations: Saulk:
conversations: human
conversations:  The gazes of the few customers in the derelict establishement are drawn to the door as it gapes open.
  
  An elf steps through, his clothes long and flowing, their color a dull gray, somehow reminding one of a lazy autumn morning.
  
  His hair are a sharp contrast to the melancolic clothing, a vivd blue and tied up in a warrior's ponytail.  The elf's features are, of course, striking, but the look in the hazel eyes is not quite right, making you want to return to your drink rather than engage conversation.
  
  He looks around for a while, and smirks a bit, a flash of vivid green going across his robes before returning to gray.
  
     ''Terrific!''   
  
  He whispers under his breath.
  
  Not seeing the Johnson anywhere, and not wanting to be out of place, Tee sets out for the bar and orders Tea.
  
  The bartender, looking puzzled, informs him that no such thing can be acquired in his establishement.
  
  A brief shad of red colors the robe before the elf's smirk returns.
  
     ''Tequila then...''   
  
  As the bartender complies, the elf, with a corner of his robe bulging out as if a long pole was hidden underneath, turns around on his stool and scans the room.
conversations: InOurHands:
conversations: human
conversations:  Sebastian found himself fidgeting slightly. Shifting his weight from one feet to the other restlessly as he looked around... The place didn't look hygienic enough. Nothing compared to the Junkyard of course but it still took him out of his comfort zone... he only expected not to find dust in the air...
  
   Breathing through the respirator on his face he spoke calmly to the bartender.
   
    " Good evening *Fhsss* Do you know? *Fhsss* Where we can find *Fhsss* The owner of the Limousine parked outside? *Fhsss*"  
conversations: MSGM:
conversations: human
conversations:  [QUOTE=Thanatos 51-50;16626852] Chapter One:
  The Vagrant Master 
  
  Is this the place?
   It has to be.
  
  Chin circles the building looking for snipers and guards.
  
  He approaches the door, ignores the weapons sign and walks in.
  'not my guru' he thinks to himself.
  
  Walking straight to the bar and taking a stool.
  "Something strong in the glass and salty on the plate Chum if you will.  Script OK?"
conversations: DocShadow:
conversations: human
conversations:  The one-armed bartender shuffles around behind his barrier and places a stoneware teapot and a small, ceramic cup on the bar behind the elf as he turns around, grinning as he does so.
  He actually believed they didn't have tea? What a rube.
  
   "Script spends, omae,"  the barkeep shrugs, jabbing his index finger into the bartop to indicate where the courier should leave his money.  "But you ain't gettin' so much as bulldrek before I'm lookin' at it." 
   "As for you,"  he continued, whirling around at the elf and pointing a dust-tipped finger directly at the respirator.  "The Limo's mine. Permits are paid, and I don't appreciate brass walkin' in to my bar still packin' iron." 
   Case Only 
  (I rolled your Matrix perception on my desk)
   
   Spoiler 
  The Matrix flickered for a fraction of a moment, and something nearly imperceptible shifted, somewhere. Reflexively, you pull up your logs. to catch the source of the micro-instants flicker.
  The decor changed. about half a dozen lights shifted out, and half a dozen more popped in, in the exact same place. You could catch no difference in the decor, even panning around to look for it, but your reality filter points you towards the source:
  glowing, Chinese-style swords floating inches from the wall are new. You're positive they were there before, but the green lines of your reality filter are just now catching up and giving them an anchor, as per their protocol.
  Somebody just sent them a command. Or rebooted them. Or something.
   
conversations: Thanatos 51-50:
conversations: human
conversations:  Junk takes a couple of steps back at the sight of the dusty finger.
  
     " We are not looking for trouble. *Fhsss* We are just searching *Fhsss* for our Mr Johnson. He said he would meet us here. *Fhsss*"  
     " THAT is his limo?... he sure seems to like traveling in style for someone who owns such a run down piece of drek "   He thinks
conversations: MSGM:
conversations: human
conversations:  Tee extends a hand without saying a word, grabing the cup of tea with a vacant smile and taking a sip.
  
  His clothes flash, for just an instant, a disgusted vomit green, before he sets the cup back on the table, his smile never leaving his lips.
  
    Thanks  
  
  Something was out of place here.  A crappy drek hole that served tea, a one armed bartender who had the means to a limo but not a cyberarm, people with respirators asking for johnsons, people who used paper money (although he was human and they were known for their barbarism).
  
  Tee's eyes flickered as he took a brief look in the astral, the veil between worlds being lifted for just an instant.
conversations: InOurHands:
conversations: human
conversations:  Flipping a Jing C-Script on the bar.  "Strong doubled and quick would be appreciated Tusk.  I don't care if it's TrogJuice.  One for you to if you're wanting.  Salty is not so much of a hurry."
  
  "You can call me anything you like, but if you wish me to answer, I'd recommend you use Squirrel.   Nǐ ne? 
   Spoiler 
  Mandarin for "and you?"
   
  
  
  Chin wipes off a random barstool and plants himself on it.  Completely at ease in this environment he waits for the chip head or pixie to do something....
conversations: DocShadow:
conversations: human
conversations:  In a normal volume and tone to no one in particular.  Squirrel asks:
  "Yǒurén huì shuō shàngdì de yǔyán ma?"
   
   Spoiler: Chinese translation 
  Does anyone speak God's language?
   
conversations: DocShadow: