<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e3/RoanQuinceCyber3.png)</div>Roan watched the others to ensure that they took her number down - and that the last one among them destroyed the paper as instructed. When she was satisfied, the Rockerboy rose to her feet, took another deep swig from her bourbon, and then set the half-empty bottle down in the middle of the table with an unspoken invitation.<br/><br/><strong>"I'm out,"</strong>said Roan as she stepped past the others and out into the wider room; she paused at the alcove's threshold and glanced back at the others.<strong>"<em>Ping </em>me on my burner so I have your <em>deets</em>. Once I'm done surveying the target area, I'll let you all know - from there we can share our gathered info, and talk about how we're going to nail this <em>gonk</em>."</strong><br/><br/>With a half-hearted wave to the collective, Roan turned on her heel and made towards the exit of the Afterlife, making sure to calmly and smoothly pat herself down as she stepped outside as she checked that her sidearm and trinkets were where she'd left them. Confident that her<em>harness</em>was as it should be, the Rockerboy took off down the Street at a steady pace, stepping past and around foot-traffic until she reached a walkway that lurched over the busy intersection below.<br/><br/>Leaning against the edge of the walkway, Roan unsheathed her Agent, punched in a series of digits, and then held it to her ear. She waited; finally, the dial tone ended, and a male voice replaced it.<em><strong>"Go for the Fire... man."</strong></em>The awkward pause in the Fixer's delivery of his handle caused the Rocker to start, her brow furrowing; she double-checked the display to make sure she hadn't mis-dialed - apparently not.<br/><br/>And so, she answered:<strong>"Fireman, this is Roan Quince. Hope I'm not intruding."</strong><br/><br/><strong><em>"What do you need, RQ? You can't be done already. I thought you smooth, but you're not that smooth."</em></strong><br/><br/><strong>"Not done, no. Looks like a few of the <em>Edgerunners </em>you pulled for the job have <em>bugged out</em>: either they didn't like the idea of having to earn their licks, or they lack the balls for targeting Corpos."</strong>Roan flexed her fingertips; they cracked audibly against the cold.<strong>"Job's still doable, but problem is that one of the crew to <em>bounce </em>was the Netrunner. You got a replacement to hand - preferably one with the stones to get past the starting line?"</strong><br/><br/>The Fireman responded after a beat.<strong><em>"That's rough. We had a deal and I honour them. My irons are all in the fire so I can't find you a <em>gucci</em> 'runner... but I have someone with the stone to not pussy out like that Corpo-virgin. He's strictly <em>rent-a-beat</em>. Be clear what you be needing, savvy?"</em></strong><br/><br/><strong>"Understood. You got his <em>deets</em>, or intending on relaying the info to him direct?"</strong><br/><br/><strong><em>"Goes by the name of "Vanaheim." Euro neopagan; funny ideas about impermanent <em>flatlining</em>. Stands out like an IR flare on skinnies. Like I said, he's aerocab rates, and you don't got the eddies for the scenic rout. Best I can do."</em></strong><br/><br/>Roan smirked, despite herself: if she didn't know any better, she'd swear that the Fixer was trying his best to apologise without actually saying the words - leastways that's the impression she got.<strong>"Ain't an issue - wasn't you who bailed,"</strong>she told him.<strong>"This guy will do though. Only need him to identify the security measures, and disable enough ones to give us a means of grabbing the <em>suit </em>and bailing without bringing the heat."</strong><br/><br/>An odd sound followed that - like someone sucking teeth.<em><strong>"RQ - come up with a plan B. Don't count on the slip-in guitarist knowing the score, understand?"</strong></em><br/><br/>Roan's chuckle was dry, and birthed a cloud of dense smog about her face. A passerby turned and stared at her; he was just as quick to turn away again upon meeting her eye.<strong>"Oh, I'm expecting this to go all-kinds of wrong. And if this is beyond the new 'runner, then as least that tells me something about the shit they got protecting this <em>gonk</em>."</strong><br/><br/><em><strong>"Window of opportunity, RQ. Fucking cleaner-than-orbital-shit euro's a perfectionist: he'll throw his fucking hammer tats out of the pram if you ask him to rush. But I gotta go attend to biz. Be safe."</strong></em><br/><br/><strong>"No intention of staying safe,"</strong>Roan replied, pushing away from the walkway's edge.<strong>"Will call again when the job's done and the others can get their cut."</strong><br/><br/>Laughter, not words, answered Roan's sign-off - a deep, genuine belly laugh that carried all the way to the finish. A heatbeat later and the Rockerboy's Agent buzzed impatiently, signalling an update to her contact list. She glanced at it, and stared for a long moment at the image of Thor's hammer which sidelined the deets of Vanaheim, newly arrived in her phone.<br/><br/>The cold began to intensify. Roan prodded the Netrunner's avatar roughly, prompting the device to open up a message log for her to begin filling; she jabbed at it like it had personally offended her, writing:<strong><em>Fireman said you're free for a gig: need you to locate and identify security at a target site, and then isolate the area from further reinforcement should alarms be tripped. Address to follow - meet me there in two hours.</em></strong>Her message finished and sent, Roan stuffed her Agent back into her pocket and took off in the direction of her Megabuilding, her pace confident and steady, despite the intense cold that followed her every step.<br/><br/>Roan's Megabuilding - one of the older ones in the district - greeted her like an decrepit, bloated stone monolith. She took the stairs two at a time, nodding wordlessly to the inhabitants who offered her greeting - there were many of them, but the Rockerboy was too occupied with her own thoughts to pay them much mind. Ascending upon the innards of the block within the belly of an ill-aging elevator, Roan marched her way to her container, keyed in the unlock code, and then swept inside before the door had fully opened.<br/><br/>The task of dressing down was not a difficult one for the Rocker - especially not when she preferred her own simplistic style to that of the other, more eccentric musicians and artists of Night City. Though she had taken care to ensure that she was suitably attired for her meeting with the Fireman, she found it a quick and easy affair to undo her previous work: tossing aside her undershirt and trousers, she took up her less flashy garb - that normally reserved for leisure - and yanked them on over her bare pelvis. Another shirt - this one grey and faded - was gathered next, and after it's adornment Roan began to jostle her hair, forcing it into a state more irregular than it normally was. Satisfied with her efforts after a quick glance in the mirror, Roan returned her armourjack to her shoulders, tucked her Mark III back into her waistband, and then stole back out into the stone, vein-like pathways of the Megabuilding, her domicile's entrance snapping shut behind her.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Streetslang</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong><em>Ping</em></strong>: Message.<br/><strong><em>Deets</em></strong>: Details.<br/><strong><em>Gonk</em></strong>: Asshole/idiot.<br/><strong><em>Edgerunner</em></strong>: Mercenary outlaw.<br/><strong><em>Bugged Out</em></strong>: Left/run away.<br/><strong><em>Bounce</em></strong>: Leave.<br/><strong><em>Gucci</em></strong>: Good/excellent.<br/><strong><em>Rent-a-beat</em></strong>: Paid by the hour.<br/><strong><em>Savvy</em></strong>: Understand.<br/><strong><em>Flatlining</em></strong>: Dying.<br/><strong><em>Suit</em></strong>: Corpo.<br/><strong><em>Biz</em></strong>: Business.<br/><strong><em>Gig</em></strong>: Job.</div></div>•<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Skill Checks</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em>(All rolls are made using the discord group dice roller bot.)</em><br/><strong>Wardrobe &amp; Style</strong> <em>check to "dress down" for her surveillance:</em> <strong>26</strong> total [1d10 Roll = 10, 5].<br/><strong>Perception</strong> <em>check for area surveillance:</em> <strong>18</strong> total [1d10 Roll = 9].</div></div>•<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Pausing here as I need to coordinate a little with Hawkwood about what the 'runner will find at the site. Once I've spoken with the GM, I'll post again and get Roan "caught up" to the "present."</div></div>