<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e3/RoanQuinceCyber3.png)</div>The response to the Fireman's departure, and Roan's own words, was immediate, but not quite as expected: a large number of the assembled crew-to-be broke away from their positions on the rooftop and made towards the exit without further comment. The dread-locked man led them out, and Sin, the Solo that Roan had previously worked with, followed on last of all; the Rockerboy tracked their exit without comment, her expression set in stone.<br/><br/>As the elevator grunted back to life, shuddering on it's way back into the belly of the Afterlife, the rooftop became quieter. Roan returned her focus to those four individuals who still remained, noting their expressions, their stances, their<em>harnesses</em>, as though for the first time. At length she nodded as though satisfied, and lifted her boots from the tabletop; they hit the rooftop with a dull, rubbery "thump."<br/><br/>The sound of Roan's heels striking concrete was quickly followed by other sounds as the assembled crew began speaking. The first to do so was directing her attention at the Rockerboy specifically, and so sharp eyes punched out from behind a dark brown wall to meet the speaker's.<strong>“<em>Sugoi</em>, Reb! You've got as much 'tude talking as you do jamming. It's going to be really incredible to work with you.” </strong><br/><br/>Roan nodded, once, her smile polite but lacking humour: she wasn't here to talk music, but she could appreciate the compliment. Another woman, slightly behind the one who was speaking, uttered a quiet<strong>"Eep!"</strong>that almost drew focus, at least until the complimentary crewmember resumed her dialogue:<strong>“So, call me Trance. I'm not just here to fan girl over Reb. I didn't know she'd be on this gig. I'll keep your tech working smoothly—and arrange a breakdown for these if it comes up. If lead starts flying, I know where to point a barrel.”</strong>The Tech paused long enough to pat the sword at her side before adding,<strong>“This is my best weapon, though. You'd be surprised how confused corp security get when little girl slams a sword through their bullet proof vest.”</strong><br/><br/>The Rockerboy smirked at that with true bemusement; without realising, she began absently fingering the polished nail that hung about her neck.<br/><br/>In the wake of Trance's speaking, another stepped forward to address the collective: the same girl who had made an audible noise moments before. Roan turned her dark eyes upon the hooded punk, leaning forward in her seat as the smaller woman said,<strong>"Old Man Watanabe's a good option if you need surgery - and can get to his place without falling apart on the way.  But some groups like to have someone along who might remember where the liver's supposed to be, and other fun things like that. It's up to you guys, of course. But I'd recommend bringing me. I come with my very own cryostasis body-bag! Though I'd need help to get it to anywhere safe, if we had to put a patient in it to stabilise them, of course..."</strong><br/><br/>Roan nodded, slowly; her smile lessened minutely as she studied the woman, wondering for a long moment whether such an unassuming individual could truly keep her alive if things went from "Shit" to "Night City Shit" too rapidly for them to handle. Not normally one to judge someone solely on their age, the Rockerboy nevertheless couldn't help but feel a strong sense of pessimism. Not that she could really complain, however: they would be doing this job one way or another, and if things truly did go sideways it would be better to have someone around who knew<em>something</em>about medicine beyond the basics of "the bloody bits are supposed to go<em>inside</em>the body."<br/><br/><strong>"Oh! I'm Happy, by the way,"</strong>the smaller woman continued,<strong>"Or 'the Happy doc' for long. Or Ferice, might be another name you might possibly have heard. Not that I'm famous or nearly so cool as the Rebel Queen, of course!"</strong><br/><br/>From behind her curtain of dark brown, Roan's brow rose: was she being sarcastic? No, her tone sounded genuine. That was good: the cold weather was worsening Roan's temperament, even more than her verbal conflict with the dread-locked edgerunner. Still, the Rockerboy shifted twice in her seat, her boots birthing muffled, rubbery smacks as they struck the ground, and her fingertips clacking with unintentional rhythm upon the metal of her chair's armrests.<br/><br/>As though sensing Roan's uncertainly, and her discomfort at the cold, someone new spoke up, albeit in a voice that was far less overtly upbeat than the two who had spoken before.<strong>"I can vouch for her skill, for what it is worth. She knows what she is doing."</strong>This newcomer to the conversation - an attractive woman who's symmetrical features held a certain unnerving quality - added after a slight beat,<strong>"You probably won't need me when whatever plan you settle on works smooth and flawless. When not, you might be glad to have me along."</strong><br/><br/><strong>"Glad to hear it, since the only other Solo took off,"</strong>Roan responded with a nod of her head towards the elevator.<br/><br/><strong>"And now that we know all the facts may I suggest we retreat to somewhere warmer and more comfortable for the planning? In my experience that part might take a while."</strong><br/><br/>Despite her ill-relation with the cold, Roan was not the first to move, though the others stirred rapidly enough to make their approval of the Solo's suggestion clear. After a moment, Roan rose to her full height, rolled out her neck, and then reached across the tabletop to retrieve both the van keys and the memory chip upon which the job's information had been cataloged. When the Tech, Trance, asked her whether she had grabbed what she needed, the Rocker merely responded with a flimsy waving of the chip before she marched past the others towards the elevator, her hands burrowing into the depths of her armourjack's pockets as she stood waiting for the entire assembly to gather alongside.<br/><br/>After several moments, made longer by the chill and the uncomfortable silence shared by strangers in a confined space, the jury-rigged crew were swallowed within the belly of the Afterlife. The cold temperatures receded steadily, and the air became stifling and thick rapidly to compensate. Even so, the smog of a club was far less oppressive - and far more familiar - to Roan than the cold, and she strolled into the heart of it with a swagger that spoke of her renewed comfort.<br/><br/><strong>"Another,"</strong>Roan said upon reaching the bar, nodding in clarification towards the bourbon bottle which mounted the back wall. The same server who had sold to her before moved rapidly to acquiesce, and acted even more quickly to take up the hologram-marked, damage-resistant cloth-like paper eurobucks that were slapped down onto the counter-top. With a fresh bottle in hand, Roan indicated that the others should follow her over to one of the vacant alcoves; she stepped into it without preamble and dropped onto the rearmost seat, reclining back into it with all the familiarity of one who was right at home among the dangerous and the chromed.<br/><br/>When the others joined her, Roan - who had already twisted the lid free of her beverage - tossed the memory chip towards Trance before gesturing to the reader at the center of their table.<strong>"Load it up - we can give the information a proper look over. In the meanwhile, we can finish with the who's who."</strong>The Rockerboy paused to take a swig of her bourbon. When she was finished, she looked to those who hadn't yet spoken up, and said,<strong>"As you probably caught from the chatter upstairs, the name's Roan Quince."</strong>She held the gazes of those same individuals, clearly expecting them to reciprocate.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Streetslang</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong><em>Harnesses</em></strong>: Uniform/outfit/gear.<br/><strong><em>Sugoi</em></strong>: Awesome.<br/></div></div>•<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Arcanist: I've not overlooked the fact that Roan's recently-acquired "manager" is among the remaining crew - she's merely not showing off the fact that they know one another until the others have introduced themselves.<br/><br/>Hawkwood, please let me know how many eb to remove from my sheet after buying the second bottle of bourbon.<br/></div></div>