Seattle2041-Ch05

Session Start: Thu Jul 10 21:14:31 2008 Session Ident: #shadowrun [21:14] * Logging for #shadowrun started

[21:16] * Waitin2GM changes topic to ''Shadowrun:Noir -- Seattle 2041': Chapter 05 -- "Miss Wylde" || Illness-o-Meter -- Xane, SuperFly, Mal || Homeless-o-Meter -- Otter || Incognit-o-Meter -- Hopey'

[22:17] <@^GM^> * When Christy Sanders left her old life behind, she became Amber Wylde. She did well for herself -- falling through the right crowds, absorbing what she needed as far as training and moving on to the next "gig",as she became fond of calling them, -- always on the lookout for the next opportunity. * [22:19] <@^GM^> * That was until she hit a little bump in the road called Simsense Addiction. * [22:23] <@^GM^> * It started out as a casual escape, then moved on to a regular thing. She dabbled in black market chips, and soon she found herself dropping out every day -- for hours on end. * [22:25] <@^GM^> * Then she got turned on to BTL. * [22:28] <@^GM^> * From then, it was a downward spiral. The skin around her "Data/ChipJack 'Comb-o-Nation!' Special" that she was so proud of -- and her only cyberware at the time, a gift to herself when she turned 18 -- at first started only to itch occasionally, she noticed. * [22:37] <@^GM^> * She can't recall exactly how her life got to the point it did, but that's the trouble with being a Beetlehead. She eventually got hooked into a textbook pattern of BTL addiction -- ghosting from coffin motel to coffin motel, pulling any jobs she could just to pay for her next handfull of fixes. Her real work began to get scarce, with calls coming fewer and further between as her perfomance on the job suffered majorly...destroying her street rep in a matter of weeks. * [22:39] <@^GM^> * The enflamed skin around her headware soon began to scab from her constantly scratching at the stud. She tried her best not to pick at it...but it just itched so badly!! * [22:39] <@^GM^> * She fell into the habit of squatting the upper class BTL hives -- which word of spread rapidly -- two more cropping up for every one that got raided by Lone Star task forces. * [22:41] <@^GM^> * She spent her time living other lives -- laughing, loving, thrilling, and killing... All from the privacy of whatever decently clean couch she could crash on. * [22:41] <@^GM^> * It was far more comfortable than being back out in the Sprawl. * [22:42] <@^GM^> * And less dangerous, she thought. * [22:46] <@^GM^> * Long story short, when Amber Wylde hit rock bottom, the Faraduchi crime Family was there to offer her a helping hand. They kept her in BTL's, gave her food and a place to sleep when she wasn't working...and nobody says a working girl can't let her body get used with a slender wire running from the small port conventiently tucked behind her ear. *

[22:48] <@Amber_Wylde> ((:o)) [22:48] <@Dealer`> ((It could've been worse.)) [22:48] <@Dealer`> ((Could've been a Bunraku Parlour)) [22:49] <@Amber_Wylde> ((I don't know what that is :P)) [22:50] <@Dealer`> ((They put in a persona chip into you, sometimes do plastic surgery. You could have the persona of almost anyone. Imagine being altered to look like a hot simstar, and her personality. You're essentially a meat puppet)) [22:52] <@Amber_Wylde> ((ok yeah :o))

[22:52] <@^GM^> * On New Year's Eve of 2040, she looked herself in the mirror -- and took off into the night with a pursefull of soybars and bottled water, her black market sim-player, and as many BTL's -- with at least one reel left on them -- from the 'rec room' as she could find. * [22:54] <@^GM^> * On January 3rd, she was shot in the shoulder with a light caliber handgun by one of Fat Petey's "Dirty Girls" while hopping a fence trying to escape with her life... * [22:56] <@^GM^> * The wound got infected, and her stolen cred soon ran out when she had to spring for a baloon of coke to tape into the hole in her shoulder. Coffin Motels won't take you in for free, so she ended up fighting the occasional dwarf or ork for a choice dumpster. On those nights she let her switchblade to the talking. * [22:59] <@^GM^> * By January 12th, gangreene started to set in. Amber doesn't remember much except being freezing cold, needing a BTL fix real bad, and collapsing through the plate glass door of an 'Auto Garage' on the outskirts of Redmond -- into the arms of a shocked dwarf who smelled like he bathed in Brut. * [23:02] <@^GM^> * You must have been taken to a street doc, or at least that's what Nicoli Ignatov told you about six-weeks-later when you were sat down for a talk with the dwarf who held you captive, chained to a sofa in a basement and fed and watered regularly. You'd liked to have broken your foot trying to run away during the worst of your withdrawal episodes. * [23:05] <@^GM^> * He wasn't a bad man, and didn't ask or take anything of you -- much to your suprise -- when he offered to let you live there on the couch in the basement of his Redmond shopfront. You didn't really remember much of the suffering while you'd been held 'prisoner' -- and he did save your life. * [23:06] <@^GM^> * His only request was that you promise to work for him when you were 'better'. He promised it wasn't 'that' kind of work, either. * [23:08] <@^GM^> * Seattle was beginning to warm to the May sun when you came out of your post-traumatic depression, having spent most all of your time watching the beat up trideo in the corner and reading the yellowing piles of periodicals the dwarf had stacked on almost every flat surface in the basement save the floor. * [23:11] <@^GM^> * Synthahol was cheap enough, and Nicolai never seemed in short supply of whatever kind of prescription medication you could desire. As it turned out, Nicolai was a Fixer, and a Fixer in need of a Courier. Your life before addiction facilitated just that sort of position, as it turned out. * [23:12] <@^GM^> * Life's little coincidences are funny like that... Eventually, the scabs around your datajacks went away, replaced by soft, baby pink scar tissue. * [23:16] <@^GM^> * You moved into his main 'building' near the Seattle Shipyards, and began working full time for him in the capacity of his go-to-gal. Nicolai was from a small province in Russia, and his stories made the place seem like the most remote society you could fathom -- as it was seperated from the rest of the world by a wasteland of nuclear fallout. * [23:16] <@^GM^> * He didn't speak much about his family, but seemed to have a great plan of moving his brother out to Seattle to work with him. * [23:18] <@^GM^> * As time passed, his dream became more of a reality, and his excitement was obvious. * [23:21] <@^GM^> * With Nicolai's reputation growing, so did the inherent danger of you missions. He never asked you to do wetwork, but sometimes deals just go sour, and you had to defend yourself more than once... While you suffered with hangovers, he would make you his special blend of soup that really seemed to chase the nausea away -- leaving you with only a stabbing pain like railway nails being driven into your skull. *

[23:32] <@^GM^> * Febuary 7, 2041. *

[23:32] <@^GM^> * The Anniversary of the Night of Rage. * [23:33] <@^GM^> * It's also the day Nicolai's brother, Bilo, is supposed to be arriving via suborbital from the bloc. The poor dwarf almost has a caniption when 'Breaking News' on the trideo reports that an airline has been taken down over the Atlantic. * [23:36] <@^GM^> * Further reports confirm that EuroAir Flight 329 was destroyed by a dragon while en route to Atlanta. There was a man on board who is reported to have repelled the beast for several minutes in a tense magical dogfight before succumbing to the wrath of the as-of-yet unidentified dracoform. * [23:37] <@^GM^> * Over breakfast, Nicolai details a job he needs you to run for him... It's a simple series of pickups and deliveries, but you notice that many of the areas come dangerously close to -- if not residing directly in -- Farducci territory. * [23:39] <@^GM^> * After you began working for the dwarf, he paid for a Street Doc -- with steady, kind hands, red hair, and a patch over one eye -- to install in you a commlink/subdermal throat mic and headware telephone to help you keep in touch with him. He, himself, didn't have any cyberware at all, but a series of land lines and three pre-paid cell phone numbers with which you could reach him. * [23:41] <@^GM^> * All-in-all, the jobs at hand will take the entirety of that day and run into the late evening. * [23:44] <@^GM^> * Nicolai forks a pile of fried soy eggs into his mouth and looks over that week's plasti-page newspaper folded in his other hand, the many gold rings encrusting his fingers shining in the bare bulb hung above the small table. The noise of the trideo in the background repeats and rehashes the same news about that day's top disaster. * [23:45] <@^GM^> * Your food is getting cold as you stare at the quartet of addresses and the GoogleMaps routes Nicolai has uploaded into your pocket secretary. * [23:45] <@^GM^> * The knot in your stomache is tight at the thought of traipsing through some unfriendly territory. You glance over at the dwarf sitting across from you and study him intently... * [23:48] <@^GM^> * Nicolai Ignatov is a fat butterball of a dwarf, with a bulbous, hooked nose and dark features with greasy black hair that covers every exposded part of his boday save the area around his face. Even the rings that gleam on his fat, sausage-like fingers do so while beset upon overlong and curley knuckle hairs. * [23:50] <@^GM^> * His hair plugs have been grotesquely obvious since he had them installed 6 months before, but his pride in them and your own sensitivities toward his feelings wouldn't allow you to tell him what you really thought of them. He wears a black suit with a blue shirt and no ties, and several other gold chains sit amongst a pelt of chest hair. * [23:50] <@^GM^> * Describe yourself? Actions? *

[00:05] <@^GM^> >>=( [00:10] <@^GM^> ((* A few small dribbles of blood fall into the soymilk bowl in front of Amber... A hand to her cheek tells her that it came from her own tear duct. *)) [00:13] <@^GM^> 1am my behind...

[00:14] <@^GM^> * Amber is a human, 5'6" with an althetic build, slim and elegant, but toned. She has a light tan complexion which is framed in her long, curly dark brown bangs, the rest of her lushious locks bounce loosely around her shoulders and hanging down to her mid-back. Her dark look is accented by her sanguine lips and large, glimmering emerald eyes. She wears a black leather jacket over a tight, tank top, with dark navy low cut jeans and black leather motorcycle boots. *

Session Close: Fri Jul 11 00:16:08 2008