Shadowrun: Interview with an Angel

"I can work with an alias.  Let's swing by and grab some foodstuffs, and head to the safe house.  You'll want to meet the other two.  And welcome aboard," Angel sand with a nod. With that, she took the new girl back to the safehouse, then came back to the bar to look for more talent.

There was a moment as the sounds of the outside world filtered in through a briefly open door, then as quickly as the outside noise was there it was gone, leaving nothing more than the figure that had come into the bar.  

Most people these days would have simply labled him "Just an Ork" and ignored him. He was neither short nor tall, fat nor skinny. His inadvertently spiky, dull brown hair was cut in an manner that suggested one person, a mirror and a pair of scissors. his stooped frame made him look shorter than he actually was and suggested a person who had the weight of the world on his shoulders slowly grinding him down. He wore a chocolate brown suit that had probably come out of a thrift store bin and over it an olive green military trenchcoat that had to have come from a war that pre-dated metahumanity.

From his convenience-store VR glasses to his "well-loved" dress shoes it was obvious this was a fellow on the bottom trying his best to dress upscale for a possible job interview.

He moved to the bar and getting a drink found an empty table against the wall and settled in.

Angel was bored, again. As usual, she had the posers and gutterpunks. They quickly learned that her work was out of their league... And she was looking for mages or shamans. Those were thin on the ground, though, thus frustrating the fixer greatly. Still it was early, yet. Angel listened to the music, tapping her foot, as she sipped a passable drink that the bar provided.

Less than ten minutes had passed when an elf who looked like he crawled out from under a rock entered the bar . Everything about him screamed 'slimeball', his greasy hair and plastic smile, and the trying-too-hard to look shadowrunny leathers. He took a chair in front of the Ork and spun it around so he sat on it, arms resting on the top of the back as he smirked at him.

Despite his 'flashy' entrance the Elf spoke in low tones to the Ork who nodded and only replied when the elf seemed to pause long enough to let him.

Angel notices the business going on, and casually listens in, despite it being slightly difficult due to the loud music. But still, they had to talk louder than usual to be overheard.

"Aw come on, Ranger." the ork said, with a pleading tone in his voice. "You know Deepweed isn't easy to work with, and I STILL managed to boost the potency like you asked. Come on... You know I NEED that money."

Angel had heard about this guy. Ranger was a real piece of work. One of the local drug dealers, treated it like a pyramid scheme with himself at the top operating a bunch of low-level dealers in different products. Tended to get too far ahead of himself with the supply part of supply and demand, having to find ways to make up supply deficiencies.

"Hey, Dr. Slate. What can I say, money's tight all around these days. Not to mention the new cops aren't as easy to get to look the other way as Lone Star was. Too many new faces, we need time to work out who has tickets to the Policeman's Ball and who doesn't have balls. Omahe Chummer? Look. I can chip you half the amount now but it's a buyer's market at the moment. When the stuff begins to move I'll give you the rest. Fair enough?"

The ork... apparently Dr. Slate looked into his beer glass, fingers drumming on the cheap plastic before mumbling something.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

"F... Fair enough."

"That's the Slate we all know and love." The Elf laughed, sliding a Credstick across the table before standing up.  "Next time we meet I'll have more of your down payment. I promise."

It was only when Ranger had left the bar did Slate pound his fist on the table with enough force to make his glass dance before cradling his face in his hands. The other patrons only glanced over a moment before going back what they were doing. In a bar like this it was usually best to mind your own synthflesh.

Angel got up, and walked over to Dr. Slate's table. She sat down in front of him, lacing her fingers and resting her chin on the platform they created.

"Hello, chummer, sounds like you've been given a raw deal from a knife-ear who specializes in raw deals," she said, her uniquely colored cybereyes looking the ork over. "Ranger's about as bad as a dragon when it comes to being worked for. "I think I can help you, if you're willing to be square with me. Savvy?"

The ork pulled his hands from his face and looked up at her. His eyes were blue... mostly blue. They had an orange that encircled the iris like an inner halo before giving way to the blue on the outside. At first she thought he might have cybereyes but then why bother with the AR glasses at all?  The middle aged ork took a deep breath and seemed to pull what little dignity he had together and look her over.

"Being square's all I got left. Reputation is everything these days." he admitted, making a gesture of showing her his open and empty hands.













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"All right. First and foremost, I'm a fixer. I help get you the jobs that get you the nuyen. And I don't work with smarmy elf-wannabes, unless they've got useful skills. You sound like you're a chemist. What else can you do?" Angel asked.

The dignity he was trying to muster up finally seemed to vitalise his spirit and he visibly straightened, shoulders rising slightly.

"Well most Folks these days call me Dr. Slate. Used to work for one of the big corps until they ass-raped me out of patents, a pension and a lab. Long story behind that and you didn't ask for a long story just my credentials. I have a PHD in chemistry, a real one mind you, not one of those you get for going to some jack-in matrix school. Might be one of the top in my field, but it's hard to say without access to a lab that wasn't originally some kid's chemistry set in a RV. I also have a full M.D. accrediting. Can't do cyberware instillations but give me the right gear and a mostly sterile environment and I can do back-room surgery that's far superior to anyone wired up to use medical Skillsofts. Other than that, I can fire a gun without hurting myself, I know a lot about the latest in botony, awakened and otherwise... oh yeah... that reminds me. I also got a little magic in my corner. Don't ask me to make it rain fire and brimstone cause I'm only finally learning what I had a talent for as a kid, but I see auras, and know a handful of useful spells."

"So with you we get somebody who could whip up combat stims, do some medical work, and have a little magic, which is better than none? All right. Willing to take you on, if you're willing to be a part of my team... Mind you, you may get some grief from Lacy. She had her whole team gunned down by one of the few orks in Knight Errant... So... yeah. Also I seriously hope we don't walk in on an orgy..." Angel sighed. "Long story. Anyway, I've got safehouses, boltholes, and hiding places all over Seattle, and in the sticks when things get really hot. There's a reason why I'm called The Guardian Angel."

He nodded and smiled slightly.

"Sounds good to me. I've been squatting in the barrens so even being put in a Storage locker is gonna be a step up for me. I just... got a few things I gotta get. Not much really. Where do you want me to go after I get my stuff?"

Angel gave him an address. "Head here. I've got to see about some work for you guys. I'll see you there."

"Right." he said standing and extending his hand. "Thanks for giving me this chance, Angel."

"Always good to find actual runners," Angel said heading out the door.