Xochitl

I'll bite.

Place: Penthouse apartment

Antagonist: regional corp

Goal: incriminating photos

Place: Disused underground train tunnel

Antagonist: xenophobic locals

Goal: retrieve lost dataphone

Xochitl - SAR specialist, Diver.

Kananjari Omesh, underwater welder, some knowledge of structural engineering.

Also, I completely agree that a specialist medic would be extraordinarily useful.

Also also, YAY PORCO ROSSO!

EditToAdd - I'm also playing Mass Effect 3 (yes, I'm aware of the controversy over the ending), so I sort of get that space frontier feel from that, too.

All right, sent off a rough character. Underwater welder with SCUBA rescue skills attached.

Mal, I have a soft spot in my heard for design F, but I love them all!

It depends on what you mean by hostility ... its very possible that the team could find itself in a "hostile" situation; it's just very unlikely it will be settled by a fire fight.

Exactly what I needed to know. Cheers!

Hello, all -- paper is done, but now I'm at work, where Ill be tied down and without access to books for the next eight or so hours. So stats will have to sit by the wayside for the moment. (Unless there's an online SRD for CP; I should look for that.)

Comp, how likely is it that a SAR team may have to face hostility of some kind given the fluid sovereignty of the places we'll be serving? I ask this as one of the most un-gun-bunny people I know. I've got an angle into the team, too; someone with a solid science background who's an expert on local weather patterns. Sounds like a useful thing for a maritime SAR team to have.

If someone's already working on that angle, say no more -- it's not the only idea I have.

Cheers!

I'm in the middle of a PhD paper of DOOM, so my submission will be a few days off. If I'm lucky, I might get to it tomorrow night the soonest. I don't mind filling in gaps left by fellow players, either.

I quite like the background; still mulling over whether my char is an indentured servant from Earth or if she was born on Joie.

Ah...er, well...

I'm not entirely new. I joined quite a while ago, but sort of dropped off the face of the boards in 2005 or 2006.

I owe some very nice people (Companero, Shigeru, I'm looking at you!) some very late and apologetic e-mails. Suffice it to say that life got a wee hectic and strange and stuff, and now that I'm married and moved to Australia, things may, in fact, be settling down again. I may reveal more about my most recent strange circumstances because they relate directly to this site. But that will be for later.

In the meantime, hello, everyone, and to those I haven't seen in a while, hello again, and any lack of communication on my part was my fault and no reflection of you or my opinion of you. Sometimes I simply bite off way more than I can chew.

Cheers!

The awful weight of Cress' incredible bad judgment is sitting heavily on his shoulders, but gets knocked straight off by the rattling boom of the shotgun.

Cress has no time to protest, to doubt, toduck an hide--the shot goes off, and in waht's left of his hearing--the grenade took most of it, but the blast took the rest--he hears the resolute movement of something in the water.

Of course, it could just be the ringing in his ears.

"Shit shit shit--" he hisses and moves as best he can to be behind Weasel, away from the shotgun, and with a body between him and who/what/ever was coming after them.

"Weasel!" Cress hisses. "You got people after what would uyse tech like that?"

He knows the answer--he saw it when his building was torn apart by a commando squad--but it sure beats waiting for that thin in the darkness, whatever it is.

In the dim light, Cress tries to make out his best escape...

One second Cress is erlieved--the next, back on point. What if the splashing wasn't the rat? What if the spalshing was somebody startling the rat?

He glances at Weasel, nods for him to keep on hiding. Cress would rather wait a little while and be safe than step right on out in front of some goon. Or demi-goon. Or even local resident.

Cress freezes.

"Did you hear that?" he hisses. "And keep your voice down," he warns preemptively.

Sliding his feet through the water to prevent splashing, Cress moves himself towards a wall, trying to give himself some cover, at least. He waves Weasel over to do the same.

Yeah, just read, watch, listen, and whatever strikes you, use it--but properly attribute it. There's only one sig I ever made up, and I stopped using it 'cause I was worried someone would lift it (and people only half believed me when I said it was all my own).

-X

"You're right. Gimme a second, lemme get some bearings," Cress says, and takes a moment to think about how long they've walked, and generally in which direction.

OOC: Underground places are notoriously confusing in terms of time and direction sense, but Cress would like to see if he can estimte more or less where they are, and where the nearest good exit might be.

OOC: Zorch! I thought I replied to this weeks ago! I'm so sorry. No, the bike stays, along with the girl. I think there was even a bit of conversation on the matter--the girl is a problem, but stowing the bike not so much.

--Are you okay? I hope you weren't hurt. That BITES.

Cress follows Weasel into the sewer. The smell gets him, but only for a moment--the entire Zone smells like this, faintly, at least. There's only so much rotting fish and seaweed one can take before th enose shuts down entirely.

"I'll tell you waht we do, we'll walk quite calmly to a place I know about two blocks from here--no, three--and we'll crawl into the sewers and get ourselves a little bit lost. Keep your eyes open, make sure we're not being followed. --But for God's sake, don't be obvious about it."

Reluctance is unconcealable. "You're right. Take the gun, and try not to shoot anyone with it. It'll just cost us time and make it easier for us to be followed."

And there's that whole uncessesary death business, Cress adds, unspoken.

"JJ, I'll be back tonight, and I'll try to bring a little something to repay you for your kindness." Then, to the girl: "I don't know how much you can hear, but stay here, with JJ, she'll take care of you. I'll be back tonight, and we can figure things out if you feel you can talk, okay?"

Cress frowns, reaches into the paintbucket/bass drum hanging from the handlebar of his bike, and withdraws a larger-than-average bandana, or a heavily reduces bedsheet.

"We'll do as you say--head out to the sewer entrance, adn I'll follow a little behind. Once we're there, we'll book to the nearest exit, travel surface-bound for a bit, maybe get ourselves on the rooves. You'll wear this," he says, tossing Weasel the faded red cloth, "once you're out of the sewers, but not before. We might even switch shirts or something." The distaste is clear, but Cress tries to be polite.

"Maybe on the rooves we can do a bit of wardrobe pilfering. It's not like none of us have done it before."

"Okay, mate. You are in a seriously shit positoin. You know that, but I want to be sure you know that, okay? We've got two real options, because all the others involve being relatively near people, and most of them are going to want to kill you or sell you or both."

Cressin rises, tucks his bike into a corner. "Please don't let anyone take this," he says to JJ. "You gotta trash bar rag? Something we can slap on Weasel here so he won't look so much like himself."

Without waiting, Cressin continues. "We'll be off south, where the realestate's cheap so long as you can swim to it, or off to the 'Hilton,' whichever you prefer. The south gives a better chance of hiding out, and less chance of anyone interfering, but if we don't move carefully, we can get tracked. The Hilton--a little more obvious, but it's got armed guards. Hence the dishtowel. We can't have you looking like you, or you'll be deadn and/or sold ere you cross the threshold."

(OOC: Oooh, yeah! a hidey-hole brainstorm between Cressin and Weasel would be quite formidable...)

(OOC: GM, please keep in mind Weasel does have his share of 'zone wisdom as well, so if he knows a relaible hideout, 'd like to know that...)

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"- Sounds doable, Biker. You have my word. "

Cress nods, beginning to think of places to hide.

"Okay, fine, looks like maybe you can come up with some kind of arrangement... where the fuck did Jesse go? Look, Cressin, he probably won't mind putting you and the kid up for the night, but you Mister Weasel are a 10000 scrip security risk... Half the zone is gunning for you, and you know, I doubt the like... customers would appreciate a gunfight in here, y'know? Seriously mate, you gotta find somewhere else to lay low..."

"JJ--it's--"

" - Listen, sis, one more word...!" - but then Weasel realises how the situation looks like. "- Probably you're right, anyway, girl. Sorry... ok, I want those drugs I mentioned. Hope you have something I could use? Then let's make a deal, and I'll be going. Unless you, Mr. Bi.. she called you Cressin? That's the name, Biker? - Unless you have some clever idea..."

"Right, JJ, give the man his medicine. Yes, Weasel, my name is Cressin, though you can call me Cress or Biker or whatever strikes your fancy, so long as I know what you'll be calling me. JJ--please keep the girl with you, I'm hoping this won't be more than three days in the offing. I won't be staying here. Instead, I'll be with Weasel, here, either staying int eh same quarters or somewhere nearby. --Before you protest, I know this place quite well, perhaps moreso than you, and I have a couple of favors I can call in. And there are several gangs and smugglers that will want ot know about these...irregularities.

"Get your meds, Weasel, and then we'll be off."

Cressin can't help but think how nice it would be to have some kind of reliable armed backup, like that scary girl from his ex-home . But she doesn't know him from Sunday, and she's probably long, long gone by now. And chances were he couldn't afford her, anyway.

So instead he starts thinking about contacts, connections, people he can talk to and people he can't, and where oh where he can stash Weasel, with the worst-case sceanrio being moving every 3 to 6 hours.

" - That sounds like a deal to be made. Whadda ya want? And what exactly do you offer?"

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"Right now, I want assurances that you're not going to use this thing in The Hole. And you won't try to kill me, or anyone here. At least for now.

"I'm not the kind of guy who turns on people; it's bad for business. I transport things, small things, like messages. I dont' look at or read them because that's also bad for business, and at least bad for my health. As my work continues, there'll be more things I ask of you. Maybe--" and Cress winces-- "I'll ask you to be my escort or bodyguard on a coupel of jobs. But the main thing I'll need you help with is in straightening all this out. Because it seems pretty big, and it can only get bigger. Everything that's happening can easily doom the smuggling trade out here, and that'll kill us all."

" - Well, I spoke to Rudi. Heck, everyone know he's Sancho's right hand..." - Weasel looks around with suspicion " - An' we were told to light fireworks if we see trouble... Frack, if you don't call a dozen of armed gangers "trouble", then I dunno what you consider "trouble... a mass-driver rock? Fuck. Besides, the AV's showed up almost immediately..."

"Well, they're trouble only when they're not an armed escort which is what Sharks often are. As for the AVs--that's where the real trouble lies. Maybe the smugglers got their hands--intentional or not--on something very, very hot."

" - Naw... that really sounds like I should go out an' do some mess... " - pauses for a moment " - Whaddaya mean, we sold ourselves? Listen, I dragged you out from Jack's place, so I wouldn't like to turn you into doner-kebap... but you start to fuckin' drive me nuts!"

"Never said you did it on purpose. You put your trust in a guy who can't give two tugs for you, that's all. Sounds like a set up."

Then Cress looks Weasel straight in the eye. "Or it sounds like you misunderstood orders."

Before Weasel can reply: "I might argue the claim that you dragged me out of that death trap, seeing as I outpaced you on my bike. I do, however, appreciate you not turning me into anything that's not me. I can help you, maybe. I think you got the short end of the stick. But I don't work for free, and you'll have to help me out a bit, too."

Cressin thinks for a moment. "Did you talk directly to Sancho? Or to Rudi?" he asks. "And Sancho asked you guys to light the sticks when the Sharks showed up? Or just trouble? And why would the Sharks be trouble, specifically?"

Smugglers are guys you help out, or at least turn a blind eye toward, as far as Cress is concerned. Why interfere with a drop or pickup? Because the materials involve the likes of folks in slick-cars and the power to call upi strike teams that tear down clapboard shacks you happen to call home.

"Sounds like you're disposable, from Sancho's point of view," Cress mutters. "No one sold you out but yourselves."

Any kind of supplier war would doom the Zone, and Cress knows it. He starts to think of people who are allied with Sancho, and those who aren't...

" Well, all I know... ah, frack. I got a job on that night. Pretty a simple one, but I was a bit short on better offers. Was eyeballin' for smugglers. Me and Smiley. Y'know, the stuff kids usually do: sit on a roof and look for trouble commin'. An' light fireworks if you see any." - takes a sip " - So we were sittin' on the roof, eyeballin' like hell, jus' like Sancho told us to. We've seen Sharkboys sneakin' in the direction of the cover, armed to the teeth. So we done as ordered, lighted the fireworks, plus Smiley nailed a Sharky or two from the gun of his. Some other lookouts lighted their popstick as well, besides we heard AV's comin' in, an' the Sharkeys were upon us, so we got the hell outta there. There was also a sound of big guns in action, so we got back to town, dropped here for a few, then wewnt to Sancho's. We told him the story, he told us to go to a safehouse an' stau there. I would stay, but Smiley wanted to pick up his stuff from his place... You know the rest..." - Weasel drinks the rest in one big gulp...

 

" - Fuck, JJ. You deal in drugs? I need somethin' for tonight. Somethin' good, to allow me forget this fuckin' day."

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Cressin nods as he hears the story. "Honestly, if I were thinking if someone sold me I'd pin it forst on Sancho. Unless you've had a long-term working relationship with him. And why'd you fire on the Sharks?"

" - Even you two don't belive me, eh?"

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Cress slips into a tight-lipped smile. "Truth is, no." He rests the shotgun, butt on the floor, like a walking stick. "But I'm a man of my word, so I'll help you stash yourself. Unless you've got proof you've been framed, and then maybe I can...help you out. And judging by whose hives are buzzing because of you, it'd better be some good proof. Otherwise, you're on your own."

He turns his head barely to JJ, keeping an eye on Weasel out of the corner of his eye, ready to leap out of the way of whatever the madman might try. "I appreciate the offer, and I'm pretty sure I'll have to take you up on it."

He faces Weasel again, shifting a little to get even more out of arm's reach. "In the meatime, Mr. Weasel, let's sit for a bit, just you and me, all quiet-like, and you can tell me your side of the story. Okay?"