[Game Thread] Round 1 SR 5e

[Imveros]

The Waltzing Witch You have made your way to Auburn. It is a busy part of the city, filled with profit and danger. It's home to smoke-belching factories, convoys of trucks heading to Council lands, Seattle International Raceway, and of course, Stuck’s Carnival. No one had heard of The Waltzing Witch before today, but tonight, you'd swear Maria Mercurial herself were playing to a sold-out crowd by the hype around the place tonight. It seemed as though every gutter punk capable of throwing lead, slinging a spell, or shaving corp IC was in attendance, hopeful to gain a spot in the up and coming crew. Some have dressed well for the evening, trying to make a good impression with their fashion sense. Others hoped their skill would gain them a spot. By sundown, the main room of the Waltzing Witch was fairly packed. The main area had been cleared of tables and seats, leaving the attendee space to roam and mingle. Bartenders ran along, serving drinks and light refreshments, all real! Not a whiff of soy in the joint. Along the northern wall was a stage with a microphone on a podium. On the right side sat some of the crew's members. They watched the crowd, looking for promising recruits. One of them was wearing a leather jacket with a unique badge on it. The jacketed man was a lythe elf, with a thing long mustache that gets more attention than the rest of his grooming. It was well waxed and extends past the edges of his face before curling back into sharp points. His hair was brown and cut short. His genuine leather jacket stood out almost as much as the rapier at his side. Like all other attendees, he had a name badge broadcast in AR, which read, 'Sir Ether'. Once the clock struck ten, the music stopped, the time of the event has come, and Sir Ether made his way to the podium. "Hello, yes, is this working? Argle Bargle, Foofaraw, Hey Diddy Ho Diddy. Can you hear me in the back?" Sir Ethan waited a moment as the din in the room came to a hush. "Yes, Welcome everyone, and thank you so much for coming tonight. Let me hear it, who's ready to make some money?" Sir Ethan was looking to put on a show, and he raised his hands, and the bartenders handed out the promised cred chips, loaded with five thousand yen, and then encouraged any cheers that came in response to the gesture. "Great! That is the attitude we like to see! Now, as you know, tonight is a special night. We are looking for a few special folks to join our ranks in the Crossing Companions. Now, those of our rank must be not only good at their job. They also need to have the right 'presence' about them, that extra something special, an X factor if you will. When someone wears this jacket, their behavior speaks for all of us. So, it is important that you look good, and speak well to fit in with our ranks. So, to begin tonight's festivities, we are going to have each hopeful come up here, and give us a short introduction to yourself. Tell us where you are from, and why we should run with you. After that, we will introduce our current members, and give you a chance to make an impression with them." Bar service resumed, as those assembled moved to make their mark and earn a seat at the table.

OODM Welcome to Outplay 2020 This is our Social round. You will be judged on your ability to make connections, persuade your peers, and find a Sponsor for your place with the Crossing Companions. At the end of this round, in your final post, you will be asked to nominate three of your peers, whom you think deserve to make it through. As such, it is encouraged to interact with everyone in a way that your character would know who to recommend, where appropriate, and to read all the other contestants entries. At the end of the round, judging will be weight 50% mechanical success, tracked through the week, and 50% by players votes, to see who makes it to week 2. For the first round, your character will get their turn at the podium. Please give us an introduction to your character, and include a relevant social skill check of your choice (example, Intimidation, Etiquette, etc.) This is the social round, so all skills should fall under that category, or have a valid justification for why they fit. No skill should be used more than twice during the week.

[TADHG]

A young blonde elf walks slowly up to the microphone. She is trembling nervously as she begins to speak. This is so not her crowd.

"I'll start. Someone has to be first. I'm Saoirse O'Riordan. Let me pronounce that for you again. It's SHER-sha. I suppose you could call me Sher, if that's easier, or Doc. I am a doctor by trade, coming to you from Tir na nÔg. My first goal, ever since I can remember, has been to help people. To cure the sick and heal the wounded. The Hippocratic oath--over two thousand years old--has been a guiding force for me. First, do no harm. I'm blessed not only with a fine education, but augmented by the discovery of sorcery in my youth. I have more than one way of patching you up. I hope you will help me, help you."

OOC OOC: I don't have any ranks in social skills, but I also don't have much of a bedside manner. Charisma roll= Dice Roll: 1d6 2 I'm competent enough but not very warm. .

[GleefulNihilism]

Smiling Jack When he walked in the door, he definitely wasn't in the well-dressed-to-make-a-good-first-impression camp. Jakk Takkalo was almost mistaken for a homeless person by whoever was at the door when he walked in, he certainly faintly smelled like one. Not completely rank in fairness, but clearly someone who frequently showers just by intentionally stepping out into rain with some cheap soap. His clothes aren't much better either, at glance looking like they're homemade, mostly from animal skins. In fact, for many the first sign that he was actually supposed to be there would come from noticing that under the animal skins he was also wearing Body Armor. Pretty decently made too, at least as good as anything you'd find in a gunshop but covered in Neo-Primitive Designs as he's clearly put time on it. He's also obviously packing with an AK-97 strapped across his back. Fortunately, he appears to have made a point to make sure it's completely unloaded and the magazine isn't anywhere immediately visible. The Ork underneath looks rough even by Ork standards. Too the point that it's pretty much impossible to guess his age. The skin that is visible is all so covered with scars that it looks like he survived an attempt to give him a 'Death of 1,000 Cuts' and a 'Glasgow Smile', possibly at the same time. A chunk of one side of his upper lip was just gone, making his face into a gruesome at-least-half-smile at all times. Fortunately, the effect was mitigated somewhat when the food and refreshments were brought out and it became a full smile. He eats greedily, but for drinks only takes in water. He drinks a lot of water actually, won't touch and soda or booze put in front of him. He clearly meant to go first, but the food had distracted him. He grabbed his nuyen and the Doctor talked. Oh, good - A Doctor. Could come in handy for his planned little 'Audition'. He pushes up toward the front, with a mad twinkle in his eye and a barely suppressed giggle. "Skraacha Chummers! My name is Jakk Takkalo, or Smiling Jack to the Ujnort." he calls out like he's forgotten that microphones exist. He's dipping into some Or'zet too, whether intentionally or not is a different question. "Ujnort", the relatively polite term Orks use for Non-Orks. Literal Translation - 'They Who Do Not Understand'. Now, it's not like he doesn't know what they want to hear - it's just that his head goes elsewhere. "I am a Prophet of Cara Fahd. That is why I am here, the Visions spoke of a need for Spiritual Guidance. Both in Myself and with Others. Sometimes the path to Cara Fahd is a path where one can only move forward by helping others forward." he speaks, and for a moment seems serious - then he starts to giggle. "But you're probably looking for something a bit more practical. Very Well. I Make Armor. I Make Ammo. I Make Guns. I Shot Guns. I also have a neat little party trick." he speaks as he opens up some of the animal skins he's wearing - revealing a Browning Ultra-Power in a holster, a heavy pistol with more than it's own fair share of power. "You can tell a lot about someone by what gun they carry - unless it's an Ares Predator, so Basic. Heh." he chuckles as he rolls his neck. Then, before the chuckle has even died in his throat, he reaches in to grab the Browning, and quickly he aims it at his own Heart, than Pulls the Trigger... Check Body + Armor + Toughness = 23 vs 8P Figure at this distance no Attack Roll, but shooting himself no Defense Roll either. Dice Damage Soak: 23d6smch5 1 ✘, 3 ✘, 6 ✔, 4 ✘, 5 ✔, 2 ✘, 6 ✔, 1 ✘, 5 ✔, 2 ✘, 6 ✔, 5 ✔, 4 ✘, 2 ✘, 4 ✘, 5 ✔, 4 ✘, 2 ✘, 5 ✔, 6 ✔, 2 ✘, 1 ✘, 2 ✘ (9/23) 4⇑ 3⇓ Total = 83 If you've run on the streets for any length of time you've seen people die that way. With Smiling Jack it doesn't even break his Chuckle. He might be laughing even harder. Either that's really good Body Armor, his Tolerance for Pain is Insanely High, or Both. Probably Both. "My Road to Cara Fahd has had it's benefits. Achieving Enlightenment through Pain is not advised for everyone, but it worked for Me." "I am Jakk Takkalo, or Smiling Jack. Skraacha." Check Dice Social: 1d6smch5 4 ✘ (0/1) 0⇑ 0⇓ OOC: Uncouth, but I figure that little display might have impressed. :P

[Blackfyre]

Tamara Diane had continued to nervously fiddle with one thing or another right up to the point that she had stepped through the doors of the Witch. Just as expected her stage fright had markedly abated then and when she looked around the crowded room inside she wasn’t the nervous beauty-salon owner Diane anymore, but the confident, if aging, face Tamara. Both her white hair and the lines etched into her face told the tale of a woman having seen a lot more than the two or three decades most others at the bar had likely witnessed. Still, she bore those signs proudly, having decided against masking either, even if it would have been child's play for her to appear much younger. Makeup really could do miracles if done right. Of course, she had still put some on, but it was rather subtle. Together with the tasteful, emerald green dress she had chosen it helped to showcase the natural beauty Tamara still called her own. Gracefully she moved further into the room and helped herself to some light, white wine. Even though she knew better than to get drunk, she was not about to squander an opportunity to sample real wine. And a single glass would not harm her. Indeed, it would likely put a slight, healthy glow on her cheeks, she reckoned. Also it tasted really, really good. It got even better when they started to hand out the promised cred sticks. She accepted hers with a gracious smile and slid it into her purse before focusing her attention on the elf on stage. So he was one of those that needed to be impressed. Tamara wasn’t surprised that he was a looker - and apparently knew how to take care of his beard. It was only to be expected that the Companions would send someone like him to speak for them. Maybe shared aptitudes would make him look favorably on her, or maybe not. She decided that she’d need to keep an eye on him. For now, though, it seemed that the newcomers were the center of the attention. Tamara was quite happy not to be the first and she continued to sip her wine while watching the stage. A peaceful doctor introduced themselves first. Good woman to have around if things went badly, Tamara supposed, not that something like that should be aimed for, of course. A little while later she flinched when the orc put a gun to his own chest and pulled the trigger. When it appeared that he hadn’t been harmed she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the gun had been loaded with blanks. After all, who would be so foolhardy as to try and shoot themselves, no matter the quality of armor they wore? Inwardly shaking her head Tamara decided that she’d better get things over with. Putting away her glass she strode onto the stage with a lot more confidence than she actually felt. Greatest cosplay of my life, indeed. It was that idea and the knowledge of why she was there that enabled her to look out at the various beings assembled around her with confidence. Of course, she couldn’t really see them against the glare of the spotlights, but presenting herself on a stage was something she actually had experience with. "Good evening, chummers," she began, her voice soft and rich like melting honey. "My name is Tamara and I am Redmond born and bred." A winning smile went with that. So far, nothing had really been a lie. And street names were just expected, or so she had been told. "We have just heard about how folks can rescue a run when the bullets start to fly," a pleasant nod towards Jakk, "when they have already struck home," another nod towards Saoirse, "but wouldn’t we all rather avoid either to happen? Maybe you like the excitement, but isn’t it far better to earn money while not being shot at?" The hairdresser had to chuckle inwardly. This seemed to turn into a sales pitch Dice negotiation, +2 dice for First Impression quality: 11d6smch5 6 ✔, 5 ✔, 2 ✘, 2 ✘, 1 ✘, 6 ✔, 4 ✘, 4 ✘, 4 ✘, 2 ✘, 4 ✘ (3/11) 2⇑ 1⇓ Total = 40 (40) Dice using edge to reroll, I want to make a great first impression: 8d6smch5 3 ✘, 1 ✘, 1 ✘, 3 ✘, 5 ✔, 6 ✔, 4 ✘, 4 ✘ (2/8) 1⇑ 2⇓ Total = 27 (27) more than anything. "It’s really amazing how often it is possible to talk one’s way around a problem. If given the choice most people would avoid conflict, would embrace reasonable arguments - and often the path of least resistance. And really," she gestured at herself while also adopting an innocent mien and non-threatening posture, "who would expect me to be a threat to them?" Indeed, who would? But did that also mean that all those around her wouldn’t take her seriously? That would be bad. "Of course, some obstacles cannot be overcome simply with words, but all the others, I can handle." Tamara could, at least. Diane… she was not as certain. "And that is not all. Knowledge, they say, is power. For us, information means survival. A good deal can be found on the matrix, of course, but some of it exists only in the minds of people. Those cannot be hacked, but the right words can unlock them nonetheless. That’s what I do." It worked well enough in her beauty salon, at least. "And once it is time to enter a building, why not do so as innocuous handymen? Or delivery drivers? Think you look too much like a hardened ganger for that? I can fix that easily." She smiled again, hoping that her sales pitch had reached at least some of the Companions. "All in all, you want smoother, quieter runs with less risk of lead poisoning? Then I sure am your woman." She finished with another warm smile, a slight bow and a flourish before relinquishing her spot on the stage to someone else.

 

Used 1 Edge.

[RainyDayNinja]

Stretch Stretch parked his Dodge Scoot in the back, trying to hide it as best he could from passers-by. Not so much because he was worried about it being stolen, but it was just embarrassing for a hulking troll to be seen riding such a tiny bike. He looked like a circus bear. Although the heavy armor jacket and katana would keep anyone from saying so to his face. Once inside, he picked an out-of-the-way booth in case he needed to do some hacking on the spot, and ordered the cheapest drink they had. When they handed out the cred sticks, he shoved it quickly in a pocket; no need to go flashing it it around, even if everyone else had the same deal. Stretch broke out into a cold sweat when he heard the word "introduction." This was the part of a meeting where first impressions were made, and he ended up pigeon-holed as dumb muscle. Although he had an advantage here, in that he had time to work a little Matrix magic before heading up on stage. He nestled in the back of his corner booth and dropped into hot-sim VR to put together a little show. Scanning the nearby icons, Stretch ignored the sea of commlinks and other personal electronics, and focused in on the systems of the Waltzing Witch itself. It wasn't hard to pick out the sound system, so he started in on taking control over it. Hacking A/S/D/F: 1/4+1/3/2 Program: Stealth Getting a MARK on the sound system (vs. Intuition + Firewall): Dice Hack on the Fly (Hacking + Logic + 2 Codeslinger + 2 Hot-sim): 15d6smch5 4 ✘, 1 ✘, 5 ✔, 2 ✘, 1 ✘, 3 ✘, 2 ✘, 3 ✘, 5 ✔, 4 ✘, 1 ✘, 6 ✔, 3 ✘, 3 ✘, 2 ✘ (3/15) 1⇑ 3⇓ Total = 45 (45) Controlling the sound system (vs. Intuition + Firewall): Dice Control Device (Elec. Warfare + Intuition + 2 Hot-sim): 9d6smch5 4 ✘, 6 ✔, 3 ✘, 1 ✘, 1 ✘, 5 ✔, 5 ✔, 3 ✘, 4 ✘ (3/9) 1⇑ 2⇓ Total = 32 (32) When it came his turn, Stretch approached the microphone hesitantly. "Uh, hi. You can all call me Stretch. I'm from Redmond, born on the streets and fighting like hell to get out. I'm not gonna try to out-meathead Smiling Jack, because that's not really why I'm here. I'm actually a decker, although I can still mess people up if I have to. I'm probably tough enough to shoot myself in the chest too, but I'm just not dumb enough to actually do it!" He paused to see if that would get a laugh before he moved on. "Anyway, I'm sure you're all curious about what I can do, so I arranged a little demonstration." With that, he issued the command to the speakers, and they started blaring out the synth solo from his current favorite song, "GOD Can Suck my Deck," the hit single by hacker rock group Jack Daddies. He pumped his fist on his way off the stage, and shouted "Fight the power!" as he went. It didn't sound so dorky in his head. Performance Dice Performance (Default Charisma - 1): 1d6smch5 6 ✔ (1/1) 1⇑ 0⇓ (6)

OoC If those hacking rolls aren't good enough, he simply skips the music on his exit.   A/S/D/F: 1/3+1/2/4 Program: Stealth Soak: Armor Jacket (12) + Dermal armor (1) + BODY (5) = 18 Weapons: Steyr TMP (Gel rounds 30/30), Katana, Survival knife Status: n/a EDGE: 2/2

[bothers]

Sim0ne helped herself to the odd hors d'oeuvre, and found time to sneak a small handful of prawns wrapped in a napkin into a hidden pocket in her waistcoat, when she perceived

Dice Perception (Visual +2):

4d6smch5

6 ✔, 4 ✘, 4 ✘, 4 ✘

(1/4) 1⇑ 0⇓

Total = 18

(18) that nobody was watching. She passed on the booze. She wanted to keep what few wits she had about her. She hoped the prawns wouldn't visibly leak.

When the moustachioed elf said "short introduction", Sim0ne groaned inwardly. At least she'd worn her safest threads, so she could rely on her fashion sense if nothing else. She stood back and let some of the others go first, to size them up. The young elf blood up first looked useful, if near-paralysed with fear. She gazed in unconcealed incredulity at the scarred ork's antics. "Cara Fahd, my hoop", she muttered to herself. "There's always one, ain't there?" But there did seem to be rather more of them here in Seattle than amongst the orks back home - she tried to imagine this fella jandering about the trog slums of Lambeth and suppressed a smirk. She felt some measure of relief when he was replaced by the older gal in the green dress. Sim0ne always enjoyed a bit of patter from a good Face, and this lady seemed to fit the bill. She liked the look of the troll, too. Man was completely uncool but at least he didn't look like a total loose cannon, and she'd always had a soft spot for Jack Daddies anyway. As he left the stage and shouted "Fight the power!", she raised her own fist and shouted "yeah!".

And then she couldn't stand it anymore and headed up there to get the whole ordeal over with. She hoped nobody could smell the prawns.

The stage was much warmer than Sim0ne had thought it'd be. A single bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck and into the collar of her nice white shirt. When she leaned into the microphone, she accidentally bashed it with a tusk, causing a brief whine of feedback. "Rah, sorry 'bout that. Ain't used to this, innit. Uh, I'm Sim0ne. I'm from London. I ain't the smartest runner you'll ever meet, or the toughest. But I'm careful, and I'm discreet. I don't like makin' a mess. I ain't a murderer. Bit like yer gal over there," she nodded at Tamara, "I prefer to keep out of a fight, or use my skills to keep 'em from startin' in the first place. But if I ain't got no choice, you can depend on me to have your back, and to end that fight as fast as poss."

Social skillz Dice Check negotiation: 2d6smch5 1 ✘, 5 ✔ (1/2) 0⇑ 1⇓ Total = 6 OOC: Sim0ne isn't a total rube, but she also isn't known for her fast talking, and has no specific social skills. She's going to attempt to negotiate anyway, and hope that the people listening are swayed by her orkish warmth and British charm...?

Sim0ne shrugged artlessly, stepped back from the mic, and ducked off stage. She hoped to the spirits that nobody had noticed the fragging prawns.

[UngainlyFool]

Bonus It had taken Kathleen watching at least five people arrive in the parking lot to finally work up her nerve and head to the door herself. She put on her most confident strut, hiking her jacket up as she reached the bouncer to show the visible weapons even more and maybe her tummy, too. It's not like they were hidden anyway, they were the decoys. But the ork had waived her in with a wink, surprising her and putting her on edge. Usually it took a little more fast talking to get into a place like this, especially with guns. The wink cut through her, wondering if she had overshot her clothes or makeup. Or if her weapons were the least of those getting let in. They usually were. She found a spot at the bar and a pink drink that matched her hair from "That guy down at the end." She gave the suitor a fake half-smile and a half raised glass before she turned her back to roll her eyes and make it clear he wasn't invited over. Kathleen had more to do tonight than accept the advances of creepy choobs. She sipped at the drink that tasted like, well, pink and watched the crowd from her spot. She wasn't good at reading people, especially the kind of people who were here but she guessed they were all about like her, desperate for the nuyen. So when the guy named Sir Ether who looked like he did too much VR LARPing got everyone's attention and the bartender slipped a credstick into her palm, she couldn't really believe it was happening. She slotted it into her commlink almost immediately and the display showed the unlikely truth; 5000 and she hadn't even done anything. She had a tough time hearing the rest of what the Crossing Companion had to say over the murmur of the crowd after getting their easy payday, but she watched him and ordered another of the drinks for herself this time. What was the catch? Because there always was one. What did they really want? And could she be that thing for them? She wanted to be that thing for them. A parade of more confident runners jumped at the chance to grab the limelight and Kathleen watched them and listened, downing her second drink quickly and feeling that liquid courage start to tingle down to her fingers in pleasant little waves. The last troll's music put a bounce in her seat and she, or the liquor, put her in motion. Kathleen danced up to the podium slowly, feeling the drone of the music. She pulled her stun baton out of the ring at her belt and raised it over her head and she shimmied to the remaining beats around the spot like a boxing ring girl holding up the next round placard. There wasn't too much to her shape. She was all straight lines, not much to speak of in the chest or behind. Not much of a waist and her hips were like blades showing just how skinny the streets had made her. But there is a certain beauty in youth and what she did have she flaunted for them to get maybe a howl or a whistle from the more desperate of the crowd. As she spun, the back of her obviously armored jacket displayed a neon flashing word among pink bursting fireworks in the electrochromic material. BONUS. She slid her baton back in her belt and stood in front of the podium. "Heya, Chummers!" Dice Etiquette 6 Street 2 with First Impression 2: 10d6smch5 3 ✘, 6 ✔, 5 ✔, 3 ✘, 4 ✘, 1 ✘, 5 ✔, 5 ✔, 5 ✔, 6 ✔ (6/10) 2⇑ 1⇓ Total = 43 (43) The old slang felt weird in her mouth, but 'When in the Underground' as they say. Turning to Sir Edric, she waved and blew a kiss before turning back to the crowd, "I'm Bonus, pleasedtameetcha." She hiked a thumb back to point behind her at her jacket. "And like my handle I'm a good fit for just about any team and what all crews want. I don't know about the rest of you, but Doc's motto never got me very far in the Barrens. Sometimes it's like kill or be killed, right?" Even though she was engaging the crowd, she didn't stop for a shout back. Only the alcohol kept the quiver out of her voice. Bonus got up on her toes and craned her head around, "Speaking of which, where's Jack?" Spotting the ork in the crowd wasn't tough, she mainly wanted to get everyone to look his way. "There's a reason your face is all banged up, omae. Maybe make a helmet to match?" In a flash Dice Quickdraw Pistols 7 Semiauto 2 Reaction 4 with Threshold 2: 13d6sch5 2, 3, 6, 1, 6, 1, 1, 6, 3, 1, 1, 6, 1 ✔ Total = 38 (38), her own Browning was in her hand and a small red dot from the laser sight was planted on the Smiling Jack's face on the other side of his lip from the scar. There wasn't much of a jiggle to the spot of light except where he instinctively moved to get out its way. She flipped the gun sideways to show it to him harmlessly with a smile, "No Ares here. Maybe we can be friends." She slid the gun back into its holster and sighed, "But I'm not here to bust everyone down. From the looks I'd be happy to run with you all. Everyone's got their thing, right? But as good as Mother Tamara might be at putting a lipstick on a troll, wouldn't it be better to make up someone who might be able to play the part as well as walk the walk? That's me. Your bonus gun, your bonus face." She reached into her jacket and hit something on her commlink. The jacket was hooked up with a wire directly to it; she wasn't taking any chances getting it hacked by a decker in wireless. The material switched from garish neons to a black synthleather look. "Your bonus sneaker. That's me! Vote for Bonus!" she ended like she was running for office and then, with nothing else to say, she started to slink back to the bar. But suddenly she bounced back to the podium as if remembering something, "Hey, Stretch, come find me after m'kay? I need a computer guy and I like your style."

[Phettberg]

Colmo A broad dwarf clad in layered hobo-wear had entered very early on, sitting down close to the entrance and merely watching. He was probably not that old for his kind, but his skin was a weather-beaten and leathery tan. The shine on his bald head, the denseness of the bushy beard and very slow and deliberate movements made him seem like a statue carved of resin, but a not particularly beautiful one at that. If one squinted he exuded the quiet air of a mystic or prophet, a bearded buddha. Though in fact what one felt was the mountain within him, the deepest earth that whispered in his ear and advised patience and planned action. Colmo had received his money with a silent nod of gratitude, having a hard time to fathom the amount he'd just been given for virtually nothing. When the moustachioed elf appeared to announce the proceedings he realised that in fact he'd have to work for his money by "selling himself" on stage, and by running out of patience as quicker-witted and more energetic colleagues were putting on as much of a show as they were able. Good for them, but the shaman was not sure which he disliked more. He'd have to do some thinking. The Runners started coming, many of which seemed like highly talented people. But Colmo was wary. It might be that those that were more memorable were just good at presenting themselves. Then again some of the shenanigans proved something concrete, like the Orks trust in his armour - though was he not displaying the inadequacy of his gun in comparison? - or the decking capabilities of the troll. He had thought, and he knew what he was going to say. So the dwarf clad in a tattered jacket rose slowly, holding on to his mug of wine because he was afraid if he left it alone for even a second it would be stolen. Being a dwarf he had no worries about inebriation, and he had partaken liberally as the others presented. He slouched up onto the stage, looking lost with his gauze-wrapped bootless feet and slightly vacant eyes. When he was at the centre of the stage he turned towards the crowd and said loudly: "Buenas noches." As he continued one noticed his Latin accent, not exactly Azlan for anybody that could differentiate. Some may have called it melodic if it voice wasn't so raspy and his speech slow. His diction was certainly flowery at times: "I am called Colmo." Some of those before him had named a real name, however Colmo wasn't used to this. It was probably just names associated with throwaway SINs, but just the codename would do him personally. "I've been given many labels before," he said, suddenly slightly hoarse. The dwarf did not do his best work talking, but he quickly recovered. "Shaman, warlock, mágico - but I have no more love for any one of these words over another. I listen and see what others can't, the soul of the land. I hear the spirit and work with the powers of the earth, from bedrock to the mountaintop. It gives my spells strength beyond my own." Spirit. Singular. He didn't feel like it was much of an omission not to mention that he had near no aptitude at befriending or binding spirits, apart from the fact that he had a deep connection with an astral mentor. He'd focus on what he was good at, externalising this information a little to sound more modest: "Somebody told me not too long ago that what I do best is thwart other witches and warlocks in their magic, and it's true that I have often deflected a hostile spell away from me and colleagues. They called me "grounded", I say it's the iron and stone in my magic. I can shield a team like the mountain locks the storm away one valley over. Often I have prevented injury altogether, but it is also in my power to close wounds when the need arises." He'd waved a hand saying this, letting it drop immediately after when it felt too theatrical and undignified. While there was a sort of personal magnetism emanating from the dwarf on the podium it was a very subdued sort of charisma. Personal power, a practitioner might have called it. "While my spells protect and shield they can be turned against the opposition just as well," the Shaman said with a light shrug. "This has made some employers very happy since destruction seems to be in more frequent demand than protection. Also I was raised in the wilderness long before I came here. I have no trouble living off the land if operations take me away from the city." The word "presence" that had been said by the recruiting elf was still dancing around in his mind when he had come to an end. He was not usually one to improvise, but he felt like he had to end this with at least a tiny bit of oratory flourish. He realised then that he was just a dwarf standing on a podium talking at a crowd, though maybe he could spin it to his advantage: "As for my presence I can only say that I am a plain man. I won't change that to please anybody. But I am a useful man, indispensable even, as I proved on many missions before. You want somebody to talk loud or dress flashy you find that person and have them fail you or die. You want somebody that can stay alive and make the same happen for you, then remember me." Raising his large mug filled to the brim with red wine he cheered the crowd, just a hint of a smile playing around his lips for the first time. "Salud!"

OOC/Rolls Dice Negotiation: 6d6smch5 3 ✘, 1 ✘, 3 ✘, 2 ✘, 4 ✘, 6 ✔ (1/6) 1⇑ 1⇓ Total = 19 (19) Trying to make a good first impression, talking himself up.

[DAquilina]

Steppz Steppz sighed from his vantage point across from the Waltzing Witch, his feet bouncing idly off the side of the building he was perched upon. He'd been watching all manner of runner, gunner, mage, shaman, urchin, and general lowlife enter the place for about 30 minutes now. It was packed to the brim, with no signs of emptying as more and more desperate hopefuls pushed into the space to collect their chits and beg for a chance at further glory. On the one hand, this was about... 50% everything he hated: a long line of sheeple baselessly ingratiating themselves for a handout from the man. These folks got some bonus points for their hilariously seedy choice of venue, but only a little. The only thing that made these folks different from the corps was scale, and probably resources. On the other hand, credits is credits is credits. He'd been in Seattle long enough to know that when an opportunity came up for a lucrative job, you took it, because there wasn't a single person in this whole damn city who would have your back. There were countless squatters in the Stacks who would literally kill for 5000 creds, and though he didn't particularly mind surrounding himself with that sort, if he had to eat another soy rat he would be getting pretty close to doing the same. Hell, at least serve real rat, Beckjan. Have some business standards. He shook his head, letting out another exaggerated sigh as he rolled back onto the roof and made his way to the fire escape. He hadn't had a real job since coming to Seattle, and it's not like he could charge his regular Neo-Tokyo rates without earning his reputation. Everyone had to start somewhere. "Time to lick some bloody boots, eh?" The elf fist-bumped the burly orc bouncer on his way into the bar. He'd considered trying to stow his gear somewhere inconspicuous, but since everybody and their mum seemed to be packing in this place anyway he figured why bother? Besides, they had to know what he was capable of. Nothing said "capable" quite like a fully decked-out Remington 950 and a (seemingly) legit license to carry it. He was sure that every runner who made it this far had at least one equally impressive trick up their sleeve, so he had to do something to stand out, right? Then again, once he got inside the point seemed fairly moot. He'd correctly figured that the tables were packed with all manner of creatures and despots packed like sardines into a can filled with liquor and desperation, and each wacky character looked crazier than the last. Honestly, the best way to stand out in this crowd was to be an accountant, and like, not even one of the cooler accountants. Still, he'd seen worse places to get hammered, and despite the premise of indentured servitude to a nameless organization, this was pretty much his scene. He did a quick scan for his kind of people and as he expected found them right in the center of the action -- four unruly brutes jam-packed into a booth right next to the telly, knocking back beers while they cheered on FCS taking on the Sounders at Paul Allen Stadium. Weaving through the crowd, he stole a chair from an unfortunate soul who wasn't paying attention and slid it to the end of the booth with a wide grin. "Right lads, we've got footy, kebabs, and a fair shake of Salter pride! Who's a boy gotta shag to get some sake in this bloody place?" His greeting was met with shared enthusiasm, and a few cheers later the group was already in the middle of a rousing chorus of "SLC, we foot for thee" by the time Sir Ethan made his way to the mic. The man himself was a spectacle, and despite how inarguably uptight he was the intro was certainly a sight to behold. The credsticks didn't hurt, of course, but for Steppz this was actually a rather delightful change of pace. Each character in the parade of those that made their way to the stage was wackier than the last in their own way. Regardless of who the XC chose to join their little gang, this was going to be as interesting as it was lucrative... And lucrative it was. He hadn't really expected them to pay out just for showing up, but they did, and slipping his share of the spoils into his glove filled the elf with new gusto. Time to see where this all goes... He knocked back the last shot of sake and slammed the glass upside down on the table. "Cheers, lads. Keep an eye on the score for me, yeah?" He slipped past the waiting crowd of awkward interlopers with a new spring in his step, tapping a few opposite shoulders as he went. Eventually, he made his way all the way up to the stage and barely waited for the last person to finish before jumping onto the mic himself. "Yo yo yo, konichiwa, greetings, bone-joor! What a crowd we got ourselves here, eh? First off, Ethan, love the 'stache mate. Absolutely mint. Don't you dare change it for anything." A few laughs came out of the crowd in front of him, though whether they were the result of his admittedly genuine appraisal of their host's facial hair or from his general appearance and demeanour was unclear. The elf's bright-red mohawk stood out even amongst a crowd such as this. The spikes on his black leather jacket -- ornamental, though the jacket itself was reinforced and combat-ready -- almost sparkled in the overhead lights of the dingy tavern; chains connecting one piercing to another jangled alongside his various bracelets, belts, and dog tags in a true ode to punk rock of the olden days; the barrel of his long-gun poked proudly over his shoulder next to the hilt of a genuine Japanese folded-steel katana, and a nasty-looking shotgun hung loosely on his belt next to his custom biker's helmet. If it were possible to mean the exact opposite of business, well, that was Steppz. But that didn't mean he wasn't ready. "Name's Steppz. From the looks of things we've got a pretty wide assortment of folks here for the job. We got ourselves a doc, a tank, couple sneaks, Mama Make-up, and even a resident hobo -- cheers mate. But me? I'm a runner, well and true. You need something stolen, stamped, staked, or stuffed, I'm your guy, and I'll do it quick. I'm fast, I'm mobile, I'm a damn good shot, and I've got the tactical knowledge to get the job done." He scanned the room with a smile, taking stock of the composition and tactical potential of the space Dice Knowledge Skill: Small Unit Tactics (Urban): 10d6smch5 5 ✔, 5 ✔, 6 ✔, 4 ✘, 3 ✘, 3 ✘, 5 ✔, 2 ✘, 3 ✘, 2 ✘ (4/10) 1⇑ 0⇓ Total = 38 (38). "Give me a small squad and I'm confident I could lock this place down." "Yeah? 'Ow's that, then?" The voice came from the table he'd just left. Turly, a rough and tumble sort of Dwarf with a face bright red from too much Horizon White Lager, raised his glass with a rowdy laugh. Good Result   "I'm glad you asked, my drunk friend!" The inside of the bar was chaotic, but he managed to push his panic at being called out to suddenly to the back of his mind as he remembered his training. Say what you will about Shiawase, they knew how to prep their shock troopers. "This place has three entrances. You've got the main door -- we'll call that A -- we all came in through, complete with armed guards and presumably a scanner; the side door in the alley -- we'll call that B -- for the cooks to go take their smoke break and drop the trash at the end of their shift; and finally there's the loading dock in the alley out back, A.K.A. C. Now ideally, we'd have a decker on the outside looking in, but if they're good enough they can find a corner and work from in here. Their job is to jack into explosives we'll have planted at A and B. We blow A, taking out the guards -- sorry bruv, nothin' personal -- and caving in enough of that part of the building that the people inside are forced to evacuate. Since C is mechanical and locked when they aren't expecting a shipment, that will funnel the crowd toward B. Our decker trips round two as soon as the door opens, blocking that off as well and flattening some threats in the process. "That's when things get squirrelly. By now everyone's got guns out and there's more than a few calls for blood, which is good because a disorganized foe is a dead foe. While the internal security was forcing folks to B, my team was setting up at C, where we now have plenty of cover and yours truly has a vantage point on the door's motor. If the decker's inside, they blend into the crowd and make like they're trying to escape as well. If they're outside, they pull in the heavy guns by prepping a vehicle to crash through the wall east of C if we need a quick way our or if some of you sneaky buggers figure out how to flank us. "Two grunts on the ground are walled in with pop shields and toppled shelving, rotating out their weapon of choice to the squire in full cover. Empty your mag, swap with a full gun, rinse and repeat. At least one of those three will be watching to counterspell, and I'll be taking out major threats before they can do any real damage." Bad Result   Well drek. He hadn't expected to be called out that quickly. With the crowd moving so chaotically it was hard to get a solid read on such a small space. Going off of his data from his earlier stake-out wasn't good enough for a solid battle plan. "Up yours, Turly! Convince them to hire me and we'll find out!" Satisfied with his answer, he threw the mic back to Sir Ethan with a lazy salute. "Peace. Keep that seat warm for me, mate."

[Silk]

JamO JamO jumped out of the semi-truck cab and shouted to the driver over the noise of traffic, "Thanks for the lift brother!" whose reply of, "I told you, I'm not your bro<slam!>er!" was cut off and muted by the slamming of the door. JamO was in high spirits after managing to catch a lift from a fellow troll. He had been half afraid he'd have had to walk on foot from Renton all the way to Auburn. And doing that with his SIN ARO declaring him a felon on probation to boot. Copying the elf that was ahead of him, JamO gave the Orc bouncer standing at the door a fist bump. Upon entering the Waltzing Witch, he immediately started to mingle, after grabbing a couple of beers, of course. While most trolls were tall, JamO was taller than most trolls, and he loved his vantage point overlooking the crowd. People tended to avoid him as between his in your face attitude and looming stature; JamO made people feel uncomfortable. When the Johnson introduced himself by name and did the 'Ho Diddy' routine, JamO instantly liked the man and let out a "Whoop!" in reply to the guy asking if everyone could hear him. JamO's grin got wider when, in addition to another two beer's, he received a five k credstick from the bartender. 'This day is so awesome!' As people started to introduce themselves, JamO watched and waited for the perfect entrance. He also downed his third and fourth beer in rapid procession. 'Need to at least get a good buzz on before I go up there.' and from experience that would take no less than six beers for a troll his size. As the introductions got going in earnest, JamO imagined he could feel the emotions rolling off the crowd and liked what he felt. Having grabbed his seventh and eighth beer, JamO was happy with his buzz, and the elf that proceeded him inside was just getting done energizing the crowd. It was the perfect intro for himself, so shoving through the throng of people, JamO made the jump to the stage look easy and before SteppZ stepped off stage, JamO was addressing the runner while emphasizing the z in his runner name, "Step-Zee everyone! Thanks for energizing the crowd, my-man! I like your energy." Now that he was in the spotlight everyone could see the large troll was burgundy-colored, bald, and...well...quite tall with gang tattoo's adorning his skin here and there. He had on an armored jacket that looked like it came out of a second-hand store and orange collared prison pants peaking around the black shin guards which clashed horridly with his outfit. The two swords poking over his right shoulder and the combat knife on his thigh looked like toys on his massive frame. But the most unsettling aspect of the troll's appearance was a wide, near maniacal, toothy grin plastered across his face. At least the troll brushed his teeth and tusks regularly. Raising his two beers in one hand and the mic in the other, the troll shouted, "How's everyone in the Waltzing Witch doing?! Is she treating you alright? With the nuyen stick in my pocket, I'd say she's treating me awsome! Woo!" The large troll's ever-present grin raked the crowd before asking, "Who am I? Why I'm JAAAAAM-OOO!" His grin said he was trying too hard Dice Use Con; Charisma 1, Untrained(-1), Push the Limit(+1): 1d6smch5 2 ✘ (0/1) 0⇑ 0⇓ (2) but his words said he was excited to be here. "First off! A few words for those who went before me!" Looking around but being unable to find her, JamO still pointed into the crowd as if he had, "Sher! You can patch me up anytime!"<wink> Pointing elsewhere, JamO's smile slackened as he said, "Smiling Jack. Dude, your hardcore. Too hardcore." Smiling again, he went on, "Fellow barren's sister Tamara! Fight the Power! Yeah, right on! Stretch, I love your music, man. Nice to have another troll jammer in the house! Welcome to Seattle SimOne. She's a harsh mistress, but we love her anyway! Bonus! I like a girl with gall and spunk! You're a cool chick!" JamO finally wound down by actually pointing at Colmo, whom he had managed to pick from the crowd somehow, "And shield brother Colmo. If ever you need to be tossed over a chasm to fight the enemy, I'll not tell a soul." After laughing at the movie reference, JamO said, "Never change Colmo!" "As for me? I use sword's; I use fists; I even use candlesticks!" JamO found himself funny and laughed for a time. Raising the two beers in one hand, he chugged both at the same time without spilling a drop and displayed yet another talent as after he downed the last drop of alcohol, JamO burped into the microphone very loudly. Tossing the empty bottles against the wall behind him, JamO held out his right hand at arm's length and dropped the mic where it rang with annoying feedback. Walking off the stage with a big grin, JamO was confident that he had been noticed. Stat Bar > Coming to a Future near YOU! > Edge: 0 / 1 Charactersheet

[AlphaZ]

Sidelong With free food and drinks to compliment a colorful and lively crowd, Jonas could hardly feel more at home. He decided to let the others go first so he could size up the competition. That's what they were, right? Maybe coworkers too, but for now it was him or them. And that meant it was him. Strolling up to the podium with the casual swagger of someone who owns the room, he tipped his hat and flashed teeth as white as pearls. He tapped the mic as he surveyed the room, letting his infectious charm (and tailored pheromones) wash over the crowd. Straightening up his tie that perfectly matched his rather expensive and suitably protective business wear, he addressed the room. "Isn't this just a wiz little get-together? The wine, the crackers... the creds up front, right? Now that's a nice touch." Dice con (seduction?): 17d6smch5 2 ✘, 4 ✘, 3 ✘, 1 ✘, 6 ✔, 4 ✘, 2 ✘, 6 ✔, 3 ✘, 6 ✔, 4 ✘, 5 ✔, 2 ✘, 4 ✘, 2 ✘, 4 ✘, 6 ✔ (5/17) 4⇑ 1⇓ Total = 64 (64) He raised his near-empty glass to their host apparent with a light chuckle. The crowd murmured in agreement with even an errant cheer from someone clearly one drink past their limit. Once the audience had settled he continued, "Name's Sidelong. I do the talking so you don't have to. Momma used to say a stranger's just a friend you haven't met yet, and I got friends in all the right places." He tipped his hat with a subtle wink to an elf girl in the front. "I go where I want, I do what I please, and hardly ever met the meta would tell me otherwise. The world turns my way. Who wants to come along for the ride?" And with that he strolled right back to the crowd, smiles and hellos sprinkled generously as he worked his way through them. "Always leave them wanting more." He thought to himself, a cool satisfaction making his smile radiate from within.

[AnotherDragoon]

Only one shot at a first impression Thoughts raced through the mind of J.C. like all the neon and AROs zipping past as he steered his mirage down rain-slicked streets into Auburn. The noise of the bike along with the flash and fade of lights reflecting up off the road helped distract from the massive dose of anxiety flowing through his veins. Ten thou, and a seat at the table. Keep calm and just don't hose this one man he told himself as his nav display informed him he was minutes away. The ride was smooth and, luckily, incident-free. No gangers or pawns started any static and he only had to dodge one doc wagon! This was shaping up to be one swag night. Ju1c3 pulled up to the place and killed the engine, it didn't look like much from the outside but, that was probably the point. The real attraction would be straight through that door, and it was nova-hot. The Crossing Companions, best in the biz and from the way it looked biz was booming. Everybody in Seattle must've crawled out of the gutters to be here tonight. He watched people walking in for a minute and tried to slow his breathing, crowds weren't really his thing but this is where the money is. J.C. kept his black helmet on as he made his way to the door, the relative anonymity it provided with its black visor was soothing, just like being jacked in, you could be anybody behind the mask. He nodded at the big doorman, held his breath, and took that step inside. Anyone watching him come through the door would notice his matrix persona projected in AR over his meat space body, they looked much the same actually. Black clothes under a long black coat with a black helmet, except when he removed the helmet it revealed a skull flashing with everchanging RGB light, and of course the black wings. His entrance having been made Ju1c3 killed that display, nobody likes a show-off. He reached into a pocket and scooped up a handful of RFID tags as he made his way deeper into the already packed room. The young decker kept his head down as he weaved through the crowd towards the bar nonchalantly dropping tags here and there throughout the room. When the barkeeper asked what he was drinking Ju1c3 replied "Bourbon." He sipped and watched the runners interact, everyone was in a good mood. You would have to try real hard not to be with the promise of nuyen and work. He grabbed some of the prawns and mini quiches to ease the churning in his nerve-wracked stomach and within moments was watching the elf with the well-groomed mustache take the stage and start the proceedings. Ju1c3 found himself laughing at the opening lines, this elf knew how to work a crowd. It all sounded too good to be true but then a credstick was slipped into his hand. I just nearly tripled my worth by simply showing up! The celebratory thought spread to his face in a wide grin and he uncharacteristically let out a "WOOOO!" along with the crowd. Then there was the catch, public speaking was definitely not one of his strengths. Ju1c3 watched the nervous elf go up first I feel you sister, you're braver than me. She introduced herself as a medic, now that's an asset to any team. Next, the big orc came up and actually shot himself! What kind of crazy drek is that!? Well, Sir Ethan did say to make an impression. Though he didn't specify what kind... Then the warm, nice, older lady took the stage. A real smooth talker, he got the feeling she could negotiate her way out of, or into, just about anything. When the troll went up and proclaimed himself a decker his heart sunk just a bit. Competition and this guy hacked the host here and blasted his fav tune! Why didn't I think of that? Now any skill demo is going to come off as copying. He would normally be ecstatic to see another hacker, just maybe not here. J.C held up his fist anyway. He nodded to the orc from London and watched in awe at the display of Bonus and her flashy jacket. It wasn't his style but it sure was wiz. A dwarf spellslinger was next, basically a must for any team followed by another flashy elf who obviously could work a crowd, he could never understand how some people could be so natural at performing in front of strangers but here they were. Last, the hulking troll with an even bigger personality worked the crowd and dropped the mic. Well, now or never. Ju1ce took some deep breaths and prepared himself to take the stage and attempt to sell his talents. He downed the rest of his bourbon and tried to shake out the anxiety. Dice composure(CHA + WIL): 5d6smch5 4 ✘, 1 ✘, 4 ✘, 4 ✘, 4 ✘ (0/5) 0⇑ 1⇓ Total = 17 (17) On second thought he sat back down and let someone else go ahead while he tried to stop the shakes. Finally, he worked up the nerve again and on the way to the stage, the decker dropped a couple more tags. He walked slowly, trying to remain calm and not trip. Once up on stage, he picked up the mic, there's really no cool way to do that. Thanks Omae. He turned to face Sir Ethan and the others "First off, on behalf of everybody I'd like to thank The Companions for the easiest credsticks we've every scored!" He bowed his head slightly like all those salarymen he'd seen do it then turned to the crowd. "Heya chummers, name's Ju1c3 and I'm from Tacoma." He reached into his coat and pulled the Colt America from its hidden holster "Here's my sidearm, I'm interested in what it says about me Smiling Jack. And this, He holstered the pistol and pulled the Hermes Chariot out of his coat, there was a thin wire attached leading up to the datajack behind his ear "is my main weapon. I can use it to open doors, gather info or secret data, brick weapons and gear, or hijack cameras and drones. But you already know that. I could show you but, that's been done." He tucked the dack safely back into his lined coat and smiled "Now why would you want to run with some young punk like me? Well, there's this old movie from something like 80 years ago I watched with my old man. I was about a heist, everyone had codenames, sound familiar? Anyway, the team was made up of trigger happy gangsters, psychos, and there was even an undercover because why not, ya know. Except for this one guy who remained a professional right through to the end. Mr. Pink, he just wanted to finish the job and get paid, nul sweat. Well, that's me." Dice defaulting(-1)performance(CHA), Use edge: Push the Limit: 6d6smch5 2 ✘, 5 ✔, 5 ✔, 6 ✔, 1 ✘, 4 ✘ (3/6) 1⇑ 1⇓ Total = 23 (23) Dice rule of 6 reroll: 1d6smch5 5 ✔ (1/1) 0⇑ 0⇓ (5) J.C> walked away as calmly as possible on shaking legs and sent the command to all the tags to display this image.

[auntmousie]

Good people, I nearly missed my introduction! As J.C. walks off stage, there is a shimmer in the air as a camouflage field drops around a fairly nondescript Ork. She drops from the rafters above the stage, landing where J.C. was a moment ago. Her landing, though not quite Olympic, is adequate and doesn't distract from the effect. "They call me Vapor," she says. "I've never shot myself in the heart, I don't sling code or spells. But I've been inside a whole lot of places I wasn't supposed to be, seen a whole lot of things I wasn't supposed to see, and made a whole lot of credits selling the pictures to the right buyers." Seemingly from nowhere, Vapor produces a dartgun. "Plenty of folks here can make noise. Plenty of folks here can put bodies on the floor. But if you want a stealth insertion with zero body count..." She hardly seems to look as she points her weapon at the dart board on the wall, and puts a dart in the bull's eye. "I'll be over there." She salutes whatever poor schlub has to follow her, and the gun vanishes back into her coat. As she leaves the stage, her camouflage shimmers back into place.

OOC Rolls: Stealth: (first 11 dice) Dice Sneaking test (Agility + Sneaking, +2d6 thanks to active Chameleon Suit): 11d6smch5 6 ✔, 1 ✘, 5 ✔, 1 ✘, 2 ✘, 4 ✘, 1 ✘, 4 ✘, 2 ✘, 1 ✘, 5 ✔ (3/11) 1⇑ 4⇓ Total = 32 (32) (the two I almost forgot) Dice I forgot my 2 dice from Catlike, but I'm not editing the roll: 2d6smch5 6 ✔, 5 ✔ (2/2) 1⇑ 0⇓ Total = 11 (11) That's better. Five hits on stealth. Those attempting to spot Vapor before she makes her appearance are at -2 dice thanks to the Blandness quality. Gymnastics: Dice Agility+Gymnastics to not blow the landing from the rafters: 7d6smch5 1 ✘, 6 ✔, 1 ✘, 3 ✘, 1 ✘, 3 ✘, 2 ✘ (1/7) 1⇑ 3⇓ Total = 17 (17) Parashield Dart Gun Shot: Dice Putting a dart in the bull's eye on the dartboard: 11d6smch5 6 ✔, 6 ✔, 5 ✔, 1 ✘, 3 ✘, 2 ✘, 1 ✘, 5 ✔, 2 ✘, 4 ✘, 3 ✘ (4/11) 2⇑ 2⇓ Total = 38 (38)

[Imveros]

After the Introductions "Thank you, everyone. That was a pretty good round of introductions. Some pretty good stories there. My heart felt touched by some of you." Sir Ether said in a patronizing tone, before turning more serious. "Other's well... you need to set up your game a bit. Now, the most important thing you can do tonight, is to impress a current member who'll support you moving forward. Joining the Crossing Companions, like any close-knit group, requires some trust, and trust is a valuable thing. So, go out and prove you're worth some! We have four lovely members here tonight. We are going to let each of them introduce themselves before we separate into the VIP rooms."

Sponsor #1 If Confidence and Ego were visible, they would look like the first sponsor to approach the podium. Many knew him as Brom, the Boardroom Butcher. Butcher, in the metaphorical sense. Brom had made his fortune by being the best, most efficient negotiator in the shadows. How did he do this? Magic of course. While Brom may play by the rules, he would clearly use every advantage he could get, and maybe even bend the laws of nature here or there to help get what he wanted. Brom was a muscular Troll, who rivaled even Sir Ethan in his 'high society' dress. "Hello recruits!" Brom spoke, in a tone that was slow and deliberate. "You may have already heard of me. I am Brom, the the face of the crossing companions, and honorary chairman of the local mage community. You might be thinking that I am the sponsor for you. You might be right, but, you might be wrong too. You see, I am looking to sponsor only those who know how to make the most of a situation. Not by stabbing others in the back, of course," He paused for a moment to give a long stare at the last sponsor at the table before continuing, "But by using your whit. I am looking for those who know an opportunity when they see it, and have the courage to seize it. And, me being your sponsor is a great opportunity at that. Do you often find yourself thinking outside the box? Can you be creative to solve a problem, and turn a disadvantage into an advantage? Then, we might get along swimmingly. Oh, if you can cast a spell or two, that doesn't hurt either. I think you will know if you fit with me, so I'll save the rest of the hot air blowing to my counterparts here tonight." Camly, after his backhanded insult, Brom left the podium and returned to his seat.

Sponsor #2 Saint Cecilia The next sponsor to approach the podium was a tall, dark, orc woman who wore the vestments covered in pagan symbols. Cecilia the "Saint of Auburn" was the Companion's magical powerhouse and rumored to be head of several of the region's shamanistic lodges. "Hello friends. My name is Cecilia. Those pious among you may know me as Saint Cecilia." Despite her title, Saint Cecilia was humble, and direct in her speech. "Like Brom, I will also be brief. This isn't a Sunday sermon after all. There are no shortcuts in life. You have to do things the right way, which is often the hard way. Cutting corners only hurts yourself, and those with whom you are associated. Your character and reputation are far more valuable than a few yen. If you think telling a little white lie to boost your street cred, or get out of trouble is OK, then I can tell you, you don't have the integrity I am looking for. I will sponsor only those who are honest, hard-working, and team players. It may seem harsh, but so is life. It would be unkind to set any other expectations." With her brief introduction, Saint Cecelia stepped away from the podium. Those who were observant might have caught her sending a flirtatious smile towards the next sponsor.

Sponsor #3 Sir Stefphonston The next sponsor to take the podium was the shortest of the bunch, and the most muscular. Tall for a dwarf, he could almost pass as a human. He kept his hair pulled back with a neat ponytail and had a few tattoos on his face that were designed to hide scars from years of back alley fighting. Sir Stefphonston was the head of a coalition of gangs. He also seemed just a bit tipsy, after all the drinking he had been doing. "Listen up!" Sir Stefphonston yelled, forgetting that he had a microphone directly in front of him. His voice boomed so loud, that even he jumped a little. "Bah, I don't need this," he said, tossing the device aside with no small amount of feedback. "All right, so, you know the deal. Get in any fights, or trouble tonight, and you will be seeing a lot more of me than you like. I don't need any snot-nosed, immature, punks ruining the peace and tranquility we enjoy here in the Waltzing Witch. So, find your company. Stay away from trouble makers, like that guy," Sir Stefphonston pointed to the last sponsor, "And uh, make sure to keep a hand on your cred sticks for your own protection." "Don't forget, you are here as a sponsor!" Sir Ethan whispered over to the Captian, who seemed to have forgotten what the function tonight was for a brief moment. "Right, I knew that." Sir Stefphonston responded. "Ok, so yes. I am here to sponsor a few recruits tonight. If you wake up in the morning, eat five dozen eggs to keep your energy up, then I say I like you. Saint Cecilia was right. The world is tough. And you got to be tougher to get by. So, if you can keep your nose clean and out of trouble, and if you can lift a motor bike with one hand, I've got an offer for you! Sponsorship for the toughest lads in town." Sir Stefphonston returned to his seat, and leaned back, eager to see what the last sponsor had to say.

Sponsor #4 Dug The last sponsor did his best to ignore the other three as he took the stage. A handsome and sharp-dressed man, Dug wore a suit that looked more costly than the combined net worth of the other sponsors, and Sir Ethan combined. He walked with grace and style that seemed almost cat-like. Picking up the discarded microphone, Dug addressed the audience from the stage. "Hello friends," Doug began, his voice a silky smooth as his walk. "You might have sensed a little tension between myself, and the other Sponsors tonight, so let me just set the record straight. When they get desperate, who do you think these fine gentlemen and lady here call for help? When Brom needed dirt on a rival to sinch a negotiation, who did he call for help? Or when Saint Cecilia's reputation was threatened by some unsavory behavior of a colleague, who did she ask to clean up the mess? And Sir Stefphonston's job has never been easier than when my crew keeps order on the streets. When something bad does happen, who do you think he comes to first to get the scoop and low down? That's right. This guy. You are looking at him. And, my associates. We get things done." Dug shot a victorious, sideways glance at the other three sponsors, who all looked down at their own table to avoid eye contact. "My friends call me Dug. My enemies also call me Dug. That is what you can call me too. Now, all of our sponsors here tonight can do the job of putting a little cred in your pocket if they like you. But what is in it for you, in the long run? As a sponsor, I'm not worried about just the next week, or year. I'm looking for new members of the family. My network is well connected throughout the sprawl. We have our fingers in just about every business and government agency there is in one way or another. So, for my street-wise, like-minded folks, hit me up. Let's see if we can do business together." Dug waltz away from the podium to return to his seat, eyeing the audience, rather than paying any attention to the other sponsors.

Sir Ether "There you have it, folks. As you can tell, our members are all looking for different qualities in their fellow runners. So, each of you pick who you would like to impress, and head over to their room. For Brom, head over to the far corner by the entrance. Saint Cecilia, under the Chimera head in the corner by the bar. Sir Stephonston, you have the front corner by the near corner next to the kitchen. Dug, meet in the last corner by the piles of chairs and tables. And, if for some reason you don't think you need a sponsor, the exit is right behind you. Alright, go!"

OODM Here you have it! Each Sponsor is looking for certain types of qualities and will have their own thread. Pick whom you would like to impress, and head over there. If for some reason, you feel you are doing poorly, or another fit might be better, you can change rooms. But, doing so will set you back a bit, since you will have less time to impress your new potential sponsor. Scorecard Name Intro Points Day 2 Points Day 3 Points Day 4 Points Day 5 points Vote cast? Total TADHGSaoirse -1 Was -1 until room change 0 1 2 1 1 4 GleefulNihilismJakk 0 2 -1 0 0 1 2 BlackfyreTamara 3 4 4 4 3 1 19 RainyDayNinjaStretch 1 2 0 -1 2 1 5 bothersSim0ne 0 2 2 1 0 1 6 UngainlyFoolBonus 3 1 4 3 2 1 14 PhettbergColmo 1 3 4 -1 2 1 10 DAquilinaSteppz 0 1 1 with a -1 technical penalty0 4 2 1 8 SilkJamO -1 1 1 0 2 1 4 AlphaZSidelong 2 4 3 5 5 1 20 AnotherDragoonJu1c3 2 3 3 0 3 1 12 auntmousieVapor 0 2 2 0 0 1 5

[Imveros]

After the Sponsor Meetings Sir Ethan As the individual groups were concluding their discussions, the noise in the room began to grow louder and louder, as more conversations broke out. When it was clear that the sponsors were done meeting with all of their hopeful applications, Sir Ethan took the stage again and called for everyone's attention. "Ladies and Gentlemen! I hope you enjoyed the chance to meet with our Sponsors tonight. We will convene amonghts ourselves, and decide who will be joining us for the next stage of the interview process to join the Crossing Companions. In the meantime, feel free to chat and socialize. Drinks and food are on the house, so enjoy yourselves. Just, please, no fights. Let's not give Sir Stefphonston any extra work tonight." Sir Stefphonston raised his glass to say 'thanks for the plug'. "Now, we have a secure node set up to drop your votes. No peaking! No voting for yourself! We'll know, and you'll be out. We would like you to submit the names of three other applicants you have met here tonight, with whom you feel belong in the crew. Kind of like picking your own co-workers. Thank you again, and enjoy the evening!"

OODM Thanks for a great round, everyone! This thread will be closed at 10 pm EST Sunday 12th. You are free to post, open role play, banter back and forth, as you like up until that point. No mechanical points will be given here, but it could influence how other people vote.