Snippet #2589932

Eris is certainly listening enough to pick up on the utter ridiculousness of Redcap's story, and affixes her with an unconvinced stare and a raised brow. "A family of...pixies...taught you blood magic, and how to make sacrifices to The Adversary. Riiiight," says Eris, her incredulous look turning into a slight grin. "If you don't want to talk about your past, just tell me. No need to make up some ridiculous drek about pixies and sacrifices and that. If you want just to talk business, do we have a deal or no? I'm afraid I can't give you any details on the run until the time comes. You could be corporate, for all I know." She's quite good at dividing her attention, it would seem. One needed to be, if they were a rigger who deigned to control a number of drones, rather than a single one. Eris is one such rigger.

At the same time, she takes in the information that the pair at the other side of the bar are inadvertently giving her. Scum of the Earth handling the pay. Definitely Runners. They sound as if they're possessed of a sort of love-hate father-daughter relationship, by the sound of the dialogue. Their aura of comfort in such a place as the F-State certainly hints at a long life in the Shadows, something of a rarity nowadays. Yes, surely they would be a good addition to her team. Assuming they'd join. In addition, her drone's optics pinpoint another individual of interest. A man with a world of experience in his eyes, wounded yet intact. Drinking alcohol, rather than caffeine. Sporting some pretty wiz chrome. This cafe could prove to be quite the recruitment spot, tonight. Many new faces. Many new /Runner/ faces, at that. The corporations wouldn't stand a chance.

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<January 13, 2087, 2040 hours, Golden Tower, West Berlin>
The golden dragon Lofwyr sits, in human form, upon a very cushy red leather chair in the expansive premium office at the very top of the new resplendent Golden Tower tower in Saeder-Krupp's portion of West Berlin, erected in record time at the expense of a sizable chunk of Lofwyr's near-endless resources. A slim stream of smoke wafts up to the ceiling from the long, fat real tobacco cirgar as his near-glowing golden eyes gaze out of the massive window encompassing half the circular office, trailing over his beloved domain. His mood sours as he inadvertently looks upon that terrible blight on the land that is East Berlin, his placid grin quickly turning to a grimmace. He had turned what was once a cesspool of scum and villainy into a thriving metropolis, and how had those F-State savages repaid him? Forcing him to wall them off in their own tiny section of the city, fighting back against his every move, damaging Saeder-Krupp property, causing his citizens harm. Worst of all, they had caused him to lose profit by invading Berlin, and he was still working to even out the balance from that initial strike. Something had to be done about them.

He spins about in his chair to face his massive desk, picking up his commlink and quickly getting a hold of his secretary, a mousey, timid girl who isn't a very good secretary in all honesty, but who certainly knows how to keep professional confidentiality, and who tries harder than anyone Lofwyr's ever employed. "Clara," states Lofwyr's low, placid voice, "get me in touch with a Damien Knight. Tell him it's important. I plan to acquire the services of one of his Knight Errant High-Threat Task Forces. Yes. Thank you..."
As the sound of the other line ringing replaces his secretary's voice, Lofwyr's face turns up into a grin again. Perhaps this situation isn't unsalvageable after all.
(For people new to the universe, Knight Errant High-Threat Task Forces are really, really, really bad for Runners. Like, to the point where even the most experienced guy is like "don't fuck with them. just run")