Redcap's Story

<January 13, 2087, 2034 hours, Kreuzbasar kiev, East Berlin>
Redcap sat in a café, hidden away from the cold outside. She was hunched over the bar, poring over a paper map of the wilderness surrounding Berlin, muttering herself and occasionally scratching an X over a different part of the map. Her brow was furrowed in thought, and she would occasionally flick her eyes to the left of the map in front of her, as if consulting with some invisible page. In a way, she was. She had opened an extranet tab to a listing of claimed reagent sites near Berlin on an enchanters forum she occasionally visited, and was viewing it through her commlink. She did not enjoy what she was reading. She placed another X on her physical map, cursing under her breath in Irish and breaking the lead on the paper.

"Another soykaf," she called to the bartender, holding up her empty cup. "And a pencil, if you've got one." She tossed her broken writing utensil on the café bar, then ran her fingers through her ginger mane in exasperation. She closed out of the extranet and looked around the bar as she did, noting that one other person seemed to have taken shelter from the cold inside the café. She squinted at the elf analytically for a moment. "Do I know you?" she asked.

Now clutching a very much diluted soykaf between her slender hands, the Elvish woman turns to face Redcap with an inquisitive tilt of her head. "I don't think so, chummer," she states in a smooth, relaxed tone, very lightly accented by what Redcap might recognise as Welsh, "but I'm Eris. You may have heard of my mother, actually. Nice to meet you." She takes a sip of her drink, and then holds out a hand to Redcap, smiling that easy, natural smile of hers. "What brings you to the Kreuzbasar?" she asks, then, tilting her head curiously, "Not many folk who aren't native to this area frequent it, especially nowadays, what with the war going on and that." Eris' suspicion is that this woman is a fellow Runner. She had to be. The Kreuzbasar was one of the more stable kievs, the perfect place for a Runner to set up shop without too much scrutiny but with the perfect level of security. In any case, it certainly isn't Eris' place to question such things, being a Shadowrunner herself. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

"Eh, well. Thought it'd make a good vacation destination." Her accent certainly made it clear she wasn't native. She may have managed to drop the slang, but the Irish in her voice was still as thick as ever. She waved absently at the map next to her. "Lookin' for a nice picnic spot."

The name Eris was certainly familiar enough. Redcap figured she must've seen it floating around the Shadowrun BBS a few times, but didn't think much of it. Some kind of decker, she thought? She took the soykaf the Turk brough her.

"And yourself?" Asked as if the girl had not basically said she was a runner. "Y'asked if I'd heard of your mom, I assume she's famous around here."

Why was she prolonging the conversation? She should've just apologized for her mind playing tricks on her and been done with it. Maybe the cold outside was finally getting to her. She really should be wearing a jacket with sleeves.

"A picnic spot, huh?" asks Eris with a raised brow, clearly unconvinced, "And you came here for vacation. You're looking in all the wrong places, my friend. There's a civil war on." She downs the rest of her soykaf in one gulp, relishing the creamy vanilla flavour and the heat of the drink as it warms her belly, chasing away the bone-deep chill that came from reflecting in the park for an hour. She waits a moment to answer the question directed at her, sitting back against the bar as she thinks about her words. Finally, she speaks.
"My mother was...well, to hear people talk, she was the glue that held the Kreuzbasar together after her successor, Monika Schafer, died in an...incident. The death of her successor did give her room to grow, however. She became one of the more famed Deckers in the world, second only to the elusive Alice. She was a legend. Honestly, sometimes I find it's a tough act to follow. Anyway, enough about that, I hardly think you came here for my mother's life story. Now, would you like to tell me why you're actually here?" continues Eris, her face turning up into a slight grin at the end.

"The beautiful weather o'cour- balls to this- I'm here for the war, we're all bloody here for the war, name me a person who's not bloody here for the war," She chugged half her soykaf in one breath. "Amazes me you'd even feel the need to ask. 'OOO, look at this tattoo-and-scar covered dwarf, sittin' alone in a war zone, markin' on a map o' Berlin with physical paper and pencil rather than the extranet like a normal person. I wonder what she's here for!'"

Her clearly perfect impersonation of Eris done, Redcap huffed and leaned back against the bar. "And who admits to bein' a runner's daughter so soon after meeting someone? I get this is an anarchist zone, but that still seems somethin' you'd want to keep quiet. For all you know I could be corporate. For all I know, you could be corporate. For all either of us know, this guy could be corporate." She gestured vaguely to the Turk. She was quiet for a moment, staring at Eris. Then she offered her hand in what might've been resignation. "I'm Redcap, might've heard o' me. I've been in Germany maybe a decade? Witch, rumoured blood mage, makes a crap load o' unique witchy reagents. Not so much now, though, since some arse stole my truck, but there you go. Glad to meet you. Nice drone."

She ceased rambling and took another drink from her soykaf. Admittedly, she may have lost her senses a bit just then, she knew. The stress of losing her truck (and attached lab) must've finally gotten to her. She doubted there was any real danger in talking so openly, anyway. She'd never really liked all the hush-hush secrety bush-beating drek runners normally used (it reminded her too much of home) so it felt kind of nice to just spout of like that. She thought it best to keep a hand on her knife, though. Just in case.

(I can't for the life of me remember that Turk's name from Dragonfall..)
As Eris' still-outstretched hand is finally grasped, her grin grows, all but dismissing the fiery-haired Irish-dwarf's temper as she responds, placidly, "Nice to meet you too. Thanks for the compliment, but the drone is inherited. Nice...er...hair."
She looks about the Cafe, her expression appearing positively suspicious. Then, after several scans, she crosses her arms and says, resolutely, "No Corporate spies here. Nope. Not a single one. I can smell a corporate spy when I see one, definitely. In any case, even if I didn't have super powers of perception, this is the Kreuzbasar. The Corporates don't come here unless they're looking for a Runner, and then they know who to look for anyway. It's not as if we're spreading anarchist propaganda or anything. Just two ladies looking to make some nuyen, right? And anyway, who says I'm telling the truth about being a Runner's daughter? For all you know, I could be corporate."

Eris smiles an easy smile, and sits back against the bar, picking up the second soykaf the Turk made for her on reflex, as she was the type to always have at least two per day. As she sips at her second drink, she asks the Dwarf, "I do wonder what special skills you possess, Redcap. Surely you're here looking for something, although I'm not entirely clear as to what. Perhaps you're looking for employment? If that's the case, I'm looking to organise a team, and you look like just the kind of character I need."

<January 13, 2087, 2035 hours, Kreuzbasar kiez, East Berlin>
The Kreuzbasar never seemed to change. After being away for some twenty two years, Tam returned to an image that had leaped straight out of his most vivid memories like a ghost come back to haunt him. Not that it had been an unpleasant find. As a younger man he had frequented Kreuzberg for any number of reasons. Half of those times he had been passing through on his way to another part of Berlin. On those few occasions something had tied him down to the kiez, it was always a most productive matter. Like acquiring some hyper from the local street peddler. It was a comfortable little hole-in-the-wall sort of place. Quiet but still alive, thriving like a druggie twisting in a soporifically induced labyrinth. Fire burned golden-orange in barrels, sending up embers as their emissaries to the alien world where flakes of snow tumbled down from the sky. Handfuls of destitute souls hung around them, some clutching bottles that emptied much too swiftly. When the fire wasn't enough to soothe you, and you didn't want stims- or couldn't afford them- the warmth of liquor could melt away just enough of whatever was eating away at you to let you sleep.

Tam had wrapped himself up in an old black, moth-eaten polyester coat that he'd managed to appropriate shortly after returning to Berlin. It had been woven together in an imitation of a woolen garment, and was baggy enough to wear comfortably over his gear. Better not to draw attention to oneself, as opposed to tromping around in what amounted to full battle dress on exhibition. It was like saying, "Hey, drekhead! Shoot me!" Ammunition being the commodity that it was, he preferred not having to ventilate every other half baked bastard who crossed the street. That was really another thing he liked about the Kreuzbasar that had not changed. It was one of the more peaceful places in Berlin. Always had been. Not like that toilet, Drogenkippe. At least in this part of the city he did not have to keep as wary an eye for the magnificently stupid. Even the addicts looked to be more tranquilized than the elsewhere forlorn.

Aphelion was dressed in a coat of her own. A knee length piece that had once been red, faded since production until it was a dull maroon. "If you start regaling me with that sentimental drek," her near-monotone broke through the pocket of silence surrounding them, "I'll kneecap you." She had apparently noticed something in his eye. Like an approaching calamity creeping its way toward them. Her instinct these days was to quickly drain it of any potential threat value, namely through healthy application of lethal force.

Tam's expression, which had been somewhat genial, immediately soured. "The fuck are you on about, lieb-chan?" The nickname was his abysmal idea of a joke, which he only pulled out of his hat when he wanted to annoy her. A combination of his native tongue, Aphelion's, and playful denigration. His accent was as much an utter mess as his sense of humor. Heavily German on top, accented with two decades of speaking Japanese as his second language. Forcing it, really. He'd never caught on in all that time to be anything more than very, very basically conversational.

Aphelion leaned her upper body at a gentle incline away from him, as if he were contagious. This was sort of her version of a grimace, these days. "No stories," was her simple command. Her eyes reinforced it, hardening as they stared into his.

Waving a hand to dismiss her, and making a disgusted noise at the back of his throat, the elf turned his attention back to the local scenery. For all the filth and graffiti, it felt like home to him. After first bringing Aphelion to the F-State, his attempt at alleviating her lack of.. "enthusiasm".. had been to refer to it as "having that lived-in feel". She had stared right back at him, her face totally blank, and asked, "Is that what blood cells say when they see an infection?"

"I take it you're not enjoying yourself," Tam grumbled, hands getting stuffed abruptly into his coat's pockets.

"Could that be it?" The responding query was laced with a very sharp derisiveness, in contrast to the bluntness of her tone.

"That's absolutely it, my question is what's got you so bitchy?" Tam craned his neck to look around, suddenly feeling like he was being watched. Nothing stood out amongst the corners and run down buildings, so he chalked it up to paranoia. He swore all of those stims he shot up when he was younger were coming back to haunt him. Straight out of a Dickens novel. "I say we find you something to melt that chilling heart of yours, girl. You're getting colder than the season." Pulling a hand free, he curled one of his fingers and beckoned her to follow.

Predictably, she piped up from behind with, "We need to get-"

"Trust me," Tam sighed, "She's not even going to notice a little bit." Throwing a glance back just to make sure she was still there, he led her off the main road and into a jumble of buildings. From his peripheral vision, he noted how the fingers of her right hand curled at the front of her coat, ready to tear it open so she could reach inside and grab the sword currently hung on the lining within. She was even worse than him.

Their sudden detour led the duo to a tucked away cafe back behind the rest of the eclectic affair in the immediately vicinity, and once inside they were enveloped in a rich aroma of coffee and tobacco that had saturated the building's interior after years of prolonged exposure. It hung like a blanket, warm and thick as it wrapped around them. Tam did not plan on them lingering for too long, so he spared all pretense and strode right up to the bar. Respectfully, he gave the two women already seated there a berth. Especially seeing as at least one knew a fair bit of rigging, considering there was a fragging drone floating nearby. It would be wiser to not do anything that might be misconstrued as belligerent.

"Hoi, omae," the elf briskly greeted the man behind the bar, flashing a broad grin. The way his lips peeled back across his teeth seemed almost predatory, traces of an animal sneer amidst the cordiality. Aphelion fell in beside him, saying nothing. "Oh, you're a charmer," Tam growled to the girl.

The Turk at the bar returned a smile, both businesslike and genuine at once. "Evening to the two of you. What could I get you, tonight? We have both soykaf and true, honest to God coffee for the more discerning taste."

"Just a soykaf for me. Black." Tam inclined his head to the man, eyes flicking down to Aphelion. Something in his face came off as worried.

"Real coffee?" Aphelion inquired, a gentle intrigued tilt leaning her head to one side.

"Drek."

The Turk's smile brightened. "It is more expensive, as you might understand, but I assure you: the extra nuyen is worth the experience, if you have never enjoyed any before tonight."

"Soykaf. Black." Tam reiterated, his words now somewhat strained. He pulled out a few loose bills and tossed them unceremoniously onto the bar, almost glaring at his partner by this point. "I would advise you," he lowered his voice a little, measuring each syllable before it came out of his mouth, "Not to go throwing your money around so frivolously."

Aphelion worked her jaw almost imperceptibly as she thought about the prospect. She stayed otherwise still throughout, until she finally dug out her credstick and proffered it to the Turk. "Coffee."

With that single word uttered, Tam unleashed an exasperated groan, his eyes falling shut.

"Just said," Redcap grunted, taking another drink of her soykrap. "Witch. Former producer of foci and reagents. Possessor of great hair and magical power." She set her cup on the counter and swatted lightly at the map. "This isn't really anythin' pressing, jus checking reagent claims in the area. Only thing I'm really looking for at present is work, which you are so kind to offer, and I so humble and gracious to accept. Maybe."

She folded the map into a small square and put it in her back pocket. She rubs at her lower lip with the back of one finger, then sniffs. Her eyes have settled somewhat from the ranting glare she had worn a couple moments earlier, and she watched the snow tossed around by a nighttime breeze on the ground outside. "How much does the work you're offerin' pay, exactly? Is there pay? Because I feel inclined to mention I expect some part up front. You wouldn't be the first to try and stiff me on that."

Here he was, not even midnight yet and Brandon was on his knees in a crappy car near the ass end of Berlin trying to wire if for his own needs. The thoughts of what had transpired still fresh in his mind. Starting not surprisingly after he had been double crossed by a long time contact and friend.


But everything goes black after the case is handed off and Brandon starts to take the payment. Only to find that Oscar had hit him with that damn stun gun he carries. Unfortunately the agent was planning to skip out with the payment and the processor with Oscar in tow, only for Oscar to shoot him when his back was turned. Oscar placed one case next to the other and loomed over Brandon for a minute to speak. "Sorry this had to happen man.. its just business and all, but I can't risk you spreading word about this to anyone." Even though, Brandon knew that he would most likely sell the processor to a higher bid. A million nuyen had already been invested in this deal, more then a sizable chunk of what even he hopes to make back from the finished deal.

Now it seemed Oscar was going to take a large chunk out of his investment and then kill him to put the icing on this little situation. "Any last words?" He asked Brandon before pulling his own gun on, though it was easy to see that he was uneasy with the weight of the weapon. Brandon was only left to smile as he got up on a knee to steady himself. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to say I'm sorry too" Oscar cocks an eyebrow for a moment but it was too slow to realize. The chromatic knuckles on his right hand balled up and he torched his punch up into Oscars body, in a fashion and power that would most likely render him unable to breed for the rest of his life. Hence a rolling popping noise was easy enough to discern that Brandon as the gun and then Oscar fell to the floor. The man rolled for a few moments, rasping groans escaping him before he sputtered a response "Was that.. really necessary.. for flipping on you?"

Brandon stood, retaking his weapon and pulling the slide back to check the round. "No old friend, that was for narking on the deal and this.. is for flipping on me." Oscars eyes only had the chance to widen before the round separated sections of his head from the cybernetic implants in his scalp. Brandon is left with a few harsh thoughts running through his mind, only to regret that he had known Oscar for more then five years. Only for it to end in such a horrible manner, a grave thing that worried him about of the state of things.


If it weren't for the corp goons that were stationed downstairs, everything would have turned out find and Brandon wouldn't be in this position. They shot him, blew up his car and then for good measure put a few holes in his new suit that his armor managed thankfully managed to catch.

The car finally managed to crank up and the headlights beamed on just in time to catch the sight of the six men in the snowy air ahead of him and they proceeded to shred the vehicle. Painting it as if bullet riddle were a new color that was all the rage these days and a few rounds from his seat managed to make them scatter. Too bad for the car though, the fire from the engine block was a sign that it would be no use and Brandon bolted from the seat. He managed to cover a few blocks before they could collect on his trail and he ducked through the front door of a lit shop before sitting in a booth and setting the cases down and hunkering in the seat. It takes a few seconds for a trundle of boots to come careening by the window, thanks to the weather the window was snowed up enough to keep them from seeing him.

After they pass, Brandon sits up and leans into the table taking notice of the small stream of blood running down his grey shirt and tie. The bullet passing through his upper shoulder and out the other side, leaving a nice hole in both sides of his new jacket. A sigh escapes him, as if the state of his clothes were the worst part of this affair.

Brandon takes notice that he was not the only in attendance, seeing a few eyes glance back at him along with the owners from on the other side of the bar and he flashes a quick smile. "Seems business is good tonight.. can I get a stiff drink and maybe a clean rag as well?" He sits back in the seat of that booth, sliding the cases back between his legs as the bartender sets a bottle a glass on the table. A small white cloth follows as he looks on and Brandon speaks "Leave the bottle if you don't mind. He spins the bottle with his hand, the cybernetics clinking against the glass. "Ah, McDowell's.. how nice." The man steps away and returns to the bar, while Brandon pours a glass and drinks it quick with several eyes on him.

(Jfc guys, I'm feeling outclassed here XD Good thing, yeah, but damn. All these fucking 10 paragraph responses, whew. Also, Oborosen, is Brandon in the cafe? If so, I don't think they serve alcohol >.>)
"Ah, yes. You did say that, didn't you?" asked Eris, frowning at her own awful memory, "I must have had a few too many doses of Bliss this morning. Ah, well. I can't say I've ever worked with a witch. I can offer you three hundred nuyen up front for this job, my friend, no more. I am, unfortunately, rather strapped for cash at the moment." Eris smiles that placid smile of hers. "I'm sure you understand."
"Coffee."
Coffee? Somebody had fifty nuyen to bust on a simple drink? In the Kreuzbasar? Eris' ears perk up, and with a pat on its hull she quickly slips into the skin of her Drone, the optics that were once passively scanning the cafe turning to the pair sitting a ways away from them at the bar, sizing them up with some measure of discretion as she leaves Redcap to ponder the offer, that smile still plastered upon her face, yet somehow more vacant now. She doesn't recognise the faces. She doesn't recognise the voices. More new people. Eris knows all the locals of the Kreuzbasar kiez, and these aren't locals. The Guardian runs a short scan on their armament, the reading that pops up on Eris' neuro-HUD suggesting they certainly aren't civilians. More Runners, she guesses. And skilled ones, by the look of them. They could possibly make a wonderful addition to her team, although she can't afford to shell out a ton of cash for their services. Hopefully, they're loyal to the cause. That could make a pretty fine selling point, especially since Saeder-Krupp is her eventual target. The faces of corporate oppression, right alongside the Azzies.

The drone returns to its passive oscillation as she slips back into her own brain, sipping at her creamy soykaf as she ponders this new information. Outsiders had been flooding into East Berlin since the war started a few weeks ago. The Kreuzbasar kiez, however, has remained fairly untouched by the civil war, and as a result its population had remained fairly static compared to the rest, those newcomers who came to help with the war effort generally preferring a more westward perch. Eris can't say she minds the new folk, of course. It'd been too long since she'd been able to talk to anyone new outside of business, and business was often not the most pleasant forum for a nice chat.

Speaking of which..."Right, with that business out of the way," says Eris slowly, "tell me a bit about yourself, dwarf. You're clearly not a local. Your garb and manner of speaking suggest an upbringing in the Tir nations. Am I about right?" While her interest in the conversation is not exactly feigned, Eris' mind is only truly half there, her attention divided between eavesdropping on the pair of newcomers and chatting up the witch. This was shaping up to be quite the interesting day indeed.

"Tír na nÓg, yeah," Redcap replied, picking up her broken pencil and drumming it on the bar. "That's where I'm from. Land o' the Eternally Young. Great name for a country, truly."

Smalltalk. She hated smalltalk. More importantly, she hated smalltalk about herself. She wondered if she shouldn't just make some drek up. The elf only seemed to be half-listening anyway, it wasn't as if she'd know the difference.

"I'm from Limmerick, specifically," she said, relaxing and taking another drink of her soykaf. "Family of pixies raised me there, actually. I wasn't the easiest child, naturally, being several times their size, but they loved me like one o' their own, and taught me everything they knew. Raised me up good and proper, they did, with good Satanist values. Taught me how to steal children, sacrifice virgins to the Dark Lord, all the fun stuff every child should know.

But o'course, every dream must end, and they were all torn apart by devil rats. A real shame, but at least they tasted nice. I could give you a recipe, if you like. I wandered the nation for several weeks, eventually being taken in by a lovely couple on the edge o' Dublin. They tasted nice, too, they did. Especially the man. See, the trick is to let 'em bleed first, get all the juices flowing."

She quieted, watching a moment to see if Eris was paying attention.

Tam and Aphelion seated themselves, the former sinking slowly onto the bar stool. With his elbows propped on the wood and fingers threaded together, he started muttering to his partner from behind the barrier provided by his hands. "Ihnen ist bekannt," his chocolate eyes, now devoid of their usual gaiety, swiveled toward Aphelion with all the foreboding swiftness of a plummeting guillotine. They stopped somewhere short of her, coming to a halt off in space, lingering on the stacked shelves behind the bar. He wanted to keep his attention on the pair nearby for any worrisome signs, obviously without giving his furtive observation away. He guessed they were runners, or that at least one was. The drone made it easier to read than a picture book. Otherwise, there were tiny signs he was beginning to pick up on. After a while anyone could start to see runners at a glance. Though they were all different, and some hid it better than others, the life did something to you. Eventually it turned into a sort of badge you carried around everywhere you went. What started to separate them was how many layers were worn over it. "I've never had real coffee before, myself. I did like to splurge when I was younger, though."

Aphelion's shoulders sagged with the weight of his coming lecture prematurely bearing down on her. "Didn't I say something about stories, roujin?"

Something was mumbled by the elf, his imprecation masked in surreptitious tones and unintelligible German. A quick breath restored his volume. "I'm only trying to make a point. Will you at least let me do that?" It became crystal clear he would pursue the matter regardless of her answer just by looking him in the eye. His irises were clouded by a fog of pure obstinacy.

The girl gestured limply in concession.

"You're much too kind," Tam mumbled, straightening up and pulling one of his arms off the bar. The other hand he held flat and upward at an angle, as if to catch her bored stare and pull it back down should it go wandering too far off course. "Soykaf is good-"

There came a none-too-blasé harrumph from the Turk as he prepared their drinks. "One should never allow chances for new experiences to slip so easily from their grasp. This is one such moment," he looked at Aphelion, winking conspiratorially, "You shall never forget."

Tam's mien dried to beat a desert. He angled a single, long finger at the proprietor. "You know, you're a very good businessman," he said, faint traces of venom coating his timbre. The man's experience in his trade duly noted, Tam returned to his partner. "Trust me, I understand wanting to live a little. Hell, when I was just shy of half your age-" He bit his tongue, rolling his head around thoughtfully. "Actually, maybe I shouldn't delve into that," he backpedaled from the subject, rubbing his neck. "Anyway," he waved his hand around, as if to scatter any words left hanging in the air to intermingle with the stench of stale tobacco, "You eventually hit that line where you plummet straight into extravagance. Spending fifty whole nuyen on a single cup of coffee is about that point, liebchen."

Aphelion expressed her thoughts on the matter instantaneously with a very concise, "Shut up and let me enjoy my coffee." She did not even look at him. The entire time her lips were moving, her eyes were tracing out patterns in the surface of the counter. Clearly her dour disposition was even worse than usual tonight. Her expression was terse, eyes inconspicuously narrowed, and body rigid.

"Shouganai," the elf relented with a beleaguered sigh, throwing up his hands in surrender. They came back down onto the bar with the firm sound of flesh slapping wood, just about the time the Turk was bringing them their drinks. "Mm." Tam accepted his with a grunt and a pithy nod, resigned to focusing his attention elsewhere for the time being.

Burakgazi gently set down a mug of piping hot black coffee in front of Aphelion, a prideful smile turning his lips as he stepped back to observe her reaction. She lifted the mug, steam wafting up from the dark liquid and curling against her skin as she inhaled the powerful aroma of the opulent roast. Closing her eyes to drown out any distractions, she parted her lips and took a sip of the brew. The Turk's brow raised expectantly, but he was mildly perplexed when the girl remained motionless.

Tam weakly shook his head, his countenance screwed up in a look of chagrin. All he could see was nuyen down the fragging drain. "That means she likes it," he offered his assistance as interpreter, glancing up at the man and downing a mouthful of soykaf. "Not bad," he whispered under his breath. As he was going in for another quaff, a soft beeping snagged his ear. His expression fell even further to the floor, and he set down his cup so he could draw back a coat sleeve.

"I thought you said she wouldn't notice." Aphelion had opened her eyes, and the look she fixed him with was darkly humorous. "Unless you know of somebody else who might want to get in touch."

"At this hour?" Tam impishly arched a single brow. "Could be just about anyone, liebchen." He answered the call on his comm, lifting it so he would not need to speak loudly. "What drekhole are you crawling out of now?" A soft chuckle joined hands with his hushed, sandpaper tone.

A broken, throaty laugh snaked back in response. The voice on the other end was low and weak, but clearly feminine. "Mmm.. if you ever stayed long enough, maybe I'd get to show you..." Every word that lazily worked its way out of her mouth stumbled about like a drunk coming home after a long night's "work".

"Not on my life, mostly because I have one outside of a hovel," Tam rejoined in a sing-song fashion, his lips splitting into a wickedly wry smirk as he took another drink. Strangely contrasting, a look a disgust was etched into the lines of his face otherwise. He seemed stressed, as if he were bearing with the moment against his better judgment.

The voice on the other end laughed, more loudly this time. It was an incredibly awkward, and very weak sound, like the act was swiftly draining her with every breath. She exhaled dramatically, and he could imagine her running a thumb across her brow as she shook her head disdainfully. "Speaking of visiting..."

"Yeah, we were getting to that. Thought we'd revel a bit in the glory of our victory. You know how it is." Tam cast a malicious eye at Aphelion's cup of coffee. The girl noticed, frowning right back. "Aphie went a little over the top, though. Not quite what you might prefer, of course. She's not going to be giggling at the lampshade in a minute, but it might keep her up a few more hours."

At the pet name, his partner's glower turned to poisoned daggers. "Fuck off."

Tam waved merrily back with his free hand. "Give us a bit, we'll be on our way. You'd better not be catatonic when we get there, either." He cut the call before she could respond. "Scum of the earth handling my fucking paycheck," he snorted, giving a good shake of his head. "Bleeding hell, and all that. Why does our luck suck?"

"I don't know," the girl droned. "Any gods you might have offended?" Aphelion's voice was muddled by her mug, which she murmured into rather than pulling her face away. She was obviously joking, and he was surprised she had seen fit to answer him at all.

"Plenty, but surely not this badly." He gestured at the ceiling emphatically. "I mean do come on, I've not gone around butchering puppies all my life, or anything."

Her eyes briefly flicked over to him. "Funny how you assume it takes committing an atrocity to be considered bad." Something in her bland tone was blatantly condescending.

"Well, generally." Tam rolled his eyes, leaning back a little. "We've all done drek that's not exactly appropriate, but sometimes I just feel like the universe is being a bit silly with it all."

Aphelion appeared for a fleeting moment as if she were going to respond, even lowering her mug a few centimetres in preparation. A quick thought on the matter later, and she decided a simple shrug might suffice. "Hm." That single sound carried a weight to it, and it struck Tam as odd. For some reason, a shiver passed down his spine, and he sought the warmth of his soykaf to dispel it.

As it turned out, his drink had already gone cold.

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")

"'Ridiculous drek.' You wound me," Redcap said, picking her nose. She chuckled to herself mentally, knowing her colorful lies might actually be easier to believe than the truth. "Fine, I'll take the job. Still want some of that nuyen up front, though. Said it yourself, you could be corporate."

She upturned her cup, catching the last few droplets of soykaf with her tongue, then placed it in one of the rings it had made on the bar. She stretched, feeling a few of her joints pop, then dropped off the barstool. She tried to seem cool while doing so, despite barely being a head higher. She'd seen someone order alcohol, which meant it was time to go corner the Turk about his earlier insistance that he didn't carry such.

"I've got a thing, so just get in contact with me when I'm needed," she remarked, flicking her nose. "You're a decker, shouldn't be too hard."

With his equipment in tow, Sentinel could now get down to the business he came to Germany for, hopefully find a run and let everything else Crow would want slide into place. Iris' reaction to the contents of the bag however was strange, and had elevated Sen's interest in her since first meeting, for someone living in as dangerous an area as this, her skittish reaction to a gun was odd, especially to his eyes. Although previously regarding her as someone of unimportance, Sen became intrigued as to her past experiences, with his trouble pinning down her motives serving only to escalate his interest.

For the second time that day, a smile inched it's way onto Sentinel's face. Maybe he did want to stick around this girl for a little while longer. Iris wandered into the cafe, announcing, by a stroke of good fortune, that they were already at the place she agreed to lead him to, meanwhile Sen instinctively followed, his mind racing at the thoughts of who else he might encounter with secrets buried beneath the surface.

The scent of it all was the first thing to hit you entering the cafe. It must have been, real coffee. Certainly an unusual smell, ever since the soy substitute mostly replaced it, but welcome nonetheless, carrying with it the feeling of a thousand sleepless nights and countless groggy mornings. The layout of the place was certainly homely, much like the rest of the Kreuzbasar, the charm of the owner and patrons permeated the space, immediately giving it a unique atmosphere.

"A popular meeting spot?" Sen asked, turning his head to Iris, yet his eyes never stopped darting to the newest piece of information around them. It seemed as if he knew the answer to his question already, as a number of curious characters could be spotted even from the entrance.

Iris never really kept her eye's off Sen's bag for too long of a time, trying to keep a small distance from it. As she was busy doing this she almost didn't notice when he asked her a question. Shacking her head to clear her thoughts she looked at him again and smiled.

"Yep, sure is. A lot of different people visit her, though anyone who doesn't see things like we do has yet to visit us. I don't think they would last long if they did." she replied and beckoned for him to follow her to a small booth. Sitting down she smiled and waved at the Turk behind the bar and he smiled back. She then pulled her backpack up with her sitting it beside her.

She had been her a lot but for the life of her she still couldn't rember his name. She then reached into her backpack and pulled out a sketch pad and her art utensils. As she sat there she began making the outlining of a tree she had a dream of, seemingly oblivious to others though she tilted her head slightly at Sen to let him know she was listening.

((sorry for the delay, everyone, I'm just trying to rope in some new Corporate players so we can get some adversity going))

As Redcap takes what Eris perceives to be her leave, Eris smiles placidly at her back and turns to rope in those other two Runners, only to be confronted with the tattered man instead. And he orders a coffee. A fifty nuyen Turkish coffee. These people make her feel like a cheapskate, despite her hardware. Despite her initial shock at almost planting her face into his chest, her smile quickly returns, and she looks up at him with an amicably pleasant expression. "Ah, well, this town loves me. I guess I'm just special; trouble doesn't seem to like me very much. I think it's because of an argument we had over a past girlfriend or something. Anyway, I'm Eris. Might've heard the name. It wasn't me. Pleasure to meet you," she says in those ponderous, smooth tones of hers. Then, she quickly leans around the man and addresses the other two sitting beside the tattered runner.

"Hey, you two! Come join me and my new friend here. We are having such a lovely conversation about work and business, I feel bad excluding you. We do seem to all share the same line of work, after all." Eris affixes the three with a smile that could melt the iciest of attitudes before taking a long sip from her coffee and extending her hand to Brandon. "Oh, and don't worry yourself," says the elf, "the Turk can get you in contact with anyone. You need to talk to your friend, he'll get you your friend's ear on a silver platter with a side of real caviar. Not literally, of course."

Though it grieved him, what for the lack of heat, Tam continued sipping the rest of his soykaf in a perturbed silence. Something was clearly working its way around his mind, and it left deep footprints in its wake. His eyes were vaguely narrowed, a flicker of consternation deep within them, and the corners of his mouth were settled resolutely in a frown. The negative change in his humor felt much like a ghost had just passed through him, leaving its sepulchral taint behind to seep into his bones and weigh on every line across his face. He stared pensively into the last dregs of soykaf lingering at the bottom of the cup, a dim reflection looking back. He tilted his head, imagining there was a trace of reproof in the glassy return gaze.

"How does she manage to ruin a night like that?" He pondered, wearily rubbing at his eyes. His foul state had begun the moment Tam heard her voice, and he was more than willing to lay the blame on their fixer.

Aphelion was still engrossed in her cup of coffee, enjoying every sip of the full body roast. "You're the one fixating," she mumbled in reminder. It was a very gentle stab that served to draw only mere droplets of blood. She had a habit of sharpening her tongue for only the most precise cuts.

Tam found her subtlety rather infuriating, at times. He sneered at her. "I've a feeling you're implicating me in something, and I don't know why..."

"Your suspicions are acknowledged." She casually skirted his sally, the same way she wove her way through a fight: With chilling fluency and self possession.

He raised an accusatory finger. "It doesn't help much when-" His attention was ripped elsewhere by movement from the other end of the bar. His finger curled slowly back into his fist, eyes shifting a hair aside. The fiery haired dwarf was getting up from her seat - in a manner of speaking. The uncouth thought brought a very thin smile to his very slender lips. As he started deliberating on continuing his abruptly ended remark to Aphelion, the cafe door swung open. Tam twisted in his seat for a glimpse of the new arrivals, trying to make his inspection seem casual. In a manner, it was. He had no intention of leering, unadorned served curiosity as his primary motivation.

It was another pair, a man and woman. The former was a rugged looking, dour individual. Even at a glance he appeared the type to have seen some action in his time. His companion was an absolute flower of an elf. Delicate features and radiant, stunning beauty. An interesting, if unassuming enough pair. In a sense. To him, it was not immediately something that stood out. As individuals, that was another story. About the same time, a man who had been sitting in the back moved up to the bar, sitting near the elf - the rigger - who had remained. Tam slowly turned back around, not wanting to suddenly make himself notable because of moving too quickly, either. Nonchalance was something of an art form. It was all too easy to mark a person based on their movements. Linger too long, or not enough, and you were more prone to being noticed. The best way to keep in the shadows, even when the lights were on, was to measure every action.

"The place is.. filling up," he muttered to his partner, running a fingertip around the rim of his cup. The urging was all in his tone. Maybe it was time they start making ready to leave.

"Popular venue," Aphelion blandly commented. She left any and all situational appraising to her partner. "Why rush?"

"Why, indeed." Tam started chewing on his bottom lip, contemplating ordering another soykaf to pass the time until the girl decided to finally finish her own drink. Imagine his surprise when a voice broke his concentration, dragging his attention over to the elf with the drone. It would appear their play at subtlety was effectively ended, and with a fairly brutal downward stroke to boot. He took the hail as an excuse for a more comprehensive sizing up of the woman. He could not explain it, but for some reason she struck him as being oddly familiar. Maybe someone he had met once upon a time in his youth? He doubted that only seconds later, she looked too young for him to have known before leaving the F-State.

Given the current state of things in Berlin, and his own predispositions regarding other runners, Tam decided to play coy. To test the waters, as it were. "Are we now, chummer?" He asked, smiling broadly at her. "Well, isn't that a thing to marvel at. Which do you mean, precisely? My friend here is an exporter."

Aphelion mechanically joined in, not looking at the girl. "He's my accountant."

Tam held his arms out, palms skyward, and gave the elf an embellished shrug. "Either way, I don't see any reason why we shouldn't join you. As fragging cold as it is, a little more company might help keep things warm." He stood up after downing the rest of his soykaf, and tossed the last of his pocket change onto the bar for Burakgazi to take. It looked like he actually could use another drink. With a bit of swagger in his step, Tam relocated to a closer seat.

Aphelion exhaled almost silently into her mug, lazily following along behind her partner. It looked more like she was being dragged along by a rope. Only after she sat down did she finally look at the elf, and even then it was nothing more than a fleeting glance. Her internal alarms were going off, and she was ready for any reason to draw her weapon.

"So, was there anything in particular on your mind?" Tam queried gingerly, masking his own observations under the guise of a placid smirk. "Or did you fancy just shooting the breeze with a few strangers?" An edge of skepticism carved its way into his voice, adding a bitter rumble to his otherwise genial timbre. Nothing that could possibly be perceived as threatening, just a gentle message that he was most definitely on guard.

"Huh...an exporter and her accountant, eh? The trade routes must be particularly dangerous of late, what with all that heat you two're packing," Eris says with a raised brow and the ghost of a smirk. It's clear by her tone that she's not buying a word of it. "My new friend here," she says, gesturing to Brandon, "is a very successful investor. I, myself, am a private security contractor, currently out of work and looking to start my own business. We could always use an exporter to deliver our product and that, and one can never have too many accountants, I always say. I believe our intentions may intertwine rather nicely."
There's a pause as she finishes off her last soykaf, and gestures at the Turk for a third. "In any case," she continues, that half-smirk never leaving her face, "there's no need to be so tense. We're just having a nice chat is all. You two look like you're wound up tighter than durasteel twine."

Despite her rather verbose greeting, she certainly takes notice of the two new folk entering the cafe, viewing them through her drone's optics, immediately recognising a familiar face in Iris, and immediately registering an unfamiliar one. The way the man carries himself would suggest a resolute disposition, if not a particularly kind one. She makes a mental note to keep track of him. Iris was a native of the Kreuzbasar, and had lived there for most of her life. She still maintained her innocence, and Eris guessed she was hardly careful enough not to get involved with the more dangerous anarchists. However, the man could prove to be useful. Strong, violent people would be needed greatly in the next few weeks.

She turns her attention back to her group, smiling brightly. "Can I get you three a soykaf on me? Perhaps a toffee?" she asks, leaning up against the bar and crossing her legs, her position and tone suggesting the utmost relaxedness, contrasting greatly with Aphelion's tense disposition.