Intermission 1: As a matter of fact, I was just going to see your boss.

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> A terrible storm sweeps down from the mountains as January nears its end, dropping a foot of snow on Pendleton and its environs and topping it off with a layer of freezing rain which quickly turns into a coating of solid ice. All this means good business if you have a plow, but no one's causing the kind of trouble that would need Lagoon Company's intervention during conditions like these. (more)
<El-Cideon> The bar, of course, is always open regardless of the weather, and it IS within walking distance (or sliding distance), so this is where Wil and Forrest find themselves one evening, drinking away the boredom. The topic of conversation at the bar alternates between the ever-riveting "Is this the worst storm within memory?" and another high-profile murder over on the east side.
<Forrest> "Another murder?" Forrest invites himself to join the relevant conversation. "Who done got themselves whacked this time?"
* Wilhelmina looks somewhat interested to hear the story behind it, too.
<El-Cideon> "Some businesswoman," says a regular Forrest vaguely recognizes but doesn't really know. "Marie...something flowery." Another supplies the last name: "Delafleur." The first man nods. "Yeah, that's it. Someone shot her up in her own home, just like last week. Bodyguards, too."
* Forrest whistles. "Damn. No clues on the culprit?"
<El-Cideon> He shakes his head. A woman listening down at the other end of the bar leans forward and chimes in: "I got a friend of a friend who knows someone in the P.D. who said nothing was stolen. Somebody got in and out clean, like a professional hit." "Bad business," adds the first man. "There's such a thing as unhealthy competition, even on Wellington."
* Wilhelmina wonders whether more people will want to hire them as bodyguards as a result.
<El-Cideon> The concensus seems to be that the people who have bodyguards already need more--or maybe they just need better bodyguards. With the crowd in varying states of intoxication, it's hard to be sure.
<Forrest> "Well, hopefully someone will remember us or see one of the commercials Targo's working on," Forrest reasons as he orders another glass of whiskey. "Business has taken a slow turn, lately."
<El-Cideon> Murray passes Forrest his drink and speaks quietly. "Business or no, someone's taken an interest in you two." He points out a black patron at a corner table at the front of the bar. Due to the cold winds the rush in whenever someone opens the door, most people don't want to sit there, but the stranger doesn't seem bothered. Even with him being thoroughly bundled up for the cold, you can tell he's a big guy.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Not one of my regulars," Murray adds.
* Forrest surreptitiously keeps half an eye on the man as he continues shooting the breeze about the spate of killings plaguing pembleton, content to let it lie for the moment.
<El-Cideon> The stranger in the corner is pretty clearly watching you and doesn't seem to care whether or not you notice. "It's pretty unusual," Murray's saying about the murders. "Even for this area, big-name operators getting knocked off like that is...well, you know how it is. Even when business gets real cutthroat, folks like that expect to lose a few flunkies, not their own heads. Kind of a gentlemen's agreement, you know?"
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<Wilhelmina> "Weaklings," Wilhelmina mutters, watching the stranger in turn just as blatantly.
<Forrest> "Someone's not afraid to shake things up a bit," Forrest muses, nudging Wilhelmina. "Hey, Wil, hows about we go introduce ourselves to our admirer over there?"
* Wilhelmina shrugs. "I can do that."
<El-Cideon> The stranger seems to have noticed Wil staring back at him, and smirks in acknowledgement.
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<Forrest> Getting up, Forrest saunters over and plops himself in a chair opposite the observer. "Howdy," he smiles crookedly.
* Wilhelmina tags along silently.
<El-Cideon> He pushes out an extra chair with his foot, for Wil. Though at first glance he seems rather lazily slouched in his seat, you can tell he'd be ready to leap into action at a moment's notice if necessary. "Howdy," he respondes simply.
* Wilhelmina claims the seat, nodding at him curtly.
* Forrest just stares at the man with the same lazy grin on his stubble-strewn face. If he's got something to say he'll surely say it.
<El-Cideon> He seems to wait for a moment to see if Forrest is going to initiate some kind of discussion, then shrugs and does it himself. "Better than just staring at each other," he chuckles to himself. "Doing some recon, checking up on the competition," he says, his voice a bass rumble.
<Forrest> "We're a lot busier than we might seem," Forrest lies transparently. "So you're one of Sanada's? Forrest Powell," he offers his hand out.
* Wilhelmina mentally debates the merits of telling their new friend she has no idea who he is.
<El-Cideon> "Good guess," he says, shaking Forrest's hand. "Nathan Hollander. Hope you don't take it personal. We consider it a good policy to know as much as possible about our competitors. Heard some rumors, asked a few questions, thought it was time someone got a good look at you folks."
<Forrest> "Nuthin' wrong with staying informed, I reckon," Forrest agrees. "Of course, word has it that you guys aren't too keen on having any competition around. I hope we can keep things friendly."
<El-Cideon> "I see I'm not the only one hearing rumors," he says, taking a sip of some local beer. "As long as we stay out of each other's way, things should work out fine."
* Wilhelmina is somewhat curious where Sanada's way takes them. "Where does your way take you?" she asks out loud.
<El-Cideon> "I guess the official line would be 'Right to the top,'" he says, not exactly answering the question.
* Wilhelmina visibly loses interest with the evasion.
<El-Cideon> He doesn't seem bothered by Wil's change in demeanor. Hey, he's not here to date her.
<Forrest> "So how'd you get into the merc business yourself, Nathan?" Forrest asks, deciding that it may be more fruitful to get information indirectly about Sanada by getting him to talk about himself.
<El-Cideon> "Same way a lot of people do," he says with a shrug. "Ex-military, couldn't move up the ladder back home, came out here where the situation's more...fluid. Just like the boss, really."
<Forrest> "Ex-military?" Forrest seems to perk up. "What unit were you in?"
<El-Cideon> "Oh, a few. Started out on Artoria, spent some time on Coleille." He grins. "It's a big universe out there, country boy, be a helluva coincidence if we were ever in the same place."
<Forrest> "True, but never hurts to ask. Me, I was in the 43rd Recon - mostly stationed around Arcturus and Deneb. Moved on to work for one of the big merc companies and then decided to try a startup," Forrest gives away some easily obtainable information of his own to keep the conversation going.
<El-Cideon> He nods and glances around the bar. "I note Mr. Silver is not with you today. Does he not like to go drinking with the plebs?" He asks this like it's a trait he's familiar with.
* Wilhelmina shrugs. "Speaking from experience?"
<El-Cideon> "The boss isn't one to go drinking with the boys, if that's what you're asking."
<Forrest> "Hah, Targo can knock 'em back like nobody's business!" Forrest laughs. "He just didn't feel like coming all the way out here through the blizzard."
<El-Cideon> "Better get used to the cold if he wants to work here. I mean, your office is right down the street."
<Wilhelmina> "Fire makes everything better," Wilhelmina feels the need to point out.
<Forrest> "Yeah, well, could've just been an excuse, I reckon," Forrest admits, chuckling at Wil's commentary.
<El-Cideon> "True enough," he says to Wil. "Is that how you got those?" he asks, pointing out her scars.
<Wilhelmina> "Yes."
<El-Cideon> Nathan finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on the table, then stands up. "Were I someone else, I could make some comment about playing with fire and getting burned. But they didn't send me here to make threats."
<Wilhelmina> "Or to die horribly."
<El-Cideon> He grins. "That either. Sanada only goes in for sure bets. Of course, half of any job being a 'sure bet' is having the right people for it in the first place."
<Forrest> "Can't disagree with that," Forrest agrees as he takes a sip of his drink. "I like to think we've got ourselves a neat little outfit here. Hope you guys are as lucky."
<El-Cideon> "The party line is that luck's got nothing to do with it. I'd say our reputation speaks for itself, anyway. Be seeing you, Mr. Powell." He nods and exits the bar, a cold gust of air rushing through in his wake and causing some grumbling from the other patrons.
<Wilhelmina> "We're already getting threatened," Wilhelmina notes.
<Forrest> "Well..." Forrest leans back, "That was interesting. Dunno why they'd bother when business has been in the crapper, lately."
<Wilhelmina> "They're smarter than expected or overly cautious. Maybe."
<Forrest> "Guess they'd rather kick us while we're down rather than wait for us to become a real threat," Forrest muses as he knocks back his drink. "Think I'll call it a night, here."
<El-Cideon> Murray wanders over, forever polishing a glass even in an age of cheap dishwashers. "You two need a refill?" he asks, though it sounds like that's not what he's really curious about.
<Wilhelmina> "Okay."
<Forrest> "Not for me," Forrest shakes his head. "Think I'll be headin' off, now. Conversation just put me off my drink."
<El-Cideon> He waits a moment to see if anyone's going to talk abut the mystery man in his presence, then meanders back to the bar for Wil's drink.
<Forrest> "One of Sanada's goons," Forrest obligingly fills in for the friendly barkeep. "Keepin' tabs on us it looks like. Wonder how long before they get fixin' to stamp us out."
<El-Cideon> "Do me a favor: you guys have a rumble, make sure it doesn't happen here? Because I'd be obliged to stop the fight by force if necessary, and I've been out of circulation for a while." He grins. "My back isn't what it used to be. G'day," he says in parting.
<Forrest> "Later," Forrest nods, getting up to leave.
<El-Cideon> It's blisteringly cold outside, as expected, and Forrest's breath almost freezes into solid ice in the frigid evening air. Despite this, the street's not entirely empty--someone barrels through a nearby cross-street into an alley behind Murray's, struggling to keep his footing, and a moment later a larger fellow with the distinct look of a thug follows.
<Forrest> Debating whether or not to get involved, Forrest makes his way to the entrance of the alleyway so he can see down it.
<Wilhelmina> Since Forrest feels like getting involved, Wilhelmina follows.
<El-Cideon> The fleeing man seems to have run into a dead end. Probably not his neighborhood--he does look rather well-dressed to be a local. He's an asian man of average height. The heavy has his back to Wil and Forrest, but his threatening posture is obvious enough.
* Wilhelmina draws her carbine, tilting her head curiously.
<Forrest> Before doing anything stupid, Forrest needs to know if the aggressor has a gun. Since Forrest doesn't habitually carry his rifle while going drinking, he's not going to risk getting shot over this.
<El-Cideon> Again, the thug's back is to the Lagoon Company members, but he does look as though he's menacing the other man with some sort of weapon. Neither of the two have noticed the watchers yet.
<Forrest> Well, since Wil has a weapon and he knows how deadly she is with it, Forrest's confidence is bolstered. "Hey!" he shouts over.
* Wilhelmina takes this as a sign to aim the gun at the thug.
<El-Cideon> Both of the men turn to look at Forrest, equally surprised. "Who the fuck are you guys?" the thug barks, apparently only mildly unnerved by seeing a gun pointed at him. "This isn't any of your business. Go away."
* Wilhelmina raises an eyebrow at the thug's insolence.
<Forrest> "Try again, dipshit," Forrest replies. "You're trying to mug that guy? We're making it our business."
<El-Cideon> "'Mug?' How about *you* try again, dipshit? This asshat's five thousand credits in the hole and I'm here to collect. Besides, you don't look much like cops."
<Forrest> "That true?" Forrest turns his attention to the cornered man. He probably deserves what he gets if it is.
<El-Cideon> "Not at all," the cornered man says smoothly despite his situation. "I've never seen this thug in my life before tonight."
<Forrest> roll 1d20+13 don't bullshit me man
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+13 don't bullshit me man and gets 14."12 [1d20=1]
<Forrest> roll 1d20+13 don't bullshit me man reroll
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+13 don't bullshit me man reroll and gets 22."12 [1d20=9]
<El-Cideon> roll 1d20+8
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 1d20+8 and gets 18."12 [1d20=10]
<Forrest> "Yeah, somehow I don't believe you," Forrest relaxes. "I got no respect for a man who won't pay his debts," he concludes, glancing at Wilhelmina. "Lets just leave these two gentlemen to sort out their issues by themselves?"
* Wilhelmina considers just shooting them both and letting the cops sort it out. "If you're sure," she says, eyeing the pair doubtfully.
<Forrest> "Hell, you've got the gun, if you want to get involved go ahead. But I figure we'd probably do worse to someone who hired us and didn't pay up," Forrest reasons honestly.
<El-Cideon> The thug obviously looks satisfied with this outcome. His quarry? Significantly less so. "Wait! It'd be worth your while to help me."
* Wilhelmina might be waiting for him to elaborate. Or she might just be slow in leaving.
<El-Cideon> "Free medical services as long as you're in Pendleton. Sound good?" he adds desperately.
* Wilhelmina considers. "Who did you swindle?"
<El-Cideon> The thug cuts in before the doctor(?) can respond. "Just about everyone," he says.
<Wilhelmina> "Which part of everyone do you work for?"
<El-Cideon> "I don't see why you need to know that. Someone local," he says simply. "Not everyone this deadbeat owes money to is. He's more trouble than he's worth."
<Wilhelmina> "Probably," Wilhelmina admits sadly.
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<El-Cideon> The apparently-serial-debtor makes one last plea as Wil turns away. "Wait, miss! I could help you with those scars!"
* Wilhelmina is intrigued again. "What kind of doctor are you?"
<El-Cideon> "Whatever kind you need," he insists. The thug groans. "Are you still listening to his bullshit? I've got a job to do here, alright?"
<Forrest> roll 1d20+13 just how much is he bullshitting us right now, anyway?
<Rei-chan> 6,0Forrest rolled :6,0 1d20+13 1,0just how much is he bullshitting us right now, anyway? --> 6,0[ 1d20=19 ]4,0{32}
<El-Cideon> roll 1d20+8
<Rei-chan> 6,0El-Cideon rolled :6,0 1d20+8 --> 6,0[ 1d20=6 ]4,0{14}
<Forrest> "Seriously, Wil. The guy's full of more shit than a hog farm on a Wednesday," Forrest agrees. "We don't need no flaky doctor who can't even manage his own bank account."
<Wilhelmina> "Alright," she says sadly, and rest the carbine on her shoulder, walking away. "That thug looked like he could've been a half-decent warmup," she complains.
<El-Cideon> "Thanks," the thug says in parting as the two walk away. "Now, where were we...?"
<Forrest> "Warmup for what? It's late anyway," Forrest asks as they depart.
<Wilhelmina> "All his little friends."
<Forrest> "We've got enough problems without picking fights where nobody's going to pay us."
<Wilhelmina> "They probably had expensive guns I could sell," Wilhelmina muses.
<El-Cideon> ---