Discusson at the table....

[Brian]

The night is young, yet, the sun only just having set.  The city fairly glows with the promise of the night, shutters and curtains only half-closed, spilling illumination across what should be dark alleys and shadowed doorways.

Through one of these shadowed doorways, in what is already a dark alley, there is a room.  In this room, a man in an immaculate suit sits at the head of a long, rectangular table, smoking a cigar, and on occasion sipping from a glass of what looks like bourbon.  The table has many seats, but is empty -- no tablecloth, and only a scattering of empty glasses and the open gin bottle resting upon it.

This man is waiting for people to arrive, as they will all inevitably be shown in by one of the nearly faceless, silent bodyguards that seem to blend into the furniture and walls when he doesn't address them.

He is a tall, thin man, with his hair going gray at the temples.  His face is creased with lines from scowling, and he looks like he's missed a few days worth of shaving, by the rough-appearing stubble across his cheeks.

Currently, he is awaiting the reply to the letters his boss sent out, seeking recruits for his plan.

[Corwin]

Ivan enters the room holding his fedora in his hands, his head turning to and fro, taking it all in. He stops for a moment, nodding to Mr. Rockmoore's representative in a show of respect and murmuring, "Good evening," before proceeding to the table. Once he's been shown to his seat by one of the bodyguards, he thanks the silent man, who leaves the room. Sitting quietly, his hat placed on the table in front of him, Ivan alternates between studying it and glancing at the scowling man at the head of the table.

[Halbarad]

Ralph is shown in by one of the guards, in the process of removing his jacket and draping it over his arm. Taking one of the chairs, he settles in with a grunt, glancing between the room's two other obvious occupants.

[Anastasia]

Lumbering in, the other occupants of the room may be treated to a sight - a huge mass of a man, clad in the suit of the time and a leather cap that looks more beaten than F. Scott Fiztgerald's wife comes in and plops down hard on one of the chairs. It's perhaps a honest to God miracle from his sainted ma that it didn't break under his girth, which has easily got to be be over 200 points on his 6+ foot tall frame.

Sweat glistens on his bald, pale head, the slightest hint of dark whiskers on his round chin. His face has a greedy scowl to it, as if he's imagining his next score, woman or juicy steak. Considering his bulk and his lack of obvious intelligence, it's probably the latter.  Looking around the room, he settles in and keeps his red eyed gaze on the main man.

[Otter]

Brett is manhandled into the room by two of the thugs.  They have all of his concealed weapons - apparently the man in charge isn't taking chances with a sneak.  Forced into a chair, he becomes acutely aware of his lateness and twitches nervously.  Brett briefly scans the faces around him and then begins studying the man at the head of the table, making sure that his own hands are neatly and visibly on the table to prevent a hasty thug from punching his lights out.

[Brian]

In a dry, gravely voice, the man says, "Most of you are here."  He pauses, taking a sip of his gin.  "Make yourselves comfortable.  Cigar?  Gin?"  He looks around the table, waiting to see if anyone is interested.

[Otter]

Brett has had a policy about drinking on the job ever since he drunkenly attempted a spontaneous theft and was consequently beaten half to death.  He replies, "No, thanks," trying to sound confident and professional.  He politely keep his eyes on the man for a moment, and then glances around the room casually, taking note of everyone and everything he can see.  Despite his airy demeanor, he is quite aware that smooth talking will not help him with this man, and certainly none of his other skills will be of any use, weaponless as he is.  Given that his options are extremely limited, he decides to adopt a passive approach and remain as unremarkable as possible.

[Halbarad]

"Nah, gives me the shakes," Ralph replies. "Can't afford that in my line of work."

Settling back into his seat, he waits to see how the others react - the big man is almost a sure bet for one or the other, and the first... not too likely, but he could be wrong on that one.

[Corwin]

"Gin, please," Ivan answers, as he hasn't had anything serious to drink for over a week.

[Anastasia]

"Yeah, gin," he grunts, meaty hand clenching sligthly on impulse.

[Brian]

Two glasses of gin are poured, and slid across the table.  "One more," the man repeats, taking a long draw from his cigar.

[Anastasia]

Gripping the shot glass and gunning the clear liquid down lickety split, Gus lets out a giant sigh as a path is burned down his throat.

"Hope that big lug gets his ass in here...ain't got no time to be sittin' here..." he mutters to himself.

[Brian]

As Gus finishes speaking, a burly looking bruiser with a sturdy looking coat and slouch hat opens an interior door, and steps into the room.  Approaching the man at the head of the table, he begins whispering something.

The man grunts, and nods in reply to the bruiser for a few minutes, and then growls low in his throat.  The bruiser scurries back into the interior of the building, shutting the door behind him.

"We're done, then," the man at the head of the tables says, grimacing.  "Our ... other has been unfortunately ... detained."  The man's grimace widens into a cruel smile.  "But I don't think the police would send in two moles, so we should be ready....  Are we?"  Snorting, the man tosses back the rest of his gin, filling another glass before he continues.

"Now.  You are all probably wondering why you've been called here today ... but I'm sure you've got a good idea of why you're here.  We have a job, men.  A job that I expect to be quite ... profitable.

"Harvey has established a very powerful plan, which is very complex, and involves numerous people in specific teams.  That's really all you need to know about that ... you've been ... offered a rather lucrative deal.  Think on if you need too, but not long.

"Long story short," the man continues, slamming back another gin, and then turning his attention to his cigar.  "We're gonna bust a bank.  You drop all the money at a warehouse.  You're given a clean ride, an alibi, and directions to a town a hundred miles south of here.  If you help us out, each of you will be paid 10,000$ for your assistance."

The man leans back in his seat, and puffs at his cigar, looking over everyone at the table for a moment.  "Questions?" he prompts, tracing a large, smokey question mark in the air with the cigar.

[Corwin]

Ivan drinks the gin slowly, listening to the other man speak. When the speaker is done, he nods at him. "Yes, I have two, if I may," he says, placing his half-empty glass back on the table. "While I have full trust in Mr. Rockmoore's plan, we do need to know the date and time of this operation. And it would not hurt to know about each other's... talents... if we're going to be working together on this one."

[Brian]

"The timing is largely going to be up to you," the man says, shrugging.  "Now, I have selected a window of time I believe would be most ideal ... but you must understand, the heist needs to be done in the evening.  That is when the most money is in the bank, after all ... ideally, at about 4:30, maybe 4:45.  We'll leave the timing for you...."  Coughing, the man stubs his cigar out, and taps a fingernail on the table.

"It would, as you suggest, benefit you all to learn who you'll be working with on this."  He smiles at that, and eyes everyone in turn before leaning back in his chair.