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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4876873" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Evil Stars: Part 3 – Enter the Dragon</strong></p><p></p><p>Toronto's Chinatown district was south of their hotel, bounded roughly by the thoroughfares of Dundas, Spadina, Queen, and College. Markets, restaurants, curio shops, newsstands, and other places of business dotted the streets, decorating the area with colorful signs--mostly in Chinese. Those of Chinese descent thronged the streets: live fish swam about in window-side tanks; orange- and red-necked barbecued duck and pork hung weirdly in restaurant and market windows: produce stands overflowed with fresh vegetables and fragrant fruits.</p><p></p><p>The newish Black Dragon Restaurant & Lounge was located in the heart of Chinatown, on Dundas Street. The large establishment featured Tcho-Tcho cuisine, previously unfamiliar to gourmets in the area and something of a hit with those who took dining seriously.</p><p></p><p>The restaurant exterior was painted a flamboyant gold and red: the green and black inferior was decorated with dragon statues, lanterns, Tcho-Tcho throwing spears, oddly wriggling octopus-like creatures, and so on. Whether the agents arrive for dinner, they ended up waiting in the lounge.</p><p></p><p>“Tcho-tchos,” said Jim-Bean with a sigh. “You know what we’re going to have to do, don’t you?”</p><p></p><p>Archive took the bait. “What?”</p><p></p><p>“Burn it down,” said Jim-Bean. </p><p></p><p>The Black Dragon restaurant had a gloomy interior, which revealed itself to be less than savory. Pool tables and upper-middle lowlife lurked in submarine depths of smoky haze. Dim table candles illuminated the bar like lighthouses in a fog. In the background, a God’s Lost Children song wailed from the jukebox.</p><p></p><p>The lounge featured the widely-advertised Window of the Verdant Sylph, a circular glass window reminiscent of a porthole. It was two feet in diameter. Through it could be seen a nude young blonde woman swimming or lolling underwater, regularly rising partly out of the window to breathe. The window was to the left of the bar, against the back wall, high enough above that everyone can see. </p><p></p><p>The porthole was actually a circular lens, reducing the woman's apparent size to about eighteen inches in length. Given that reduction and the tank's calculated backlighting, the swimmer's intrinsic modesty or immodesty remained a point of contention among lounge regulars. </p><p> </p><p>Hammer noticed during a particularly close pass to the window that a dark patch could be seen on the woman’s right buttock identical to the tattoo which he saw earlier on the biker women.</p><p></p><p>“That’s our girl,” said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>“Bartender!” shouted Jim-Bean. </p><p></p><p>The bartender came over. He had filed teeth that glinted malevolently. “Yes-uh?”</p><p></p><p>“We’d like to talk to that woman,” said Jim-Bean, pointing at the porthole. He slipped the bartender two hundred dollars.</p><p></p><p>"She mosetuh swim a time, yeh—p’raps gentles drinkuh? P’raps gentles ituh in din-rom?” </p><p></p><p>Their table ready, the agents ate an excellent meal, dishes mainly vegetarian or pork-based. Many ingredients were unfamiliar. Archive’s dish was delicious in particular, an odd sauce over green vegetables. </p><p></p><p>Star had a break every 40 minutes. She left for her dressing room and the tcho-tcho waiter informed them of her availability. Jim-Bean stood up.</p><p></p><p>“Coming?”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t want them to think…” Hammer looked around nervously. “You know, that all of us at once…”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean laughed. “You’re so modest. Fine, stay out here. Me and Archive will go in ‘all at once.’” He smirked.</p><p></p><p>Archive followed Jim-Bean to Star’s room. By the time they arrived she had put on a robe. </p><p></p><p>When they entered Star’s tiny, dingy, windowless room—not much more than a light fixture, a clothes tree, a day bed, and a stack of magazines – her face went pale. Her hands shook a little as she lit a cigarette. “You got my message?”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean. “So you said you have information to share with us?”</p><p></p><p>Star wandered around, substituting eye contact for mental content. She did too many drugs to be very interested in abstract thought. “It’s not safe here. I can tell you who hired me for the job, but you need to get me out of here first.”</p><p></p><p>There was a gunshot outside. </p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean snatched Star’s cigarette from her and took a drag. “That’s our cue. Let’s go.”</p><p></p><p>“Do you have a plan?” asked Star, her voice rising hysterically.</p><p></p><p>“Not really,” said Archive. “It’s pretty much the same plan he uses everywhere.”</p><p></p><p>“What’s that?” asked Star.</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean pulled a block of C-4 out of his duffel bag. “Blow it all up.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4876873, member: 3285"] [b]Evil Stars: Part 3 – Enter the Dragon[/b] Toronto's Chinatown district was south of their hotel, bounded roughly by the thoroughfares of Dundas, Spadina, Queen, and College. Markets, restaurants, curio shops, newsstands, and other places of business dotted the streets, decorating the area with colorful signs--mostly in Chinese. Those of Chinese descent thronged the streets: live fish swam about in window-side tanks; orange- and red-necked barbecued duck and pork hung weirdly in restaurant and market windows: produce stands overflowed with fresh vegetables and fragrant fruits. The newish Black Dragon Restaurant & Lounge was located in the heart of Chinatown, on Dundas Street. The large establishment featured Tcho-Tcho cuisine, previously unfamiliar to gourmets in the area and something of a hit with those who took dining seriously. The restaurant exterior was painted a flamboyant gold and red: the green and black inferior was decorated with dragon statues, lanterns, Tcho-Tcho throwing spears, oddly wriggling octopus-like creatures, and so on. Whether the agents arrive for dinner, they ended up waiting in the lounge. “Tcho-tchos,” said Jim-Bean with a sigh. “You know what we’re going to have to do, don’t you?” Archive took the bait. “What?” “Burn it down,” said Jim-Bean. The Black Dragon restaurant had a gloomy interior, which revealed itself to be less than savory. Pool tables and upper-middle lowlife lurked in submarine depths of smoky haze. Dim table candles illuminated the bar like lighthouses in a fog. In the background, a God’s Lost Children song wailed from the jukebox. The lounge featured the widely-advertised Window of the Verdant Sylph, a circular glass window reminiscent of a porthole. It was two feet in diameter. Through it could be seen a nude young blonde woman swimming or lolling underwater, regularly rising partly out of the window to breathe. The window was to the left of the bar, against the back wall, high enough above that everyone can see. The porthole was actually a circular lens, reducing the woman's apparent size to about eighteen inches in length. Given that reduction and the tank's calculated backlighting, the swimmer's intrinsic modesty or immodesty remained a point of contention among lounge regulars. Hammer noticed during a particularly close pass to the window that a dark patch could be seen on the woman’s right buttock identical to the tattoo which he saw earlier on the biker women. “That’s our girl,” said Hammer. “Bartender!” shouted Jim-Bean. The bartender came over. He had filed teeth that glinted malevolently. “Yes-uh?” “We’d like to talk to that woman,” said Jim-Bean, pointing at the porthole. He slipped the bartender two hundred dollars. "She mosetuh swim a time, yeh—p’raps gentles drinkuh? P’raps gentles ituh in din-rom?” Their table ready, the agents ate an excellent meal, dishes mainly vegetarian or pork-based. Many ingredients were unfamiliar. Archive’s dish was delicious in particular, an odd sauce over green vegetables. Star had a break every 40 minutes. She left for her dressing room and the tcho-tcho waiter informed them of her availability. Jim-Bean stood up. “Coming?” “I don’t want them to think…” Hammer looked around nervously. “You know, that all of us at once…” Jim-Bean laughed. “You’re so modest. Fine, stay out here. Me and Archive will go in ‘all at once.’” He smirked. Archive followed Jim-Bean to Star’s room. By the time they arrived she had put on a robe. When they entered Star’s tiny, dingy, windowless room—not much more than a light fixture, a clothes tree, a day bed, and a stack of magazines – her face went pale. Her hands shook a little as she lit a cigarette. “You got my message?” “Yeah,” said Jim-Bean. “So you said you have information to share with us?” Star wandered around, substituting eye contact for mental content. She did too many drugs to be very interested in abstract thought. “It’s not safe here. I can tell you who hired me for the job, but you need to get me out of here first.” There was a gunshot outside. Jim-Bean snatched Star’s cigarette from her and took a drag. “That’s our cue. Let’s go.” “Do you have a plan?” asked Star, her voice rising hysterically. “Not really,” said Archive. “It’s pretty much the same plan he uses everywhere.” “What’s that?” asked Star. Jim-Bean pulled a block of C-4 out of his duffel bag. “Blow it all up.” [/QUOTE]
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