[d20 Modern] Forgotten Realms of America

[Keia]

Simon, walking through the hall, you pass by an open office where the door is slightly ajar. You only had a brief glance inside, but what you saw almost made you stumble - if you weren't so well trained, that is. Sitting on the desk you saw what looked to be a box of shotgun shells and a long bladed survival knife. Very odd indeed.

Well, that's something you usually don't see on an office desk. Trouble, almost can smell it. At the very least, its a security risk. The whole place looks too transient. . . Trouble.

As Simon entered the office of Aiden Marsall, he immediately but casually looks to the sight lines - out windows, the hallway (at least until the door closes). As he shakes Aiden's hand, he notes the firmness of the grip, the toughness of the skin, bulges in the jacket. He then scans the room for cameras, security devices, wall variations which could indicate another exit (or entrance).

Always on the job, aren't you, Simon? And an odd bunch to be working with as well, a lab elf, a young drifter, and a young elf with . . . interesting hair. It would seem that were meant to be doing something together, otherwise he would have called us in separately. Fine with me.

"Mr. Marshall. My name's Simon Coville, and most recently I've been working as a security advisor to the Sembian Embassy here in L.A." Simon pops his briefcase with one hand ans smoothly retrieves a sheet of high grade paper placing it in Aiden's hand. "My resume and list of references. I would be happy to answer any questions you and your client may have. I assume your client will permit you divulge some more information about a potential project as well."

 

[Uriel]

oC:I am ncredibly sorry, A-C, illness seems to be plaguing me as of late (and I can't seem to upload a pic of Selma Hayek ).

IC: Torri de la Cruz looked the part of the young carefree Elf that she was, a black blouse, matching skirt and black combat boots, as well as a satchel containing all manner of 'things' was how she had cose to attend this meeting. Sure, sho could have wore something more conservative, but comfort was what she was after right now, and she wanted to show this possible new employer that she was at ease.
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Glancing at the woman, Torri leaned over and whispered 'What is bothering you, chica? You look as if you were expecting something bad to happen to you.'

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Torri notes the Dwarf's cigar, asking 'I take it that smoking is all right here?' Without waiting for a reply, she pulls forth a Djarum and lights it off of a Zippo adorned with a cameo of Betty Page. Smiling, Torri continues.
;Whats is to tell, Mr. Marshall? I assume that you have already looked in to our backgrounds, so I am sure that you are aware of my Profession, as well as my family history? If not, let me just say that my Folk have a history of
Discreet business. Your message intriuged me, so here I am.

 

[Velenne]

Whisper stays at the back, taking it all in. The pale elf, the glorified mall cop, the hot little number whose @$$ he was looking at from behind, and himself. And now this stunted little dwarf.

Seeing Aiden with a stogey, Whisper will also pull out one of his own cigs from it's smashed and wrinkled package and light it. Even the cigarette looks gnarled and unkept. He won't answer the dwarf's question because he knows it's only for the benefit of the others in the room and he doesn't care about them. He's here for money, plain and simple. This guy went to such trouble to find him, even hand-delivering a message by courier, he'll hear what Aiden has to say and see if the payoff is worth it.

But if they're expecting an answer from the rough, young biker in the back, they'll be waiting a long time.

 

[Sixchan]

Andrew's breathing changes significantly. Unaware he is being impolite, he starts coughing and spluttering. "C-*cough* c-*cough* could we *wheese* open a few *cough cough* windows *cough* in here *hack* please? *heave*" Clearly, another disadvantage of a shut in life is the sterilised air.

 

[Ascending Crane]

OOC: No problem, Uriel! These things happen. Nice picture, by the way.

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Earlier...

Glancing at the woman, Torri leaned over and whispered 'What is bothering you, chica? You look as if you were expecting something bad to happen to you.'

The woman looks up at Tori and smiles nervously. "Oh, no. No no. I just get nervous when I have to come here, I never know what Aiden has for--" The rest of her sentence is cut off as Tammy calls everyone's name.

Back at the office...

Aiden nods as Torri, Simon and Andrew introduce themselves. He looks to Torri. "Of course, my dear. Los Angeles may outlaw smoking everywhere you look, but last time I checked I was paying the rent for this office." He turns to Andrew and can see he's obviously uncomfortable with the smoke beginning to rise from Whisper, Torri, and Aiden. He clicks a white fan-like gadget on top of his desk, and the smoke begins to quickly filter into it, clearing the air. He smiles at Andrew. "So sorry about that, lad. My wife abhors the habit, and so I find I must take care of it while working." Aiden motions to the walls. "No windows here, thankfully. I have a bit of a problem with heights. No pun intended."

Aiden grabs some files and sets them in front of him. He takes Simon's resume and puts in one of the thicker files, and then closes it. Looking up, he furrows his eyebrows.

"Almost forgot about you, Mr. Whisper. Ms. De La Cruz and gentlemen, the lad behind you is Mr. Whisper." He motions to the man with the shaved head who sits in the back. "Very well, let's get down to business."

Aiden sets down his cigar, and steeples his fingers - now quite serious.

"I do know all about you, yes. Each of you. My client has provided me with excellent background for each of you, down to what you ate for breakfast last week." Aiden pauses for a moment and then smiles briefly. "I jest. But only a small bit, I assure you. My client has a resources that I cannot begin to guess at, and I do not question what he offers me. My client is also quite precise as to whom he wishes to hire, and I always follow his directions to the letter. His projects are always of excellent moral 'fiber', if you understand my meaning. There is however, a definite chance for danger in this particular project. The kind that some thrive on, and some run from. Of course this means that the monetary rewards for this project are... considerable."

Aiden reaches into a drawer, and pulls out a four envelopes. He hands one to each of you.

"Inside, you'll find one thousand US dollars. That is yours, regardless. At the very least for making your way through traffic to see me!" Aiden's smile broadens, and then vanishes. " You have a choice here, however. You may take the envelope, walk out that door, and consider this a profitable - if slightly drab - afternoon adventure. Or you can stay here, and listen to more of this project, and consider that envelope an advance against your final consultation fee. A rather... small advance. By staying, you are not agreeing to come aboard for this project, you are agreeing to listen. There is, however - the matter of secrecy. Stay, and that thousand dollars at least buys your discretion."

Aiden leans forward, and looks at each of you in turn.

"So... are you in... or are you out?"

 

[Sixchan]

Andrew holds the envelope in his hand, considering what to do. He passes it from hand to hand, thinking hard, before deciding that listening would at least be worth it. "Alright...I'll stay to listen..."

 

[Keia]

Eyebrows raise from beneath darkened shades - a slight nod of the head is the only sign of agreement. Well, that pays for part of my day. Simon thinks.

"I guess I'm ready to hear the rest of the story," he says.

 

[Velenne]

Mister Whisper tears off the end of the envelope and pushes the sides together to have a look down inside. If he's happy with what he sees -that is, if the envelope actually contains money- he'll fold it in half and tuck it into his jacket.

Beyond that, the young man simply leans back up against the wall, puffs a few more times, and looks back at the "lawyer".

 

[Uriel]

Torri stuffs the envelope into her Satchel, zipping it shut as she puts her Cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk.
Plopping down into the nearest chair, she replies.
'My ears are yours, Mr.Marshall.'

 

[Ascending Crane]

Whisper - it does in fact contain 10 $100 dollar bills, crisp and fresh from the bank.

Aiden smiles broadly. "Excellent. For the duration of this project, my client will be known as 'Mr. Check'. His true name I do not even know, but I believe the senior partners in the firm have an idea. Mr. Check sends us projects that cannot be entirely trusted to the proper authorities - for fear of publicity or even of potentially compromised organizations. Sometimes, as in this case - we need to work alongside the police, albeit without any official jurisdiction, approval, or even knowledge of our existence." Aiden reaches forward and grinds out his cigar, barely half finished.

"As to the project, let me give you some background first. Last year, an elf by the name of Nealon Price discovered an invention that could revolutionize... everything, really. He has found that in controlled laboratory experiments he could directly harness the Weave and utilize it as a means of energy." Aiden pauses for a moment, perhaps to let that sink in.

"The Weave: The fabric of magic itself. Limitless and infinite, or so say scientists of a magical bent. Of course, if you know your history - you know that there have been many experiments that have attempted to use the Weave as a source of fuel. The great dwarven physicist Arturo Goldenburg; the elvish mage known as Quiet; the human genius Albert Einstein. All have failed, or have had extremely limited success. Those who practice magic know of a fairly common spell that can recharge batteries and the like - but what I'm speaking of is an unlimited source of fuel, that never runs out or needs recharging. Imagine! Cars running not on fossil fuel but on a magical battery. Spacecraft that are 1/10th the weight. Aircraft that..." Aiden chuckles. "Well, I could go on and on. And anyone with the slightest imagination could think of a dozen ways that life could be improved. Thus, you understand now how important Dr. Price's work could be."

Aiden takes a photograph out of a drawer and slides it across the table. It is the profile of an elvish male. He is perhaps middle aged, with dark hair. "That's Dr. Price. The project is simple: Find out who killed him two weeks ago."

Aiden leans back and steeples his fingers, watching you - and waiting for any preliminary questions before he continues.