[Shadowrun by Clockwork]
Posted: Wed Mar 03, 2004 8:42 pm
The streets of Seattle were dank with fog and the gloaming moon overhead. Every bricked building and cobbled street was damp and slippery. So were some of the occupants who silently made their way down darksome alleys, away from the burning glare of those street-lamps still in repair.
Harold was dressed in his great coat this evening, and breathed the damp air uneasily. He did not approve of the climate, with the malign vapors so ubiquitous of industry these days. His great iron-shod cane of polished oak struck sparks from the cobbles as he made his way to the unremarkable door that served as an entrance to Dante's.
Once inside the foyer to the somewhat notorius Gentleman's Club, Harold faced the two massive brutes that served as bouncers. The one on the right, with carefully capped tusks of brightly polished brass cordially spoke to Harold.
"Would the Gentleman please hand to the coatgirl any weaponry on his person."
It was not a question. I very carefully removed my derby, the rather cumbersome greatcoat and the pair of octagon-barrelled revolvers I kept always on my person, handing them to the slight elfin girl manning the coat room.
"I must retain my cane for locomotion, I am afraid."
Harold carefully rubbed his first two fingers against his thumb, with the pretense of a nervous fidget. The bouncer with the capped tusks raised an eyebrow till it appeared it would impact the horn jutting from his brow. He shot me a beaming smile, full of teeth.
"Why of course sir. Please go in, and enjoy your stay."
I managed to pass a few gold nuyen into his magnificent paw as I entered the club proper.
Dante's, while far from the most popular of nighttime establishments in the great port city of Seattle, and at times berated in the local papers for the unsavory characters sometimes found there, was a particular locale I cultivated for the specific esoteric elements that found themselves there, seeking for either service or employment. I was of the latter.
I descended steps covered in worn carpet of oriental design; the grinding gears of airy dragons picked out in copper thread, arriving at the third level before the Pit, where my compatriots awaited.
Here was Alijah Snowblood, an albino of the Sinsearch tribe who had been ostracized from his clan (I do not know why, though Ihave reason to guess it was for collaborating with certain of his elfin brothers in Tir Tairngire, and the dissapearence of certain ancient grimoires). His hair remained bound tightly into the braid favored by some of the aboriginal tribes on the continent some centuries before, with a few precious eagle feathers held in the knot at the back. The rest of him was dressed as any Anglo-Saxon gentleman, in a modest black tuxedo and bow tie.
Seated to his left at the table was the Jackal. Her flame-red hair and the bridge of freckles across her nose and cheeks declared her Irish descent as surely as the glass of potato-vodka being held in her slender hand. The Jackal's professed preference to aeronaut pantaloons and calf-high leather aviator boots were attested to tonight, as well as a rather fetching if low-cut blouse of green silk. I looked, but could not detect the dull metal gleam of her datajack fittings; she had decided on a partial wig tonight to cover them. Perhaps prudently.
James held most of the booth to himself, and was making short work of a pint of beer along with the plate of liver and onions in front of him. The ogre sucked suds from the prodigious mustache that began above his mouth but ended as sweeping and full-bodied sideburn, leaving his prominent chin exposed. He was considered very handsome and masculine by many of the ladies, save only for the irregular scar along the bridge of his nose (I have heard that was from the trenches of Crimea during the Ottoman Uprising, but the ardent German would confirm nothing). James had on tonight a sleevless blouse and vest over the drab dress pants of an officer, and finished with steel-shod boots. Normally I dislike such ostentatious dress, but James was keen to show off his mechanical arms, which whirred and clicked very softly as he dined.
Harold took his accustomed place, and ordered a glass of gin while waiting for their potential employer to appear.
It was not a quarter of an hour later, as Alijah and the Jackal were discussing the parallels between their two respective professions, the Jackal stressing the cerebral aspect as Alijah spoke of compartive symbols and old myth-cycles. Tall, heavy set and blond, with a thin mustache and grey eyes.
"Good even to you all. I am Herr Johanneson. Shall we get down to business?"
Harold was dressed in his great coat this evening, and breathed the damp air uneasily. He did not approve of the climate, with the malign vapors so ubiquitous of industry these days. His great iron-shod cane of polished oak struck sparks from the cobbles as he made his way to the unremarkable door that served as an entrance to Dante's.
Once inside the foyer to the somewhat notorius Gentleman's Club, Harold faced the two massive brutes that served as bouncers. The one on the right, with carefully capped tusks of brightly polished brass cordially spoke to Harold.
"Would the Gentleman please hand to the coatgirl any weaponry on his person."
It was not a question. I very carefully removed my derby, the rather cumbersome greatcoat and the pair of octagon-barrelled revolvers I kept always on my person, handing them to the slight elfin girl manning the coat room.
"I must retain my cane for locomotion, I am afraid."
Harold carefully rubbed his first two fingers against his thumb, with the pretense of a nervous fidget. The bouncer with the capped tusks raised an eyebrow till it appeared it would impact the horn jutting from his brow. He shot me a beaming smile, full of teeth.
"Why of course sir. Please go in, and enjoy your stay."
I managed to pass a few gold nuyen into his magnificent paw as I entered the club proper.
Dante's, while far from the most popular of nighttime establishments in the great port city of Seattle, and at times berated in the local papers for the unsavory characters sometimes found there, was a particular locale I cultivated for the specific esoteric elements that found themselves there, seeking for either service or employment. I was of the latter.
I descended steps covered in worn carpet of oriental design; the grinding gears of airy dragons picked out in copper thread, arriving at the third level before the Pit, where my compatriots awaited.
Here was Alijah Snowblood, an albino of the Sinsearch tribe who had been ostracized from his clan (I do not know why, though Ihave reason to guess it was for collaborating with certain of his elfin brothers in Tir Tairngire, and the dissapearence of certain ancient grimoires). His hair remained bound tightly into the braid favored by some of the aboriginal tribes on the continent some centuries before, with a few precious eagle feathers held in the knot at the back. The rest of him was dressed as any Anglo-Saxon gentleman, in a modest black tuxedo and bow tie.
Seated to his left at the table was the Jackal. Her flame-red hair and the bridge of freckles across her nose and cheeks declared her Irish descent as surely as the glass of potato-vodka being held in her slender hand. The Jackal's professed preference to aeronaut pantaloons and calf-high leather aviator boots were attested to tonight, as well as a rather fetching if low-cut blouse of green silk. I looked, but could not detect the dull metal gleam of her datajack fittings; she had decided on a partial wig tonight to cover them. Perhaps prudently.
James held most of the booth to himself, and was making short work of a pint of beer along with the plate of liver and onions in front of him. The ogre sucked suds from the prodigious mustache that began above his mouth but ended as sweeping and full-bodied sideburn, leaving his prominent chin exposed. He was considered very handsome and masculine by many of the ladies, save only for the irregular scar along the bridge of his nose (I have heard that was from the trenches of Crimea during the Ottoman Uprising, but the ardent German would confirm nothing). James had on tonight a sleevless blouse and vest over the drab dress pants of an officer, and finished with steel-shod boots. Normally I dislike such ostentatious dress, but James was keen to show off his mechanical arms, which whirred and clicked very softly as he dined.
Harold took his accustomed place, and ordered a glass of gin while waiting for their potential employer to appear.
It was not a quarter of an hour later, as Alijah and the Jackal were discussing the parallels between their two respective professions, the Jackal stressing the cerebral aspect as Alijah spoke of compartive symbols and old myth-cycles. Tall, heavy set and blond, with a thin mustache and grey eyes.
"Good even to you all. I am Herr Johanneson. Shall we get down to business?"