Tecumseh
Forum Replies Created
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“Are the codes just for the comms?” Mato confirms. “I presume I’m not supposed to call you Mr. Brown in front of the guests.”
Mato wonders what happened to bronze in the sequence. He also wonders what octarine is, as he’s never heard of it.
On the Segways, Mato soaks up the surroundings. Everything is just so wildly different from his personal experience that he finds himself picking out every little detail, from the sights to the sounds to the scents.
Mato grew up privileged… but that was corper privilege. A nice condo, tech toys and a bit of ‘ware, a part-time cook and cleaner. It was not this aristocratic privilege, with sprawling estates and huge retinues. If someone dropped a billion nuyen on him, he would never have thought to spend it this way. The possibility of it wouldn’t even have crossed his imagination.
“How long have you served here, Mr. Brown?” he asks with a bit of a smirk at the code. “Where were you before this?”
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Mato’s base Perception with no specializations or gear: https://orokos.com/roll/845817 Intuition 6 + Perception 5: 11d6t5 5 hits
Extra dice for Visual: https://orokos.com/roll/845818 Specialization 2 + Vision Enhancement 3: 5d6t5 3 hits, for 8 hits total for Visual
Extra dice for Audio: https://orokos.com/roll/845820 Specialization 2 + Audio Enhancement 2: 4d6t5 2 hits, for 7 hits total for Audio
Extra dice for Smell: https://orokos.com/roll/845822 Specialization 2 + Olfactory Boosters 4: 6d6t5 1 hit, for 6 hits total for Smell
Mato’s pretty sharp this morning. Mental Limit is 6 but boosts from his gear allow him to keep all hits.
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I could make small talk with Brad forever but we can move on whenever the story is ready to advance.
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Mato considered this. He hadn’t known that there were going to be rooms for the staff; he thought this was a commuting gig.
“Yes, I suppose that such a secluded environment would result in almost monastic isolation.”
Is Mato a ‘young fit boy’? It’s hard to say. By ork standards, no. Redlining his limbs has helped, and his recent sojourn across Sioux Nation had brought with it some additional muscle mass and even – dare he say it – virility. But the truth is that as an ork aged 25 years, he’d been physically mature for 10 or more years now. And, to be thoroughly transparent with himself, his massive loss of metahumanity had resulted in a severely diminished libido. Not zero, mind you, but more akin to what a senior citizen might expect rather than an ork in his physical prime. His arms and legs look sexy, but they are hardly appealing to the touch. They are cold and hard and not at all comforting unless you’re like Greta, the post-humanist that Mato met at The Hostel back in mid-October.
“Understood,” he says to Brad about the pacing of the day. “Catch a bullet, catch some Zs. That’s the job.”
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Mato nods about the advice regarding the kitchen staff.
“Are there ‘badge bunnies’?” he asks about the room guests. “I know there are some people who can’t resist a uniform. And these do look very fine…
“And what is the rhythm of the day anyway? What with dinner ending at 0300 and the morning briefing a mere eight hours later. When do we start and stop manning the gate, or going on rounds?”
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“Ignacio Severo,” Mato says to anyone who asks after the briefing. “But Red serves just as well.”
This could be a racial thing because of his skin tone, but if so it’s mild and (at this point) still tolerable. Plus, Mato’s favorite color when he was five years old was red, so that helps.
Mato is surprised / not surprised to hear that ranks are being used. He supposes that means he is the Private. That’s fine. It probably also means that he’ll be on gate duty as soon as Corporal Varison can delegate it. That’s fine too. He gets paid either way.
The fact that there’s only eight hours between the end of dinner and the morning briefing seems brutal – and when do shifts even start? – but he’ll figure that out later. His sleep regulator will give him an edge, but it’s possible that he’ll have to start commuting separately from AM and Jawsey. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for eating and bathing – let alone laundry or other housekeeping – that’s for sure.
“Rounds,” he says to Brad when the briefing is complete. “Lead the way.”
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Mato nods along to Brad’s description of Katya.
“I’ve met with and trained with plenty of people who could mop the floor with me. Some of those elite special forces guys…” He shakes his head. “They’ve forgotten more than I’ve ever known. Tricks upon tricks up their sleeves. I guess that’s why they’re still around and alive enough to show them off. And I’m sure they didn’t share everything, just in case we found ourselves at odds with each other.
“C’mon, let’s get to the 10am.”
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Mato is a little reluctant to return the Ares Alpha. He doesn’t go so far as to wish for an occasion to use it, but he can still put it on his Christmas list. Unfortunately it may overshadow his trusty (if unused) AK-97 for the remainder of its days.
“Yes, I figured as much about the distances involved in the estate. But you get these crazy shadowrunners who have skimmers on their feet and can run 100kph… it messes with your expectations and your math. In the shadows you see a lot of tech and a lot of designs that are fluid and creatively implemented, far more so than in more traditional security organizations and what they expect to respond to.
“I hadn’t thought about the bare minimum of protection being seen as brave. I always thought that security was a form of conspicuous consumption, of ‘look how terribly important I must be to warrant all this protection’. But I suppose when you’re at the point where you have eight names plus two or three titles, your importance is sufficiently implicit.
“And good point that Pike and the Duchess having their own personal bodyguards. Katya Komarova is guarding the Duchees, correct? I understand she’s very formidable, and very dangerous. Katya, I mean, not the Duchess.”
This is an open-ended observation that serves as an invitation for Brad to share his impressions of Katya, should he have any.
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“Oh wow!” Mato says when he sees the Ares Alphas. “That’s not what I was expecting at all. I thought for sure we were going to be on patrol with sporting rifles, like a Winchester Model 2067, or a Marlin – like a 3468SS or 3041 BL. Something more in keeping with the grounds and the uniforms.”
He follows Brad out to the shooting range. Brad seems on-the-level so he decides to ask about staffing.
“So is it really true there are only four chasseurs? One at the gate, one in the armory, one on patrol, and one eating ? Why aren’t there more?”
At the shooting range, he syncs the Alpha to his smartlink and gets into a shooting position. He doesn’t have any image magnification so he’ll be at a slight disadvantage due to range.
“Pull!”
He’s locked in and the first shots push the Alpha to its limits, obliterating the clay pigeons with satisfactory crunches.
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@gilga Looks like your most recent IC post got cut off, because it just says, “she asks”.
@jack_spade Not sure if I was supposed to make one roll or a sequence or if I needed to include anything like recoil. I kept it pretty straight-forward to start. First roll is great and exceeds the Accuracy assuming it’s the base 7 (for Smartlink-enabled Alphas).
https://orokos.com/roll/844390 Agility 10 + Automatics 5 + Smartlink 1 – Range 1: 3#15d6t5 8 hits 5 hits 3 hits
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After finishing breakfast, Mato excuses himself with assurances of visiting the kennels later.
<font face=”inherit”>He spends some time touring the house and </font>familiarizing<font face=”inherit”> himself with the premises as best he can before returning to Brad for his rifle certification prior to the 10am meeting.</font>
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Mato seems a little bit mollified when he hears that they’re hell hounds. “Yes, well, hell hounds. Very good. Better than barghests, I suppose.
“But I think you dismiss the risks and vulnerabilities of this estate. Grounds of this size are a defense, in the sense of how expansive they are and how much time it takes to navigate them – but the the size is also a vulnerability unless you have a massive sensor and drone network to serve as an early warning system.”
He leans back and frowns.
“And there are certainly enough illustrious personages – and their belongings – to serve as targets for professional thieves. Shadowrunners. The defensive strategy, as best as I can tell, is for everyone to hole up in safe rooms and wait for the cavalry to arrive.”
He thinks of the Blue Admiral, but he doesn’t know if the proposal or the legendary gemstone are public knowledge yet. He decides to stay discrete, just in case anyone here is an inside agent. Sabine could be a honey pot, a trap to distract and neutralize Mato! The hussy. He eyes her narrowly.
“I’d be happy to make the acquaintance of your hell hounds. I’m sure they’re all very good boys.”
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Mato leans forward. “Four? Four chasseurs? For a compound and grounds this size? And dogs at night?”
He’s thoroughly incredulous.
“Does that scan?” It doesn’t, in his mind. “Given the budget for uniforms and top-line sidearms and daily wages for …” His hand sweeps over the room, to indicate all the help: wire maids and stable boys and gardeners and kitchen staff and everyone else in attendance. “That there are four chasseurs? And that one of my duties is to wait at table?”
His expression says it all.
“No offense to the stable boys or the dogs, but what’s the constraint on hiring additional dedicated security?”
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Mato is pleased to have walked the fine line of attraction and revulsion. Love and fear is a powerful combination, he thinks to himself.
“Where are the rest of the chasseurs?” he asks. “Is this a class divide or are they that busy?”
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The attention is going to Mato’s head a bit. He’s used to the elves being the center of attention. He resists the urge to brag about exploits (i.e. crimes) which would be better unpublicized.
“Public sector – that’s classified,” Mato demurs. “Private sector… let’s just say some men’s sticks are longer than others.”
A young man – perhaps jealous of Sabine’s attention, makes a crack, “If you’re so good, what happened to your arms? Didn’t run fast enough, eh?”
“Voluntary replacement,” Mato says, holding up a black matte titanium-and-carbon-fiber hand and turning it around for everyone at the table to inspect. “Ever wonder what kind of man goes into the doc and says, ‘Here, cut off these perfectly good arms I’ve had my whole life’?” He raises his eyebrows, leaving the question unanswered. Of course, his arms hadn’t been perfectly good, but nobody else is going to know that without a serious search of the Sioux Nation Health and Welfare Bureau’s databases.
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Mato appreciates the friendly greetings. His instinct is to demur when it comes to storytelling, but eventually decides that answering Sabine’s questions would be a good opportunity to build rapport. Having friendly relations with the staff could make life much easier this week. He picks a story that’s less about his personal involvement and more about interesting NAN details that Anglos usually eat up.
“So there’s a tradition in the NAN of ‘counting coup’, which is anything you do to win prestige over an ‘enemy’. It doesn’t have to be killing someone, or even hurting them. It could be stealing their weapons or their vehicles, anything that involves risk of injury or death.
“The NAN uses this as a training exercise, not just between units but also between nations. Relations between the Salish-Shidhe, Sioux, and PCC are all pretty friendly right now, so patrolling the ‘internal’ borders can be dull. But we liven it up by conducting ‘raids’ across the border and ‘counting coup’.
“The most prestigious thing to do it to touch the ‘enemy’ with your hand or a coup stick and then escape unharmed. It establishes dominance, like a ranking or a pecking order. So when someone is sleeping in their tent at night and they wake up to find someone tapping on their forehead…” Mato mimics tapping, and leaning over a sleeping foe with a rakish grin. “… they know that person could have killed them. That’s the prestige. That person will always know you’re the better warrior. Provided, of course, that you can get away.” He adds a knowing wink, with the implication that he’s still here so he must have gotten away. “And you usually need to haul hoop out of there because the only way for it not to count – for the enemy to regain the lost prestige – is for them to chase you down and beat the drek out of you.
“After an exploit, the band gets back together to swap stories and shoot the drek. Coups were counted by putting notches in a coup stick, or tying a feather in your hair, or putting ‘coup bars’ on your sleeves, almost like medals or rank insignia.
“So watch out for the natives with honor feathers in their hair! They know more ways to kill you than there are to die.”
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Mato grabs breakfast and joins the gardeners and stablehands, reasoning that he should not broadcast his relationship with AM more than necessary. He expected a gender divide but wonders if the divide us actually indoors vs. outdoors, or high tech vs. low tech.
Given his cyberlimbs, his caloric needs are somewhat different, but twelve hours is still a long time to go without eating. He debates sneaking something non-perishable into his snuggling compartment while wondering if he should send some inquiries to his street dox about the nutritional storage system, hoping the installation would be plug-and-play.
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My posting will be slower this week because I’m on full-time Dad duty and won’t have constant access to a computer like I do when I’m working. I can still post daily, but maybe not multiple times like I often do.
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Ah, you’re right. I misunderstood the sequence when we checked in with Cunningham. I thought we had breakfast immediately after we arrived, but now that I go back and review the IC thread I see that Cunningham said, “I’ll bring you to your respective gaffers. They’ll show you the ropes around here. Breakfast will be in an hour in the kitchen.”
I’ll go back and edit out the breakfast Mato had when he arrived. I’ll update the latest IC post so that Mato goes to breakfast instead of touring the house.
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“Without a trigger, it won’t do much good offline,” Mato agrees. “At that point I’d just be… throwing it at someone.”
He holsters it and leaves to conduct his review of the house, using his radar scanners along the way to explore the gaps and ‘wide walls’ that he and Jawsey identified.
Guess I have a tracking beacon in my holster, he thinks. It rubs him a bit the wrong way – going against instinct as it does – but he writes it off as the cost of the job, the price of doing business. Hmm… would it fit in his Faraday pocket of his tuxedo? Maybe he would experiment with that later.
He then heads to the servant’s kitchen for second breakfast, knowing that it might be a long day on his feet.
Hmm, I think I have a spare corner or two of capacity left in the legs, he thinks to himself. Should I invest in a Nutritional Storage System? They’re not very expensive. I always thought of them as mostly for snipers, but it could be very valuable for a situation like this. Well, let’s see how the day goes.
He mentally daydreams about other things he could invest in now that he’s paid off his debt. An orientation system? That could help too.