From quinn@fazigu.org Sun Dec 12 13:58:16 2004 Return-path: Envelope-to: quinn@fazigu.org Delivery-date: Sun, 12 Dec 2004 13:58:16 -0500 Received: from yami.57thstreet.com ([216.110.12.54]) by work.fazigu.org with esmtp (Exim 4.34) id 1CdYvA-0005JO-8E for quinn@fazigu.org; Sun, 12 Dec 2004 13:58:16 -0500 Received: from moo.ghostmoo.org (yami.57thstreet.com [216.110.12.54]) by yami.57thstreet.com (8.13.1/8.13.1) with SMTP id iBCIwHHO021099 for ; Sun, 12 Dec 2004 18:58:17 GMT (envelope-from quinn@fazigu.org) Message-Id: <200412121858.iBCIwHHO021099@yami.57thstreet.com> Date: Sun, 12 Dec 2004 12:58:17 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 214 - 217 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: Ghostwheel (moo.ghostmoo.org 6969) X-Spam-Checker-Version: SpamAssassin 3.0.1 (2004-10-22) on work.fazigu.org X-Spam-Level: X-Spam-Status: No, score=-2.3 required=5.0 tests=AWL,BAYES_00 autolearn=ham version=3.0.1 Status: RO Content-Length: 9067 Lines: 164 Message 214 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 22 02:59:11 2004 EDT From: Darkpaw (#24594) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Late-night findings Darkpaw put down his mug of coffee and stared blankly at the screen. The fat man standing behind the bar had paid him no heed since he had come in to the New Orleans dive, ordered the mug and asked if it was all right if he used the computer. He had never tried hacking into Dakirion before. He had thought about. There were any number of reasons for a recomb to want to see what files the company kept - records on themselves, the history of other recombs, information on their current or former masters. None of that mattered right now, though. He didn't know how long he had, so he had only gotten what seemed important. Dakirion kept tight security on its electronic dealings, but not tight enough. Ironic, the fox thought, that they had bred him for this very purpose. Perhaps not to gain access to their own network, but it was Dakirion scientists who had made him specifically to deal with computers and electronics. They had picked fox DNA because of the species' cleverness, and it had proved an effective choice. Once he had gained access to the network, it had been simple enough. He'd found information on prior dealings with clients, found records of transactions. It looked like Dakirion found out as much as they could about a potential buyer, but they didn't go to much effort to verify anything but the financial status of a prospective recomb owner. Security on a deal seemed to vary depending on the importance of a transfer. Sales to large corporations or governments saw squads of human guards or attack recombs for defense. Deals on concubines typically had one guard, if any. The more recombs sold, the larger the defense force, but to a private buyer it never got major. Staring at the screen for a few more moments, Darkpaw blinked and snapped out of thought. Inserting a smart disk into its slot, he copied what information he had gathered onto it. It was too late to deliver now; he would have to call Owen in the morning. Getting up, he finished the coffee, dropped a few crystals onto the bar as a tip, and set off for the graveyard. It was grimy, and the Grave Dancers stank to high heaven, and a sleeping bag in a tent wasn't the most comfortable of living arrangements. But it was home, for now. He would have to look in to buying a condo on Jizo. With a view of the ocean. -------------------------- Message 215 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Nov 1 02:21:38 2004 EST From: Darkpaw (#24594) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Vulpine Darkpaw slammed the shot glass down on the bar, then ordered the tender to fill it with rum again. It was the same fat, balding man who had been here the last time, and he again had no objections when Darkpaw asked if he could set up his computer and work. He had done what he needed to do before getting piss drunk. He had contacted the office of this 'Gary', setting up preliminary arrangements for the transfer in New Orleans. Very little had been decided - the exchange might go down in this dive bar, for all he knew. Mostly it was just a confirmation that the exchange would take place, another warning that security would be beefed up, and a gateway to further communication. At least it hadn't been 'Gary' he had had to speak with. If he had heard that bastard's voice again, Darkpaw was sure would have hunted him down somehow and killed him. How would the man address him when speaking directly to him, rather than about him? Surely he would not call him simply 'vulpine'? Or would he even deign to speak a recomb? It had been all he could do to school his expression to calmness, to maintain his composure as he had heard the scientist refer to him as such. A good thing he had been wearing sunglasses - surely his eyes would've betrayed him. He hadn't been able to stop himself from ribbing at Owen. Apparently his violent tendencies were not so strong as his big mouth. Draining the shot glass, Darkpaw slammed it on the bar again. Scattering a few crystals on its surface, he stood and staggered out the door. Getting home would not be an easy task in this state, nor would avoiding the worms or the grave dancers once he did. A tent was not the best place to weather a hangover, either. He would have to look into that condo on Jizo. Dakirion might control the island, but it was not the seat of their power; he should be able to avoid notice there. Anyway, Red owned him legally. What business was it of theirs what a recomb owner let his property do? Managing to get to his tent with only a scuffle with a worm - dispatched handily even drunk - Darkpaw collapsed on top of his sleeping bag, not even crawling inside of it. His last drunken thought before sleep washed over him was how glad he was Owen had requested Gary's presence at the hand-off, and how much he would enjoy ripping Gary's throat out with his fangs. -------------------------- Message 216 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Nov 2 16:03:32 2004 EST From: Thaymar (#37191) To: *storylines (#5236) I assume this info is OOC? -------------------------- Message 217 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 6 00:13:11 2004 EST From: Rhianna (#37042) To: *storylines (#5236) Rhianna moved carefully through the last of her trip preparations. Her room on Jizo was beginning to seem organized again maps and charts had been neatly packed into her rucksack, climbing gear stowed on her backpack, her sword and dagger sharpened, oiled, and waiting in their sheathes on her bed. She doubled checked her comm unit, her gps unit, every last thing she could think to double check. Strangely enough, she was no longer nervous. She no longer felt the overwhelming sense of darkness and defeat that had been hanging over her ever since shed decided to return from her trip. Ever since she stepped into Owens garden for the first time after being so long away, shed been in a tailspin shed forgotten what shed learned while she was out on her own. It was true enough that she had not know, at first, what made her rise in the middle of the night and leave Owen sleeping in the farmhouse. She had not known for several weeks what it was that had called her from her sleep, from their shared bed, from the life that was unfolding around her, engulfing her. But she had learned, slowly, through long nights spent alone under the stars alone with her thoughts, alone with the Dreaming her reasons for setting out alone. She had come to find a balance in her mind; she had begun to learn not how to accept her destiny, but how to open herself to it and be carried down the path. Stepping back into the Eagles realm, seeing Owen, wanting what she wanted had all upset that delicate balance. It had never been her intention to stay away forever, and she had always known that she would go back to him, to find whatever lay waiting there. But there had been a seed of hope that what would be waiting would be, simply, Owen. Waiting for her. And that was not precisely what shed found. She slipped her swordbelt around her waist, shouldered the heavy backpack and the lighter rucksack took a moment to balance herself and her weapons and to take a deep breath. All of the arrangements had been made. Seeing Owen yesterday had finally set her to rights; she had come to a kind of peace with herself and with what might lay before her. She had done her best to show Owen what she had become (once shed shaken off her childish confusion), who she was what she wanted of him. He would have to make the best of it. It was his choice, now, and she would give him space to make it. She gave one last survey of the room, and her eyes fell on the warp tube, lying on the bed where shed tossed it down that night that so many truths came out. She picked it up, hefted it in her hand. It was still set to Owens bedroom; she hadnt been able to bring herself to reset it. // It would be a handy thing to have in a pinch // she thought // but I did not promise to seek him out if I was in trouble, only to ring him. // She set the tube carefully on the table, turned to key her code into the lock. She was setting out to find, hopefully, what had become of her family. Of her mother, her brother, of Lyrtyzluthe of Mount Morlith. She had heard all her life that it could not be scaled, that that was part of what kept them safe. She was heading into danger, and she said a small prayer to the goddess that she might also be heading into her destiny. The lock on the door clicked, the tumblers fell into place, the door swung open. Some echo of Owens voice, in her mind or in her heart, said once again to her, 'Take something of mine with you?' As Rhianna stepped out the door, leaving what now passed for her home for who knows how long, she couldnt stop herself from snatching the warp tube off the table, shoving it into her sack. --------------------------