Hard Times
Life in the shadows isn't always pretty. Or comfortable.
Jobs--especially lately--have come around about as often as a sunny day in Seattle, and your reserves are starting to run low. Equipment requires maintenance, contacts require a little grease to keep the wheels moving in hopes of turning up more work, and as always, there are vices to feed.
Your commlink had been silent for weeks--but all of that changed this morning. One of your fixers, Sweetie, sent through a message with details on a job--Sweetie has stuck with you through thick and thin (mostly thin), but she's nothing if not reliable. At least in a low-rent, just barely enough to pay the bills sort of way. Something tells you that Sweetie's not exactly living the good life either, which is comforting in its own way. She shoots it straight, though--no bull--so it's a relief to see her face on your display.
She looks good—good for a middle-aged troll past her prime, anyway—something clearly has her in a good mood. “Got a line on some work for you, if you're interested. And don't try and tell me you're not interested, I've seen your accounts. It's a quick hit, tomorrow night, I'll have the details for you soon. Let's meet for lunch—it's on me. Usual place. See you there.” She gives a weary smile before finishing, “Don't let me down.”
The usual place is a cozy, if a bit austere, diner called The Pink Door, which is in a seaside commercial district Downtown. If you leave now, you should have no problem getting there in time for the meet.
