On 11/17/2022 at 9:26 AM, Drifter One said:RICKY FO
RTUNE - LAWMAN
Head Armor: 7 | Body Armor: 11 | Shield: 0 | HP: 45
INT: 7 | REF: 8 | DEX: 7 | TECH: 5 | COOL: 6 | WILL: 8 | LUCK: 7 | MOVE: 6 | BODY: 5 | EMP: 4
Humanity: 40/40 | Wounds: | Critical Injuries: | Addictions:
Heavy Pistol 4D6 | ROF 2 | Hands 1 | Shots (8) | Concealed |
Shotgun 5d6 | ROF 1 | Hands 2 | Shots (4):
Ricky was sat in one of his favourite dives, a slinky little bar in Japantown called Ziggi's. It was small, long and narrow running under the street and filled with the typical pink and green neon strip lighting. Ricky found it calming, especially after a day cruising the beat in Night City. He had knocked off early from the night shift and found himself sat in Ziggi's, the usual companions of a pack of "Aces" cigarettes and a large glass of whiskey. Looking down at the brown liquor in his tumbler, he promised himself he would one day visit Scotland and taste the real stuff. But that had to wait.
Turned down low, a flat panel was showing footage of a music concert, some wild haired glamourpuss strutting about on stage and the crowd going wild for it. Ricky downed his whiskey.
God damned Rockerboys! he muttered to himself, indicating to the bar steward for another double shot.
Brrrrpppp....bleep bleep! His agent stirred into life. Ricky grabbed the aging device and tapped the screen, it was from the Pastor; co-ordinates of where to go for the gig. Castille and Herald. Ricky felt a pang of bitter sweetness. Glad he had been chosen so he could earn some extra eddies, but disappointed it was South Night City. The place was rough and dangerous; he was hoping for a simple errand. Popping another "Ace" into his mouth, Ricky lit the tobacco stick with his Classic '98 and took a long draw.
Everything alright, Rick? Asked Neto, the bar steward as he placed a coaster and his drink down on the bar.
Yeah, Neet. Just runnin' some overtime. Y'know? he answered as he exhaled the blue smoke. I'll finish this up and be on my way.
Whatever you need, choom. Neto replied.
Ricky did not stay long, he finished his cigarette in a few drags and gulped down his whiskey. Tapping on his agent he transferred the eddies owed and slid off of his stool before slipping on his Trilby.
See you tomorrow. Neto said as he cleared the empty glasses from where Ricky had sat.
Yep. He replied, gripping the handrail to the stairs as he ascended back up to street level. It was 20 past five in the morning and the early risers of NC had just started to crawl out of their pits. As he reached the street a pungent odour of the all too familiar smell of rotting rubbish filled his nostrils. He often wondered how could "fresh" air often smelled so foul. Hailing cab, Ricky made his way to Castille and Herald.
Castille and Herald The AI spat at Ricky as the taki pulled up on the street corner. It was quiet, which was how he wanted it to be, but he checked his iron just in case, before stowing away in his hidden holster. As the taxi drove off with a hum, Ricky adjusted his trousers and tucked his shirt in, all the while his keen eyes scanning the street scene before him. He examined the rooftops to ensure there was noone peering down from above, at least that he could see and most of the few folks that were wandering about looked harmless enough.
There, leaning against that car... read pants and a leopard skin jacket.
Christ, who dressed this clown? he thought to himself. Pulling an Ace from its packet, Ricky strode over to the individual.
Hey Man. Got a light? he asked, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. As the man offered his fire, Ricky leant in to ensure the cigarette tip met with flame. Pastor. You know 'im? God some of the lords work to do.