Track 1: The Cassette Job

[Kylen]

Smoke lingers in the air like a light fog, the band on stage banging out another cover to make sure their bills were paid. Patrons to the bar Lou's Stage came here for exactly that: reminders of a by gone time, when they could tell themselves that leaving home was the path to success. When the stars felt further away, and one could trick themselves into thinking they could live free. It also made a good site for a meet up, as the crew find a corner table and are given drink and food menus.

 

A friend of a friend of one of them heard word of a easy job that could set them up for quite a while, with an honest employer even. To beat the crowd, the crew were a bit early, so they had time to order up and scope out the crowd, among other things. The potential job giver seemed to be running a bit slow, but given the accident down the freeway on this forsaken rock, no blame could be reasonably given, though it was tempting. Soon enough, a young woman in a dingy apron sidles up. "Alright, what can I get for your group tonight?" she asked, the customer service mask slipping a little bit.

[Basil_Bottletop]

Hondo Drexley

The sickly sweet smell of pineapple guava lingered on Hondo's clothes. Hondo's nEoCig sat in the deep crevice of his index and middle finger like a sixth digit. There wasn't a lot of places that allowed him to toke inside, so when they did he became a narcissistic chain-smoker for a short time. A little red indicator on the inner side of the cylinder -hidden by his palm currently- suggested his chain-smoking time was about up. He had already burned through his supply since their last stop and he didn't have a ton of spare change to refill.

He knew he could go without dinner and rectify the situation, but hungry did still outweigh his addiction to the little electronic stick and it's glorious innards. He stared down at the menu and did his best to read what his options were. The mess of letters and pictures were a jumbled mess to him and his gaze eventually fell on one of the pictures that looked half-decent. Good enough to eat, anyways.

"That." He said, pointing to the picture of some backwater planet's version of a breakfast skillet. "Side of ketchup." He added before shoving the menu across the table closer to the server.

Hondo leaned back and let the others get their choices in, not defaulting to any kind of order to who or where the next one came from. He'd been sitting in the middle anyways, which logistically should have meant he wasn't first to present, but he didn't care much for that kind of simplicity. As he moved, the upturned collar on his pearl white shirt bent down, revealing a series of unconnected neck tattoos -at least one of them started and not finished- and a small metal chain around his neck. The metal had no intrinsic value, but he thought it made him look more badass, so he tended to wear it everywhere.

"Come on, come on!" He urged after only a second of silence, waving his free hand out over the table to get someone else to speak up and get this whole charade over with.

[SerakHawk]

Jess Byrne

The acrid tang of Jess' cheap unflavored cig wars against Hondo's more expensive cigarette. Her chair was tilted back against the back wall while her legs rested on the table. The menu long ignored protected the table top from her crusted combat boots. The rest of her was at a best disheveled, a mass of tangled red hair on top of a scarred head currently hosting the fading signs of a black eye. Her jacket coat was opened and the shirt beneath was barely buttoned closed while her once khaki pants were now the color and texture of mud.

She didn't sleep well last night, or the night before, or the night before that. In fact She couldn't even tell you when she last had a full night's 'rest', and the smoke was not aiding her mood like it usually did. Cracking her neck Jess exhaled the last dregs of her smoke in Hondo's direction and pondered lighting another when Hondo urged the group to order.

"A whiskey or gin, dry. Whatever your regular size is here. Also eggs, no toast, double serving."

The food would help the creeping hole in her stomach and maybe the booze would dampen the edge as they continued to wait for the job giver. Jess snuffed out the remnants of the cig in the ashtray on the table before shoving her hands into her jacket pockets to hide them shaking. Resting her head against the back wall she continued to shift her gaze from the stage, to the bar entrance, to the kitchen and back to the entrance.

"I hate it when they're late."

 

[TiffanyKorta]

Molly Yi

---

Looking as relaxed and well put together, though for a place like this, it was just a t-shirt and khaki, Molly leaned back from the next table over, her card held to her chest.

"Last time you complained they were early..." She smiled at the servicer "... I'll have a couple of slices of bacon, between some slices of bread, please. And a refill on this excellent coffee please!" she hadn't bothered with a menu, these kinds of places were a blur of the same options really. Not that she even took the easy options either way.

A grunt from the others on her table got her attention, and with a slightly languid look at her cards, she threw a few credits into the pot.

"I'm almost done here anyway..." she added with a cheerful, bluffing, smile "... hopefully they won't turn up till I've got the pot!"

[erter]

Phil Bromlin

Still dressed in his stained, dark blue, protective jumpsuit, his face smudged with oil, Phil was the odd one out at the poker table. His head buried in one hand, the other hand incessantly toying with his credits, the mechanic was muttering to himself about outs, draw percentages and rivers. Some people called poker a game of skill, yet his calculations would never quite add up. It was why he didn't like the game much, but it killed the time, and kept some of his more intrusive thoughts away.

Startled from his pondering by the server and Hondo's urges, Phil quickly scanned the menu. "A double shot of vodka for me, and the uhh... spicy supernova chicken wings?" He liked spicy food, because much like being occupied with a poker game, it kept his mind from wandering too much. But for some reason it was always marketed with the most overly dramatic or corny names possible. And most of the time the food barely lived up to its name. Like a lot of things in life, if you wanted it done well, you'd have to do it yourself.

With the groups order taken, Phil turned his attention back towards the poker game and Molly. "You are either really lucky, really bold, or both." He said, a hint of annoyance in his voice, before he shoved a sizeable stack of credits towards the pot. If he had done his math properly, this should be a safe bet, but he had a bad feeling about it.

[Basil_Bottletop]

Hondo Drexley

As the menus are swept out of the hands of his companions, Hondo is busy sweeping a long gaze across the room. He wasn't being particularly inconspicuous about it either; as more than once he had to lean forward or backward to see around someone's head. Notably, Phil's head, since he sat directly across from him. Hondo said nothing at the disruption of his scan.

When his eyes fell back to the present situation, he remembered they had been playing cards before the waitress came over. The cards in his hand had completely disappeared from his mind. He reached down, took a quick look at them, and pushed them away. "Out." He mumbled before going back to looking around.

A tendril of dark hair fell down around his eyes and he did a long dramatic push through from forehead to the nape of his neck. The slight tug of hair released just enough endorphins that he was tempted to do it again. Instead, he put his hand down into his lap, where his gun was hiding.

"This band is shite." He complained,

[Kylen]

The other gamblers nod as Hondo goes out, pondering their hands and the sheer bluff Molly has put up. One by one they drop out, leaving the meager pot to her, the lot standing up to go refresh their beers, just as another group walks in. This, however, unlike the others, seems to make all but the band pause. Even if someone never saw them in person, everyone here could name who just walked in. A three man band who made their way to stardom in grungy back alley bars just like this one. One might think the only reason the band currently playing didn't stop was because it'd be rude. The Deltas: Rodney Prince, George Ring, and Larry Cold sidle up to the table where the crew was sitting.

 

"Sorry about the wait. Traffic was hell, as was giving our handler the slip." Larry said, the three sitting down and signaling a beer order. "We'll make it up by covering the tab. God knows we've been doing well enough. So while you all eat, how about you hear out our request." The drummer smiles a bit, as the lead man looks a bit pensive, before picking up where he finished.

 

"We're looking to drop Ruprecht Records like the lead weight it is. Our ex-manager, in all his wisdom, signed us up and while the money has been well and good, it's just not the same." George said, smiling and giving the waitress a tip as she brings a full round for the table, all the drinks actually right this time. "We're looking to go back to the good times. Places like this, underground shows, pirate radio. Our roots. The problem is, though, we just recently finished recording an EP with the bastards, and it's a damn good tape."

[erter]

Phil Bromlin

Phil sighed and pinched his nose when Molly, once again, won the pot. This was why he hated poker. Just as he was trying to come up with a snarky reply to Hondo's complaining, to vent his own frustration at the poker game, their clients arrived. "Hopefully you like this band better." He said to Hondo, as he recognized who had sat down in front of them.

Digging in to his chicken wings, Phil listened to what the Deltas had to say. As George and Larry gave their little talk, he couldn't quite hide his surprise, both at the fact that these wings were actually pretty spicy, and about what the two band members were getting at. Helping a famous band to get out of a record deal they were having second thoughts about hadn't even crossed his mind as something they might end up doing for their first job. "You'd think after all these years musicians would've learned to be more careful around big corporate and their greedy record labels." He mumbled to no one in particular.

"So where do we come into the picture. Seems to me like you need a contract lawyer, and you aren't going to find one here." Phil responded. He had a feeling the band were looking for something a little more radical and a little less legal, but he didn't want to make any assumptions.

[SerakHawk]

Jess Byrne

Jess gave the band a passing check over as they sat down. Leaning forward she waves off Phil and starts speaking.

"They want us to 'acquire' the tape, in an out on a corpo record company and get y'all your 'stolen' property. That right? I used to work corp sec, and depending on what they have we're going to want layouts and angles here - do they have a security company, do you know if its night shift or just locked down. What are you gonna do when they find out you have the EP tape? Cause if you start releasing it they will know and that may expose us too. I guess the right compensation may convince the skip here."

 

 

[Kylen]

"Rough and Tumble has the right of it. Also," Rodney said, motioning to Jess as his order of beer showed up, "there's a reason we don't have a manager any more. Left him at a Motel 80 on the far side of Zepher 14. We hired him to keep us out of these messes, not get us into them. Sadly, credits are credits." He took a long swig of his drink before putting it down. He wiped his mouth with a gloved hand before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a brochure. "What we can tell you is that Ruprecht Records is near by, on Memphis 6. You can easily spot it as it's the high rise with the giant vinyl on top." He opens the flier, which shows a multi-floored office building.

 

"Place has six floors, rooftop access, and a parking garage. We know for sure the master recording is in the office of Johan Ruprecht, top floor. He's got it for final sign off before it goes into production." George said with a grunt as he squeezed past Rodney for a moment. "Should be a simple in and out, and you don't have to worry about the details after we start production of our own. Just how you'll spend your cut of the royalties."

It seemed the band member thought that little fact would be a bit of a bomb. A take on royalties from sales of the new EP from a nova hot band, and all they had to do was help them break contract. "We have an exit plan for you, a few ideas of where you can probably lay low for a bit. Ruprecht made most of his money off us in recent years, but he's not got the backing of a proper sized office. Even if he comes after us, it'll be lawyers, and that'll be our problem, not yours. You all just need to worry about the tape and not getting the Authority on your asses."

[TiffanyKorta]

Molly Yi

---

Quick in and out seemed simple enough, which never seemed to be the case. She'd have liked to stroll in the front door and try and con them into letting her in the room with the tapes, she had always fancied herself as a K-pop star back in the day, but she was sure the others would want to be all sneaky-like.

"We're going to need something in advance, for wear and tear on bullets that kind of thing."

Those kinds of details were for the others, she was more of an ideas kind of person. Maybe she mused, flipping a two-credit coin between her fingers, they could also find the digital copies and sell a few of them as bootlegs to the collectors market. More options and more money was always a good thing.

"We're probably going to need floorplan and that kind of thing if you've got them." she looked at the others before adding "Though we'll probably have to discuss everything before we agree to take this job."

[Basil_Bottletop]

Hondo Drexley

The sucking sound from Hondo's nEoCig joined Molly's reply, before Hondo tore his hand away from his face and embraced for nicotine impact. It hit the back of his eyeballs like a freight train. He'd hit peak consumption about five minutes ago and was now just getting an excess buzz.

"Does Fat Boy live nearby?" He asked, his words a bit hurried. He didn't know Johan Ruprecht from Roy Rogers, but he always pictured CEO-types to be fat and balding. "Need to make sure he ain't there, or you know," He made a mock slice across his throat, his cig pointed skyward.