---- Recall start ----

You paged Vincent with 'I understand you're looking for me.'.

Regan Hope Project(#3662RAJ)
This barn of a room with eggshell blue walls has been divided up into several 
different areas. In the east end are several apartments formed by carpeted 
walls, similar to those found in office buildings. In the centre is a day 
care/play area walled off by a two-foot fence. Off to the west are apartments 
similar to the ones in the east, but much larger. A prominently placed sign 
reads "Guns Will Be Checked. No Kidding. No Exceptions." in red felt tip. There 
is a large painting on the floor, an intricately-painted magpie.
There are large double doors set in the south wall to allow access to Regan 
Avenue. There is a smaller door off to the left of them.(+view alert)

You paged Vincent with 'Buick sends back word that if you'd like to see him, 
and you're serious about 'talking', come to RHP and come alone.'.
Vincent pages: OOC: Sorry if I pulled you away from anything - I was just 
inquiring to Cutter if any word had gotten through to other Slords.
You paged Vincent with 'And I'm sorry it's taken so long.'.
Vincent pages: You'd get a message on your answering machine, then, letting you 
know I'd be there. See you soon.

Vincent pushes through the doors, poking his head inside and looking around.

The Project has more or less finished shutting down for the night. Lights are 
at half-strength, and there is subdued activity back in the cubicles. Whitey is 
at her desk, not reading the copy of Modesty Blaise that is in front of her.

Vincent pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, and steps fully into 
the room. "Hello?"

Whitey lets the book drop to the desk, and she looks up. "Hello. Welcome to the 
Regan Hope Project. How may I. Help you?"

Vincent smiles. "I'm looking for Mr. Williams."

Vincent checks his watch. "I may be a bit early - traffic was lighter than 
normal this evening."

Whitey drums her fingers on the open page. "Mmm. He's expecting you, then?"

Vincent nods his head, adjusting his glasses again. "Yes. The name is Soressi. 
We have a few matters that I'd like to hash out with him."

Whitey makes the motions of glancing at an appointment book. "Ah. Yes. Here you 
are." Her hand flicks toward the door behind the desk. "He's in his office."

Vincent nods his head graciously. "Thank you. Have a nice evening, miss."

Whitey picks up her book and begins not reading it again.

Vincent strides past the desk, walking towards the Office.

Buick's Office(#3431R)
This is a small room with a window onto Regan Street. In the middle of the room 
is a beaten desk, drawers lolling open, top scratched. The scratched top is 
hidden by the papers strewn across it. Spider-esque cracks run along the wall 
behind the desk. In the corner, away from the window, is a futon. A man's 
clothing is strewn across the futon in disarray. Several astrological symbols 
appear to be charted across the wall to the left of the desk. They are written 
in red ink, which seems to have smeared a little. This is probably because the 
concrete wall has been sweating. The city creeps in through the unfettered 
window.
A nondescript door sits in the wall in front of the desk.

Vincent pages: *knock knock knock*

You paged Vincent with 'Come.'.

Vincent walks into the room, wrinking his nose a little as he looks around. 
"Mr. Williams, I presume?"

Vincent steps fowards towards you, extending a hand. "The name is Vincent 
Soressi. A pleasure to finally meet you."

Buick is sitting behind his desk, leaning back slightly. He lifts one hand from 
behind the desk and shakes firmly. "Have a seat. Make y'self comfortable."

Vincent backs towards a seat, looks over his shoulder to make sure there's 
nothing on it, and seats himself.

You say "So. You came alone."

Vincent looks around him. "Mm-hm. As far as I know of, anyway."

Vincent glances back over his shoulder. "Would you mind terribly if I were to 
close the door? Loose lips, and all that."

Buick nods. "Not at all. I understand perfectly."

Vincent stands up and reaches out towards the door, swinging it shut, then 
retakes his seat.

Vincent folds his hands in his lap. "So... quite the place you've got here."

Buick nods. "Now if you would humour me by not making any sudden moves? I know 
you're packing, but there's a Desert Eagle pointed at a sensitive part of you 
and a highly excited man holding it." He certainly doesn't /sound/ excited.

Vincent pages: Truth of Gaia?
You paged Vincent with 'Does it work retroactively, or are you turning it on 
now?'.
Vincent pages: I have no idea. Always TT'ed it as picking out a statement that 
was just said, but you have to check on each statement you want to.
Long distance to Vincent: Buick is checking the lounge. But it shouldn't be too 
hard to get him to confirm or dispel.

Vincent slowly raises his hands into the air. "I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. 
Williams... although I think that perhaps you may be a bit more... 
overcautious? than you need to be.

Vincent pages: All good. I guess I really shoulda found these things out before 
I went IC. =)

Buick shakes his head. "I don't think so, marone. I knew you'd find me 
eventually. And if I kill one, there'll just be more. So I wanted a chance to 
talk before things got messy."

Vincent pages: Oh, and while I'm at it, I'm raising Aura of Confidence. Just so 
that if there really IS a guy with a Desert Eagle, I don't go and wet myself. =)
You paged Vincent with 'He still has one hand under the desk.'.
Vincent pages: Ah, okay.

Vincent arches an eyebrow. "Did you say... Marone?"

Buick shrugs. "Sorry. I get a little flip when my life may be about to end."

Vincent chuckles. "I'm afraid there's a bit of confusion here, Mr. Williams." 
He slowly lowers his arms to rest on the arms of the chair. "The name is 
'Soressi'. Perhaps your secretary spelled it wrong on the appointment."

Vincent sighs, intertwining his hands in his lap again. "What do you say we try 
this again, from the top?"

Vincent pages: Activating the Homid gift: Persuasion.

Buick licks his lips. Not especially amused. "I think we can make a deal. You 
go back home, and tell 'em I'm dead. Or whatever you want. I already paid and 
then some."

Vincent blinks. Then he blinks again, just to be sure.

Vincent says "Dead? Somehow I get the feeling that there would be some people 
very disappointed to hear that."

Whitey> Xandra has connected.

Vincent stops in his tracks. "Wait... wait a moment. Deal? Dead? Paid?"

Whitey> Whitey advises Xandra not to go into Buick's office. He's having a... 
meeting.

Vincent lowers his head, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose 
with his forefinger. "Tell me. Mr. Williams... who is it that I represent, in 
your opinion?"

Buick licks his lips again. "Lemme guess. You're not from Chicago, you're 
selling Avon or some shit like that."

Vincent smiles. "Actually, I'm from New York City. A MUCH more hospitable place 
than Chicago. And _everyone_ knows that Tupperware is the way to go these days."

Buick frowns uncertainly. "Okay. So the 'Family' you represent is actually your 
local church group?"

Vincent says "No, the "family" I represent is far more widespread than Our Lady 
of Perpetual Motion Chapel over on the corner."

Vincent says "I'm a securities broker, Mr. Williams. A banker. A corporate 
wolf, you might say."

Buick relaxes just a touch. "Jesus fuckin' Christ. /Nobody/ tells me /anything/ 
about shit like that." There is the tearing sound that might be duct tape and 
he drops something metal into a drawer. "All right, so what the fuck do you 
lunatics want this time? Another sword?"

Whitey> Xandra says "A meeting?"

Vincent glances over his shoulder again, to make sure the door is still closed.

Whitey> Whitey nods. She doesn't look terribly happy about it.

Whitey> Xandra looks worried. "Who with? The police?"

Vincent sighs. "By no means. Just a means of contact. As I said, I'm from New 
York, only recently arrived in your sprawling city of St. Claire. I'd like to 
meet the *ahem* "locals"."

Whitey> Whitey shakes her head. "No. Just... some business." She sets down her 
copy of Modesty Blaise that she's been not reading for some time.

Vincent glances back again. "Is it safe to assume we do not need to use this 
annoying doublespeak in here?"

Buick shakes his head. "Fuck. One would think this could be arranged better. I 
almost put a hole in you because the message was so vague." He smiles wryly. 
"Say whatever y'want. Door's closed. Whitey's cool."

Vincent exhales, relaxing visibly. "I didn't know if the person who would get 
the message would understand a person saying 'I need to meet the rest of my 
tribe.' Have to be careful about that sort of thing."

Whitey> Xandra is, of course, curious. "But not usual business."

You say "There's a few of them--I can put you in touch with a couple of the 
city kids, and tell you where to leave a message to the chief."

Vincent arches an eyebrow again. "Are there a lot of us out here?"

Vincent nods. "That would be wonderful. Once you find them. it's fine... it's 
that initial contact that's always such a pain in the ass."

Whitey> Whitey shakes her head and glances back at the office door nervously. 
"Let's ask later," she says quietly, reaching a hand out.

Whitey> Xandra takes the hand cheerfully enough and then hugs Whitey with her 
other arm. "It's okay," she says.

Buick scribbles on a sticky note. "Here. The one... Dillan. He had to work here 
for a while. The other one. Cutter's the only name I got for him. He appears to 
be a supervisor type."

Vincent pulls a Palm Pilot out of his inner breast pocket, moving slowly so as 
to make sure you don't shoot him out of reflex or anything, and starts jotting 
these names and info down.

Whitey> Whitey squeezes Xandra. "Yeah. It's okay," she repeats, working on 
convincing herself.

Vincent says "And this Dillan is in charge?"

Buick shakes his head. "Dillan's a pissant. Otter's in charge, and he made 
Dillan work here."

Vincent scribbles that down. "Dillan - piss ant. Otter - head honcho."

You say "There's a field, out by KC where you leave something that smells like 
you, and Otter finds you."

Vincent flips the Pilot closed, and slides it back into his pocket. "KC?"

You say "KC. Kent's Crossing. About ten miles west of here."

Vincent nods. "Will do - I've got a scarf I tore last week, that should serve."

You say "So them's the three I know of, for certain. There's others. Seems like 
they come out of the fuckin' woodwork."

Vincent chuckles slightly, looking around. "Speaking of the woodwork... what 
exactly IS this place?"

You say "This..." He waves an arm widely. "This is an old warehouse converted 
to serve those in need of some service. Mostly families who need a month or two 
room and board t'get back on their feet."

Vincent nods, crossing his arms as he leans back in the chair. "How noble. Nice 
to see a bit of good being given back to the people every now and then."

Buick shrugs. "They'll prolly tell you, I'm a big fan of people. Ever since I 
married one of you."

Vincent chuckles. "I can see why. People - normal people, anyway - don't have 
half the troubles they think they do. If they ever saw it from our side, they'd 
go nuts."

Vincent says "Or, become one of you guys."

Buick smirks. "Anyway. The general rule here is that I don't want anybody to 
even think of fuckin' with the Veil in my place. I want things peaceful as I 
can get 'em here."

Vincent says "I wouldn't expect less of anyone running any sort of 
establishment. Hard to keep customers with 10-foot tall wolfmen running around."

Buick smiles a little more pleasantlyl. "But if there's somethin' I can offer 
that doesn't involve endangering my people--and doesn't scare the living shit 
out of me--then you know the number."

Vincent nods. "It's appreciated. Perhaps, in the near future, I can give a 
little back as well."

Buick nods. "Start by movin' on so I can reassure my girl that I'm not gonna 
die."

Vincent chuckles. "That could be a good start, yes." He stands up, brushing 
himself off, and extends his hand out to you again. "My apologies for the 
initial confusion on the matter."

Buick takes the hand again as he stands. "Glad I didn't have to put a hole in 
you, Vincent. This concrete absorbs the blood and it's hell to clean."

Vincent looks back over his shoulder as he walks out the door. "Believe me - 
I'm just as glad as you are. A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Williams."

Vincent fixes his jacket, and strides out.

Whitey> Whitey starts visibly as the door opens, relaxing as she spots Vincent 
and then Buick behind him.

Vincent nods to Whitey as he walks past. "Good evening, ma'am. Thank you for 
the help."

Vincent continues walking, nods to Buick as he opens the door, and leaves.

Long distance to Vincent: Buick lets you off your lead.

Vincent pages: Very cool. Thanks for the RP, man. And thanks for not shooting 
me. =)
You paged Vincent with 'Aw, you woulda got better.'.
Vincent pages: Yeah, I know. it wouldn't have killed me, but it woulda STUNG. 
Those Desert Eagles are nasty. =)
You paged Vincent with 'That's why he got one. Stopping power.'.
Vincent pages: Heh. And me with my big, bad stamina of 2 in homid, might have 
actually keeled over, pretty close to dead, if not outright dead if you shot 
him.
---- Recall end ----

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