The dwarf in the hooded poncho and the expensively top coated norm waited quietly while the server set their drinks on the table. The quiet lasted through the activation of a white noise generator. Then the well dressed man opened the conversation.
"So, tell me about this kid you got, Maxie. Why is he worth my time?"
"Well," the grizzled dwarf began, scratching his stubbled chin, "first of all, I call him kid, but don't you go underestimatin him just 'cause he's young. He's fast, tough and he's got balls enough to follow a code. This ain't a punk, gonna disappear when the drek comes down. This is one of them quiet ones, more interested in getting the job done than in building a rep or playin it safe. Very frosty."
"Fair enough" the fixer responded after a silent moment of consideration, "Let's say I believe you and take it as gospel that the kid won't cut and run when the lead starts flying. I'll even buy that he does the whole bushido-warrior-code thing. Two questions- Why haven't I heard of him and why's he an independent?"
"You haven't heard of him because you ain't as fraggin connected to the streets as your brown-nosers make you think you are," the dwarf snapped. The small figure's direct and hard eyed look killed any indignant response from the fixer. When he was sure the point had been hammered home, the dwarf continued, "He's a legend in his neighborhood and if my word ain't enough, you can check that against the 'weeners if you like. They won't have anything good to say about him, of course, but if you check how the chapter struggles to conduct biz you'll get an idea about my man." Leaning forward the dwarf dropped his voice and said "If there had been any survivors of his 'solution' of the problems at Devil's corner, you could have asked the Cutters or the Stilettos, but....." Max's shrug spoke volumes.
Sitting back, the short stocky figure took a quick pull from the longneck in front of him before he continued "Why is he an independent? How the fuck do I know? Maybe it's cause he don't look like the steroid monsters you're using as protection." this was followed by a deliberate glare at the "hidden muscle" the fixer had set up in the bar. "Maybe he's not flashy enough or loud enough. Children runnin today like other children as loud as they are. Does it make a difference? He's capable. Tough, fast, guts. What more do you want?"
"I want to know what he does," the fixer replied. "I want to know how how does it. How much noise does he make? Can he be subtle? What kind of a butcher's bill is he going to leave at the scene? You say there were no survivors when he settled things between a gang or orcs and a gang of trolls. What did he use? Tactical nukes? I don't need the kind of attention" the man quickly outlined a star in the condensation that his uncoastered drink left on the table top "that mass destruction brings."
"Listen here, Sonny Jim," the dwarf responded with a dismissive gesture, "If I tell you this kid is what you need it ain't because I'm blowing smoke. I told you he doesn't have to make a lot of noise. He's very direct, very bottom line. If he can solve the problem with a com call that's exactly what he'll do. I just want you to understand that when it's needed, my boy WILL get the job done, even if it requires things get wet. His name is Sticks. He's a freakin Escrimador, ok?" Grimacing at the confusion on the norm's face, the dwarf growled "look it up" before continuing his description. "Augmented, so he's faster than spit with a handgun. He's 5'9, weighs 160. Filipino kid, 16-17 years old."
"Damn, Maxie, that IS a kid!" The fixer exploded indignantly, "You gettin me worked up over friggin sweet 16?! How the...."
"You know," the dwarf interrupted quietly, "When ya get old and retire, about all you have left is your memories. Like, I remember a kid, couldn't have been more than 17. Full a piss an vinegar this punk was, talkin about the injustice of ageism. 'Everybody wants experienced runners but nobody will give me a chance to get experience', he cried, 'it just so unfair'. Shook his fist at the world until he got a shot straphangin with an experienced team. Now, I don't want to say he crapped down his leg the first time out, but it didn't take him long to move over into the fixer's side of the biz. You have any memories like that?" Max challenged.
Greeted with an embarrassed silence the dwarf continued. "This punk I was talking about, well, he did real good on the other side of the biz. He networked all the time, built a good list of expert references. People he could trust to steer him in the right direction for whatever he needed. Built up quite a business. He made a pile of nuyen working hard and honest. Then, as the years went by and the business grew, he stopped dealing with folks who talked hard and straight up because they didn't show him enough respect. He started paying people who would tell him what he wanted to hear the way he wanted to hear it. Eventually he surrounded himself with a bunch who wouldn't say shit if they had a mouthful. He thought because they were expensive they must know what they were talking about and since they always agreed with him, they must be brilliant."
"Of course, they're right, he thought. Look at how successful I am. Look at how much money I've made. Look at all the stuff I've bought. I must be a genius." The dwarf leaned in and whispered "Only he wasn't a genius. He couldn't even recognize when an old friend threw him a life line to keep him from drowning in his own PR. Instead of thanking his old contact for a line on a new talent, he acted like someone was trying to take advantage of him. He was so caught up racing down the road of his self made myth that he couldn't read the big 'THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED" billboard. It's a shame."
As he rose the dwarf said "Sorry I wasted my time", and then left without a backward glance.
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
"So, tell me about this kid you got, Maxie. Why is he worth my time?"
"Well," the grizzled dwarf began, scratching his stubbled chin, "first of all, I call him kid, but don't you go underestimatin him just 'cause he's young. He's fast, tough and he's got balls enough to follow a code. This ain't a punk, gonna disappear when the drek comes down. This is one of them quiet ones, more interested in getting the job done than in building a rep or playin it safe. Very frosty."
"Fair enough" the fixer responded after a silent moment of consideration, "Let's say I believe you and take it as gospel that the kid won't cut and run when the lead starts flying. I'll even buy that he does the whole bushido-warrior-code thing. Two questions- Why haven't I heard of him and why's he an independent?"
"You haven't heard of him because you ain't as fraggin connected to the streets as your brown-nosers make you think you are," the dwarf snapped. The small figure's direct and hard eyed look killed any indignant response from the fixer. When he was sure the point had been hammered home, the dwarf continued, "He's a legend in his neighborhood and if my word ain't enough, you can check that against the 'weeners if you like. They won't have anything good to say about him, of course, but if you check how the chapter struggles to conduct biz you'll get an idea about my man." Leaning forward the dwarf dropped his voice and said "If there had been any survivors of his 'solution' of the problems at Devil's corner, you could have asked the Cutters or the Stilettos, but....." Max's shrug spoke volumes.
Sitting back, the short stocky figure took a quick pull from the longneck in front of him before he continued "Why is he an independent? How the fuck do I know? Maybe it's cause he don't look like the steroid monsters you're using as protection." this was followed by a deliberate glare at the "hidden muscle" the fixer had set up in the bar. "Maybe he's not flashy enough or loud enough. Children runnin today like other children as loud as they are. Does it make a difference? He's capable. Tough, fast, guts. What more do you want?"
"I want to know what he does," the fixer replied. "I want to know how how does it. How much noise does he make? Can he be subtle? What kind of a butcher's bill is he going to leave at the scene? You say there were no survivors when he settled things between a gang or orcs and a gang of trolls. What did he use? Tactical nukes? I don't need the kind of attention" the man quickly outlined a star in the condensation that his uncoastered drink left on the table top "that mass destruction brings."
"Listen here, Sonny Jim," the dwarf responded with a dismissive gesture, "If I tell you this kid is what you need it ain't because I'm blowing smoke. I told you he doesn't have to make a lot of noise. He's very direct, very bottom line. If he can solve the problem with a com call that's exactly what he'll do. I just want you to understand that when it's needed, my boy WILL get the job done, even if it requires things get wet. His name is Sticks. He's a freakin Escrimador, ok?" Grimacing at the confusion on the norm's face, the dwarf growled "look it up" before continuing his description. "Augmented, so he's faster than spit with a handgun. He's 5'9, weighs 160. Filipino kid, 16-17 years old."
"Damn, Maxie, that IS a kid!" The fixer exploded indignantly, "You gettin me worked up over friggin sweet 16?! How the...."
"You know," the dwarf interrupted quietly, "When ya get old and retire, about all you have left is your memories. Like, I remember a kid, couldn't have been more than 17. Full a piss an vinegar this punk was, talkin about the injustice of ageism. 'Everybody wants experienced runners but nobody will give me a chance to get experience', he cried, 'it just so unfair'. Shook his fist at the world until he got a shot straphangin with an experienced team. Now, I don't want to say he crapped down his leg the first time out, but it didn't take him long to move over into the fixer's side of the biz. You have any memories like that?" Max challenged.
Greeted with an embarrassed silence the dwarf continued. "This punk I was talking about, well, he did real good on the other side of the biz. He networked all the time, built a good list of expert references. People he could trust to steer him in the right direction for whatever he needed. Built up quite a business. He made a pile of nuyen working hard and honest. Then, as the years went by and the business grew, he stopped dealing with folks who talked hard and straight up because they didn't show him enough respect. He started paying people who would tell him what he wanted to hear the way he wanted to hear it. Eventually he surrounded himself with a bunch who wouldn't say shit if they had a mouthful. He thought because they were expensive they must know what they were talking about and since they always agreed with him, they must be brilliant."
"Of course, they're right, he thought. Look at how successful I am. Look at how much money I've made. Look at all the stuff I've bought. I must be a genius." The dwarf leaned in and whispered "Only he wasn't a genius. He couldn't even recognize when an old friend threw him a life line to keep him from drowning in his own PR. Instead of thanking his old contact for a line on a new talent, he acted like someone was trying to take advantage of him. He was so caught up racing down the road of his self made myth that he couldn't read the big 'THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED" billboard. It's a shame."
As he rose the dwarf said "Sorry I wasted my time", and then left without a backward glance.
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
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