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Circe gathered her gear up from the run. The team members had left. Marcus remained behind, gathering up his C-4. He was the associate they had called.

“I noticed you don't carry a gun.” Marcus walked up to Circe. Circe looked over her shoulder and down at the dwarf, putting on a questioning face.

“Why would I? I don't need them to protect myself,” confusion etched into her features.

“Every one knows you Geek the mage first, and one of the ways you can identify the mage is because they don't carry weapons,” Marcus said matter-of-factly.

“Geek the mage first?!” Circe said with resolution. ”Alright Marcus, get me a gun.”

“Weapon,” Marcus corrected.

“Whatever.”

Some time later, Marcus and Circe meet at a mafia friendly firing range after hours.

“Hi Bruce, thanks for helping me out,” a hand was extended and taken in good spirits.

“You owe me one,” Bruce smiled, turning to leave. “Don't forget to lock up when you're done here.

“Will do,”

Both settled down in a couple of chairs and Marcus pulled out a gun from his holster.

“Okay, this is an Ares Predator. This is how you turn on the safety, and this is how you disengage it. Next thing you need to know is how to insert and remove the magazine, there is a small switch you sort of flip or push to release the magazine.” Marcus demonstrated a couple of times with an empty magazine

“Here,” he held out the gun to Circe.

She looked at the black metal gun with doubt. “And this will make me less conspicuous as a mage?”

“It will help,” Marcus offered it to her again. ”and if you are going to carry it then you need to know how to do it safely.”

“Okay.” Doubt filled her voice. She took the gun, surprised at its weight and flipped the safety on and off a couple of times, then moved to ejecting the magazine.

“Your grip is all wrong.” Marcus took the gun away and wrapped his hand around it carefully. “Do not keep your finger on the trigger; put your finger resting on the trigger guard. Also, keep your thumbs low; so that when your gun kicks back you don't take off your thumbs. See?” Circe nodded, and once again took the gun and carefully, almost painfully adjusted her grip correctly.

Marcus took the empty magazine and a box of regular rounds.

“Okay, next lesson. Loading the magazine, DO NOT DROPTHE BULLETS. If the butt end on the round,” He turned the bullet over in his fingers to show the slight indent on the bottom. “makes a solid enough impact it WILL go off,” he took the magazine and expertly slid a couple of bullets into it. “There is a difference between a clip and a magazine. A clip is part of the gun, while a magazine is something you remove and insert.” Circe's face went blank. “…On to loading.” Marcus knew when too much information, was too much. “It's just a matter of pressing the bullet down onto the spring,” he demonstrated a couple more times then handed a bullet to Circe.

She took the thing with uncertain fingers and moved to press the thing into the magazine. It slipped from her grasp and made its decent to the ground. Before
Marcus could make a move to catch it; it stopped and floated back up into Circe's waiting hand.

“Sorry.”

After a minute of careful concentration, Circe had loaded the magazine and slipped it back into gun with the safety on, Marcus's warnings.

“NEVER, point a loaded gun at something you don't intend to shoot. As far as hitting the target, keep both of your eyes open and point with the finger that is not on the trigger at the thing you want to shoot. Rest your fingertip on the trigger and pull straight back,” Marcus stood, took steady aim and squeezed off a few rounds at the target, successfully landing his shots.

“Your turn.” Circe took his spot and went through the short checklist out loud.

“Keep both eyes open, aim with the other finger, rest your finger tip and pull back.” A loud crack sounded in the air, and the target remained unscathed except for the previous marks.

“You're anticipating the recoil. Don't pay attention to how far the trigger is pulled back. Try again.”

This time she managed to nick the bottom part of the paper, still way off from good or even okay aim. “How was that?”

“It'll do.” Marcus took the gun back and put it into a holster and handed it all to her.

“Thanks for the lesson, if I can return the favor, just ask.” Circe took the new leather and packed it away into a bag.

Marcus waved the comment away as he locked up the doors. “Think nothing of it.”

“Well, the offer still stands,” Circe dropped a stunning smile his way.

Marcus and Circe left the firing range, going their separate ways down the dark street.

Circe lounged comfortably in a plush dinning chair, twirling a glass of red wine in one hand. Classical music gently floated in the air creating a well to do atmosphere as well as allowing dinners to converse mostly in private. Across from her an elf, Prof. Sherry Ashton, sat looking at her young friend.

Sherry: “You look troubled.” Sherry sat her glass down.

Circe: “Its nothing.” Circe took a delicate sip from her glass and placed it down on the table.

Sherry: “You know you can talk to me.”

Circe: “Honestly Sherry, I’m well.” Circe laughed.

Sherry: “Oh? How’s life on the outside?” She leaned over the table staring hard at her friend.

Circe: “Now stop that, its rude to stare and even worse to stare at someone astrally,” Circe sighed, “Honestly, it’s different. I’ve seem to have hooked up with this rag tag bunch of crooks,” she rolled her eyes. “I swear if I said finesse they’d look at me funny.”

Sherry: “So you’re having fun?” Sherry took a bite of her dinner.

Circe: “Fun?! I’ve been kicked from high society; my parents won’t talk to me anymore, I live in a rat hole and I associate with criminals, REAL criminals, and you ask me if I’m having fun?” Circe smiled into her glass, “Maybe a little.”

Sherry: Tucking a hair behind one pointed ear. “Good for you. Hey, thanks for the donation to the cause.”

Circe: “Don’t worry about it. It was the least I could do.” She waved it off with the flick of her wrist. “Hey, how are my parents?” she played it cool. Not looking up at Sherry.

Sherry: “They are all right. They don’t talk about you if that’s what your wondering.”

Circe: “I didn’t think they would.” She sighed, “Are they well?”

Sherry: “Still slaves to the corp. But they live good lives.”

Circe: “That’s good I guess.” She let out another sigh and took a sip of wine. “You’d think I had killed some one, the way they act. At least it wasn't trure, then. Are you ready for dessert?”

Sherry: “Oh I couldn’t, have to watch my girlish figure.”

Circe: “Oh come on, dinners on me. I’m paying for it with my hard EARNED nuyen. The least you can do is let me get us something rich and decedent. Like REAL chocolate cake!”

Sherry: “Oh all right. But I want the most expensive thing on the menu!”

Circe: Laughing. “You’ve got it! Oh waiter...”

“Sorry I missed the party. Work got in the way.” Circe handed Sherry a credstick under the table as they sipped wine. “How’s the project going?”
Every week, Circe and her old Mage Professor would get together and chat.
“Pretty good,” the woman slipped the stick into her purse, “Susie, my latest find, is a bit like you.”
Circe laughed, “Clever, bold, creative?”
“Try stubborn, willful, and mischievous. I don’t think she’s going to take to the hermetic way.”
“I’m sure you can find her a shaman. Has her totem made its self known?”
The woman shook her head, “No. but if I was to hazard a guess, I’d say cat.”
“You would know oh wise woman of magic,” Circe teased.
“Now now!” Sherry wagged a finger at her.
Circe laughed and took another sip of wine, “How long have you been taking young magi’s off the street anyway?”
“I’d say about four years now.”
“I hope you’re not turning them into mage slaves.” Circe frowned into her glass.
“No, the thought did cross my mind, but with your gracious donations, I haven’t had to turn to corporation funding.”
“Good, little Susie shouldn’t be subjected to that. What looks good today, fresh fish or perhaps delicious Caesar salad?”
“I think I’m going with the shrimp,” the women picked up their menus.
“Anything interesting at work?” Sherry looked over the top.
“Not really, did the ritual just like I was told. There was some opposition from a few groups and some roach spirits.” Circe mumbled from behind the screen.
“Roach spirits!” Circe winced from her hiding place.
“Keep it down!” she glanced covertly around the room, “besides, we took care of it. The little bastards are as good as squished.”
“The one thing you need to remember, Taressa Miller, is that bug spirits are no joke.”
Circe dropped the menu. “It’s Circe now Sherry, and trust me they are dead. Remember that doll? Well it had something to do with it,” she picked up the menu, “Stupid bitch nearly got us killed though.”
“I’m having the fish,” she announced, “what about you?”
Reluctantly Sherry Aston picked up her menu. “Caesar sounds good to me.”

“I’m telling you Sherry, it was creepy,” Circe was too wound to pay any attention to her finely prepared steak. “I don’t like the whole ‘It will steal your soul’ bit, at all. And Gamblor and Tex are pushing to get the thing stolen. It just didn’t seem right.” Sherry listened patiently, “and when I had to disrupt the ghost, I almost felt bad.”

“You felt bad? As in guilty?” Sherry raised an eyebrow.

“I said I ALMOST felt badly. To be honest, I’m more worried that the ghost was right,” jamming the fork into her steak, she sawed it into pieces. “So ANYWAY, how was your day?”

“Well,” Sherry put her wine down, “Susie is DEFINETLY a cat shaman. I found her tormenting her fellow students with illusions of monsters last night. When I asked her what she was doing, she said the cat made her do it,” she rubbed her temples. “I need to find a Cat shaman.” Sherry glanced up with a gleam in her eye, “Would you help me?”

“Sorry, I don’t know any Cat shamans.”

“No, would you teach her?”

Circe stopped chewing, “Me?” she choked on her bite. “But you said it yourself, the girl is a Cat.”

“I know that. Just help her with all the Shaman stuff that I don’t understand.” Sherry waved the air as she thought. “Like Spirits, I may know the fundamentals but its nothing like actually summoning one.”

“Sherry, I don’t think I’m the most, “Circe cautiously searched for the right word, “‘qualified’ person to be around kids, if you know what I mean.”

“This could work!” Sherry put down her fork. “You could come over to the shelter house every once in awhile and give her pointers while I search for a Shaman!” Circe sighed as she watched her friend gear up. “And you could help her with her “control” of the more “interesting” aspects of being a Shaman!” she whispered excitedly across the table.

“When you say “control” and “interesting”, I’m guessing you’re referring to the negative aspects of being “animalistic”, such as petty theft and an almost obsessive love for shiny objects?” Circe teased her old friend.

Leaning back satisfied, Sherry smiled, “Exactly.”

“You’re not going to let me leave this table until I agree, are you?” Circe sipped her wine.

“Nope,” her smug friend replied.

“Fine…” Circe set down her glass carefully.

“That’s great!”

“… On SEVERAL conditions.”

“Oh?”

“I chose when, I’ll try to keep it to day time hours. I chose how, no questioning my methods. And you provide a second empty room that no one is allowed into but us Shamans. Can you handle that?”

“A second room? We barely have the space as it is.” Sherry protested.

“I’m guessing you have a hermetic library for your young Mages. Your Shaman is going to need a lodge just for her; it doesn’t have to be big. No more then a very small bedroom, and when you find her a place, its simple enough to move and you have your room back. More important, no room no me,” copying her friends earlier smug look, Circe sat back in her chair swirling her glass.

Sherry sat quietly for a minute thinking it over, “Fine, but ONLY because I like you.” She smiled.

“Alright, I will be there when next I’m free. I’ve got a run coming up. If I survive, I’ll see about spending a day getting to know your little Susie cat.

“Don’t take too long, I don’t think my lecture about not tormenting little Tom worked.” Sherry rolled her eyes.

“I’m surprised at you Sherry,” Circe smiled her mischievous smile, “Of all people; you should know that Cats torment their enemies before slaying them. That little boy of yours is probably giving her drek.”

Sherry picked up her glass, “Oh, I know. But try explaining that to an 11 year old boy.”

Circe raised her glass in salute, “Touché.”

DOWN KITTY


“Cats are better,” said the little red haired girl with deep green, cat like eyes. Circe sighed again, looked down her,
“Susie, it’s not about whose totem is better. You should respect everyone’s totem. Those are the rules. Some of them are fickle and tend to hold grudges and believe me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of something like that.”
“Cats are still better,” mumbled the little girl, folding her arms over her chest. Suddenly the girl’s feet whisked out from under her. She let out a small gasp and a calm Circe raised her high in the air, upside down. “You can’t even defend yourself from a simple attack,” slowly the girl went higher and closer till they were eye to eye, “So unless you can out-spell me, you will learn to play nice. Claws in, little kitty.” Circe easily disbelieved the big monster that popped up in front of her, “and stop that, too. It hasn’t worked the last three hundred times; it’s not going to work now,” Lowering her closer to the ground, Circe let her fall the last half meter in an unceremonious heap.
“Ouch!”
“Now as I was saying, you need to learn to control those little impulses of yours. This obsessive need to be spotlessly clean is starting to drive me nuts.” Circe sat back down, crosslegged. “They can get the better of us if we let them,” she motioned for the girl to take a seat as well.
“I might get my pants dirty,” Susie looked at the dusty floor with disdain.
“What happens if you’re stuck in some dank place, your life on the line, and your only way out is through a dirty tunnel? Are you going to sit there and wait for death? Sit down,” Circe watched the internal struggle rage across the girl's face before she gingerly eased herself to the dirty ground. Outside the closed door, kids could be heard playing, feet stomping over old floor boards. Susie looked at them wistfully, wishing to join them in their fun.
“Alright, let’s go over this again. You are a Shaman, do you remember what the difference between Hermetic and Shaman is?” Circe waited patiently for the answer.
“Ummm,” the little girl began hesitantly, “we have animal friends and they don’t?”
Circe couldn’t help but smile, “Close. We call our magic through inspiration through our Animal nature, or totem. A totem can mean different things to different Shamans. To me it is a way of living, a wild side that is expressed through a particular animal. To another Shaman it could mean that they believe an animal spirit directs everything they do. Sort of like a guide. Hermetic believe in the power of mathematics and formulas, not inspiration. When a shaman bends magic, you can almost always count on it never being the same way twice.”
Little Susie looked at her helplessly lost. Seeing the expression, Circe eased off the ground. “Let me show you,” she moved to the door and opened it a crack; she snagged the oldest kid running by her and yanked him into the room.
“What’s the big idea?!” he demanded.
“An experiment, do you know levitate?”
“We aren’t allowed to do magic without supervision,” he challenged.
“I’M supervision, kid. Do you know the spell or not?”
“Yea, I know it.”
“Good,” Circe turned to Susie, “I want you to watch, in astral at the magic as he weaves it.” Susie nodded and after a few faces and a serious look of concentration, has switched to astral perception.
“Okay, float me,” she told the boy. Slowly she rose off the ground and hovered, “Alright, put me down,” her feet descended to the floor, “Can you do it again?”
“I think so,”
“Then do so, a few more times if you can manage it.”
After a few more lifts Circe turned to Susie, “Always the same. He gathers the magic due to a specific formula and weaves it together in the same way, every time,” her attention fell on the boy again, “Do you mind if I lift you?” he smiled and nodded. Circe saw the magic surrounding everything, saw its form and temperament, and with the part of her that let her see it, shaped it around the boy, causing it to lift him with a gentle cloud under his feet. Putting him down, she did it again, this time roping him with mana lifting him from above, like a puppet. And the third she surrounded him in a bubble, letting him rise, encased in a balloon. Each shift, was automatic to her, it was what felt best at the moment. She let the boy down and turned to Susie, “Do you see?”
“Yeah,” the little girl nodded vigorously, “that was cool.”
“So endith the lesson for today,” Circe opened the door for the two kids, “Go play little kitty.”
Susie hoped up and dusted off her pants with extreme care and then streaked out the door, clumping across the hall to the waiting mages below.

Meeting your match.... not a good time

BANDITS BANE

“It’s official; we’ve got a serious problem.” Tex hadn’t picked up the phone but Circe kept talking anyway, “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that, except for you of course.” She paced the confines of her room, “And that mage! I sent some major and nasty mojo his way. You know what he did? Shrugged it off! Like it was gentle breeze!”

Rainbows dancing on the walls were cast from the multitude of crystals hanging from her window. The patterns rippled over her features, which were drawn with concern.
“Bruce said he was asking about us, that mage. Nothing more then a stupid Rat anyway, stupid pointy nose and twitchy eyes... A damned strong rat, still a rat though. He’s always got a way out.” Pausing in front of a mirror, Circe ran a smoothing hand through a bit of tussled hair. It stubbornly refused to stay in place. Her agitation stirred up the mana and her hair crackled with static. “We’ve got to do something about him you know… and that gunslinger too. Call me.” She hit the bottom, ending the call.

Hesitating slightly over the key pad, she dialed another number. “Hank? Hi handsome. I’m fine, how about you? I called ‘cause I need a favor. Yes yes, I’m sure I can find some way to make it up to you,” Circe rolled her eyes and smiled. “I need you to look up a name. Sterling Walsh. Yup, Walsh, with an ‘L’. Get back to me when you have something and we’ll discuss payment. Thanks handsome.” The line went dead with a click and a dial tone.

Circe made her way to the mirror, examining her features. In the reflection, she saw herself but seated next to her on the dresser was Raccoon. It looked up at her, crooning soothing noises.

Written by the Player of Tex, the gun slinging mystic adept, and one bad ass dwarf. For those of you who don't know, Sock is Tex's horse who is now also his ally spirit.

*Exasperated sigh* Cowbows

HOME ON THE RANGE


Raymond threw his hands up in exasperation. Circe rubbed her wrist, worn from an hour's worth of shooting at the makeshift firing range that Raymond had set up. "Look, you ain't got bad habits, but you ain't got good habits neither." Socks was already setting up the next set of targets, holding the paper printouts in his mouth. A pair of telekinetic hands floated each target to its position with a thumb-tack. While each target was peppered with holes, most of them were quite off the mark.

"I don't understand why I have to draw this weapon and fire. Can't I just aim and shoot and get better at my aim?" Circe said with a sigh, and a slight groan as she hit a sore spot on her wrist. The 0.50 caliber Ares Predator, even with its patented recoil compensation systems, was still quite a beast.

"Now when are you gonna ever be able to just 'stand and shoot' at a target? Hrm? Not in our line of work. At least you are firing with both eyes open. You just need to relax a bit more... no wait, that's not the word. Listen..." Circe had to squat down to get to eye-level with Raymond.

"When you fire a gun, you look like you expect it to explode in your hands."

"Well, it kinda is, Tex." Circe said with a flicker of a smile.

"I know. But instead of anticipating it, you have to just take it, and move on to your next shot. I know that you've heard all that drek about being 'one with the gun' and all that, but it's true. Shootin' a gun isn't just a set of unrelated steps that you put together like a cake recipe. It's one fluid motion. And drawing your gun is part of that motion." Raymond turned toward the range resting his hands on the wood pillar next to him as he stared at the targets from 5 to 30 meters away.

"Like spellcasting?" Circe looked at him, a bit baffled.

"Sort of... look, I have an idea. Fire off another clip, starting from the 'safe' position again, and I'll be right back." Raymond quickly ran inside to his telecom, while Circe sighed and fired off another clip of ammunition, again missing her marks more often than she hit.

When Raymond emerged with a fresh stack of printed targets, Socks and Circe walked up to him. He pulled up the top one on the stack, and Circe laughed. On the usual target was a black and white cartoon of Neil the Ork Barbarian, but instead of the signature ax and furs, it was wearing what appeared to be a poorly-drawn rat head and a rat tail, along with trid parodies of a typical shaman's gear, festooned with all sorts of fetishes and crystals.

"What in the world is that, Tex?" Circe said, her hand covering her mouth while she laughed.

"This... is our friend, the Rat Shaman." Raymond smiled and handed them over to Socks, who promptly started to hang them up.

"Now, this time, same drill, except that you get to use the whole clip on that 5 meter target." Raymond leaned back against the wall of his house while Circe set herself up in the starting position. She had a determined look and a wry smile as she put on the firing glasses and loaded her Predator with a new clip.

"Alright, ready? Go!"

After the gunfire stopped and Circe put down her weapon, Raymond squinted and examined the target. Socks pulled the target down and happily trotted up to Circe with it in his mouth while Raymond walked up to her.

"Erm, good consistency that time. Except, next time, aim a little higher, okay? The killzone is in the chest, not, umm, there..." Raymond pointed at the tight grouping of shots that left a hole where Neil the Ork Barbarian's loincloth used to be.

LIVE AND LET DIE



Circe’s stood stunned, shock evident in her wide eyes. The sound of two blasts from a gun still rang sharply in her ears. Pain blossomed from her back. Twisting as she fell, she saw the troll gunslinger holding the smoking pistols. The world went dark as she hit the ground. Circe would see no more.


………………………



“I’ve got a job for you,” her fixer’s said over the phone, “It’s the only way to get back in the good graces of the Don after that last screw up. You’ll be working with another team.”

The meet site was at an old rest stop station slash diner. Strolling in, Circe saw her team mate, Bruce, sitting calmly at one of the tables. The troll looked up and greeted her with a smile as she sat down. The Johnson was looking rather bored over at a different table, jacked in.

The door slammed open. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
Looking up she saw the Rat shaman. She jumped up, ready for a magical onslaught.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”

The Johnson looked from one to the other, “Oh good, you all know each other. That saves me from making any introductions.


Hours later found them all at a mansion. Tex had been paired off with the Rat shaman and their rigger, while Circe, Bruce and the Troll gunslinger were the other. With very little resistance they managed to make their way onto the grounds. There they split up.

“I can’t open doors,” Circe looked at the trolls, “Can you?” They both shook their heads. “Looks like we are headed up then,” Circe gripped Bruce’s back while he climbed the two stories with ease.

“I can’t open window’s either,” she said after they all stared at the glass a moment. Bruce simply put his fist through it. Sirens went off and shutters slammed down, but not before Bruce could stop one enough for Circe to wiggle through. With a few well placed blows the shutter came off and the two trolls were through. Yelling could be heard from out side the door and Circe tossed up a barrier spell. “Bruce.”

Immediately the giant pounded away at the wall opposite to make them a new door. Behind them, the Gunslinger’s eyes glazed over, then drew his guns and fired. Circe was his target.

Circe’s stood stunned, shock evident in her wide eyes. The sound of two blasts from a gun still rang sharply in her ears. Pain blossomed from her back. Twisting as she fell, she saw the troll gunslinger holding the smoking pistols. The world went dark as she hit the ground. Circe would see no more.


..........................................


Beep.

Sheeeeck.

Beep.

Sheeeeck.

Beep.

Sheeeeck.


A small figure lay in a cold white bed. Machines all around kept what little was left of her alive. Her chest rose and fell with the steady almost not natural, breaths. Sherry sat next to her friend, clutching a cold hand in a grip.
“They say you might pull through,” she talked, hoping her friend could hear, “Susie made you a card.”
Sherry sat the card down on the end table. A picture of a raccoon and cat sat together levitating a boy. The ink had blotches where little tears had fallen.
The woman simply lay there.
“I made them leave you’re raccoon tail in you’re hair. They didn’t understand, but when I threatened with magical force, they let it go.” Sherry ran a hand through a purple strand of hair. “I’m going to be back tomorrow, okay?” No response. Sherry stood and left quietly with only a single glance back.

If Circe had other visitor’s she did not know it.

Written by Tex's player

HAZY RECOLLECTIONS


Bruce the Braggert Troll

"... and then that mean Cowboy dude opened fire on you, totally blowing a can of whup-ass up your, umm, nose. Actually, more like your chest. I had a sucking chest wound once, but it was far worse than the ones you had, bleeding out all over the place. They had to drag me out of the ring, and patch me up, it was so bad. Then I came back and won the match. Afterwards, we had pancakes. I could sure use some pancakes right about
now. Oh, anyway, so I punched the dude, but he was wearing that military grade power armor, the kind that all those Trid Anime cartoons have, so I only hurt him a little, then ninjas jumped out of the sky and tried to slash at me, but luckily I got a platelet factory installed last month, so it only hurt a little. I grabbed you and leaped out of the 10 story window, landing on my feet and then I took off running. There must've been at least 20 Eurocar Westwinds chasing after us..."

''"Umm, Mr. Troll, erm, could you stop talking for a bit? She needs to
get her rest, even though she's heavily sedated."''

"Oh, sure nurse lady. You know, this one time, I knew this one nurse who was in a dump way worse than this, and ..."

''*exasperated sigh*''
----

Hank the Gunslinger Adept

"Hey, it looks like yer gonna make it, kiddo. I don't know if you can
hear me, being asleep and all, but I'm glad yer gonna pull through. I plum almost knocked myself out tryin' to patch up yer chest wounds, there. Looks like that Troll Bastard, erm, not Bruce, the other Cowboy... I reckon he did a number on ya. But I have a surprise for ya when yer awake. Actually, two surprises. I brought this here commlink with a trid screen so that you can talk to Socks, if you'd like."

''*whinny* Hi, lady! It's too bad they don't let horses in the ICU.
*pause*
Why do they call it "I See You"? I mean, the only way I can see you is through this electronic thingummy''

"Oh, hush, Socks. She's really hurt, and needs professional help. The Mafia Don, he's gonna take real good care of ya. I guess it's like that old Flatvid movie, The Godfather... you do a favor fer the Godfather, he does a favor for you. Anyway, the other surprise is that I managed to take out the Rat on my end, at the guesthouse. Done plugged him with a couple of holes in the brainpan. Yer lucky that Troll Gunslinger didn't do the same to yer head, too."

''*crackle of static* Erm, Tex? What if that Rat managed to, umm, rat you out? I mean it did happen about the same time in the mission, right? The Rat shaman could have told the Troll that you double-crossed him.''

"Erm, shut up Socks. *clicks the trid off* Umm, anyway, yeah. The Rat Shaman is dead. I shot him in the head twice. No way he could have warned that Troll. Nope, no siree. Umm. Yeah, you need to get your rest. I'll be going now.

*hastily runs off*"
----

Hank the undercover cop

"Heya, gorgeous. It's me, Hank. I brought you some flowers. They aren't real, sadly, but the doctors won't let me bring live flowers to your room. Anyway, looks like they have you hooked up and snowed under with lots of drugs real well. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. At first, Tex wouldn't tell me where you were at, seeing as you were wanted by the feds and all, but I managed to convince him eventually. He seems a bit troubled about something. *shrugs* The doctors say you are doing remarkably well for the amount of trauma that you had. Two wounds directly into the lungs, and they told me that the bullets just missed your heart and spine.
You have that big Troll man to thank, for getting you out of there...
what was his name, Bruce? That guy can talk and talk for hours, I swear. Anyway, I'll be back later. You get better, okay?"

DAZED AND CONFUSED

“Ouch,” Circe’s first coherent thought was of pain. “Why do I hurt?”
Beep.
“What’s that noise?” carefully she opened her eyes to the world around her.

White walls.

Beep.

White lights.

Beep Beep.

A white woman in white cloths. “You’re awake.”

Circe looked up at the woman with glazed eyes. “I’m in hell aren’t I?”
The nurse laughed, “No, you’re at St. Anthony’s Hospital.”
“Hell,” Circe croaked. The nurse took no offense and just kept checking the monitors and charts.
“What am I doing here?” she thought. Glancing about, she saw silk flowers on the table beside her, a small paper card, and a commlink with a picture of Socks attached to it. She was alone in the room. Given the fact that she was a wanted felon, she couldn’t understand how she could warrant simstar treatment in a hospital.

Right now the question really didn’t matter, all she wanted was water. Her throat burned from the tubes they had removed not long ago. The words were firmly in her mind, but when she took a deep breath to ask for water, pain shot through her lungs and the air shot out in short barking coughs.
“Careful, we just patched those back up for you.” The nurse poured a cup of water and moved to her side, “here, drink slow.” Circe reached for the cup and noticed the IV’s stuck in her arm for the first time. Her eyes became fixed on the needles protruding from her flesh; all she could do was stare. The nurse gently touched her shoulder and she shook off the awe, “It’s the drugs, you’re going to feel a little out of it for awhile. But not to worry, we are dialing down the doses. Getting you off this stuff” She carefully put the cup in Circe’s hand. “Drink, you need it.”
The cool water soothed her throat as it slid down, but hit her empty stomach like a stone and she gagged.
The nurse took the cup and rubbed her back, “Easy, you’ve been out of it for about a week.”
“A week?!” she asked between the spasms, “I’ve been unconscious for a week?”

“No, you’ve regained conscious a few times, but I dare say you weren’t coherent enough to remember. Not to mention, you’ve been so hopped up on drugs I doubt a troll could have remembered anything.” Tossing the cup I the waist bin, the woman turned back to Circe, “Quiet frankly, I’ve read your charts, I don’t know how you could have survived those bullet wounds.”
The fog lifted over Circe’s mind and she remembered seeing the troll as she fell. “Oh right….”
“In other news, you’re friends keep visiting. One woman comes every day, you just missed her. She was really insistent about that fox tail you have in your hair.”
“Raccoon,” Circe corrected absently. The light from the window was streaming in, and the bag of fluids above her head was shining from it.
“Then there was a big guy, a troll,” she jotted down a few more notes, “He nearly drove the RN crazy with his talking.” The lady shook her head amused. “Then there was the Dwarf. He was kinda jumpy about giving up his weapons at the door, but hospital policy….”
The bag twisted slightly in a draft and caught the light a different way. Circe’s eyes glossed over.
“… He ran out of here pretty fast that first time…..” The nurse walked to the door and looked back, “Oh and the cutie that brought you the flowers, has been in a couple times. Get some rest, I’ll be back to check on you later.”
“Huh?” Circe looked over to see the nurse exit. Not yet ready to lose her self to the black yet, she looked for a source of entertainment. The remote offered mind numbing promises, but when she picked it up, it give off a small shower of sparks and refused to work again. That only left the commlink and she hoped she wouldn’t blow that out. Shorting out a few times, a resounding smack brought it back on line and the horses long countenance greeted her in an equine grin.
“Hi! You’re awake! How do you feel?”
“Like I got shot twice in the back,” Circe looked around the room for ease droppers, “Socks, I’ve got a question for you.” “Yea?”



“What happened after we were double crossed?”

Circe sat on a purple rock listening to the sound of sunset. To her human ears it sounded of hollow woodwinds and the most gentle of violins. As the last rays sank behind the curve of the world, the woodwinds became more shrill and eerie. Circe stood and dusted off her much mended cloths before heading into her cave.

She laid down on a bed of furs every color of the rainbow and stared up at the cave ceiling to a carpet of moss that cycled it's glow through every color she could see and a few she could only seem to feel. This was her home, had been for the past five years. In 2058 Circe had made a very critical error when dealing with a cursed and very malicious magical urn. It had pulled her into a Metaplane, body and all.

She believed it to be a meta plane of music and life. Everything made a sound. The moss above her gave off the most delicate of hums, each tone changing in regards to the color it gave off. Every plant gave off notes of one kind or another. The faintest of breezes was like a breathy flute or a thunder storm crashing of drums and cymbals. Rocks were the only thing that gave no sounds of their own, instead seemed to absorb them, amplify them and then send them back out into the world in complex symphonies. Even now, the rocks hummed back the previous notes of the moss.

Everything made music, everything accept her. She was the silence. Her passing created no harmonies, not even discords. She was a phantom in this world. Long ago she had surmised it was because she existed in only one plane as opposed to all the creatures who lived in the world that lived in both. The astral and the physical. When she had first arrived it was all so confusing. She had seen creatures that seemed to have bits missing. Legs, arms or wings, she had even seen a headless creature once. When she had dared a peak into the astral, there they were, bodies that seemed to float before were actually walking on astral limbs. One particular creature was nothing but a blob of body, only it's heart and major organs kept it tethered to the physical world. it's legs, wings and head existed solely in astral space. It ate the essence of it's prey, stalked them and then drained them dry of life energy. The one thing these creatures did not have, were eyes. Not like the eyes Circe had. The ones that registered light or even inferred. There was no need. What they had were ears or organs to sense vibration. They never “saw” Circe. They would walk right by her as if she did not stand next to them. She never went hungry. Hunting was easy when the prey never ran away. It was eerie, nothing she did made a sound. If she threw a rock in a lake, it did not make a cur-plop like it should. When she passed through grass, there was nothing. It was as if the grass didn't even realize she had gone through.
It took less then half a year for her to snap. She spent the next week screaming at anything till she could scream no more. It was one thing to live in a paradise. Quiet another to live in paradise and not be recognized as living. Once she recovered her senses, she made due. She had her routines and schedules. They helped to keep her sane.

The sun rose on another day and Circe was up with it. She washed up and made her breakfast and dumping out the garbage when the sound of shattering glass erupted behind her. Circe dove for a rock and only when her heart stopped threatening to burst did she peak around. Looking confused and a little wobbly was a painted horse. His panting created little whistling melodies like you would hear from a kazoo.
“Circe?” it called out. Then it pranced around in the other direction. “Circe?”
It couldn't be, not here. “Socks?” Circe stood up from her hiding spot. “Is it you?”
“Oh thank Tex I found you!!” he swung around on his hind legs and thrust his large palomino nose at her. Circe gratefully grabbed his neck in a crushing hug. “Oh my God! I can't believe you found me!!”
“Sorry I'm late, but you were really lost! I'm not even sure where this is... but I can get you home. We have to go now though.” Socks pranced about impatiently on his hooves. “Get on!” With out hesitation or question, Circe swung herself up and took up the reigns. “I've never ridden before so be ge....TLE!!” Before she could finish her sentence, socks took off in a thunder of hooves. Literally. Every creature for miles stopped to look up at the new sound.
“Socks!! Socks!! SOCKS! Slow down!” Circe clung on for dear life.
“I can't, have to go faster!!” He lowered his head and picked up his already ground eating pace.
“We can't go this way, it's toward the cliffs”
“I know!”
“What?!”
“I said... I know!!” Socks was puffing, his breath coming out in billowing bagpipes.

Nothing heard Circe as she let out a blood curdling scream as Socks hurled himself over the edge, but everything heard the sounds of exploding glass as Socks broke through the barriers between worlds.
Circe landed in a pile of scrap and odd bits of machinery. The first thing coming into her vision was a large creature. She reacted completely on instinct. She tossed up the fastest barrier spell ever in her life. “Socks... where are we?”
“You're home.”
“No this can't be home and where is Tex?”
“Tex died.” Sock hung his head in grief.

“Excuse me,” said the thing in the bubble.

Both Socks and Circe looked over.

A fly beat relentlessly on the force one physical barrier Circe had threaded through her sustaining focus surrounding her bed. A matching force 3 astral barrier stood guard as well. Dr. Pie had muttered something about the building being haunted. “Ghosts,” she muttered, “who has ever heard of such a thing.”

Sitting up in her bed, her knees drawn to her chest. The blanket tossed haphazardly at the end of the bed she considered her new situation. Lagos. She was in Lagos in the year 2072. It hadn't been the five years she had lived, it had been thirteen. The only thing she had of her old life was what she had worn on her that fateful day. That and Tex's old revolvers and his dusty cowboy hat.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap......

She had managed to get herself involved in a run the very first day she had made it back. The creature in the bubble had turned out to be a rigging ork who was on her way to a meeting. The neighbor had come over to get a look at her claiming she was a dimensional rift traveler. It seemed his thing was dealing with “ghosts”. When she had peaked at the astral at him he was a “groggy” only dealt with spirits and not spells. “No wait... they don't call them that any more... aspected.” Next had come the sharp shooting medic and a cybered man who had an odd affinity with technology. Circe would have sworn he was Otaku but he was a grown man, not a child. Fading should have taken him out of that game ages ago.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap......

The Matrix was gone. Cyberdecks replaced by commlinks. She hadn't even known what she'd found when she had found one at the sight of an attack, broken and covered in blood. No more data jacks. Now everyone walked around talking to the air, not just the truly dedicated.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap......


Circe's eyes shifted with out her moving and there was a small explosion as it dropped from the sky in a tiny ball of fire.

And to top it off, something was wrong. Very wrong. It had happened only once, but it had been frightening.

“That was a bit excessive, don't you think?” a soft voice rang out in the silence. Circe shifted her gaze to the floor where a large black stripped mammal stood. It sniffed at the chard remains before looking back up. “First you wanted things to notice you and now you want them all to go away.”

“When did you start talking to me?” Circe swung her feet over the edge of the bed and ran her hands through her hair, the white stripes blazing in the dark.

“Well since you started believing that your totem was more then just an ideal and actually a totem.” It sat down on its hunches. “I am what my followers believe I am. When you thought me as nothing more then an idea, that's all I was to you. But you've changed since you went off the grid.” it sniffed the air in Circe's direction. “You've gotten a little dark.” Circe looked up through her stripped hair. “I rather like that look on you.”

“I'm fine.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
“It didn't last long. And it wasn't that bad.”
“What did you think would happen when you got back from residing on a meta plane for five years? That you would be exactly as you were before? That it wouldn't rub off on you in some way?” it asked quietly and with out judgment. It was almost kind.

“Is there a point to your visit?” she tossed her hair back and glared down at it. It stood up and cocked its head at her. “Nope.”
Circe scrubbed at her eyes wearily. When she looked back up she was once again alone in the room.

“Shedim are spirits who inhabit the bodies of the dead and in some cases the bodies of astrally projecting mages. First reported appearences in 2061 ...”

“Missed that one by three years.” Circe muttered.

The voice droned on in Circe's ears as she strove to catch up with the last 13 years on earth. She had spend almost all the money she had earned updating herself. Commlink had to be purchased. The smart links in the revolvers had to be updated and slaved through the new bit of tech. The glasses had been the hardest to find here in remote Lagos. And then she had to update her knowledge. So much had happened. The Surge, the Crash, and Hank getting married and subsequently divorced. That one had surprised her. He had two daughters now, twins. Susie, the young cat shaman, Circe had once tutored was now only four years younger then Circe herself and helping Sherry run the Home for Young Wayward Mages and Shamans. Circe had smiled over that. Before it had only been for mages. It seemed Susie had had something to say about that. She felt it best to leave them alone. She knew Tex was dead and gone, but she had no idea where the others were.

“Stop play back and search ShadowTalk. Keyword Buster.” Circe said to her commlink. “There are no entries for Buster,” said her commlink back to her.

“Bah.” Circe paced her room a minute. Newly acquired crystals hung shimmering in her window and she reached out and sent them swinging on their strings. Light flashed around the room. The window showed the strip of Vegas outside thanks to her new programs and glasses

“Search ShadowTalk. Keyword Team Ninja”
“14 entries found.”
“First entry.”
“Team Ninja was a Shadowrun team based in Las Vegas, Nevada. Their recorded run list included...”
“Stop play back.” Circe stripped the glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose.

She walked out of her room and into the one next door. The lodge she had set up enveloped her in it's comfortable signature. Dr. Pie, the one she was staying with in his abandoned firehouse, the “Ghostbuster”, hadn't been so keen on the idea. Damned groggy hermetic.

“They're out there. Not all of them. Certainty not Tex. But some of them are still out there” said an increasingly familiar voice. Circe looked to the center of the room. Raccoon was sniffing at a large geode. “Pretty.”

“Now what?” Circe sighed heavily.
Raccoon reared up on its hind legs and seemed to grow taller then the room. “Respect, little one.” it's eyes flashed with power. Circe merely put her hands on her hips and stared back. Raccoon shrank back down to size and flopped onto all fours once more. “And that is why I picked you. Such gumption. Though a good raccoon knows when to run up a tree.”
“And then get shot by the hunter. I once saw Where the Red Fern Grows. That didn't end well for many a raccoon.”
“Yes... well...” Raccoon pondered that a moment. “How's the attacks?”
“Better. Less frequent.”
“Good Good. Can't have you breaking down after the effort it took to get you out of there.” Raccoon pawed a small glass figure and it disappeared somewhere in it's fur. “That newly made free spirit was a lot of help in freeing you.”
“Why *did* you get me out of there?”
“Tut tut. Now what kind of totem would I be if I reveled all my tricks?”

Circe threw her hands up in the air and cast her eyes to the ceiling. “What is it with....” she looked down to find herself alone. “...totems.” she took a quick survey of the room and it was indeed empty.
“Will you stop doing that?!” Just a hint of laughter grazed her ears.

A little back story. We are a group of individuals who play from WA, CA, and IN via Ventrillo and a whiteboard program. Well our GM has been whispering "separate" secret missions for each person. Well this time, the GM decided that I should try and kill the contact of the Johnson we were supposed to meet. Well he decided to do that to all the other players as well, but they also received simple missions like "deliver this package" stuff that was oooo.. possible... So I let blew off some steam at the GM by berating one of his avatars. Yewande, leader of the Daughters of Yemaja who is also magically active. Enjoy.


Circe pushed her way through the door to the protests of the guards outside. She tossed a small metal object through the air and it landed with a clink and slid across the table where it came to a swift stop under the palm of Yewande. Yewande lifted her palm to find a small bullet resting there.

“Who else did you send to kill Kanto? Valkris? Captain Jack? Dr. PIE? The Nurse?” Circe marched in and put both hands on the table and leaned over to stare down at the diminutive dwarf. Yewande looked up with serenity but the air crackled with their combined magic.

“You're not fooling me. You have agenda's just like everyone. You might hide behind your holier then thou rhetoric, but it's all been done before and on a larger scale.”

Yewande simply listened as Circe continued her stream of angry words. “You don't send five individuals, working their own agendas, to kill a man.” Circe sized up the woman sipping on her tea. “It's amateurish. You want a wetwork done, you go about it the proper way.” She stabbed a finger in the air. “If we're working against each other, nothing gets done. As it is we are barely a functioning team. Only Captain Jack, and I'm putting this loosely, seems to have the intelligence of a seasoned runner. The others have been sucked in. There's an old saying and it's made even older considering my origin. A good team is run with Suspicion, but a great team is run with Trust. And how am I supposed to trust them when you are having them run in circles to full fill your agendas! It's ludicrous!” Circe swiped the teapot off the table with a flick of her mind. Blue static licking the table where it had rested. “You might be some high and mighty wise woman, but I'm a pissed off shadowrunning cold blooded killer shaman with experience in the meta planes. It would be wise to remember that.” Circe straightened and turned on her heel, stalking out the way she had come in.

Yewande looked down on the pot and in an instance it moved in reverse through time to repair it's self and then set it's self right on the table. A curtain behind her barely ruffled as a young Lagosian woman stepped out from behind it. She fiddled with a dagger. “I could take care of her.”

Yawande sipped from her tea. “Easy Asa, the only reason she did not detect your presence was due to her agitation.” they conversed in Yoruba. “And you still have much to learn. And she is right about one thing. She is a cold blooded killer. You are still young.”

“She can't move as fast as I can.” Asa grumbled. “Patience Asa, she can still be of use.” Yawande pushed the teapot to her. Asa picked it up with practice. “This time I would like the Red Rooibos blend.”