Jan 18 20:05:07 109 PA - Ivory Intelligence, Silver Fork

From Chronicles

Jan 18 20:05:07 109 PA.

SILVER FORK

Gabriel is standing near the entry to the Silver Fork, dressed casually, but with his greatcoat held in one arm. The weather continues to be horrific with rain and wind pounding those outside, thus necessitating that kind of gear. He waits for the other member of his party, chatting quietly with the maitre de.

Fizzlesnoot shows up for the dinner invitation, freshly cleaned suit. It had been looking a bit shabby the past few weeks. Of course this is only noticed when the makeshift weather gear is removed and tucked away into his bag. "Hello Mr. Blaze." he greets in a good to see you friendly sort of way.

As soon as the ugly little D-Bee enters the inn's atrium, Gabriel gives a nod to the maitre de, and a waiter appears to escort the two of them to a table. "Hello, Fizzlesnoot. Snazzy digs! But we've known each other for a little while now, you can just call me Gabriel, if you like. I don't need to stand on formality." They are escorted across the room to one of the booths with a little fountain against the wall, and menus are delivered.

Fizzlesnoot smiles, happy to be less formal, "Thank you. It's just how we met. Most of the people I have met have not used a surname. Matter of fact, you have been the only one. I find it more respectful, if you know what I mean. It also shows you're a good man, not hiding in the shadows, so to speak. Just my opinion though. So how have you been?" His bag tucked neatly away at his feet under the table, he opens up the menu to take a look inside to see what strikes his fancy.

Gabriel smiles. "Yes, it is a sign of respect, and where I come from, *everyone* uses surnames when appropriate. No one hides it, not even criminals! It's a badge of pride, really. 'Blaze' is actually new. I'm first-generation American, my parents came over from Poland. When you have a name like Blazejewski -" which comes out pronounced as 'Bwah-ZHE-ski' "- my father didn't want me to stand out. Just another American." He smiles and shrugs happily. "But Gabriel is good now, we're friends, or at least I'd like to think we are. I've been good!"

Fizzlesnoot nods with a light chuckle, "Me too. Gabriel it is then." responding to being friends, "You mentioned you wanted to talk about something?" setting down the menu so not to have a wall between them, and maybe he's already picked something out.

"Yes, yes. More about the club, if you're up for it." He looks over his own menu briefly before setting it down as well. "Hmm. Where to start?" Gabriel's eyes are perhaps pleased. "Would you prefer my new super-snooper idea, going over previous information, or me asking prying questions about you and your species?"

Fizzlesnoot Hmmms, pondering the choices a moment, "I'll let you decide. I'm up for any of it, always happy to share what I know about who I am. I'm curious of the super snooper thought though."

Gabriel smiles and reaches into the greatcoat pushed up against the wall. Out comes a set of goggles shaped and organized somewhat like a high-tech snorkel mask, but without the nose-piece. They're quietly set on the table so as to not make a big fuss in the restaurant - not that anyone indoors cares what's going on in another booth. "You've heard of thermal goggles?"

Fizzlesnoot nods taking a look at the high tech gadget, though not touching, "Sort of. I mean, I've seen them before, just never used them. What's your idea with those?"

"These.. are not thermal goggles," Gabriel smiles. They're pushed gentle across the table, obviously an invitation to pick up and examine. "These are better than thermal goggles. It's an advanced thermal system that will *see* *through* *walls.*" The last three words are slightly emphasized. "Only way to stay hidden is to put four inches of armor plating between yourself and the goggles. So this is what I'm thinking. You take the goggles and go to the club. Make up some reason to cover your head for a few seconds. Changing a coat. Looking in your bag. Whatever. When your head's covered, you pop on this little gem, and look at the doors - see what's inside. They look for heat and even the undead have a different thermal signature than the natural background. If there's anything, living or dead - or even furniture, with the temperature differential - you should be able to see it." He sits up and smiles. "What do you think?"

Fizzlesnoot picks up the goggles taking a closer look at them a moment or two. "Well, that might be tricky. I suppose I could definitely do so from the rest rooms to start. Do they record what they see? I hear there are ones that will record on a disc. Not really my specialty, tech gadgets that is. I'll see what I can see with them, sure. Have you tried from the outside with them?"

"These ones don't record. I use them in combat and intelligence, and that gets stored up here." Gabriel pokes at his skull a few times. "That way you can deny that you've been snooping. You shouldn't have any trouble using them. Just flip the switch, hold 'em up to your generously large eyes and look through them. Remember what you see. Simple as that." The soldier from the past shrugs. "I haven't tried from the outside yet, no. The place is built out of armor plating for some reason, so I figured it would be easier to look from inside. Can't imagine that they'd have their interior built the same as their exterior. Besides, from the outside it's difficult to tell exactly where the rooms are." He leans his head sideways a tad. "All you need to do is enter, business as usual. Sneeze, politely covering it with your bag while you have a look for a few seconds. I won't try to force you to do it, though. It's not even a request. Just... an 'I hope.'"

Fizzlesnoot gives the man an affirmative nod with an expression of determination, "I just found out my friend didn't make it, she only had four days left to go, and she would've been free." a sadness welling up in his eyes, a clear inner eyelid blinking as if to try and clear it, "I will happily do what I can to help out." he tries not to be emotional about it, but you can hear it in his voice when he brings up the waitress. He doesn't want to be obvious though.

The other man allows for a time of silence. Then Gabriel speaks, still quietly. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I figured as much. They won't let anyone go. Ever. Seen too much, experienced too much. So much that it might even sway the idiots who currently think that the blood trade arrangement is a good idea." A pause, then, "If you can help, it will be in her memory, and all those like her who have come before, and perished. Take 'em, be *careful* about using them. Don't run off angry right now without a clear head, okay?"

Fizzlesnoot tucks the goggles into his bag under the table, nodding to all that Gabriel says. "I'll be careful, I'm not really the bad temper type anyway, too good-natured I suppose. Bad for business too." trying to make light of it to bring up his spirits again. "At first it didn't sound like a bad arrangement to me either. Having spoken with Donna, Bella and the waitresses. It really didn't sound that cruel and heartless. I see the truth now, they just can't be trusted, any of them. Even that one girl, Bella's favorite, she was nice too. I was hoping to talk to her after that night, she seemed open to talking, despite the weirdness she seemed to have with it."

Gabriel nods again. "Yeah. You can never trust the bad guys to do anything good. If it looks good, it's just a cover for something very bad. That's how evil work. Hell, that defines the Antichrist. He comes to Earth with messages of peace, unites the world... then plunges it into despair." Shrug. "If you have any questions on the tactics of using the goggles, just ask. But... on to different but related matters. When was the last time that Bella was at the club? I don't need a specific date or anything. Last few day? Week? More?"

Fizzlesnoot gives it a thought a bit, "Well I haven't seen her there since that night, with the other waitress. But I have had to do some cleanup work over at the Smithy, had to chill on the party scene a bit, it's not easy work like sewing is. The big guy is teaching me, and in return, I am helping out with what I can around the shop. Gives me time to practice speaking the language. That damn T sound is still killing me." giving a shake of his head before he goes off on an unrelated tangent, "Anyways." he chuckles, "Not since then."

A frown. "Hmm. Okay, maybe I do need something more specific, my memory isn't perfect. Which day was that? Fairly recent?" Gabriel leans back as a waiter comes past. He addresses the tuxedoed fellow. "Ah, the chips and salsa are the cheapest thing on the menu, right? Okay, yeah, I'll have those. Fizzlesnoot, what can I get you? My invitation for dinner, my treat." Smiling happily, he allows for this pause about the club - but probably ready to hear an answer as soon as possible.

Fizzlesnoot looks up to the waiter with a broad smile, "Um, could I get that fried fish thing, but just the fish, and you don't have to cook it, you can just put it on the plate. Is there a discount for not having to cook it? Oh, and does it have a head? I do love the head, it's all crunchy with those tasty little eyes you can squish with your tongue against the roof of your mouth. MMMMMMmmmm." another broad hopeful smile to the waiter. Looking back to Gabriel with a smile, "Well, I would say a couple of weeks or so I suppose. Definitely more than a few days."

Gabriel nods, not unhappy but neither happy either. "Okay. Well, that doesn't help much. But it's not your fault, it's my own. You know, from Indonesia to Japan, along the Oriental coast, fish heads are considered a delicacy." He takes that momentary conversational sidestep before asking, "Other than the two 'Borgs that guard the place, does anyone inside wear armor? Environmental, plate, whatever. Or is it just a strip club? I ask because it may well have changed since I was there last."

Fizzlesnoot nods fairly quickly to that, "Oh yeah, there are magic and psychics that also provide security, on that rotating basis I gave you. I wouldn't say they are full EBA though, I don't remember seeing any helmets worn, if they are wearing any at all. There are some groupie types too, from that psi cola stuff, some of them might wear armor, but mostly not. I could get a rough count of armored individuals on a nightly basis. That's easy enough to do."

"That'd be great. If you could note the general number of patrons present at the same time? That'd be good. I'll have to find that paper about the mages and psychics. Not many of 'em, right? Just sort of rotated out with the 'Borgs on the hour or so?" Gabriel leans back and finds a moment of comfort in one of the Silver Fork's leather bench-seats.

Fizzlesnoot shakes his head, "Oh no, the borgs never leave, the others back them up, not many. I'll get a final total count for you this week, just in case there were any changes from my previous notes. From what I've noticed, no one ever leaves the place that works there."

"Fantastic. Thanks, Fizzlesnoot. Sorry for the grilling," Gabriel says a chuckle, crossing his arms comfortably. "Okay, now for the personal stuff. You said that your mind is dense like a rock -" friendly smirk "- and that your little arms belie some massive strength behind them. I also know that you spend your life as a merchant, or at least, that's what I've seen. If you got it in your mind... think you could become a little violent with it? Throw tables, kick someone in the balls -" he flops a hand toward the D-Bee "-poke someone in the eye-socket?"

Fizzlesnoot chuckles a bit, "Yeah, that ain't no problem. I've been in a scuffle or two, card games are supposed to be friendly, but more often than not, someone always gets ornery. I'm not up for any kind of big fire fight, not really prepared for that, but a bar room brawl, oh yeah. Though usually I hate violence, this is a good cause. I can't hurt vampires or them borgs with any of that, but human types are not a big deal. An I can wrestle with the borgs strength wise, I just can't damage the metal parts, not quite that strong."

Gabriel nods his head. "Got it. Do you have something to fight with? Neural mace? Maybe a vibro-knife? Something that you might be able to smuggle in that bag?" He then leans back and chuckles for a long time. "Don't listen to me too much on this, I sound like I have some kind of great plan, but I don't. I'm obviously still putting the scene together. But it's nice to know what assets I might have." The forty-plus year old man offers a friendly wink across the table. "I think that's it for my personal interrogation of you. So, they paying you well to design outfits that are designed to be removed?"

Fizzlesnoot nods to both questions, "Not bad, I'm keeping it cheap just to keep them interested. I also have my own sidearm, a Wilk's hideaway, just to have something. And I'm probably capable of taking a few shots from it myself, but I really don't like it when that happens. Kinda sucks and hurts like a son of a. Got shot once, only once, and it's not fun to take a laser in the hind end. And it's really hard to fix the hole it makes in the clothing. Got caught outside on a Burb sweep and the bastard shot me right in the behind as I was running away, that’s when I had to say, time to go. Bullets and knives and such are more an annoyance than anything. Ruins the clothing is about all, gives me something to do though patching it up."

Gabriel chuckles. "Better to fix a new hole in the clothes that cover your rear end than a new hole in your rear end. Assuming your species has holes there. I'm afraid I probably wouldn't live through a laser shot, unless I got it in a non-essential place, and I was very close to genuine medical treatment. Knives and bullets, too. I'm just old and squishy." His basket of chips and a plate of salsa is delivered, along with a piece of fish. They did take the time to skin and scale it. "Too bad we can't hire the stripping girls and waitresses to cause trouble, right?" The question is asked as he leans toward his food.

Fizzlesnoot chuckles eyeing his raw piece of fish, his tongue licking the tips of those finger like appendages at either side of his mouth. "If you know any psychic types, they will probably be easily manipulated. Most are already depressed and distraught at their situation. Their minds are probably open to such things. I'm not an expert though, just makes sense. Perhaps an unknown hallucinogenic type drug in some of the patrons drinks, might cause a ruckus."

"Yeah, good if I knew where the stuff came from. Dump in some LSD for the new batch, watch the fun ensue. I have one psychic friend who's smart enough to avoid the stuff. I'll get some information there. But I need to know the source of the cola, and that's obviously secret as well," Gabriel says, crunching on a chip. "I know that the 'Dregs are lawless, but I don't understand why the city has written them off. It isn't *that* large. The 'Dregs, I mean. If they just put their back into it, they could clean it up. Hell, one day the militia could show up on the doorstep, and they'd have more men and firepower than the gangs and monsters could think about in a wet dream."

Fizzlesnoot nods in total agreement as he takes the fish in hand to take a bite out of it, the tail coming off first, the fingers helping push the food back and pick between his teeth as he chews. After swallowing of course, "I've been trying to figure that one out too. No luck though. It's a pretty guarded secret. The Burbs are the same way almost, though the Coalition does have sweeps come through on occasion to show em all who's boss."

"Yeah, strange. I mean, sure, where I come from you might have a ghetto or something, area everyone knows to stay out of at night. But not like this." Gabriel waves a hand in the general direction of the 'Dregs. "Even with the worst ghettos, the police still had a presence. Elliot Ness chasing down organized crime. Perfect? No. Helluva lot better than nothing? Yeah. People cared. Regular people. People who usually just wanted to help out. Not like here. Anyway." He smiles, perhaps realizing that he's been rambling on as his friend tends to do.

Fizzlesnoot swallows another bite, waggling the piece of fish in his hand, "I don't know what motivates people to sit back and accept such low standards, but hell, I've had to live in em myself. No money in these days, can drive a man to do some despicable things, or starve to death. Makes people easy pickins for those with the big guns." Sucking an eye from the fish head.

"If for some inexplicable reason I couldn't find a way to survive without causing harm, I'd starve to death." He really sounds like he means it, too, and would actually carry out on that promise. Then Gabriel grins morbidly. "The current state of my wallet might imply that I'll be in that situation within a few weeks. Couldn't even buy a new e-clip right now. But abject poverty wouldn't drive me to a life of horrendous crime. It's hard to find somewhere that doesn't have *any* job. Hell, five bucks to clean a person's yard for a day can feed a smart fellow for a week. I'm sure you know that better than anyone, right?" An eyebrow is then raised. "Ah... not to get into your business, but here in the Silver Fork, the way you're eating? It's probably disgusting to a lot of folk who might be nosy and looking. Try utensils?"

Fizzlesnoot looks down to the fish and lays it back on his plate, giving a look around to those around them with an apologetic look, but even that can be misconstrued as something else. "Oh." wiping his hands with the napkin, "I sometimes forget, don't eat out much. I've been killing rabbits down by the refugee camp, eat em back at my van mostly. Of course that's on a good day when I can whack one with a rock. Some days are better than others." giving a shrug as he works at the fish with the utensils. "I figure, as long as there is a rock to throw, I won't go hungry for ever. Some people just aren't that creative."

The human at the table laughs. "Yes, I agree. Which is why I'm fairly certain that I'll never turn to a life of crime. I spent twenty years growing up living where you had to get your own food for a family. Everyone had a garden, a cow or goat, a few chickens and a rifle. Except during the Depression, when it sucked so badly that everyone banded together. Anyway, then ten years in the military living off the land, far from civilization. Ten years more split between urban and wilderness." Gabriel tapes the table with his knuckles a few times. "Most of my food comes from snares, hooks or a bullet. I only eat at a place like this - or even Happy Burger - as a change of pace."

Fizzlesnoot nods in agreement, "Same here, change of pace. It's nice to eat in a warm place once in a while. You still see some of that banding together stuff now and then when things get bad, but then sometime you get the banding together you get in the Dregs, not a good banding together. I'm not too good out in the wilderness alone, but in an urban area, where other people abound, now I can work with that kind of scenario. I don't need all that much to get by really."

"Oh? I could teach you, if you ever found yourself stuck outside the walls and were hungry. Wouldn't be much of a problem, as long as you've got some good fingers and a quick mind - which you obviously do," comments Gabriel, crunching once more on a chip. A chip loaded with guacamole this time.

Fizzlesnoot cuts off large chunks of the fish until only the head is left, it's like he swallows the bites whole, no real chewing, just the fingers pushing it back into his gullet, this part is just how his anatomy works, disgusting or not. "That would be great, I am always up for learning new things. I'm really into languages. If you meet anyone who can speak among the fairy folk or maybe some other unusual languages, I'm always interested in those. Surviving the wilderness would be very helpful when I can't ask for a bit of food though, we'll defiantly have to get together on that."

The other man chuckles again, pauses for a chip, then speaks. "You should have come to me before last September 7th. Of course, that would have meant traveling to my world, but if you could have done it, I could have taught you dozens of languages. Europe, Asia, Africa, South America. I even spoke Canadian," Gabriel smirks. "But now what I have are only fragments of memory. Russian mostly, because of my wife, I assume. But only a few words and phrases here and there. I'd never actually be able to go to current Russia and strike up a conversation." He aims a chip across the table. "Or even hit up Yakov's and chat with the waitresses in their native tongue. No. I'm afraid that most of what I remember is along the lines of what I was doing at the time." He pauses to wave down a passing waitress for a glass of water.

Fizzlesnoot grins, "That's actually the language I am working on. It's pretty tough too, especially the not using certain words and all that. No filler Pavel says. It's hard when your business relies on that filler to dazzle the customer. I think that’s why I am enjoying it so much, it's challenging and very different than what I'm used to."

Chuckles. "It is very different, probably why I don't remember much of it. But it's an incredibly sexy accent when a beautiful woman whose native language is Russian speaks English. Why're you spending your time on it? I mean, not that learning isn't always good for its own sake. But Russian seems somewhat obscure. Of course, Faerie speak, or Faerie babble, whatever it's called, is pretty obscure too." Gabriel pareses and asks, "Right?"

Fizzlesnoot nods, "Yeah, it is obscure. Not sure really, just a side interest. I think I picked it up from my father. He spoke many languages, more than I was ever able to learn from him. My mother too, I just figured she learned em from dad. Comes with the territory, trader wise, it's always easier when you don't have to use a translator in a transaction. Natural words come across more trusting and genuine, not that I ever hustle my customers, I am a very fair business man. At least I like to think so. Just a bit down on my luck right now, kinda like yourself. Speaking of which, I got something for you. You mentioned you needed one, and I'm not using it." bending down to drag out his bag and poke through it a bit.

"Oh?" Gabriel perks up. It's been forever since anyone gave him something that wasn't along the lines of, 'here's a grenade, go throw it.' "I don't know what it is, but you shouldn't have, Fizzlesnoot. All I've done for you is send you into danger!"

Fizzlesnoot has to get off his chair to finally find and bring out the item he is searching for. A standard eclip, which he sets on the table by Gabriel. It's along those lines as a grenade, but not intended in the same context, "You can use this more than I can, or will, and you did mention you needed one. I am still left with another for my pistol, though it's not something I use often. It's not much, but I hope it will help out. I know they can be expensive."

Gabriel smiles in thanks, but shakes his head. "No, no, I can't take that. It *is* worth a lot. It's true that I can't afford to buy a new one right now, but I do have a small stash of eclips that are completely charged. However... as it's impolite to turn down a gift, may I give it back with the option of coming to you if I do end up needing it?" His tone is hopeful.

Fizzlesnoot nods hopping back up into his chair, "Of course, as long as you do have some stashed away. Whenever you find a need, it will be here." moving onto the fishhead, there is not really any other way to do it, cept pick it up again and pop it into his broad mouth. A few loud crunches later, and it's gone, all but the bits being picked from his teeth by those little finger like mandibles as he wipes his fingers clean with the napkin.

"Thank you, my friend. I have very few friends that I trust enough to call friends, consider good people enough to call friends. I'm glad to call you one, and if I need the gift - I promise, I will come for it. I'd shake your.. uh, hand? But it looks a little greasy right now, so if you'll permit me the avoidance..." Gabriel trails off and hides behind a pile of tomato salsa. "So, your species. Fizzletooth Carpetbaggers? Is that right? Something close to that at least, right?"

Fizzlesnoot chuckles, nodding to the avoidance, understanding, "Fingertooth Carpetbagger is what we are called. You were close. Not from this world, but I'm not sure where we are from, I was born here and my parents never spoke of where we are from. I have spoken to others, but just enough to know, we're not from here."

Gabriel allows a nod. "Fair enough. The way that people talk about time and dimensions, I'm not sure that I can tell you exactly where I'm from, either!" He laughs. "You're welcome to chips and salsa. Are you all merchants? Sort of... I don't know, perhaps a genetically-ingrained disposition to an occupation?"

Fizzlesnoot nods to the question, happily trying some of the chips and salsa, "Yeah, most of us are of some sort of profession. Mostly more than one, my father did mostly tailoring, but through him I learned all the basics of fashion. Hair, attire, makeup. Though there is not much call for stuff like that, simple mending of clothing and my carvings is mostly what I peddle. The materials are cheap and I can make enough to get by. Most of us tend to be pretty good with gambling and odds type things too, a vice we are all guilty of at one time or another. They do seem to come naturally, I figured it was the upbringing I received, but I met a scholar who asked many of the same questions you are now, back in Merctown. A really nice guy. Straight forward with me, he wanted to learn about my kind. He never met one of us before. I always enjoyed our evening conversations over a nice glass of shine or brandy when it was nippy out. He made me start seeing it in this outside view type thing, and it kinda made sense. Everybody I have ever known that was a Carpetbagger, had similar traits. Maybe a different business, but similar traits."

"Makes sense. Follow in your father's footsteps and all. Lots of guys in my time did that. At least, from Appalachia, like me. Although I guess even the rich folk in the cities would go into business or law or something with their fathers." There's then a sigh, and Gabriel starts to look at the small bill that has been placed on the table. A few credits come out to cover it, along with a tip just barely large enough to be polite. That's what you do when you're poor. Then he reaches toward his greatcoat bundled in the corner. "Fizzlesnoot, it's been fantastic. Loved the company and the conversation alike, but I need to be going. I *do* have a small shift at ProTech paying me a few bucks - as long as I show up. Keep me appraised of everything, and use those goggles. Just be careful." He doesn't leave yet, but it's obviously imminent.

Fizzlesnoot hops up with him, to be on his way as well, "I'll keep in touch. If you don't hear from me in a week, something bad happened at the club. Just so ya know."

"Okay. Anywhere I should look for you?" Gabriel asks as he rises to his feet. "I don't know where you park your van all the time. If I don't see you? I'll come looking for you, you have my word on that."

Fizzlesnoot replies, "I'm parked out by the Smithy, the one Pavel runs. Least until he's done teaching me, then I'll have to see from there, something will come up I'm sure. Be safe and have a good night."

Gabriel reaches down to shake Fizzlesnoot's hand, or whatever he calls it. Even if it's still greasy. "You too, Fizzlesnoot. Take care of yourself." Then he's out the door.