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Post by The Stranger on Aug 10, 2012 16:47:28 GMT -5
"The employee store." the woman replied with a grimace, "don't worry, I was new once too," she said, pointing at a small kiosk.
She handed Morrigan a picture id with embedded chip and scanner code, on a lanyard that was probably intended to go around her neck.
"Anything else dear?" she asked.
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Post by Marie on Aug 10, 2012 16:53:40 GMT -5
"Um...only, can you tell me if there's anywhere particular that employees usually live. I don't want to stay in the coffin hotels all the time."
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 10, 2012 16:54:22 GMT -5
"Corporate housing is for full-time employees only." The woman replied.
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Post by Marie on Aug 10, 2012 17:05:20 GMT -5
"Oh. So where do the contract staff usually live?"
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 10, 2012 17:11:30 GMT -5
"I wouldn't have the foggiest." She replied.
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Post by Marie on Aug 10, 2012 17:19:21 GMT -5
"Oh, never mind then."
Morrigan decided to ask elsewhere later.
"Thanks. Do you know a man called Thompson on 1568 Franklin?"
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 10, 2012 17:25:20 GMT -5
The woman shook her head, "Why would I know anyone there? Franklin is way down in the Shanty."
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Post by Marie on Aug 10, 2012 17:35:38 GMT -5
"Oh. I just wondered. I heard the name mentioned and I don't know anyone in this place. Thanks."
She took the ID card and headed in what she hoped was the right direction for the shanty.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 16, 2012 13:09:32 GMT -5
Malcolm made his way to the gate, favoring the heavy security with an appreciative glance. He had never crossed paths with Three Rovers during his time as a PMC, but knew their reputation. He wore his dog tags outside his armor and had left his coat so as to make the green beret motto and insignia ingraved in his cybernetic arm visible. Hopefully they would earn him some small professional courtesy. Each step towards the gate brought a fresh wave of searing pain, the shrapnel in his back shifting and digging inside flesh.
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 16, 2012 13:19:08 GMT -5
Well it earned him respect, if not legitimacy. As Malcom approached, the men at the front gate raised their weapons to a low ready position.
"Can we help you sir?" Asked one of them, probably their sergeant based on the tone.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 16, 2012 13:32:18 GMT -5
"I could use a medic, soldier," Malcolm replied, adopting the familiar militant tone and stance of his past life.
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 16, 2012 13:33:45 GMT -5
"You look like you might," The man replied. "Your outfit didn't bring one down here? Not wise."
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 16, 2012 14:18:36 GMT -5
"Or I'd rather not let a grunt doc cut on me when a proper surgeon is a few blocks away," Malcolm replied with a laugh. "Learned that lesson during the Aussie Civil War when I found out the medic pulling a slug outta my leg only went to dental school."
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 16, 2012 14:29:59 GMT -5
The man looks at Malcom questioningly. "I'm sorry but we can't help you."
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 16, 2012 14:34:36 GMT -5
Malcolm tensed up, knowing he needed a doctor or he was going to die.
"And why is that? Surely pulling a few shreds of steel out of my back and patching up my face is well within your means. I can pay if that's the issue."
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Hope you all are well and happy.