Baroth couldn't help but chuckle at Simus' plight.
It was clear he was unused to this technology and needed advice, but Baroth had to give the man credit for applying his knowledge of smithing to the concept. Subtle, if anything, but he was trying to adapt and Baroth respected that. Though it would take a lot of focus and concentration for Simus to adapt to this machinery, Baroth knew good and well he'd find a way to get used to them. He shrugged off Derek's response.
"Maybe some day, huh?" He said sarcastically as the man walked past him and repeated Baroth's business to the others.
He turned to Simus. "He's right about the guns. Kinetic is less popular but more plentiful, while energy is more efficient but far more expensive. Being that you have access to both here, you can practice with them and see which fits your arm. But if you're looking into efficiency for less hassle, i'd say energy is for you. No doubt, Derek's already explained how kinetic uses bullets and how ineffective those may be to heavy armors." He yanked the plasma rifle from his back and held it outward, allowing Simus to take it and examine it. "That's what you used earlier. It's plasma-based; a form of energy, able to rip through a lot of armors at the expense of burning through power pack at an exceeded rate. Point being, it's energy and gets the job done, a hell of a lot better than kinetic."
"But you're right, kinetic is easier to get a hold of, but the quality is usually pl*psty and the ammunition can prove tedious and ineffective." He took the rifle back and slapped it onto his back. "For tonight, since we're moving in on Ambrosia, grab the energy rifle Derek just loaded and take it to the shooting range, get a feel for it. I doubt Dorvalle's henchmen will be armored with cloth and wielding spears."
Baroth ignored Lyssa and continued out the door.
He'd gotten fed up with his own mistakes and the stereotype he'd earned among the others. Granted, his actions had been awfully shady and he was acting shy of the group, but he decided that'd stop now. Fifty-million credits was far too much money to sod up like this. And he'd be damned if he didn't get his cut.
A half hour later, Baroth looked down on the brothel from a rooftop a few kilometers off. It was in the entertainment district of the city, encompassed by nightclubs and similar brothels. It was a three floor building with pink and red fluorescent lights lining the edge of the roof, housing a multi-colored sign above the entrance that read: House Ambrosia | Exotic Entertainment And Pleasure. On the street along the front of the building was a short line of what Baroth guessed were customers being filtered through two large bouncers at the entrance. All of which were dressed in silk suits and flat brimmed hats of varying sizes, styles, and colors. Also at the front door were two armored guards with large pistols and sunglasses, eyeballing each and every pimp that walked by them.
Beyond the double doors, for a moment as each person had entered, the sound of music flooded the outside air; a type Baroth couldn't recognize, but judging by the amount of strobe lights and faint shouting, he'd have to guess some form of electric hip-hop. Maybe dubstep. That was hot on the culture these days and the tempo matched a few of the tracks he'd listened to.
Against his own will, Baroth decided to circle the building and get a few long looks at the guards all around, for those watching in the living room back at the safehouse. It was strictly tuned to the video input, so if he were to talk or mumble or even sneeze, they wouldn't hear a thing. The link-up was temporary and untraceable, though Baroth had faith that they were completely oblivious to his intentions and wouldn't pursue him any further.
But he was taught better.
Likeable as these people were, they were bounty hunters and would kill gladly for fifty-million dollars. No real standard had ben set mutually, but Baroth knew better than to let his guard down. That said, he was sure they held the same disinterest he'd held for them, but he owed them respect for the time they'd be working together. However long that would last.
He made sure he wasn't spotted and kept low to reduce noise; by now, though, the idea he had in mind was looking more and more appealing, but he needed one last look before he could make any move. He returned to his previous position and snuck a glance inside the club after one of the suits walked in. Lots of people dancing on a massive floor of cycling colors; he had a right mind to believe everyone would undoubtedly be dressed but if this was an illegal establishment, as the profile had informed him the people inside wouldn't act so elegant.
He knew just the thing.
After he'd asked Oracle to link with the audio input he announced his next course of action to the others.
"I'm moving in, so i hope you all got a good look. Derek, a private channel will be left open for you should you need to tell me the specifics of tonight. Good luck."
Oracle cut the feed and disconnected entirely, leaving the monitor black and Oracle at her full capability. She continued to conduct her search and Baroth procured a stash for his armor and a rather flashy beige suit with matching shoes and a large brimmed hat with a white feather under the band. Satisfied with his attire and sinking into his charade of a boisterous and successful sugar daddy, Baroth ran his thumb and index finger along the brim of his hat and moved in with a relaxed but firm strut. He nailed the slight overbite and didn't flinch when he reached the bouncer at the front, holding the list and calling for his name. Baroth smirked for a small second before he spoke in an unusually smooth and arrogant tone.
"Micheal Suave."
The balding Nord shook his head as he scrolled through the list. "Not on the list. Nickname?"
"Slickback. VIP pass."
Immediately he stepped aside, fishing in his pocket for an ID with a white and black stripped necklace. Baroth threw it on over his head and pushed open the doors to House Ambrosia. Oracle had done a very nice job in securing his identification. He'd have to thank her for that later.
(Play Lorde - Royals (Caked Up) as you continue to read. Not necessary, but it might add some depth to the atmosphere.)
The brothel was designed exactly how Baroth thought it'd be.
Loud, blaring dubstep surrounded him in the thick crowds of barely clothed strippers and well-dressed kingpins, with the "lucky" ones being escorted to a private room on one of the other floors via four large glass elevators on either side of the wide, open space.
There was a bar with any kind of drink he could identify, a spacious dining area further back, several broad light up poles and stages for the dancers with an audience of chairs around each, and even an extensive VIP section in one of the corners filled with drunk men, marble tables, and cushioned sofas. Baroth also liked the 'smart floor' paneling that bursted different colors that collided with others as he walked.
Two pairs of heavily armed and armored guards were posted at nearly every corner of the room for surveillance and security; a shootout was not an option.
Finding Dorvalle wasn't as hard as Baroth thought it'd be, but approaching him would be difficult. He had security somewhere in the crowd, no doubt hidden, that would pounce if he was assaulted in anyway. Baroth would have to choose his words carefully; this may be the last time he'd speak with Dorvalle so it was important he got the right information.
After buying two blue margaritas with lime salt on the rim, Baroth eased his way through the hyped crowds the VIP section. A bald Dunmer sat across from Dorvalle in the middle of a tense debate, barely audible over the cycling dubstep soundtracks. He had a coal black slick and groomed goatee and wore a silky silver vest with a dark red tie and dress shirt tucked underneath along with matching silver pants, a silver watch, and crimson crocodile shoes. Baroth found himself staring at him for a second, captivated by his formality and elegance of attire but nonetheless alert.
Obviously the mer was on business, but who's? A famous drug cartel? A syndicate? Personal Finance? He looked accountant material.
As he flashed his ID and stepped into the VIP section, Baroth stopped short as the Dunmer rose up in a smoth but swift motion.
"Then our business is concluded, Mr. Dorvalle." The dark elf stated, gathering his crumpled crimson coat and suitcase before pacing past Baroth. In that small moment, he flashed Baroth a look, an odd look, like as if he knew something was odd about him. Like he saw right through the charade and into Baroth's mind, reading him like a book.
"Excuse me." He said with a blank expression, and strode into the crowds after Baroth did so.
An odd occurance, but Baroth paid it no mind. A half hour to and two hours from now, the others would arrive and they would expect him to be within visible sight. That, and he'd have to be gone before the others had a chance to speak with Dorvalle directly. That bridge would have to wait.
However, before Baroth could move in and sit with him, some skinny thing of man pushed himself through the crowds and past Baroth to fall right into his spot. Baroth could instantly tell that the man was a drughead, likely meth or heroine, but definitly a user.
His skin was tight to his face and his arms were bony, the crease of the elbow lined with severl red spots that could've been mistaken for misquito bites. On closer inspection, Baroth noted these to be needle marks. An addict. When he opened his mouth to speak, Baroth grimaced slightly as he got a glimpse inside. Oh yeah, definitley meth.
"H-hey Dorvalle what's go-good, ma-?"
"I'm not selling, Pete. You're wasting your time."
Pete's eyes widdened and Baroth noticed a shift in his stature. Nervous energy.
"Wha- No! Man, look, i just ne-need a little bit. The other guy went quiet and i ain't got not-nothin man. C'mon!"
Dorvalle rolled his eyes as the stammering junkie continued to plead and beg. This had happened so many times, it had somehow become amusing to him, waching Pete beg and cry for something that was surely killing him.
To his surprise and that of the surrounding bodyguards, a rather plump man in a flashy suit stepped in, setting down his drinks, and picked up Pete by the strap of his muscle shirt. Dorvalle had never seen this man before, but already he could ascertain that he liked to handle business up front. Interesting, but how he actually handled the situation would tell Dorvalle everything he needed to know about the Nord.
"Whoa man, hey! You can't do this, i-I have ri-"
"Shut. Up. Bitch."
Pete instantly fell silent.
"Now, look at me." Their eyes met. "Leave this club and wait outside. When i leave, you eill see me and I will give you the name and number of a man who can keep you supplied for weeks. However, if i see you coming into this building again and hassling its owner for a smidge of meth, you will not leave again. I will drown you in liquified meth and you will suffocate and then you will defecate yourself. Do we have a deal?"
Scared pl*psless and tripped out, Pete could only nod and scury of after the man's iron grip released him. He did as he was instructed. Baroth grabed his drinks, took a seat and slid Dorvalle one of them. He removed his hat and set it beside him, taking a profesional but relaxed stature.
Interested now, Dorvalle caught the drink in his palm and brought it up to his lips, sniffing it. Lime. A tangy after taste, but no the worst for wear. He slid his eyes to the Nord. COnversation ensued.
"Quite expensive." Baroth commented.
"Seventeen-dollars for one with lime squeezed half a world away. It had damn sure better be."
"A man who knows his drinks. That's handy." He raised the sweating glass. "Slickback."
Dorvalle sipped, and Baroth followed. "Delighted." He set the glass on the table between tham after another sip. "I assume we have business?"
More than you know..
Baroth paused for only a moment before repeating the gesture.
"Yes. A topic that needs discussing."
Dorvalle arched an eyebrow, genuinely curious. "And what topic is that?"
Baroth, without breaking eye contact, slid his hand into his jacket pocket and retrived a one giga-bit data pad, presenting the portrait of a female.
"Her. And before you begin to ask, let me clear the air by stating i am not with the police or any other authorities."
"Then why are you here?"
"She's bad for business. My business. I was hoping you could tell me a few things about her."
Dorvalle seemed to hesitate a second, before sitting up. The Nord certainly had his attention.
"Ask."
Baroth nodded and began taping on the pad to select the word program for notes.
"First off.." He began.
OOC: Excuse any spelling errors or other mishaps. I hope it is up to par. Edits can be made, if needed.