From:	uplink <uplink@****.UNOMAHA.EDU>
Subject:	The Transcript!!!!!
Date:	Fri, 28 May 1993 03:24:20 -0500

>>>>>[ Waaal, folks, sorry it's late but we had a run to do and I couldn't
get back to my ghost writer to get the story for y'all. Here's the lowdown on
the bachelor party for y'all; I think it was one of the best parties I've
ever been to. ]<<<<<
-- Steel Stringer <Western Wind/Blows hot & dry>

>>>>>Includefile: Bachelor Party by Poet


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Though he'd had everything ready for a few hours, Stringer was
worried. He'd only been in Seattle a month, and already he'd invited the
Shadowrunning community to his place. Of course, it was a bachelor party,
but the idea that shadowrunners were always a dangerous group existed.
Still, he checked again to make sure everything was in order.
The 'snack tables' had been set up against the bar; loaded with
various foods, they looked to be a main attraction. Then there was the band;
Steel Pigeon Returns, his nephew's band, was almost fininshed setting up at
the far end of the wide room. He stepped to the back and checked the cake;
no bachelor party was ever without the old cake trick. Stringer smiled;
this time he had a bit more trick to the cake, one that everyone would
really enjoy.
A soft whisper was all that warned him of his girlfriend, Dancer,
coming up behind him and slipping her arms under his to hold him in a soft
embrace. He caught one of her arms with his hand and said, "Don't worry
darlin', everythin'll be fine." She buried her face in his back and
breathed; she almost never talked, but her body language spoke eloquently
enough. He turned and reciprocated her embrace. "You jest git along nah
an' git ready fer the paarty," he drawled. She turned her face to his,
her bright eyes shining, and kissed him. As always, it took his breath away.
Then she was gone, gracefully sliding back into her dressing room.
He scratched his head under his black stetson. Lord knew why she
liked him; but ever since they'd met on a run in Denver years ago, she'd
been his constant companion, friend and lover. One day he'd get the nerve up
and marry her. He felt one of his steel interface jacks in his hair.
Yeah, about the same day he got rid of his jacks.
He turned around again, checking the time. 8:12, PM. They'd be
here any minute, and he had to make sure everything was right.

A knocking at the door was answered by a tall, lanky cowboy dressed
up just like the western icon of the last century. "C'mon in, pardner,"
he drawled, his western accent thick. Powerhouse strided into the room, and
shook hands with the cowboy. "Powerhouse," he said. "Steel Stringer, jest
call me Stringer," was the reply. Powerhouse looked around, scanning the
room. "I'm the first one here?"
"Yep," replied Stringer, moving to open a few bottles of liquor.
"Help yerself to the hooch; I gotta make sure all's well, y'know." Stringer
moved from behind the bar as Powerhouse mixed himself a drink, downing it with
experienced ease. He looked at Stringer, "Where should I put this?" he asked,
holding a package aloft in the air.
Stringer shrugged. "Never thought abot it much," he said. "Ah
knew
there wuz somethin' I fergot." Stringer strode into the back room and pulled
out a card table. Setting it up, he said, "Jest put it on har."

"Ralph, old chap, if you dare to embarass me at this party I will
remember it," said the gentleman in the car. The passenger in the back
seat to whom he was referring to was spawled sideways, trying to snap a
pair of pants while they drove in heavy traffic.
"Watch in, mon', I havin' trouble enough wit'out you crazy drivin',"
came the reply from Ralph. "We even close yet, or we gotta ask directions?"
he continued.
"According to the address, we should be just up the block."
Blindside scanned the street, noting a certain building with a large parking
lot next to it. The neon sign marked "CASHMERE'S". "We are arrived,
chaps,"
said Blindside. He drove the car into the parking lot, noting the two large
orks in security blues at the gate.
Ralph squirmed and turned, trying to button his pants. "Hey, mon,
you gotta take the bumpin' easy, ya know," he grunted. Dressing oneself
in the back seat of a Westwind was not very easy. He gasped, and finally got
the button done as Blindside hit the brakes to slow into the parking space.
Ralph was caught totally unprepared, and flew off the back seat, which
startled Blindside into taking his foot off the brake momentarily. The
sleek machine roared forward, to plow directly into a parked Dynamit, which
sent Ralph over the front seats into Blindside's lap, his feet knocking into
Michael Moonwalker's head in the front passenger seat. "Get off me you oaf,"
growled Blindside, pushing Ralph away. Unfortunately Ralph didn't go very far
and managed to hit the shift with his hand, sending the car into reverse.
Blindside and Michael could only pray as the Westwind slammed into the wall
behind them, doing no doubt irreparable damage to the back end. Then Ralph,
who was still flailing away, sent the car into forward, and the black sports
car finally buried itself in the Dynamit.
Blindside pushed the door opened and crawled out of the wreckage of
his prized Westwind, Michael crawling over a protesting Ralph because the
impact had ruined his doorlock. "Dammit, Ralph, next time you ride in the
bloody TRUNK!" growled Blindside, slamming the door on Ralph. The door closed
hard, then swung off the hinge and landed on the ground at Blindside's feet.
Blindside grumbled, and it was all he could do to stop himself from doing
physical violence to the hapless dog shaman. "Come along, Michael," he
said, "Let's hope the party can put me in a fairer mood." They left
the scene.
Ralph let out a pent-up breath as he sank in relief. Then the
troublesome button popped loose again. "By de spirits," he swore, "I
shoulda wore a robe."

Once inside, Blindside and Michael walked up the stairs to the
door and knocked. Upon opening, Steel Stringer greeted them as friends,
having met them previously when he backed them up a few days before.
Then he broke the bad news. "That was mah Dynamit y'all slammed into,"
he said solemnly. Blindside stammered, trying to explain and apologize at
the same time, but Stringer just shook his head. "Y'all's gonna have to
pay fer whut y'all's did. Ah cain't let somethin' lahk thet go unpunished."
His hand moved toward his holster, and Blindside cringed, knowing it was too
late to do anything, as Stringer's hand came up with some keys, tossing them
to Michael. "Ah'm gonna saddle ya with another Westwind," he said, grinning.
"Ah needed ta get ridda that Dynamit anyway, Lone Stawer wuz gettin' mighty
nosy abot it," he chuckled. "C'mon in, make yerselves ta home."

Blindside moved to the bar, noting that Stringer stocked the same
scotch that Highlander usually brought. "Ah, a man of fine tastes," he
said, pouring himself a glass of Glenlivet. "Hey, 'Side, what about me,
huh? I'd like some of that too," said Michael Moonwalker, trying to reach
past Blindside and grab the bottle.
"Not tonight, Michael," stated Blindside. "Do you remember how you
get when you're drunk?"
"ME?" Michael squealed. "I'm fine! Gimme the bottle! Gimme any
bottle!" He clawed wildly, but Blindside was able to make sure the
diminutive elf wasn't able to reach the liquor. "HEY! Stop it! Stop it!"
Michael yelled, still swinging wildly, and as he almost reached a bottle
of rum, Blindside was able to grab it and hold it high above his head.
"NO FAIR! NO FAIR!" yelled Michael, now jumping to grab the outstretched
bottle.

As the musicians started with an old cover tune, a loud knocking
was heard at the door. Powerhouse opened it, and saw a familiar face.
"CRUSH!" The big troll smiled, walking into the room. "Hey, everyone,
the bridegroom's here!" Powerhouse swung the door closed, and a shout
of surprise was heard from the hallway, as Seraphy and Nightfox walked
into the room, Seraphy rubbing his nose where the door had hit him.
CRUSH looked about the room. "FOOD!" was his only word as he stomped to
the snack table, each step shaking the floor as a mad god's thunder only
could. Stringer looked at the happy CRUSH. Lordy, he'd seen trolls that
big, but never quite as big as CRUSH was. 'Course, there was always
Anarkus, but a troll with gigantism had a reason to be big.
Stringer sighed. At the rate CRUSH was demolishing the vindaloos,
he'd have to call in another order.

The next knocking at the door was anwered by Nightfox. Opening
the door, he found Highlander there saying, "Well doon't just stond there
laddie, invite me in!" Nightfox moved aside as the scottish decker walked
inside, tossing his trenchcoat onto the coat rack. "Wherre's the barr?"
he asked, then sighting it, walked over where Blindside was still holding
Michael Moonwalker at bay.
"Blindside, I brrought yahr favorrite, mon," he said, turning to
the Englishman and holding up two bottles of scotch. Michael's eyes
gleamed, and a microsecond too late Blindside realized what had happened.
"No!" he screamed, as Michael grabbed one of the bottles that Highlander
was holding up. "Get him!" was all Blindside said as Michael took off toward
the stage.

Blade swung into the parking lot and waved to the security guard.
As his Westwind glided in, he noted the wreck of the two other cars.
"Hmmm, CRUSH must be here," he noted to Speed, sitting beside him. "I
thought it was kick the Americar," replied Speed, looking at the wreck.
"Whatever, I don't think it's safe to park over there," said Blade,
swinging the Westwind into a parking stall.
On the way up they ran into Ralph. The Dog shaman had finally
gotten his clothes to fit properly, and he was on his way up the stairs.
"Dogs playing poker," noted Speed, looking at the back of Ralph's tux.
"Yeah mon," came the reply, "real chill ya know." Ralph knocked at
the
door.
The door opened, and Michael rushed past the three, with Blindside
and Highlander in hot pursuit. "Get him!" was all the three heard before
the trio disappeared down the steps. They walked in, and scanned the room.
Stringer saw this. "Next tahm Ah'll maark everythin' fer y'all," he announced,
"So y'all'l know whar the exits an' all are," he finished.
Blade and Speed laughed. Only shadowrunners could be so paranoid,
and Stringer had caught them in the act. A round of introductions, and
Blade and Steel joined CRUSH at consuming mass quantities.

The party was getting noisy when the foursome of Punisher, Noname,
Polish and I.B.A. got there, each carrying 5 slabs of German lager.
Noting the vindaloos were already there, I.B.A. put the beer down and
waddled toward the food line. Polish immediately spotted CRUSH and
walked over. "Hey, CRUSH," he said, slapping the troll on his shoulder,
"Gotta suprise for ya downstairs."
"More food for CRUSH?" CRUSH blurted around a mouth of spicy
enchilada.
"Better. C'mon downstairs and have a look," he said, raising his
voice to include everyone. He moved toward the door, narrowly missing a
tall indian in a leather duster with the nameplate "BOB" on his lapel.
He and CRUSH picked up a slab and started down the stairs.

Claw and Lister drove into the parking lot and swerved to avoid
Michael Moonwalker, still clutching the bottle of scotch and laughing
gleefully. As they shook their heads, they had to swerve again to avoid
Blindside and Highlander who were shouting at Michael.
"Looks like the party's started," said Lister.
"Ay, ya got that right, mate," said an Ork who had just pulled up
alongside them on a modified Blitzen with a sidecar. "Hey," said
Lister, "you look just like Neil, the Ork Barbarian!"
"Sorry mate," said the Ork, "but Neil is my name, but I got no
talent for the trid. Gotta lotta talent for the guns though," he added,
swinging off the bike. "Who might you blokes be?"
"Name's Lister, and this's Claw." The black shaman bowed, dreadlocks
waving in the wind. "What'd you bring for CRUSH?"
Neil bent down into the sidecar, and brought up a bulky package.
"Well, I wuz thinkin' 'bout a few kilo's plastique," he smirked, "in case
ol' Crush gets tired of his sheila. But," he grinned, "he might not put
it to that use. So I got him something he'll need real soon," he grinned.
"What might that be?" asked Lister.
"A few bottles o' the best rotgut for seducin' the fairer sex," Neil
grinned, "Plus a book on pre-parentin' activities, if ya know what I mean!"

Neil, Lister and Claw met CRUSH coming downstairs with Polish. "Hey,
CRUSH, where ya goin' ?" asked Neil. CRUSH turned slowly to Neil. "Polish
say he got big surprise for CRUSH downstairs," he said. "CRUSH going down-
stairs so CRUSH find out what Polish bring him."
"Sounds good, CRUSH," Lister said. "We'll catch up with ya in a
while." And with that, the threesome went inside the party room.

9:30, and the party'd finally gotten started. People were buzzing
and the band was into their originals, blaring out with such volume that
they'd already received numerous complaints from other people on the
block. Stringer grinned. Thanks to certain "contributions" to the
Policeman's Retirement Fund he'd made, Lone Star wouldn't be asking them
to turn the music down. He popped open another can of Lager to wash down
the spicy tex-mex food he'd been eating. In an hour, the party'd really
start.
Over at the bar, Powerhouse and I.B.A. were telling Nightfox,
Seraphy and Coyote Bob about the last incident in Los Angeles. Blindside
and Highlander had finally caught up with Michael but not after the little
decker had drunk more than two-thirds of the bottle of scotch; they were
now trying to keep him in a broom closet, and toasting each other with
shots of Highlander's scotch.
Stringer wandered downstairs, and halfway down he started hearing
the pounding racket. Oh no, he thought, they're probably pounding the
Dynamit even more, which suited him fine, he thought. He emerged, to find
CRUSH wielding powerful kicks into the side of a Ford Americar, which one side
had already been buckled in. Standing around him were Polish, Scythe,
Wolf 359, Neil and Lister. With each impact the Americar jumped a few feet.
"Waaaall, gents, y'all enjoyin' yerselves?" asked Stringer.
"CRUSH have lots of FUN!" shouted CRUSH, as he did his best to turn
the Americar into more of a tin can than it already was. "Your turn,
Wolf." Wolf 359 looked at the Americar, and knew he wouldn't be doing
any severe damage. Still, he swung his baseball bat into the hood, making
a small dent. He sighed. He'd never be the strongest, but the meat didn't
matter really. Still, it was quite fun, if tiring. "Your turn,
Neil."
Neil took a running start and kicked the front left tire. To his
credit, the Ork samurai made the car jump a few inches, but what really
happened was that the tire immediately blew out with an explosive report.
Neil shouted, "YEAH!" as the 'car settled to its new position. "Hey, mate,
give it a go, eh?" he said to Stringer.
Stringer looked at the car. Even though Wolf was doing his best,
Stringer didn't feel like damaging the car. "Reckon Ah'll have to---"
and he stopped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dancer glided past him,
while the other men gazed at her lithe elven beauty. She stood on one
foot, and started spinning. When she took out the monowhip, the others
ducked, although Stringer knew her control with it was too fine to have
any accidents. Then, lightning-fast, she made three passes, and stopped.
"I don't see anything," said Scythe, as he unleashed a kick into
the side CRUSH had been pounding on. And as the kick landed, the entire
top assembly slid off the 'car, landing on the ground, leaving the Americar
topless. Dancer looked pleased, and her melodious voice rang out, "A
convertible." Laughter followed from all participants.
The incessant honking of a large ambulance shook Stringer out
of his reverie. "Hey, Stringer!" shouted the passenger. "Move or it's
ten points!"
"Fahve points, Catcher," said Stringer, but he moved as the ambulance
rolled in and parked next to IBA's old school bus. Two men got out, one
dressed as a sarariman, the other in an old army longcoat with a flattop
on his blonde hair. They looked at CRUSH and the rest of the crew.
"Catch-22," said the sarariman, "And this's Zero." Zero laughed at
the
poor battered Americar.
"Who stole the can?" he asked, looking the dented monstrosity
over.
"I did," said Polish. "But it ain't gonna last very long."
"Zero persp," said Zero, as another Americar drove into the lot,
parking itself a few feet away from the first one. Zero's eyes seemed to
focus as the second Americar turned itself off. "Just start on this one
when you get through." And with that, Zero turned, and planted a
cybernetically-powered fist in the first Americar's hood, leaving a fist-
shaped impression where Wolf 359 had put the slight dent.
CRUSH looked at the second car. "CRUSH so happy," he said.

Inside, Commander X2 put down the moon juice and noted the room,
with the crude signs marking EXIT #1 and EXIT #3 and then the other one
over the chandelier saying THIS IS NOT A MASKED LASER! He chuckled;
whoever put the signs there was definitely playing on the shadowrunners'
innate paranoia. IBA turned to the commander. "So guy," he said, "How
was the cat the other night?"
"IBA, Ah'm too much of a gentleman ta kiss and tell," said the
Commander. "But she was quite the lady, Ah'll admit." He took a can of
Lager and headed toward the food table, now being restocked for the third
time.
"C'mon, guy, tell us the whole thing." IBA walked after the
Commander. "This is what a bachelor party's all about. Everyone gets
drunk, gets loose and shares their stories with the rest of us. So tell
me," IBA said, "Is she as good in bed as I heard she was?"
Commander X2 stopped. "IBA, Ah'll thank you to keep your nose out
of mah life," he said. "Ah don't want to talk to you about it."
"Hey, pal, don't get pissed with me!" IBA said. "I just wanna
hear if she's a good lay or not."
Although the Commander had heard how crude IBA could be, there
came a time when he could only take too much. But Commander X2 was too
much of a gentleman to slug an injured person, as IBA was still bandaged
from the harrowing LA run. So he stiffly turned away, walking toward
Nightfox and Seraphy.
As IBA started to follow, a ceiling panel above him opened, and
Michael Moonwalker popped out, to land on IBA, crashing both to the
ground. "Sorry chummer," said Michael, "but I gotta get a drink!"
And
he was off, wobbling as he sped away.
In the hall, Blindside and Highlander leaned against a door.
"Ah doon't hearr a thing," said Highlander. "Ya suppoose the laddie's
given oop?"

10:00 and the party was really jumping. CRUSH and the others had
just returned from downstairs, at Zero's behest that they save the other
Americar for later. Stringer had to laugh at the poor wreck that was what
was left of the first Americar; it hadn't gotten interesting until Neil and
CRUSH decided to put CRUSH's namesake to good use. Now the big troll was
sitting on the big couch, drinking lager and eating the last of the fourth
load of vindaloos.
Speed's cameras were recording away as the band played their tunes,
still blasting away for the partiers' enjoyment. In particular, Coyote
Bob and Seraphy were dancing, although not with each other, Seraphy spinning
with energy to the hard pulse of the band's latest number.
But there was no one else dancing, and a few guys were grumbling
about it. IBA in particular was wondering, "Where's the babes? Didn't
that Angel say she'd be here?"
On cue, the door was opened by Powerhouse, who'd sort of nominated
himself to be the doorman for the night. Bouncing through came three
feminine forms, one shouting, "We're here, let the fun begin!" Two were
dressed in tight clothing but the third wore nothing but a silver-metal
bikini and a short leather jacket, plus high heels. IBA grinned, and
ambled to the raven-haired beauty wearing almost nothing. "And who might
you be, my dear?" he leered.
"Angel's the name, Dirty Angel. And this is my sister Kira," she
pointed to one of the girls with brown hair, "and her roommate Donna,"
indicating the blonde with legs to die for, who smiled, with no interest,
at the fat decker. "We thought there'd be more girls here, but I guess
not..."
"Don't you worry your nice little butt about it," said IBA, as
his eyes scanned the body part in question. He slipped his hand around
Angel's waist, and purred, "We can have fun without them, right?"
"Wrong," said Angel, slipping out of his grasp. "You just waddle
your fat hoop back to the bar, and we'll be fine."
"Fat??? You're calling me fat???" IBA was incensed. True, he
_was_ fat, but the slitch had no right calling him that. Or acting like
she was too good for him. "Do you have any idea who I am?" He was getting
more angry by the minute. "I could take you out and down and you'd thank
me while I was doing it!"
"I'd just like to see you try, fatso!" Angel was in defensive mode
now. The fat decker in front of her was making serious moves toward
battle and she didn't know what to do. So she tried to insult him. "You
probably couldn't find your dick, let alone know how to use it!"
"Bad move, slitch!" And fatso, I mean IBA, connected with a sharp
right hand slap, sending the slim rigger reeling. He was about to show her
her place when a chromed cyberlimb caught his arm. "Stop," was the only
word spoken. IBA turned to look into a pair of cold metal orbs in Zero's
face. His cyberlimb held the decker immobile, one of the advantages of
enhanced strength. Zero continued. "This isn't the time for fighting.
You're a little drunk, chummer, why don't you just do what the lady said?"
IBA was furious! He'd show that stuffed-up rigger just what to do
with his patronizing attitude! With his free hand, he swung around and
managed to connect solidly against Zero's jaw. Now the rigger had a problem;
while his cyberarm was exceptionally strong his constitution was exceptionally
weak. Zero let go of IBA's arm and thumped onto the floor. "My jaw," he
mumbled as he passed out.
IBA swung around to survey the rest of the room. "All right, who's
--- URK!" he managed to finish, as he was caught in the throes of not one
but two control spells. Catch-22 nodded to Nightfox, as he had been just a
little slow on the draw, and relinquished control to the dark elven mage.
IBA was forced to walk over to the couch and sit down, where CRUSH swung his
arm around the decker's shoulders. "CRUSH make sure you have good time,"
rumbled the troll. IBA grimaced. "I'll get you for this, Nightfox."
"You were out of your own control. Someone needed to take over,"
shrugged the small mage. "I feel no remorse in having to quell a dangerous
situation. You are here to enjoy yourself and celebrate our friend's
marriage, not to cause a bar fight." Nightfox dropped the spell, and even
IBA seemed to breathe easier.
Meanwhile Dirty Angel had managed to revive the bruised Zero.
"Whu-- where--" He felt his jaw with his flesh hand, winced with pain
at the bruise. "Owww. Teaches me not to pick on IBA," he grimaced. Then
he looked at Dirty Angel, who gazed candidly at him. "Who do you think
you are," she asked, "my hero?"

10:15, and the loud knock at the door made most people jump.
Powerhouse moved to open it, but it swung open on its own. After Michael
Moonwalker, pursued by Blindside and Highlander, came rushing through the
door, the samurai peered into the blackness beyond... and then realized
the blackness was coming through the door!
A head poked its way through the door, followed by two shoulders.
It looked as if a giant were trying to squeeze his way into a door half
his size; which, indeed, it was. Most in the room stood in awe as a gigantic
troll struggled to get into the room, through a doorway that barely gave
CRUSH any problems.
The partigoers stood speechless, but Stringer charged forward.
"Anarkus, ya came!" He clapped the troll on the arm and steadied him so
Anarkus could bring his full self into the room. "Y'all, Ah want y'all ta
meet Anarkus, the tawllest troll in awl thuh Northern Hemispheere!"
Anarkus was finally inside, and stood as well as he could. Even CRUSH
was staring at the troll; The room had a very tall ceiling, such that CRUSH
could stretch his arms over his head and barely touch the ceiling, but Anarkus
had to duck his head! Anarkus bowed towards CRUSH. "Greetings," he
rumbled, "I am Anarkus. I am a friend of Daniel's," indicating Stringer,
"and he told me about the party. I came to give you my congratualtions and
wishes for a long and happy life."
CRUSH stood slackjawed. Heck, the whole room stood slackjawed.
Seraphy even stared. "I sense no magic. No cyberware. Nothing to indicate
that this man is a phyical adept." Seraphy stared in awe. "How can this
person be four-and-a-half meters tall? Such size is impossible for trolls
unless..." Seraphy frowned, "Unless they are Dzoo-noo-qua!"
Stringer laughed. "Naaaaw, he ain't no monster. Heck, he ain't even
no shadowrunner. He's jest a troll with gigantism. He'd be big if he
war human."
Anarkus smiled, and continued for the decker. "I goblinized when
I was thirteen. I stood seven feet tall then. I know that most people with
my condition die from heart attacks when their bodies get too big. But I'm
a troll, and I regenerate." He smiled. "The doctors estimate I will get to
be twenty two feet tall," he grinned.
CRUSH looked lost, looking up, and up, at the giant before him. "You
plenty big enough for CRUSH," he managed to sputter.
Anarkus looked down at the troll, and smiled. "It is not every day
that one of our race can find true happiness," he said to CRUSH. "Your
marriage is to be celebrated, and for that reason I came to congratulate
you." Anarkus took CRUSH's hand and shook it. "And now I must be
leaving."
"Naw, Anarkus, Ah'm shore ya kin stay here, right?" Looking about
the room, Stringer saw assent written on everyone's face. "Yeah, yeah,
chummer, y'all jest make yerself t'home and enjoy yerself," he finished,
guiding Anarkus to a large chair.
"CRUSH happy to have you here," said CRUSH.

10:30. Time to get the party jumping.
"Hey, CRUSH, guess whut tahme it is?" asked Stringer.
CRUSH looked at his watch. "Little hand on ten, big hand on
six... ten-thirty," he finished. And smiled.
"Naaw, CRUSH, it's tahme ta git yer presents!" And with that,
Powerhouse and the Commander carted over the table, laden with gifts.
"This bein' a bachelor party, we're sure this'll help ya with your life
ahead, ya know," grinned Powerhouse.
CRUSH's eyes were wide as he grabbed the first gift, wrapped in a
plain brown wrapper. "That's from me," said Powerhouse, as CRUSH unwrapped
the present faster than any kid on Christmas morning, to reveal the latest
edition of PATTERSON'S COMPLETE GUIDE TO WOMANISING. "In case ya get tired
of Spirit, ya know," the samurai said, clapping CRUSH on the shoulder.
The next present was from Neil, and CRUSH was overjoyed at the
bottles of spiked wine. "Spirit really like these!" he said half-jokingly.
The book was titled METAHUMANITY AND THE KAMA SUTRA, and gave CRUSH a laugh
just from the title alone. Neil hugged CRUSH and wished him the best.
After this came Polish and Zero. "I got you your gift already,"
said Polish, "and it's in a nice neat package downstairs, thanks to you
and CRUSH." "That's correct," said Zero, "but the next Americar is my
present."
Next came Noname, who clapped the troll on his arm and said,
"I've been working for some time on this." He tucked a ring onto CRUSH's
left index finger. "It's a spell lock," he explained. "Touch this ring
to this fetish," and he applied the fetish to the troll's shirt, "when you
need to escape Spirit for a while." Noname's eyes twinkled. "You'll like
it, trust me!"
Blade stepped forward next, carrying a long katana, sheathed.
"While in Japan, on my last business trip, I found this in a little curio
shop in Kyoto. It's excellent workmanship and I'd be delighted if you'd
accept it as a gift." He handed the katana, hilt first, to the troll,
who accepted, and grinned.
Next came the tall indian, Coyote Bob. "Since Stringer's got another
present for ya, he let me give this to ya." He brought his hand from behind
his back to reveal an iron ball with a chain connected to a cuff. Stringer
chuckled. "It's the old ball-n-chain," said Bob. He tried to cuff the
ball-n-chain to CRUSH's foot but the cuff was too small. "Oh well,"
mused the lanky indian, "maybe you can find a good mantel to put this on..."
CRUSH was laughing at this last gift, but then Dirty Angel spoke
up. "I know how much of a pain your SO can get to be," she said, "so I
got you this. Bring it in!" And from behind the door to the storage room
Angel's sister wheeled in a small guillotine. "Works, too," Angel said.
"In case you get really tired of Spirit." They laughed.
Angel's sister Kira was next. She stepped right up to CRUSH, put
her arms around him, and kissed him full on the mouth. The kiss lasted
a few minutes while the rest of the partygoers made catcalls. Then she
broke the kiss and gave CRUSH a card. "My phone number," she said. "Call
me if it isn't working out."
Highlander spoke up next. "Ah goot ya a bonny gift lad, boot it
seems the lassie isn't herrre yet --- "
"She wuz here, Hahlander," Stringer spoke up, "But with mah
present Ah dint think another one would be good for CRUSH."
Highlander was puzzled. "You mean you sent my present away?"
"Trust me, Hahlander," said Stringer. "Ah got a REEEL good
surprahse
fer CRUSH."
Highlander let it ride.
Neil spoke up again. "I forgot, I had another gift for ya from
Swipe and Zee." He pulled out a package. "The boys couldn't be here,
recuperatin' in the sick bay an' all, so they wanted me ta give ya this."
He passed the box to CRUSH, who opened it. "DONOTS!!!!!" yelled CRUSH,
who pulled out a gooey chocolate donut and began eating with gusto.
A knock on the door was answered by Powerhouse, who returned with
a brown package. "Said it was for CRUSH," said Powerhouse. "Dunno why
UCAS Mail would deliver so late." He gave the package to CRUSH while
Ralph scanned it. "Don' find no hateful traces," said the dog shaman.
"It mus' be a present, ya know."
CRUSH opened the box and found two flipcomms, closed link from
one to another. A card inside stated, "Sorry I couldn't be there, but use
these to make sure you always keep the lines of communication open between
you and your spouse. --uplink" Stringer looked at the phones, and
whistled. "Ah know those," he said. "Taht beam commo link used only bah
UCAS Fed forces, coming out next year. Uplink's pulled uh good deeal,"
he finished.
Punisher tossed something to CRUSH, "Here." CRUSH caught a brand-new
Panther cannon. He gasped, "Big weapon, Punisher."
Punisher smiled. "Try it out. Go on, trust me."
CRUSH looked dubious, but caught Stringer's nod. So CRUSH pointed
it at Punisher and pulled the trigger. The high-pressure water jet took
the samurai almost by surprise, but still managed to get him soaked.
Laughter sounded throughout the room, and even Punisher had to laugh.
IBA spoke up next. "Those vindaloos you've been eating were my
present," he said. "And the way you demolished them you obviously liked
them."
When it was Speed's turn, he gave CRUSH a big pat on the back.
"Good goin, guy, landing Spirit," he said. "I'm gonna make sure you
remember
this night. We're trid-taping it for ya, I'll give you a copy later."
Finally, Stringer stepped forward, but was interrupted by Dancer.
Dancer wore an outift made of gauzy clothing, and had her ballet slippers
on. She said only three words in her beautiful melodic voice.
"I will dance."
The participants cleared the dance floor away as Dancer fiddled
with a portable disk player, and as the first strains of elven music came
from the small player, she began to Dance.
It started slow, as she stepped lightly, tracing an outline on the
floor. Nightfox gasped; he had thought the ritual dances of his people
had been long forgotten, yet here Dancer was about to perform one of the
most difficult dances there were. As she tripped lightly over the floor
her costume fluttered in her movements, graceful, sensuous.
The music speeded up, and so did her dancing. Already she had
discarded two veils from her costume and still she danced. Zero found
Dirty Angel clinging to him as they watched the dance, her hands sweaty
and her musk filling his senses. This was a Dance of Love, a Dance of
Desire, and all within the room felt its call.
The music was faster, higher, and Dancer never lost step.
Commander X2 watched with fascination as the lithe elven beauty Danced
the Dance. He noticed that he was breathing hard, and was very sweaty,
although she hadn't revealed any more of herself than her face and hands.
Next to him, Scythe was also starting to breathe funny, caught in the
mesmerizing effect of the Dance.
The music had reached a fever pitch, and Dancer Danced. Noname
and Ralph found themselves caught up in the entrancing effects of the
Dance. She was using the Dance to Center herself, the two shamans
realized, as did Nightfox, amazed that an elf so young could dance so
well, and even better than he remembered. All in the room could feel
the sexual energy coming from Dancer as she spun, bounced, Danced to
the music, Danced to the beat of the night, Danced to the beat of
Life...
...and came to a stop, kneeling, in front of CRUSH.
No one spoke for several minutes. Then CRUSH managed to say,
"She my present from Stringer?"
This shocked Stringer out of his reverie. "Naw, naw, CRUSH," he
said, still dazed from the Dance, "She may be a perty filly but she's
MAH filly." He went to Dancer and helped her rise. "Y'all's present
is coming up raht soon... in fact, here it is!" And none too soon, he
thought, as he helped Dancer find her way into the storage room.
The cake was obviously fake, and obviously had a girl inside. This
didn't matter to any of the participants of the party, who watched as
Catcher and Blindside walked the cake to the center of the dance floor.
There seemed to be some confusion as to where the cake should have been
placed, but Catch-22 demanded it be set in one certain spot, over Blindside's
opinions that "It just doesn't look right, old chap." Finally Blindside
agreed to leave it alone when Catch offered to fill Blindside's glass with
more Glenlivet.
The band caught on, obviously having been prepared. They swung into
a "dirty dance" song, as CRUSH and the others watched the cake start to
spin, and ignite candles on the exterior, and then suddenly, the top split
open, and a beautiful blonde-haired girl sprang out, wearing not much more than
a big smile. "Hi!" she said. "Can someone help me out?"
CRUSH was all too happy to oblige, and picked the girl up and put her
down on the dance floor. She started dancing around CRUSH and caressing him,
touching him lightly and tickling him where she could.
"Hey!" exclaimed Lister. "There's another girl in the cake!"
So there was, and Scythe helped her out, a brunette with not a lot
on but really friendly to the physad. In fact, no sooner had he helped
her onto the floor than another girl appeared, to be helped out, followed
by another, and another... and then Lister, his hands full of short-haired
blonde, made a startling discovery.
"I know that girl!" he shouted over the din, indicating the girl
who'd just stepped out of the cake. "That's Randii Reynolds!"
IBA looked at his partner. "Hey! You're Traci Walker!" He was
amazed at the Seattle girl.
"Stringer!" yelled Powerhouse. "How could you get the cheerleading
squad from the Seattle Seahawks to this party?"
"Connections," replied Steel Stringer, his arms full of Dancer.
"Besahds, who duh ya think muh brother-in-law is?" He chuckled, then laughed,
"You guys ever heard of David Adlam?"
"You mean," exclaimed Scythe, "your brother-in-law is the Seahawks'
star running back?"
"Yep!" Stringer smiled. "Nah y'all jest enjoy mah present ta
CRUSH,"
he said. The troll himself was buried in the affections of Macy Lancome,
the Seahawks' troll chearleader. Macy had been blessed with a gentle
goblinization and only barely seemed to be a troll, not just a taller
(and chestier) human girl. "If y'all wanna take it further there's prahvate
rooms upstairs," he added, and noticed that three individuals immediately
took his advice.
CRUSH was overjoyed. This had to be the best present anyone had
given him.

Mrs. Armacy lived a few doors down from Cashmere's, and usually
didn't have any complaints with the restaraunt. She usually went to bed
around 9 and the restaraunt never got too noisy. But tonight she had
been jolted out of her comfy ways by the racket from the restaraunt's
parking lot.
She hobbled up the street as fast as her 87-year-old body could
take her, and stopped when she saw the troll kicking the car. Horrified,
she went back to her home immediately and called the police. They
assured her they were looking into the matter.
At ten the din quieted down, but then a half-hour later she was
woken up again by loud shouting and even louder music. Furious, she
phoned Lone Star again, and demanded that they do something about the
racket. "After all," she said, "I pay my fair share of your wages, young
man!" The dispatch officer, well aware that orders were to leave the
address alone tonight, made assuring noises then hung up. Crazy old bat,
he thought.
Nearly another half-hour later, the music hadn't stopped, and
she was really angry. So Mrs. Armacy went outside and waited. Sooner or
later the police would show up and then she'd make sure that those
punks would quiet down and stop disturbing her and her three dogs!

At the same time, Jack Walters was driving around downtown Seattle
with his partner, Malcom. It was a quiet night and the two Lone Star
officers were bored, driving lazily around the city looking for innocent
civilians to harass for no good reason. Just like they taught Jack at the
Academy; innocent civilians were usually Shadowrunning criminals in
disguise. His partner, Malcom, dozed easily, stretched back in his chair.
Jack turned a corner, and saw a crazy old lady waving her arms
wildly at him. He nudged Malcom, who grunted. "Hey, Malcom," he started,
"Take a look at the crazy old bat."
Malcom opened one eye and looked out Jack's window. "Wonder what
she wants," he yawned.
"Dunno," said Jack. "Could be she wants us to get her cat out of
the tree."
Malcom looked at the street scene. "Ain't no trees around, Jack."
Jack shrugged. "Maybe she's lonely. These retirees get that
way. She just wants to talk us on our ears."
Malcom grunted, then struggled to sit up. "Well, are we going to
see what she wants?"
Jack swung the car over to the old lady. "Guess so," he said.
"Anything's better than this boring stuff."

When the two officers arrived, Mrs. Armacy was pleased. Finally
the police had sent someone. The passenger got out first. "What seems
to be the trouble, ma'am?"
"Oh officer I'm so glad you're here. Those hooligans down the
block are making such a racket I can't get to sleep. And Mrs. Hufnagel
down the hall can't sleep either and she's half-deaf. And the noise is
scaring my little Poopsie-Woopsie."
Malcom stuck his head back in the car. "Disturbance down the road,"
he said to Jack. "You wanna check it out?"
"Dreck yeah!" said Jack. "Finally, a chance to bust some
heads."

They drove into the parking lot, and immediately noticed the remains
of Blindside's Westwind, conjugated with the Dynamit. Then they saw the
small cube that remained from the Americar. "Dreck," swore Jack,
"Looks like a friggin' gang of 'em. Better call for backup."

Upstairs, Anarkus helped himself to vindaloos and burritos. The
smaller people in the room were enjoying their newfound company, and several
couples had disappeared to the upstairs rooms. Stringer and Dancer were
nowhere to be found, although Anarkus suspected that they were engaging in
much the same activity. He sat down on the big chair, and took a bite of
mexican pizza.
The girls remaining downstairs had put a few more clothes on, at least.
They'd originally come from downstairs; it seemed there was a trapdoor
built into the dance floor for some reason. The girls had gathered in the
restaraunt below and climbed a ladder to get into the cake.
Anarkus swallowed the last of the pizza and started in on the vindaloos.
Several partiers were on the dance floor, and a few sat and made out on the
couches, oblivious to those who might be watching. The fat decker had managed
to find two women interested in him, and was taking turns in the corner. And
behind the bar counter, the occasional cry of "Scotsman Ho!" told him where the
scotsman had gone to.
Behind him, through the window, Anarkus heard sirens. He shook his
head; at least here they were safe from the violence of the Streets.

Dirty Angel weaved through the crowd, spotting the center of her
attention: the cute elven mage she'd had her eye on all night. Now that
she had a few drinks in her she wasn't doing to let him get away.
Nightfox noted the drunk human female walk up to him. She was cute,
but he wasn't interested. He smiled at her, and continued his conversation
with Seraphy and Catch-22.
Dirty Angel saw him smile. It proved that he really wanted her; he
was just playing hard to get. But maybe he didn't know her intentions; she
decided she'd drop subtle hints about her amorous attentions toward him.
Angel swung the young mage around to face her. "I like you,"
she said. "Take me now."
"I don't understand," started Nightfox.
"Take me!" Dirty Angel wobbled. "Do me, screw me, twice is nice
but don't refuse me! (BUZZ!) me, damn you!"
Nightfox turned away, with an mumbled, "I'm sorry," on his lips.
Seraphy could sense the young elf's emabrrasment.
Angel wasn't about to be deprived of his body so quickly. She swung
him around again, kissing him full on the mouth and trying to get her tongue
between his lips, and her hand groped at his crotch, trying to arouse him.
Then she felt a peculiar force take hold of her, and throw her away.
Nightfox gasped for breath, his face darker than usual. "Not... INTERESTED,"
he ground out.
Angel was furious; she'd have him if it was the last thing she did!
The spell ended, she charged up to him, grabbed his shoulders...
Angel suddenly got a vacant stare to her eyes as she limply let go
of Nightfox. Catch-22 smiled. "I have just the thing for you, my dear,"
he said. "Zero!"
Zero was on the dance floor, but walked over anyway. "Whattaya want?"
Catcher smiled, and concentrated. Seraphy saw the mask spell take
effect. Clever, he thought. So now Nightfox won't have to put up with
her any more. When it was done, Zero looked like Nightfox, and
vice versa.
Then Angel swung around toward Zero, put her hands on his shoulders,
and the vacant stare came out of her eyes. She kissed what she believed was
Nightfox with full Mach 12 force, and found him to be responding! Her
lucky day!
"Let's go upstairs, Babe," came Nightfox's voice from Nightfox's
image. Seraphy looked alarmed. "Voice mask," explained Catch-22.
Seraphy nodded, and contnued to watch.
"Hell with upstairs, I can't wait that long." She shrugged, and
het metal bikini fell off. "Do me here, do me now, just DO ME!"
Catch-22 couldn't help but laugh, nearly rolling out of the bar stool
as his friend and a slut made hot, passionate love under his feet.
"No back-up," said Malcom. "You want we should just do this
on our own?"
"Yeah, might as well," said Jack. "Besides, from the sounds of
it they won't hear us coming."
Quietly the two policemen crept up the stairs to the second floor.
There, they took the usual stances. Jack nodded to Malcom, who pounded
on the door. "Police!" screamed Malcom. Then Jack turned and attempted
to kick the door in. Unfortuantely, he forgot the hinges were on the outside
of the door, and rebounded.
Malcom helped him back up the stairs. "That was smart," said Malcom.
"Next time, try opening the door."
Jack grimaced.
Taking stances again, Malcom pounded on the door. But before he could
identify them, the door opened. Jack rushed into the room, only to look up..
and up... and into Anarkus' eyes. "You... have... the..." Jack couldn't
believe it; he knew he was going to die. "mother" tumbled from his lips.
Anarkus laughed, as did the other Shadowrunners in the room. They'd
heard Malcom the first time and managed to shrug into armor jackets and
pick up hidden weapons. Malcom looked around. "Jack," he said,
"this isn't a gang hideout." Malcom looked at the others in the room.
"Jack," he continued, "these people are shadowrunners." Malcom looked
at Jack, still trying to find out where Anarkus stopped. "Jack," Malcom
said, "We're going to die."
"Die? Naaw," said Stringer, who'd managed to throw on his jeans
quickly. "We'all jest got together fer a party ta celebrate our friend
CRUSH, here, " indicating the second largest troll Jack had ever seen,
"his gettin' hitched tomorrow!"
"And this isn't a gang hangout?" Malcom seemed relieved. "What
about those wrecks downstairs?"
"CRUSH get frustrations out of CRUSH's system," said CRUSH. "CRUSH
now very happy."
Malcom nodded. "Ooo-kay. In that case my partner and I will be
going. Sorry to bother you all. Have a good night." He turned, and tried
to move the frozen Jack.
"Boo," Anarkus said.
Jack looked at the troll and laughed once, hysterically. He then
looked won at his crotch where he'd managed to wet himself. He then
fainted, and was caught by Malcom, who nodded, and carried Jack out.
They waited until the police car drove away, and then they laughed...

3 AM. The party had broken down then; Most people had to get up for
the wedding. CRUSH had gone home with many happy thoughts and presents
and even carried the excess food and lager home with him. Stringer looked
at the room; it was a mess. The band had finally broken down and were now
leaving. Stringer stood in the center of the confusion and rubble.
Even after the police had left the party hadn't stopped. First they
had to play Kick the Americar again; it was even funnier when they played
while they were drunk. Lister and IBA eventually got so drunk they started
crushing beer cans on their heads; this had to stop when IBA managed to
knock himself out, forgetting he was still recuperating from the LA run.
And everybody had to dance with CRUSH; it seemed Stringer had decided he'd
dance with the troll during a song, then Punisher danced with CRUSH,
then Norm Yoshida, then everyone else...
Stringer looked around, scanning the room. It was a mess; he was glad
he didn't have to clean it up. His brother-in-law's service would take care
of that. He moved to the bar, and while popping open a can of cola, heard
movement under a table. Looking under, he saw Zero still entangled with
Dirty Angel. "Shhh..." she said, looking down at the male rigger. "Don't
make a sound. Just toss me my jacket." She nimbly got up, then grabbed
her metabl bikini, and accepted the jacket from Stringer. "Thanks, lovely
party," she said, slipping out the door.
"I like her," came Zero's voice from under the table.
Stringer bent down and looked at his friend. "Y'all would, yah dirty
minded git," said Stringer. "She's jest yer type."
Zero got ub, groaning as his bones creaked, and looked for his
clothing. "The spell dissolved sometime around midnight when Catch went home.
She decided she liked me better than Nightfox. We're going to the wedding
tomorrow." Zero had found his underwear and stooped to put them on.
Stringer nodded. He looked at his watch. 3:05.
"We gotta git outta here," he drawled. "The weddin's at Eleven
tomorrow." Stringer looked one last time at the mess as Zero put his pants
on. Dancer glided into the room. "Anybody upstairs, darlin'?" asked
Stringer. Dancer shook her head. Stringer checked under the couch, and was
satisfied that no one was there. "Then let's git out and go."
On the way downstairs, it hit Stringer. "Awww no," he drawled,
"Blindside scragged the Dynamit and took the Westwind. How are we gonna
get home?"
Zero smiled as the ambulance drove up. "Need a lift?"

On the way home they found Ralph in the back of the ambulance.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

>>>>>[ Whew, the run did take a lot out of us. We'll tell you all about
it when we get a chance to catch our collective breath. ]<<<<<
-- Zero <less than/nothing>