wanderingwolf
Red Wizard
Bork Lazer
BunniesOfDoom
Dark Light
vietmyke
Guardian Angel Haruki
wintersoldier
TokyoPewPew
SnowdropsWildfire
Practically purring like a cat, Wildfire gracefully bounded out of the tattered bus. She was tired of the jet. She was tired of sitting still. She was tired of being sober. She could feel an itch, a gnawing, frustrating feeling, that coursed through her. Beginning at her fingertips, traveling up her arms, racing over her shoulders until it crashed into her spine, and rocketed all the way up her superhighway-ed spinal nerves. Standing in the midday sunlight, she stretched, yawning loudly as she shook the weariness out of her head. It was go time, not sleep time. She’d sleep later. A couple of minutes and some novacoke and she’d be burning chrome for the next 24 hours.
Slapping Frost cheerfully on the shoulder, Wildfire breathed in the air. She loved cities. She loved the smell of asphalt. She loved the uncountable scents that attacked her nose all at once and threatened to overwhelm her senses. She loved the noise that surrounded them and the bustle that caused it.
Wildfire felt alive. She felt awake. The hunt was on. It didn’t matter. She’d find the girl. She had Frost. She had Whetstone. She knew them. She trusted Frost with her life. She trusted Whetstone to be a professional. She liked Captcha already. The technomancer danced with danger and the warnings that burned at Wildfire only raised her interest. Captcha would not be boring and that was often all that mattered.
The mystic adept seemed to be a live wire, which always meant trouble. But some magical artillery was always worth it. A little bit of idealism never killed anyone that didn’t have it coming. Maybe he’d learn. Maybe he wouldn’t. She’d be chill as long as he did his job.
Wildfire had already forgotten Johnson. He was just another fixer. Another puppet convinced he was the puppeteer. Probably a dime a dozen. Not that it mattered. The Shaman seemed solid, Wildfire thought. Although she had never cared much for the spirits. They were too fickle. They were too demanding. She had herself, she had her magic, and she had her claws.
She studied the figure waiting at the door with a smirk she made absolutely no effort to hide. She didn’t know much about religion. But she could clock a robe with the best of them. She wasn’t sure if the mage was trying to make some joke or if the Johnson had actually found them a dyed-in-the-wool member of the clergy to join the team. She revealed her earlier judgments of the fixer and decided he was some sort of comedian. That or he was insane, but she hoped she was a joker. Laughing was better than crying even in the mud.
"Chercheur?" Wildfire said, knowing the answer already, a smile halfway between a friendly greeting and a challenge played over her lips, "What’s the good word in Lisbon? You're been our man on the ground...for I don't know...some time...Any sweet data you have to share with the rest of us?"