Reconnaissance, Pheonix

[GamesMaster1]

Walking about the morning rush, Pheonix watched the regular people rushing their way to their jobs, or to the shops or wherever it was that people who didn't see the wrongness of the world needed to be at ten in the morning. He saw that the newspaper vendors were hawking broadsheets which had a sensational account of a daring terrorist attack on the Atlantic Constellation, the east-bound train on the Atlantic Motorway which had attacked by a pair of people identified as "Toy Solders", and he could hear murmurs of everyone in the crowd around him talking about trains, and safety, and how horrible the attack must have been...

But then he overheard another conversation. A very nervous fellow talking in hushed tones into a mobile phone. "No I don't bloody well know who they were!" he suddenly exclaimed before realizing that he'd just said that very loudly in a public place. He conspicuously looked around him, before scurrying into a side alleyway very close to Pheonix.

"Look, all I know was they was askin' questions. They made it sound like they was cleaners, mate. They wanted to know 'bout Scratch, and about the Ice Queen. I've burned myself at wicket, and I'm burned at the speakeasy too. I need a place to crash, and I ain't goin to that Russian. Whaddya mean you can't help me out!? Look, with all that nonsense on the telly about the Constellation attack. Yes, I know that sounds like they're still trying to find 'em. Come on! Give us a break!?"

With a final exasperated sigh, it was obvious that he'd been hung up on.

[GamesMaster1]

Echoing from the alley, Pheonix heard the man start talking again

"Hey man, it's Percy? How's things, mate?"

"No, Percy. From the snooker game thursday last? Yeah. How ya doin', mate? Yeah, not too much. Say, you know anyone whose got a room? I'm out of doors, eh? No, I don't want to bother the Armenians, they're gonna be busy soon enough here. Alright, thanks... See you tuesday."

"Turnip this," he muttered pocketing his mobile and walking back out onto the street. He headed towards Camden with his hands in his dark khaki boilersuit, and his head down.

[Beta Strike-1 Pheonix]

Pheonix listened to the mans conversation carefully, noting a few phrases that were completely alien to him.
"Ice Queen?" He thought to himself, turning to the voice a little too quickly when he referenced the speakeasy. He tugged his trenchcoat slightly to cover the knife scabbard affixed to the back of his belt. He'd ditched his pistols when he went out this morning, still adamant to use them after the fight at the pub. He turned and walked a few steps in the opposite direction when the man left the alley and walked into Camden. Ben noted the man's coat, picking out key fetures the way he was trained to, and started to shadow the man at a distance, staying hidden in the crowd as best he could.

[GamesMaster1]

Percy looked behind himself occasionally, only half-heartedly checking for a tail. He didn't think that the plods would be looking for him, and he wouldn't know one of the Russian cleaners if he saw them. But it was a habit that died hard. He took a couple of wrong turns to throw anyone who might be following him, but for someone who knew where he was going, it was pointless.

After about fifteen minutes of wandering about northwest London, he found himself in front of the hastily-mended door to the Speakeasy. "Closed for Repairs" the sign read. Percy read it aloud, then added "Damn, I could've really gone for a pint."

Shuffling back and forth on his feet, Percy looked like he was thinking.

[Beta Strike-1 Pheonix]

Ben continued to follow the man, staying hidden in the crowd as best he could. He made a mental note of the man looking back every so often, memorising as many facial features as he could before realising where all th pointless turns had lead them. The man had stopped outside the speakeasy.
"Why would he come back here?" He thought curiously, unsure of how to proceed He ran the choices through his head before picking an option, and bolting up a drainpipe attached to a nearby 2 storey building, scaling the roof and propping himself out of sight of the man, but within listening distance.

[GamesMaster1]

"Acid Ted!" Percy exclaimed suddenly, before turning on his heels and heading back the way he came, and making a beeline for the Market. The alley which contained the Speakeasy was rather sparse, what with the crowds not needing anything down under the tracks, but the Market was a completely different matter.

On this street, in this district, the creative spark that the Consortium strove to erradicate was allowed to thrive... within limits. People who were disaffected with their humdrum lives, devoid of originality came here to dream. But it was a controlled environment, and the street performers and artists exhibiting their wares were all employees of the Market. Any unplanned displays of creativity were dealt with harshly, and displays which did not meet with the owners were never shown the light of day. But for the uninspired, it looked pretty enough, and felt bohemian enough that you could forget for one hour about Big Brother.

Percy knew about all of that, but also knew of a good place he could go. The "Theodore Roosevelt Emporium", an American West themed boutique, where you could buy coonskin hats, picturesque images of the unspoilt West, and other uninspired kitch. And there was a themed pub too, where you could get stereotypically American food and drink.

Unknowngly, Percy led Ben straight there.

[Beta Strike-1 Pheonix]

Ben watched the man leave, following him via the rooftops to allow greater mobility. He stayed just above his target, before stopping at a marketplace filled with people. Performers authorised to do so put on shows that lacked any freedom. He watched as he tale entered a themed pub. COnfused Ben leapt for a drainpipe on the building next to him and slid down to the floor, befoe sliding in to the crowd and entering the pub after his target. Confused, he looked around, sighting the man at the bar nearby. Trying to not look stupid, he walked to the bar and ordered a budweiser

[GamesMaster1]

"Comin' right up, pardner" the bartender drawled in an unholy mix of Welsh and Texan accents; it was difficult to tell if this was intentionally bad, or if the bartender was genuinely trying to sound American. Soon enough, a red bottlecan was set down at Ben's elbow. "That'll be £7" he said.

The front room of the shop was just that, a shop; the second room was the bar, and Ben could see that there was a third room around behind the first two. He didn't see the man in the boilersuit anywhere in the first two rooms, however.

The buzz of the conversation was alternating between general discussion of the accident on the Atlantic Constellation, and how silly the decor in the pub was. Some of the conversation also centered on the unintelligible accent the bartender was using, and how they couldn't believe there was actually sawdust on the floor.

A commotion arose when someone in a very tall hat and jingling spurs stepped out from the storeroom in the pub-side. A cheer went up amongst the crowd as a spitting image of Theodore Roosevelt (resplendent in the rough-rider uniform) came out and shook hands, posed for photographs with a couple of patrons, then walked around the corner into the back room.

Ben heard Percy's voice exclaim "Ted!" and he found his mark.

[GamesMaster1]

The sound of billiard balls striking each other filtered out into the main room, and the conversation in the other room faded into the background. Based on what he could make out, the two men were discussing "business", and someone was playing some form of billiards game. The American voice must be Ted, and he speaks with a precise American accent, absent of any other accents, and free of slang.

Then Ben heard Percy mention the Ice Queen, and his ears pricked up. "She's been giving me trouble again, then these two cleaners come by, askin' about the Russian and about the madman..."

"Speaking of the Russian," the American voice chimes in. "Word is that he's looking for help on a job. He's looking for new people, and does not want to see the same faces. Easy money for madboys..."

"Eh. You know he gives me the creeps. What's the job?"

The response was interrupted by the cracking of billiard balls together. Probably for the benefit of any recording devices in the walls.