Johnny, despite his rumpled clothes and the cigarette dangling from his lips, looked very out of place. Maybe it was because trench coats only seemed to be popular with very wealthy businessmen, or spree shooters. Maybe it was because he looked like he hadn't slept or showered for a few days. Or maybe it was because he was looking at the menu like it had personally insulted him.
Not even an attempt at a lobster roll. Savages... he thought sadly, shaking his head.
"Gimme a Soykaf. Lots of cream, lots of sugar," the lawyer grunted at the cashier, resentful of the few Nuyen that the Soykaf was dragging out of him.
quote:
"A number three, number twelve, number six and number eleven."
That made his ears perk up. Taking a sip from his cup of hot drek, he casually glanced over his shoulder at the two very obvious Shadowrunners that were chatting, and had loudly proclaimed very particular series of numbers.
The same numbers that he had been given.
"I don't mean to butt-in to what is clearly a private conversation for two, and I don't want to presume from appearances what your chosen vocation is, but from the sounds of things, you were unexpectedly called to this location for unknown reasons with a series of mysterious numbers? Now, I find myself in the same boat. That says to me that we should either scatter immediately because something bad is about to happen, or someone with a LOT of pull has arranged this unlikely grouping. Does anyone else concur? Also, for the love of Lofwyr's balls, please get better at double-speak. I'm pretty sure the pimply-faced teenagers could crack your codes," the criminal/attorney asked mildly with a friendly and welcoming smile.