Death of a Salesman

Mr. Brett looks for a trashcan outside to stash his kit once the cameras are down.

"Hey Red, let me know when Numa takes care of your mom."

Until the cameras are down, Brett keeps his kit in the room and keeps an eye outside, head on a swivel.

Zeta, thoroughly entertained by the brain potatoes, plays the game she often plays of trying to guess what BDs are being played. Of course, she tries to pay attention to the task, but ultimately knows that her job will kick into gear after the shit hits.
In her boredom, she does indulge a weird habit. She first takes a huge whiff of the rank stank developing under her arms as the intensity of the occasion rises. Then, when she sees no one looking, she dives her tongue as deeply into her pit as she can reach. The salty, almost sweet taste gives her a rush. She then shakes it off and starts watching the door.

"Found a jack point. Just be a few seconds." He makes his way to the spot and inserts his interface plugs into the panel.

Brett saunters about the area, looking a bit out of sorts before settling in a place to sit with a good view of the punks. With tinted shades on he side-eyes the punks checking their frames for weapons, armor or cybernetic enhancements

"These guys don't look like they're packing much. If they're playing coy it ain't nothin to worry about. Anything else on you can see, Numa?"

Brett scans nearby windows and rooftops for bodies. When he is confident there isn't a sniper or observer he finds a nice trash can to stash his kit in.

"Preem. Think we're good. Gunna hit some lace and geek out till the buyers get here."

Sergei sizes the bodyguards up and down. He’s not impressed.

"Only customers come in. Others wait outside."

Sergei maintains coverage of inside of the pavilion, communicating with Brett outside as necessary.

"Our guests have arrived."

Mr. Brett moves to intercepts the groups before they get to the room

"Gentlemen… I’m afraid I must insist."

Sergei holds his hand out ready to push back slightly on the fixer’s chest if he doesn’t stop. He bores his stare into the fixer’s eyes and grits his teeth ever so slightly.

"Now please, buyers only. Your friends can wait right outside. The auction will not start until we have this settled."

"He’s busy. Trust me, no one but the buyer."

Sergei stands firm, relaxed but clearly ready to escalated.

"Trust me. Very safe. We have you Choombata. They will be here when you are done."