Description: Quiet Riot (1986). Elle finally meets up with the dark horse of the tournament: Nikolai Tippin. Attempts at friendly negotiations fail when Nikolai seems more interested in posturing than providing answers. After hearing the same litany of reasons as to why she's little more than a peon for the umpteenth time, Elle gets fed up and calls Blackjack's Silent Assassin and Badass Brit to beat the answers out of him. For some reason, Nikoli decides to chat instead.
Nikolai Tippin; An enigmatic man in the best of circumstances, and who has for the first round of the tournament been almost completely inaccessible, despite bunking with Naerose – something that seems to have been mostly shirked, for he never uses his room for much of anything. Many have seen fleeting glimpses of him, scouring the ship from top to bottom, a menacing juggernaut with cold, focused eyes that none have yet purposefully drawn to themselves. Yet his time as a backdrop in this event have come to a close, with the utter vanishing of Seishirou. His quest to pin down either of the founding ninjas has failed, forcing him now to utilize other prospects for his personal agenda.
Which seems to be raiding the wetbar at the moment. A tall man, well into six feet with insanely broad shoulders and barrel chest, he's horribly scarred -- not the type from fighting entirely, but heralds of sadistic torture years past. Tan pants and fine loafers are met with black shoulder suspenders, crossing over his white mid-bicep dress shirt. His favored fedora is being worn, and there's no attempt to hide the aesthetics of his missing left limb. Limping lazily, he snatches a lean, aged bottle. "Hah. Rodnik vodka." is mused to himself, bitterly. Amusing that his favored drink, the best of the alcoholic beverages in the world, is handed out like candy. Holding it by the neck, he settles himself upon one of the two-person tables adjacent to a window, glancing through the mesh to the breathtaking ocean without any apparent effect. He pries open the bottle with his teeth, spitting the cap aside with a clatter on the floor. Although this vodka is 500 a vodka on the cheap end within America, Nikolai tips it back and takes a mouthful, burning down his throat in a slit-eyed grunt. Apparently, he's not intending to appreciate the subtleties of the blend...
<They say in America>, Elle says in rough but serviceable Russian, <That it is always one armed man's fault.>
The tone is flat, unemotional, and devoid of any real intonation. However, the subtleties would indicate that it's a joke.
"Sorry. My Russian's atrocious. I took it on a lark in college. Never thought I'd have to use it, but that's life. Always tossing you curveballs," Elle says as she approaches Nikolai from the side instead of behind. She sits a few stools away, facing the bar proper. "You know, when I first strated in the business, the Tippin Gang was like the boogeyman. I mean, sure, we all heard of the Izmailovskaya, and the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood, but the Tippin Gang was supposed to be the 'it' crowd in Russia." She raises a hand, calling the bartender for a single Corona. Lightweight for a Russian, or for anyone else that matter.
"I think I used to handle a few third party shipments of surplus arms your foot soldiers sold Shadaloo here and there. Your guys were always pros. Psychos, but pros," she says, conversationally.
She pauses to push the lime into her beer, tipping it back to take a modest amount. "I'm not here to flatter you, though. Just here to pay some respects for someone that has integrity in the business."
The stated Russian is met with a turned head, but it doesn't break the motion of Nikolai's latest heavy drink, two gulps coming forth this time before setting the bottle down. Her following statements is only met by a hard observation, painfully neutral in a way more akin to a poker face then something genuine. If he was insulted or not, it's hard to tell. "Made a name for myself and my people being ruthless. Could do things that Solntsevskaya bratva could not. Was separate arm, after all." Apparently he finds this self-pun amusing if nothing else. "Not much different then politics. Same, in some countries. Plausible denial, yes?" Although he seems to know many words that hint to good knowledge of english, his grammar is atrocious and choked with his Russian accent. "I care little for flattery, girlie. Even if organization on hard times." The latter might be something only alluded to in investigations, with all the details thoroughly shrouded. After all, to publicize weakness in his line of work is a good way to get killed even quicker. "I hear of you. Blackjack, yes? Little band of do-anything's with low hiring standards. I suppose bending over for highest bidder good way to get toe in door." There's a smirk there, another swig of alcohol taken. "What you want with me, hrrm?"
"We all have to start somewhere," she says with a shrug. Elle's not going to disparage her people just because some of them are less than the cream of the crop. "They do what I tell them to do, and that's enough for me. Loyalty is priceless nowadays."
"As for what I want. You know my rep. I'm an information broker. So I'm looking to trade some information. Straight up fact for fact. Or, if I have information you like in specific, you can go for cash value without losing footing in intel."
"So what do you say? You can run all over this boat and threaten, or crush the information you need from people and waste a whole lot of time and energy chasing ninjas around the boat like a bad British comedy skit, or we can do some business," Elle says, taking another sip of her beer.
"Ah, yes. You understand heart of business. Loyalty most important. How you get it not matter, but in business where backstabbing is regular, want not get backstabbed." Again his bottle is nursed, lips smacking in thought as the latest is said by Nikolai, who slowly sets it down and turns, shrugging his wide shoulders while looking upon Elle, as if she were some particularly interesting animal in a zoo. "Let me explain how I got where I am. Quite opposite of you. Annihilate competition. Intimidate in ways make forensic experts cringe. Burn down homes with families. In short, take shortest path. When one has no rules, no morals, no soul, they very dangerous man." It wouldn't be hard for Elle to have dug up things unproven but almost certainly from his organization. Pickling people alive in oilcans and delivering them to banks that refused to pay kickbacks is on the lightest side. "So I not care for your comment. Your assumption I operate on simple brutality. I been in business longer then you alive. And I survived, prospered." Until the recent setback, at least. "Proposition should of been this. Would Nikolai paying me be quicker and more accurate then Nikolai breaking limbs and holding knife to eye? Maybe after cutting out other to prove he not bluffing?" Nikolai leans forward, an oddly eager grin creasing his ravaged features. "Well? Would it?" He's got an awfully cheery tone, as if it's a joke that he already knows the answer to.
Oh god. Not /another/ one.
"That's wonderful," Elle says, "Tell you what. If you want to chat about how awesome you are, I can let you talk to Igniz, and you two can compare notes. I'm sure you know him. Gold hair. Likes to talk about being a God. Capable of lighting up Manhattan with a fart. Great fella."
%She puts down her beer. "Look. The fact is, I've dealt with people a lot scarier than you. They piss whiskey, shit explosives, and they've all given me the speech about how I'm I'm an inferior gnat."
Dead, empty eyes look straight back at the big Russian. "So do you want to do business or waste a lot of time grinning and thinking you're that much more fantastic than me for being old. I'll respect you for what you've done, and what you can do. But I'm not going to change my tone or kiss your ass."
"Who is Igniz?" Nikolai states, seeming to only care about that particular fact. Not everyone is aware that NESTS even exists, let alone the figurehead. "Although you interesting person. Very antisocial for information broker. When I say you gnat? I try make joke, you bite head off. I know english not good, but not that bad either. And if you know me, you should know not to make me mad. You can prance about all merrily confident. But what you say true. You are gnat. You need your sea of little gophers for protection, and you very careful not to annoy anyone. Since they all squash you like bug. Me, without backing of mother Russia, would not have gotten away with my practice." He takes another heavy drink of his vodka, sighing. "Just remember there one thing different when doing business with me, girlie. I not intimidate. I make threats. What difference, you ask? If I say I break leg, I one snide comment from breaking leg, even if in middle of pub and you surrounded by friends." He scratches his chin, as if this encounter thus far has been incredibly amusing as opposed to anything else. "But you young, you will learn if you live. Few times spared by ragnarok farting gods must make you feel invincible and arrogant. As for business... all I interested in is Ryouhara brat. What you have to offer on him?"
"Which one?" Elle asks. "The living one, or the dead one?" Nikolai's comments are put aside for the time being. Antisocial she may be, but she's not one to mince words. Cutting the crap and getting business done is her clarion call, and she's not going to change it. It works.
"He's a ninja," she replies in the most general terms. "He sneaks round in the dark and steals your stuff when you're not looking. Right now, he's the last surviving heir of the clan. Other than that, you're going to have to be a little more specific. What do you want? His grade point average in high school?"
"Dead one?" Nikolai comments somewhat offhandedly, apparently intrigued that she gave away a piece of information for free; If not something exactly worthwhile with such ambiguity. Whether it's something he was aware of or not isn't revealed, one of his own strongest facets being his entirely unreadable facade of threatening cheerfulness. Digging in a pocket, a cigar is pulled out and clamped in his teeth, fishing for a lighter thereafter. "One question might be how much ship cost. Some millions, I wager? Do you have access to things such as that? Although really it more curiosity. I already know answer, at least well enough. Bigger one might be what you think point of this. Ryouhara not care about tournaments. And he not generous. Wasting money on ship rather peculiar..." Chomping off the end and spitting it away, the cigar is lit and puffed to light, thoughtfully. "I suppose all I want are simple heresay and theory. We both have good connections, can get answers to much. So maybe it quicker if you ask me what you want know and we work from there."
That works for Elle. She's just expressionless. No facade. Just... dead lifelessness, as if her soul had decided to just up and go away, leaving behind a person that just wants to get the interesting bits of life done and over with. "Then let's talk about Arinori Ryuohara, and how he disappeared," Elle says, tossing the empty beer bottle from hand to hand.
"A little bird told me that he might be the reason you're here. I do have some theories as to why they had you come, but it kind of hinges on who and what Arinori is, and what he was doing, both ersonally and professionally, about ten, thirteen years ago."
She puts the bottle down. "They say he bit it in an underground fighting tournament."
"Arinori Ryouhara?" Nikolai states, scrunching up his features and leaning back in his chair, scratching his chin in an apparent reverie. After some time he looks back towards Elle, impassive. "Why he matter? One of many small-time nobodies who got too deep. He was like you, little girlie. He not realize the danger not the gods of world. But the everyday butchers in reality." Continuing to nurse his cigar in slow, languid drags, the ashes are tapped on the floor beside. Not caring for how pristine the ship remains, almost disdainfully. Shifting his position, one leg crossing over a knee for better comfort and more informality. "So you think death of Seishirou's poor hapless brother cause vendetta. Pfft." So he does know the name. "Maybe. Maybe you on to something. But it not answer what point of ship is. He spend too much time for too long."
Elle tilts her head. "Actually, I think you're basically icing on this cake of a ship," she replies honestly. "Everything about this is basically an insult to you. The 'fighting proletariat'? The fact that the prize money is derived fromt he funds they sucked out from your organization?"
Elle shrugs. "Your money went also in part to fund this floating circus. Nothing on here is to pander to you. You're just a spectator, while the Ryuohara sit and tries to prove that even the lowliest dirtbag on the boat is better than you."
The mercenary shrug. "So Arinori's a bug. So inconsequential, that his brother decided to drain every penny from your coffers. You won't mind telling me why you, your group, or someone that looks exactly like you crushed him like an egg, and maybe how he died?"
"Oh, no. You got it wrong." Nikolai states, smoothly enough. "Close, but wrong. All of this ship funded by my money. I sitting on my organization's coffers." The bottle of Vodka is swirled around. He's entirely confident in this, apparently having delved deeply into the area of his own accord. "That much you know. Tiny correction not cost anything. But you seem to assume I the one who killed him." The latter is mused, shifting the cigar to two fingers and taking another heavy drink of his bottle. "So you trying to piece together whole history of own accord. Fun, fun. Try to find out mind of man. Well, girlie. I /have/ whole story." Yet nothing else is said. Silence follows, broken only by a rasping exhale. "But what can you offer me to fill in blanks?"
Considerations. Tippin's statements, every one, indicates that Elle has an awful lot to learn. She's a bug. An amature. A nobody. She supplies some info, just to keep conversation, and he... counters with a demand for more.
The mercenary rubs her chin, and stands. "You know... I've learned a lot," Elle muses conversationally. "You're right. About everything, really. I need to learn how to play this game. I am, after all, new at this." The tone is flat, although thoughtful. She paces away from the bar, headed towards the door.
"Let me get back to you. I need to make sure that I have everything I need before I can ask you about the whole story."
There's the faintest of sounds--soft, but unmistakable. It's the sound of the door opening, on well-oiled hinges. Surely, everything on the Suiryuu--at least, abovedecks--is kept in perfect condition, but such things cannot be completely silent. And that isn't what Aislinn's goal is, either. She -wants- Nikolai to know she's here, that someone else has just entered the premises, so to speak. As befits her 'fighting name', she doesn't say a word, and despite her small stature, her expression is dead serious.
She inclines her head to Elle as she enters, quietly levering the door almost completely closed. Nikolai is 'connected', so he can't hardly mistake what Aislinn is here for. And she needs no implements like a tire iron, or a knife, or anything of the sort, to exhibit her aura of quiet menace. Though she may invest in a good pair of sunglasses, later.
Behind Nikolai, the ground begins to rumble. Slowly, a small tip of something is seen as it begins to raise up from the darkness. The mammoth man begins to grow. The hair giving way to the strong face. The face giving way to the stronger pecs. The stronger pecs giving way to the larger bodied, ogre of a man as he slumped down over Nikolai and breathed on the back of his neck.
He didn't say anything other than the sound his heavy chain links make as they clink against each other. He lets this be the entire story, and nothing more. He doesn't say a word. He just towers over where the other man sits, behind him.
He grins softly.
"Ah... that good. I not want to waste your tab correcting you. Then you left with nothing to offer for answers and the same story you had." As Aislinn slips within, there's scarcely a glance given in her direction, Nikolai slowly extinguishing his cigar on the table. "Do not underestimate your value on ship like this though, girliel. What I have is answers. What I lack is manpower. Together we could find our mutual answer. Let the others run around like headless chickens. I can assure you two things. Both of them thing I quite sure of... One, Ryouhara not give penny to winner. Everyone here for something else. Maybe hiding real purpose. Two, I am not being brought here to have faced rubbed in. I can assure you every single competitor I can beat in single combat by fair margin, including you. Could silly ninja have brought me here just to win tournament, hoping I will get portion of stolen money back? He couldn't be that cliche, could he?" There's a laugh, as he rises with his bottle in tow. No further heed is given to Birdie, beyond another growing smile. "Yes, get back to me at leisure. I not going anywhere anytime soon... But really, hopefully you not arrange for charade here." Both others present are motioned towards casually. "You know why I lose arm? Because man wanting answers apply rusty dull hacksaw after I spit in his face. Amateur, amateur..." With that he rises with a grunt, taking his vodka with him as he shifts to walk towards an exit with a deep, throaty chuckle.
"Meet Aislinn and Birdie," Elle intones, still facing the door. "I call them 'Little Gopher 1' and 'Little Gopher 2'."
The woman's hand touches Aislinn's shoulder. "Do me a favor. Break his leg, and stuff him in a barrel. If he gives you any trouble? Chop off his arm, and hold a knife to his eyeball. I want Marise to pry out what he knows, since he knows /everything/."
The mercenary turns her head, to speak over her shoulder. "I just wanted a fair exchange. But I'm a quick study. I have to annihilate competition. Intimidate my enemies in ways that make forensic experts cringe. But I'm weak, you see. I have to hide behind my hired help."
"But I will tell you one thing. I don't make threats. I just do it."
Ah, men -will- be stubborn. Aislinn glances to Elle, and inclines her head once more at the 'orders'. Presumably Birdie will be following the same orders. In any case, before Nikolai can reach the door, Aislinn is in front of it, pushing back with her right foot and closing the door. Unlike most thugs, she offers up not a single word--no clumsy threats, no sneering, no leering, no obvious displays of muscle. Because those kinds of threats don't work on Aislinn, she naturally assumes they won't work on others.
And, because, like Elle, when the time comes for action... she just does it. Frankly, whether Elle gets her information from Nikolai is not any of her concern. She wasn't brought in to ensure that he -talks-. She was brought in, like Birdie, to punish his refusal to talk. Once he's beaten, then the rest of that relay is up to Elle to run. So then, suddenly, Aislinn is lunging forward, her left hand curled into a tight fist, shooting out for Nikolai's throat.
Birdie begins to approach as well. He isn't as fast as Aislinn. His approach is like that of a colossus, slow, but in time, making headway towards the intended target for the moment. Pushing chairs, tables and any other object out of the way, each step is a powerful one, shaking the area around him as he moves. He is the very definition of a rock.
For now, Aislinn has the situation underhand, but Birdie, he is approaching where Nokilai is escaping too.
He still wears the shit eating grin too, with all of his pearly whites showing to boot.
At that statement, Nikolai slowly stops, merely standing there with the bottle of vodka still in tow. Then he snorts, before laughing deeply, apparently entirely amused. But not in a condescending manner at all, as if he's finally getting rather cheerful. "Oh. That was good! Turn my statements around on me! Yes, yes, it true. Individually I quite powerful, but I lose to little gophers in mass. But I likely not fit in barrel."
Aislinn's shooting fist is intercepted with a forearm, the thud rather heavy but not seemingly all that painful. "You have all the cards here, but you playing them all wrong. Did you forget one of my pieces of advice when arranging your funny speech? ‘Would it be quicker to pay for info or beat it out?' I one who said brutality not always work..." Nikolai doesn't appear interested in arranging any meaningful defense, or even being aggressive.
"Last chance to not be amateur, girlie. You can kill me and get nothing, or you can work with me and maybe we both find out what going on. Man on edge of death will only talk to make death come faster. Me, I was happy not to say a word, knowing I go into oblivion wasting interrogator's time. Although also what Ryouhara clan might do if this all vengeance and you steal it... Hah!" And somehow he grows far more dangerous, that psychotic expression she mentioned creasing the badges of his hard life. "...But I advise that if you do follow through, you make very sure I am very dead..."
"Interesting point. But you took a risk, and lost an arm," Elle replies. "Maybe I'll live through my mistake, like you. I'm learning from the very best, after all."
And with that, she winks at Aislinn. "Besides. I know someone who can help me out with pesky stuff like death."
Her attention shifts again. "A man near death will say anything to make death come faster. A man that still sees a chance will say anything he thinks will get him out of trouble."
"And if I listen to what you have to say? Well, i'd be playing by your rules, wouldn't I?"
"When one has no rules, no morals, no soul, they're a very dangerous man..." She gestures to Birdie. "...or woman." She motions to Aislinn.
"Break this son of a bitch into peices and get him to Marise. She's hungry."
COMBATSYS: Elle has started a fight here on the left meter side.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Elle 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Elle has ended the fight here.
Though her punch is blocked, Aislinn merely retracts her fist and brings her arms up, obviously taking up a combat stance. And she is considering Nikolai--his actions, his words, her eyes taking every visual detail, her ears carefully attuned... even her sense of smell. Is he blustering, that he can beat any one of the three in single combat? Perhaps--but perhaps not. The fact remains that this is NOT single combat and there's no way it would be. It would be a sick, dirty brawl and, despite his skills, Aislinn is confident than Nikolai would not come out of it for the better.
To that end, she pulls back--bracing her right leg against the door again, prepatory to launching another strike, her image as expressionless as any doll would be--Vega should be so lucky to have someone like this in the Dolls...
Birdie finally unslings the chain from his left hand. The weapon dangling and striking the ground. Birdie makes no move to actually pick it up. Instead, he drags it across the ground, scraping against the wooden floor, and any else that may be in its path. Once he's close, or at least he's judged that he's close enough, the hand begins to move.
The chain reacts as its master makes it dance, slinking up and into the air as it's pulled back, as if one was to strike out with a whip or to lash with a heavy object. One can already tell that Birdie's going to try to ensnare the Russian if he follows through.
"Ah, you are right, you are right." Nikolai holds up a hand in a defeated manner, although making very sure not to drop his bottle of vodka. As the whip snaps through the air he scarcely shifts away, stumbling a bit given his mild limp. "Fine. I admit I was bluffing. You would do it, wouldn't you? Ha! I can admire that. Maybe you do have potential, girlie. For you finally right about one thing. I not get where I am by throwing my life away. Stomping poor old man at bottom of his game..." A heavy swig is taken of his vodka, apparently quite intent on getting some more fire in his veins.
"If toll is information on Ryouhara's brother, it not matter. I have nothing to bargain to keep it. Sure, you could kill me after. But I a dead man anyway; If Seishirou arranged this to humiliate me, he succeeded, since I have no other option but come on stupid ship."
Turning, Nikolai strolls back towards his chair, to settle back upon it. "I like you. You play game pretty well. I take back comment on Blackjack bending over; You playing everyone against everyone else on purpose, yes? How about this. We work together, and I give you last piece of annoying ninja's history. You got nasty teeth. So do I; But I also know when I have no room to bite."
"I told you up front," Elle says, her tone having changed not an iota since the entire debacle started. "I respect you and what your organization has done. What I don't respect is bullshit." And she leaves it at that. What she doesn't do, however, is motion for Aislinn and Birdie to back down. Instead, she turns around.
"So. Talk to me about Arinori. Why did he get involved with you? How did you kill him, and why?"
Simple questions, and hopefully illuminating answers as the de facto leader of Blackjack stares with that same dead, lifeless expression at Nikolai, awauting his response.
Birdie's chain goes limp, his hand coiling the chain once more a he walks towards the corner of the room, crossing his arms, and mostly being an imposing figure. He grunts now and then, to make sure you know he's here. You run, he'll charge like a rhino.
The moment that Nikolai surrenders, Aislinn stops her movement--she remains as still as a statue, like a powered-down piece of machinery. Only her eyes show that she's still active, watching Nikolai very carefully. She's stopped, but still ready...
"Oh, and I respect you now. Did not find any weakness. It sad I in such state of affairs. Normally I have goons of higher caliber around me and am man sitting at bar..." A sigh, assuredly annoyed, but with the air of nothing to be done about it. He's in a corner, and has no way out. "Well, well. You still think that so important. It not much of story, sad to say." Another sip of vodka is taken; A third is gone, but he's obviously thoroughly used to it as he's got hardly any sign of being tipsy. "But I not lying when I say I not man to kill him. He kill himself. He was making money running underground tournaments. Bigger risk, bigger payout. But he not realize that it is pool of desperate. It only done so big shots can make money." A few seconds are spent reminiscing. "Solntsevskaya bratva ran many. They made impossible money by fixing fights and playing betters. The last matches always fixed. Arinori not play by rules." Another sip. "He joined tournament I was enforcing. He refused to throw last match; He told either he roll over, or he die. No compensation. He knew he would win; They were chumps, and he was not. Prize was two million. So he enter last round."
And now Nikolai smiles in a calm, sadistic manner. This is apparently a good memory. "I was subbed in. I was told to kill him. I was told to send message to others who not play by rules. Those who think they are something when they are nothing. Like I did today, haha! I used to be, but not in this rustbucket." Apparently more amused then anything by this whole event, mayhaps this whole disaster. "So I beat him savagely. His speed not work in cage. Once I started hitting him, I not stop for long time. You see now? It is Solntsevskaya bratva who killed him. If Ryouhara brat want revenge, he is going after peon. I was merely doing my job."
The mercenary nods. "But you enjoyed it. That's reason enough for them," Elle replies. "Killing that brotherhood is an exercise in pointlessness. They're not Nostra. Family means boo to them," Elle muses more to herself than anything.
"Arinori was the scion of the Ryuohara clan. They may have been going after a peon in your eyes, but to them... they've stripped you of everything you worked for, and now make you fight. In appearance, for money that's rightfully yours. Tit for tat, Tippin. You took away their prince. In return, they dethroned you."
Exposition from Elle? Odd. It's not meant to insult, however. Just a cold, rote recital. Maybe it's for Aislinn and Birdie.
"But you still haven't breached all of my questions. Why in the hell would a ninja need money? I work with ninjas on a daily basis. Not once do they ever ask or look for money... unless they're plotting something."
The mercenary considers the facts, moving across the room to pick up her empty beer bottle and toss it in the trash. "Did he mention what he was doing there? I know that this project here, this boat, is an extension of some kind of Ryuohara family master plan. Arinori must have been working on it, being the next in line. If he was a good Ryuohara clan robot, that had to be his only purpose."
"Sadly, I have said all I know." Nikolai states, with such vehemence that it would be entirely impossible to know if that was the truth. Then again, there's little to gain from hiding anything or even withholding information. Being able to read such is truly the mark of the corrupt mastermind, for a mis-stroke can cause far more harm then good. "It was thirteen years ago. I not even look it up until recently. One day all finances gone. Solntsevskaya bratva owned part of it, and they want money back or my head. People who worked for me want pay or my head. All my scrounging barely amounts to enough for some grunts to get me on dumb ship. It seemed too easy to investigate. When I found out it was Seishirou, only link I found was me killing brother long ago. But like I say. I found receipt of ship. Receipt barely less then my lost assets. So prize money coming from something else, if it exists. But looking into clan, they have no reason for this entire tournament." With a deep sigh, Nikolai finally decides he's drank enough Vodka for now, feeling the back of his head swim. "What if I just distraction also, girlie? What if this layers of deception? What if by barking up my tree, it distract you from another? I have one hypothesis you might not. I think when he done, he done. He only need to hide it until finished. What's finished? What's he doing? That is half what I want to know. Other half is to find him, do what I did to his brother, and leave him just alive enough to tell me where his other assets are. My last little hope, and not much of one." Fingers rattle on the table, glancing dispassionately out to sea again. "That all I have on matter. But worst case, maybe meeting you not so bad. After we unveil ninja's little plot, might be start of beautiful friendship..."
Through out the background, the hair piece of Birdie can be seen now and then as it passes back and forth, almost as if it was a shark circling its prey. It's not alive, the hair that is, but it's there, looming through the windows.
"I don't burn my bridges," is the flat response. And then some more information.
Elle's a solid businesswoman. She always keeps her deals on the level. Her reputation, though budding it may be, shows that every deal she makes is always good. "I don't have a solution, but let's take a look at the facts. The boat is an energy battery. You know that. I know that."
"Each round has meant something different. The first round? Prove ourselves. Show the Ryuohara we have the mettle to get onto this boat. The second round? SHow our fighting prowess, and expend our energy on this boat if we have it. Raw physical power, and mor importantly, chi. This round? I hear they're going to be recording us, watching us."
"Data collection," she loooks at her teammates, and then at the Russian mobster again. "They want to see how smart we are. How tough we are. How powerful we are. How we move, think, act. They want data. But as to why? Not sure."
She pauses, and walks behind the bar, in thought. Bottles are retrieved without much argument from the staff. Nobody is going to argue with a woman that commands a Atomic Robot Schoolgirl and a living Meat Mountain. "If you're a distraction, then it's a good thing that I have a lot of loyal spare hands and eyes, isn't it? Gophers are good at tunneling around and being exactly where nobody wants to be."
But, one last thing. "That's all you have on /that/ matter. Is there something I might be missing? Don't hold out on me. It could mean the difference between getting your life back and losing it altogether."
As she passes by Birdie, she drops a bottle whiskey in his hand. "Good work," she murmurs as she passes him.
"Maybe. But he could do that anyway. There's no need to hide it. Data acquisition on lower tier fighters hardly be worth it, and mean he have to pay out of own pocket at end..." Nikolai looks distantly thoughtful, before looking back towards Elle again. "...Riko. You need to acquire annoying girl. Seishirou too crafty, but she impulsive. Someone in know of tournament needed, and she weakest link. See how good your gophers really are. That my only advice." He stands up of his own accord, waving a hand dismissively. "If I did, you'd not know about it. I'd not risk my life when I can at least get own vengeance. I already said I was happy once to die spitting in captor's face. Maybe I got no chance to get out of this. Maybe I want spit in Seishirou's face too. But no hard feelings, yes? I would do same or worse in your shoes, and have more then can count." With that he heads towards the door again, confident he can get away with it this time. Whether such is the case or not will be seen in time, but he has some of his own pieces to play.
Birdie looks down towards the whiskey, grabbing it, and drinking it rather quickly, there and then. He was thirsty and it helped a great deal.
The old bear is allowed to leave. Data acquisition on low tier fighters is a waste of time? If that was the case... well. Nikolai's life has been ruined by a gaggle of 'wastes'. No hard feelings, no. But...
Well, as she said. Elle doesn't talk. She just does.
Instead, she gathers her two fighters, and motions for them to leave with her. "C'mon. Let's move. We've got things to take care of."
And indeed, many things must be placed into the open slots. Nikolai's statements, for whatever they're worth, have their place in the schema of Jinchuu. She just has to make sure that it's installed correctly.
At the motion, Aislinn simply nods, turns, and opens the door once again, slipping through the portal and leaving it open. By the time Elle, Birdie, and Nikolai are out the only true evidence of her passing is the sound of her booted feet striding across the deck. If she's chewing over what she's heard, she doesn't seem to be worried overly much about it--worrying about these things is not her job, and so she leaves that to those whose job it is--like a proper soldier.
Log created on 20:59:30 09/13/2007 by Elle, and last modified on 06:08:44 09/14/2007.