Description: Judas Priest (1982). With the appearance of M0M0, it's only proper to investigate the source: Momo Prime. When Elle approaches the Tiny Taiyo Tennis Teen Terror, she discovers that Momo's a lot more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for. Elle and Momo thusly strike a deal: Momo will boldy go where no Momo has gone before in exchange for cash and information, two things Elle has in spades as Elle once again sets more machinations in motion.
Elle's name is bandied about on the Suiryuu like it was some kind of curse. Rumors abound as to her purposes on the vessel. People call her a mercenary at best, a thug in most circumstances, and a terrorist at worse. Whatever people are calling her, Elle hasn't been very forthcoming about what she's doing on this boat, or who she is. She's kept her interactions with the other passengers at a minimum for her own reasons.
There are people on this ship that know parts of the story. Very few seem willing to investigate all of the possible leads. Some don't have the ability or means to. There are still fewer ont he boat that have a grasp as to what's going on. Those people have the honor of being the ones in charge here. It is, after all, the ninja's game. Elle hasn't yet uncovered the entire mystery, and the ninja have been too careful about covering their tracks.
But there is one individual on this boat, and only one, that has had an altogether unique experience.
Momo.
While everyone has been busy running around in circles, retracing steps or investigating dead trails, Elle has been sitting, lying in wait for a break in the silence. That came with the arrival of Momo and her encounter with her mechanical double.
Having viewed the video of Momo's battle with the cantankerous ninja automaton, it's almost an obligation on her part to find the diminuative Darkside Student Counsel member and talk to her. Thus begins the search. Elle's heavy boots clank across the deck, and then up the promanade as she peers about inside. She's being watched and she knows it. Nevertheless, the fact is she no longer cares about things like that. If they want to stop her, they're more than welcome to come and get her. In the meantime, Elle is going to find her man.
Or tennis prodigy, as the case may be.
To say that Momo's experience has been unique would be quite an understatement. The Taiyo student has no idea what sort of conspiracy is going behind the scenes aboard the Suiryuu, only that it exists. After all, ninjas don't just hold tournaments for no reason! They also doesn't just happen to have robotic clones of people NOT EVEN ENTERED IN THE TOURNAMENT for no reason, and this fact has made Momo very, very curious.
The discovery that she was, in fact, an entrant of sorts in the tournament has eased the tennis player's burden considerably, as she no longer has to go out of her way to cook up ridiculous disguises on a shoestring budget and a souvenir stand. It also meant that she could actually enjoy the amenities offered aboard the Suiryuu, and that's exactly what she's doing now. Nursing a glass containing some manner of drink that's as pink as her clothing, Momo appears to be staring blankly out the windows at the open sea, deep in thought.
The mercenary couldn't be any more different than Momo, really. Elle's tall, clad in black, and looks like her soul died somewhere along the way. Momo, in contrast, is short, pink, cute, and lively.
Boots step in measured time across the deck as Elle focuses on the wily little fighter. Momo may not know, but at one point in time, Elle was a coordinator of sorts for Vega, and as such had access to information on little-known organizations like the DSC. Up until now, however, Elle had no reason to really even interact with them. As it is, she sees them more a little group playing at being big and not much more of a threat outside their peer group. For now, anyway.
The mercenary pulls up next to Momo at her seat, but not too closely, making a concious effort not to loom over the shorter girl. She keeps her hands at her side. Nevertheless, Elle's voice isn't very warm or comforting. "I saw your fight with your robot duplicate," Elle speaks, the cold, dry voice is flat and largely without enthusiasm. "It was quite the show."
Momo's gaze drifts as she catches movement-- more movement than the promenade deck usually sees, lounge that it is --in the corner of her eye. She looks up, up, up at the woman as she approaches, then drops down to just one 'up' when the big ol' mass of black sits down.
"Hiya!" greets tehe Taiyo student, completely unaware that talking to strangers who look like they might eat your soul could be any sort of bad idea. "You saw that, huh? Wasn't it amazing? It was like pow, and whack, and boom!" Each sound effect is acompanied by a matching hand gesture, the last one a two-handed affair that almost spills the frighteningly pink liquid in her glass. "Whoops," Momo declares as she tilts it back and forth to try and keep it from splashing out.
Elle nods. Momo's odd antics are really no different than Naerose's, except Naerose is a woman who's old enough to take out a home loan. Momo on the other hand, looked more like a grade school kid. Nevertheless, the profile on Momo stated that she was in High school.
Given how most Japanese schoolgirls act, however, she's nor too spectacularly surprised that Momo acts like she's ten.
"It was interesting," counters the woman. "It fought a lot like you, given certain mechanical limitations." A pause, and Elle gives Momo a close look.
"How close do you think it was to copying you?"
"Not close at all," Momo replies, taking a gulp of her drink. It's probably not alcoholic... probably. "It spun upside-down, and coughed up tennis balls, and couldn't even throw Momo." Another drink of pink. "And it said :)! Momo never says :)!"
How she manages to vocalize an abstract concept like 'smilie face' is a question for the ages.
"Anybody who's anybody would have known that RoboMomo would lose against Real Momo," she continues. "Maybe it would've done better if they'd spent more time building it-- after all, I haven't been here very long, so it must have been a rush job!" A pause to consider the implications of this. "I wonder if this boat has a robot factory on it, that they could make a robot so fast. RoboMomos aren't very good, but maybe a whole /bunch/ of RoboMomos could be powerful. And there'd be enough people to play doubles with then!"
Hmm. Aside from the cutespeak, Momo makes some valid points. The observations are far more astute than she'd expect Momo to make. Given her lack of informational support, the little girl's conclusions are surprisingly on the money.
Elle's all about the money.
The mercenary drums her fingers on the table, expresionless face only marred by a light furrow in her brow. "Well, if you saw the commentary, it sounds like they've built a few robots before. It wouldn't be too hard to refine the model further. After all, judging from it's construction, it's all brass, wood, and chi seals. It's less 'mechanical' than it is... I don't know. Thaumaturgical?" The pink of the drink catches her eye for a moment as she thinks. It's definitely an odd color, and very distracting.
Nevertheless, her concern over Momo's liver is probably a lot lower than it should be. "So I don't think it being a 'rush job' was as damaging as you might think. It definitely wasn't that old when you fought it, but I have a feeling there's a little more to it than that. Have you fought anyone else on this boat?"
Momo wasn't actually paying attention to the commentary during the fight, what with fighting at the time, and she hasn't looked at the videos yet since she's been taking advantage of their gracious host's hsopitality, so this is news to her. "Thaumaturgical?" she repeats. "A magic robot, huh? You'd think if it was a magic robot, they could've magicked it up so it didn't move all jerky." She drinks a bit more of her whatever-she's-drinking, the glass running perilously close to empty.
"Uh-huh! Momo fought Tiffany! And almost beat her!" Her expression stiffens for a moment, then she casts a sidelong glance out the window. "ThenMomogotkickedthroughtheceiling."
She coughs, as if clearing something from her throat. "I was hoping to get into the tournament by beating someone already in it, but it looks like they let me in even through I lost! Sort of. I think?" She wonders if having a robot duplicate counts as being in the tournament.
But enough about Momo. The tennis player decides she's had enough of talking about her own shortcomings, and asks her own questions: "What about you? Are you in the tournament? Can I beat you up and take your spot?" That last one is said so honestly and innocently, it's almost creepy.
A hand is waved, as if to dismiss Momo's words for a second as Elle considers the new information. Only fought on the boat once? And given the way it behaved on the boat... well. It substantiates a theory that she had somewhat dismissed. It could just be another red herring, or it could just be a preliminary test for something much larger.
Definitely something worth considering, and it's filed away along with the other bits and pecies of the puzzle. "Tiffany... Tiffany. You mean Patriot Barbie?" The idea of Momo almost beating up the teenage amazon actually surprises her a lot less than most might think. Elle's seen strange things in her life. Enough for her to accept the probability of a shrimpy Japanese kid nearly crushing the vapid blonde Yankee.
Then, a response to Momo. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm still in it or not. I lost to Vyle in my last round, but they're not always consistant with who they let pass to the next round. Sometimes they let people go even if they lose."
"That's the one," Momo says, almost pouting as she remembers the dumb big-breasted American girl. "I hit her in the head like a hundred times, but she doesn't have anything up there that can get hurt." It was so very embarassing to have lost to her... but at least she left a racquet grid across the bimbo's face.
"This tournament doesn't make any sense," Momo says as Elle begins to explain her own position in the rankings. "If it's a tournament, then someone's got to win and someone's got to lose. You can't just go, 'Oh, you lost but you still won,' because then it's not a tournament anymore." She upends her glass, trying to get the last few drops of pink out of it. Her voice reverbs as she talks while it's up to her lips. "It's almost like they don't want anyone to win, just lots of big fights. You can watch Saturday Night Fight if that's all you want."
As disturbing and crrepy as Momo may be, there's an element of clarity to the little girl that keeps Elle's attention. Again, she's used to the odd and unnerving. She hangs out with a murderous stripper and a vampire and a midget who shoots chi like a bazooka. The fact that Momo of all people seems to be flagging the same sort of things that she's been flagging is something she finds inherently fascinating.
Eyes narrow, even as Momo pouts her blues as Elle brings her elbows up on the table, fingers clasping in front of her face as she rest her chin on her thumbs.
"Then let me toss this at you, and you tell me what you think," Elle says, eyes still narrowed in though, voice still atonal as ever. "The automaton you fought looked like you, and tried to copy you. But it didn't do a good job because they didn't have enough data on you. They picked you because you're a dark horse, and you don't have a lot of friends on this boat to compare notes with."
Eyes then focus on Momo. "Did you notice that the machine narrowed your lead after sucking up some power from the hull of the boat?" Hands are brought down to lay flat on the table. "I'm not saying that they're trying to make a mechanical army of you. They're definitely not shy about showing off the fact that they're capable of taking anyone's power and skill and using it for whatever they damn well feel like using it for, though."
Elle's ideas intrigue Momo. She lacked the big picture view that the older woman had gained through excessive investigating, so hearing all of this put on the table really gets her mental hamster running. "Is that how it did it? Taking power from the boat?" the tennis player asks. She'd been wondering about those chi conduits, or whatever they were, for a while. She'd had half a mind to try scratching one up or painting over it to see what would happen, but the tennis player isn't nearly so suicidal. "Maybe I could ask Tiffany to," she wonders aloud, the comment lacking context for Elle to properly appreciate.
"Where's the boat get power from, anyway?" the Taiyo student asks as she returns to the present. "I mean, you've gotta be people to have chi, right? So what's that make the boat?" Actually, the boat being people would explain a few of the phenomenon that Momo has experienced so far... like the door chase with Naerose and Sakura the day before. That didn't make sense no matter how you looked at it.
Don't try to make sense of anything Naerose does. Elle tried once, and failed. Now she just lets Naerose run amok, and very so often, the Red Witch manages to come up with something miraculous. She's like Bizarro, except there's nobody out there that would claim to be a more competant version of her.
Momo gets a stare, and Elle shakes her head. "Power comes from two sources. One it came with, and the other it's taking as we speak. Now," Elle says, pausing as she straightens up in her seat, "if you want more information, you're going to have to work a little for it."
"Don't think I don't appreciate what you've told me. But right now, you've used up all the credit your information's bought you," the older woman says, her face impassive as ever. "But, I have a proposition for you."
The woman eyes Momo. "You're about, what? Four foot three? Four foot four? You can't be anywhere past eighty pounds, either."
The woman considers the mission she has in mind, flipping it over repeatedly. "Are you up for something potentially dangerous? And by 'dangerous', I don't mean 'jumping down the stairs of your school two at a time' dangerous. I mean 'getting caught might get you chucked off the ship while it's at sea' dangerous."
Chi 101 is interesting, but not very important-- Momo has never been the best of people at manipulating the stuff, certainly nowhere near the level of all of those shotoclones who through fireballs all willy-nilly, so she never really felt it necessary to study up on the finer details of the science.
The tennis star puts her glass down as Elle begins talking business-- it leaves her free to cross her arms when the subject of height comes up. "I'm four foot six," she says indignantly, because every inch matters when you're that short. The weight issue isn't touched upon, because she is, in fact, less than eighty pounds.
"Momo has done riskier things than that before," she continues, showing a blatant disrespect for self-referential continuity. "Besides, I'm here to see what the ninjas are up to, you can't do that without doing some dangerous stuff."
Then it's settled. "Well, then. Here's the deal," Elle reaches for a napkin and takes out a pen from her belt. Utility belts: a mercenary woman's best friend. She draws a rough outline of the boat.
"If you haven't noticed," Elle says, her voice dropping to a mutter, "This boat is criscrossed with ducts, vents, and portals." The pen marks all known exerior locations quickly, as a rough estimate. "Also, there's at least /one/ secret room on this boat." Her eyes flick to Momo's, to make sure the girl's comprehending all of this.
"Most of my ops are too big to fit in the portals and air ducts. You, however, are not. You're also small enough to get round without being seen, and nobody except me is going to take you too seriously."
The mercenary pushes the napkin at Momo. "So here's the deal. I want you to map the ductwork, see if you can't sneak your way into areas that someone my size can't, and ferret out any new secret passageways, if at all possible."
The merc expands on matters further. "There are three ninjas that are running this shindig, and if we can get a bead on where they sit down and talk shop, we might be able to figure out what's really going on around here." A gloved hand points at the Taiyo student. "You're the only one small enough and harmless-looking-enough to get away with this. Do this, and I'll give you more of the sotry, and three thousand bucks for your trouble. Capisch?"
Ooh, conspiracy. Momo drops her voice to a matching tone. "Momo knows about the vents, she used them to get away from Sakura a few days ago." Granted, it was just going from one room to the next, but it was sufficient proof that she fits in them.
She doesn't comment on the plan as it's being explained, instead watching Elle draw a picture of the boat. "So I'm supposed to just go into a duct and start crawling around, seeing what I can find?" she repeats back. "And drawing everything? That doesn't sound TOO hard... Momo will need to find a coat, though, there's a lot of cold air in there."
And then the subject of payment comes up. "What? Three thousand dollars for all of that work? Momo got a lot more than that for getting punched by Rugal Bernstein!" Granted, getting punched by Rugal is like being hit by a truck made of five smaller but still relatively massive trucks put together, like some sort of truck Voltron, but that's neither here nor there.
"One," Elle counts off on her fingers, "I ain't Rugal. Two, the information I'll give you is worth a hell of a lot more than any monetary compensation. Three, nobody else on this boat will be able to scrape up anything for the information you do colelct for me, and odds are if they can? They work for me anyway."
But, that being the case, Elle knows now that momo's not your average kid for sure. "Fine then. Eight. That's standard rate for an easy recon mission. That, plus the info, will put us on parity."
"Take it or leave it."
Hooray for hardball! Though she offers a token piece of return sass, in the form of, "If you were Rugal, you'd've sent a mysterious note signed with an initial instead of walking over," Momo feels pretty good about the pay raise. "I guess I can help you, then. You'd better not be pulling my leg about what you know about the real story, though! Momo does not like meanie liars."
That said, the tennis player pulls the napkin back towards herself and looks at it thoughtfully. "I looked around a lot already, finding hiding places when I first snuck onto the boat. The easiest way to get into the vents is going to be down here." She points to the lower levels of the ship. "The upper decks are all prettied up, and there's lots of people, so it'll make a mess getting in. Once you're in the lower decks, there's a lot more exposed pipes and ducts and stuff, and nobody goes down there unless they have to so a loose duct cover won't be noticed as fast." Sounds like this isn't the first time the Taiyo student has snuck through a ventilation shaft.
The Blackjack leader considers Momo's statements and nods. "That's true. It's fairly dangerous down there, though. A lot of open electrical conduits and the like. We'll probably have to make sure you're properly insulated and that you have the right tools." Shouldn't be too hard for her to get them.
"I'll have the things you need delivered to your cabin," Elle informs the girl after a little thought. "Momo, right? I've heard a little about who you work for. He picked a smart worker."
Elle scribbles some contact information on the napkin. "If you run into trouble, ring me, and I'll see about making sure you get bailed out," the woman informs. "If you ever feel like switching employers, let me know. You've got a sharp eye and a knack for detail about you. I can always use another good brain."
Momo gives Elle a look of confusion at the mention of her working for someone, as if she'd said something weird. Internally, of course, she's wondering who exactly this woman is that she has such a vast information network, both aboard the Suiryuu and out in the world at large. She'll need to ask Kurow if he knows anything about this person later... what's her name again? 'Elle' according to the contact information. Interesting.
"Yes, that's right," the tennis player says-- after all, she's only talked about herself in the third person a dozen times in this conversation alone. "Momo isn't sure what you're talking about," she continues, "about working for people and stuff, but she'll keep you in mind in case she ever goes through an all-black emo phase." Like that'll ever happen.
"Of course you don't," Elle replies without missing a beat. Elle doesn't really have the urge to show off. It's not in her nature. All she's said is what she's said. And if she means it? Well.
Elle always means what she says. Lying isn't her thing. If she doesn't want someone to know, she simply stops talking.
"Whatever the case may be, even if you don't want to work for me full time, I've always got freelance jobs available. I normally don't work with animals or kids," Elle says, dryly, "but you've apparently got a functioning pair of chromosomes, unlike most of this year's crop of ill tempered little hooligans."
After affirming Momo's worth by implying that she at least doesn't require a sippy cup for all her beverage needs, Elle finally asks the question that's been nagging her the entire time. "Now answer me this: what in the Sam Hill were you drinking? I haven't seen anything that radioactive shade of pink since they stopped making Sharkleberry Fin Kool-Aid."
Momo opts not to respond to the backhanded compliment that she's better than the punks that are the current crop of high schoolers, instead looking at her empty glass and the brilliantly pink droplets that cling to the inside of it. "You know," she says thoughtfully, picking up the empty container and examining it. "I'm not really sure. I asked for the sweetest thing they could make, and got this." She turns the glass in her hands once, then puts it back down. "It was pretty fruity."
That's frankly pretty disgusting. "Well if your children are born pinker than a Barbie Dream Home, there's your reason," Elle says, looking at the glass with only the slightest amount of amusement. As if Momo having children wasn't a disturbing enough a thought. Elle doesn't continue on that particular track, now that her question has been answered.
Now that business and abject curiousity are over, Elle stands up. "So do you have any other questions or concerns, or are we clear on everything? Like I said, I'll have some supplies delivered to you tonight. Get acquainted with them, and get started ASAP. The sooner you get back to me, the sooner you get paid."
The mercenary is all business, all the time. For good, bad, or whatever people assume that Elle is, the woman always seems to have her finger on the pulse of things. Hero, villain, or none of the above, she'll leave that for others to decide.
Momo considers everything that has happened in the past few minutes. Conspiracies, infiltration, secret rooms and passageways, The Rest Of The Story... it's quite a lot of information to digest all at once. There is one thing bugging her, though, gnawing at the back of her mind and begging to be voiced. And, really, if they're going to be engaging in such covert operations, it's pretty much a given that it needs to be asked.
"Do we get cool code names?"
Elle pauses as she stands for a second. The woman's motion comes to a complete halt as she looks at Momo, considering the girl for a second or two. The answer is short and utterly deadpan. "Your code name is 'Secret Squirrel'."
Elle looks down at Momo as she finally finishes standing. "I don't get a code name. I'm not cool enough."
Momo pouts once more as Elle assigns callsign(s). "That'd a dumb code name." But it could be worse, at least she's not the Incognito Bandito like she was the other day. "I want to be 'Mystery Mouse'."
The older woman tosses up her hamds. "Fine. Mystery Mouse. Inch High Private Eye. Atom Ant. Whatever," Elle says, her voice sounding slightly more tired. Oh well. In the end, Momo still isn't as annoying as Naerose. At least Momo doesn't have a stupid bunny rabit and an odd habit of completely shifting gears without a clutch in the middle of a conversation.
With that done, Elle raises a hand in a wave as she walks off. "Keep an eye out for the equipment, and be careful. I'll bail you out in a pinch, but if things look too bad, but only to a certain extent. If you screw the pooch because you make a dumb mistake, I'm not saving your can."
Such a nice boss. Her employees must love her. And with that, she's leaving Momo to her thoughts and radioactive pink sugar swill.
"You'd better not call me Inch High Private Eye!" Momo calls after Elle as she's left alone. Even with the implied 'or else', it's really not that intimidating of a threat considering who it's coming from. With a huff, she flags down the bartender. "Hey, waiter-man, I want another pink thing," she says, picking up her glass again and gesturing towards its emptiness.
Log created on 00:10:44 09/29/2007 by Elle, and last modified on 09:00:27 09/29/2007.