Description: Elle. Leader of Blackjack, the group that's been a thorn in the side of the Jinchuu organizers since the start of the tournament. And Riko, apprentice to Seishirou Ryouhara himself. They would be enemies. They would be rivals. Yet with the Suiryuu under siege, it appears they have common ground. They have more in common than it seems.
"R". Like Shadaloo, it's an organization few know about. Knowing about "R" is much like knowing about eldritch Lovecraftian horrors: the knowledge doesn't benefit your sanity, and the mere idea that it exists planted in your mind makes you a target for it.
Elle herself knows of this organization. She knows who Rugal is, and has dealt with him on a very unfortunate level. Despite this, she's one of the few people who aren't among the most powerful fighters who can claim to have walked away from an altercation with a man that exudes pure, unbridled evil.
While morality judgments are beyond Elle, she knows one thing is for certain: if "R" isn't dealt with, if Rugal is allowed to exist on the boat for any extended period of time, then anything that was going on here is going to be lost to the underworld juggernaut's deadly grasp.
Elle fought her way up here. From the depths of the cabins, across the deck and up to the promenade. An adequate test for her new weaponry, developed with Aislinn and NESTS's input, the mace in her hand drips with blood. She's coated in bile from the exploded corpse of one of Rugal's elite. Sweat mats her hair, and her breathing is deep and slow, trying to keep her adrenaline under control.
The promenade deck will give her the best vantage point. From here, she can rally her troops, set up a command post. Her sole purpose is to keep her people safe, and possibly perform an extraction if things get too bad. Rugal isn't someone she's interested in battling again.
A filter mask and lowlight goggles are torn from her face, tossed aside to the empty promenade floor, boots cracking on the deck beneath as she immediately checks to see if there's a communications system here that she can rewire. Given enough time and focus, she can make the thing jump and dance at her command.
A base of operations. Necessary for any anti-seige effort.
It's a simple maxim. Command, Control, Communications. Something soldiers have known for years. Something Elle clearly knows. But then, she's not the only one. Rugal's men opened this assault with an electromagnetic pulse, an EMP surging through the ship - sending the Suiryuu and all aboard into disarray.
Another maxim, then: Chaos, and the fog of war.
With things as they are...
...anything can happen.
It's dark on the promenade deck. Typically, it is one of the most well-lit portions of the ship. But now, the compartments are cast in shadow, the great chandeliers cold and dead. The fighting hasn't /quite/ reached this level yet, though the sounds drifting from the dining salon and galley suggest the crew are preparing for a siege. This particular space, though, just off the main lounge...is relatively quiet. Quiet as anything can be in a time like this.
Yet...
Elle isn't alone.
"Evening, Miz Belmounte," a voice says. It's a calm voice, an even voice, carrying from across the cabin. The sort of voice you use when you're trying not to surprise someone - but also the sort of voice you use when you know that attempt is doomed to failure anyway, and you might as well make the best of it.
A slim figure stands at the other end of the room, her back to the bulkheads, her skate-clad feet resting on the carpet. Hands spread in a nonthreatening gesture...and a smile on her face. A smile just ever so slightly ironic.
Riko Koganei.
Shock and awe? Elle's used to things appearing without her 'notice'. She does, after all, work with Marise. Riko is even less likely to eat her soul than Marise. Despite this, appearance of the girl does get a quick glance. As for an emotional output? Lifeless eyes don't say much.
"Hey," Elle says as she begins to realize that the power is completely out, "I hope Sakura's a tactical genius, because Rugal's going to Rommel her ass so hard, her children are going to be born speaking German."
The mercenary looks over what she has available. Not much. She talks as she moves, however, sweeping away usless junk at the bar counter and pulling down the higher proof bottles of liquor. "Ouzo, ouzo... there it is." The thick, syrupy liquid is set aside.
With a little spark, it'll make a good improptu grenade. Greek fire indeed. Elle rummages through drawers. Matches, cups, glasses, tabasco sauce. Just not enough for her to cobble together a reliable flare, short of setting the entire place ablaze.
"I'm confident," Riko replies, mildly, "Sakura-senpai will be able to defend her virtue."
She watches, unblinking, as Elle ransacks the beverage closet present in the little lounge room...the clink of glass against wood distinct in the darkened compartment. The ninja girl tilts her head slightly, eyes tracking her movements. It doesn't take long for her to determine the woman's intent.
"There's styrofoam cups in the lowest drawer," she remarks, "cotton and petroleum jelly in the first-aid kit under the bar."
Elle isn't the only one well-versed in the art of improvised incendiary devices. Though the fact that Riko's educated in that particular school shouldn't come as a surprise, considering her linage and teacher. What might be more surprising is her complete lack of ire towards the woman who's been, thus far, a serious...disruptive influence...upon the tournament.
Her suggestion is, quite genuinely, a helpful one. As is her next question:
"Anything in particular you need?"
Elle is the mistress of multitasking. "Great. She defends her virtue. In the meantime, we sink in the middle of the Pacific, and you get captured, bronzed, and turned into the Black Noah's figurehead. Perfect plan," comes her dry comment. Sarcasm for her is more a way to blow off steam than an outright insult. On Riko's suggestion, Elle goes to investigate, finding the objects where they lay.
"I need a flare gun," is the more helpful reply. "A flare gun, a microphone, and a portable stereo system. Anything that picks up radio signals." Between Elle's sonic and electrical power, she /is/ a sound system, but the parts that Riko could provide may very well be the difference between shouting at an explosion and getting a point across.
Depending on Riko's skill at procuring junk, Elle is very much trying to cobble together a 'Mr. Microphone'.
Brown eyes flick to Riko and back again as she overturns a garbage can and starts to fill it with the appropriate flammable material. Elle doesn't question Riko's motives. At this juncture, both women are likely thing the same thing: unless they work together, "R' stands an insanely good chance of winning, and /everyone/ will be in trouble. Any actual existing animosity that might be there has to be set aside. Rugal's indiscriminate. He plays for keeps.
And his boat's bigger. Neener neener neener.
There's some things that need not be said. This, at least, is one. Riko nods, a bit of silent, wordless communication. After an instant of thought, she lifts the stereo headphones from around her neck, unclips the iPod from her belt...and with a single fluid motion, tosses both through the air. The MP3 player and attached phones land on the bar counter, sliding to a halt on the polished surface.
And this, then, would be another extension of trust and understanding. Because upon examination, two things are apparent:
1> Those headphones aren't typical headphones at all. There's no sound output to the inside of the cushioned earpieces. Rather, the tiny speaker elements are directed /outwards/, to give the /appearance/ that the listener has music blaring at deafening volume.
And:
2> That iPod has no battery. Just a single intricate sigal etched on the back, a carefully crafted seal...designed for the channeling of electrical-element chi.
It would seem they have more than a few things in common.
The study doesn't take long. Fingers pluck the device from the countertop, and it's flipped over all of twice. Elle doesn't have time to gush about the ingenuity of it even if she wanted to. As it is, the design is appreciated for all of a few seconds. This new toy gives her a lot more options to work with, however.
"I don't think they've made it up the superstructure yet. If you can break me off a transponder and an antenna, I think we're in business." She reaches to her belt, and snaps open a compartment. The EMP blast may have nuked everything, but Elle's insanely paranoid enough to keep one invaluable electronic device away from the devestating effects of high electrical output.
After all, by the very nature of her power, Elle can't afford her things to short out in a fight.
The PDA-phone is tossed out onto the bartop, a finger flicking the switch on. There might be a jamming signal, but surprisingly enough, Naerose provided the solution.
Built into the Blackjack communications system is a signal booster, courtesy of the insane Red Witch. Score another point for Naerose.
"I suspect that we'll be able to shoot out a burst transmission for a good fifteen minutes until the figure out what's going on. You know this shrimp boat's strategic points better than I do. Give me tactical defensive points. I can have my people there in ten minutes."
Not a large window of time, but when you have an insane would-be dictator on your boat killing your dudes, cutting it close is part and parcel for the course.
"The audio cable," Riko says, gesturing towards the wire leading between headphones and iPod, "extends from a reel in the earpieces."
It does - further examination would reveal the whole thing is in fact a renforced grappling hook and line. It's a device she's deployed several times in actual televised fights, but most fighters don't do their homework. And the public has short memories in any case.
Meanwhile, Riko pulls out her own cell phone. Deftly, she snaps open the brightly-coloured plastic case, yanks a large chunk of electronics from the inside...with casual disregard for the device's health...and adds that to the growing pile of components on the tabletop.
Notably, the screen of Riko's mobile remains lit, apparently unaffected.
"We'll discuss plans on the way," the teenage ninja says, "crew's still reporting in."
She gives a little wave of the phone by way of illustration.
Then she grins, very slightly.
"And we'll have to talk after this..."
Her smile's one of gallows humour.
"...assuming our kids don't speak German."
Elle doesn't have a soldering iron on hand, but she has something just as good. She snaps a pair of wrap around sunglasses onto her face, and raises a finger. The electrical power surges forth. Using her power like this takes a lot more energy than just attacking with it, since her 'chi' electricity doesn't produce the same amount of heat as normal electricity.
Scavenging the leftover bits of electronics for the precious silvery element that binds electronic components together, Elle's already mapping out circuits in her head.
Five, minutes pass, then ten, as Elle assembles what she needs from the remaining parts. Assembling an adaptor, she hooks the iNinja to her PDA, and sets up the transmission signal. The test is run once, then twice. Looks like they have a winner.
Brown eyes flick up towards Riko. Where Riko smiles constantly, Elle rarely smiles at all. Still, eyebrows raise slightly as the young girl speaks of talking after this event. The mercenary says nothing to that. Instead, she gestures for the girl to get moving.
"Lay on, MacDuff," Elle intones, securing the devices in the sheilded compartment, keeping the iNinja out for immediate use.
As Elle works, the ninja girl remained silent. Content to watch. Now...Riko tilts her head ever-so-slightly. She flicks her fingers to the bulkhead. Panels slide aside, with a quiet whisper of oiled steel, revealing the narrow mouth of a concealed passageway. That it exists should come as no surprise. Fact is, all things considered, they'd probably be breaking some kind of rule if they /didn't/ have some hidden shortcuts aboard this ship.
As she turns, skate wheels gliding from carpet to deck panels, leading the way into the passage, her voice comes echoing back:
"And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'"
Log created on 20:50:01 10/05/2007 by Riko, and last modified on 23:55:21 10/05/2007.