Description: It's been a long night for Soma Travedi. He's fought with Hiretsu deep within the heart of the Suiryuu. He's encountered Rugal on the Black Noah. And he's lived to speak of it. But his night isn't over yet. Having escaped back to the relative safety of the Jinchuu ship, he's been ambushed by one of Rugal's squads. But that's when he gets a little help - from an unexpected quarter.
Suiryuu deck, evening. And what an evening it's been for one Soma Travedi, supercop. Badly beaten and left for not-quite-dead by Hiretsu in the bowels of the ship, nearly killed by Rugal Bernstein in the effort of trying to find out exactly why the boss of 'R' has any interest in a ninja technology-built ship full of simmering chi energy... which, if he had half as much sense as he's supposed to have, he might have considered a foregone conclusion. Still and all, it wasn't a completely wasted trip. Of course, by the time he's commandeered a second of Rugal's assault boats to get back to the Suiryuu, he feels like hell.
But it's not over yet. There's more work to be done and more answers to be sought... and considering Rugal's way of describing his plans for the Suiryuu, the timeline's been pushed up pretty damned fast. It's a quick trip back to his cabin first, which is no small feat in the condition he's in. His grey shirt is entirely gone, his black jacket is approaching a writeoff (the second Jinchuu-related jacket loss to date) and he feels like his ribs are about to split open at any time.
One roll of gauze and a slight change in wardrobe later, he's back on the deck.
The problem with this boat-stealing scenario and the guard-beating scenario of his trip back and forth from the Black Noah is that the ICPO agent has a very distinctive look and a very distinctive fighting style... which means he's actually quite easy to recognize overall. That might explain why he's currently standing with his back to the portside cabin entrance on the outer deck, a ring of annoyed-looking 'R' intruder-soldier-guard-whatevers giving him the skunk eye while the Indian crouches forward somewhat, fingers flexing as his hands hover over the two daggers in quick-release sheathes on his belt, one for each side, rather than his service handgun in the thigh holster lower down. His grey sleeveless shirt covers it up, but the man is still injured and definitely fatigued... and this scenario really doesn't bode well for him at all.
"Curse my perfect vision," he mutters. "Now I can't do the 'bat with glasses on' routine from Looney Tunes."
"Dunno, maybe we can do the Duck-Season-Rabbit-Season bit instead."
A clear soprano voice, lilting over the distant sounds of battle echoing through the ship. There's a musical twist to the words, a liberal amount of humour. It's a cheerful voice, very cheerful - too cheerful, all things considered, given the rather dire nature of Soma's predicament.
But it does cause Rugal's men to whip around. Their weapons are still leveled at Soma, yes, but even highly-trained mercenaries are going to react when someone makes a wisecrack /right behind them/... in a way that makes it clear the speaker's standing just over their shoulders.
Or at least, the speaker /should/ be there. Instead, there's nothing but empty space, a blank expanse of deck and sky.
Soma sees it, though... as someone is suddenly in front of him, between the "R" soldiers and the guns. Just appearing in the space of a single heartbeat...with almost no motion to mark their arrival, the lithe black-clad figure melting from the darkness. No sound, not even that subtle indescribable sense that lets you know /someone's/ present. A ghost, almost - if she weren't so clearly solid, whipping a foot up in a crescent arc, smashing barrels aside...a foot clad in the dense hard material of an in-line skate, solid metal plates and polyurethane wheels breaking weapons. And probably some fingers.
"Or the opera scene," Riko chirps, "I like that!"
Ah, soprano. High. Lilting. Like the screech of a thousand bats.
But to say that Soma wastes time or opportunity groaning about the identity of his rescuer is to not give the ICPO agent credit enough that's due him. The guards directly in front of him have been handily disarmed of their typical assault rifles by the ninja girl's kick... and just as she makes it, his right hand drops to his thigh and draws his M9, squeezing off a shot with that hand at the man to his right, and flicking out his left hand to toss a throwing spike that catches the one to his *left* right between the eyes... not enough to injure him but certainly enough to knock him over. Knowledge of vulnerable points is a wonderful thing.
"I'm not in the mood for Wagner," the detective says crisply, holstering the pistol again and looking around. This is going to be... interesting. "And frankly, I don't want to tempt men with guns more than they already are."
"Aw, but..."
Riko pouts, sticking her lips out. Cutely. Or at least in a fashion that would be cute, were her poise not so obviously affected and liberally laced with thick dripping sarcasm. She rests upon the deck, one leg outstretched, the other curled at the knee...her entire body close to the ground, braced with both hands. She lies in the follow-through from her spinning kick, cocking her head towards Soma.
"...spear and magic hel-MET!"
With that singsonged exclamation, she bursts into motion once again. One of the black-suited invaders reaches for her, but the ninja girl dances out of his leather-gloved hands, melting through his fingers. She dissuades him from further pursuit by way of a heavy heel crashing down on a select part of his leg, a blow hard enough to crack the body armor padding over his combat fatigues, all the way to the delicate kneecap beneath. The man gives a pained howl, his face contorting behind his mask and goggles.
Riko continues smirking at Soma.
Needless to say, for the men who came here to take some out of a prettyboy novelist's hide for beating up their CO and stealing their boats (and making one dogpaddle for an hour but that hardly counts), this is not going per mission spec. The one with the throwing spike sticking out of his forehead isn't going to be getting up for a while, this much is clear; disabling a critical nerve cluster can do that. Of course, a trained fighter could stave that off, but not a mook... and the realization that they just might be the mooks in this scenario has got the 'R' flunkies a little nervous.
Which they probably should be.
A flash of silver flies over Riko's head as the ICPO detective flings one wire-dagger at an assailant nearby, wrapping the wire around his neck and simply yanking him helplessly backwards toward the ninja girl. Never say he didn't give you anything.
"So to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected rescue?" he asks conversationally, as if the two were sharing tea rather than beating down invading thugs. "I'd have though you'd be pretty busy. Not that I mind... I've got some questions for you anyway."
But for some reason Soma can't look directly *at* Riko. He'd never tell, but doing so gives him a bit of a headache. That is... just a little bit odd.
"Do you?"
Riko smiles sweetly as she meets the "R" man flying towards her with open arms. Well, actually, not so much open arms as...a balled fist. It's a small and delicate fist, given her slender frame and short stature, but a fist that strikes like a miniature jackhammer all the same.
The "R" soldier crashes into Riko, flung backwards by Soma Travedi - and Riko smashes her hand into his spine, slipping her arm through the gap between the man's field pack and hip webbing to reach vertabrae and nerve clusters.
Tougher than most, the "R" man immediately reacts. But he's slowed, terribly slowed, letting the ninja girl flow like water around him.
"At your service."
Riko presses her other hand to the soldier's chest as she moves away. Almost casually, negligently...
...slipping the man's pistol from its holster and squeezing the trigger once, twice, three times.
Spent casings drop to the deck, along with their owner. Not dead, for the body armour stopped the bullets even at that range. But for the unfortunate "R" soldier, gasping for breath...it's like being kicked in the chest. By a giant horse.
"See, I'd like to apologize," Riko says brightly, as the man topples behind her, "for Director Hiretsu's appaling treatment of you. He's got -no manners-, I swear..."
She says, as she doubletaps a man right in the chest. Still, it knocks yet another person out of the multi-man melee, which is certainly on the to-do list. Soma doesn't wait for Riko to strike before he snaps the whip-dagger back into shape and casually lashes out to the side with it, catching another guard about to bull rush him square in the side, tearing through the outer layer of armor and causing enough pain to stop his charge short... as Soma flips the black around and casually brings the hilt, closed in his fist, up into the man's face. Without looking, in fact.
Partially because he can sense the attacker coming a mile away, and partly because he is trying to *focus* on Riko, whose body and 'presence' have a disconcertingly elusive quality to them. "The man just needs an outlet," Soma responds conversationally, taking stock of the situation. "I know my mother started playing canasta with her girlfriends when she suddenly got the urge to stab someone in the chest."
Though in point of fact, Soma doesn't consider Hiretsu's treatment of him terribly appaling. Painful, sure... but inappropriate? The man was responding to someone sneaking in his domain and he didn't exactly suckerpunch Soma with a Bond villain-like trap or anything. In his place, the detective might have done the same.
Rugal, on the other hand...
"He's got better hospitality than Bernstein, at any rate. You know, I think he's positively got a *chip* on his shoulder."
"Yeah," Riko agrees, "bet he's jealous of our ship."
She says this while flicking her wrist, spinning the stolen firearm in her palm - before snapping her arm straight forward, her hand open.
A pistol does not have great aerodynamic qualities, but flung with enough skill and force, it is a servicable projectile. Certainly it has enough mass.
The weapon flies towards Soma, blasting straight...
.../past/ his head...
...and into the face of the man the Interpol agent just brutalized. Soma smashed the hilt of his dagger into the hapless soldier's face. Now, a heavy semiautomatic smashes home a second later. The man's nose, already broken, grinds further into broken cartilege and splattering blood, staining his night-vision goggles and mask with flecks of crimson.
"I mean," Riko continues, "we got a piano bar and jacuzzi, what does he have?"
She shrugs, spreading her hands. Seeing as how she's standing -still-, one of the "R" soldiers tries to fire on her, discharging his own handgun. Except Riko glides out of the way, her features illuminated by the muzzle flare.
"But still, old man Hiretsu shouldn't have treated you so bad...you /are/," Riko stresses, "a special guest."
Well, now they've decided to actually start shooting people, which doesn't sit well with Soma at all. He really does prefer to not use lethal force when it's at all avoidable... but what the hell. He's in pain, the ship doesn't have a crate marked [MORPHINE DRIPS] and Riko's fuzzy presence is putting him on edge. He might not be a world-class marksman like his contemporary Chun-li, but against these fools he doesn't need to be. The Beretta sings out a warning shot at the man, who instinctively dives to the right... into the blade of the ICPO agent's wire-dagger swinging in from that side.
"Surprisingly little," Soma hears himself respond, and that's the truth. The Black Noah... he expected it to be in better shape than it is, though it's certainly still a potential threat to the Suiryuu. Lord knows Rugal will destroy what he can't have, and blowing up the People's Ship... it seems to Soma's untrained eye that if you know where to direct your energy it's like lighting dry tinder with a blowtorch.
Spinning, Soma turns his gun on whoever might be opposite him... and finds that a good deal of his antagonists are already on the ground in some form of dissaray, be it nerve-induced paralysis or a simple case of Rikoisis Majora in the skull. "Special, huh? So Mr. Rogers told me," he says carefully, looking over his shoulder at Riko. He doesn't have much more time to debate the issue, so he doesn't beat around the bush with more pleasantries. "So I've been through the closet door. And I've put Nikolai out of my focus. But there's an *awful* lot of banks in Japan."
"Ever tried to get a decent loan with no solid accounts and credit history?"
Riko asks the question with remarkable blandness as she leans to the side - an instant before another gun goes off. The bullet clips a few strands of hair from the side of Riko's head, sending them fluttering to the deck.
She smiles at Soma. Indeed, to his highly trained senses, her presence is...strange. She's clearly physically there, her body possessing weight and mass. There's the sound of her breath, the shift in air as she inhales and exhales - laden with oxygen as it passes through her lungs, heavy with carbon dioxide and water vapour as she releases it. But all the subtle signs, the spark of spiritual life that all living things should possess...is at a low ebb.
She is not so far gone as to be a ghost. Not so far removed as the man called 'Hiretsu'.
But it is not natural.
Riko's eyes glint with reflected light, dancing in the silvery illumination cast by the moon.
"Besides, Agent Travedi," she says, "the artisan cares only for the product..."
She smiles.
"The artiste cares for the /performance/."
"Without artisans, artistes would play to empty rooms," Soma responds matter-of-factly, forcing himself to focus on the here and now and not think about the shift in Riko's aura... mainly because it flows disquietingly with Rugal's interest in Hiretsu, and that in and of itself has its own unnerving overtones. "Performance is one thing; audience is another." Even though the detective isn't 100% sure he knows what Riko means by that, he's starting to pick up the cadence of her conversational style. This isn't their first meeting, after all.
The wire-dagger lashes out again, this time catching Riko's assailaint around the wrist holding his pistol. This doesn't seem particularly useful, up front, as the man's grip isn't changed and he can keep right on firing... which he does, hoping to get the detective to let go. Soma simply yanks to the left, pulling the man with him... but at the same time the ICPO agent heads *right* thanks to his weapon's flexibility... and the guard under his control has a few seconds of horrified firing into a comrade before Soma plants his foot and effectively slingshots the man into the sea.
The silver blade of the unique weapon is flipping back toward Soma like a dart as the wire retracts when he responds again to Riko. "Sounds a lot like selling a manuscript to a publisher. That process gives you an *amazing* sense of humility." He turns so that his back is to Riko, presuming she's no more interested in him dying than he is, and watches to see if more are on the way. "Of course, someone of Hiretsu's age probably wants to squirrel a little away for retirement, maybe? He'd better cash in soon, though... seems like the life has just drained right out of him."
It's as good as admitting he knows there's something not right about the man... but if he really wants to get to the bottom of this, the Rubicon needs to be crossed.
"Oh," Riko answers, "he's just been working too hard."
She taps a foot against the deck, skate wheels rapping against steel and wood.
"He's put a lot into this tournament...
The ninja girl cocks her head, looking over the railing and side of the boat...just as there's a distant splash from down below, the "R" invader that Soma evicted finally hitting the water. Hopefully the man can swim. Mortality is such a rare and valuable commodity, it'd be a shame to waste it.
Of course, it seems like the remaining members of the assault squad are more than willing to spend that currency. They're definitely trying to tax Riko. Except the girl manages to evade their fiscal policies, zigzagging across the deck, proving a very elusive target indeed. So it's surprising when she suddenly stops, abruptly. Braking such that one of the men crashes over her, tripping and tumbling into one of the large cast-iron cannons mounted on the deck, bouncing noisily against the swiveling fixture.
"You could say," Riko adds, impishly, "this ship's his life."
That comment actually makes Soma laugh, sharply and somewhat nastily. "That's going to disappoint Rugal then. I think he's got a thing for him." Not that this would be news to Riko, but it certainly does suddenly strike the detective as oddly funny. Everyone's been so focused on the damn boat they totally ignored Hiretsu right to the end... and in fact, Rugal's attempt to steal it is only going to *intensify* that. "Especially when you don't give it to him and he tries to blow it up." He did say, after all, that what he can't possess, he must destroy.
So the focus suddenly becomes Hiretsu. But even something about *that* rings false to Soma, on some fundamental level... for starters, there's Riko's unusual aura. Apparently it's a trait they can all share, perhaps? The crew don't have it, though, and hirelings like Sakura don't either. Just Hiretsu and Riko...
...so far.
As it is, the men in uniform have been reduced to a paltry number, made even smaller by Riko's sudden dispatching of one using the surroundings. Not to be outdone and in fact, having something of a good time, Soma engages a knife fighter at close range, falling back under a flurry of assaults toward the cabin doors... which is only helping the poor soldier's ego. Too bad for him, too; the ICPO agent suddenly blurs past him, a length of steel-grey wire behind him. The thug turns to follow... and thus misses the fact that the wire is attached to the cabin door itself, which slams into the 'R' soldier from behind with a loud *CLANG* noise.
"I guess that's why he just didn't seem very... 'energetic' when we tangled," Soma observes as he turns back to Riko. He's seen her electrical chi in action, after all... and Hiretsu's lack of any flashy ninja tricks seems off, too.
Riko brings her hands together, golf-clapping politely. She observes the little display with wire and the "R" soldier who quite /literally/ walked into a door...with a little encouragement from Soma. She seems to appreciate this - her applause is quite genuine.
The ninja girl stands on the deck, facing the Interpol agent. One of Rugal's men remains, to her right, one of the few still upright and mobile. He begins advancing on her...but Riko holds up a finger, waggling it in his path. This actually /does/ stall the man's approach. His combat boots dig into the deck of the ship, ammunition and equipment swaying against his body armour as he draws himself short, suddenly, justifiably, wary.
But Riko ignores him. She's speaking to Soma.
"Oh," Riko says, "he's saving himself for marriage---"
She stops, covering her mouth with one hand. "---whoops. I meant the big finale. We're not supposed to know about the Rugal-crush!"
She bats her eyelashes, all schoolgirlish and fluttery.
Meanwhile, the "R" soldier gives a growl. He lunges forward, figuring that the little ninja is just toying with him.
Well.
She is.
Riko's known for electrical chi, herself - brilliant displays of azure lightning. She hasn't used any such techniques in this fight. She hasn't used energy attacks, in fact, in all the time she's been aboard, in all the fights she's been forced into since the start of the tournament.
A fact that might, just might, be telling.
Of course, Riko doesn't need chi to make a statement.
In a fluid motion, Riko loops her arm around his webbing belt, darting it in and out with lightning precision...before dancing away, rolling on her trademark skates.
The soldier looks confused for a moment, his brow furrowing.
Then, by now several feet away, Riko lifts her hand and waves, jauntily. Looped round each of her fingers is a small steel ring, curved pins hanging from each.
And all the grenades attached to the man's combat harness /go off/ in a massive explosion, sending shrapnel, smoke, tear gas and bright illumination blossoming in an indecent display of wanton destruction.
"The man called Hiretsu," Riko murmurs, as the blast fades, "is of course key."
Riko grins at Soma.
"But every key needs a lock. And a keyring. And a keychain, if you want to stretch the metaphor? Maybe one of those little torches or a laser pointer..."
Soma actually just closes his eyes in satisfaction, smiling a little, when the grenades go off. Partly this is to shield his eyes from the flare, which is dangerous even if the grenades are standard incendiary or frag, let alone magnesium. Part of it is just him forcing himself to come to an emotional place where Jinchuu isn't the enemy anymore. And it's not, or at least not yet. It's going to RESULT in an enemy, this much is certain. But it might be that having some clue ahead of time of what's going to happen is a better longterm goal than trying to stop something that's already progressed this far.
It may simply be that the tournament and, in their own way, the Ryouhara, present a natural detective with a mystery he can't resist. A bit like putting a recovering alcoholic in a room with a bottle of Wild Turkey and a glass. He referred to himself as a rat in the maze to Hiretsu and a puppet to Rugal. Perhaps those aren't off the mark. But he's going to see it through either way. That much is certain.
Violet eyes open again.
The last of the guards is trying to decide whether to fight or flee, though the rattling of his rifle suggests that whatever Riko and Soma can do to him isn't as bad as what Rugal might. Which could be true. He'll never actually know. The detective is suddenly, instantly behind him, having apparently not bothered to traverse the intervening space, and with snakebite speed drives two fingers into the man's neck. He gets out half of a strangled cry before there's nothing else; his eyes go wide, and he drops the rifle, stumbling backwards. Once he got the voices in his head to shut up, Soma had a whole childhood to learn the most *fascinating* things about the human body.
The Fighting Novelist turns to Riko, absently stiffarm-backhanding the soldier, who topples over the railing into the water. "'I am he who 'gainst whom no lock may hold, nor fastened portal bar'," Soma says cheerfully. That's got to be what this is about. He might not believe that Hiretsu's part of the undead, but the secret of immortal-or-at-least-damned-long life... that would draw someone like Rugal Bernstein like a lighthouse to Mothra. "I guess in that sense, there's a skeleton key that works regardless."
Dusting off his hands, he leans forward somewhat, fastening the clasps on his dagger sheaths... and giving Riko a chance to either escape unnoticed, or kick him in the top of the head. Part of Soma even wants to find out if she'll do it. "That has been fun. Did you ever get that loan, by the way?" If left unmolested, the detective trains his eye on Riko, trying to focus. "I mean, you could have just *lied*."
"Oh," Riko says, mildly, as she skates over to the guy blown up with his own grenades. She nudges his body with one foot, poking the solid endcap of her boot into his side. She rubs her chin, thoughtfully, trying to determine if he's still breathing.
"I don't lie. Besides..."
Riko looks up at Soma, staring at him. Nothing separates them now. They're the only two standing, alone upon this expanse of deck. Alone beneath the open sky. The invaders are routed, lying in various states of unconsciousness, simply incapable of movement (or indeed, coherent thought).
Yet she makes no move to approach Soma.
"...money alone doesn't solve anything, you know...what profit a man," Riko quotes, right back, "if he gains the whole world, but loses his soul?"
Of course she doesn't. How can you ever lie when the concept of 'truth' has a certain degree of malleability to it, after all.
The detective clearly has no interest in fighting Riko; indeed, all he really wants right now is a hot bath that's never going to come and a very large tube of Neosporin. Perhaps a Blackhawk to come pick him up and head home for an apertif and some light reading. It's never going to happen. From the first day he heard another's voice in his head, from the first day he ever picked up a gun, his destiny was set. As Terry Pratchett put it, 'once you realize what good is, you can't ever be bad; it just don't work'.
"Money very rarely solves anything. It merely enables a certain set of solutions to be enacted. But even tramps and thieves need somewhere to keep their winnings. I guess the trick is to find someplace even a thief considers secure." The deposit box... it was a throaway comment Hiretsu made, on the surface, but Soma knows the Ryouhara never throw anything away. And they never lie. They simply tell one particular version of the 'truth'. He doesn't know what's in the stupid box, but he's going to find out.
Putting his hand to his forehead, Soma actually salutes Riko. "Well, I'm sure you're busy so I won't keep you. I have some phone calls to make anyway. Take care of yourself." He starts for the cabin door, and then turns around to look at Riko one more time. "That quote, by the way... how does it read, do you think, if the profit in question is time?"
"I don't know, Agent Travedi," Riko shoots back.
She grins, knowingly.
"Like I said - you can only push a metaphor so far."
The heavy metal cabin door swings open as Soma grabs ahold. No rest for the wicked, but perhaps a couple minutes of not trying to beat someone up can be arranged. Stepping inside, he turns to look at Riko. "Oh, for sure. Push anything too far, it eventually breaks."
A beat. "Thanks for the save." Then the door slams shut, and he is gone.
Log created on 12:11:54 10/08/2007 by Riko, and last modified on 16:42:20 10/08/2007.