Description: Target: A naive, easily trusting crime enforcer. Obstacle: Ayame's own conscience (I.e., nothing). Alias: Aurora. Summary: Ayame seems to have popped upon the radar of the Southtown Syndicate for her nefarious activities in recent months. The most unlikely of enforcers has been dispatched to deal with her. Stepping into a potentially dangerous situation by encroaching on Ayame's run down studio, Miss Irvine has no idea what she's getting herself into. On the surface, it seems as if it has been a win-win for both parties involved. But more unscrupulous plans may be in play.
The street rogue Ayame tends to slip into rich neighborhoods when 'on the job', as it were. But she certainly doesn't belong in those areas. Merely an interloper, a transient visitor seeking to take anything not nailed down before retreating back to the only place she can afford to live these days - a run down flat in the heart of south Southtown not far from the famous Gedo High itself.
The building is a dive. Dilapidated; maintenance hasn't even replaced the various burned out or shattered light bulbs in the stair wells or hallways, leaving the interior mostly dark outside of the occasional cone of illumination here and there. Ayame's flat is on the highest floor out of five stories. The wooden door that serves as the lone guard of her threshold consists of rotted wood, several layers of peeling paint visible along its uneven surface. Just rubbing one's hand along that door would likely leave a dozon or so splinters wedged into one's skin.
A studio or an oversized closet - it would be difficult to discern which exactly. But it beats sleeping on the streets. The lone filthy window opens out onto a rusted, metal fire escape that's probably about as dangerous as any fire could be. It's within this humble location Ayame can be found by anyone who has managed to track her down. Not an easy task, to say the least, as she goes out with a variety of disguises and aliases. But there are those who have the means necessary, of course...
Seated at a desk just barely squeezed into the room next to the cot she sleeps on at night, Ayame pecks away at a computer keyboard. Frameless glasses rest over her eyes as she glances over the flatscreen monitor in front of her. She's reading a couple articles on mechanical engineering, perhaps thinking of inventing another deadly weapon to take with her while she works. "Hm, hm," muses the girl.
Dressed in in an odd array of blacks and reds, a mishmash of items obtained via five-finger discount, only to be altered by herself to be able to stash a wide variety of weapons in various locations. Only her feet are bare, her Dr. Martin boots sitting by the door. "Their preliminary tests were inconclusive... Fancy way of saying it blew up when they tried it," the girl laughs lightly as she skims some research analysis report, finding humor in the geekiest of things.
Being an enforcer in Southsynd doesn't offer a /lot/ of information, but every now and again a few prime nuggets come up when they actually become relevant to one's assignments; in this case, of course, the enforcer is Camille and the relevant information was a few leads on some small-time criminals working Southsynd's territories without permission nor sufficient apparent strength to be unprofitable to try to prevent from doing as such.
This is probably Camille's least favorite kind of work, if only because the possibility of it turning into recruitment is fairly high, and the last thing she'd want is to put /more/ people in her situation. ...Of course, that doesn't mean she doesn't do it. After all, even if she wouldn't wish her current situation on someone /else/, the fact remains that it /is/ her situation (and, well, her fault besides).
She works her way up the rusty fire escape carefully, hoping that she doesn't actually cause it to tumble simply by walking on it; it seems pretty rickety, to put it lightly, and she is definitely not looking forward to taking a massive spill like that. Once she actually makes it up to what she's fairly sure is the right window, she gives it a few solid knocks. She's paying a visit, after all -- it's not like she's sneaking in to kill her! (So polite.)
The knock at the window startles the girl that was so intently engrossed in the articles she's surfing, jotting down pencilled notes on a pad of paper next to her keyboard. "If only they had cross referenced each others' work they would have been able to solve this equation eas-"
She's on her feet and whirled around in an instant. No one's ever knocked on her window before. Door, yes. Usually when rent is due or some drunken slob mistakes her door for someone else's. Window, not so much. From the cot at her side she grabs hold of her belt and slips it on, clicking the clasp closed as she approaches the window slowly, holding her breath as she squints at the form on the other side of the dirty pane. The grime is so thick that she can't make much out, unfortunately.
From Camille's position, she might hear the movement inside, confirming someone's at home. Then there's the sound of a latch being moved and the old, rotted wood window frame shoved upward, revealing a brown eyed, red-blonde girl blinking out of it. The room from which she peeks looks to be pretty dark from the outside. Other than the light being let in from the window, the only other source of luminescence is her computer monitor.
"Hello," she states, her expression neutral. She can't even figure out WHAT personality to present to this strange girl out on her fire escape, so she plays it impassive for the moment. "Wrong window?" she offers, the faintest quirk of a smile at what might be a evasive attempt at humor.
Cute kid, Camille thinks to herself as Ayame opens the window; she looks terribly non-threatening. ... but, for the most part, she matches the description that Irvine has -- kind of a surprise, someone like her being such a quality criminal. But then, one would probably say the same thing about Camille, with her noble-looking features and her small-ish stature. Neither of them look much like thieves and thugs.
Giving her own tiny smile back, Irvine says, "I somehow doubt I've got the wrong window... you seem to be who I'm looking for," she says, a little embarassed at herself -- really, she thinks, she could've at least used the normal door. "I was wondering if you wouldn't happen to know about a lot of little things. Wallets, credit cards, you know -- things that tend to disappear."
She seems friendly enough, even if she is standing outside Ayame's window with a giant sword; there's not even the slightest bit of threat in her demeanor or her stance yet. "... and would you mind if I came in? I don't know if this thing is going to stay up another minute." After a second, she adds, "Not that I would have a problem with falling, of course. I'd be fine."
One hand comes up to idly push some of her long hair back over her shoulder and behind her ear as she listens to the young woman speak. A foreigner. She's always inherently distrustful of anyone not native to Japan in the first place. And that's even when they're not packing a sword. When she says she's the one she's looking for though, Ayame's eyes narrow, the suspicion clearly evident as she begins to scrutinize the red-head more carefully, trying to remember if she remembered wronging her sometime in the past.
If she has, it wasn't directly. The girl has a steel trap of a mind. If she had tricked, stolen from, or fought Camille in the past, she'd remember her face. But as she brings up the sort of nicknacks one might expect Ayame to know all about, the somewhat younger girl tenses. Is this the fuzz? In bygone years they might have carried swords, but nothing like /THAT/.
She asks to come in and Ayame is silent for a long moment. She's been caught off guard. She isn't even quite sure how to deal with the situation. No one's ever tracked her down before... usually her crimes are petty enough that it isn't worth hiring a private investigator to look into, even if she does piss off plenty of people in the process. "I, ah," she stammers, an unusual case for the normally easy talking girl. " -don't believe we have anything to discuss. Clearly the wrong apartment. I wish you luck with your search," she states, hands coming up to grab hold of the window frame, quite clearly intending to slam it back down.
"Now, now," Camille says, putting her own hand up on the window frame, bracing herself for a brief physical contest with the girl. Considering how she swings that sword around, she thinks she's got the upper hand, but Ayame isn't /quite/ a known quality. "Now, now, I'm not here to turn you in or anything like that. Don't get uneasy and start lying to me." She may not be that perceptive, but stammering is a definite obvious red flag. She takes a slightly more commanding tone when she says this, though it's a bluff -- she isn't even really sure she /does/ have the right place.
"If you're interested, I represent certain... local organizations who might have an interest in people who can make little things disappear without being noticed much." She forces a smile onto her face, saying, "Now, of course, if you have no interest in anything like that whatsoever, I could always leave. On the other hand, if you wanted to talk, trade associates' phone numbers, do each other's hair, stay up telling ghost stories... then we might be able to do something." Her smile starts to become more genuine once she starts listing more facetious options -- she has to have a little fun somewhere.
Taking a step away but still keeping her hands right next to the thief's, she says, "Like I said, if you're /completely sure/, I guess I might have the wrong flat after all." She locks her eyes on the girl's, trying to see how she responds -- she's never been that good at reading people in situations like these, but hey, she might get lucky.
Camille's hand against the frame stops Ayame's attempt at shutting it effectively. The girl could pull harder by putting some dead weight behind her grip, but it's more likely that the rotted frame would just splinter and that wouldn't really do any better at keeping the unwanted visitor out either. Which means she's left with no choice but to listen as the unexpected arrival speaks more about who she represents... interesting tidbits but no details to actually make it obvious as to whom.
But the girl isn't clueless. This sounds like either some kind of weird sword-weilding sting operation or a legitimate visit from the mob that really runs this town in Ayame's mind. Geese and his crew. Miserable company to hang with as far as she's concerned. Camille has her curiosity piqued though. And she seems nice. No reason not to let her in... right? After all, she sounds amenable to going away if Ayame decides she's not interested in hearing any more.
Taking a step back from the window at last, the old frame seems to stick in place on its own. "All right. You can come in." she allows, neither confirming nor denying the young woman's assertion that she's talking to a bona fide street theif who spends her days scraping out a living wronging everyone in sight.
There's not much room in the studio flat. A cot against one wall. A desk with a chair against the opposite. A little floor space in the middle. A tiny bathroom and a nook of a kitchen that looks entirely unused for anything kitchen like and more like a storage closet. Piles of partially disassembled electronics and gizmos, credit cards, a handfull of passports, loose change, a morning star... every where one might look, the number of odds and ends seems to be without limit. Yeah, she pretty much has the right spot.
The morning star is what draws Camille's attention the most; she always had a thing for classical weapons. No surprise, considering her pedigree and her own massive horse-slaying blade, but whatever the reason might be, she spends a disproportionate amount of time looking at it. She eventually assesses the whole room, of course, being careful not to step on any of the more fragile electronic bits that litter it as she enters through the window.
Sitting down on the cot against the wall, she starts, "Good, now that neither of us are /outside/, I can talk a little more frankly. Never liked that whole cloak-and-dagger rubbish anyway." She says, "You've started to gain a little attention through your actions," again glancing pointedly toward one of the piles of broken down electronic goodies. "Now, far be it from me to tell you what to do, but every now and again you manage to pick something off someone that a few friends of ours are fairly close with."
Sighing a little, she says, "I imagine you can guess just who 'we' are by now. It's sort of an open secret with the criminal types around here -- I always wonder how the public never finds out, until I remember we have a hand in most of the reputable press." The way she says 'the criminal types' is faintly insulting, as if she considers herself completely unrelated to that particular segment of society.
Already Ayame is formulating plans for relocation. It would be a shame to give up such a stock pile of parts and goods as she's rounded up in ths room, but having 'them' know where she lives isn't going to work out at all and most of the stuff in the room isn't worth packing to a new place. The only real bother is that she just paid rent for Novemeber and now she'll have to give it up.
She leaves the window open. It's the only source of light, really. There's a lamp in one corner, but it stopped working when she salvaged some of its wiring for a pet project. But now she knows for absolute certain who Camille works for and her mind goes into overtime on planning on how to deal with this. Step 1 commences -
Ayame sinks down onto her chair, hands resting on her lap as she listens to Camille intently, brown eyes focusing on the young woman as she continues to study her, getting a sense of her strength with how she moves around so easily with that claymore. She could probably use that morning star to devestating effect as well. Ayame doens't quite have the upper body strength to put it to use. She tried.
"Yes, your power is indisputable," she remarks, sounding impressed. "That I've possibly caused trouble to, ah, your friends is not my intent. I'm just getting by is all, as you can see," she states, her smile almost apologetic. Her shoulders slouch a bit and she kneads her fingers in her lap, looking perhaps a bit kowtowed perhaps? And who wouldn't be? Displeasing Geese Howard's empire is a fightening place to be, right? "I, ah, I'm sure something could be worked out." That stammer is back. Nervousness? With the way her eyes aren't skipping around so much anymore but rather focusing intently on Camille, she seems to be sending off mixed signals. There's almost a 'sizing up prey' feral look to her now, even as she maintains that slouched posture.
"Honestly, while that may be the /theoretical/ purpose of my visit, I'm not really here to -- enforce on you, honestly," the young woman says, with a small, forced laugh. She knows how this must come off, and really it doesn't feel too great, but hey -- that's the job, it seems like. "I kind of know what place you're in. You'll find that I'm a pretty lazy enforcer." ... when she thinks she might have actual problems, anyway. This isn't precisely the same thing as roughing up shopkeepers; people who tend to draw attention to themselves /also/ tend to have the power to back up that attention.
"Really, I think we'd probably stay out of your hair entirely if you just tried to stay out of ours and maybe tossed us the occasional..." Here, she glances around the room, before finishing, "... odd or end you can't put to use." 'Oh, Camille,' she thinks to herself, 'you really are a soft touch.' If someone similarly-built but less merciful had been given this assignment, it likely would have gone to fisticuffs in no time; when she can, Camille seems to like to talk.
Turning her attention back to Ayame, she notes the mixed signals, but completely misreads them -- she thinks they're more worry and resentment than a predatory look. "Look, you seem okay, so I'm sure we can come to some kind of resolution that doesn't hurt either of us, right?" Her tone is fairly businesslike as she says this, and she even manages to keep most of her colloquialisms to herself for once. ... most of them.
Ayame nods readily as Camille starts to toss out terms as if she's ready to agree to just about anything if it means she falls off Southtown Syndicate's radar again. "I just don't want any trouble," Ayame continues as her 'guest of honor' mentions being a lazy enforcer. "I-, I mean, if someone else where to come," she continues, throwing out paranoid ideas about how things might go differently if a less lazy enforcer were to come knocking in her window some night.
Leaning forward as if intently interested in every word Camille has to say, "Tell me more," she urges. "Maybe, ah, some way I could know who to not bother. I would make sure to stay clear of them. Is there a list or something?" She sits up straight and glances around her little, dingy room.
There's plenty of things she has no use for here, to say the least. But why anyone else would care for them either she's not quite sure. Maybe it's just more of Camille's lazy-style of enforcement. "I'm so lucky that you came," she says with a soft smile, brown eyes becoming more gentle by the moment as she constantly adjusts her demeanor to match what she thinks will best melt Camille into being more malleable.
"Just tell me what I have to do," she states, blinking innocently now, every bit coming across like the red head is the most trusted person she's dealt with in a long time.
Camille may not personally like kids, but Ayame isn't /quite/ a kid, and she certainly knows how to work someone who, in the end, doesn't /quite/ want to do their job all the time. "... well, um," Camille starts, having to throw out entirely what she was /going/ to say, which was likely a /little/ too harsh for the girl. "There isn't really a full list, but I guess I could start by telling you what shops are under Syndicate protection... not lifting things from them would be a good start." There are others uses for such information, obviously, but Camille isn't thinking about that right now.
"It's easier with individuals. Individual people are important every now and again but usually if you pickpocket them we tend not to notice unless it gets out of hand." She taps her chin thoughtfully, trying to think of what else might make the young woman's life a little easier. "Plus, well... I suppose I could cover for you, a little, if you start pulling too much attention. I mean I can't make a /habit/ out of it, but we could gloss over things sometimes..."
The foreign woman clearly has little actual idea of both how to be a criminal and how to protect herself against them; she's a mark if there ever was one. It's probably why she's an enforcer -- the leaps of logic there are probably not too hard for Ayame's sharp, analytical mind. "... of course, maybe you could help /me/ out a little in exchange, maybe?"
"Yes, yes," Ayame nods eagerly as Camille mentions the possability of knowing which shops are up to date on their protection payments to the Syndicate. It goes without saying that the Syndicate would be interested in keeping wouldbe trouble causers from harassing such establishments. Failure to do so calls into question their iron grip over the crime in the city...
"I try not to trifle with anyone who seems important anyway," she continues with a quiet smile. "Like to keep it low key, you know?" She shrugs disarmingly, hands open, "High School kids and the like." She pauses then, finger coming up to tap her chin as she leans forward again, her tone becoming conspiratorial now. "But it's good to know, just in case, right? If you can cover for me from time to time, the least I can do is help you out. I doubt we would ever find our, um, goals colliding, after all."
She rests her hand at her neckline, "I just want to get by and have some fun. And you probably just want to get your job done so you can say you've done it." She's really getting a feel for this so called enforcer. "I don't see any conflict there." She relaxes, the nervousness seeming to bleed away now that she has such an understanding accomplice 'on the inside.' Maybe a move won't be necessary just /yet/ after all... She senses a chance to profit here in the long run. Her hand comes up to brush her hair back a second time, before pausing, fingers resting against the side of her head.
"You really seem too nice to be mixed up in all this." She shrugs a little. "I'm not sure which of my aliases you had in mind when you came here, but you can call me Aurora. Please don't spread it around though..." she confides, as if sharing a little secret about herself, such as her 'real name', might loosen Camille up even more. "It's kind of a sissy name, but naturally my parents never knew that I'd end up turning out like this... so what can I say?" she looks harmlessly sheepish.
Ayame's definitely got Camille's number, that's for sure. She's falling for the girl's words hook, line, and sinker, and actually enjoying it a little -- indeed, to her it's a pretty solid success. She's going to get the young woman out of the way as a threat to Southsynd without harming her at all! That's win-win for everyone. She keeps her best face on for the nice young lady -- she certainly seems genuine, after all.
"Well, um..." she starts, "maybe instead of tossing the Syndicate odds and ends you can't use, you could maybe toss them to me? I mean -- I might want to call on you to help with some more delicate things I'm not good with, but I... do need a little bit here and there to pawn." That comes dangerously close to an admission of being a spectacular mark. "It's a long story, and ... well, maybe another time. We've only just met, and you probably wouldn't want to hear it."
She makes a vague dismissive gesture with her hand, shifting a little as the positioning of her sheathed weapon starts to grate on her back a little. "I think this could work out well for both of us, Aurora! I'd be happy to help you -- get by." Much better than the alternative here in Southtown, she thinks. Poor dear -- she's probably never been in a better part of the world. "-- Oh! I haven't even introduced myself! I'm Camille."
Truth be told, Ayame's initial instincts were to attack Camille out of the blue. Lower her guard with niceties then tear into her with something vicious when the moment presented itself. Beat her up, send her packing as a bleeding, cut up mess. Send a message back to the Syndicate that she's not interested in being pestered by them. A deadly game to play, but she definitely would have tried hard to disappear off the map for a while all the same.
But now she doesn't even have to trouble moving, messing up her room, or risking injury. And she doesn't have to try and vanish from the Syndicate's eye. A win-win in her mind as well! Looks like both sides stand to benefit here. "Another time," she notes with regards to Camille's story. She's curious. Information is power. The more she knows the easier it is to get what she wants. But she shouldn't push it, either. It wouldn't come across quite naturally.
Besides, the other part of what Camille states is far more important. "Ah," she remarks. Asking for stuff to pawn, hmn. That means providing things that have actual value, which means cutting into her own meager budget. She's not happy about that idea, but one couldn't tell by just looking at her. Leaning forward again, she extends her hand, attempting to rest it on the foreign girl's knee. "I understand," she states consolingly. "I'll see what I can do for you." she states, that smile of hers looking /so/ genuine even as she inwardly tries to figure out how to make this slight adjustment of terms work in her favor.
"Camille. That's a pretty name," she remarks thoughtfully. She really doesn't care for it. It sounds too... European. Big surprise. "I agree. It seems to me that things can work out." She sits up a bit straighter then, withdrawing her hand as she ponders what to say next. "I'd offer you something to drink for your trouble in coming here, but..." She glances to the side toward the mound that should be the kitchen. Yeah... "Maybe sometime if we have to help each other out with something I can make it up to you then," she grins readily.
The older woman has no idea just how much she's giving and how little she's getting here; that doesn't stop her, of course, from assuming. "Another time, on both counts," she says, once 'Aurora' has finished talking. After a few seconds, she adds, "And -- thank you, by the way. My mother wanted to go with 'Camilla,' but my father didn't like the way the 'uh' sound on the end sounded..." Little meaningless small talk -- yet Camille actually ascribes a certain amount of importance to it. After all, they did start talking about her name.
"Just keep an eye out, hm? We can help each other out. You're not the first one to draw... attention by diminishing the Syndicate's returns." She pushes a bit of hair to the side, saying, "I suppose I should let you get back to work, or -- whatever it was you were doing before I showed up. We don't have much more business to discuss, but... maybe I could take you out to dinner some time and we could talk more? My treat." For someone who seems like she's in debt, it certainly sounds like she has pretty poor control over her pocketbook. But then, the two are probably related.
She stands up, taking a step back. "I -- don't suppose you'd mind if I used the door rather than the window? Frankly, I was more afraid of that fire escape than of talking to you." She chuckles a little at her own joke, saying, "You seem like a nice girl. I'm sorry if this ruined your night at all."
Ayame reaches down to unclasp her belt, sliding it off and tossing it lazily back onto the cot after Camille stands. It looks like there's no need to fight for now, though such a moment could come at any time. Dealing with someone like Ayame is risky business, especially for the sweet, horribly misplaced enforcer. But for now, it seems the benefits of letting her go outweigh the cons and this particular meeting has ended amicably enough.
"By all means," she notes, waving her hand toward the door. "That you climbed up that thing at all makes you a braver girl than me by far," she adds, completely ignoring the fact that she uses it all the time. She shakes her head then, "And not at all. You've taken a major load off my mind. Thank you again, Camille."
She can't help but muse about that sword some more. She wants to see such a large weapon in action by someone who actually knows how to use it. Maybe she could get some ideas about how to compensate for her own lack of upper body strength by watching an expert manipulate one. Of course, there's the fact that she doesn't /have/ a Claymore... but if things with Camille ever become 'inconvenient', perhaps she'll just have to take hers!
"Dinner would be nice. Let's plan on it," she states, watching the young woman only for so long until she heads out the door. Turning back toward her computer she drums her fingers on the desk thoughtfully. "Camille, hm. Let's see what the world has to say about you..." The clacking of keyboard presses come next as Ayame begins to dig up possible information leads about this newly found contact.
Camille heads out the door without too much fuss, only saying, "Thank you," as she is indeed allowed to take the easy way out of the building rather than climbing up that awful fire escape. She really is pretty misplaced in this whole business -- she's certainly not the next Ryuji Yamazaki, that's for sure.
The Internet has very little to say about Camille, at least not without digging. Cursory searches will return virtually nothing, lots and lots of false positives. Eventually, however, things will start popping up about /her/ -- mostly local, surprisingly, not from the middle of Europe. It would appear that she's tried to break out into the fighting scene in Southtown, like many, but her successes are few and far between. Her record is fairly typical of a starting fighter challenging out of her league, but her reputation for 'generosity' is pretty vast -- she spends like crazy, or at least used to.
She has a Facebook account (easy enough to find, once the fighting articles reveal her last name to be Irvine). She has an associate's degree from some semi-prestigious school in the United Kingdom, and since she's been out of school the account has been dormant for a long time. Like every good college student, she has her drinking pictures up. Classy.
From here it's not hard to find the rest of her family, most notably her uncle; he was a pretty solid man, from the looks of him, built like a brick outhouse and twice as terrifying a prospect. He was very successful in mixed fighting championships in the UK, up until -- like a lot of fighters -- knee injuries claimed his career.
Log created on 02:18:39 10/28/2007 by Ayame, and last modified on 06:42:57 10/28/2007.