Description: Target: Intel on the Blackjack Warehouse. Obstacle: The Blackjack Leader. Alias: None. Summary: Ayame has been told to show up Sunday at 7:30 pm for a test. She's there at 7:30 on Saturday to cheat on that test. Only, the warehouse isn't entirely empty and the one person present within is the very one who can best thwart her little spying operation.
The Blackjack warehouse is filled with nostalgia. It was from such humble beginnings that the organization started. Intitially, the combined forces of Elle, Dr. Tran, and Naerose were nothing more than an anomolous speck on the face of something much larger. That's something that's certainly changed.
It used to be a base of operations. To some extent, it still is. The place is filled with countless crates and boxes, but the manager's area on the second floor is largely untouched and doubled as a small studio apartment where a Blackjack member would spend the night when on guard duty. Access is granted by a catwalk that rings the facility and crosses the middle, where a person can walk and supervise the goings on below.
This late evening, there's not much going on. The lights are on, brightly illuminating the warehouse despite the solemn night outside. A few workers pulling an overtime shift are standing around taking inventory. Though they're dressed in standard warehouse worker jumpsuits, their appearance is a little jarring. Most of them look like they should be burning down a small village somewhere rather than working an honest labor job. Tattoos, peircings, and the fading signs of rampant drug use tinge their hardened features. Nevertheless, they patiently comb the corridors created by the crates, checking off notepads and calling out to one another with the usual banter. Ribald jokes and foulmouthed comments ring out through the warehouse, followed by groans and laughter.
Elle is here as well. The Blackjack commander strides across the catwalk, checking her own notes and figures. Since the completion of Jinchuu, business has been good. Rugal's business was like an advertisement that spread throughout the underworld like wildfire. Professionals that do good work on questionable assignments without asking anything or caring about the end result past getting paid are rare. Similarly, finding someone whose morality is defined by dollar amounts completely is a godsend to any unscrupulous business type.
And as such, Elle needs more. More of everything. More people, more resources. Though still relatively weak compared to nearly every other organization around, Blackjack's hand is broad, stretching across factions and people that would seem implausible to any third party observer. Ais Aislinn is fond of taking note, it's a very efficient organization. Elle tries extraordinarily hard to make it work.
Boots clank on the catwalk overhead as she progresses down totowards the manager's office, the PDA/Phone in hand as she checks over the latest reports. Espionage. That would be Leilani's department. Transporting 'surplus' prescription drugs. That's for Katana. Everything is assigned away without much hesitation with her attention fully on the device in her hand.
She was back in her hovel of a home after Aislinn presented her with an offer and an envelope to 'open later.' It was there, seated on the dingy cot that acts as her place of refuge after a hard day of working to avoid real work that she peeled back the flap and studied the single sheet within. A map clearly marking a specific building in Southtown's harbor. The girl is familiar with the harbor. It's a great place to hide when the heat is onto her though the opportunities to steal an easy buck tend to be slim. Folks in that area tend to know her type, and likewise tend to be capable of holding their own in a fight...
There was but a simple message. A time. 7:30 on Sunday. And a note along the side: Come Prepared. Tonight is Saturday. The time is 7:30. And Ayame is coming prepared the best way she knows how. To figure what is going on in advance rather than being taken by surprise when she shows up Sunday. Some might call it cheating. Ayame simply calls it being smart.
Truth be told, she hadn't expected to find anyone there. The district where the warehouse resides wasn't known for its booming commercial business, and most of the warehouses are busy during the week when dock workers are abundant... Her analysis of the building began outside. Creeping around the perimeter, occasionally utilizing a small, flexible, black optic cable with a camera on the end of it. Stolen from a police department storage shed, it allows her to peek around corners and under cracks without too much risk. Just one of many toys the girl pulls out when she's out to do something more challenging than mugging the locals of Chinatown.
Rather than a dark warehouse she finds a bit of activity... Their banter goes unheard at first as she's outside, but eventually the girl finds her way in, slipping in through a door just as a Blackjack employee steps outside for some fresh air. Once inside, staying out of sight is a lot trickier than she expected. But she's small, and very good at listening to the footsteps of others. Sticking to the places between the crates where no one is looking, she spies, brow furrowed at what she sees.
Where did these people come from? No one spoke of Blackjack a year ago, yet now the name of the outfit is all over the streets. Decent work for indecent people, the girl muses with a faint smile. It's then that she hears the sound of footsteps across the catwalk above. The blonde girl sticks to what shadows she can fine and watches, paying a lot of attention to the young woman who seems to be of a supervisory rank. She's curious how the workers react to the 'boss on duty', if at all.
Past the manager's office. Down to galvanized metal stairs that brings her to the wooden planks and sawdust covered floors. Elle touches ground and steps across the ground, pausing only to pick up a water bottle from the foreman's mini fridge set down near the corner of the warehouse next to an old battered army surplus desk. She twists the cap to quickly take a sip, and then continues on her leisure.
"Hey guys," the woman calls, her voice an even tone. Despite her relatively normal volume, the sound seems to travel evenly throught the warehouse, as if she was everywhere at once, "you need to go home. Vicki is going to be setting up the place for the fun and games tomorrow, and I need this place clear so I can sit down and get together a set up." It's a conversational tone moreso than a voice of command, albeit a bit dry and lacking in inflection. The response comes shortly, as the three figures emerge from the brightly lit corridors.
"Who is it this time?" Asks a heavily tattooed, rail thin man with a shorn head. "Anything good? Are we gonna put up another office pool for this one?" The other two seem particularly pleased by the idea, and immediately start asking questions. Three voices turn into a cavalcade of questions, and Elle is forced to raise her voice a little, if only to be heard over the warehouse workers.
"Yes, you can set up a pool on it. I'll talk to your foreman about it and make sure you guys get the tapes," she says, motioning towards the door. "But first I have to get everything set up. So go tell graveyard to get their asses down here. I'll take care of the rest. You can go ahead and knock off a bit early so i can prep the place for them."
That seems to satisfy the curiousity, and they're already starting to bet. The conversation seems to resolve over 'the players' and 'the house'. Whatever that means. Gambling terms and mentality seems to run rampant, but then again, the organization's name /is/ Blackjack. The workers leave after tossing off a short wave to the 'boss', who merely raises a distracted hand in response as she heads back to the foreman's desk. A notepad is pulled out and she immediately starts scribbling, periodically glancing at the warehouse layout. Most people leave the Blackjack warehouse alone. It's usually occupied by a superpowered psychopath at any given time anyway.
Ayame almost jumps when Elle speaks for while she can see her mouth moving from a distance, the voice seems to come from somewhere right nearby her when she was quite sure she was careful about listening for anyone approaching this corner of the large building. But then it dawns on her... It isn't some strange property of the building projecting the young woman's voice but rather her voice itself. Ayame closes her eyes for a moment, focusing inward, suppressing her chi, concealing her aura. She's quite familiar with individuals of higher sensitivity to chi and the presence of those who can weild it... But she's also very capable of controlling her own aura, for what it is, to keep it subtle.
Opening her eyes again, she focuses on what goes spoken. Going home early. Setting up for tomorrow. Her mouth curls into a faint smile. She figured the message on the map indicated that she should be prepared for some kind of test. It's not too surprising. Hiring someone sigh unseen by reputation alone doesn't sound like the kind of operation they've got going here.
From a thin backpack on her back she withdraws two small batteries taped together with duct tape and then pulls out the same camera she was using before to peek around corners and the like. This should be good, she muses. She can't stay around and watch a lengthy setup. She doesn't want to be caught. But planting a camera to do her spying for her? That stands a good chance of going unnoticed.
As the employees file out and Elle returns to the desk, Ayame makes her move. She's loud when she needs to be. But she can also be incredibly quiet. She even took the measure of leaving her shoes concealed outside, padding around in black socks to step as lightly as possible. But she also muses over the woman's control over projecting her voice... If she's likewise /sensitive/ to sound, this entire effort is risky. Which is why she keeps glancing back toward Elle's direction, even though the foreman's desk isn't visible from her angle now.
Maintaining that focus to keep her own presence muted takes some persistant concentration, but it doesn't keep her immobilized. Stepping lightly over to one of the support beams around the building, she snakes the fiber optic cable up and around, looping it through a hole in the girder. The battery pack is affixed to the inside of the beam as well.
It's not the best angle of the place, but it might give her a bit of a heads up when setup begins when she reviews the footage being broadcast to a small receiver also in her backpack. The small camera planted, she slinks back into the security of the shadows and holds her breath for a long moment. Eyes stray upward, fixating on that manager's office overhead, curiosity burning at what secrets it might hold. If she wasn't so interested in actually seeing what played out tomorrow... if this was just some warehouse in which she had no investment... she'd probably risk trying to sneak into that office. But for now, she has to maintain some restraint.
That camera isn't the only thing she's going to set up though... Reaching over her shoulder, she pulls out a second black cable. A pin-point thin mic, capable of remarkable reception even though its tip is nearly wire thin. Slowly exhaling and resuming her breathing, the girl scoots along one one of the wall of crates. She's creeping closer to Elle. A wire near what appears to be the foreman's desk seems invaluable to her. She doesn't want to get too close either, though. One more surveillance device and she can get out of here.
Though perceptive, Elle isn't a living detection device like many fighters. Her sensitivity to chi is average at best. She does tend to notice intricate details that most people ignore, but that's an active ability. It's something she concentrates on. The padding of sock feet is easily missed. Ayame is far away, and Elle's attentions are focused on the paper and pen, sketching out a proper arrangement that would accurately simulate the conditions Elle is interested in observing people do battle in.
The activity seems to go largely unnoticed. Ayame's plans to get the scoop on the warehouse and gain the advantage of intelligence initially seems to be all going according to plan. Cleverness usually pays off, and the camera placement goes without a hitch. Given the ease with which this is happening, it begs the question as to how Elle has managed to stay secretive for so long. If any yahoo could set up surveillance, wouldn't they have done so already?
But whether or not Ayame asks that question quickly becomes moot, because the girl theif has made a mistake. It's not one that she could have known about, unless she had done a lot of unecessary homework, however. One of the reasons Elle's ability to sense chi is only average is the fact that she seethes with it. The amount of power she can bring to bear is considerable. As such, it deadens her ability to 'see' it or 'hear' it. But the aftereffects and overall strength of the stuff is something Elle is quite adept at working with. As the mic is pushed closer and closer, the system meets some resistance in the form of feedback.
It's a trick Elle learned to identify plants by other organizations. By generating a low level sonic feild around her, she can cause many surveillance devices to shriek like a banshee. Similarly, the electrical pulse she periodically emits usually is enough to destroy the recording capabilities of most consumer-strength portable electronic devices like video cameras.
While the fields aren't always 'on' in general, they're almost a subconcious act when she's at rest, given that she's the most vulnerable when she's busy concentrating on a task.
The microphone is small. Almost like a hair. Nevertheless, the tinny noise that reaches her ear is enough to cause Elle to take immediate notice. The result is a basic rise in the electrostatic charge in the room as Elle releases a short pulse, causing the lights to dim around her for a fraction of a second.
She's armed quickly, hand reaching behind her to grasp ahold of a mace handle with a sturdy grip. The heavy steel implement is hefted with considerable ease as Elle stands slowly, looking around. Eyes narrow behind sunglasses that hide her gaze, her lips set in a thin, expressionless line.
And that's it. No words. No demands for appearance. No statements of assurance that Ayame won't be hurt if she speaks her intentions. Nothing to indicate what her own intentions are. Instead, the mercenary steps forward slowly, head tilting this way and that as if looking and listening at the same time as she tries to ferret out an intruder.
Everyone knows that sinking feeling of something having gone wrong. It's even worse when you don't know what happened or why. She was moving quietly, not making a sound, eyes focused on locating the best spot to leave the mic. A little nook between crates, the space beneath a wooden platform... a device this small can be wedged just about anywhere.
And then there's a sense of something. A spike in presence from the only other person that she knows of to be in the building at the moment. The lights dim for a moment and Ayame freezes. Of course she has no way of knowing that the little wire she's carrying in one hand IS the beacon that draws Elle's attention all of the sudden. Maybe it was a mis-step. Maybe she's just THAT perceptive. The girl has no idea.
As movement is heard coming her way she glances around quickly. The catwalk above is eyed but even if she was able to quickly pull out her wire thin rope and swing it up over a bar up there, it's far too visible and way too noisy. Metal catwalks do not make for silent movement. Looking up DOES seem to give her the only direction she can think to move, however, as the wall of crates behind her is rather long.
The motion she takes next isn't as quiet as her pervious silent padding around on sock covered feet, as she crouches low and then leaps atop one of the taller crates that form this 'wall'. Lying down flat against the top of the large container, she hopes to avoid notice now. She's a ways above eye level, after all. But the sound of her moving there may have been enough to clue Elle in on the approximate location of her visitor.
And of course there is that other signal. The miniscule electronic noise caused by the mic that Ayame didn't think to turn off, not at all suspicious of the idea that someone would be receptive to an electronic device that small.
Of course her intent now isn't to spend the night like some kind of cat and mouse slumber party. Nor is she going to do something crazy like try to waylay the woman who seems in charge of this joint. Best to just leave the mic and go, she decides. She'll just plant it at the first available opportunity... right now, however, she's as still as can be, her breathing so very quiet and controlled in spite her heart racing.
Elle is very sensitive to the keening of feedback. As a former sound system jockey, she's not a huge fan of it. As a result, the noise can becoming irritating and ultimately maddening. She also hates the sound of squeaking balloons as well, based on the same principles. She hates dischordant noise. Ironic, considering the kind of music that she listens to, really.
Molars grind as Elle stalks the corridors. Irritating noise isn't important as finding an interloper, although using it to track down a potential enemy is a bit like stepping on gravel barefoot and using the pain to judge distance from the target.
And then a thump. Her head pivots quickly to locate the sound. In truth, Ayame's sudden movement did more to help her than she things. The pursuant echoing noise from the hasty leap masks the sound of mic, and the acoustics echo through the warehouse for a moment, confusing her position. The warehouse isn't a concert hall and with the stacks of crates, noise is absorbed more readily. The ugly sound, like a pinprick in her eardrum, disappears for a moment, leaving Elle in the dark for a moment.
The woman considers. If she heads up to the catwalk again, she'll give her position away quickly, and notify whomever this person is that she's up top, giving them ample time to leap down and escape. If Elle spends all her time prowling on floor level, then Ayame will never reveal herself and likely run when she's at the far end of the room or in a blind spot.
Elle's other minor sonic tricks are useless here as well. Active sonar won't work, surrounded by crates filled with styrafoam that will absorb most of the sound rather than reflect, and Elle's not able to tract human electrical impulses. If she was Marise, she could simply look around for Ayame's chi signature, but she's not. Elle has to make do with what she has.
Well, if you can't ferret out your enemy on foot, and you're not built for tracking or assassination, what do you do? Her eyes flick left and right, her brain already going to work as she halts her prowling. Instead she starts to step normally, a curious look on her face. Her head tilts left, then right as she stops in a location that seems nearly arbitrary. It's not close to Ayame, nor is it far away, either. She stops, and reaches back, clipping her mace back into it's nesting spot on her guitar.
And then with a smooth motion, she brings down the instrument in it's entirety. She takes a moment to casually tune the metal mostrocity up, the armor plates still dented and stained a dark red between the seams of the metal. Calloused fingers pull the strings taut, sparking lightly as she powers the thing up with her ambiant chi.
If you're not made to track down an opponent, the only thing you can do is flush them out. Elle pops a pick out from her sleeve, and immediately draws her hand over the guitar strings with dramatic results. The titantic volume of the instrument isn't localized. Instead, it's spread evenly everywhere. Ear splitting Judas Priest seems to howl from every angle of the warehouse as Elle tries for an indirect sonic assault, forcing the would be spy out or be rendered deaf and disoriented for a week.
Hey, it worked againt Manuel Noriega.
One moment she's certain the woman is tracking her. The next moment she's hearing the sounds of a guitar being tuned. Ayame isn't sure what to make of it at first. Her cusory research into Blackjack came back with a lot of question marks, which is partially what brought her out this night in the first place.
When one can't find the obvious answers on the internet, sometimes it's best to see something in person. If she had put two and two together - the occasional footnote regarding Elle's sonic energy manipulation and the sound of the guitar being strummed in careful preparation, she might have been more prepared for what comes next.
As is, it catches her completely off guard. The noise isn't damaging per say, in the sense of being physically harming, but it is rather traumatizing all the same. The volume fills the warehouse and Ayame's eyes widen, hands coming up to slam over her ears, gritting her teeth as she shakes her head. This is a tactic none of her previous experience has prepared her for. Being flushed out of hiding by a song.
She comes up on her knees first, no longer hugging against the top of the crate as she continues to cover her ears with her hands. Wincing, she drops into a forward roll that takes her to the edge of the crate and drops down to the floor of the warehouse, landing on her feet.
With her hands up against the sides of her head and her ability to focus thoroughly shot, the girl begins to stumble toward the door that she had snuck in earlier, only vaguely confident she's even going in the right direction, doing her best to pick up speed after the first couple of steps. She can't even tell what direction Elle is nor whether or not she's running directly toward her. The sonance seems to be coming from every direction, the soundwaves themselves answering the Blackjack leader's beck and call.
'Unconventional' is a word a few have used to describe many of the things Elle does. From the lifestyle she prefers, to the policies she champions, to the team of misfits she has at her command, she tends to have unusual solutions to interesting problems. Granted, when your life is as strange as hers, you tend to come up with remarkably interesting ways to handle things.
It's something the Blackjack leader has grown accustomed to. For her, it's just another day.
When the noise finally ends, Elle hasn't interposed herself between Ayame and the door, nor as she tackled the girl the the ground. She's not that fast. The woman's steps are always paced but definative. There's no reason to run as far as Elle's concerned. Now that the person has been made to appear, Elle knows precisely who this is and has a generally good idea what she was trying to do given the data she has on hand.
Instead, the guitar is slid back into it's resting place along her back, and she clears her throat ever so slightly. At this point, with Ayame's ears likely rinning, the sound is more like a gentle prodding rather than an aubible sound. It's then that the mercenary finally speaks, her voice calm and cool, sounding more tired than upset. "While I'm the first to applaud someone that thinks that the rules don't apply to them, I'll clue you in on one thing real quick."
"I play for keeps."
She pauses, allowing that to sink in for a moment or two. "That being said, nobody ever told you that you couldn't come here early and check things out. Consider yourself having a leg up on the competition. Show up fifteen minutes early tomorrow, and you get a free run of the surroundings before your opponent does."
The silence that follows when Elle stops is almost as deafening as the sonic assault was. Her ears ringing, her focus shattered, the girl stumbling, making it to the door only to lean against the frame in the wall as she braces herself, glancing over her shoulder with narrowed eyes as she tries to recover her senses. This is Elle. Blackjack's leader. The woman who has carved something out of what most would consider to be nothing. And her presence is positively impossible to ignore.
One hand comes up, brushing a length of her red tinted blonde hair back over her shoulder as she stares back, her expression shifting through a variety of emotions - nervousness, detatchment, curiosity. With someone like Elle she isn't sure what to fall back on even. Isn't sure what to say. She expects to be told to scram. To not bother showing up tomorrow. After all, is Elle ready to try and take charge of a girl that's so difficult to control as her? Maybe she's more hassle than she's worth. Trusting no one, self centered, and distressingly bright. Anyone tasked with keeping Ayame in line will have their hands full. The question is whether it's worth the investment in the big picture. Her position shifts and she leans her back against the wall next.
The words she hears over the ringing noise in her ears are quite different than the ones she predicted, however. There's a hint of praise while also a tone of warning. An acknowledgement of her rules and conventions defying nature but an unmistakeable admonishment that if she is to go through with this... if she is to align herself with this band of mercenaries... double-crossing the Blackjack leader or the people that rely on her will very likely be the last mistake she ever makes.
Ayame is silent and Elle continues after the girl is given those long few moments to digest the message. Show up early and be prepared. Two things she will absolutely do. There is a dip of her head as she stays there, leaning against the wall. A recognition of the many messages contained in so few words. "I will," comes the assertion, her own voice sounding small after the other noises that have flooded the warehouse this night.
Without further lingering, she rolls against the wall, her hand coming down against the door to let herself out into the cool Fall night. She has shoes to retrieve and a headache to get some painkillers for. In the back of her mind she wonders if she should have told Elle about the camera - try to come clean. Somehow she suspects it isn't going to take her giving the woman a heads up for it to be found.
"So that's Elle Belmounte..." she murmurs once she's outside. "The rumors don't even come close..."
It stands to reason that Elle isn't particularly interested in satisfying any questions. Rumors only strengthen her image as either a craven coward or a woman that is embroiled in a game so complex that it borders on insanity. The spectrum of what Elle is or isn't is vast and even she's hard pressed to keep track of what people think of her.
In the end, she rarely, if ever, cares. Only when it affects her in some non-beneficial way is when she becomes concerned with her reputation.
Ingenuity, initiative, and loyalty are Elle's only considerations when dealing with a prospective hire. So far, Ayame's displayed two. Depending on how Ayame fares later, the third aspect will reveal itself in due time. And if not... well, Aislinn is skilled in eliminating targets, hence the moniker of 'Silent Assassin' that NESTS seems to have tacked on her.
Ayame is allowed to retreat. Elle understands herself in no small way. Her personality is less than agreeable for most. Very few seek her company. Small doses is all that's really necessary anyhow. Ayame knows the score, and what's expected of her. The generally laconic leader doesn't need to expound any more as she returns to the desk to continue with her work.
Ayame may be difficult to deal with, but in truth the hardest person Elle has to deal with every day is herself. It's one of the main reasons that she can easily handle so many divergent personalities and wrangle them to a focused cause.
The pen returns back to paper, and Elle's mechnically precise writing covers the page as crib notes for Aislinn to peruse. It should be interesting, considering Camille and Ayame's contrasting personalities. But as to whom Elle would bet upon as the superior? She reserves judgment. After all, gambling's a filthy habit, and there's never a reliable way to win, conventionally.
Unless, that is, if you're the house.
Log created on 23:53:44 11/03/2007 by Ayame, and last modified on 23:51:32 11/05/2007.