Description: The Ryouhara Scion, Seishirou meets with the Devil of Koga for the first since Jinchuu in the wake of his Seventh Circle match. For every question answered, more rise in their place. A flame of curiousity sparks.. Can the moth resist? A new status quo is established.. And hints of a secret upheaval soon to occur?
Marise despises working with money.
While ever a necessary evil, petty finances has never been one of her great interests. It is, afterall, one of the many reasons why The Devil enjoys working with Elle. Few have as much a knack for fiscal endeavors as Miss Belmounte, more than happy to deal with any number of monetary schemes that would confound even Wall Street. It is an aspect of business that the ghost has been more than happy to relinquish to her area of responsibility.
Even for the Seventh Circle, Marise's brain child, she hardly touches the money herself. Settling for the acumen of several thoroughly corrupt treasurers and controllers to deal with matters of payment to the Circle fighters.
This time, however, The ghost makes an exception.
She has been meaning to have a word with this particular individual for some time. One could say, the entire purpose of his invitation to the circuit was for this little meeting to take place. An olive branch from previously crossed swords? Or an elaborate setup to finish the job?
Marise is all but certain the young man cannot resist finding out for himself.
This arena office is spacious, but spartan. The solid concrete walls and exposed pipes overhead reinforce the image of this being a truly underground and secure affair. Its current occupant is seated upon a high-backed wooden chair.. A functional steel desk arrayed before her with several folders arrayed in a semblance of order in addition to a wide-screen laptop. One or two filing cabinets line the walls, with several dry-erase boards for hasty calculations and weekly matchups.
The woman herself wears a lovely evening dress. A black and violet affair with a daringly low cut and high seems along the side. Her hair straight and flowing behind her like a cloak, bangs hiding those wicked eyes from view. One pale leg crossed before the other with her fingers idly playing with a sealed envelope. Her veiled gaze seems to be staring off into space.. focusing on nothing in particular as she's lost to her thoughts.
After a moment, however, beautiful lips slowly widen in a cunning smile as she comments, "...So we meet again.. Ghost of Hiretsu.."
Healing from such a brutal battle was an intense process. In some ways, Seishirou's body still hadn't entirely recovered from the flash burns and the beating he got from K'. His ninkou was sufficient to defeat the opponent, but only just so. Fortunately, 'just so' was enough to verify his theories.
After finding out his payment had been withheld to a certain location within the back arena, the Ryouhara scion simply walked away. He knew exactly where it was. Who had it. It works out pretty well for the shinobi.
After all. Had not his entire purpose of accepting invitation been for the grace of Miss.. Satsuko? An investigation of a question that concerns him in very fine and distinct ways.
Mn. Curiousity was dangerous for the cat.
Luckily, Seishirou has cats to spare.
He arrives silently, as is his way, as if he had never moved from that position leaning on the door at all. As if he'd been there the whole time. Legs crossed, one hand in pocket. His eyes, cold and indifferent as they always are, flicks idly over the dress academically. That, and the very healthy woman with the sick spirit that fills it.
"Mn," is his only direct response. "If I hadn't came back to see it for myself, I wouldn't have imagined that the matter of my account was important enough to warrant.." pause. "... Your direct attention."
The reply comes as a soft, sub-vocalized chuckle. The Devil calmly releases the white envelope, permitting the letter to simply drop to the desktop nearly without sound. Lighter than something as vulgar as laundered bills, within is a single string of numbers representing a bank account. The balance of which is the value of Seishirou's winnings and proceeds from betting. Not as much as certain titles, but definitely a weightier some than the average fighting tournament. The rewards, after all, do match the risks.
"Ooh, it is not. Of course.." The Devil's hands spread in a welcoming gesture, "Had you not desired direct attention yourself.. You certainly wouldn't have bothered with this meeting for such a paltry sum. Yes?"
With that stated, the Devil begins to recline within her chair. Shoulders pressing against the silent wood as her fingers lace together, elbows propped on the arm rests of her furnishing's frame. Getting right down to it, as neither of them are the sorts for preamble, Marise comments in a slow tone, "I must commend you. You and your grandfather are so alike.. your performance fooled even one who knew the man." A rueful, singular laugh, "I suppose if the Ryouhara were capable of pride, he would have that now in whichever Hell the man unquestionably languishes in." A slow tilt of her head, "My condolences on the Suiryuu.." Her lips tinged with visible regret, "..It was a very useful ship."
A ..faint smirk tells most of what she needs to know.
Perceptive, isn't she.
"You'd know all about Hell, wouldn't you.." the ninkou specialist murmurs.
The ninja moves cautiously, walking a slow circuit to the side of the rather bleak industrialized office, his eyes veiled in the harsh shadows cast by the cold lights overhead. A disparity in strength is not the sole determinant factor of danger amongst shinobi. As he moves so, his preponderance of encumberment--weights, keys, tools, weapons--jingling faintly, a pleasant, inviting tone, as he moves. It's an odd thing, given he normally never makes any real sound in motion. An absence of some silencing jutsu used. In fact... the sound... is impeccably similar to the chimes of bells used to ward off evil spirits in the Eastern faith. The rattling of staffs hung with rings.
For his own, there is no supernatural component to the sound, though it may take a moment to discern expression from intent. He doesn't touch the envelope just yet. "The Ryouhara live on, even in spaces with no doors," he recites, glancing at Marise from the side of one pipe that seems to catch his interest for a time. "So," he continues tonelessly, "spare me meaningless compliment. For someone of your tenure... it's only a waste."
"Since I doubt you had a crush on him," Seishirou wonders openly, getting to the crux of his argument, "That only leaves his abilities to be perused... given whatever jutsu you're using to hide.." Pause. Seishirou /looks/ chillingly at Marise. Or less appropriately, her figure, "..whatever happened to your body," he decides, "my first guess is your interest was how he managed to live on. If there was something you could make use of." But.. "That would mean your interest in the Ryouhara is comparitively little. That's not something I really believe."
"There's also the Suiryuu..as for that ship.."
A hand snaps out. Though easily 6 feet away, the envelope jumps off the table of its own accord, snapping into Seishirou's hand perfectly. A small needle retreats into his sleeve.
".. I don't shed a single tear for it."
"As if you were capable of tears."
The Devil muses in a low tone. Nodding forth a fraction as traces of gold glitter behind that silken veil over her eyes. A very quiet exhale can be heard at the sound of the chime. A sound that would have gone unnoticed, to anyone who did not possess the razor-sharp faculties of a Jounin Ninja.
In comparison, the lightning fast acquisition of the bank note goes without so much as a flinch. The toothsome woman's smile gaining a coy edge at the intense scrutiny she remains under, and her dress does little to defeat his appraisal. A body that certainly belies what may well be her true age..
"Especially.." Only then does the Devil's gaze begin to drift away. As if towards some indeterminate point on the horizon, "..When it still has a part left to play, yes?" A slow inhale over sharp, ivory teeth, "Late at night.. When the ebb and flow of the planet is still.. I can still see it out there. Ever so faintly gleaming like a star consigned to the underworld.."
A singular, mocking laugh escapes those lips then as her attention abruptly returns to her guest, hands lifting as her shoulders offer a casual shrug, "Untrue. Untrue. The treasures of the Ryouhara are well known since ... better times. And yes.." He grin extending a fraction more, "..I did find something of use. Simply unfortunate that our vision for the future did not possess similar means. However, that is past now... What is done is, in fact, done."
The Devil then grins once more, a most cordial of expressions, "Ultimately. I was looking for a potential ally. As bold an action as the ocean-going excursion was.. I could only surmise that it was certainly not done with anything resembling permission from.."
A hand waves about, attempting to summon appropriate words,
"..Old cowards, we'll call them."
The study of the envelope is momentary at best. The fold lifted, the contents discerned, the envelope dips into a pocket, carefully tucked as far from his heart as he could manage.
His eyes slowly, methodically lift.
He cannot see her eyes--they are hidden beneath the shimmering otherworldly lengths of her hair. But it matters little. There is the distinct impression of fire in his eyes--the heat at the center of the ice, as it were. It's a burning gace he levels on her own.
It is with a blink, and specifically at the mention of the Suiryuu at the planet's heart, that the shinobi detaches himself, looking to a side as if a thought sat there upon the floor.
"Old cowards," he agrees, "better times."
To affirm everything in a few words is his way. But despite the agreement, his glance is still a deadly thing. "But.." It can be no other way amongst them. "...No matter the age...only fools ally themselves with devils," he recants, a bit of wisdom dredged up from a dark graveyard, where it may have laid buried if Seishirou hadn't exhumed it. He caught that exhale. "Am I a fool?" he asks Marise.
He asks plainly.
"Only a return to the old ways will assure the return of powerful ninjutsu to the world. Since the Imawano, no one's ever tried. You'll know.. it's my intent to change that. As long as you stay out of my way, we won't have to try and kill one another." His hands slide into his pockets. "After all..."
"Your eyes...." his glance returns to that veil. "...are of interest to me."
It is possibly the most direct and honest answer Seishirou could level at Marise.
He turns to leave.
As the Ryouhara scion recants that small epithet of wisdom, The Devil Ninja's displeasure is immediately known. Her lips curl downwards in a disapproving frown, her head canting forward just enough to lengthen the shadows over the visible facets of her agelessly beautiful face. Unlike his Clan, unlike many of her allies, Marise is a creature of passion.
Ever amusing how the living so often attempt to emulate the dead. When the dead only desire quite the opposite.
The woman embraces her emotions, offer her strength of conviction when properly heeled with intellect. She has already had quite enough of feeling nothing.
TThe young man put more weight behind his insult than he had known. A hot button topic that proves his lack of vision.
Its only natural when one is trained by Devils to get defensive about their defamation of character.
"Hmph. The Imawano.." Marise muses quietly, but does not finish that thought. The less spoken of those brutish louts the better. Its a marvel to her that Clan managed to survive to the modern age.
"Strangely magnanimous of you." The Devil quietly comments after reigning her nigh-invisible temper, "As if the world was worth seeing such wonders any longer. If you truly embrace the old ways then you know the one thing this world truly deserves."
As Seishirou quietly begins to leave, Marise muses in a soft tone.
"And I will give it."
A simple statement of intent. A small payment, or perhaps reparation? Just so the young Clan Scion can calculate his plans appropriately.
Or specifically, how many would survive to see it come to fruition.
She felt that.
Shadows aren't sufficient to block his own perception--no Kinmagan, but the depths to which the Ryouhara eye can perceive aren't to be discounted. That pregnant silence.. His interest in it is shown, a slight glance over his shoulder, his lips still drawn in bitter ice.
A living dichotomy, this one. Ethereal, but passionate. Inscrutable, but plain. Living, but dead. Opening the door, Ryouhara's hands slide into his pockets, in a slow return, coming full circle.
The Mistress of Koga is an enticing individual.
"Fate.. is a troublesome thing," Seishirou admits, in dual meaning. "It'll be interesting to see if even someone of your ability will be able to introduce the world to that fate. To see which ideal.. can actually be realized." He looks up. "I'll be watching." He then looks away, to leave, stepping out the door smoothly. At least, until he pauses, as a thought occurs to him, perhaps a reconsideration of what was said earlier.
Without looking up, he wonders to the open air. "I'm not sure what you're going to achieve with this Circle of yours.. but it's of use to me. ... My apprentice should be enough to assure you get the show your patrons want."
A wind gales into the closed space. A single leaf settles on Marise's desk. And with its arrival, Ryouhara is simply gone.
The exquisite woman submits to stillness. Her expression settling upon a configuration between disappointed and dismayed. She had rather hoped that an accommodation can be reached, but apparently for all the rebellious inclinations this stoic youth may possess.. He yet clings to dogmatic worries that should be beneath him. No matter.
Curiousity will get the better of him.. sooner or later. His lust for knowledge, for understanding.. will drive him to it soon enough.
If he covets her eyes so greatly.. He will discover their cost. A price that the author of his little recited 'wisdom' would never, could never condone.
"I'll be waiting." The Devil breathlessly whispers. Allowing him the final words on this exchange. Well enough they've achieved an understanding to establish a certain status quo. For now.
"Aaaah.." Marise visibly brightens, "Aah yes. I was going to ask that very thing.." Pointing her clawed index finger skyward, thankful for the reminder, "Yes.. She would work quite well. Thank you.."
As the leaf settles, the stirred air briefly lifts the veil of the Devil Ninja's bangs to reveal her gleaming Kinmagan.. Her breath exhaling in a slow motion. The leaf stirring ever so faintly by the gentle contact.. Only to immediately corrode, withering and lifelessly crumbling to dust.
Clawed hands fold together as the creature bows her head to the dark, "Fools.."
Log created on 21:54:04 12/05/2007 by Marise, and last modified on 21:16:02 12/06/2007.