Description: With the conclusion of one journey, another begins.
60 MPH level.
A Honda VFR800 "Interceptor." Highly modified, the machine streaks down the pavement.
Though laden to capacities one would expect for a cross-country trip, the vehicle hardly labors for the effort as it rolls down the dark highway. Though highly irregular for the ninja, Seishirou has seen fit to take the honda for the extended trip. It's only practical, after all.
A turn, and the speed levels off by a touch, the vehicle's bright headlights cutting down the night.
Driving with natural ability that wouldn't suggest a recent turn to motor vehicles, the Ryouhara shinobi wears his standard outfit, regardless. His coat is proof enough against night chill. Though once grim conceit to style /is/ made: Amber tinted glasses are worn to keep wind--and of more annoyance, his hair--out of his eyes.
The machine itself is, as noted, laden. Though the sport tour vehicle came with luggage by default, one cannot quite count the massive parchment scroll tied and lashed to the vehicle's tailpiece as luggage in the traditional sense.
And the sidecar attached to the side was /certainly/ not a default option at point of purchase.
Certainly not. But one does...what one needs to do. There's always a difference, in the end, between principles...and what needs to be done. Compromise is a fact of life, and the cheerful little sidecar bolted to the side of the high-performance road-rocket is one of those unfortunate facts.
But things are always what you make of them.
The sidecar is a small capsule of streamlined metal linked to the motorcycle's frame, supported on one side by an unpowered wheel. At the back of the sidecar is storage space - a small trunk packed with more supplies for the long journey. But the bulk of it is a padded seat, within which a slim figure reclines.
Riko lounges in the sidecar, the half-buttoned collar of her raincoat flapping slightly in the wind. Behind the lenses of her own riding goggles, her eyes are bright. A small grin plays across her face.
Perhaps for Seishirou, resorting to a motor vehicle is /merely/ a matter of practical necessity and efficiency. But Riko, well...
If she has to ride in a bike, by God she's going to /enjoy it/.
"Mmmmm," she says, as she snuggles into her seat, "ne, Seishirou-sama..."
Her voice is soft, almost inaudible, drowned by the roar of the bike's engine.
"...are we there yet?"
The tour bike bucks in response, as if it had just heard something it didn't like one bit.
With all the modifications they've made already to a ship, one is horrified to consider the kinds of reengineering one could do to a simple motorbike. Weapons, transformation capabilities. Seriously. Just about anything could have been done--given the Suiryuu's properties, this machine could very well be sentient.
More likely, however, is that /Seishirou/ has just heard something he didn't like one bit, and almost hit the brakes.
Regardless, contemplative, the machine returns to a stable cruising, the young man's hair flying about in the breeze as he thinks for a moment about the student enjoying the ride next to him. Dispassioned by the notion, he considers the appropriate answer quietly. Finally, he turns to look at his apprentice with a completely straight face, the amber lenses flashing as he looks from the faint glow of the pale green backlit instrument panel, lighting his face from below.
Of all the modifications that could potentially have been made by the pair, at the very least one is more than assured.
The Ryouhara shinobi's thumb moves over the 'SIDECAR BOLT RELEASE' switch.
Face underlit by eerie and supernatural green light, he /looks/ at Riko eyelessly.
He says nothing.
Riko blanches, her face turning momentarily pale. She eyes Seishirou warily, trying to decide whether he'd -seriously- uncouple the sidecar in the middle of the highway, leading to all sorts of high-velocity trauma for her...
She decides, after about a half-second's thought, that the answer is very obviously /yes he would/.
Riko pouts, sticking her lower lip out. She folds her arms.
"Fine, fine," she huffs, acknowledging defeat.
It's not that Seishirou has no sense of humour.
It's more like he's won this round, by virtue of superior firepower.
Thus, it is in Field Marshal Riko's best interest to stage a tactical withdrawal.
Although...
"But," Riko asks, tilting her head at the older ninja, "aren't you even a -little- bit anxious about going home?"
Luckily, he didn't see fit to resort to the apprentice cannon.
"I'm not going home," Ryouhara splits hairs without delay, returning his eyes to the road, "I'm going to the village elders."
Looking down for only a moment, the ninja considers the idea. With a slow breath outward, he explains, "... The complex," he specifies the building laying on the outskirts of the village which currently hold all that's left of the Ryouhara that Seishirou didn't take with him, "...has nothing we need. We have to speak with my old sensei to buy the Ryouhara name back from the Leaf."
He nods to the scroll behind him.
"The tournament was more than productive enough for the interests of their missions." Though he doesn't betray much, his voice does seem to cut high towards exasperation. "If she--they--still don't cooperate..."
Seishirou frowns.
"..They'll cooperate," he decides.
"Mmn," Riko muses, "the elders..."
She turns away from Seishirou, letting her eyes drift over the highway, across the road lit by the harsh glare of the motorcycle's headlight. She studies the dark scenery as it blurs past.
Over the sound of the bike's engine, she snorts, quietly:
"...who knows what the old men really want?"
She looks up, her eyes returning to Seishirou. Beneath the goggles, they narrow, half-lidded.
Seishirou's facial expression does not change in the slightest.
"Exactly why I brought you."
Though it's entirely up for interpretation as to what exactly Seishirou's backup plan constitutes, one can presuppose without being too misguided that virgin sacrifice crossed his mind at least once or twice.
This road runs by a thick deep forest in Japan's sparsely populated mountainous regions. Currently and realistically speaking, they weren't far from the village's hidden location, but Seishirou can't let certain things slide, else it would compromise their relationship.
"My skill is approaching their own," Seishirou finally admits. "I'd probably would have been a graduate if I'd returned sooner." At some point after the original Team formed by himself, Tora, and captain Nemura dissolved, the regular funding from the Leaf had ceased, and it hadn't inspired Seishirou to come back. Despite having been graduated--issued a diploma--by the Academy, the team were still students. He was /still/ just an apprentice, as far as his sensei was concerned. "It took me a long time to figure it out for sure. The original mission was scrubbed," Ryouhara goes over the logic, more to himself than Riko, "Collecting information, that is. But I stayed in the field. But when the last graduation test was canned.. it was replaced with.."
Pause. Seishirou doesn't /quite/ say it.
"I should have seen it sooner."
The older shinobi shakes his head.
"In any case, we don't have any more time to waste on schoolyard games."
"The village is the village," Riko says.
Again, she doesn't bother to raise her voice. She knows it'll reach Seishirou's ears.
"Ties of blood, alliance, kinship."
Her tone is level, her inflection perfect. In the wind of their passage down the highway, the fabric of Riko's collar dances and twists.
"It cannot be broken, but..."
Her hair shifts, blown by the motorcycle's movement, stirred by the breeze.
"To them," she says, "you must stop being 'Seishirou-kun'..."
Her face is impassive, her expression a mask.
"...and be the Ryouhara."
"Pretty wise thing for you to be saying," Ryouhara observes, a faint smirk turning his face. "You might be getting cooler with age, Riko," he teases. It's a little juvenile of him to point it out. But there's no mistake to be made in pointing out that they are both still quite young.
Oh, from his calm, composed expression, Seishirou is hardly surprised by his apprentice's words. The change of pace is interesting. .. But ultimately expected, for someone of Riko's talents.
Still, another turn brings them closer to the forest's edge as the road begins a slight slope upwards, running through the dark and imposing mountains ahead.
The subject changes quickly, fluidly. "Including what we've gathered on our own, Jinchuu provides more than enough information to satisfy the village's first mission." The camera crews weren't simply for entertainment and broadcast purposes. The scroll, a massive record of all data acquired in Jinchuu, was evidence enough of that.
"Though... the party Rugal brought to the ship was unexpected in scale," Seishirou admits, "it only gave us more information." Pause. "At least until we had to get him off Suiryuu."
The ninja girl laughs, lightly, her amusement rising bell-like and clear over the engine's rumble.
"In the end," Riko observes, "it was to our advantage."
She leans over a little, flicking her fingers at the large scroll resting behind Seishirou.
"They saw you blow up the ship to zap Rugal. They saw the ship sink..."
Riko laughs, again, shaking her head. She links her hands together, fingers intertwining, clasped just behind her neck. She looks up at Seishirou. "And I don't think anyone's really thought about what that meant, ne?"
She beams at Seishirou, batting her eyelashes, her expression going dreamy.
"/You/ were so cool too, Seishirou-/sama/."
The idea seems to only make the young man all the more grim.
Following Riko's gesture over his shoulder to the scroll in momentary fashion, what was left of his formerly bemused smirk fades. "Mn.." he acknowledges, taking a colder, older frame of mind.
"From here on out, things will become much more difficult."
His reasoning is laid out in method. "It worked to our advantage. But as expected, the side effect of our goal is that people will no longer be able to consciously underestimate our abilities. It's no longer a factor that can be relied upon--and not something we can both change and achieve our goals."
He pauses, somewhat off-put by the last. Though the 'compliment' is accepted in silence, he does briefly contemplate whether he needs to remind Riko that he can still flip a switch at any time.
Riko acknowledges the unsaid point with a snort, looking somewhat off-put. But only somewhat. She sniffs, making a distinct frowny-face, her eyes wide and appealing - the classical look of a wounded small animal claiming to be too cute to die.
She doesn't say anything, though. She just holds that look for a few moments, as the motorcycle races down the road.
Then her expression changes, her face growing still - a transition that takes only a heartbeat, the space of a thought.
"They may not underestimate us," Riko replies, "but they will /expect/ - and expectations are a source of control. An image is a potent thing."
Pause.
"Isn't it, Seishirou-sama, Seishirou-saaaaama! o/`"
Seishirou frowns.
"Fair enough."
The turn signal flashes for a second. As far as the empty highway is concerned, it's merely a courtesy to the open air.
As if to punctuate Riko's chant, the Honda turns hard off into the forest, the speed of the vehicle cutting dramatically in an astoundingly short amount of time--it is in fact, a feat of skill that Seishirou didn't wrap the entire machine around a tree. The cycle cruises to a slow and steady stop in the darkened forest, picking out a secluded spot off the path. With the side car, it was possible to not have to put a foot on the ground to steady the vehicle.
The engine cuts off when Seishirou turns and pulls the ignition key, though the headlights stay on for now--long enough for him to step off the cycle and start to gather his things.
"We'll use whatever we have to, as always." Unbuckling the massive scroll takes some time.
"You're right.." Seishirou notes. "Nobody ever really thought what it all meant. It's not their way." He seems a little.. concerned about that, his look intense as he busies himself with the array of straps and clamps. "....Their loss."
"In the end, Suiryuu will sleep enshrined while we prepare for the next step. I've already spoken with the Kaiser... but we'll still have a funding issue to contend with."
The scroll hits the ground with a deep, earth-cracking thump, caught from falling on its side with one hand by the Ryouhara ninja. "There's still a lot of work that needs to be completed."
"Land, labour, and capital," Riko recites, "the three factors of production."
The trunk compartment of the motorcycle sidecar clicks as the ninja girl opens it. By now, she's out of her seat and standing by the vehicle, unloading the storage compartment.
"Basic economics. Locations and raw materials are not a problem...not for us...
Riko finishes shrugging on a rucksack, adjusting the straps, pulling them taut. That done, she lifts a canteen from the trunk, unscrews the cap, and takes a drink. Then she offers it to Seishirou, extending her arm across the bike.
Over the mouth of the water bottle, Riko arches an eyebrow.
"...that leaves the human element...and the means of production."
Seishirou accepts the canteen almost instinctively at this point.
Not an instinct he'd nurture in any other circumstance.
"Funding is a problem, but one that is ultimately only a matter of time. We can attain funding the way we always have, if necessary. People.. on the other hand.."
Seishirou shifts some of his weight to the scroll, supporting himself on the massive pillar of data. "Belmounte has it easy. She doesn't need competent people. Just loyal people. Loyalty's easier to find. Even easier to buy." He thinks a moment, lifting the canteen up to his lips. "When we return--start researching the master list. From those, we'll need to select at least five for now. The rest should be prepared. Anything necessary will be allowed for this end."
"We can't afford not to reach beyond boundaries."
He tilts his head back with the cante--he pauses, before he can take a drink.
He regards the bottle for a moment.
And over the bottle's top, he raises an eyebrow at Riko.
Riko laughs lightly, as she crouches, tugging on her shoelaces. She's wearing a pair of solid hiking boots, not her customary in-line skates. Ninja though she may be, with the motorcycle parked in the woods like this...some nods must be made to practicality.
As her fingers weave, Riko looks up.
"But we can't reach too far, too fast," she says.
Riko gets up, stomping experimentally on the ground. Leaves and twigs crunch beneath her boot soles.
"Ambition is one thing, she says.
The girl leans against the back end of the motorbike, her elbows resting on the saddle. She grins at Seishirou, smiling a deliberate smile.
"But...you always gotta know your time and place, hm?"
Riko winks.
Seishirou frowns at Riko for more than a moment.
The canteen is considered for a moment more, and the exact premise and figure of its contents is taken. Slowly, The ninja tilts the canteen, taking a long, pointful draw from the metal container.
Breathing out, he spins the canister, flipping it from one hand to another in a display ultimately ending with him flicking the container back. "Right," he smirks. "Not the right time. Not the right place.."
"We'll need to start small. Those who can be controlled. We'll need their cooperation first and foremost, which will provide the foundation that we need. We were able to select for Jinchuu enough to assure a beneficial result, but this will be a more intense process."
With some display of strength, he lifts the scroll. Beyond his everpresent satchel, it's the only luggage he takes, trusting the rest to Riko. The massive thing settles over a shoulder with some encumbrance. His outfit needs little canging--as mentioned before. His dress is sufficient for most atmospheres, though.. hardly as optimized for any one in particular as Riko's might be.
Seishirou gets walking.
"The problem is simple. By the assistance of others, Jinchuu was able to be realized--to an extent. There is still a need for that assistance. For that, there is only one solution.."
Behind Seishirou, Riko screws the cap back on the canteen, slipping it back into a side pocket of her rucksack. Then she grips the straps securely in both hands, and trails after her sensei. Her footfalls are silent against the forest floor. She ghosts across the undergrowth.
"And so," Riko says, as she walks the familiar path, "we are here."
"Yeah.." Seishirou murmurs. "So we are."
On foot, travel can happen almost as fast as on motorcycle, but their passage, avoiding the main roads, is swift and silent, 'as ghosts'. Anyone with the wherewithal and hardiness to camp nearby might not even know of their movements. The point of their mode of transit was not speed.
As simply as it isn't now.
The only sound heard of their passing is that muted conversation, still going on.
"Jinchuu was pretty rough on your body," the shinobi observes, uncustomarily concerned, albeit only mildly so. "... You think you can handle Kagero?" He looks at his apprentice, his eyes half lidded behind those amber lenses. As if he reconsiders something--faintly, but only just so.
"You still have time... I could leave you at the village. With what you know now.. you could probably make a decent enough living for the rest of your life."
"/Seishirou/," Riko says, archly. Her voice is soft, quiet, but it carries to the other ninja's ears all the same. It may be soft in volume, but her tone is still insistent.
She uses no honourific, no title. She says only his name, his name and nothing else.
"Your dream isn't mine," she continues, as she moves in his wake, slipping through the trees, "but..."
Her lips curve into a smile. Not one of her usual mocking expressions, but...something entirely different.
"...it is /a/ dream. And like you, I am not content to settle for mediocrity."
Ryouhara pauses in gait, his free hand sliding into a pocket, the other arm hooked loosely around the greatscroll, supporting the massive roll of parchment on his shoulder. He seems .. thoughtful for a moment, looking at the shorter shinobi.
"... Good," he decides, his face a grim tilt.
"It is possible that they will ask for your return to the village as a condition of their release of the Ryouhara's name," he finally reveals. It's apparently something he's been considering for quite awhile. "The conclusion of the last mission they assigned me."
A slight grin turns the taste of the situation. A capricious glint in the shinobi's eye.
"For the purposes of the bargain, you'll be considered a necessary holding of the Ryouhara clan."
Without further discussion, the decision is made. He continues walking.
"Jinchuu did not go exactly as we intended. But.." Difficult as it may be for him to admit it, the youth pauses, and continues regardless. ".. That's.. not entirely a bad thing."
"The results are," Riko murmurs, "what they are."
She stops at the same point Seishirou did, resting her fingertips against a tree trunk, running her hand across the bark and lichen. Then she resumes her progress, her feet drifting lightly over the damp soil beneath the forest branches.
"The elders," she says, "will not dispute that."
Riko speaks this with a strange amount of certainty. An unusual solemnity coming from a 14-year-old girl, a rather unlikely figure indeed, walking through a forest in the dead of night, garbed in a long coat and backpack. But then she is hardly an ordinary girl.
"Certainly," Riko contines, "my mother will not. And the rest of the elders will listen to her."
She catches up to Seishirou, coming to his shoulder.
"I think she's still hoping for a marriage," Riko says, primly, "/Ryouhara-san/."
It is subtle. It is hard to tell.
The massive Leaf Academy, primary landmark of the village, looms in the distance, merely a few minutes away. Even in the face of that grandiose thing, if one is watching closely enough, one can see. Seishirou makes a /distinct/ expression. It's hard to tell whether it's the mention of Riko's mother, or the results, or--marriage.
In the silhouette of that academy, the night is beginning to fade. The sky--turning a faint pale blue in the distance.
No matter what the trigger was. Seishirou makes a distinct face.
Some might call it a pained expression.
"..right."
Riko's eyes flit across the familiar sight of the village. But she does not dwell on it. No, her gaze quickly returns to the other ninja by her side. She smiles at Seishirou, her mein changing again - as her mercurial mood is wont to do.
"And," Riko says, cheerfully, "if they /don't/ like what we've done, with Jinchuu..."
Her eyes glint in the morning light.
"...there's always next year!"
Log created on 00:57:36 01/07/2008 by Prime, and last modified on 01:01:37 01/07/2008.