Description: It's been a trying week for Drake, balancing a photo shoot and trying to reconcile with Arika. He needs time to breathe. Pity Riko isn't going to give him that.
Oh, good lord, what an awkward series of days it's been. Dump Arika, work out some Neo League stuff, do a photo shoot, feel guilty, drag Arika to Hawaii, try to be friends with her... splash in a load of awkwardness, and.. yeah. Drake decided he'd just go ahead and do the photo shoot by himself. Don't bring along Arika for that. He's -already- kicking himself for how things went yesterday. The fight was supposed to let her vent at him! Instead? She had to start crying. Tears are blackmail!
Dammitall.
But the photo shoot was actually pleasant and uplifting. Drake hadn't done too much modeling since the whole business with Jesen, so this is just what he needed to remember where he's come from, in a manner of speaking. And did he ever flourish for the cameras. No way he's going to let the public forget his image. Hah.
But now, the shoot's finished for the day. The sky is awash in bright, vibrant colors, the exotic birds making their last calls before the sun goes down completely. The locale for the shoot was a nice, tropical little cove on the outskirts of civilization, capturing a lovely waterfall in the background. While the crew is disassembling the equipment and packing up, Drake has wandered off to a quiet little spot near a more tranquil area of the water. The crew is still in sight in the distance, but Drake's far enough away to relax for the time being. Not like they'd leave without him, anyway. So here he is, seated near the edge of the water on his knees, gazing into the gently rippling blue and trying to reflect on what all has happened.
What he needs is time. That's obvious. Anyone can tell. Time to think, time to reflect, time to be alone.
Pity he's not going to get that.
Beneath the overhang of the trees, through the leaves of the forest canopy...blades of grass stir, bending in a nonexistant breeze. And then there's a figure standing, where there was none a moment before. Standing perfectly still, with no sign of motion - save for the fluttering fabric of her raincoat. It's an odd thing for someone to be wearing, in the clear evening weather...and it makes her stand out against the green of the background, against the blue water and sky.
She doesn't try to conceal her presence. Her appearance was sudden - but now she stands in the open, with an air of casual nonchalance that is nothing of the sort. And to a man like Drake, there'd be a dissonance in more than vision - the subtle feel of chi being manipulated, a flicker at the edge of that sense unique to fighters.
"Good evening," Riko murmurs, in a polite soprano, "Mister Vyril."
She inclines her head slightly, to where the camera crew are packing up on the shores of the lagoon.
"I trust I'm not...interrupting?"
Drake doesn't even catch it at first. Not until he gets that curious feeling. The voice is what really snaps him to attention, though, and he's suddenly on his feet, whirled to face the girl. And in an instant, he recognizes her. Seriously, someone that looks like her? It isn't hard to. But she isn't greeted with any politeness or civility.
Only immediate anger.
"YOU," growls the model, amethyst eyes narrowing dangerously. "You have some nerve showing your face around me, after the things you and that psychopath were doing to innocent people!" Drake's fists clench tightly, knuckles turning white. "You wanna try explaining yourself, or should I skip right ahead to pounding the living HELL out of your face? Should I put you through the same crap you put other people through?"
Riko blinks, once, meeting the tirade with an expression of mild befuddlement. Her lips twitch, her eyebrows rise. She looks at the enraged man oddly, as if confused.
In a conciliatory tone, she murmurs, "Please, Mister Vyril, calm down."
She holds both hands up, in a classical placating gesture.
"Attacking me would be assault," Riko says, still speaking in a quietly deliberate manner, "and I'd have to claim self-defence as an innocent victim. Far as I know, -I've- not been charged with any crime."
Her voice throbs with the ring of truth. Which it is - complete and utter truth. Of course, she said 'been charged', not 'committed' - the devil is in the details.
Which Drake is not at all unfamiliar with. "Only because no one's been able to catch you to charge you with anything," he points out. "But rest assured, when I haul you in? Everyone -you- assaulted is going to come forward and put you away for a long, long time, you miserable washed-up rat."
Drake plants his left palm into his right fist, smirking. "That aside, there's civilian justice to consider. You're amazingly lucky that I consider myself a good person. Not the sort to drag you out of sight and give you what you -really- deserve - just as much torture as you gave those other people."
"Now, now, Mister Vyril," Riko replies, "you don't need someone in custody to press charges. In fact, it's usually the other way around."
Her voice remains level, pleasantly melodic. She sounds much like she is, a small fourteen-year old girl, peering at Drake with too-large eyes.
Unlike the man, there is nothing overtly threatening in her stance. Her hands are by her sides, her thumbs hooked into the outside pockets of her yellow raincoat. The garment flutters gently in the island breeze, the trailing edge dancing and twisting round her legs.
"And 'torture' is a strong word...nothing worse than the stranger episodes of Saturday Night Fight, really. My apologies, Mister Vyril, but I'd really hoped for a civil conversation..."
Oh, she's just trying to play difficult. Drake's been down this alley one too many times. He's been through the legal two-step before, too. So her argument gets a flat-out laugh in the face. It's a harsh, cruel sound, punctuated at the end with a, "HAH!" The smile he gives her is a wicked, plotting one, one driven by fury. "You can try to manipulate the legal system all you want, but the truth is? You're not half as smart as you think you are. If you wanna try to make it sound like beating the Hell out of your head would make -me- the badguy, then fine. The world would be better off without you -anyway-. So why not just erase you completely, hrm? What would keep me from doing that? Not like anyone would miss a delinquent little wretch like you, anyway."
He advances a step on the girl, look turning more grave. "Don't you dare try to sugar coat what you did." The voice has shifted to one less psychotic, now more purely outraged and seething. "You -know- what you did. And you -know- you're going to pay for it dearly. It doesn't matter how old you are - you aren't even human. You're a wannabe Vega, trying to manipulate and control. But you're in over your head. You either don't know it yet, or you do and it's just a matter of seeing how many people you can ruin on your way down, isn't it?"
His head inclines, bangs drifting outwards. "So before I utterly destroy you, what is it you wanted to talk about civilly?"
"Well," Riko replies, without batting an eyelid, "I wanted to get your measure."
She gives a small shrug of the shoulders, without pulling her hands from her pockets. The motion of her upper body, though, doesn't reach her head and face. Those remain fixed, her expression vague, her eyes unfocused...inattentive, almost.
"I rather like Miz Manzetti and Miz Fade, you know," Riko says. She doesn't move from her spot, beneath the trees at the edge of the sheltered cove. She stands there, even as Drake takes a step towards her.
"Believe me or not, doesn't matter. It's true. I wanted to see what kind of man -you- were, to have their...'friendship'?"
She uses the word as if testing it out, not certain it's really the one she wants.
"Saaaa...friendship will do. I really didn't expect you to be so...implacable? Relentless?"
More words she isn't sure on.
Then her face changes, turning into the faintest trace of something that might be a smile.
"Ruthless...will do."
"Damn right ruthless will do. -No one- does to my girls what you and your twisted 'superior' did," Drake seethes. "Do you even understand what a friend is? Are you so far gone, you don't even know what that word means? How about 'family'? Do you know -that- one? Would you rather I pity you?" The anger is still behind his voice, still outraged by the girl, but it's now a little more subtle. But only a little. "I -do- pity you, Riko. I pity you like every other piece of villainous scum out there in the world. Vega, Katana... you're right there with'em. Poor grasp of reality, warped and twisted mind, evil actions and psychotic... just because you're delusional doesn't mean you can get away with it. Just means you belong in an asylum."
Drake's right fist lifts to chest level, amethysts remaining narrowed on her. "So go ahead. Call me ruthless, if you want. The rest of the world, though? They see people like me as a hero."
"And," Riko says, wonderingly, "you think nobody calls Seishirou-sama a hero?"
She shakes her head, just enough to make her meaning clear.
"Do you think," she asks, "he and I just decided to name ourselves ninja, one day?"
Riko grins, impishly, her cheeks dimpling. Her face, no longer remote, now shines with clear amusement and mischief - a look wielded like a blade.
"Besides, as for /you/...I think there's folks at the International Criminal Court who consider your actions in Thailand dangerous vigilante violence, in total contravention of law and order."
She shrugs again.
"Of course, -any- use of force in international relations is abhorrent to them. But that's the point, no?"
The words trip easily off her tongue. She keeps talking, talking, even as the sun begins to set overhead, warming the island cove with the last red rays of daylight.
"I don't honestly believe a single person outside of you would think that. He's insane. Just like you," Drake replies coolly. Her impish look, one Drake believes is a clear and deliberate attempt to get under his skin fails to penetrate the socialite. His hard gaze remains steady and even. "And a ninja is a cheap, easily-claimed title. Hell, I could call myself a ninja and fight in black pajamas all I want. Who's gonna tell me different? You're no ninja, Riko. You're a clown. As for my 'vigilante violence'? Yeah. That's fine by me. It worked in Metro City, the military was working in Thailand.. the Thailand resistance was more than happy to have our help."
And Drake believes he knows full well where she's trying to go with this. Between the information he got from Arika and Sakura, it seems pretty clear. Her childish logic is likely trying to draw some morbid association with his deeds. "You know what the difference is, before you try to make some ludicrous parallel? My team didn't harm any innocent people. Not a single one. You? You and your 'hero' tortured'em."
"Do you know," Riko replies, angling her head to one side, "that only half the world's governments are signatories to the United Nations Convention Against Torture? Which is only an advisory resolution? Even the lauded Geneva Convention has the exceptions of Article Five."
Riko smiles, lopsidedly.
"Oh, and Amnesty International estimates seventy-five percent of governments condone torture, in any case."
She pouts, sticking out her lips. She bends her head further, such that it rests completely on her shoulder, her cheek pressing into the joint.
"Do you want any more...ludicrous parallels, Mister Vyril? Your academic education in moral and philosophical theory seems rather lacking."
Eyes narrow.
Dry smile takes to his lips.
"And that garbage has -what- to do with me?"
Drake then sets his fists to his hips. "Furthermore, don't try to talk legal jargon at me, kid. You make yourself look worse. See, when a government condones torture, it's conducted by -that government- against suspected criminals. What you did was outside of the government, on INNOCENT PEOPLE. So don't try to backtalk me."
Drake's right hand lifts to swivel through the air. "Even if they -didn't- honestly care who tortured who, and didn't think that kind've treatment to another human being completely innocent was horrendous? I don't care. The fact is, you did it to innocent people, and you did it to -my- people. Don't ever expect to get off free when you screw with what's mine."
She laughs.
"Mister Vyril, Mister Vyril, Mister Vyril...I suggest you visit Pyi-daung-zu Myan-ma Naing-ngan-daw sometime," Riko says, her voice still ringing with merriment. The long Burmese phrase slips smoothly from her lips, as if she practiced it.
Maybe she did.
"Perhaps after a vexillum sancti Petri," Riko continues, switching to Latin without pause.
A smile twirls and dances across the stage of her face, lit by the lights of her eyes. By now, the sun has dipped below the line of the trees, casting the clearing into the falling dusk. But Riko remains a bright figure amidst the shadows, her long yellow raincoat clearly visible, flapping in the wind.
"But it seems it all comes down to -you- and -yours-, doesn't it, Mister Vyril?"
Riko laughs, again.
"You presume moral universalism, Mister Vyril. One moral law, and a selfish one at that. I wonder what your profound morality is based on...what universal truth do you claim, Mister Vyril? Are you Puritan Protestant, burning at the stake? Are you Sunni Muslim of the Hanafi School, stoning anyone who disagrees with you?"
Drake's response is a simple one, yet ultimately effective, in his mind. His right hand lifts, four fingers set together, thumb underneath. He then moves them together and apart in succession.
It's a very clear 'Blah blah blah' sign. In short, he seems both unperturbed and unimpressed.
"You love hearing yourself talk, don't you? You can try to make me sound bad however you like. I just plain don't care. Every madman has some excuse for their actions. Even Vega thought he was right. The fact is, you screwed up. You screwed up -bad-. I'm not going to talk the differences of right and wrong with a -child- that doesn't even comprehend something that simple. So-"
"Mr. Vyril!," a voice cuts from the now fully-disassembled set. "We need to get going!"
Drake cuts himself off, draws in a shallow breath, and exhales it in a small, composed 'whoosh'. "I have important matters to tend to, Rat. But don't think I'm turning a blind eye on what you and your demented buddy did." And with that, he turns and heads for the crew, waving to them to call attention to his approach.
"Mmn," Riko considers, musing out loud, "you're right, I like to hear myself talk. But you don't have to be so -angry- about it. Better talk than violence, yes?"
She says this, as she lifts her hands from her pockets. There's a faint sound of fabric slithering across oiled metal as, quite abruptly, her coat ceases to flutter in the breeze. It still ruffles her hair, tossing and blowing it across her face. It still stirs the leaves on the branches, and the blades of grass around Riko's feet. But her raincoat no longer moves.
"Not to say," Riko continues, "I didn't come /prepared/ for violence..."
Her voice, by now, has a distinctly pedantic quality. She doesn't even try to keep the mocking edge from it, much like she's no longer using her chi to disguise the true nature of the long raincoat covering her form.
She smiles at Drake's turned back, looking past him to the camera crew calling from the shore.
"...Mister Vyril?
"Not interested, Rat," says Drake callously over his shoulder, regarding her and the sound of a weapon being drawn. Really, it's not surprising. It's possible that he's now luring her into her own hypocrisy. "'Assault', remember? I'll obliterate you in my own good time. I did say I have something important to tend to."
And if left unimpeded, Drake simply boards one of the jeeps that isn't weighted down with equipment to head back into the city.
Drawing a weapon? Hardly. In fact, the sound is Riko quite deliberately /releasing her hold/ on the weapons stored in her coat. With the amount of metal concealed within the fabric, it'd have remained motionless in the breeze had Riko not specifically manipulated its movement with her chi. Of course, she's well aware what it would have sounded like to any observer.
And so all Drake's barb gains, from Riko, is a smile. She wanted to provoke him, after all.
She stands in the little island cove, surrounded by trees. She listens to the fading sound of the engines, as the jeeps head back to civilisation. She waits a moment longer, as the last echoes die away, before letting the smile leave her face.
To empty air, she murmurs, "Hard to accuse someone of hypocrisy, Mister Vyril, when claiming moral high ground was never their intent in the first place. Still..."
Riko opens one hand, revealing a mobile phone. Her thumb works the keypad, punching in a brief message:
Vyril D - Stk frm list. Mving 2 nxt tgt.
Then, she focuses her chi in a long-practiced fashion, gathering it within her body...before departing the way she came, with a blur of speed that leaves the quiet and picturesque clearing once more at peace, devoid of human life.
Log created on 12:04:27 01/25/2008 by Riko, and last modified on 15:03:01 01/25/2008.