Description:
Life aboard an aging, floating fortress is admittedly a tad light on entertaining distractions. Day after day of drifting about in the Pacific Ocean, the carrier that serves both as base of operations as well as home of Rugal Bernstein has seen little in the way of excitement ever since it was used to sink the Ryouhara's boat over a year ago. The entire battle ended with the tyrant of 'R' being blasted overboard by all the collective chi gathered during the tournament. Since that time, the crimelord has barely been a blip on the radar for anyone, content to brood, recover, and plot in the safety of the decades old carrier.
Now and then, however, something of interest comes along. A random ship at see to raid for cargo just to keep the minions from getting rusty; the rare invitational fight to bring world greats to the deck of the Black Noah to show of their skills, and of course, the ritual son beatings just to keep Adelheid in line...
But today brings something different. Something special. Something probably far too waterlogged. Word worked its way up from the small in-hull harbor at the sea level to the corridors above. From there to the deck. And from the deck, the control tower. Until finally the ship's master himself decided to see what all the fuss was about.
Thus it is that Rugal himself has descended to the U-shaped small-boat dock down at sea level. If what the men were talking about was true, this distraction held the promise of possible entertainment. Well dressed as always, in a pressed, long sleeve white shirt, crimson colored suit pants, polished, black dress shoes, and a fine black neck tie, the tall German steps out of one of the connecting hallways onto the metal dock. The murmuring men suddenly button up, falling quiet, some looking away from their boss. A few gesture to the surprise they found. A dead man.
Or, at least, that's what everyone thought until now.
They might not have been wrong.
Cody Travers has seen better days. His clothes have been almost entirely eroded by the ravages of the sea, and of his brother Kyle during his brief, Glow-addled emergence from the sea during the Jinchuu tournament over a year ago. The only thing to survive were his jeans, and even those are in tatters. Mysteriously, his hair is not entirely out of control. It has grown long and shaggy, and his chin is coated with stubble, but he doesn't look like the caveman he ought to. Scientists will later attribute this to unforeseen effects of long-term exposure to saltwater, or possibly to ocean pixies.
More importantly, he hasn't moved since the crew discovered him and hauled him onto the Black Noah. He has simply lain there, on his back, breathing almost imperceptibly shallowly. It is only as Rugal himself deigns to arrive on the scene that the American proves he is not, in fact, dead.
Cody's back arches abruptly as he rouses, gasping for air. After a moment he straightens out again and rolls onto his belly, struggling onto all fours and attempting in vain to climb to his feet. He doesn't speak until after several failed attempts, his voice hoarse and raspy. "Where... am I?"
It's an interesting sight to see out in the middle of the ocean. No land for miles upon miles that anyone could find on any charts. No small islands, no deserted floating wreckages that might explain where Cody came from before he was pulled out of the water by an attentive dock-level guard. A puzzle indeed. The sound of leather soled shoes heralds Rugal's patient approach. He knows the man isn't dead, in spite appearances to the contrary. His inhuman eye can tell him that much; detecting the faint breathing, the very weak presence of a pulse. In spite all appearances to the contrary, the salvaged man is very much alive.
He's standing over Cody when he finally moves, rolling over, struggling to push himself up to standing. Silent, not answering the voiced question for a while, he clasps his hands behind his back, cracking his knuckles as he waits for a few seconds longer. "Well, well, Mister Travers," rumbles the deep voice of Rugal Bernstein. "If you wanted to get back so bad, you should have called ahead." he chuckles darkly before he bends forward, right arm snapping down to grab Cody by the back of the neck in order to heft him up and hold him so that his feet are a couple inches shy of touching the dock's surface.
"We could have had a more fitting welcoming party for our long lost Cody Travers had we but known." He turns, shifting his grip to drive Cody's back against the metallic wall of the ship with enough force to leave a dent. Holding him there, hand against his neck with vise-like strength, the tyrant of 'R' seems to be studying what the sea has delivered him.
"And to think; just this morning I was pondering about how to go about getting some more good help around here. But it looks like all I got was you instead." He releases his hold, letting the man stand or fall on his own, as Rugal takes a few steps back, flicking his right hand to send small droplets of water flying off, as if the water alone was offensive to his tastes.
Rugal's voice rings bells in Cody's mind, but it does little else. It isn't until Rugal has hauled him to (and immediately off) his feet that any real recollection begins. "You..." he chokes out. It's all he manages to get out before his introduction to the wall expels what air he'd forced into his lungs out of them with a loud oof.
The blonde listens as best he can, but he's out of it. His entire body sags with fatigue, and he can't seem to get his eyes more than half open. When released, he hits the ground feet first, and for a moment it looks like he might remain standing. He doesn't quite manage it, sliding down the wall into a sitting position.
Being manhandled so makes him angry, riles him up. But it's been so, so long, and though he can feel his heartbeat hasten and his blood heat, Cody can't shake the exhaustion that grips him. It is almost paralytic. "I need..." he thinks aloud, slumping forward onto all fours again and dragging himself a few agonizing inches towards Rugal. "I need..." What was it called? Damn chemical names...
"I need... Glow," Cody finally rasps, settling for the 'street name.' "Please," he begs, crawling a few more inches forwards. "I can't... please..." It is more than a little pathetic.
His finger wrung dry, Rugal slips both of his hands into the pockets of his suit pants except for his thumbs which rest on the outside. The man's expression is one of smug amusement at the condition of the washed up Travers as if it's probably the most amusing thing he's seen all day. But he has things to do, lives to ruin, and plots to connive, and the clock is ticking. Turning, the man starts to walk away. "Throw him back in," he directs, his voice carrying a certain tired resignation, his right hand raised to his side with a dismissive wave over his shoulder.
The men on deck start to look at each other uncomfortably before a few of them step forward, getting ready to pitch the struggling Cody back into the sea from whence he came. His footsteps come to a stop as the soon to be cast-off finds his voice, uttering words barely perceptible at first. Men move into position, getting ready to heft Cody by his arms and throw him right back into the water when the crimelord stops them, "Wait."
Turning back araound to face Cody, Rugal steps toward him again, his expression having shifted to a frown as he deciphers what the younger man is asking for. "Yes, yes," he mutters, "And a shower, and new clothes, and a place to sleep, and a hot meal. Too bad this isn't a cruise ship, Mister Travers. We're not in the business of taking on stowaways..."
His foot comes down to plant against Cody's upper back as the German leans forward, his expression becoming subtly more predatory. "Yes... I imagine the need is strong by now. Those compounds don't leave the body just because you quit using for a year." he chuckles, his voice low, as if sharing secrets with Cody not fit for the rest of those present. "The addiction runs deep... there is no cure for your condition, only treatment..."
He stands up straight again, pushing Cody with his foot before stepping back, "Unfortunately for you, the only treatment is more Glow, as y ou've no doubt come to find." He turns, hands slipping back into his pockets, shaking his head slowly, "I just don't see what my interest in your problem would be though..."
Cody barely even struggles. In better condition he could put the clowns handling him down in seconds. Fresh off of a year-long stint in the Pacific, he can hardly even manage a token resistance, or a cry of protest. He's resigned himself to his fate entirely when Rugal gives the order to stop.
What little strength he had left is quickly failing him, and Cody can barely lift his head to look the man addressing him in the face. "Medicine," he croaks, a barely sensible reply to Rugal's musings on Glow's habit-forming qualities.
It takes him several seconds to muster up a response to the statement that follows, as Cody struggles to work out Rugal's point through the haze that fogs his mind. "Work," he offers, finally. "I can... work for you again." His physical strength may be failing him, but his mind seems to be warming up, at least.
"Worth it... ask..." Who would vouch for him? "... vice," he suggests pleadingly. "Good... work ethic." Even exhausted as he is, he manages a snort of something resembling laughter. It makes his ribs hurt. "Please," he asks again. "I need... medicine..."
Given that the man hadn't already vacated the dock, it's reasonable to assume he expected Cody to understand what he was getting at. And the surprisingly resilient Travers doesn't disappoint. Rugal lifts his head slowly, staring at the dull white lights of the dock overhead for a long, silent moment as he listens to the younger man plead his case.
"Worth it... in your condition?" He sounds unconvinced, turning around to face Cody once again. "Hm... That seems unlikely." He turns, his right hand raising, resting with his finger and thumb at his chin. "Of course, you weren't always this pathetic. The 'medicine' produced better results in you than almost any other specimen I've ever seen..."
He's silent then, letting the seconds tick past, "The problem is... if we do get you cleaned up, fed, and," he chuckles softly, "Medicated... How do I know you won't prove to be more difficult than you're worth again? I'm not a man with patience to spare, Mister Travers."
He leans forward then, content to tower over the exhausted man, "Unless, of course, there were something more important to you than even your own well being that could be on the line should you... wander off again. Something... or..." His voice fades out, his tone heavy with contemplation, feigned or otherwise. "Someone." He stands up straight again, brushing his hands off on his suit pants, "Like a certain Mayor's daughter."
Rugal's expression is smug, cold, as if in the process of making his checkmating move in a game of chess - a man's life hanging on the outcome. "I could give you another chance. I can give you the Glow you need to satisfy that need that's eating you alive. But you must realize, Mister Travers, the ramifications should your loyalty grow lax."
Even in his state, Cody doesn't miss the thinly-veiled threat. Were he a more clever man, he might appreciate the ease with which Rugal has turned his offer of servitude into a guarantee of it... and, more pressingly, were he a younger man he might rebuke the offer in the face of threats to his girlfriend. Even now, he feels defiance bubbling up to the surface.
He swallows it. He's no good to anyone adrift at sea, let alone himself or his loved ones. "I'll be... good," he promises. "I'll do whatever... you want... Last time was..." He hesitates for a few moments as he struggles to conjure an excuse for the past. He fails. "It won't happen... again."
And then, like a broken record, the request comes again. "Now please... Glow... I can't... breathe..." he begs. Sure enough, his breathing is becoming slowly more labored, and he sinks further and further into obvious exhaustion. "Nngh... my chest..."
Straightening up, Rugal steps back, "No. No it won't." he reiterates as Cody asserts that there won't be a repeat of prior events - that he'll be on good behavior going forward. "We need not explore the consequences further, do we." His hands return to his pockets, the arrangement struck to his satisfaction - the younger man knows where he stands now.
His right hand slips back up, raising to his side, fingers snapping once as he gestures to one 'R' soldier off to the side near a counter. "You heard the man. Don't keep him waiting any longer." comes the calm order. That the man steps forward with a box in his hands of already prepared 'medicine' suggests that Rugal had already planned this entire exchange out the moment word reached him that Cody had been pulled out of the sea.
The closed box is placed in front of the blonde as the crimelord turns toward the door that leads back into the hull. "When he's ready, take him up to his new quarters and see to it that he's well fed. I'm going to need him back in shape if he's to be of any use to me." The tyrant of 'R' chuckles, walking back out of sight. "Welcome home, Mister Travers."
Log created on 22:54:43 01/14/2009 by Rugal, and last modified on 22:54:10 01/28/2011.