Description: Iron Maiden (1984). While Southtown holds its breath in fear and waits for its saviors to rally together to do battle with the forces of evil, it's important not to lose perspective. Sometimes the difference between right and wrong is just who is left standing with a pulse when the dust clears. Although late to the game, Elle does what she does best: make opportunity where none exists, and two old allies meet and possibly reforge an alliance that could only cause ill to all parties involved... for better, or for worse.
Interesting thing about invasions and malls. Once the riots are over and everyone's done screaming and hiding, malls tend to be largely left alone except for the influx in thugs and other malcontents that tend to move in to call the place their own.
This being an invasion like any other that Elle's been privy to, her second stop along the way is to head towards the mall, where there's always enough equipment and other interesting items to tinker, gather or trade.
That is, as long as she can get through the random berserker attacks generally populated by random street thugs, yakuza leftovers, wayward Southsynd people and even the occasional deserter from the mess of factions currently crawling through the city.
But if you're going to take on a mall, you do it in style, and Elle's no slouch in that category. Having hijacked an armored truck was the first thing on her list. Rigging it with all the guns she collected through the use of a little electrical know-how and an acetalyne torch was the next. But the real peice de resistance is the entrance.
Elle's never been a flashy person. She's never sought to make an entrance. But cold or idle threats don't work on people. That's when you use pure, unbridled force to make your point. The armored truck crashes through the loading bay doors at the back end of the mall with a cacophonic sound that echos through the entirety of the building, giving a more than adequate alert to anyone in range.
And that's just what Elle wants. The second people start crawling out of the paneling, she lets them have it. The gunfire explodes through the air, the pungent odor of gunpowder blooms like an evil plant, eclipsing the aggresive shouts, screams, and shrieks of people that are either attacking, defending, or running or dying. The machine guns firing out of every available port seem to rattle the truck into little more than an armored blur as the car hurls down the mall corridors, the rattling sound deadening nears to the point where the only thing that can be heard after three minutes of solid firing is a dull hum.
And then it stops.
The smoke clears, and the carnage is almost unforgiveable. Crumbling concrete, bullet holes everywhere. The first flor and most of the second for a good 1/3rd of the mall is a complete war zone as the door opens slowly, and Elle steps out, her boots clattering on the linoleum floor, a pistol in her hand and a grim look on her face.
"I am going /shopping/." She announces to the mall, raising her cold, rasping voice and manipulating her chi so that it echos through the smoke filled air as she deftly unwraps a cherry Tootise Roll pop with a single hand before popping it into her mouth before strolling down the hall towards one of the cart dispensers, stepping over bodies and raising her firearm as a warning to anyone she sees peeking over the railing.
Reports of carnage? Mayhem on the streets? Gang violence at levels unseen outside of Darfur? A massive retrofitted armored vehicle rampaging around town on a bender of mass destruction?
What else is new in Southtown these days?
While the likes of Geese Howard and various denizens of this decrepit city have to deal with such matters on a daily basis ... That this rolling reaver was not ordered up by the Alliance of Tyrants is what concerns such a darkly august body. The nature of war is chaos. As much as tactics and strategies attempt to contain the unfettered outburst of wanton bloodshed, anything and everything can happen. Including unknown players skulking about, attempting to carve their own niche like rats digging their warrens in a smoldering ruin. Most are of little consequence to the powers that be. Generals pay no attention to the crows on the fields of engagement.
Only when a a hazard proves dangerous enough is reconnoiter enacted. Reports of this destructive x-factor have spurred the powers that be to investigate. And, should this modern-day cossack prove problematic? .. Eliminate.
While many candidates for the mission were considered, one was ultimately closer and none of the Dolls could be spared.
Marise is besides herself in laughter.
As unsubtle as the armored car was, the Devil of Koga literally did hear the machine coming from a mile away. The Mall's destruction summoned the creature swiftly from blocks away. Her distance, alas, resulted in her missing the initial volley this ad-hoc rolling battleship had thundered. Though, even from her distant locality ... The shock and awe was impressive enough. Piquing the ghoulish one's curiosity and spurring her faster.
Only when that voice thunders like an air-raid siren does Marise stop in her tracks. Her eyes had widened in abject shock.
Not terribly much surprises such an ancient thing anymore ... But of all the miscreants the world over, THIS was among the last she had considered.
With virtual disbelieve the Devil looms over the skylight above the massive mall. Spying down at the Rock Tyrant parading about far down below, pistol waving about like a heavy-metal reincarnated Bonnie sans Clyde.
"Nooooo... Keh.. Kya! KYA HA HA HAAA!"
Unable to contain herself, Marise breaks into spontaneous laughter. A hand attempts to preserve her dignity, fingers covering her giggling lips to little avail. The sounds of that cackle are haunting down on the floor.. far below.
Likely, unmistakable in turn. Only one living thing ever laughs like that.
Oooooooh how beautiful this is. Puzzling, mind-bogglingly bizzare... But beautiful none the less.
Moments later, The Devil stands not fifteen feet away from her previous employer. Looming above the smoking remains of the fallen in the pistoleer's wake. Only now managing to find a measure of composure, though her face betrays a mirth that Elle is wholly incapable of forever more. Golden eyes glimmering, as if fighting back tears.
"Miss Elle.." Jovially stated, ".. What a surprise this is.. Keh!"
... The ghost does seem a lot more lively, these days.
War puts her in a good mood. It always does.
Marise. The name itself is synonymous with the appellation 'The Devil of Koga'. Most that know the name fear it. Those that don't are lucky. And then there are the few that know it, understand it, and have no concern for it one way or another because of the fact that understanding Marise takes surprisingly very little, once you peel back the layers of mystique and arcane arts.
Marise, for all her deadly glory, is evil.
And evil is something Elle understands an an almost clinical level.
Dead, soulless eyes peer from behind sunglasses as Marise approaches, the weapons trained on the spectre of cruelty and destruction not out of fear, but out of the fact that Marise has always been about as predictable as fire and just about as destructive once she got going.
"You know the drill, Vamp," Elle says flatly, he voice ever devoid of any sort of emotion whatsoever. "You got something to say to me? Spit it out or get the hell out of my way, because I don't have time to dick with you or anyone else, for that matter."
The weapon stays trained on the Devil of Koga as she marches towards the till-sputtering lights of what looks like an electronics store. Not the milspec she's used to, but it'll do in a pinch. That is, as long as she can manage to properly deal with this situation.
She steps in through the shattered protective screen and locates the light switch, looking over the equipment. Telecommunications equipment, electronic components and Toughbook computers. Perfect for what she needs. Like Marise, she thrives in chaos, but with all the clinical precision of a machine.
Where there's scared people, paralyzed inthe grip of fear, there are huge buildings that are left unattended. Valuable information is left unattended, and nobody is going to take the time to stop Elle when there's mutant freaks and soldiers waging war in the middle of town. It's during crisis when Elle makes the most of her money. Granted, she's usually the one causing it...
But she's never been one to pass up an opportunity when it arises, no matter how high or low she is in the game of prosperity.
The Devil likes to think of herself as a very simple, straightforward person. Forthright in a vocation forged of secrecy and deception.
Well, as forthright as habitual liars are capable of, in any regard.
Evil is a simple concept to understand. All one has to do is look into the depths of one's heart, should you ask Marise.
What is not so simple to understand, are those without hearts.
Soulless. That's what the dark maiden called Elle in the past. She has seen their like before, but rarely one with such -drive-. Even Seishirou, for all his stoic mania, is not as dead to the world as this woman. Marise enjoys Soulless people.
They are one of the few who deign to work with true evil unflinchingly.
It was unfortunate their business relationship ended the way it did. In truth that was not Marise's choosing, but yet another reason she has for making the Gedo children suffer.
And suffer they have.
Though, in this context, in this moment, the inherent incongruity of the Rock Tyrant's character is laid bare.
"You mystify me ..." Marise smoothly croons with a feline smile.
Of course, Elle should know the drill in turn. Marise hardly ever answers anybody without some coquettish preamble. Call it a weakness.
That, and the future point requires a forward. "Here you are ... " Idly stepping towards the woman with bare feet, nailed fingertips gently gliding along the surface of the parked armored destroyer, "... One of the wealthiest human beings I know. Cheaply cobbling this..." Serpentine eyes gliding over the welding between the armored plates. A hand waves circularly, "... Whatever this is. Scurrying about in this modern bazaar, seeking scraps like a vulture upon the battlefield.."
Pausing at precisely ten paces. Knowing full well any closer and Elle will pull that trigger. The german is mathematically exacting that way. "When you could be living as a Queen. You could hire any number of capable hands to do this very thing. Without risk to yourself, I may add." A reproachful finger-wave.
A quick addendum, "Oh. As it so happens I'm supposed to be killing you if you're against Shadaloo and NESTs little excursion. Of course.." Her hands both wave idly, "I am not about to. A headache I can save you for ... Old times' sake. Yes? However.. As I was saying.."
The Devil leans a fraction closer, tilting her head just so to spy the urban pirate askew, "Why in the world are you doing this when you could buy this mall ten times over with a single phone-call to your old master offering your services, Hnnn?"
"Because," Elle replies, "the only way to succeed in life to to start every day acting as if you have nothing."
What money Elle does or does not have isn't addressed. All that she seems focused on is the fact that there's something in this store she's dead set on assembling. "This is Southtown. It's second only under Tokyo as a commercial center. Right now, everyone's evacuated or hiding at home."
She picks up one of the higher end computers as well as some of the assorted strewn circuitry. "Nobody's keeping an eye on the security networks anymore. If I can make money without calling in a favor, I will." The woman drags the box over to her cart, stopping to open fire at what looks like some wandering biker punk whose leg erupts in a red haze before he hits the ground with a choked cry.
"And I don't have a master. You know that better than anyone. Right now, everyone is operating in a capacity that's against everyone's well being. I can't ask for favors without taking a side, and I'm not taking a side in this mess, because no matter where I end up landing, I'm going to be making more enemies than not," she says, taking a second trip into the store to load up her cart with more incomprehensible bits of electronics.
"If I wanted to avoid risk, I'd be sitting in an office somewhere with my 'I Hate Mondays' mug and little cartoons taped to the side of my cubicle. Instead, I decided on a lucrative career that involves making people very dead for lots of money. So I'm going to be out here doing what I do best until someone like you, but stupider, tries to stop me and makes my day just that much more stressful."
Her free hand is placed on the cart, and the gun in her hand slides back into her sleeve, and she reaches down to place her hand on the far more unpleasant looking sidearm at her hip. "So what's it going to be, Giggles? You say you're not going to kill me, but that doesn't mean you won't give it a try if you think it'll be worth your while. Going to give me a hard time in the future? Because I can end that right here, right now. Otherwise, you got two options."
"One," She shifts the Tootsie Roll pop in her mouth to the other side. "You can get the hell out of my face, or two," she crunches down on the lollipop, killing any hope in finding how many licks it'd take to get to the center, "You can do yourself a favor and give me a hand."
Not one for indecision is she?
While Elle replies in that dry, un-emphasized monotone she always speaks in, the Devil is motionless. An image of serenity, her hands lightly folding together before her as she listens with no words or actions breaking that contented smile on her painted lips.
If one didn't know better, one could swear Marise was just happy to see that heartless mercenary again.
Even that casual dismemberment of random passerby who just looked like he may possibly be trouble earns not a twitch.
"Aaah. Yes... Is it not beautiful?" The Devil then adds, hands sweeping outwards and indicating the whole of this place, encompassing more than this anarchic shopping center. She doesn't bother describing why it is so. After all, hired killers as they both are, she must know what this war of egos will mean in the long run.
A whole lot more opportunity for them both.
Though, Marise is likewise unflinching at the Rock Tyrant's forceful ultimatum. Only deciding to eludicate the searching woman on one point, raising a hand in correction.
"You are among the very few living creatures 'worth my while'."
That corrected, the Devil turns aside. Glancing about the mewling and howling survivors of the earlier havok. Clutching lost limbs or suffering horribly as they slowly bleed their last. Marise does not explain to Elle.
Elle doesn't want explanation. She desires an answer. One of the very few who appreciate the difference between the two concepts, these days. Some would consider her words a boast or a challenge. Such concepts are meaningless on that one. Elle means precisely what she says, not more and not less
Though, her latent temper is always adorable to behold.
"I have taken a side in this conflict. Should I be seen with you now, a multitude of future employers will assume you have as well." A simple, elegant statement boiling down to option A.
But not wholly dismissing option B.
Keeping one's options open is not a concept Elle owns lock, stock and barrel. Besides which, Marise is doing her a favor. More than a few, as it so happens. Weither the Queen of Violence wishes them or not.
As that declaration is uttered, Marise's locks suddenly whip outwards at a perfectly perpendicular angle away from Elle. A half dozen ebon needles whisper through the air.
The agonized cries stop. The Mall becomes utterly silent.
Witnesses just became problematic.
"After this is done, I will have access to more than a few interesting new bio-weapons Shadaloo has developed. Names of very interesting people. And, once Howard falls, a very close look at the syndicate's assets as the jackals tear his kingdom asunder." At that, the dark creature turns away. Hands folding with the depths of her long sleeves, beginning to wander away from this carnage with the poise of a princess amidst a blossoming field.
"Fortune be with you, Miss Elle. The next assassin this Alliance of Tyrants sends will doubtlessly be less ... obliging." The creature muses in a sing-song voice as she saunters into the settling dust and ash in the armored destroyer's ruinous wake.
Assassins don't concern Elle. Assassins are methodical, intelligent, and precise.
Elle's yet to actually meet one, mostly because any assassin worth their salt would spend less time talking and more time actually trying to make a concerted effort to kill her. She sniffs once. Whatever. Marise was never one to make any sense. Ninjas. Bunch of nonsense the lot of them. Never made any sense to her to spend time with lots of flowery words when getting to the point saved time.
And don't even get her started on the whole 'mysterious and cryptic' crap.
Still, she's able to gather some information from the woman's largely superflous babbling. Elle may be largely out of the loop, but she's still got a lot of sense as to how this sort of thing works. She knows the inner workings of NESTS and Shadaloo probably as well as some of it's own members, and perhaps moreso in the case of Shadaloo simply by methodical investigation and participation.
"I need an audience with Vega. I know what's going on here, but I want details. Don't think I don't know what happened while I was gone. You get me the information I need, and I can let things slide."
"Second," the mercenary continues, "I understand there's more than a few people in Southsynd that like to collect artifacts. If for some reason you happen to be part and parcel to investigations of Geese's holdings, that's something you might want to keep an eye out for. Black market trade on anything freeing up from the Howard collection's going to be shooting through the roof."
"Third," she intones, and this one appears to be the most important, "there's a guy on the outside. I checked in on him. Goes by the name of Rust. Fat old bald bastard that's apparently working through Rolento. I owe him. By extension, so do you. You see him, you leave him alone, at least until this mess is over. Capisch?" She shoves the cart filled with junk towards the back of the armored truck to continue on her rolling tour of the mall to collect the equipment she needs for...
Well, only Elle knows for sure, really.
Naturally, the more Elle frustrates over such compulsive melodrama ... Marise cannot help but issue more in kind.
It is her fundimental nature, ultimately. Goading. Pushing limits. Finding what infuriates and disappoints others.
The Devil just makes it a point to keep the deal sweet enough to continue. This is not to say she capitulates to demands by default.
As Elle speaks once again, The Devil pauses. Her back facing the woman, head tilted to suggest that the Rock Tyrant is being heard.
On the subject of Vega, Marise does not reply. It is not in her power to recommend to that dark lord any course of action, including whom he allows audience. Besides which, Elle has never had much difficulty speaking with such men of power before. One could say, she's in the unique position of having spoken to all of them in person.
And still be alive.
As far as that little matter of turning Elle's basement into a torture chamber for children?
As if Marise is going to apologize for that. But compensation for such a matter is an agreeable affair. Though Elle has already disregarded what few favors she's already given in the last few minutes, it is the woman's nature to ever seek more than she's been given.
One cannot blame the jackal for being hungry, after all.
"Such things can find their way into your hands. Given time. Though.. Be advised.." The monster's voice trails, adopting a somewhat less amused tone than before as those reptilian eyes punctuate the wary sentiment, "As lucrative as selling such information to Howard or the assorted city defenders may be ... I would politely ask you to not do so. I have invested an interest in seeing their downfall. I merely, humbly, request that you honor your own ideals of neutrality in this... And uphold them throughout the duration."
Marise's bargaining posture may be diminished due to past indiscressions, but she would prefer not to butt-heads on this issue. Unlike Elle, she genuinely wishes to see this Dark Alliance come out victorious. Crippled. Weakened. But triumphant none the less.
It may be that Elle had not the intention, but some things are too important to be left unsaid.
And if Elle looses thunder then and there ... Then her intentions will be revealed in all the clinical and calculated resolve she is known for.
Sell the information? Normally a good idea, but not in this case. Elle only wants one party to win this, and it's not the 'good guys' and not the 'bad guys'. The only side Elle's ever been on is her own, and if everyone around her has to suffer as a consequence, then there's really only one thing Elle has to say in response to that:
She sleeps just fine at night.
"Not interested in tipping anyone off. Not yet, anyway. Nobody here's making it worth my while. The balance of power here is tenuous at best. It's always been too difficult for one party to get a hand hold over the other. The best way to succeed in any climate is when you have intercene conflicts. This?"
She waves her hand to draw more attention to the smoking carnage. "This is asenine. Land can change hands. A group can get bigger or smaller. But when a group gets eliminated, you have to recalibrate everything, and I haven't decided if I like that yet."
And strangely enough, what Elle's decided she likes, while not always 100% determinant of things, has had some effect on how the playing feild has settled after an uproar in more instances than some would care to mention. "Nobody's innocent here. There's nobody worth saving in this mess. All I want is to make my money and make sure that when everything finally lands, I know where all the good stuff is hiding."
And that's the truth. Equipment is carefully loaded into the truck, and she closes the rear doors, locking them with the key before heading around to the driver's seat. She turns over the engine and leans out the doorway.
"Just tell Vega I'm coming to see him."
Thoughts of Dark Alliances and other nonsense don't concern Elle. She knows how these groups think. There's no Alliance in the grand scheme of things. Just a complicated, yet almost moronic, tippy-toe dance that the large factions do in order to keep from stepping on one another's toes. The second someone fouls up, there'll be hell to pay and the whole damn country will be in flames.
Not that she cares one way or another about the country. It just gets a hell of a lot harder to find work when nobody has the resources to hire you anymore. The door slams shut and she turns on the radio, ensuring that Marise is actually leaving before she pulls away, heading further into the mall proper with a roar of the engine.
Time to hit the hardware department.
Log created on 23:44:09 04/22/2009 by Elle, and last modified on 03:56:18 04/23/2009.