Description: Metallica (1986). With all the fighting going on, you'd think it would be easy to find a job as a mercenary would be easy, right? Wrong. Most groups nowadays demand total fealty with no hopes of ever escaping the fold when you join. That leaves slim pickings for someone looking for work that doesn't want to sell their souls wholesale. Luckily for Jayden, there's Elle. The interview is fast and the fact checking brutal, but in the end the cajun proves that he's made of stern enough stuff for Elle's purposes... for now.
The Mall.
Elle's been here before. She keeps returning, too. The ruined destination is a great place for a lot of things. Supplies, equipment. While a great many of the actual valuables have been picked clean, Elle's a resourceful creature. It's not the obvious treasures that she's after. Copper wires. Tubing. Scrap metal. Junk from the gadget stores. Purses. Clothing. Just /stuff/ that nobody in their right mind would normally collect. Stuff with value only to a person with a fevered mind.
But in the short time Elle's been here, word has spread that she arrives on occasion, and spoke, and survived speaking to, the mysterious Devil of Koga. As much as the mysterious Kunoichi tried to keep it under wraps, word has spread. It's a quiet word, dismissed as so much conjecture and rumor, though not in so many words.
Between that and Elle's formidable arsenal, she's been left alone by the thugs and hooligans that have moved in, half out of a desire to reclaim territory, and half out of the need to avoid the heavy firepower in the streets. Thugs and gangsters are aggressive, but they can't hope to match the destruction and killing that NESTS and Shadaloo can attain without breaking a sweat.
But as a result, a strange heirarchy has arisen in just a few days. As always, the freaks and thugs that see fit to approach Elle not with violent intent, but with interest in who she is and what she's doing have been met not with violence, but acceptance. And more importantly? Work. Elle always has work to do. Organization is her forte, and she has the sort of furiously racing mind and drive to get things done. Through her overseas investments, overall frugal nature and complete lack of morals that allows her to take money from any source, she manages to keep the thugs paid.
And they're happier for it.
It's a far cry from older days, when she had a finely tuned machine working under her thumb, but it's a start. As a result, she's sort of set up a temporary office where some people have taken to using an old cookie booth's whiteboard to leave messages or set up meetings.
The location can only last for so long. Elle's got enough of a rep for someone to eventually hunt her down at this location when word gets loud enough. But until then? She sits down behind the counter of the darkened mall, lights flickering overhead as she reads through poorly scrawled post its and whiteboard messages, trying to find people that she can use for her various jobs that she has.
A far cry from the days when she had her milspec PDA.
But it's a start.
The Mall? It's been bombed out, busted up, wrecked. The war has not been kind to it. It rather reminds Jayden of places he's seen before. Memories are memories; he doesn't attach labels like 'good' or 'bad' to most of them. Jayden is picking his way through the ruined mall, casually, slowly--he doesn't have the look of a looter, and while he's shaggy, the way he comports himself lets everyone know that he is no thug.
As a result, he remains largely unmolested--there are few confrontations, and those mainly outside the mall, small independents trying to stake their own claim. Whatever. Jayden doesn't care. One group threatens him, but backs down--another doesn't. They're left in a heap outside the main doors to the mall.
From the doors on, others might give him looks that are askance. Perhaps even hostile. But they are returned with a bland look that still pronounces his willingness to break a few people.
He does have a destination in mind, of course--it's that cookie booth, He's heard that there's someone looking for reliable people, and he needs work. Not that he 'needs' the money... but he needs something to do. Idle hands, and all that. Eventually, the booted man with the hazel eyes approaches the counter, and stands there, looking around for a bit, before offering a sardonic, not-quite-mocking, "Nice digs."
"It still has functioning lights," she responds, not looking up. "And hey, free stale cookies." Elle's got one of these senses of humor that don't really call for laughing because it's impossible to tell when she's joking. It's dry, cold, and almost monotone.
Hands shuffle through post its. When your target audience has the educational level of fifth graders and half of it is in poorly scrawled Japanese, it tends to be murder on the eyes, and the glasses she wears solely to keep her damaged eye from being distracting to others isn't helping anything. Rather than remove them, she decides to set them aside and look up at the Cajun in front of her.
Biker leathers, smartass sense of humor, clearly American. This should be interesting. "So, I take it you're not here for a Cookipuss," she says, kicking the display case where month old happy face cookies the size of manhole covers sit, gathering dust and looking horrible for it. "So instead of wasting everyone's time, talk to me. Name, what you want, what you can do, that sort of thing. I'm not running a temp shop here, so if I don't like you? Tough shit. Nobody cares. Toss a temper tantrum and you'll figure out fast why I get a whole cookie booth to myself with the functioning lights and everyone else has to fall on their asses in the dark. Capisch?"
Not threats. Not really insulting. it's just laying out ground rules, and Elle's good at that. Once the parameters are set, she leans back in the chair she borrowed from a back support store and looks at Jayden, eyebrow raised and waiting for his speil.
He actually cracks a smile. "If they weren't three weeks old, maybe. Probably file the edges down now, kill someone with 'em." The Cajun accent is pronounced, but he's still understandable--the words aren't lost in the patois. The ground rules are laid down, but he's not surprised at that. He was told she was business, all business, and he doesn't mind that. It's when crap takes precedence over business that he gets pissed off."
"Jayden Remarque. I want a job." Nooo shit, Sherlock.
"What can I do? Ex-Special Forces. I can fight, sneak, hunt, kill, you name it. We were taught to be right bastards and I'm damn good at it." He doesn't mention the more larcenous background--need to know, after all, and it's not super-relevant, not yet. He told her what he can do, after all.
"I'll muscle, oversee, whatever." He shrugs. "As long as there's action and I get to be involved, I don't give a good god damn if you want me to help the cops or bust someone's head open."
He slouches, a little. "But if you don't want my skills..." He shrugs. "I can still sell on the open market. Just means more drudge for you an' me."
Ex-military. Elle's got mixed feelings on that kind of background. Normally, she doesn't like working with them. They're not very creative, for the most part. Good to send on missions, not too great on sniffing out opportunities where they arise. Still, Special Forces means something. Or at least, it means something if he's telling the truth. A lot of people claim a lot of things when they're looking for work from a paying client.
But, that being said, Elle's short on actual competant help. There's work that requires hands and the ability to load heavy objects in a truck, and then there's work that rquires people getting murdered. The former's simple enough, and there's no doubt this one can do it, but the second?
She sniffs once.
Well, at least he doesn't claim to have any pesky morals in the way. His face is unfamiliar enough so that he's probably not one of the gang kids, so he probably had to fight his way in. "How long was your tour, where did you do it, what was your mission, and did you go AWOL?" The questions come with a staccato beat. "Just the bullet points. I don't need to hear a life story here." She's focused on him, and he's got her attention.
For all the good that is.
The attention-focus doesn't bother him at all; he's had -two- drill instructors trying to make him shit his pants, and when he was much younger besides. He doesn't know what's going through her head right now but... he lifts an eyebrow, considering the details asked for.
"I was in almost six years. Training for most of it; had missions in the Middle East, in the former Soviet states. Missions were typical--take out this guy, rescue that guy. Didn't really care about the targets, just did the missions." Another shrug, though not one of indifference; settling his jacket, maybe.
"Dishonorable discharge," he says--and it's the first time his voice holds any real emotion to it, an undercurrent of bitterness. He didn't -love- the life, but he hated even more being made a fool of.
"Suffice to say I don't deal with them anymore. That's my past, as much as you need to know." To the point--that was how he was taught to do everything. Quick, efficient, to the point. But now he also likes to have some fun, when he can...
She waves a finger. "Okay. First of all," Elle intones, "/I/ decide what I need to know. You don't tell me what's important to me. Once you get that down, we'll have a much better understanding. Now, you're free to tell me I didn't ask. If I don't ask the right questions, that's my damn problem. But if you're looking for work with me, I need full disclosure on demand."
The woman stands up. She's considerably smaller, much leaner than she should be, but her rangy frame only makes her look that much more aggressive. "I'm not nosy. Half the time? I don't give a damn where you're from, what you've done, or who you did it to. I don't care if you got discharged for raping the President's daughter with a whiffle bat. The only thing I care about is I get a truthful answer when I ask for it, so I don't have any unexpected 'demons from the past' or other bullshit that I've had to deal with prior. That. Is. It."
The words are punctuated clearly so that the man understands what she means in no uncertain terms. She lets those words sink in, her dead stare searching for his response to those words for a moment before continuing. The riot act having been read, she switches gears.
"That being said, my market right now is for a point man. I need someone that won't die instantly when bullets start flying or schoolgirls boil up out of the manholes and start shooting energy blasts everywhere. I need a person that won't shit their pants when Sagat shows up and starts exploding people into a shower of red haze at will. I need someone that can look at a girl shaped like a supermodel shooting fire out of her asshole and take it all /dead seriously/." Her words, while absurd, have all the force behind it of any military commander, and tinged with the weariness that only experience of having /dealt/ with some of this madness gives.
She seems to step back, if not physically, then verbally as she gagues the Cajun's reaction.
"So. Can you do that?"
He doesn't even lift a brow. What she's asking... -is- very close to what his 'military family' asked. Total obedience. He's weighing this one very closely indeed--rather than shooting off at the mouth like he had been known to do. Perhaps some lessons -did- take, after all. Despite the riot act, though, he refuses to be cowed.
"I'll tell you what you want to know, if you ask. And if I can't tell you... then I'll tell you that, too." Unruffled, calm, he is, at least outwardly.
"But I didn't leave anything out that would, ah... 'affect my employment negatively'." If anything, some of what he didn't say is pretty much a positive in this line of work, buuut... that's probably for later.
Again, he quirks almost a smile at the outrageous claims. "Tol' you. Ex-Forces. Trained for anythin' and everythin'. Maybe I ain't seen the whole world yet, but I wasn't taught to be afraid of anything." Not Sagat, the Emperor of Muay Thai. Not a thousand cloned Sakuras. Not bullets.
"So yeah. I can do that."
Alright. Confidence, but it's not cocky. Well, not /too/ cocky anyway. Elle can work with that. She starts walking around the counter, looking the man over in the most clinical way possible that a human being can look at another. Elle's not looking for total obedience. She's looking for total honesty and loyalty. There's a huge difference. Mindless obedience gets you a bunch of zombies, which are great for catching bullets, but not that great in an operative.
She doesn't say much about his explanation. That train's already set off in it's direction. He's not /perfect/, but nobody ever is. She's judging him for general value, staying power in a fight and overall longevity of his personality versus hers. She's dealt with enough people so that at this point, it's almost automatic.
"Good," she says eventually, stopping in her pacing as she steps back. "So. Just so you know, I've been through a few military combat courses myself. I can put my money where my mouth with. Anything I say to you is the truth. I have no reason to lie, and I'm not going to start. I don't stroke egos. I don't kiss boo boos. I have goals, and I like to meet them. If you go along for the ride, I can show you the world and a lot of money. If you puss out... no harm, no foul. You screw with me, and I'll have you killed. And I am very, very good at my job."
She stops, and nods. "So, GI Joe. Show me that you're not full of shit." Her hands fall to her hips. "Come at me like I killed your dog and ate it in front of you."
COMBATSYS: Elle has started a fight here.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Jayden has joined the fight here.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Jayden
"Don' need my ego stroked. I c'n buy that off o' pretty whores, if it come to that," is his reply; while he still maintains a somewhat loose attitude, he's clearly not just lazing about, or not paying attention; the focus of his hazel eyes, as she moves out from the counter and around, is evidence of that.
So, she's been through some combat training as well? That's to be expected, isn't it? His gaze rakes over her, taking her in as if for the first time--or at least, the first time in a combative venue. He nods to himself. He can see it, the signs of training. Anyone can get gear, can get the 'look', but few can back it up.
He can see it in her eyes, and though he's larger, he nods respectfully.
And then he lunges, taking a half-step before crouching and leaping forward, thrusting the heel of his right, combat-boot-shod foot for the bridge of her nose. At a slightly different angle, this kind of kick could in fact drive the bones of the nose up into the brain-a kill shot. Since he's fighting a potential employer, he alters that angle slightly. No good reporting to a vegetable, after all.
COMBATSYS: Elle blocks Jayden's Medium Kick.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Jayden
No need to worry there. Elle's never worried about death because something in her body seems to keep her from croaking when any sensible human being would have died. It's not even willpower. Something just keeps her going time and time again. So when Jayden's foot comes in, it's almost automatic that Elle raises an arm to block. The heel cracks cleanly into something beneath her sleeve. It'll leave a bruise, but it won't kill her by any means.
And in fact, Elle demonstrates exactly how serious she is. She backs up, thrusting one hand into her coat and drawing a finely cared for firearm. The weapon catches the dim light of the mall as she turns about, whipping the weapon around so that it's aimed straight for Jayden's gut. The massive AMT Automag V it a weapon that she's trained excessively with, and she needs to demonstrate to the man that she means business.
This isn't playtime, and Elle's not a schoolmarm.
The weapon speaks, the entire mall echoes with it's report as the bullet shoots forward, leaving a 'Matrix' style contrail in it's wake. But that's not really the damaging part. The problem is that the bullet's a hollow point, and within it's hollw frame is a tightly packed core of sonic chi.
Upon impact, it'll detonate like a fragmentation grenade, leaving the the sonic burst and the jagged metal shrapnel to drive into the Special Ops soldier in the most merciless, soulless way to attempt to injure a person.
COMBATSYS: Elle successfully hits Jayden with Ace of Spades.
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Elle 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Jayden
Now -that- is something you don't see every day. He's just rebounding from the kick when the gun is drawn. He recognizes it, for sure--but he has -no- idea what's in store for him. The bullet drives into his left shoulder, and then it -explodes-... and that sonic energy... feels very much like his own. But not exactly.
He falls--and rolls onto his good shoulder, pushing up to his feet. "Th' -hell- was that, cher?" he asks, sounding very surprised; gritting his teeth, he tries to move the injured shoulder. Meatshot--painful, but not debilitating. He can deal, even if that arm does hang a little low. Better not take too many shots to the shoulder there, though.
He's not waiting for an answer, either; whether this fight is meant to impress her or not, he's treating it as deadly serious--something that becomes even more true once he's been shot.
Trying to make up the distance, he pushes himself into a short run, twisting to bring that injured shoulder forward--then stopping himself when he closes in, twisting his torso around, ignoring the screaming fire from his shoulder, launching a right hook punch, the fist and forearm flaring with white-green sonic energy--unlike Elle's, an energy that, should it be dispersed into her body, will 'echo', reverb, whatever you want to say--it'll make her insides quake.
COMBATSYS: Elle blocks Jayden's Sonic Smash.
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Elle 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Jayden
Lesson 1: Treat everything like it's going to kill you. Elle doesn't answer. All Jayden gets is the deadened stare of a woman that's fought way too many battles for keeps. Tournament fighting isn't Elle's forte; she fights only to win, and more often than not, it means leaving her target mangled or dead. As a result, she tends to remain amazingly focused and unapologetically relentless in her combat style.
The gun is slammed back into its holster just in time for Elle to raise up another hand to block the strike. This is more powerful than the last one, but not by much. The hand cracks arist the fist, diverting most of the force away from her. The chi reverberates in her arm only slightly, causing her to jerk her hand away quickly.
It's clear that she has no intention of dealing with that any more than she has to. However, now that the man is close enough, she can adjust her tactics accordingly.
With her left arm still raised in the block position, her right hand flicks, and what can only be described as a mace slides forth from her sleeve, the heavy pounding weapon built only for brute force trauma. As she brushes the right arm aside, the mace comes rocketing in from the other angle, an electrical contrail crackling behind it. While she rarely aims for the head, it seems oddly apropos this time, and she brings the diamond headed mace around to crash into the soldier's temple like an electric wrecking ball.
COMBATSYS: Jayden blocks Elle's Live Wire.
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Elle 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1 Jayden
That charged mace isn't going to find Jayden's head--instead, he interposes his forearms. The impact is pretty damn hard, not to mention the electric shock. Whoever she is, she isn't joking around. Jayden can appreciate that--while he doesn't tend towards weapons use himself, despite being trained in it, they have been popular for millenia for a reason.
Attempting to utilize some of the transferred kinetic energy from that impact, Jayden pushes off in the opposite direction from Elle's attack, in a bid to get around her.
If he can manage that, she'll find his arms wrapped around her waist, but it's no foreplay touch--a tight, strong grip that'll find her being lifted up and dropped on her head and shoulders as Jayden bridges, bending backwards--and releasing the grip before it can become a liability.
COMBATSYS: Elle interrupts German Suplex from Jayden with Wrathchild.
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Elle 0/-------/--=====|=======\===----\1 Jayden
The woman isn't fast enough to move out of the way. Elle's no speedster, though she seems to have uncanny reaction time and considerable ability to target her opponent. Instead, what she does is unusual.
She allows herself to get grabbed.
The man is much larger than her, and his grip is crushing, which threatens to drive the air out of her lungs. But just at the critical moment before she's lifted into the air, Elle unleashes a sharp, powerful jolt of electricity, the current blasting through her entire body. It's not exactly a lifre threatening attack, but it's unpleasant enough to keep people away from her when she doesn't feel like being touched.
In addition, it keeps her from any serious damage, which is invaluable as she lurches forward, breaking free from the man's grip as she whirls around, standing ready with the mace gripped in her hand, her focused gaze never leaving Jayden's actions.
Unpleasant--that's a word for it. Jayden is forced to release early, grunting deep in his lungs as the shock works through him; twisting, he fights to get his muscles under control, shaking his hands out, clenching his feet, his legs, making muscles respond to him instead of the random electrical shocks.
"Y'good. Expected you t' be..." He's on the losing end of this fight, right now, and he knows it. The question is, how much farther does Elle want to take it?
"Seen enough, you? Or no satisfaction 'til one o' us is on the floor?" One of us, he says--knowing its more likely to be him than her, though the fight isn't over yet. He stands there, tensed, ready for whatever comes his way, whether it's Elle, a job offer, or a 'hit the road, Jack.'
Of course, he's hoping it's the job offer, but... if she wants to play it out, then he will. It's in his nature.
COMBATSYS: Jayden gains composure.
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Elle 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Jayden
Interesting.
Most people are dead set in showing exactly what they're made out of. Jayden doesn't seem that way, and that's something of note to Elle. People that behave outside her expectations are few and far inbetween, but when they do, she notices. It's been happening more often than not, lately... but Elle knows that such a trend can only last so long.
"You've got the moves," Elle says, admitting as the man seems to be suffering the worst of it. Elle just has some experience taking down Special Forces operatives. But he's good enough for what she needs, and she says as much. "But you're going to have to step it up fast. You're good enough to take down a lot of mooks, and I can appreciate that, but I've got a few tricks to show you, if you're patient enough to listen."
Her hand flicks the mace, which slides away into her sleeve as if by magic. The woman's clearly got something more than just moves behind her. "Maybe later, we'll go flat out. Right now, I don't have time to be picky, and I don't need to grind you into hamburger to see what I already know. Right now, we're dealing with a messy situation here in town, and I suppose you're right; the last thing I need to do is ventilate you. You won't be any good to me then."
She considers carefully, looking it over as her hand rests on the large pistol shape on her hip. "Hired. Trial basis, one month. I don't like you? I tell you, and you beat it. No whining. No hard feelings. You last longer than a month, and we'll talk about serious employment. Starting pay is $1000 a week, plus a cut of the take or salvage after net. You're free to take side jobs as long as they don't conflict with my work. Check with me first before you take side jobs. I say no? No whining, or I'll kick your ass."
A pause.
Then she holds out a gauntlet covered hand. "Deal?"
COMBATSYS: Elle takes no action.
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Elle 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Jayden
He doesn't even think, crossing over to her and taking her hand. "Deal," he says, giving her a firm quick handshake. Up, down, release, that's it. Firm and quick. He hides any irritation at her assessment of his skills--doesn't need to hear it, doesn't want to hear it, or hears it and is just letting the natural irritation flow over him for now, and will analyze it later. It's one of the three, but hard to tell which.
"I heal pretty quick, but I appreciate the gesture," he says, dryly. He wouldn't be looking forward to fighting Elle again, not one on one, not for a while. And while she is rather demanding--almost imperious--it's a very straightforward sort of demanding. Grating, but he can deal with it. She's not making him do parade march for ten miles, or doing the GI crawl through fresh mud, just because his boots aren't spit-shined.
"If I don't like the job, I'll tell you, no hard feelings," he says--not in counter, but acknowledgement. As for other jobs--he nods. It's not like there's a hiring boom--NESTS, Shadaloo, their indoc programs are too severe. And Syndicate is still licking its wounds. This the best game in town right now, by Jayden's estimation.
He turns, walking to the counter, grabbing a post-it and writing out his name and a phone number.
"Here. Cellphone. Call me any time," he says, then turns towards the exit. "Gotta rent a masseuse," he says, over his shoulder, almost completely (but not entirely) hiding the injuries he's treating with respect.
Imperious? Demanding? Elle?
Definitely.
Elle is all those things, and more. She's a taskmaster, a relentless, remorseless machine that never seems to rest. Every waking second is spent working towards some goal that she never seems to quite tell anyone about. But there's one thing that's for certain.
She's /very/ good to the people that decide to stick around her. Elle rewards freely as she castigates, and peopel around her quickly learn to avoid the latter and appreciate the former. Or the leave in anger and disgust. It means little to her, and any irritation on Jayden's part is almost wholly ignored, part because she doesn't care, and part because the man is professional enough to not demonstrate anything.
She takes the number, folding it carefully and slips it into a pocket. "I will. I have work coming up," she indicates, heading back to her seat behind the cookie booth. At least, she will the second some facts clean up... and there's the matter of contacting the rebellion too.
A mercenary's life is never easy, but it's always interesting. And with Jayden in the picture, she can afford to start taking a few more affirmative steps.
A far cry, of course, from better days.
But again... it's a start.
COMBATSYS: Elle has left the fight here.
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Jayden 1/-----==/=======|
COMBATSYS: Jayden has ended the fight here.
Log created on 23:34:11 05/02/2009 by Elle, and last modified on 03:14:33 05/03/2009.