Description: Krizalid lays some law down. Angel puts on her professional face, and almost makes it an entire scene without looking stupid, making lascivious jokes, or kicking a guy in the kidneys. At the end of the day, orders are given, stairs sprinted, and NESTS lab stations exploded. Avid readers will note that Krizalid is kind of a jerk.
The response to Angel's e-mail is somewhat long in coming--a few days passes with no word from command or really, anyone in particular. Then, word comes from Krizalid. In the form of a text message, it is terse, and it doesn't really leave a whole lot of room for interpretation. Though no particular identifiers come attached to the mail--it appears to have been bounced across several cell carriers, the tone itself is pretty much unmistakably his.
Meet me. You know where.
He is not particularly difficult to find, if you know the location itself--one of NESTS largest bases in the Appalachians is generally where Krizalid prefers to frequent when overseeing the ground teams directly, because of the convenience of the base's command center and uplink he can use through his suit. Of course, 'he tends to wander around there' is generally the best and all anyone needs to know.
The dark-skinned clone, swathed in that peculiar long coat of his, stands on the main lift that navigates the many floors of the mammoth facility. He looks over the rail with a piercing glare. A countenance not unlike a hawk, but there is still something that seems fairly disconnected about him, as if there were very few things that really--mattered right now. Or one thing mattered that much. Either way, he is dead silent.
When otherwise left undisturbed, Krizalid can spend hours like this.
Krizalid's favorite haunt happens to be where Angel's currently 'stationed', if you could apply that sort of term to NESTS' most capricious field agent. Truthfully, evidence of her inhabitance is simply discovered to those looking for it; select infantrymen and researchers arrive to their posts late, Personnel Criticism Reports have focused around a very specific barracks-block, typically regarding noise complaints and 'general discomfort'. The Battle Data rooms have enormous craters in the walls. Mess Halls have been reporting a suspicious dearth of snack foods and alcohol.
He's probably not going to be too surprised when Angel is personally responding to that e-mail, the same day it'd been sent. Really, figures the NESTS agent, he's probably -expecting- it. She presses past either of the armed guards presenting some measure of 'security' for the NESTS underlord's observation lift. She's panting, if only slightly; Krizalid's on the lift, so her route has to have involved some degree of Fire Escape navigation.
Angel's professional attitude is a stark departure from her public persona - gone is the flaunty, showy walk, the vapid expression, the boisterous, hyper-excitable attitude. She knows what NESTS expects of its soldiers. In spite of everything the world knows of her, she is one of them.
She pauses behind the clone, feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind her back. She is, of course, utterly, deadly silent in all of this. She is also aware that it doesn't matter a whit to Krizalid's perception.
It's a form of training.
Krizalid is often like this. Though he has never been outright cruel to his comrades, what he asks is seldom easy, and even rarer so fruitless. While it would be trite to suggest that Krizalid orchestrated the thing to tire Angel out a little before they spoke, this sort of thing does make discussions with some of the more... active of their number a little easier to manage. More humane and more productive than threats, after all.
Krizalid doesn't move as Angel drops in behind him.
The silence is deafening.
/!\ Warning: Signature displacement detected.
The winking notification in Krizalid's battlesuit HUD is disregarded. It's nothing he hasn't already detected with his own senses and in truth, it seems that Krizalid is waiting to see if Angel will say anything to break the peace. However, she stands behind him as a soldier, as an agent rightfully should. After a few moments of this, Krizalid breathes outward, seeming satisfied.
It's a slow, agonizingly languid movement. The clone slowly draws his hands--steel and wire-limned claws, really--from the railing with the sinful reverberation of metal on metal, to let them hang limp at his side. A stray trace of energy snaps across the silver ribs of his right bracer, a snake's rattle. "Angel," he greets evenly and finally. He pronounces her name correctly, for the record.
"Hope you had a good run. Is your heart beating faster...?"
He turns towards the agent in two steps of no particular hurry. There is the sense that Krizalid's line of questioning is purely one entertaining Angel's vanity--Krizalid may in fact already be aware of some of Angel's vital signs with that suit of his. Up to and including her heartbeat.
"We got your message," he finally sees fit to explain, giving her a close look.
"Do you have any further reports you'd like to make..?"
"Ahhhh..." You'd be able to tell Angel's expression from her tone; confusion, uncertainty, and that awkward mixture of 'desire-to-please' and modesty. She shifts; taps a foot on the Lift's grating, and Krizalid might -hear- her shaking her head. "No idea, sir! Angel is..." A cough. "I'm, uh, used to going for a long time. Out of breath, but I could run another set of stairs without a problem." Yes, her tone suggests she's ready and -willing- to do it... all Krizalid need do is ask.
He speaks further, and Angel is listening. Briefly, she's distracted by a terrific explosion of latent chi manifestation and elemental concentrate - half of the NESTS research area is coated in rubble and dust, while cleanup crews have been called to the klaxon-lit site of the emergency - but this fades quickly in the presence of her superior.
As if to reassert herself, Angel squares her shoulders. Secretly, she is a -huge fan- of acting official. It's like Halloween.
"Further reports..?? Ehhh... K-dash and Maxima are apparently on the Southtown Youth Fighters' Community Center payroll." Angel does not mention that she obtained this information by applying for a job there. "I am wondering if there are directives pertaining to either of the two. I also wonder whether or not Nahid can replace K-nines-"
COUGH
"K9999," never has a name been so laborious. Angel is trying so -hard-. "As my partner, until he is cleared for duty? She'll need training."
The clone narrows his eyes at Angel. He shifts once, harshly; it's not hard to imagine a ghost of a smile appearing past the executive's face. If you could really see much of his face at all. But the idea of such an imagined expression quickly becomes tenuous and difficult to hold onto. The air of bemusement radiating from the man quickly fades.
Mercifully, he doesn't ask Angel to go run some more laps.
At least, not yet.
The explosion ripping through the project floors beneath them is potent enough to vibrate the lift they're on with deep bass, but Krizalid barely blinks at it. Instead he sighs, his eyes half-lidding in something resembling annoyance. He idly uses mnemonics to bring up the software command consoles in his suit to review the security logs, then subsequently the project logs for the wayward project. Without much clue this is happening though, it would seem Krizalid cares very little for the goings-on beneath him. The only indicator you get is the vague mutter from the clone along the lines of '..they should have contained that..' Something to look after later.
As if only mildly impressed by Angel's temperance, Krizalid shakes his head once, eyes closed however briefly. "We're going in a different direction concerning our external projects." Notice he doesn't use the word 'traitors' or 'rebels' or 'defections.' "Acknowledging a currently limited utility, we've temporarily deprecated K Four Nine's--" he noticably pronounces it differently, "--role in the operations structure. For now, he gets to rest." After all, wasn't Krizalid similarly 'deprecrated' until only recently?
"From this point onward, you can consider yourself reassigned until such a time as we seek to reactivate K9999," Krizalid elucidates. It's simple as that, and he doesn't seem to indicate a particular preference as to who Angel assigns herself to, in regards to Nahid. "As for 'those two'.." Krizalid begins, his voice taking on a seething aspect, "...keep an eye on their movements. Report only to me unless otherwise -directed-," he orders, a knife edge in his voice. "But there are ultimately more important things for us to invest time in."
"We've begun a new training program," he finally decides to mention.
"Tell me. Do you understand what the King of Fighters tournament represents..?"
Well, whatever Krizalid's doing, it's definitely entering Angel's consciousness underneath the 'Crazy Pervert Krizalid' heuristic. Her face contorts, worriedly, at the way her supervisor rolls his eyes upwards. She's certainly aware of the chatter over her cochlear radio; something about 'word from above' chastising researchers over a failure to contain the 'Terra Potentive'. She is... well, she's pretty smart, but 'pretty smart' isn't that remarkable among NESTS. Ultimately, she's got no notion that she should be connecting this to Krizalid. Presumably, one of the science bigwigs has taken to the problem at hand. Even so, and it'd be easy to note - she's not responding to Krizalid until at least a few seconds after that transmission.
"...Right. Report only to Krizalid regarding the tr--" Pause. Angel is more than willing to kill fools despite her blase attitude towards her parent organization. "External projects. K Quad," the relief in her tone is evident; -finally- somebody's endorsed her hapless shortening of the project's title, "Is deprecated. Ang-"
Cough.
"I'm without a partner. I will locate and train whatever my assignment calls for." She knows what this means; Krizalid knows what this means. Presumably, wherever she sleeps at the moment, Nahid is worried for no reason in particular. She should be.
"...Regarding the King of Fighters tournament, I... can't say. My focus has been more on local politics and the Shadaloo response to our investigations regarding Howard Enterprises. I received an invitation, but have not responded yet." Angel's tone is more indicative of her worry than anything else; she -knows- she's about to get rebuked for idiocy.
"...Is there something special about this year's King of Fighters?"
Is there ever not?
Once he's finished reviewing the situation going on on the floor, Krizalid has only to stare evenly at Angel for a time as she runs down the length and breadth of Krizalid's instructions in summary to an extent almost shy of satisfactory. He makes no great move to suggest that he's at all keeping track of what Angel is or is not paying attention to. But, noticeably, his countenance darkens as Angel runs through K9999's name with a spear.
It would seem that there is a specific pronounciation that Krizalid doesn't identify as disrespectful.
But the intense glare he fixes Angel with is both the long and short of the attention he elects to grace the matter with. Simply put; Krizalid has little patience for details like that and his tendancy to react very, very primally towards things he dislikes is well known. Somewhat mercifully, Angel's admittance of a lack of intelligence doesn't seem to agitate him much further, though.
"Hmph. You should pay more attention to the voice of NESTS," Krizalid advises. Arguably, that may be part of the reason why he summoned Angel directly to begin with. "The King of Fighters tournament represents a vast wealth of natural resources to the group. Listen up... because if I have to repeat myself or Igniz, you're going to be in trouble."
A faintly irritated youth showing in the clone for exactly that one moment, he steps forward, his heavy boots making a hard, deep noise on the grating beneath them. "The new training program is a comprehensive reactivation of our battle and intelligence resources in the specialist section. I've taken control of a number of our field operations pursuant, including yours. Because of Chizuru's involvement in this tournament, we stand to gain a bounty the likes of which you won't ever know.. but we can't be caught slacking. All of our active units assigned to this project have been ordered to train in local events. Make a presence known. Through this, we are going to collect information and intelligence as to the formation of all teams in the tournament. With that information, we are going to exert a unique influence on it, through Shadaloo and other special operations. Including your current tasks, your orders are to begin to assemble and train your own team, gathering the required intelligence by any means necessary."
He looks at Angel closely for the slightest hint of incomprehension.
"Understand me? If you fail, I won't be lenient."
The voice of NESTS. Just what is that? Is it the loudspeaker? The company email account? Angel's heard just enough about yearly TB tests and sterility verifications; she -knows- that her eggs are dedicated to The Project, and their means of getting anywhere important have been tied in the name of Progress and SCIENCE. She's admittedly a little -sick- of the voice of NESTS.
She additionally has no idea that Krizalid is talking about Igniz; she's always just kind of thought of the blonde-haired, Messiah-like NESTS figurehead as Dad.
Regardless, she's nodding towards Krizalid, the rapid, curt sort of gesture that indicates worried agreement, though deepening degree lends voice to typically soundless elaboration. "Right, right. Arrange personal teams, attack King of Fighters from different perspectives. Deny NESTS affiliation, establish local and tournament-centric links." She's nodding, over and over - the clever might catch her attitude as one befitting a Star Wars officer/agent, but luckily, Krizalid has -never- seemed to understand that she's based her -entire career- on this paradigm.
"With regards to the tournament, do you have a recommended locale? Promising individuals, potential corporate fronts or aliases? It will be hard to get the results you're asking for without some insight into the issue..."
Thank you, Mr. Spock.
Pray to whatever gods you worship that Krizalid never finds out you have no clue what he's talking about.
For the most part, Krizalid seems fine with Angel's assessment of affairs, treating her with the usual reservations of someone who simply is unaccustomed to speaking at length about much of anything, really. Honestly, for as long as Krizalid's been active, it's really hard to get a sense of what, if anything, the clone really likes at all. Luckily for Angel, he's thusly never seen Star Wars.
Though there's something he notices in her behavior that gives him pause. Just enough to put a lingering space at the beginning of his response after she asks him about potential hints. "We're going to mobilize this operation underneath the shell company of Diecast Labor International, a regionally nonspecific temp worker agency with which you can secure temporary hiring under various firms in the coming weeks close to subjects of interest. You'll be assigned useful jobs by my mission operator. Hrmph. As for the rest.."
Engaging the lift as he leaves the rail, Krizalid moves a little closer to Angel, his steps methodical as he closes the distance neatly. "Really.. do you need that much direction?"
He seems to have a predator's countenance even when regarding those he may look upon with fondness. As he passes her, he stops, setting a hand that is more steel talon than warm touch on her shoulder. He breathes outward slowly, as if banishing some internal feeling of anger or tension subconsciously. "I don't imagine I need to tell you that there are many professional reporters and speculators out now who simply need the right amount of.. encouragement," is how he puts it, "To produce meaningful evaluations of the playing field for us."
Perhaps somewhat mercifully, the lift is moving towards one of the connecting catwalks leading down to the project floor. Krizalid, though hardly aggressive at the moment, still has an attitude matching that of a riled cobra.
"From there, it's just a matter of inserting yourself into the right places, now isn't it?"
Angel is absolutely, one hundred percent confident that Krizalid will -never- learn her secrets.
Really, her questions stem from a concern rooted in the recent purge NESTS has sustained; Field Agents across the map have been *fired* (by which we mean 'eliminated'(by which we mean brutally murdered)) for only modest rule-breaking and ignorance-showing. While Angel has no doubts as to her value in the organization and her talents - she's stormed entire -bases- by herself - she's not a fan of dying so young. Ultimately, Krizalid will find his subordinate unflinching beneath his cruel, metal-taloned touch; the slender shoulder in his grip twitches but once, and even then it is just to assert position.
"The question was not an issue of suggestion; I did not want to assume authority where authority had already been given! Beyond the point of assuming a public identity working for Diecast Labor Interational, I am to exercise my own judgement in adopting fighters for the upcoming tournament, and training them accordingly!" Angel nods - she's nodding at -herself- more than anything else.
Krizalid's words beyond this are largely ignored; he -doesn't- need to explain encouragement to her. Investigate any -other- mission the Mexican has run in these past few years. To a large extent, she's the most individual Field Agent in the organization.
That individuality displays itself in her latest failure; she snorts, loudly, at Krizalid's last words. She leans forward, eyes widened, almost -conspirational- in their intensity, and she speaks in a low, secretive whisper.
"....I'm a -girl-, sir. I think you're getting the thrust of it wrong."
His claw stays there.
"Good. I'm glad we're at an understanding," Krizalid replies, his voice even, measured. The thing about the clone that most people have to understand is that despite the remarkable delicacy he treats subordinates with, Krizalid is pretty much at all times only one crossed wire from snapping and burning down half the facility. He has a remarkable amount of pent-up aggression, and it doesn't take any particularly great feat of insight to see it.
"I'll see to it you receive a bonus if you do well."
Therefore, the magnitude of Krizalid's temperance when he reacts to Angel's line of questioning should therefore be a little bit in perspective for Angel. As long as Angel understands what he's saying and Krizalid continues to have faith in her confidence, she has absolutely nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing.
The lift slowly latches onto the catwalk with an long and inexorable crunch of gears, a gate snapping open with a pneumatic hiss to allow access to the walkway and subsequent stairwells.
She whispers to him, letting him in on the deep, dark and hidden classified NESTS secret of her lack of a Y chromosome. The clone breathes outward slowly.. And then laughs, "Heh! Heh heh..ah." There is, for the immediate moment, the distinct sense that the executive might have been successfully amused by a fair amount. He tilts his head just so, and whispers back to the Mexican.
"What you'd ask yourself then is... do you really want me to get the thrust of it _right?_"
With that particular piece of wisdom, Krizalid pats Angel once on the shoulder. It's a cold unfeeling motion, given the claws, but who really knows what Krizalid intends by it? At any rate, he politely excuses himself, stepping away onto the walkways. "You've got your orders." See? Krizalid's not such a bad guy.
Probably not even a few moments after Krizalid takes his leave, the gate will snap shut and the lift promptly leaves, to power down on executive lock somewhere halfway up a maintenance shaft in the mountain. Mm. Looks like you've been ordered tto climb your way out. Yeah, still probably not the best idea to give Krizalid guff.
Log created on 02:24:27 10/17/2010 by Angel, and last modified on 01:53:40 10/23/2010.