Description: Finally, Vega reacquaints himself with his second lieutenant and sends him to India to resume the expansion of Shadaloo's political influence. Also, he's enrolled Balrog into the King of Fighters without telling him, and under Juri's command, no less! They're bonding.
Using old idioms is a bit cliché, but it holds true for any large organization. The cat has been away, so the minions have been playing.
It's not uncommon for Vega to be gone for days at a time. A week, rarely. His last outing, however, has left the base without its glorious leader for a number of weeks! While his Trusted Lieutenants(tm) had been left in charge of things for the most part, they too are always free to come and go. That has left the burden of command upon the military leaders: generals, colonels, whoever could make sure that everything remained running smoothly.
Upon the Master's return, things had gotten a bit...complacent. A bare wire here, a wrinkled uniform there. Little things, all piling up. Little things, all chipping away at his patience. As the cloaked man walks through the passageways of the base, his ire is palpable in the air around him. The only thing saving his common workers from random fits of discipline are the eleven Dolls huddled around him in close proximity. THEY, unlike the gutless bastards on the other side of the circular wall of girls, are happy to see him. Thrilled, even! He is their Sun and their Moon, or whatever sappy crap young girls come up with. Reports of progress and offers of coffee and shoulder rubs are given unrequested; their Master obviously needs some pampering to keep from wrecking the base.
It's really rather creepy.
By the time Vega and his entourage make it to his throne room, the seething anger has dulled considerably. His boots click against the metal floor, stopping only when he reaches the uncomfortable-looking hunk of metal that serves as his most esteemed seat. A sharp turn, a swing of his arm to pull his cloak behind him, and the girls detatch it from his pauldrons. Without that length of fabric to make things difficult, he eases himself into the throne with all the prestige and dignity of any king.
"Now. Where is that bloodthirsty little fairy?"
Clearly Vega is a temperamental child, albeit an extremely powerful one. Imagine if he started throwing temper-tantrums? The entire base would likely meet an earlier demise... The Shadaloo organization should appreciate those Dolls who hurry to assuage his rage with-- what the? Back-rubs? Coffee? Must be nice. Upon Balrog's return, there was just some brief fuss over his room, and then nothing until this morning. Woken from dreamless sleep, a pitiful servant was sent to retrieve the assassin - the foolish man won't be seen again.
Arriving at the throne room minutes before the entourage, the viper has found a suitable place to lurk in shadow. His location is not exactly concealed, but also not outright determinable. There are subtle hints of his whereabouts in the faint reflections of light off his vizard and the gentle sound of steel being sharpened; with a small, abrasive stone in his right hand, Balrog drags the length of his three-pronged claw towards himself. The long braid of honey-coloured blone-brown hair is damp with product, and it hangs over his shoulder, the contrast immediately notable against the pale skin of his bare chest.
Continuing his task, once motion catches his attention, the Spaniard ceases. The doors, swinging open, reveal the entering dictator and his troupe... It's not until the man has taken a seat in his imposing chair and called for him that Balrog pushes away from the wall and graces all with his presence. 'Fairy?' he thinks, but dedicates no more than a single thought to the word. Clawed arm back, the other tucks in at his mid-section. The assassin bows - a remarkable sight, "Welcome back, Lord Vega." comes his muffled voice from behind the mask.
By the time Balrog makes his presence known, Vega is almost completely back in his groove. He's tilted a bit to the right, his elbow upon the armrest with his forearm lifted. His closed fist makes for an adequate chinrest--even one such as his. Not many people could brood in the midst of a throng of cute girls, but it's his nature.
"Have you been gone for so long that you'd forgotten to never lurk around me?" The fact that he didn't sense the ninja in the first place is nothing short of miraculous. It just goes to show how offset he must be...but what could have possibly affected him so? As the crimson-adorned man sits up in his seat, it's with a quiet puff. He looks...oddly drained from his trip.
"But no matter. It's actually good to have somebody back that can produce results." There's a bit of objection from the Dolls about his seat, but they're silenced with a short wave of his hand. Such loyal girls. "I trust that you haven't let your other skills wane in the interim..."
"Of course, I apologise." Balrog says calmly as he is admonished, straightening smoothly. Folding his arms fully across his chest, snake tattoo breathing as its owner does, the Spaniard adopts a relaxed stance, supporting himself on his left leg. The pupils of green eyes narrow, but something so insignificant is lost to the shadows cast upon his vizard, and he can't help the sly smirk that assumes its rightful place across his thin lips. Indeed, the viper is more than capable of producing results, and it is good of Vega to notice. Not that his ego really requires further inflation.
Gaze traveling to the protesting girls, it shifts instantly back to Shadaloo's dictator once they are silenced. He chuckles darkly, the creepy sound striking the more timid servants with a particular feeling of yearning - they wish to retreat from arm's reach of him. "I assure you that I am just as capable as ever, if not moreso." Is Balrog standing here now, cracked rib and all, strong and beautiful as ever, not enough of a testament to that? But just in case...
Clearing his throat, he reaches for the mask and pulls it up from his impossibly handsome face, then over his head. The steel feels cool against his fingers. "I encountered Chun-Li in Singapore." More like stalked, but such details aren't necessary and better left omitted, "I believe I left her unconscious on an overturned dresser, upon departure." For a moment, he reflects on this battle with the stunning Asian woman, and the colour of her blood...
Expression non-existant, like the vizard he holds, Balrog moves on from the delightful memory, head canting slightly to the side, "Do you have an assignment for me, Lord Vega?" He can only assume that's what the red-clad man wants with him, and why Sagat was sent to Spain. The envelope left behind by the Muay Thai champion didn't really specify much, aside from the fact that he was to return immediately, and other paltry tidbits that weren't his concern. It does not matter to him what happened in his absence.
Ah, that's more like it. Vega can feel from Balrog the lust for his games, the sinister and twisted emotions that plague the Spaniard's mind. In a way, he had always felt that the ninja was the closest to him, of the three: wily, cunning, and sadistic.
That, of course, was before Juri returned and proved to be the very future essence of himself in female form.
"You believe, do you?" There's no certainty, no care in the act? It's a rhetorical question to begin with, but it's a confession that still draws a low, dark chuckle from his tilted head. "Good. Keep her occupied and off of my back. I've no time to deal with her yet." See? Vega is a merciful ruler, letting his cohorts play with his toys. He adds, as if an afterthought: "I can see that you had quite some fun at her expense..." Vicariously, he can sense the joy in the other man's being, the thrill of it all as his memories briefly flicker across the surface of his thoughts. That is exactly what ought to be done. No...rescuing, no saving people. Shadaloo isn't in the business of altruism. And yet, balancing such volatile personalities is always a careful game.
"I do." Finally. Both of Vega's hands press against the edges of his throne, arms bulging lightly under their crimson wrappings as he stands up. The Dolls, for their part, are concent to stay at the throne. Hell, two of them immediately jump into the vacated seat, soaking in whatever meager warmth is left behind. Again, creepy. The Master steps toward one of the banks of monitors, particularly his newly-installed Chinese dignitaries. "We're taking something of a different direction, this time, Balrog." His hands tuck behind him, fingers curled as one hand holds the enclosed fist. "Simple warmongering is too crude, too crude a means. In this day and age, we have need of more...delicate operations." Before the lieutenant has any chance to worry about it, however, his blank eyes glide over to look at him. "That's not to say that you won't still have ample opportunity to enjoy yourself." Turning back to the monitors, he continues to speak. Any interruptions given will be met with a dour look until the offender is silenced...one way or another.
"By now, you've heard of the efforts in China. Their great General is dead, thanks to the Failure." It's his pet name for Juri, you know. The Failed Doll. However, still a perfectly fine assassin, so long as she's properly motivated. "I have men rising in the ranks of their government, filling in the holes of vacated positions." There's a brief pause, and then: "Which, of course, is where you come in."
It would appear that Balrog has found a rival in Juri. Both are equally sadistic and psychotic murderers, but the Spaniard has one advantage: He is capable of interacting with others peacefully, not just a 'hello' and then attempting to knife them in the face. The viper's insanity is concealed day to day by his handsome visage, calm demeanor and respectable mannerisms. Only an empath, or Vega himself, could peer through the carefully constructed facade to spot the madman that lurks within. It's why Balrog was brought here in the first place, all those years ago...
Flashing the rows of perfect, white teeth in a chilling smile, it is the Spaniard's only reply to the statement regarding Chun-Li. He's at least glad that Vega approves, and even extends further invitation to toy with the woman. She'll likely attempt to track down the viper next - he'll be certain to set a lovely trap for her, and have some more 'fun' at the Asian's expense. Wonder how her shoulder is healing? Hopefully she'll bring his mask back.
Green-eyed gaze following the dictator's movements, the Spaniard himself turns gently on the heels of his brown loafers, silently stalking after the red-clad man. He's like an obedient dog, but this is not a display of loyalty; Balrog does not appreciate looking on at something that may pertain to him from afar. The viper wouldn't want to miss anything important. "I thank you for the consideration." He says, pleased at the assurance that this will not be some boring affair.
From that point on, he merely listens, path of sight drawn to the creepy Dolls, but back once again at the prompting, "And so... shall I eliminate the competition, or gradually create more vacated positions?" He highly doubts that Vega would suggest Balrog try his hand at politics. Money and power are not his favourite combination. ... Who is this 'Failure', he thinks. If they succeeded in their task, it seems like a rather inappropriate name.
On the topic of Juri's nickname, the ninja will just have to wonder. Vega himself offers no clues, but it's easy enough to learn of the girl's deeds if he feels so inclined to look. The resident Lord does not need to explain anything.
"Indeed." How wonderful! The assassin is already willing, by the feel of it. Just as well, as Balrog's penchant for murder is one of the only reasons that he had brought him on board. His cruel nature, while some would consider separate, is closely intertwined with the first point. If you're going to murder somebody, after all, then you had better do a thorough job of it. Messy deaths send far clearer messages than neat ones...to a point. Juri's help in destroying part of a Chinese base had almost harmed the plan more than it helped.
"But not here." The man pulls his arms forward and walks down the long bank of displays. It's actually rather impressive, how many secure locations that he has a feed to. It just goes to show how many people he has planted in a number of governments already. "Here, in India." The monitor that he gestures to shows none other than one Rahul Gandhi, one of the men next in line to become the nation's prime minister. "This man has proven infuriatingly resistant to taking on new advisors. I would have him removed from the race entirely." The means by which he'd be removed are left unspoken. It's obvious, after all. The Master continues to speak, staring dead ahead at the live video of the man. With nothing to vote on at the moment, he's stuck in his office, avoiding phone calls from all manner of people demanding answers to this whole leaked cable business. Hindi versus Muslim, U.S. versus the world... "He's in a very volatile situation, politically. Whoever takes his place as the next prime minister will be too afraid to hand out any...troubling policies."
Oh. Turning to the ninja, he's backlit by the displays behind him. The low light in the room makes the whole front of his body overshadowed, and yet, his eyes are clearly visible, tinged with violet at the edges. "And make sure that this is a /private/ meeting." It won't do to have anyone discover that Shadaloo is getting into politics.
Of course Balrog is willing, because that's why he's here. Were it not for his bloodlust and love of brutal murder, would Shadaloo even recognise the Spaniard, let alone appoint him to such an esteemed position in the organization? Likely not.
Led on to the display of the man in office, it is easy to read between the lines. The ninja is a very astute man, "I require a map of the central building, locations of all cameras and patrol schedules, should this meeting be carried out with the utmost confidentiality." Unless Vega wants him to just drop in uninformed. Wouldn't be very private then now, would it? "He will be disposed of immediately."
With that said, the razor-sharp claw catches what light that manages to escape past the imposing figure of Shadaloo's leader, lethal blades gleaming. Balrog drags the rock-in-hand along the edge, cutting into the stone so deeply that he severs it in half. "Shall I return once this task is complete?" He wonders aloud, crumbling the split stone further now into dust, clapping his hands together as to not dirty them, "Or would you prefer that I monitor the situation in India further, to ensure that they do not select such a fool-hardy replacement?" The viper smiles, as that would probably delight him.
As intimidating as this mission may be, assassinating such a high profile target, Balrog conducts himself with the utmost confidence. His cold, somewhat charming smile radiates it.
Even as Balrog goes on about needing something or another (blah blah blah, do my work for me, it's not like I have all the resources here to do my job, boo hoo), one of the Dolls comes up next to her adored Master. She has in her dainty little hand a manilla sleeve, pinched at the end with one of those metal tabs. It's handed off to Vega, who in turn hands it to the ninja prattling off before him. Her job done, Noembelu skitters back to the coziness of the larger man's throne.
Holding the intel in one hand, he gently taps its edge against the other's open palm. Over. And over. "Perhaps you've forgotten what sort of organization that you work for." The words are nearly growled, low and rumbling as they pass over oft-cursed lips. While, true, he might have sent an assassin off with a general blasé attitude, never would he leave change up to important missions...and if he's having his top assassin kill somebody, one can be damned sure that he's going to have it done /right/. The envelope is handed over, held out until Balrog sees fit to take it from him. Inside are, indeed, maps and schedules, names and pictures of anyone that might be used...including agents installed in low-tier, unassuming positions that might be of use in some fashion. The possibilities are endless!
"That won't be necessary. Once you've finished your job, I expect you to leave the country immediately. I don't want any connections being made to my efforts in China." Truly, this IS a change. The Vega of old would have simply lashed out and let the world know who was responsible for the carnage. 'Dying' must have well and truly changed him.
He..hey, Balrog doesn't need anyone to do his job, thank you. He presents his request because the ninja is not a mind-reader; he does not know exactly what the Master wants down to the finer points of his diabolical plans, and if preparations still stand incomplete. Even an important mission has its unknowns. The matador only wants to be thorough - he despises failure, and thus strives to be the victor. It is in victory that Balrog is truly beautiful, after all.
"I have not completely forgotten. Forgive me, Lord Vega." The Spaniard says, collecting the weaponless arm around himself once again, he bows and casts his gaze to the floor. It's filthy in here. Perhaps the Dolls should be tasked with keeping the throne room clean-- The thought-train halts. He keeps his opinions of the dictator's appearance locked away in the most private recesses of his mind.
Pushing the braid of fresh-smelling hair back over one powerful shoulder, Balrog nods once, "Understood." The envelope, tapped repeatedly on his open palm, is then taken - he's still holding that mask, too. It's a bit of an annoyance to carry this much, so the viper places the expressionless vizard back over his stunning face. "I will be back soon." He pivots sharply, and unless Shadaloo's grand leader has anything else to add, Balrog vanishes into the shadows after one last lingering look at the Dolls.
He will indeed be the one to get this done properly... Wonder if the walls are sound-proof? He enjoys it when his victims scream...
That...would be wise, keeping any derision to himself. Just because Vega is temporarily placated, it doesn't mean that he won't lash out in sudden fits of rage. It happens quite often, after all, and is still the main reason why nobody with half a brain dares do anything to question him. The bowing and seeking of forgiveness, however, does wonders. It keeps the dictator calm and reasonably content.
"There is more." he adds, just as Balrog is halfway to the exit. The words are icy and sharp, carrying a touch of irritation. Already, the man can hear the taps of boots upon the metal floor, slow and careful, coming up behind him. Once more, Vega's hands are pulled behind him once again, but he bears a terrible, awful frown. The ire he feels helps feed his presence, making up for the drained and tired lack of an aura that he held earlier. "Unless, of course, I'm taking up too much of your /precious/ time." He stops just in front of the Spaniard, his eyes narrowed and lips twisted downward.
Or maybe his departure won't be so swift. Halting, it would appear that Vega is standing in front of him, and it draws the green eyes up to white orbs. Balrog's gaze is level and searching, but he will find no answers through these means, "My time is yours." The Spaniard says simply, still calm, even in the face of that terrible frown. His posture is relaxed, and everything about him suggests that there is nothing more important than this, the very present here before him.
Didn't he pledge his loyalty to Vega, after all?
Smiling faintly, it is lost due to the mask covering his face, but Vega knows. Just like how he so often answers the thoughts of the psychopath, the dictator can probably picture his subordinate's expression, "I am here to serve whatever purpose you have for me." Balrog concludes. His eyes close, then he nods his head and simply waits for the rest. Hopefully this won't be a lecture about failure not being tolerated - the Spanish ninja is fully aware of what such things entail.
This is all it takes to appease Vega: simply flattery. Knowing one's place. It appears that the ninja will be allowed to leave not only in one piece, but with a little higher standing in the dictator's eyes than when he left. That is not a common thing at all.
"This...tournament coming up. King of Fighters." Surely, he'd heard of it. Hell, he'd have gotten an invitation, to be sure. "I'm putting you on a team under the Failure's leadership." Why, doesn't that sound nice? Following a failure. Perhaps Vega's head has gone soft from his 'death' and resurrection. At any rate, with that said, Vega turns on his heel and extends a hand to the door. "In the meantime.../enjoy/ yourself." Oh, he's still frowning...but not quite so much as he was previously. The gesture to leave is obviously mocking his lieutenant; a jab against his daring to excuse himself.
Lies. Balrog had assumed his dismissal was forthcoming by the time he excused himself formally, and though he was wrong, even the weapons of flattery and knowing one's place do not assuage the dictator's temper. Vega is a very difficult man to please. Perhaps he wanted to kick the ninja out? But wouldn't the Master just get annoyed if he hung around waiting until then? The Spaniard is very prompt - he doesn't quite understand the logic, or the mocking manner in which he is dared to leave. In the end, Balrog just accepts this. He will be wiser next time.
"I will do my very best." Whether he's heard of it before or not, the Spanish ninja's lips still curl heavily downward into a frown, displeased with his enrollment in the tournament, but voicing no actual protest. Killing people in this will not be acceptable. It just sucks all the fun out of life, not to mention that a team guided by a 'failure' does not inspire confidence. He sighs, gaze following Vega's outstretched arm. "May I?" He's going to have to enjoy himself to the fullest now, for the tournament will likely provide him with none.
A dash of blood does not sate the thirst.
"By all means."
Turning again on his heel, Vega heads once more for his throne, and the Dolls that quickly jump out of it to give their Master his seat. Balrog is now well and truly free to leave, to do as he wishes. He should have a little faith in his employer, though! There are always.../always/ things to be done behind the scenes at any event...
Log created on 10:00:37 12/27/2010 by Vega, and last modified on 16:38:36 12/27/2010.