Description: Odd how someone like Whip comes off as one of the more sane women that Faolan has in his life. Oh yeah, killing Shadaloo soldiers and saving Iraq. Something like that might be important.
-North Derkistan, Iraq-
That fiery globe so beloathed of ill-adjusted foreign tourists is nestling low against the outlying dunes, roasting the desert town with the searing heat that falls just before sunset. Locals move with a carefully practiced ease at this time of day, ensuring their dimming energies do not run low, keeping themselves cool within the creased cloth of their habitual robes. Between the squat, dusty buildings moves the steady line of human and camel-based traffic, as vendors begin to pack away their wares and hungry urchins move in for scraps.
It should make things a lot harder for those with pressing business in mind; nobody's allowing for the rush of urgency, the streets and alleys just packed enough to render passage difficult to the common speedster. Fortunately, some people are anything but 'common', and this accounts for the figure slipping with practiced ease across the rooftops - sheltering beside awnings and lingering in casual posture for long, warm seconds before moving on with fluid grace masking unusual speed. It would take a wary eye to notice...
<Baby Eagle, do you read? Status, Baby Eagle.>
Or a wary hacker to pick up the signals coming in beneath the concealing folds of her burka.
The former assassin - known only as 'Whip' to everyone who isn't Heidern and doesn't want a punch in the mouth - twitches as the voice cuts in over the silence of her own composure, mouth curling to a pouty scowl as they use her ridiculous callsign /again/. At least she's gotten her own back, she thinks, throwing off the irritation with a roll of her eyes, waiting until she's safe to drop down into the neighbouring alleyway and take shelter under the roof of a building gutted by shellfire. Only then does she softly respond.
"In position, command. Moving in on the target in T minus twelve seconds. Over."
Biting down on her lip, she lowers her hand from the concealed earpiece and shifts over toward the far window, the dirty gray of her disguise keeping her secluded in the equally filthy sunstruck shadow of the building. It doesn't have to hold her long anyway, just enough that she can get in range of the next doorway... and then she's sliding like silk through the space between entranceways, moving with equal fluidity up the stairwell beyond and into a tiny, dank cell. A radio operator sits with head flung back, seemingly dozing in their chair as the beat-up, rather primitive device before them crackles with interference from a poorly-tuned signal.
But it's enough to tell her she's got the right place; within the static is a Shadaloo encryption. She's been studying it for days now, listening to it over and over until such time as the code could be cracked and intercepted at the point of origin. Which is here. So why is there just one man in a tiny chamber? It doesn't add up-- but the mission is the mission, and she needs to take control.
Whip darts silently across the floor, readying her hands to neutralize the threat.
But when she moves to snap his neck in one, smooth motion... it just lolls about bonelessly.
"...Command, I thought I was the only one in the area?"
The Ikari have been keeping busy and sometimes orders just get jumbled up. That explains why someone like Whip has ended up getting assigned the same mission that was already given out once. This is probably why the past few days Clark has taken over as the one in charge of passing out all the orders. Looks like Ralf let one night of fun kinda muck up his job. If he wasn't so damn good at what he does he certainly would be demoted. It has overall made the Ikari less effective. Of course if someone else was assigned to take on the mission just who was picked to go ahead of Whip?
The light snoring in one of the darker corners of the room would soon reveal that. There are some discarded clothes he was wearing for infiltration off to the side and resting on the ground with hands clasped behind his head is Faolan. His cap is pulled over to cover his face and his bata is resting across his chest. When did he get there? The better question is how long has he been around? Possibly not long given no one has noticed that the man handling communications has been killed. At the same time long enough to get himself nice and comfy. What kinda weirdo sleeps in a place like this anyways.
He at least seems to be a bit of a light sleeper. When Whip speaks the snoring stops and a hand shifts to grip the bata. "Friend or foe?" He didn't fully recognize who was speaking, but he did hear something. The fact it could be a foe with a gun he seems rather nonchalant about things.
<Uh. Um. Just a second, Baby Eagle.>
When the frantic rustling of papers replaces any coherent attempt at communication, Whip just sighs, glancing across the room with lips pursed and foot lifting gently in preparation to tap impatiently against the floor when... her brain finally registers the deceptively gentle trembling of breath that inevitably leads to a particular strapping Irish man's disruptive snoring. She's one of those women who believes she doesn't snore in the least, and considers anyone who does worthy of mockery and teasing about the fact. This is completely overlooking that she's been known to shake the walls if she doesn't roll onto her side before sleeping.
The point is, she can be a judgemental little bitch, and she recognizes that sound immediately.
Which is why she's grinning under her burka.
Hand gripping bata does nothing to bother her, personally; even if she didn't quickly make the connection between familiar snore and the use of a bleedin' stick as a weapon, there's no other group nearby who could have infiltrated this place and killed the Chinese operative using an Ikari-approved technique; and who employ Irishmen among their ranks. Really, who was it likely to be? One of Bernstein's psychopaths? Not that this means for one instant she's going to let Faolan know who she is, so she puts up her hands and dons her best (terrible) imitation at a local accent, thankful that she doesn't have to try to hide her smile.
"I am friend, effendi! Come to deliver supplies for brave army men! You want American beer, yes?"
That horrible accent and the offer of American beer. There is really only one person this could really be when Faolan listens. That and the fact it is a female voice and he can only think of two women in the Ikari that would actually be sent on a mission like this. The third that he can think of is too damn accident prone to be sent on something like this. She would probably blow up the whole building by tripping over several grenades or the like. "Mm? What the heck are you doing here?" he asks and he pushes the cap up on his head as he sits upwards. Did they think he needed backup or something?
"Ralf didn't think I could handle this on my own or something?" he asks with a small yawn and he clambers to his feet and rolls his shoulders a few times to get the kinks out as he looks over towards Whip. "Or is something else going down? I was kinda hoping some of his friends would come by so I could have some fun to be honest." Leave it to someone like him to try and make fun and games out of a serious task such as helping liberate Iraq from the rule of Shadaloo. He also leans forward some and peers at the young woman while lightly poking her forehead. "Aren't you hot in that? I had to drop my disguise earlier. I was burning up."
"Well, you're no fun today at all," Whip grumbles good-naturedly, shifting her raised arms behind her and stretching out with a satisfied murmur, completely relaxing once the ruse is up. The presence of her fellow mercenary precludes any chance of additional enemies being in the immediate area; at least inside the building itself, and she's scouted the exterior herself. Mission complete, there's no point standing on ceremony. Though she was sixteen when she learned that the Ikari generally don't, not when ceremony's no more than bloated pomp.
"So it was Jones, huh? Figured someone got the orders mixed up. All I knew was we had a sleeper cell out here picking up transmissions from a larger force; plan was to slip in, take out Peking Duck over here, and monitor the signal until we got something solid. All we've picked up remotely is the same thing on loop." Rolling her shoulder in a shrug, she steps over to the radio and glances it over, reaching a hand out to tap a couple of dials. "Shadaloo sure likes to do things the creepy way, when they're not busy with wholesale murder."
Glancing back toward Faolan, she breathes a second sigh, then reaches up to the edge of her burka, dirt-smeared fingers pulling the heavy cloth away, coupled with a shake of her head that sends mussed and sweaty hair flapping away from her face. Her nose wrinkles as she catches a whiff of her own body odour, a full day of activity having cooked her to a distinctive musk that she never quite adjusts to. "And yes, I'm absolutely bloody roasting," she admits with a playful smirk, tossing the headpiece aside and reaching to adjust her hair as best she can - not getting far and settling for just ruffling it more, giving a careless huff.
"Was kidding about the beer, by the way. You got anything lying around? Feel like a camel with no hump."
Ain't the best smelling person himself at the moment even out of the stuffy disguise. The fact he has been constantly on the move through places that don't give much of a chance for one to clean themselves the best he has had in the past week was a dip in a river that probably killed some wildlife in the process. "Yeah, I already listened a bit to what was going on and it isn't exactly helpful. Vega may be insane, but he is actually pretty clever at times." he admits and gives a small grump.
He then raises a brow when asked if he had anyhing on him. "I got a canteen and I got hooch. If yer thristy I don't suggest the latter." he replies and gives a bit of a grin. He does reach about and pull a canteen with water in it loose and holds it out to her. "So did you get any other orders? I am guessing I am supposed to lay low until later when we launch the assault." he thumbs over his shoulder. "Me and the boys are stationed out a few miles that way. You come alone or with someone else? You all are welcome to hang there until we get the party started."
A pretty big party at that. While the Ikari have been spread pretty thin through the entire war this is a time where they are going to make their presence fully known from what he understands. Heidern is looking to kinda put a big stamp on Iraq and clear out the enemy and show Vega the Ikari are ready to put some hurt on him if he still manages to hold any territory soon. From what he understands things aren't going too well for ole Chinzilla afterall.
"If they weren't clever, we wouldn't exist..."
That comes out a little quieter, more subdued than anything else Whip has said so far; probably because halfway from brain to mouth it registers that there's more than one meaning in her case. But it's not something she tends to linger on, and it isn't now, the smile back on her lips before it's fully faltered, the chipper assassin snatching the proferred canteen in one hand while flipping a casual salute with the other. The container is tossed from one hand to the other before she tips it back, taking a neat gulp.
She lowers it slowly, nodding her head as she meets her fellow Ikari's gaze, considering his summation. A spark in her eye gives him an answer before she offers one verbally, reaching up to her ear to flick the comms device from one channel to another. She clears her throat before speaking into it, a friendly half-grin at her lips.
"Grumpy Badger, this is," she wrinkles her nose, pausing to take another quick sip of water, "Baby Eagle. I've rendezvoused with a familiar face, and we've assumed control of the operational area. We've got hooch!" She waits for the response before uttering a short, soft laugh, shaking her head as she passes the canteen back toward Faolan. "That should answer your question. I was sent in first to clear the way - no matter how many more pips I gain, I'm always going to be the sacrifical lamb around here. Can't keep up with you lot." Not that there's any hard feelings; she may be damn good, but she's never been so dedicated to the cause, always off chasing her past or arguing with one belligerent leather-clad brother or another.
"So, laying low it is. How long have you been here? Duckie here hasn't been dead long, by my guess..."
Reaches to take the canteen back as he lets Whip talk to whoever is on the other end of the comm. He takes a drink as well before capping it once more and he puts it back in its place at his side. "We arrived early in the morning and started setting up." he replies and lightly prods at the dead soldier with his bata. "I think I kinda started my nap about an hour ago at best. I figured someone would have found out something was wrong by now." he admits and shrugs. "I guess I did a bit too well. I got rid of the few lingering around keeping watch outside too. Found some nice places to hide them. Maybe I should have left them out."
He moves to take a look outside as he lightly clucks his tongue a few times. "We took a few hits getting down here. Two dead and we got four injured that we managed to get transport back to base. I got about a dozen still ready to roll." No, he hasn't had too large of a force for awhile. Then again when you are an Ikari you don't need large forces. Faolan himself can often be considered an army to some nations even if he is one man. He doesn't bother grabbing his disguise again and he looks like he is ready to exit and into the hot hot sun. He can deal with a bit of sunburn over the stuffiness of that shit. "So anyone else going to be joining us that you know of?"
Whip doesn't react when the soldier's head lolls again, blank-staring eyes rolling to stare into her own. She glances dispassionately into them and then aims a one-shouldered shrug to Faolan, idly scratching at the back of her neck and glancing again toward the quietly warbling radio. "I think their attention's elsewhere," she replies, eyes narrowing and lips pursing as she considers that a moment, "They're playing it too safe, and I don't like it. This is the calm before a storm. I'd bet my life on that."
"As to when," she exhales softly, continues speaking as she decides to busy herself removing the rest of her outer gear. It's cooler inside, but she's still sweltering in both thick desert cloth and her favoured fatigues. "And as to where, I really don't know. Could be here, could be fifty miles south, if it comes at all. We'll obviously need more than your dozen if the worst hits us. Which is lucky, because..."
She finishes shrugging off her disguise, and lets it hit the ground in a musty heap. A few adjustments of her outfit's hemline and she feels a lot more human, the horror story of her hair aside. She's also, somehow, so very much more herself; probably because Voodoo's now visible riding at her hip. They're an inseparate item.
"We're not going to be alone for long," She ekes out a cheeky half-grin, moving to take a seat on the floor, legs crossing beneath her as she settles, "You can't guess who Grumpy Badger is? Took me ages to come up with that. About time I wasn't the only one around here with a stupid codename!"
There is a smirk as Faolan continues to peer outside then looks back over. "I am assuming it is the boss because he is the only one that seems to be constantly grumpy." Of course it might be because Faolan does end up doing quite a few things that would make Heidern rather grumpy. Enough he has been close to being yanked from being on active duty a few times. Then again given his track record when he is actually serious it actually makes it a hard decision for old One Eye. "At least you refrained from Honey Badger." he says with a chuckle.
He tchs and moves back to step fully inside again and he moves over to the radio to listen to it momentarily. "Wish I brought some equipment. Should rigged this thing to blare music at the Vega and the boys to see what happens. Maybe it will light a fire under them."
He drops back down on the floor and lets his bata drop across his lap. If anything he might be the one Ikari to understand how comfortable a certain weapon can make a person feel. Much like Whip with Voodoo he is never is seen without his bata. Now does he have a name for it? If he does he has never let anyone know. "I say let us wait until it gets a bit dark and then we can move a bit more freely. No reason to start the battle early, aye?"
The guess garners a genuinely bright, if sensibly muted laugh from Whip. Her amusement is cut off with a shake of the head, however. "Close, but no cigar and no 'American beer'," she slips back into the accent for that part, resting her arms in her lap and leaning forward with a stifled yawn. "Though I'll let Leona know, see how she feels about being the boss a few years shy of her old man's retirement. Maybe we can break the news at his next birthday bash. He'll probably be relieved if it means getting away from Ralf's organizational charts."
Speaking of which, her comm crackles to life...
<Baby Eagle, it seems we made a mistake-->
"Way ahead of you, command. Next time check for any orders written in crayon. They're easily missed! Over." Shutting off the comm, she slips out her earpiece and slides it into a breast pocket, before rocking her head back against the cool interior wall of her building. Her eyes briefly slip shut. "Dark," she echoes Faolan, bobbing her head gently to avoid scraping her tired skull back and forth along the ragged stone, "Dark would be good. I think that's the part I miss most about working for the bad guys. Never had to worry about sunstroke, and saved a small fortune on tanning lotion." Her crooked smile slips as she opens her eyes, immediately more serious as she shifts back to a more professional mien, "How are we equipped? I passed an old garage on the way into town that could work as a temporary base of operations. Small junkyard out back, plenty of things we can twist to our own purposes as well. I know IED's aren't really our style but..."
"Well," a glance goes to the window, a frown cutting into her brow, "Better them than these people."
There is a bit a smirk at the mention of Whip's past. He has only heard bits and pieces. Really he never cares enough to look too much into it. Everyone has parts of the past they don't want to talk about. Some are just worse than others. From his understanding Leona has some bad demons that haunt her quite a bit from what he has been told. He has heard about the times she has lost her cool and he is glad to have yet to see that happen. "I prefer the dark because I got two colors. Pale and red." he says with a chuckle.
He folds his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. "A junkyard? Might be worth checking to see what we can come up with. We are fine on ammo and such. If we can perhaps improvise a few toys to surprise Shadaloo then that would be fine by me." There are some innovative people in the Ikari. He might not be one of them, but after being with this group of mercs for so long he is pretty sure McGyver was based off an Ikari that saved a television show producer. "Well meet up with the boys in a few hours then move under the cover of night. For now may as well catch some more winks. I doubt we are gonna have to worry about anything."
Everybody comes from somewhere. It's been kept relatively quiet that Whip actually came to the Ikari without leaving that certain somewhere; feeding information to NESTS for her first few weeks, before deciding she'd found better friends among the mercenaries than she'd ever find in the clinical yet sinister heart of a neo-fascist cloning facility run by delusional scientists, masterminded by a 'god'...
But no, it doesn't matter. What matters is the now, as she echoes Faolan's chuckle with one of her own, lips pulling to a cheery grin that only settles to a smile as they turn back to business. Laughing comes as naturally to her as killing, which would be troubling amongst any other company. But they all understand. The latter is never personal, and the former just makes them human in spite of it all. It makes them 'good'.
If there is any such thing.
"Sounds good to me," she responds to the final decision by her rank superior, lifting a hand to her grubby brow to offer up a salute - it's a bit sloppy, because it's not really necessary, but the sentiment is there. "I'm a light sleeper anyway, so long as I drop off with the right thoughts in my head." To which end, she slips a hand inside her khakis, drawing out the hefty bulk of her favourite Desert Eagle. It's nestled in her lap with familiar ease, the barrel pointing out toward the head of the stairwell. A sly little smile is shot to Faolan as she adds, "Just try not to stagger around if you get up for a chat with Mother Nature. We'll get on fine."
Her eyes are peacefully closed a moment later. But...
She doesn't roll on to her side. Let the snoring commence.
Log created on 13:10:21 03/06/2012 by Faolan, and last modified on 15:37:59 03/06/2012.