Noboru - A Shinobi's Tale: the house call

[Toggle Names]

Description: Rochelle, assassin for hire and muscle for the infamous Geese Howard, has caught the attention of the Miyama clan. A message must be sent. Lessons must be taught. In the language of assassins, one speaks with their fists.

In her small, private apartment that Rochelle is afforded as a Southtown Syndicate operative, preferring to live cloistered away from the sounds of the city instead of among the common people of an uncommon society, Rochelle sits at a small dinette station. The people of Southtown often offend her, the lights and sounds and glitter of the city calling to her origins as a dilettente American heiress, but her time in Indonesia teaching her that these people live off the blood of the poor. So does she, but she has selected a warrior's code that allows her to rationalize the sacrifice, instead of the soft pigs that are just like the people they feed off of. Merely an accident of birth they have no corrected by bearing arms. Still, from time to time, as in moments like this, it bothers her.

A Keurig machine trickles and buzzes in the background, brewing a cup of Yemeni coffee, the rare delicacy the only relief she has from her own guilt. The image of those groceries tossed among the snow bother her. She had given a warning to assuage herself of possible guilt, but the payment of her fee at the clinic only twists a knife into her worse than the kunai that was lodged in her stomach during the battle. She frowns as the Kuerig emits a ding, and she stands up slowly. Her movements are not the unconscious harlot's stroll she wears while in public, but rather a peaceful maiden's, her touch lightly lifting to pour the coffee into a small white cup from the machine's dispenser.

Rochelle removes the coffee cup from beneath the dispenser and places it on the smooth, white counter, moving to her humble refrigerator and drawing forth a small white and red container of whole cream. She sets it down atop the counter, before removing a packet of brown cane sugar from a small jar.

She is not dressed in her typical garb, instead wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of humble jeans, just tight enough to be comfortable, her feet in slippers. She looks down at the cup as she prepares it, slowly stirring after the dollop of cream and sugar have been added. There's a pensive, soft look on her face, as she contemplates her place in this world.

As Rochelle can likely attest, there are myriad ways of being an assassin. Snipers, footpads, hit men that draw and fire in public places. But none of these have the personal touch required by the old of heart. An assassination is about more than killing the target. it is a message. An art form. The death of the target may even be a secondary objective.
For one who has been in the bitter business as long as Noboru, matters of infiltration are second hand. If he were so inclined, he could scale the building. Such things are his specialty, and remaining unnoticed while clinging 30 stories above the ground is easier than most people think. But that approach does not convey the proper message. No. For this to sink home, he must walk through the front door. He must pass through the belly of the beast undetected.
So it is that the hulking shinobi finds himself dressed in an olive green smoking jacket worn open over a light grey shirt, collar neatly folded and tails tucked into a pair of relaxed khaki slacks. His casual loafers tap across the marble floor as he approaches the first checkout, worn leather satchel dangling from one thick forearm and walleted credentials ready.
The two guards stationed at the front desk eye the muscular man cautiously, accepting the open wallet and comparing the ID within to the man before them. Tall, broad across the shoulders, with longish black hair combed sharply back from a darkly tanned face. Eyes of jet, with heavy Epicanthic folds and broad Slavic cheekbones. Takeshi Covax, MD. Just as his papers claim. Expected on the 55th floor, providing a house call for the wife of some unimportant exec. Apparently she is 7 months pregnant, and her usual doctor was not able to come. But this man is well vetted.
Or so the papers say.
The call is made to the 55th floor, confirmed, and the oddly bulky doctor submits his bag for inspection.
Nothing. Everything seems to be in order.
Accepting his kit bag with a patient smile, 'Takeshi' meanders into the elevator and hits the button for the 55th floor.
Mere moments later, a gentle rap sounds on Rochelle's front door. Maybe the big man is lost?

Rochelle cups both hands around her coffee as she takes a slow slip, not closing her eyes as she would do if someone was watching, even if she was alone in an outside space, on the odd chance someone was watching. It's a gesture of comfort, and one she only makes to seem as if she's comforted. Merely a delicacy. Rochelle knows no comfort, not anymore. These things, she has purged, to become a narrow blade against the night. As the knock comes, there's a faint incline of her head towards the door, unsure for a moment. She typically does not get any visitors, she has a cellphone for that. If there is a visitor, it means she has done something incredibly foolish, and it has yet to happen. Her hands shaking faintly, she puts the cup down, before her hands still with a breathing exercise. Her eyes close, now, not in comfort, but in focus. Cool, avian focus.

Rochelle moves to the door, her gentle handmaiden's movement's becoming a soft seductive form, without even realizing it. She is aware of how crime syndicates work, and knows what this may involve. Mercy is all she can hope, unless it is nothing, in which case, she has humiliated herself, and will require a hard battle to resume her confidence. Perhaps the Neo-League. She unlocks the door, secure in her safety at the spire in the middle of Southtown's corruption, and opens the door. She sees the big man, making eye contact, and blinking softly. Her pink lips open slightly, confused.

COMBATSYS: Rochelle has started a fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Rochelle         0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Noboru has joined the fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Noboru           0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0         Rochelle

Smooth. That is the essence of survival. To be smooth and controlled. To understand the natural rhythm of the world, and sink into it. Humans are empathic creatures. Predatory shifts in posture or fast movements tend to trigger ancient instincts, and that is not what is needed now.
Standing before the opening door, two guards watching curiously from a point not 50 feet further down the hall, Takeshi meets Rochelle's confused blue gaze with gentle calm. His stance is relaxed, with just a touch of formality. Business as usual. Professional poise. But not the looseness of a fighter.
"Sorry to bother you, madam." The big man begins, his voice a soothing rumble. The words are all round edges and deferential politeness, matching perfectly the smooth forward step he takes to bring his right hand out of sight. Thick, heavily callused fingers rise in an attempt to grip Rochelle by the throat and sharply end any protest she might have, tanned digits clamping vice-like about her slender white neck. It is a smooth maneuver, casual even. And just as casual is the strength in his arm as he attempts to lift the red-headed woman clear of the ground and stroll right into her apartment, doctor's bag clutched under his left elbow and foot nudging the door gently closed behind him.
If all goes to plan, the guards down the hall wont' have noticed a thing. Not a flicker of subconscious aggression. Nothing to draw the eye. Even the cameras will have seen nothing more than a large man knocking politely on a door and being let inside.
Though, it would be unwise at this stage for the assassin to underestimate the skill of his opponent. This is a fragile plan, so easily dashed. If she can slip his grip, or draw attention to herself, she may bring every guard in the tower crashing down upon her mild-mannered attacker. Then again, if she can not, she will find herself dangling from the hold on her throat, her feet held effortlessly a foot off of the ground.

COMBATSYS: Noboru successfully hits Rochelle with Medium Throw.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////////////     ]
Noboru           0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0         Rochelle

Rochelle's eyes focus on Noboru's mouth, the soothing rumble causing her to momentarily drop her guard, long enough to feel her neck compressed by his large hand. There's a 'gwkt' sound as her chin tilts up and she struggles to breath, throat convulsing closed as her hands come up to grab the wrist and claw into it with her well-trimmed nails. She's lifted off her feet, and kicks at Noboru as she's led back into her apartment, horror coming over her at the scenario of being assaulted in the sanctity of her dwelling. All her safety dashed aside, she is immediately helpless and frightened, not even noticing that the door is closed and the guards aren't making nary a sound.

There's a low hiss as she clenches her teeth and pulls down on the wrist to squirm higher on the hand, her pale ivory face turning a shade of pink as she clenches her eyes shut, baring those pearly whites. She suddenly thrashes about, kicking above Noboru's knee with a fast shot to jam his leg back for an opening, before she thrusts her fingers forward as they glow with red chi, aiming just beneath Noboru's nose at a pressure point. Not a Silat pressure point, but one commonly exploited in Krav Maga. It's a shock shot, to get the beastly 'doctor' to loosen his rigid arm-stance long enough for her to twist away.

COMBATSYS: Rochelle successfully hits Noboru with Finger Dagger Harmony.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////////      ]
Noboru           0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0         Rochelle

"Hrrrrm." rumbles the doctor as he takes in the room past Rochelle's struggling form, the sound deep and placid, more thoughtful than ferocious. At a glance he absorbs the layout. The personality. The sanctity of the place that his very presence is defiling. There is no flicker of expression on his dark face, no loosening of his grip.
At least, not until he is jabbed beneath the nose.
The opening kick thuds into his thigh to little effect. Beneath the casual attire, the Miyama ninja's body is unnaturally solid. The density of his muscles and bones must be off the chart. But, fortunately for the strangling girl, that doesn't help him deal with the shot to the face.
An annoyed snort blasts from Noboru's nostrils as he jerks his head back, reflexively withdrawing from the sharp pain of fingers driven in above his lip. As predicted, the surprise attack causes his fingers to loosen. What may be less expected is his hand shooting open, palm rising up as her body falls in an attempt to grip her roughly by the face. Fingers like steel bands attempt to dig into her jaw and temples, forcing her mouth shut and blacking out her vision as he tries to drag her sharply forward and around with a whiplash jerk of her skull, to face her away.
Then, if he can position her thus with her feet on the ground, back to him and right hand clutching her face, he will drive his left hand down in two vicious half-fisted blows. Knuckles extended, he attempts to spike them hard into Rochelle's spine just above the curve of her rump, then again directly between her shoulder blades. Only then will he voluntarily relinquish his grip, offering a last driving kick from one loafered foot toward her backside.
Mildly his right hand lifts to run thick fingertips beneath his nose, feeling the wrinkled imperfections of the layers of prosthetic and makeup her strike has disturbed. Something about his face is suddenly looking, off. Unbalanced.

COMBATSYS: Rochelle eludes Noboru's Spinal Tap.

[    \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Noboru           0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0         Rochelle

There's a whooping sound as Rochelle sucks air down her throat, her jaw unclenching and opening wide as she sucks it in, taking advantage of the momentary respite from the choke as she loosens those fingers. The air is forces down her throat as if passing through a narrow straw made of flesh, the breath ragged and wet. Her problems continue as the hand grasps her face, hands wrapping around Noboru's backhand as he grips her face. There's a muffled scream as she's manipulated about, and the jerk of her skull causes her red hair to fly about, a retch coming from her beneath the hand as she's spun around. She kicks backwards, holding the wrist with her right hand, left arm butterflying out with a floating whip.

And before Noboru can inflict the pain to her spine, the backwards motion becomes forward motion as she kicks forward with her entire body, using her grip on the wrist as a fulcrum. Both slippered feet slam into the white drywall above a demure black faux-leather sofa, and she springs backwards, directly into Noboru. She curls her upper body towards her feet, turning herself into a living missile as she attempts to use the baseplant to slam right back into Noboru and force him off his feet, so she can roll over him with her legs upright above her and land behind him, in a crouch.

COMBATSYS: Noboru interrupts Medium Throw from Rochelle with Blunt Force Trauma.

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////          ]
Noboru           0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0         Rochelle

"Hmph." Noboru grunts as his left hand snaps out for the initial spinal strike, knuckles meeting only air. Already Rochelle has flung her feet forward to avoid it, coiling her lithe form against the wall in preparation to spring backward and bowl him over. Beneath her, the hulking shinobi's blow reaches full extension, air puffing out around his knuckles from the force.
Twisting his right wrist free of her steadying grip, he flashes his fingers open and jerks it across his body, catching her shoulders on his forearm just before she can uncoil. The net result is that she hangs there in the air, supported by her slippered feet pressed against the wall and the arm of the brutally strong ninja angled across her shoulders.
%Stepping forward and about, Noboru bounces the acrobatic woman up off of his forearm and twists, left fist coming up, up, then blasting downward with all the weight of his shoulders behind it as he lands a ferocious hammer blow squarely to Rochelle's tensed abs. it is as if he were trying to dribble her body up off of the floor like a basketball.
However, the blow landed is not only a strike to the surface. The force behind the falling fist ripples through skin and muscles, cushioning fat and supportive tissue. The pressure compresses down to a singular point that impacts dramatically with the pretty woman's liver, bruising the organ even before she has finished her descent from the wall.
Relaxing backward out of his sudden surge of motion, Noboru circles deeper into the living room with slow, heavy steps. He does not guard the door. Nor does he seem intent on blocking any avenues of escape. Instead he looms over her furniture, polluting the room with his bulk.
"I am Noboru Miyama." The shinobi rumbles, his tone as bland and polite as ever. "Your recent actions have greatly displeased my clan."

The blow to the liver produces a screeching scream from Rochelle as she's driven to the ground, rolling onto her side and spitting up phlegm and blood in an equal mixture, the coagulating mass dripping out of the side of her mouth as she breathes hard. At the foot of the couch, she looks up at Noboru's imposing physique, her hair hanging down around her head as she attempts to regroup, both her situation and her senses.

"What are you, a lawyer?" she growls, her mouth twisting about into a displeased scowl, lower lip curling and jutting forward. Her eyes slide across the room conspiratorily towards a case on her sleek black coffee table, about two feet in length. The case is a matte black wooden box, with no latch.

Rochelle rolls again, this time with purpose and martial precision, towards the coffee table, pulling to her feet and opening it. She pulls a titanium rod out, and flicks her thumb over a switch on the center. It telescopes out on both sides into a bo, and she places it between both hands, aware of the limited room to manuever in this small space. He has the advantage as long as she attempts to move for eloquence, so she will have to select expediency. She places her left side forward with a step, then pivots her right shoulder forward with a thrust of the bo, aiming directly at Noboru's teeth with a slamming plunge of her bo. It is not a swipe, but a stab.

COMBATSYS: Noboru barely endures Rochelle's Island Serpent.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////            ]
Noboru           1/-------/=======|=======\=------\1         Rochelle

No attempt is made to intercept Rochelle, nor to attack her as she is momentarily occupied with retrieving her staff. In fact, the hulking shinobi seems to be waiting for just such a reaction, head cocked slightly as he listens for any alarm her cry of pain might have caused outside the tidy apartment.
"Your spirit is strong." he replies idly, leaning his head forward just in time to accept the full brunt of her jab to his forehead, rather than his teeth. Bone meets titanium with a solid 'thonk,' and the blow is shunted off along his brow line, tearing away a long strip of false brown skin and revealing the fairer complexion beneath. "But your body is weak."
The strip of synth skin dangles across the brute's left eye as he steps forward past the end of the staff, right hand blazing up from his hip in a singular strike. it is a simple blow. Knuckle jutting in a half fist and shoulder thrown behind it for extra power, it doesn't seem like anything overly dangerous. That is, if one has not experience the brutal power even a casual blow from the shinobi holds. That, and the timing of the technique. Unless Rochelle can deflect it, his knuckles will impact the center of her sternum in the precise gap between beats of her hart, sending out an electrical shock through her body as its natural rhythms are disturbed.

COMBATSYS: Noboru successfully hits Rochelle with Precordial Thump.

[          \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Noboru           1/------=/=======|=======\======-\1         Rochelle

Rochelle backpedals with a slide of her foot as Noboru closes between the tip of her bo and her hands, getting into her personal space yet again. The fist slams directly into her chest, a catch in her breath signalling the efficacy of the blow as she crumples backwards, spinning about and falling to the side onto her hands and knees. Shoulders sulking as she feels her heart quiver and thump as if she's dying, knowing she just narrowly avoided a cardiac notch manuever be sheer luck alone (or perhaps her lack of a brassiere), she lets her head hang momentarily, sucking in air as she uses Silat meditative breathing to reorient.

Her fingers slowly lock around her bo staff, before she whips about in a kneeling blow to Noboru's ankle from the side, attempting to catch him well behind the tip of the staff with a hard slam to gimp his leg. And then, a swing up with the other end of the staff as she rises with the motion, aiming at his shoulder via the side of the armpit, behind the bicep with the faint bend of the staff from the movement's speed. The staff blurs about as she finishes with a swing from the initial point of assault as she swings the staff upwards, attempting to catch him beneath the jaw.

Rochelle takes a step backwards, shakily as she drools blood due to the liver shot, but with her bo held along her front, her body to the side, ready to manuever out of harm's way for Noboru's eventual counterstrike.

COMBATSYS: Noboru blocks Rochelle's Fibonacci Sequence.

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////                   ]
Noboru           1/------=/=======|===----\-------\0         Rochelle

"Through misfortune, or misguided intent, your path has once too often crossed that of a young shinobi. One who fights with chain and blade."
The words drift down to Rochelle from high above, her hulking attacker having paused in his advance to allow her a moment of breath. With methodic motions of his hands he smoothes the front of his shirt and adjusts his jacket, the strip of false flesh continuing to dangle grotesquely across his heavily disguised face. Nothing about his mannerisms suggests a fight to the death. In fact, his lips are pressed into an impassive line, slightly off center features cool and collected. Old school. The type of murderous calm that tends to cling to the highest ranks of the Yakuza, but with less pomp.
Shifting his black eyes down, he notes the gathering of energies in her body. The tensing of muscles under her loose shirt.
"HRRRUGH!" The big man grunts, hands flashing together with such speed and power that a gust of wind is thrown free from between them, swirling through the apartment as the air vibrates with the meaty 'thmp of his fists meeting before his middle.' At that moment, every muscle in the ninja's body flexes, and a tremor seems to roll down through his skeletal system and impact the floor. The apartment shakes gently, and Rochelle's opening staff blow bounces off of his leg as if she had struck metal.
The iron body technique. A thing of monks, and deep meditation. A skill that requires near perfect control of the body's muscle groupings.
Joints crackle loudly as the wave of force shudders out through Noboru's feet, his body losing the unnatural solidity between the impact of his opponent's first blow and the whistling approach of the second. Tilting his arm, he accepts the strike on his bicep with a solid impact of metal on dense muscle. Then, with all the casual timing of his particular art, he flashes his right fist forward and punches the rising staff away before it can come anywhere near his chin.
Taking a single step in pursuit of Rochelle, the hulking Miyama flashes a rising left jab at her right cheek, followed by a quick but brutal hook toward her left temple. if he can stun her, driving her back with the blows, he will suddenly lash out with both hands.
The right will attempt to lock around her throat while his left forearm comes down hard on her staff, attempting to smash it out of her hands and bounce it off the floor between her feet. Only then will his free left hand dart down to grip her harshly by the groin. Then, with all the ceremony of a man breaking down a cardboard box, he will swing her entire body up over his head by throat and crotch, and bring her crashing down in a brutal back breaker over the upraised spike of his right knee. It is a swift move. Tactless, brutish, and powerful. And at the end, if it lands, he will toss her carelessly away toward the coffee table in the center of the room.

COMBATSYS: Rochelle blocks Noboru's Chiropractic Therapy.

[            \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////                       ]
Noboru           0/-------/-------|=======\-------\1         Rochelle

Rochelle's eyes open wide as the third bo strike is knocked to the side, leaving her guard open. The jab slams into her cheek and knocks her aside with a soft grunt, before the hook slams an 'eyaaaah' out of her as she spins right. Dazed and bloody, she backs into a wall, her bo staff shaking from the intrepid, rigid force she grips it with, appearing timid but actually shaking with bound energy and rage. Her eyes drift to Noboru as he charges in with both hands, burning with anger but wet from the pain she's in, and she leaps upwards, the hands not finding her head but instead her breasts. She shoves her left hand onto Noboru's reaching right arm and mounts over Noboru as his fingers slide off her bosom while she dances over him like a porpoise.

She spins around behind him as she comes down and attempts to lock her bo across his neck with both hands, jamming the tall, large ninja backwards with a choke that utilizes her bo and both hands. That liver shot is making her woozy, but she's growling like a rabid dog, ragged breathes causing the pitch of the low, angry sounds to move up and down in pitch.

COMBATSYS: Rochelle can no longer fight.

[            \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Noboru           0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Noboru blocks Rochelle's Pouncing Spider.

[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Noboru           0/-------/-------|

Having backed Rochelle into a corner, Noboru's steel-hard right hand is thrust forward , seeking her throat, and gets..boob. To his credit, he does not latch on. As effective as swinging her around by her mammeries might be, it isn't one of his time tested techniques. He can feel her own hands drop to his wrist, and her body slipping past over his head, scraping through his shaggy black hair.
Almost absently he lifts his left hand, having caught nothing but air, and catches the staff as his spry opponent drops down behind him. All of her weight, plus the leverage of her knees in his back, strains against his single hand as he holds her staff at mouth height, refusing to allow it to go higher or lower. His right hand drops to his side, casual, and for just a moment they are at an impasse.
Knowing that the shot to her gut must be weakening her, and that she is at the end of her stamina, the shinobi twists his left hand, forcing the staff, and the girl hanging onto it, to roll from horizontal to vertical. Then, with a vicious backhanded motion, he drives the weapon around like a lead pipe and bats it into her middle, letting go so that both she and it are sent tumbling off across the living room.
"I know for whom you work. I know of your connections. But know this, butterfly." Noboru rumbles, casting a single black-eyed look after the woman before his pacing steps take him around her kitchen counter and onto the tile. Almost delicately he scoops up her coffee cup, leaning against the kitchen cabinet as he sniffs once at the mixture within. "There is no place safe from my judgement. I will know your intent. If you run, I will catch you. if you hide, I will find you. So it is, so it will be." With that said, the hulking figure lifts the coffee cup and takes a long draft of its still steaming contents, the bit of torn synthetic flesh finally falling free from his forehead to slap against the floor.

Rochelle grunt-groans with a sudden expulsion of bloody vomit as her weapon is jammed into her stomach, and she falls to the ground. She lays on her back, her hands up and her wrists limp at her sides, fingers curling in pain in various meaningless gesticulations. Her head lolls to the side to watch Noboru, eyes burning with hate and fear and pain, her breathing slow and labored. She spits, a symbolic gesture given the distance between them, before she drowses into unconsciousness, head falling sidelong and her body going limp. Her arms fall and her raised knee goes to the side, body twisting into a still position.

Staring down at the unconscious girl, Noboru takes another couple of peaceful moments to finish drinking the coffee. With idle care he washes the glass, dries it, and pokes about in the cabinets until he figures out where it belongs. That done, he puts away the cream in the fridge and insures the coffee maker is tidied up and turned off.
Only then does the brute pace over to the phone and dial the front desk. Calmly, collectedly, he asks the operator to call an ambulance. While guards begin to mobilize throughout the tower, he picks up the sofa and hurls it through the window with casual strength. Out and down it soars, tumbling end over end amidst glittering shards of glass.
Noboru is out the window and gone in seconds.

Log created on 22:23:05 01/02/2017 by Noboru, and last modified on 19:37:23 01/03/2017.