Separate names with a comma.
Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Volatile, Jan 13, 2010.
"Rinse her off, I'll get the towel."
You'll be fine, just go for it.
Anya moans louder as she arch her back slightly.
Revy needs a friend as well
"I'm not telling you. Figure it out yourself."
I technically do cartomancy not just Tarot, I can read with literally any kind of cards you give me. But I got my tarot deck from Hastings before they closed.
"The world is a machine."
Raiko picked up another bottle, his single eye watching the light catch on the cloudy glass. Then he tossed it into the middle of the dojo floor, causing it to shatter.
"Everything needs to be in the right place."
He picked up the next bottle, using it to check his reflection, brushing back a swathe of his raven hair. Then he threw it likewise, adding further fragments to the mess.
"Every gear and axle and piston."
He picked up two bottles, spinning them like revolvers and blowing on the neck of each. Then he flung them over his shoulders.
"And everyone is happy, because everything works the way it is supposed to."
The bottles were laid out on the counter and had been collected by his goons. Some of them still had the dregs of alcohol they had once carried, and one in particular was full of used needles. He threw this one next as he continued his speech.
"But when a cog break down and starts to trying to go its own way. That's when things..."
The shout brought a chorus of whimpers from his prisoners. On the other side of the dojo, just beyond the carpet of broken glass, the occupants of the dojo were being held by Raiko's henchmen. There were seven of them in all, an intermediate class that had been unfortunate enough to be practicing here when the Yakuza turned up. The sensei himself was lying on the ground between them, clutching his broken ribs.
Sure, these were good fighters. But Raiko's men had guns, and that was the way of the world these days.
Some of his men were sniggering along as Raiko spoke, twisting the arms and hair of the dojo fighters with the same derranged glee that their master embodied.
"So why not tell me who this Ninja is," Raiko said as he selected another bottle, "And then we can all go back to the old ways of working."
He flung the bottle. CRASH!
"Everyone in their place."
He flung another bottle. CRASH!
Besides the whimpers, none of the fighters spoke. The sensei was the last one who had tried to explain their ignorance, and he had received a three-man beating for his troubles. The prisoners already had their share of black-eyes and pistol-whipped limbs, and were now too terrified to invite any more attention.
"Did he train with you?" Raiko asked, as if offering the answer like a lifeline, "A former sensei perhaps?" He threw another bottle. "Maybe he has a dojo of his own?"
The training floor was now covered in shattered glass, three dozen or so bottles broken to form a mutilating carpet. The Yakuza boss paced the other side of it, his single eye drinking in the terror of the dojo fighters.
"This man unsettles us all, and no one is safe while he continues. You must understand this?"
The words poured from him, doleful and lunatic, as sweet as any apologist for the devil. On the floor, the old sensei sobbed quietly as his breath wheezed. He was bleeding internally and would not last the night at this rate. His pain and the fear of his fighters mounted as the silence lingered, and then a fresh chorus of cries sounded as Raiko spoke again.
"I don't think they know anything, boys."
The hyena-like henchmen chuckled and twisted the arms of the fighters, bringing them to their knees. Each of the henchmen was young and impulsive, like Raiko had been in his glory days. But unlike Raiko, these kids were being given free reign to their violent impulses.
"Well... you'll let me know, won't you... if you find out anything?"
With that, the henchmen lunged, shoving the fighters onto the floor of broken glass. Screams echoed around the dojo, followed by the sounds of crunching glass and painful howls. Some of the fighters were thrown face-down, while others were made to stumble across the savage field.
Raiko picked up his gun and howled like a dog. His henchmen returned the call and together the Yakuza gang swept out of the dojo, leaving the fighters stranded amidst the glass shrapnel, bleeding and begging for rescue.
The green hatchback took a sudden turn down a narrow, pedestrian-ridden street, eliciting a series of yells and curses from several people. This did not seem to bother Setsuko in the least, her eyes remained sharp and focused on what was ahead of her. After news of recent attacks in the Japanese dojos in the area, Setsuko quickly cancelled all classes until further notice, and forbade anyone below black belt level from even entering the dojo. The senior students were charged with guarding the dojo in shifts; since she knew it was only a matter of time before these men came to them. It was obvious this had to do with the shinobi attacks on local crime lords, and Setsuko wanted to be ready for anything that might happen. She would be staying in the dojo until she received further orders from her family.
The smell of salty air blended with the scent of green tea when Setsuko opened one of the sliding doors overlooking the sea.
“Uncle, I do not question your judgement, but this troubles me,” Setsuko returned to her place in across from the slight old man, “what am I to do if I encounter this rogue?” Her uncle said nothing for a long time, only looked out to the peaceful blue sea. He was very small and frail, as if the slightest touch would make his bones crumble.
He was the finest martial artist Setsuko had ever seen, and she loved and feared him.
“Your grandfather’s persimmon will have fruit, I will bring you some on my return,” Setsuko could only wait patiently for his reply to her statement, if he chose to acknowledge it at all. Naota Date reached for his cup of tea and regarded the leaves at the bottom before continuing.
“You need to be more patient Setsuko, it is too soon to be troubled,” he paused to take a long sip. “I will return to Kobe to meet with our clan, and members of the Tokyo Police. We will deliberate over our next course of action.” He placed his cup down, and Setsuko noticed it was empty. Quickly, gracefully, Setsuko refilled it.
“Your place is to defend the dojo, and not engage this rogue, yet, unless it is in defense. When the time comes, I will give you further orders.”
What bothered Setsuko about this situation was the description of the men looking for the rogue. It sounded like they were yakuza, but what bothered her about it was that this was not how the yakuza usually behaved. Some of the old clans, and government offices, had strong connections in the yakuza, there were rules that were usually followed.
If these men were really yakuza, how would their actions effect those ties? Was there going to be a clan war? What side was her family going to be on?
The hatchback parked in an empty space in front of a small, unassuming building on the avenue. At first glance, it could easily be one of the many shops that lined the busy street; however, the sign ‘Date Judo and Jujitsu,’ declared the contrary. Setsuko could already see some of the black belts moving about inside: securing old weapons, blocking windows and other exits (there were secret passages within that only a few students knew about).
Taking her bag from the passenger seat, which contained a change of clothes and her personal weapons, Setsuko headed inside-past the signs that read CLOSED and PLEASE REMOVE SHOES AT THE DOOR.
The dojo was small, housing only the training tatami (which took up the most space), her uncle’s office, and a small dressing room in the back. Weapons and scrolls lined some of the walls. The kamiza* rested at the front of the training area, though the pictures and precious relics had been removed and hidden.
“Date-sensei,” one of the senior students approached her, the two exchanged quick bows, “we have almost finished with everything. Would you like to see?”
Setsuko nodded and set about helping her students secure their dojo.
*Kamiza: literally meaning "kami shelf", is a type of miniature shrine placed or hung high on a wall in traditional Japanese dojos. The kamidana contains a wide variety of items related to Shinto-style ceremonies.
Nick picked up his phone as it rang, Metallica's 'Fight Fire with Fire' blaring from the slider phone.
"Agent Macintyre... Alright, send Townes and Deckert to investigate. I'm following a lead right now. Yeah, keep me posted." Nick said, sliding the phone closed and pocketing it. "A dojo was hit. Witnesses say Yakuza. It might be a retribution hit."
"They think the guy's associated with the dojos?" White asked, turning onto a side street.
"It's possible." The agents drove on for a while longer before pulling out in front of Date Judo and Jujitsu. The two agents checked their sidearms before exiting the car.
"'Please remove shoes at the door.'" White read. He looked to Nick who was already taking his shoes off.
"Federal agent or not, we still have to show courtesy." he replied, setting his shoes next to an already long row. The two agents entered. Nick held his badge up.
"FBI, Special Agent Nicholas Macintyre. I'd like to speak to whoever's in charge..."
When the door opened, all activity stopped suddenly, and the agents were met with wide-eyed, ready stares from the five men currently in the dojo. Once it was obvious that these men weren't here to fight, they returned to their duties of boarding windows, placing banker's boxes of what was probably valuable items in a loose ceiling beam, etc.
Except one, the oldest, who nodded to the men, "One moment, I'll go get her," and quickly disappeared into what looked like a small office. He moved very gracefully for someone of his large build.
Setsuko was busy looking through some old manuscripts of her uncle's, and putting the final touches on her black eggs (she had already given the others their own to use) when the rokudan* entered the office.
"Who is it at the door? We cannot have any guests," she spoke absently, not really breaking her concentration from her current task.
"Date-sensei," the older man, probably in his forties, replied with some trepidation, "it's two men from the FBI, they want to speak with someone in charge."
Setsuko held in a sigh.
Of all the times for the police to show up . . .
"I'll take care of it, thankyou," Setsuko stood, put away the manuscripts and placed her black eggs inside a hidden pocket in her dark blue hoodie.
Outside, the students continued to prepare for what appeared to be a hurricane. A young woman shyly slipped past all of them and approached the two men, a small, bashful smile on her face.
"Hello officers," she stopped a few feet in front of them, "I am Date Setsuko, my uncle left me to look after things while he's visiting my grandmother in Kobe." She was small, no more than five feet and a few inches, and had a slight frame. She wore a pair of baggy jeans, a blue zip front hoodie, and a red t-shirt with some sort of cute cartoon character on the front. Her glasses kept slipping down the bridge of her nose.
She looked more like a college student doing her laundry, than a Jujitsu-ka's niece.
"Sorry about all the mess, I can't offer you a cup of tea," she gestured to the men behind her. "We are trying to get the dojo all locked up, I'm pretty sure you already know why," she looked as if she was going to keep chatting on, before she laughed and knocked herself gently on the temple.
"So sorry, I keep going on. What can we help you with?"
*Sixth degree blackbelt
Nick took out his PDA and opened the folder with the bruise pattern pictures. He showed it to Setsuko.
"Right now our only lead to who's been hitting businesses with ties to criminal organizations is this bruise pattern." he explained. A black bar had been placed over the man's eyes in order to conceal his identity. "Our senior agent believes this to be the work of a ninja and quite frankly I can't see any evidence that says otherwise."
Setsuko's smile grew, though it was obvious she was fighting very hard to fight it. Her shoulders began to tremble, and she had to place one hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. "I'm so sorry officer," she managed through a few more repressed giggles. "I don't mean to make light of the situation, but a ninja?" She arched an eyebrow as she regarded the two men. "It seems that since cheesy Japanese movies became popular here, everyone seems to think that all crime in Japan is Yakuza, ninja or school girls with katana," she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the PDA for a few moments.
Finally, at length, she said, "office-agent Macintyre, I don't know anything about ninja or assassins, but I can tell you about these bruises," Setsuko traced a pattern over the bruises with her finger, showing the order in which they were most likely made. "This is actually a very simple pressure point technique, in Japanese it would be called a Kyusho waza." Setsuko straightened and looked the two men over.
"This particular point would attack the liver, obviously, since the points are right over it. It is very painful but should not be lethal, unless this man had some sort of liver problems from drinking, or something like that." It wasn't a total lie, the point would not be fatal unless someone did have a liver problem- or whoever applied it had a certain degree of mastery in such techniques.
"I think your killer was lucky to kill this man with these points. Or he knew that his target's liver would rupture very easily."
Nick licked his teeth as this girl debunked his and Knowles' theories. He leaned toward White.
"Show her the rest..." he muttered. White took out his own PDA and opened up the rest of the photos from what used to be Eastern Fire.
"That one picture of those pressure points wasn't all our mark did." Nick started. "He hacked his way through men carrying automatic weapons. None of them got a single shot off." Nick paused for a second to let it sink in. Before she could say anything he started up again.
"What's more is I know you're hiding something. I've been at this job for years. Your body language is telling me even more than what you just did."
"So go ahead, give me a half assed rebuttal." the agent challenged. "I'd also like to inform you that a dojo was hit as we pulled up. Think about that."
Setsuko arched an eyebrow, and met Nick's eyes with a cool look, clearly unimpressed. "Agent Macintyre, we are well aware that a dojo was just attacked," the half-Japanese woman turned slightly and gestured to the men behind her busily boarding up windows and hiding antique weapons. "And quite frankly, protecting our dojo from these monsters is more important to us than stopping some assassin killing other criminals."
Setsuko turned back to the agent, locking eyes with him once more in a level gaze. There was no anger or aggravation in her eyes at all, only a kind of assertive calm. "I do not like what you are insinuating, sir. It does not disturb me that you have come here asking questions about strange bruises and martial techniques; this would not be the first time the police have come here to ask my uncle for help with an unusual assault cases."
Setsuko paused for a moment, letting her words sink in, before continuing.
"What does disturb me is up until this point, I have cooperated with you and told you what I know, and in return you insinuate that I am hiding something. I am not my uncle, sir. He is of an old school, one that I do not have knowledge of, because it does not exist anymore. Time has seen to that," Setsuko paused for another brief moment, but this time to adjust her glasses and choose her next words. She could not remember the last time she had spoken this much.
"Agent Macintyre, I cannot hide from you what I do not know. It is obvious that whoever did this does possess a great amount of skill; they are clearly a professional assassin. I can't tell you much more than that; other than a few techniques they may, or may not, have used. This is a level of proficiency that I simply do not possess, and cannot comprehend."
((This RP should be renamed "Fuck da POO-LEECE"))
A flip of a switch and the lights in the dull studio apartment flickered on after a few moments. Takeo made his way over to his bed, reached under and pulled out a large rectangular object wrapped in a dark blue cloth. After setting it on the table, he removed the large cloth and revealed it was a bulletin board with many pictures and articles about the many Yakuza, Triad, and even some Mafia members in the area. Takeo ripped off a picture of the Triad subordinate he assassinated at the Eastern Fire Club, dropped it in the trash and set it on fire. As he went to crack open his window, Takeo glanced down the street and could see vehicles parked right outside the dojo. These weren’t customer vehicles, Takeo knew that much. Could be Yakuza, but more likely the FBI. And if the FBI was getting remotely close to his trail he would have to tread carefully. Takeo quickly grabbed his leather bike jacket and keys to the dojo and was almost out the door before he stopped and thought for a second. He then made his way back over to a cabinet by his sink and opened it. A few seconds later he pulled out six small round pouches, no bigger than a quarter, and put three in each jacket pocket, just in case...
A few minutes later Takeo was crossing the street towards the dojo and slipped into the alleyway that led to the back door. Quietly he opened it up and opened up his janitor’s closet then shut the door just loud enough for anyone close to him to hear. One of the students who was still moving things around peered around the corner and approached Takeo rather aggressively.
“Who the hell are you?!” the student demanded. He was ready for a confrontation as would be expected due to the current events lately. Takeo slowly raised his right hand dangling his apartment key from it.
“I just clean here after closing. I cleaned earlier but I left my house key here. Just came back to grab it, that’s all” The student eased up a little but was still very alert and ready for anything. He wasn’t all that convinced with Takeo’s story and Takeo could see it in his posture.
“Well I’m not all too sure about that, why don’t you just come with me…” He motioned for Takeo to walk in front of him. Takeo obliged after slipping his shoes off. The student then escorted him to Setsuko.
“Date-sensei” the student began, then bowed. “This man claims he is the cleaner at night. Says he cleaned earlier and accidently left his house key here. Do you know him?”
Takeo bowed when she turned around. Then he changed his glance over to the agents, first at White, then at Macintyre. Macintyre’s demeanor reeked of persistence and authority and Takeo could tell right away that if any authority figure was going to come anywhere near catching him, it was going to be him. Without changing his expression, Takeo bowed to the agents as well.
“They’ll possibly get in my way, but they’re no major threat. Still…they aren’t to be underestimated” Takeo thought to himself.
Setsuko wanted to roll her eyes, but held herself in check. The woman turned her attention from the agents for a moment to look the newcomer over. At first, she didn't recognize him, but she did remember her uncle saying something about a young man from Japan needing some extra money. Setsuko didn't like the idea of outsiders having access to the dojo, especially since she made sure the other students cleaned, but she would not question her uncle.
"You and I are going to have a talk later, but for now, please try to pretend your English isn't too good," Setsuko addressed him in a more rural Japanese dialect, so the two agents would have trouble understanding. She nodded to the other student.
"Thank you, but he is who he claims. My uncle hired him to clean after hours." The student bowed his head slightly and went back to his work, not really caring what Takeo did, now that he knew his sensei was all right with him being there.
Nick looked at the new arrival and mentally tagged him for a date with the sketch artist. Before he could say something his phone went off again.
"Excuse me... I have to take this..." Nick apologized, stepping to the door and answering. "Macintyre..."
"Nick, we got one of the survivors to the sketch artist." Deckert said over the phone to Nick.
"We're dealing with a Japanese cyclops. Anyone you know that fits that bill?" Nick ran the description through his head.
"Raiko Hakashi..." he muttered under his breath. That man's brutality had been reported through Nick's informants. Those that were still alive had been placed in Witness Protection.
All one of them.
"Bingo, bossman..." Deckert replied. "Unfortunately DC doesn't want us to move on him yet. They say a hit on a dojo is too small for a man like him."
"Fuck me with a jackhammer..." Nick swore. "If they wait too long to give us the go ahead half of Miami will be burning."
"I know, I know... I don't like it either, Nick..." Deckert shouted over the sound of an ambulance siren. "Hey, you find anything out about our ninja?" Nick looked at Setsuko.
"Just a snot nosed brat who's hiding something." he replied. "If we were KGB we'd have free reign to extract information from her via whatever means work."
"Yeah, but we're FBI and supposed to be the good guys." Deckert laughed.
"No shit... Look, I'm heading back to the office. Let me know what else you find out." Nick finally ordered.
"You got it. Out..." Nick closed his phone then walked back, taking a business card out of a jacket pocket.
"We got off on the wrong foot. If you think of anything else to tell us contact me." he said handing the card over. "And whether you like it or not I'm posting a team to watch this place. Good day... White, let's go..."
"Moving." The two Agents collected their shoes then left the dojo. As soon as they were in the car Nick started talking.
"We got a perp for the dojo hit."
"Please don't tell me it's who I think it is..." White moaned.
"Raiko Hakashi. The fucking slant eyed cyclops." Nick spat. "DC doesn't want us to move on him, not yet. This is just like the Mog..." Back in 1993 Task Force Ranger was limited by Congress. They initially had acces to Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles and Specter Gunships but Congress, in all its infinite wisdom, had taken those assets away, fearing that the presence of Armored Fighting Vehicles and gunships would hurt the UN's humanitarian mission in Somalia.
"You're still sore about that?" White asked. Nick's right hand went to his left arm where grenade fragments had hit him.
"DC's too bureacratic... If we had our way we would have taken out all of Habr Gedir in a week." he replied, a hint of anger and sadness in his voice.
"You want to stop by a bar on the way back to the office? Might take your mind off things." White suggested.
"Not on duty, White... I'm working right now." Nick replied. He had more paper work waiting for him and he needed to be sober to fill it out.
Setsuko arched a brow as she took the business card and watched the two men leave.
'Wrong foot' being the understatement of the year. . . Especially since he just finished telling whomever it was on the phone that if they were KGB, they could do whatever they wanted to her and her students.
God bless America, indeed.
The women absently slipped the card into her back pocket, before turning to Takeo.
"I think we should have a chat," she wanted to know more about this man she had never seen, especially since her uncle saw it fit to give him a key to the back door. That was simply not something her uncle did not do; something was up.
"Just to get to know each other a little better," she added with a small smile.
Takeo stood silently as Setsuko briefly greeted him. It mattered not to him anyways, he was paying more attention to this Agent Macintyre as he posed just as big a threat as the crime syndicates Takeo was after, except Macintyre would be more likely to let Takeo live, under the supposed laws this Agent is sworn to uphold. Macintyre’s phone quickly interrupted the group and he began taking the call while heading towards the door. The only thing Takeo could get from the Agent’s muttering lips and the soft words under his breath was a name, a name that was definitely on Takeo’s list of Yakuza to kill. Raiko Hakashi has always been known as a sadistic man, so much so that “man” was a bit of an overstatement to describe him. He was an animal, barely tamable in the confines of his own mind, let alone anyone involved with him. The mere mention of that name nearly made Takeo’s blood boil, but given his present circumstance, he didn’t have the luxury of letting his emotions send him on a mission he didn’t plan well enough for yet. He kept his reserve, knowing that Raiko’s time will come when Takeo could plan it out. For now, the more local and immediate threats of these syndicates had to be eradicated before he could go after another “big fish”.
Takeo’s thoughts were interrupted as Setsuko beckoned him to follow her back towards her office. Being that the two have never met, Takeo figured this would not be an all too friendly conversation on her part. But being a relative of the headmaster of this dojo she definitely was not someone to underestimate or take lightly. She was a martial artist, and a good one. Her overall demeanor portrayed it all too well, whether she was aware of it or not. This meant Takeo had to be extra careful in the way he carried himself in front of her, because he knew she had the martial skills to mentally scan him and find the same thing in him as he sees in her. So he smiled politely and spoke in the best tone he could that hid his coldness.
“What is it that you would like to know, Date-Sensei?”