Scene #2014: In the Jungle the Mighty Jungle

Owner	Pose
Alvira	CAMP PAIR DADENI The thick Golmore Jungle is a dangerous place, even for the most seasoned of travelers across Ivalice. Not many strayed off the well-ventured and well-established foot paths through the thick, enormous jungle, repelled by the hostile wildlife and proximity to the tomb-like Jagd, the Necrohol of Nabudis. Undead and malignant spirits routinely rose from the Necrohol and only the most adventurous of Clans would venture into that dungeon. The sprawling jungle also made for excellent cover. On-foot travelers could barely see the sun and only the noise of a passing airship would suggest its presence. It is because of this that Wagner Industries had chosen Golmore for its primary prototyping and test site. It is out here where designs are brought into reality. A sizable chunk of jungle has been cleared out, surrounded by a very high wall with well-guarded gates. Within remain several buildings and a wide, wide space meant as a landing pad for airships. The largest of these buildings is a fabrication facility, hangar-like, and with few windows ringing the top of the building. It is one of these windows- -specifically, one of the /corner office/ pair of windows- -that is the office of Alvira, CEO of Wagner Industries and contractor to the Archadian Empire. At the moment, she has a number of blueprints spread over her massive desk, drafting pencils strew over them. Her radio sits at the corner of her desk, which she watches. She remains seated, her fingers steepled together, simply...listening. There's a small grin on her face as she waits.
Vega	The window opens. A rose spikes through, stabbing itself into the desk. How he got there is a mystery. Surely, this place is very well-guarded, very well-kept. Wagner Industries employs only the best and brightest, after all, and the jungle is a natural deterrant to invaders and visitors alike. And certainly, anyone coming through such dangerous terrain would have been noticed the instant he passed the guards. And if not then, then over the wall. And... But even so! The man leaning in the window is...well, he looks like his voice. Tall. Muscular. Lean, rather than massive - everything on this masked, blonde man has a purpose, a reason for being there. There is no bulging of overdeveloped musculature, no pulsating of overtoned parts in an attempt to look manlier. No, the word that best describes him is /economical/. Except for the claw on his arm. The claw on his arm is a tool for murder. It is large, sharp, hooked, and clearly designed to tear human beings open with minimal resistance. It is the kind of weapon only someone very, very skilled in the art of killing someone in many nasty ways would ever consider using. There's another rose in his hand. "Buenas noches, hermoso."
Alvira	The faint slide of the window opening draws Alvira's attention away from the radio, just in time for her to turn and find a rose so freshly implanted on her desk, rending a small, neat hole in the blueprints upon it. Swiftly, she reaches over and plucks the flower from her desk, forefinger and thumb pricked by the thorns as she wrenches it free. She seems to ignore the small beads of blood that start to form. Her facility /is/ a well-guarded one. It isn't just that the Archades Empire has its fair share of dissidents and insurgents from disagreeable conquered countries. The very space itself that the camp comprises was hacked free of the jungle and fought for every inch of the way from undead to native wildlife. Even now the land sought to reclaim the space as its own, nascent vines creeping up the outer walls. "What a surprise." the CEO says, not rising from her seat but turning it to face him, one leg crossed over the other, stem of the rose rolled between her fingers. "You bypassed my security and found me quite easily." Her tone is curious but not shocked, the woman maintaining a calm demeanor despite the invasion. Of course, the form of this invader does seem to have some kind of influence on that. Alvira appears, in contrast, to not be completely unarmed. There is a pistol of some form in a holster at her waist ornate to the point of being suspected as merely ornamental. She doesn't reach for it. "And a good evening to you as well, Balrog." She greets, "To what do I owe this visit?" Only now does she stand.
Vega	The masked assassin bows with a flourish, stepping off the windowsill and onto the floor. He doesn't straighten until he's hit the floor - silently, it may be noticed. No noise at all. He straightens, looking over her for a moment as he rolls a thought around on his tongue. "Curiousity," Balrog decides firmly after a moment, "I left one of my associates in charge of communications and gave myself the night off. Master Vega will not mind. He knows that I often get...curious...meeting new people." Liquid grace, the Spanish Ninja slides over to the desk and slips onto it. He leans on it, looking at her carefully. His eyes do not glance down at the blueprints - he does not seem to care overmuch about them, which fits with what Alvira's seen of his character so far. He's not really a techhead. The claw he removes a moment later, hanging it off his belt in what might be an awkward stance for anyone who wasn't intimately familiar with the weapon. "Yes, your security was muy bueno, hermosa," Balrog observes, the rose firmly in front of his mask, as though he was being demure despite sitting on her desk in nothing but a (very tight) pair of pants, "I was very careful not to kill anyone. It may have made sating my curiousity más difícil, non?" "I like to make a good first impression." The mask winks.
Alvira	Once he straightens, Alvira finds herself having to lift her head to meet what is eye level for him. The height difference becomes even more apparent as he draws closer but the CEO accepts this towering with poise and grace. No doubt she has experience with being towered over by those around her for the majority of her life. "I can imagine." She states smoothly, leaning her free hand against the desk, her fingers splayed out against the surface. At this particular position it doesn't seem to put her gun within quick reach, demonstrating that she must clearly fear nothing from her new Confederate ally. Were she at all annoyed with him sitting on the plans to her latest project, she hides the emotion well, focusing more upon the masked, shirtless man. "Very much appreciated. This jungle is not the most comfortable of places to work-humid, hot, filled with all manner of...dangerous things." She pauses on that last phrase for a few moments before continuing, "So I must provide those assigned here with extra compensation. Losing good men is very upsetting to me. Just as it may be to Master Vega if he lost some good men of Shadowlaw." She pushes away from her desk and moves to walk around him in a semicircle, clearly watching him every step of the way. Even then, she retains the rose, snapping off most of the stem and tucking it into the collar of her shirt. "We are alone here so your mask is not necessary, should you be worried of being identified."
Vega	"Bella," Balrog laughs, a rich, thick, throaty, /practiced/ laugh, "My mask is not to hide who I am. I am Balrog! I hide nothing. No, bella, the mask is but protection. For if my beauty was to be marred...non, non! It is unthinkable." "And yet if such a lovely lady wishes to see my face so badly..." Balrog removes the mask. He is a very pretty man. His features are sharp, well-defined, and strong. Statuesque, chiseled, whatever word you choose to use, Balrog's vanity is quite understandable once the mask is off. His eyes are a sharp blue, and quite intensely focused on the short lady in front of him. "And yes, I noticed quite immediately how...hot and dangerous the jungle is." Balrog rolls the statement around on his tongue, like he's thinking about it. There's some noise from the radio. Balrog laughs, particularly when Alvira chimes in. His eyes flick off the radio and back to her. "Beautiful, mischevious, /wealthy/...you are indeed the total package, aren't you, bella?" "But I do not yet know your name. And that is so very.../very/ shameful."
Alvira	It's funny, to Avira it did suddenly feel a lot hotter in here. Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned the jungle humidity earlier-in doing so perhaps she's actually noticing it more. "Call it a curiosity. But forgive me, I am familiar with a famous story of a phantom that hid his face due to disfigurement. My initial assumption could not be farther from the truth." She leans forward a little, meeting his eyes, taking in the features of his immaculate face. There is even a flicker of jealousy in Alvira's green eyes at this observation. This man was skilled in his trade and yet had not retained the evidence of rougher experiences as she herself had in her own past. The intense stare is broken as the CEO chimes in with a comment on the radio, unable to resist and add to the panic. A mischevious smirk graces her face. "How flattering~" she says, "Oh, but forgive me again, usually I am so quick on the opportunity to introduce myself to new members of the Confederacy. I must've been quite...distracted by something." A knowing smirk follows. She puts a hand to her chest, "I am Alvira, the Chief Executive Officer of Wagner Industries-the company you have snuck into this evening."
Vega	"You are forgiven, bella," Balrog replies, rolling the words with his tongue as she leans closer, "I am a man who is ever so quick to forgive, si? A giving soul." Balrog does, in fact, bear no scars. Not a single one. Not on his face. Not on his torso. Probably not on his legs, but the pants cover that. If it wasn't for that horrible claw he could easily be a model, or some other, more gentle profession. But no, everything comes back to that claw. That monstrous claw, blades set so close together. If not for that claw, if not for that claw... Also, Balrog has a bit of an advantage, in that he wears a mask all the time. The mask looks quite sturdy, more than able to stand up to a few blows from even very tough warriors. Balrog looks like the kind of person who'd spend every bit of coin he had protecting that face, and the mask looks like the kind of mask you'd get if you spent quite a lot of time and money on personal protection. "Is that what it is called? I did not see any signs. I took the time to look around - I hope you are not insulted. I wanted to make certain I knew the route before I snuck in." Balrog shakes his head, his ponytail wrapping itself around his shoulder like a serpent. "Would that, then, make you...Senora Wagner?" He says it like one might say 'Mrs', making it very clear by the tone of his voice. "Or...Senorita Wagner?" "Ah, but as I said while manning the radio, I am Balrog, master assassin of Shadowlaw. Tell me, bella - are you unused to being seduced?" The blue-eyed man winks at her, as though sharing some great secret with her. "You seem a touch flustered, and it is really quite appealing. Or is it simply the...humidity?"
Alvira	Alvira examines Balrog very closely for ANY sign of a scar. Maybe the long, elaborate tattoo of his could be considered by some to be one but it did not make it such in her book. It's impressive-given that claw weapon of his, she's expecting at least some kind of mishap in handling or practicing with the weapon. Could he be THAT good? Perhaps he had armor he wore that was just as good as that mask. She knows quality when she sees it, especially when the quality comes to armoring. "This is one of our more private facilities. Spies and thieves are not welcome-well, present company excluded of course- so this location goes unadvertised. That you found it is even more impressive. And so quickly at that." She finishes circling around him, slipping to leaning against her desk again, though this time she stands right next to him, facing him, perhaps a foot and a half of distance between the two. Just slightly less than what is considered the usual socially accepted amount of personal space afforded a person. "Seniorita." She says, sensing the connotation, a glance given in the direction of her hands. No rings. Not even the trace of one. "Though I have no family name. This would mark the second time the assumption has been made...a third and I may have to make it official. Ahahaho.." she laughs lightly, the laughter dying off at that question. She tugs on the collar of her coat. "Admittedly. It has been some time, yes. I cannot recall the last time an attractive, well-sculpted man appeared in my office."
Vega	There's no signs of armoring on his body at all. If he was armored, it'd show up - the straps from the sun, uneven tanning, things like that. Even if Balrog only wore his armor on missions, there'd be some hint of it, right? Probably? Maybe not. Maybe the mask lets light through just fine...but then, why would it have eyeholes? "I am /very/ good at my job, senorita Alvira," Balrog agrees, "And I am all too used to spending time in well-hidden facilities deep in the burning-hot jungles of my world." Well, that at least sort of explains what is probably habitual shirtlessness rather than a change of clothes for the surroundings. Of course, that's probably also vanity, but hey. As she glances at her hand, his fingers go to her ring finger. They're well-kept hands, too, like everything else about him. He /manicures/. When was the last time a man manicured? They're also soft, much softer than a fighter's hands should be...but then, he's an assassin. Maybe he doesn't fight much. Maybe he just...goes in, kills them, and gets out. "I am pleased to hear that I am welcome," Balrog adds in a low tone, "Perhaps that welcome may be extended further in a more official capacity later, mmm? I am certain that your organization and Shadowlaw could find a happy arrangement in the future. What is it you make? I am imagining...technology, yes? Weapons, heavy contracts...if you are a government contractor, it must be very powerful weaponry, too. You are clearly well-to-do. Well-to-do contractors do not make cheap weaponry and survive for long in the cutthroat world of business." "Or," Balrog adds, "You are very dangerous. And I admit...that appeals to me even more." He twists his torso a bit. That answered another question, and proved the lack of armor once and for all - nobody who bends at angles like that Uses armor. It'd just get in the way. Meaning that either Shadowlaw has really great health care, or he is in fact just that good. Balrog's fingers stray over her hand. "I happen to be very fond of beautiful, dangerous things. And I am both pleased and humbled-" -that is highly unlikely, as Balrog doesn't appear to be capable of earnest humility, "To be the first, if not ever, then in a long time, of attractive, well-sculpted men appearing in your office."
Alvira	Strange, that. Alvira is attempting to imagine armor that would extend over him enough that it would leave no marks. It would have to be very complete...plated mail, gauntlets. Maybe even something similar to Judge armor? But no, such things wouldn't be conductive to assassination. "-aha, so this secret facility must be nothing novel to you." she titters, "It would also explain your choice of dress." But still, running around shirtless like that, and still no scars? Amazing. Her eyes pause to look down at the hand upon hers, some surprise registering. She had known another man, well over a decade ago that would deign to get his hands manicured. He was not an assassin. In stark contrast, Avira has rough hands, calloused from either work or weapon handling. It sparks another glimpse of jealousy at the soft skin. She cannot contain her curiosity on this one: "Your hands are so soft...how /is/ that?" Ah, she can see it now-the subtle push for information. There was more purpose to this visit than to tease but the CEO hardly minded. Her own life was so much business. "Oh, I think there is some kind of arrangement to be made between Wagner and Shadowlaw. What are Shadowlaw's needs?" There is the barest hint of eagerness and zero concern at the thought of helping a criminal organization take over the world. It wasn't /her/ world, after all, "Wagner Industries specializes in airships, both commercial and military...plus the armaments of such, in many shapes and sizes." Of course, she is all too happy to tell him this. "I am not in the business of cheap /anything/. But-" Her free hand lifts, fingers briefly 'walking' over a bare shoulder. "I like to think I'm quite /dangerous/ as well." Another laugh escapes her at his facetiousness. No man who gets manicures could ever be considered -humble- though she clearly appreciates the humor. "Then it is fortunate that I too am fond of beauty and danger-and that which is fortunate enough to be both."
Vega	"Oh, it was quite novel, I assure you. This is the first time I have ever been on an alien world, bella. I had to keep very far afield of some of your creatures, lest I provoke them into something I was not prepared to deal with. And only a foolish man lets himself assume that one secure facility is the same as another - even if they all have...so many, many things in common, non? Good practices are good practices." "And I..." Balrog practically purrs, "Practice. Frequently." Balrog takes her hand in his, settling them both against his shoulder, unless she makes some great attempt to stop him. His smile widens. "There are so many ways I could answer that...but the first and best among them is that I am careful. I do not rush headlong into a situation. I plan. I wait. I am cautious in all things...except where beauty is concerned, of course." "Beauty must be treasured wherever it can be found." Her fingers walk over his shoulder, and Balrog laughs that rich and practiced laugh. "Shadowlaw's needs are not for me to worry about. I have no doubt Master Vega will come to speak with you personally once I have made my report about your company. But not...about your.../company/. That, I think...is for us alone." He adds with juuust the right tone. "Though now once again you have piqued my ever-so-active curiousity, senorita. What is an airship? A zeppelin? A blimp? Or some magical sailing craft that sails through sky like land? I am prepared for so many wonders beyond the bounds of our world, but even so, I doubt I could imagine even a tenth of all that awaits." "Beautiful, dangerous, wealthy, and exotic. Yes, I had no doubt that you were dangerous, but it is never wise to assume. But each of these scars tells a story, non? Each of these lovely scars." "Yes...I will be direct," Balrog purses his lips, "Were you unscarred I would find you boring. A woman of wealth, power, and beauty is always nice, of course, but...a woman of wealth, power, and beauty who has carved her way through the ranks with determinación y fuego, with furia y pasión..." "That is a rare treasure." "That is a woman worth spending /time/ entertaining for her sake as well as mine."
Alvira	"Ah yes, Earth does not have the native monsters common on Ivalice." She remarks with some amusement, "Well. Most Earths. Congratulations for evading the nastiest the Golmore Jungle has to offer." Beside himself, she seems to have no troubles with feeding his ego. Especially if that would get him to talk more. Of course, placing her hands like that draws her closer. She doesn't mind. "So you avoid actual fighting at all costs." she observes, clearly picturing this in her mind. Stealth, killing with a single blow-it's that or this guy is full of it and he has NEVER killed anyone but she sees no reason to interject such rude scepticism into the conversation. "Ah, but surely you know the impact your duties have upon Shadowlaw's goals? It is rude to leave a lady so in the dark." Her fingers stop walking and she rests her hands on him. "But imagine one of your battleships as it sails on the ocean. Now imagine that as effortlessly floating through the sky. It is like a zeppelin, yes, but far, far more durable and far less flammable. I could show you one...later." Though passionate about her work, she doesn't seem all that interested in engaging show and tell of the company product line right now. Nope. "Never wise to assume." she echos, though with slightly less enthusiasm as her own older scars are addressed. But he continues with surprising words that both shock and amuse her-amusement because it becomes one of those moments where it's hard for her to tell if that was a genuine set of compliments or the words of a seducer that has had frequent practice. She tilts her head downwards and yet keeps her eyes peering up into his. "Then." Alvira pauses dramatically, practiced, "Please feel free to stay a while, because I certainly find your presence -entertaining-, Balrog."