POWER LEVEL
18,090
Tech Points
1/8
Forms
Oozaru [x10]
Zeni
14,137
Saiyan
|
Post by Salada on Jul 30, 2024 0:39:20 GMT
PL: 18,090
Ugh. The lower districts. From the way the dust clung to EVERYTHING here and how everything hung in tatters, Salada could tell she'd come to the right place. How inconvenient that she was made to walk amongst the common rabble here to find her partner, though she could understand not wanting any more low-class tracking their mud all over the Elite-district to do the same. Still... Salada scrunched her nose. Even the AIR here reeked of inferiority and you could SEE it in the people. They laughed amongst one another like pods of barbarians, ate food as if they might not see another scrap, and even... ugh... were prone to being 'handsy' with one another in public.
Compared to the Elites, this was another WORLD. These people lived like animals... and they would DIE like animals, Salada judged. Perhaps one day a big rock would fall from orbit and kill them all, coincidentally avoiding detection from the many observational satellites as well as the detection of any local Saiyans patrolling the edges of the atmosphere.
One could only hope.
For now, she would make her way to a local establishment, a... "Pub," they called it. It was a run-down shack-of-a-place with a name as forgettable as its patrons. Just the thought of going inside... Ugh... But she must press on. Pushing her way in, Salada's ears would suddenly be assaulted by a few very distinct sounds all blended together into a near-amorphous soup: VERY bad drunken singing, the sounds of SKULLS cracking together as a pair of drunken Saiyans headbutted each other back and forth in the corner, and the loud, wet snoring of hammered low-class asleep face-down in their drinks.
"Ugh..."
And yet, Salada needed to be here... for information, if nothing else. She sat herself down at the bar as far towards the corner as possible, the tender materializing a mug of... grog or something before her as he did so. He was Saiyan alright, that much was clear... but his appearance was more... meek... Soft. He must've been one of the ones that couldn't cut it as warriors or scientists. He seemed happy enough, though. ...Somehow, that disturbed Salada more than his establishment itself.
"...You can't be selling this as drink..." Salada muttered, lifting up her mug. She sloshed it around in her cup. She could swear there was something in it besides alcohol.
"Why not?" Then man grunted, his voice surprisingly gruff. "We don't do fancy here. You want fancy, go kick it with the Elites."
I would... Salada seethed internally, grinding her teeth as quietly as possible. Only you have something I need...
"Hmph." She snorted, setting her mug down. "Nevermind. I'm looking for someone."
"Unless he owes me money, I don't care." The man grunted, turning away from Salada. ...Alright, that's it. In a FLASH, Salada's hand SHOT OUT and GRABBED the shoulder of the man's tunic, lifted him up and SLAMMED him face-down on his own bar! The noise got a few look form some... and cheers from the rest, the drunken monkeys raising their mugs sloppily in a toast! ...Apparently they enjoyed the entertainment!
"Listen here, you dog..." Salada rumbled, slamming him AGAIN against the bar. Lighter this time. Obviously, he was alert and attentive now. "...If you don't tell me where to find a low-class runt like yourself by the name of 'Sabia' in the next minute..." Salada warned, cocking back a fist. "...I'm going to put a hole in your head."
WC: 581
|
|
POWER LEVEL
13,556
Tech Points
1/8
Forms
Oozaru [x10]
Zeni
1,125
Saiyan
|
Jul 31, 2024 22:16:10 GMT
Post by Sabia on Jul 31, 2024 22:16:10 GMT
The stench was as foul as it was persistent. The stink of sweaty bodies, unwashed clothes, and food that only Saiyans could survive eating hovered through the narrow alleys like a thick and suffocating fog. The sight of this place wasn't anything special, but one thing remained unchanged - it was filthy. When people were cast aside as inferior their sense of needs started deteriorating as well, so it wasn't surprising how this place looked. It was as funny as it was pathetic. Still, not all spots in this area of Vegeta were as unpleasant as this one, yet this was the messiest. The loudest. The most chaotic... It was perfect in its own way. Where the law couldn't reach, other types of rules were set in stone. The rule of fist... And the rule of wit.
Sabia stood quietly by the wall, her eyes seemingly unfocused, barely glancing at her surroundings. She would have loved to rest her back against the old building behind her - but who knew what type of grime was smeared on those old bricks? Ugh. One thing about living in this district was that not everything was worth touching. And considering her schedule, she would prefer to be somewhere else entirely... Yet, she persisted in coming back to the same location times and times again. Perhaps her presence was out of place, but the low-ranking soldiers running in and out of this side of the district made it so it didn't matter much. Some liked to flash their ranks and equipment as much as they could, simply to gain some recognition... But she didn't. At least her closed jacket hid the armor underneath, preserving a sense of anonymity - as much as it was possible. This corner, where she was waiting, was somewhat quieter, hidden by the shade and away from prying eyes. A pile of boxes and scrap metal made up a makeshift wall next to a stack of trash, creating a corner of relative privacy.
The flickering neon sign of a nearby excuse of a bar cast an eerie, sporadic light on her face, reflecting off her eyes. Somewhere, voices, some loud and boisterous, others low and secretive, mingled with the constant shuffle of feet and the occasional crunch of gravel. The busy alleys away faded into a distant hum as Sabia lingered within this obscure place. With one hand in her pocket and a black tail gently moving behind her, like the one of a moody cat, she waited. Slowly, lazily, coins between her fingers danced. Metalic sheen gleamed as she kept sliding them between her fingers, they vanished and reappeared a second later in her hand. A simple trick, really... But unwavering eyes followed.
"We saw that sparkly dude again!" A short, barefoot boy with messy hair was holding the hand of a much younger kid. They both were dirty, clothed in baggy capes with bodies already marked by scars. Life has already given them enough experience, but they still were considered the lowest of the low... Yet it didn't stop them from staring at her with such persistence. They already showed greater promise than most of the soldiers Sabia worked with on a daily basis. "You know, the one with waxed pointy beard. Stinks like he's drenched in cologne, we can smell it under his cover," he poked his tongue and pretended to throw up. After a giggle, the kid looked back at her. "He hit up the brothel by the slums for the third time this week."
Without a word, Sabia snapped her fingers and coins flew toward them. The older boy caught the payment enthusiastically, grinning and shoving it under his cape, into a sewn-in extra layer. No one bothered to put anything in their pockets here.
"I got s-something too, well, I m-mean..." A girl of similar age, dressed in makeshift leather armor stepped closer. Her fingers were trembling nervously. "Do you r-remember the guy by the old avenue who used to get d-deadbeat drunk because he was kicked o-out of his squadron?"
"The old man Nion?" the boy perked up, visibly curious.
"Yeah!" The girl nodded earnestly. "They say h-he stole something and now someone important i-is very mad!" The kid curled up her fist, nervously glancing at Sabia as if awaiting her reaction.
"Him? How? He's always drunk." The boy rolled his eyes mockingly, pulling the younger one closer. His hands quickly smoothed the hood of the child's clothes before he pulled it up. "It's not like he can walk in a straight line, let alone steal," he teased.
"I swear!" The girl's stomp wasn't convincing but Sabia's eyes narrowed.
The young woman tilted her head, gazing at the child. She had bruises all over her face. Sometimes kids were desperate and would make up rumors for her... But they learned a long time ago that it wouldn't work in their favor. She tossed her two coins, sure that it was the end of gathering tales for today.
"Elite is here!" Another kid above them suddenly sprung into the air from the roof nearby, sliding down the rope. The short-haired, lanky teen landed with a thud on the pile of trash next to this unique gathering. "I saw her! A woman!" He grinned, nonchalantly dusting his clothes. "A new person in town and she was already scrunching her face as if she fell nose-straight into a fat dump."
"Considering the fancy lot, I'm pretty sure coming here feels exactly like that to her," Sabia commented in a tepid tone, as she fished the rest of the loose change from her pockets. The teen proudly showed a grin with a missing tooth, moving closer with an open hand awaiting well-earned payment. She obliged.
"The fancypants went to the Bete's pub," he added looking at the money with sparks in his eyes. "I saw her coming inside," as he counted coins, he bit one of them, his smile growing wider.
Sabia raised an eyebrow with both amusement and disbelief. The most obscure place in the area, not considering the slums, and the elite went there? Sounded like a joke but her intel here was solid.
Turning around, she lightly raised her head, deep in thought. The kids quickly scrambled away, returning to their daily struggle of staying alive. Sabia left the alley, her steps steady as she turned south. Bete's pub was right around the next corner. Should she check it out? It could be interesting, and if it provided valuable information later on, all the better. Either the elite warrior didn't know where she was going, or she was desperate for something. This was intriguing, considering that everyone knew there were only a handful of reasons why the fancy lot would willingly disgrace themselves with a trip here.
The pub was a dingy hole in the wall, a haven for the dregs of society and the occasional low-ranking soldier looking to drown their sorrows or find some cheap entertainment. Charming. She stopped in front of the entrance, her eyes examining the visage of this pit. The pub's facade was cracked and worn, and the windows were grimy, barely allowing any light to pass through. She could hear the murmur of voices inside, a mix of drunken laughter, heated arguments, and the thuds of fists and kicks... And then a loud cheer. Sabia took a deep breath, bracing herself for the assault on her senses, and pushed the door open.
The opening creaked loudly as she entered, and for a split second, the noise inside the pub seemed to dim as several pairs of eyes turned to assess the newcomer. The timing couldn't be more perfect, as in this doubtful shred of silence, she heard her name.
... Great. What now, someone with a grudge or bored and picking a fight? Sabia felt her eyes narrowing when she coldly evaluated the situation. The woman was beating the old grumpy man, holding him with a force that could snap his neck like a toothpick. Ah, threatening civilians, how fearsome and how high-class. What the snob was doing in this place anyway? Well, the short fuse on that one was nothing unexpected but the fact that an elite warrior was here in this shithole, looking specifically for her smelled like a pain in the ass. And that scent was worse than everything Sabia could feel in this stinking pub.
The situation changed from a casual session of gathering intel to asking herself again why the universe hates her so much... But the universe should try harder to scare her.
Sabia walked up to the bar, Bete's pained eyes darted in her direction, and he raised his shaking hand at her. Pointing fingers wasn't nice but given his situation, he was forgiven for his sin. She didn't even try to blend in or, by the gods, hide. Her well-maintained appearance stood out in stark contrast to the filth surrounding her.
"Ugh, not again with this shit," Sabia leaned against the counter, her voice low and devoid of any emotion. Her hand reached over the top and dived in grabbing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. This alcohol looked fancier. It was heavens better than the vomit Bete called his grog. Obviously, bartenders were always leaving the good stuff for special occasions. Or special guests. After making sure the glasses were clean enough, she poured two drinks.
"Why would you seek me out?" With a light flick, she sent the other glass sliding smoothly on the counter toward the fuming stranger. Sabia took a sip of the whiskey. "If you're looking for your dignity, I don't have it," she said calmly, almost bored.
There was another wave of cheers raging through the pub, mixed with laughter and the sounds of sharply inhaling air.
WC - 1630
PL - 13,556 || Ki Conceal - 2,500
Super Weighted Clothing in Use
Pre-Workout Mix (1#) in Use |
|
POWER LEVEL
18,090
Tech Points
1/8
Forms
Oozaru [x10]
Zeni
14,137
Saiyan
|
Jul 31, 2024 23:11:01 GMT
Post by Salada on Jul 31, 2024 23:11:01 GMT
Salada watched as the man she held lifted his hand, gesturing at one of the new-comers who had entered the bar. Like an old western from distant parts of the universe stood the stranger, bland, but not exactly unimpressive, stood in the doorway of the pub. Salada looked back, her own expression one of mild surprise at the convenience of her appearance, as if mentioning her name invoked her arrival... and somewhat disappointed by what she was looking at. From how people spoke of her, this Sabia-woman was some kind of rising star amongst the garbage, her name being whispered among the dregs for her strength... and her silence. She neither boasted of her abilities, nor made any gestures to assert herself. She was like a gust of wind blowing through town, doing what she needed to do and leaving just as quickly. One half expected a tumble-weed to accompany her appearance.
...The fact she was staring at someone that looked no different than any other low-class female she had come across was... well... quite underwhelming to Salada. Just to double-check that this woman WAS, in fact the 'legendary' Sabia, Salada would unclench her fist and tap her scouter, the device chirping to life as numbers flashed across the screen.
*BEEP-BEEP!*
"2,500. It seems you ARE who I'm looking for.’Unimpressive." Salada said, Bemused. With little regard for her hostage, Salada would drop him, the man recoiling into his back wall and nearly causing half-a-dozen brands of what-passes-for alcohol to tumble off the shelves!
Salada actually BLINKED as the woman, as disinterested as you please, let out a weary protest at the whole show, swiping some kind of bottle from the tender and a pair of glasses as well. What... Weren't the context clues giving away what she was here for? An ELITE coming to the SLUMS of a lesser people, asking for one of them by name? That HAD to be something important, right? SURELY Sabia wasn't THIS stupid... No, she seemed to know, pouring them both a shot of... whatever that swill was and sliding one Salada's way. The Elite didn't acknowledge the gesture, her eyes fixed on her assigned "partner."
"Because you have work to do." The Elite said, ignoring Sabia's little jab. Responding to such a pathetic snipe would neither satisfy her ego, nor further her goals along. "Someone has been taken. Some scientist. You've been assigned to complete the mission. ...As am I." Those last three words were spoken as if they were coated in slime, disgust being written into every syllable. Salada had lead men in the field, some even being of low birth. She could appreciate strength ONCE they've earned that recognition... and so far, Sabia had done nothing but prove herself to be a rogue element with a big number. No respect, no initial signs of submission. It seemed her theory was holding firm so far: A low-class gets it in their head their a big deal after reaching some level... and don't consider the person in front of them could rip them in HALF if they chose.
...Is it any wonder Salada considered these beings inferior?
"Some mercenary clan have taken a man who was developing a new healing tank. Apparently, it will advance medical science in the fields of rapid healing by a considerable amount. They are located in a safehouse deep in the Oozaru Wastes while they wait for their ride. Let's go."
WC: 578 TWC: 1159
|
|
POWER LEVEL
13,556
Tech Points
1/8
Forms
Oozaru [x10]
Zeni
1,125
Saiyan
|
Post by Sabia on Aug 3, 2024 13:40:43 GMT
The uncomfortable viage of misery and anger was a source of twisted entertainment for the regulars of the pub. Chuckles could be heard from between the cramped tables. The way the elite warrior's face wrung upon revealing she was paired with someone she considered beneath her was priceless.
"Tragic," Sabia commented at the disgust dancing in the woman's voice, her tone dripping with apathy. Her reaction could be amusing if it wouldn't be pathetic. Not that she was happy about them working together herself... Sabia wasn't thrilled, but neither of them had a choice. "Just don't vomit out of repulsion from meeting me. This place is already filthy enough," she took another sip, barely wetting her lips in the alcohol. Well, it was going to get nasty anyway. Knowing full well that dealing with elite warriors was more trouble than it was worth, Sabia decided to not expect anything. It was for the better. It wasn't worth the struggle or potential - if it would ever happen - praise. The low-class warriors were treated like convenient tools by the upper crust. Any achievements would be snatched away and their minor mistakes were blown out of proportion, while the elite's failures were conveniently ignored or blamed on those below them. Sabia had faced the wrath of higher-ups too many times to count, always because it was her word against someone more powerful, like Commander Asshole, or Corporal Creep. She rarely bothered to remember their names.
Ah, good times. If she was going to be punished for insubordination again, Sabia was always making it count. Remaining unbothered by lectures of inferiority always did the trick. Still, going solo was her preferred way of doing things and for a while, it looked like the higher-ups realized that too. Then - this happened.
Quietly, Sabia listened to the warrior's explanation of why she was there and why their mission was very urgent. Hm... Indeed. If the author of the newest and most groundbreaking healing tank got kidnapped by mercenaries, they wouldn't be just a bunch of thugs. Such technology would advance medical science significantly, making it highly sought after. They could use it to improve their own standing - or simply to hinder the progress on planet Vegeta. What was more to say? Saiyans had many enemies. Still, they had to get their intel somewhere. Sabia's interest was gently shifted toward a couple of holes in the woman's tale. And they were wide enough to poke a whole hand in them - but of course, pointing them out won't do anything good now. Not necessarily. Elites were infallible, and yet... One thing was still standing out, like a sore thumb. Typically, when a low-level soldier is assigned a mission they are summoned to the headquarters, given orders, and reports, and are set on their way. And scrunchy-face miss walked in here on her own volition?
"Sounds important," Sabia's voice grew dispassionate, her interest waning as she never bothered to glance at the snobbish warrior. "And urgent. It must have been awful to walk through all this filth to get me personally. Asking around and mingling with the pleb... Tch," she clicked her tongue, her fake pity perhaps worse than lack of it. She softly put back a half-empty glass at the counter. "It's not like you could have easily sent me the coordinates, right?" The woman asked with a deadpan face and voice, pulling out the device. The gadget beeped, booting up - it was an old-type scouter, mostly used by the low-class soldiers who couldn't afford the regular ones. Despite its inability to measure power levels, it was still widely used by low-level warriors. She liked how tacky it was.
There were no new messages or information assigned to Sabia's ID. Interesting.
"It's not like us, the poor lot, don't have communicators. But I know it's easy to overlook," the device was safely tucked back in her pocket, as she got up. "I suggest remembering that, it will save you from trips to this shithole." Chuckles erupted from the back of the pub, but Sabia remained stoic, her tone was perfectly emotionless, teetering between mockery and indifference. Because she didn't care. If the woman wanted to show off and grace her with her presence by fetching her personally from the district - that was not impressive. Nor was it smart. Wasting time in this manner, if they already lacked it, was foolish, but holding an elite accountable was pointless, anyway. Sabia was used to it by now.
"And before we go, I'd like to address something," Sabia said, her voice cool and unsympathetic. She turned back to the warrior, her cold gaze facing her properly as it rested on her with a complete lack of emotion. The young woman's voice lowered to a near whisper, but it was filled with a professional sharpness. "I was under the impression that all soldiers were required to maintain discretion about mission details. You just violated operational security by disclosing our mission in front of civilians. That’s a breach of protocol." It was a fact, but Sabia knew that facts, when unflattering, often came across as mockery. There was no doubt. She won't reflect on her words but would get offended instead. To the elite, this dingy pub and its patrons posed no threat - but Sabia was well aware of how fast information could spread in such places.
The woman's careless words had likely already been sold as gossip. One message here, a quick tap on a scouter there... And the intel could easily end up in the wrong hands. The fact that an elite warrior was here, demanding Sabia’s presence, was now widely known to many people who made a living trading gossip and information. If the whole ordeal were dressed with some personal grudge or a scheme to own her money, the information spread wouldn't be nearly as dangerous. People were always on the lookout for valuable tidbits, and the elite had just handed them a feast - what could they do with that? Who knew? Sabia sighed inwardly. This could very well come back to bite them in the ass later.
"Trying to discuss crucial mission details in a place like this, without a care in the world... You're used to having your shit wiped for you, aren't you?" Her eyebrow arched, revealing her cold disdain. She clicked her tongue again - the elite's incompetence was annoying at best, yet Sabia had no expectations to begin with. You couldn't be disappointed if you never expected anything better. "If you have any other important information, I recommend you share it in private. On the way." Her words hung in the air shortly, quickly swallowed by a low hum of conversation resumed in the back of the pub. Sabia turned to leave, putting a zeni bill on the counter. She didn't look back despite the many pairs of eyes staring daggers in her back. What needed to be said, was said, and now there were more pressing matters to attend to.
As she exited the pub, the dim, flickering light gave way to the harsh reality of the district. The air was better than inside the bar but was still thick with the stench of sweat and trash. The ambiance of wastelands will be a welcomed change... Sabia's mind was already focused on the mission ahead. Mostly, all the possibilities of it being a mess, because it was a shitshow already. Tch. The mercenaries clan was the anchoring point, but the first thing first. Whatever will happen with them later was none of her concern, as long as the scientist was safe.
She felt the familiar rush of wind against her face as she ascended, leaving the stench and chaos of the slums behind. This mission was already off to a rocky start, and the stakes were high - it wasn't going to be pretty. Fate disliked her, Sabia knew it well enough... Still, she couldn't afford to let the mission get messed up any more than it already was.
WC - 1335
TWC - 2965
PL - Ki Conceal - 2,500
Super Weighted Clothing in Use
Pre-Workout Mix (1#) in Use |
|
