[World Event] Bearing a Bear's Ways

“Do you even know where to go, midget?” grumbled Becker as the crew trekked up a sandy hill.

He had one hand rested on the hilt of his sword and the other clasped tightly around the back of Ronx’s collar. The commander’s moment of unexpected leadership had been quickly abridged when he had attempted to pull his cart out of the water and tow it with them, an act not a single Bonbon was going to allow.

“I’ll get you a new one!” Freya had snapped as he and his brother had tried to wrestle their vexingly agile captain away from the dock, where the poor, weathered cart was bubbling mournfully as it sank beneath the water.

“It was shabby and it was only supposed to last us that one trip anyway!” barked Friday, tugging his mantle roughly.

“Nooo! I like that one!” howled Ronx in dismay.

He struggled against the twins, his fingers flayed as they reached desperately and fruitlessly for the sinking cart. The shabby vehicle that had loyally served the revolutionary through countless ordeals let out a final grief-stricken whine, before its life finally expired.

Crushed, Ronx let out a howl of anguish and with the object of their nuisance defeated, the twins abruptly released him. Ronx fell prostrate to the ground, his face buried in his arms as he wailed, wept and wallowed.

The scene was tragic. It was heart-rendering. Oh, how cruel this mission was already coming to be! To think the crew would already be suffering from a casualty when the day was still so young. Ronx might have continued to mourn the entire crisis at Las Camp away if Becker hadn’t sighed and delivered a well-practiced, brain-rattling blow to the blonde’s head.

Presently, the fanciful fishman and arguably de facto leader of the group hauled the moping muppet-head unsympathetically along their path, his package having yet to cease his soulful sobbing. Ahead, Oliver was marching doggedly on and with overflowing purpose. Becker’s earlier question had been promptly ignored, a surprise in itself, given that the “midget” rarely ever failed to rise to a prevocational jab at her height.

Meanwhile, Cherry had quickly gotten quite fed up with the walk and had complained incessantly until Fable scooped him onto his shoulder. The twins bantered back and forth with one another, staying close to the little chef’s side in an almost protective manner, but this certainly didn’t stop them from making a few flirtatious comments.

It seemed the only member of the Bonbon X who wasn’t causing a scene and actually seeming to be participating in the covert part of the mission was Rozene, who took up the rear as usual.

“I don’t see why we need two more members when the NRA only just sent Freya and Friday,” grumbling Cherry. Without needing to walk anymore, he was now bored and had taken up his gripe again.

“I can’t wait to see what dunces they send,” chortled Freya crassly. “That’s why they sent us and the midget, anyway.”

“You wanna know what the Bonbon X’s reputation was when we left?” asked Friday, grinning mischievously. “You’re basically the cute, fluffy and entirely harmless mascots of the NRA!”

The twins dissolved into a fit of childish giggles, before Antoinette rammed the base of her parasol into their heads.

“I’ll send you both straight back to the Hatch if the two of you can’t behave,” she snapped, clearly still in a foul mood from their early mode of transport.

“You think you could make us?” growled Freya as two sets of identical glares turned on her simultaneously.

“All of you, be quiet,” snarled Becker. “We’re here.”

The group lapsed into temporary silence (minus Ronx’s ongoing lamentations) as they filed into a haphazardly drawn line in front of the three figures awaiting at the top of the hill. Their eyes only swept briefly over Garland, their interest completely focused upon the new faces soon to become their crewmates. Cherry was the first to speak up and there was no agreement from the rest, but given their unusual silence, he seemed to speak for the crew.

Fable politely spoke up in the strangers’ defence, but no one else seemed willing to offer the same courtesy. Antoinette glared, the twins glanced boredly off to the horizon and Rozene’s fangs were bared slightly in a distrustful and unwelcoming half-smile. Despite the crew’s tendency to bicker among themselves, this was their true nature: sceptical, wary and united before those they hadn’t yet recognised to be part of their own.

As Garland reprimanded the boy, Becker, having noticed the crew’s immediate shift in mood from sporadic squabbles to silent suspicion, exhaled in exasperation and promptly flung Ronx onto the line between the two distinct group. Cherry pouted and seemed ready to retort, but decided against it in favour of kicking Ronx in the stomach.

“Get up and greet the newbies, Captain,” he snarled dryly. “And our First-Mate.”

The revolutionary’s sniffling stopped for a moment, before a long whimper wormed out. However, when he stumbled to his feet, his expression was now completely clear of his losses and a beaming smile was plastered on his face.

He turned his gaze curiously to the other group, his smile further brightening to see Garland. He might have rushed to the older man for an affectionate hug if Acacia’s abrupt introduction hadn’t drawn his attention away.

“I see, so you’re the new first-mate,” commented Ronx, grinning. “You’re going to become the person I trust most! Nice to meet you, my name is Ronx! And nice to meet you too, Mr. Sparrow!" He glanced affectionately across to the young blonde who had a brown sparrow perched atop his head, before turning to the rest of his crew. "Everyone, let’s get along!”

There was unanimous grumbling from the crew, but when Becker took a step forward and gruffly introduced himself, they were quieted into restless mumbles. One by one, starting with Fable and ending with Rozene, the crew gave their strained introductions. When Garland untimely questioned them on the meagre defences left on the Wonderland Hatch, the crew exchanged uneasy glances.

“Well...I’m sure the ship will be fine without us,” said Becker gruffly, his shifty gaze clearly hoping to shut the line of questioning down without being pushed further.



Buried far within the deepest level of the floating prison called the Wonderland Hatch, a roar filled with rage echoed. “Ronx! Stop playing around and let me out, you bastard!!”

The iron door holding Bonbon X’s first prisoner, Commander Kyor of the marines, rattled dangerously as the captive’s heavy fists pounded into it. With the sentries occupied elsewhere, the marine was making decent work against the cell and within a matter of minutes, the door flew off its hinges and dropped to the floor with a resounding boom.

From the cloud of dust that swooped up, a short, ragged figure stepped out, heaving like a bull. A crimson glare flashed from the gloom and when the dust fell away, a head of wild black curls turned from one side to the other, swiftly surveying the area. He stood frozen in place for a moment, as though uncertain of whether he could trust the silence.

Cautiously, the marine took a step forward and before long, he was racing along the corridors, in search of escape and ultimate freedom. He turned one corner and came to a screeching halt, but was too late. In front of him was a short, stout elderly man who was balancing a wooden tray with tea and sweets for two on his rounded belly.

He flailed his arms with a scream as Kyor came crashing into him, the tray flying up into the air with its contents. There was a great din as the two bodies tumbled gracelessly to the ground, cups of boiling water and plate of dangos careening after them.

“Oh no!” cried the elderly man, scrambling to collect the broken fragments of the teacups. He had an expression of somber and grief, as though the items of loss had been of immense value. “All that wasted tea...” He then glanced up with surprise to see the prisoner. “Now, now, what are you doing out of your cell? You should know better than to be wandering around!”

He quickly clambered to his feet, pulling Kyor along with him. He now had an expression of a scolding professor.

“Who are you?” spluttered Kyor, feeling helpless against the elder’s surprisingly iron grip.

“Here, if you want to stretch your limbs, come to the common room,” the elder said, ignoring the question and dragging the prisoner, proceeded to then plop him down onto a pile of cushions. “What should we do now?”

“I’m getting out of here!” shouted Kyor, leaping to his feet.

Unfazed, the elder grabbed him by the collar and fell to a seated position with his legs crossed. Kyor exclaimed as he fell with him and found himself kneeling with his face planted against the floor in front of the elder. He peered up at the elder’s face as he stared expressionlessly back.

This old man looks familiar... the thought flashed across Kyor’s mind, but then the elder broke out into a radiant smile and released his hold on him.

“Would you like to see me juggle?” he asked unexpectedly, smacking his stomach like a drum. “I’m actually pretty good!”

“Wait!” said Kyor, an expression of recognition slowly filling his face. “You’re the NRA’s Dragon of the West! Don Mushi!”

“So…” asked the NRA general, tilting his head as his face formed into a look of questioning. “Yes to seeing me juggle?”

Kyor’s sighed and his shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to defeat.