The [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
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[Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Fri Nov 20, 2020 1:36 pm- Spoiler:
- Quest Name: The Rats and the Rookie
Quest Category: Episode
Player Participants: Richard Maxwell (-4), Jeremy Filth (+1)
Planned Location(s): Black Drum Island
Summary: Jeremy gets conned into shooting a fake Maxwell by the real Maxwell.
“God this town is boring,” complained Jeremy.
It was just after dawn in Iron Side, the large industrial port town on Black Drum Island that had been named after the Iron Side Shipping Company that had founded it nearly a century ago. It was cold this time of year and the chilly morning fog hadn't lifted from the ground yet but the shipping ports were already busy with merchants and fisherman looking to unload their hauls. Naturally this meant that the shops and taverns around the docks were open as well, eager as they were to help the tired and hungry sailors spend some of last night's earnings.
One tavern in particular, Ahab's Oasis,happened to be popular among the marines who patrolled the docks looking for pirates and inspecting the ships for stowaways or contraband. Reason being that the owner, Rusty Ahab, was a long retired rear admiral who gave discounts to both active and retired marines. For the low ranked marines such as Ensign Jeremy Filth, this was a god send, since marines at his rank were hardly paid much of anything.
Jeremy sat at one of the small wooden tables in the surprisingly well lit tavern looking around at the various bounty posters that littered the metal walls of the joint. Supposedly each one was a pirate that had been brought to justice by the marines that had frequented Ahab's over the years. There were some big names on the walls including some who had been super novas or super veterans once upon a time.
Across from Jeremy was another marine, ensign Terry Wheeler. Terry was a tall, dark haired, lanky fellow with pale skin who wore more eye shadow than any man (and most women for that matter) ever should. Both men were dressed in the standard white and blue marine uniforms with their standard issue riffle laid on the ground next to their chairs. The only differences being that Jeremy had two pistols at his side instead of the standard one, as well as a belt of grenades that he wore across his chest where as Terry had a katana that at least looked like it was higher than average quality. The more flamboyant outfits and eccentric personalities among the marines were generally reserved for the higher ranked officers as they were the only ones who could get away with it.
“I don't know what you're complaining about,” sighed Terry “all we have to do is walk around the docks and, like, look at crates and stuff.”
“That's the problem,” scowled the frustrated Jeremy “they told me when I joined the marines that I'd get to go on adventures and shoot pirates. Instead I'm stuck here, on the same boring-ass island I was born on, stickin' my head in a bunch of fuckin' fish freezers in case somebody shoved some drugs up a tuna's asshole.”
The hot headed young marine took a swig of coffee from the ceramic mug in front of him and it looked as though he was about to continue his tirade but before he could a large seagull carrying a sack of mail flew in through the open window near the entrance. It let out a loud SQUAAAAW and flew across the room before taking perch on the bar at the far end of the tavern. The young woman with curly red hair working behind the counter that morning, one of Rusty's grand children, greeted the bird with a handful of sardines before taking the mail and placing a bit of cash in the empty pouch as payment for the delivery service.
By this point Jeremy, Terry and all the other marines in the tavern had gotten up and were now crowded excitedly around the seagull. Morning mail on this day of the week only meant one thing to the marines stationed on Black Drum Island, brand new bounty posters. Of course only posters for pirates actually believed to be in the South Blue were given out this way. No point in scaring people with pictures of monsters from the Grand Line. Most of the pirates shown in the pile of posters were the usual offenders in this part of the world. Small time criminals with bounties in the 5 million to 8 million range. The only reason they hadn't been captured yet is that they generally didn't cause enough trouble to warrant the World Government or any of the big name bounty hunters going after them. Of course there were outliers with bounties in the upper teens, such as “Rat Face” Frank Barbarossa, a notorious smuggler, who was worth 17.5 million according to his most recent poster, but even he was small scale in the grand scheme of things.
The men continued to rifle through the posters looking for new faces or updated bounties among stack of usual offenders, that is until one poster in particular made all them all stop and stare. “Plague Rat” Richard Maxwell, a notoriously ruthless and cunning supernova with a bounty of 194 million, more than ten times the next highest highest bounty in the South Blue. The low ranked marines that frequented Ahab's Oasis all began to murmur among themselves. Some in fear. Some in excitement. It had to be a mistake right? A misplaced poster? There was no way somebody like him would be found in the Blues. Pirates with bounties like that were all off in the Grand Line trying to become pirate king.
Right?
“This is like...stupid...or something,” said Terry with an eye roll. “There's like no way a supernova would be caught dead in a place like this.”
“But,” smiled Jeremy his fingers now twitching with excitement “what if it's for real?”
- word count:
- WC: 952
TWC: 952
Maxwell![[Episode] The Rats and the Rookie Vk6odI4](https://i.imgur.com/vk6odI4.png)
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Sat Nov 21, 2020 11:05 amThey said that good news travels slowly, while bad news has wings. Well, today that saying was quite literal. The local mailbird was making its rounds. After visiting the popular tavern of Ahab’s Oasis and a couple of other locations along the way, it stopped at a quaint, little inn at the other end of the town. The Golden Leaf, as the lovingly carved sign declared, was a place of modest dignity. Two floors and barely big enough to house half a dozen people, it nevertheless had its loyal customers. Tasteful wooden paneling and furniture imported from an island nation quite far away created a cozy experience. Downstairs there was even a small cafe right next to the reception and the kitchen. Not a bar though, heavens no. Rather, the scent of fresh tea drifted in the air.
At the front desk, a healthily round man with a thick, white sweater and an exceptionally well-groomed moustache paid for the latest paper. He adjusted his thick reading glasses and started browsing the pages while humming a dignified tune. Nearby, another man was sitting at a lonely table. His only companions were a cup of tea and a brown suitcase that seemed far too big for someone so scrawny. Fittingly, he was dressed in a fine, chocolate-brown suit, silk no doubt. A thick, black winter coat rested on the back of his chair. Between sips of tea, he busily jotted down something on a small pocket journal.
Upon coming across the bounty posters, the rotund inn-keeper recoiled. “Oh dear...” His eyes widened and stiff upper lip nearly wavered, but he caught himself. Right then. Steady on. He cleared his throat and turned to the only other person present. “It says here a criminal by the name of Richard Maxwell has been spotted in the South Blue.” However, the thin man didn’t even look up from his notes. The name didn’t get much of a reaction. “Never heard of him. A dangerous fellow, I take it?” His calm indifference was apparent.
Still rather shaken beneath the stoic face, the innkeeper nodded and shifted his stare back onto the poster. He had been hoping that he misread, but no. “Quite so, I’m afraid. Just listen to all these crimes... Theft, Fraud, Blackmail, Smuggling... And that’s hardly a half of it. A bounty of 194 million too. Right rotten to the core, he is.” Finally the gentleman guest lifted his attention from the notes and offered some comforting words alongside a friendly smile. “Ah, my dear friend, you fret too much. I’m sure it’s just a misprint, an extra zero or three. Why would that kind of man even come here?” When he put it like that, the rotund man found himself wanting to agree. “I do hope you’re right...” Eager to distract himself, he hoisted a teapot.
“Right then, enough of that. More tea?”
“Please.”
Beneath the smile, the crook was quietly cursing his rotten luck. Of course the latest paper had to appear today. Such perfect timing. As usual, the paper and its problematic additions were printed full of lies and slander. He had never in his life blackmailed anyone. Weeell, unless you insisted on counting that one tiny incident back in... Hrm, alright then. Fair enough. Fortunately the people in charge of snapping pictures for the posters weren’t always exactly competent. Not only did his photo have most of his face obscured, but it also made him look rather... fat. Definitely bulkier than in real life. Hm, maybe the camera did indeed add ten pounds...
After enjoying one more cup of delicious warmth, the gentleman headed off into the chilly morning fog. Not even a whisper of wind stirred the white curtain. He rummaged through his pocket and produced a carton of cancer in a convenient stick form. A lighter’s flame flickered, once, twice, before wisps of smoke started rising. He took a deep, ponderous drag. In hindsight, coming to a marine infested island to lay low may not have been the smartest move. It had felt clever at the time though. ‘The last thing they’ll expect’ kind of thing, see? Letting out a hazy sigh, he turned towards the docks. No point in regretting it now. He had an appointment with a local smuggler, whose name escaped him at the moment. They were supposed to meet behind an abandoned warehouse in about thirty minutes. Better to be early than late.
At the front desk, a healthily round man with a thick, white sweater and an exceptionally well-groomed moustache paid for the latest paper. He adjusted his thick reading glasses and started browsing the pages while humming a dignified tune. Nearby, another man was sitting at a lonely table. His only companions were a cup of tea and a brown suitcase that seemed far too big for someone so scrawny. Fittingly, he was dressed in a fine, chocolate-brown suit, silk no doubt. A thick, black winter coat rested on the back of his chair. Between sips of tea, he busily jotted down something on a small pocket journal.
Upon coming across the bounty posters, the rotund inn-keeper recoiled. “Oh dear...” His eyes widened and stiff upper lip nearly wavered, but he caught himself. Right then. Steady on. He cleared his throat and turned to the only other person present. “It says here a criminal by the name of Richard Maxwell has been spotted in the South Blue.” However, the thin man didn’t even look up from his notes. The name didn’t get much of a reaction. “Never heard of him. A dangerous fellow, I take it?” His calm indifference was apparent.
Still rather shaken beneath the stoic face, the innkeeper nodded and shifted his stare back onto the poster. He had been hoping that he misread, but no. “Quite so, I’m afraid. Just listen to all these crimes... Theft, Fraud, Blackmail, Smuggling... And that’s hardly a half of it. A bounty of 194 million too. Right rotten to the core, he is.” Finally the gentleman guest lifted his attention from the notes and offered some comforting words alongside a friendly smile. “Ah, my dear friend, you fret too much. I’m sure it’s just a misprint, an extra zero or three. Why would that kind of man even come here?” When he put it like that, the rotund man found himself wanting to agree. “I do hope you’re right...” Eager to distract himself, he hoisted a teapot.
“Right then, enough of that. More tea?”
“Please.”
Beneath the smile, the crook was quietly cursing his rotten luck. Of course the latest paper had to appear today. Such perfect timing. As usual, the paper and its problematic additions were printed full of lies and slander. He had never in his life blackmailed anyone. Weeell, unless you insisted on counting that one tiny incident back in... Hrm, alright then. Fair enough. Fortunately the people in charge of snapping pictures for the posters weren’t always exactly competent. Not only did his photo have most of his face obscured, but it also made him look rather... fat. Definitely bulkier than in real life. Hm, maybe the camera did indeed add ten pounds...
After enjoying one more cup of delicious warmth, the gentleman headed off into the chilly morning fog. Not even a whisper of wind stirred the white curtain. He rummaged through his pocket and produced a carton of cancer in a convenient stick form. A lighter’s flame flickered, once, twice, before wisps of smoke started rising. He took a deep, ponderous drag. In hindsight, coming to a marine infested island to lay low may not have been the smartest move. It had felt clever at the time though. ‘The last thing they’ll expect’ kind of thing, see? Letting out a hazy sigh, he turned towards the docks. No point in regretting it now. He had an appointment with a local smuggler, whose name escaped him at the moment. They were supposed to meet behind an abandoned warehouse in about thirty minutes. Better to be early than late.
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Sat Nov 28, 2020 11:01 pmAs the skinnier gentleman exited The Golden Leaf another figure emerged from the fog and began walking menacingly towards the fine establishment. At 6'8” and well over 300 pounds this bearded, bald headed, menace towered over the other man. Despite the cold he wore nothing but some loose fitting sailors pants allowing his sizable gut to spill over the waistline. His arms and legs were a different story, bigger than the torso of most other men they were lean and muscular. Most notable was his right forearm which had been mostly covered by a realistic looking tattoo of a snarling rat. In one of his ham sized hands was large wooden club that had been wrapped with razor wire.
“Oh...Wilson!” bellowed the behemoth of a man. His deep voice seemed to reverberate through the fog.
The rotund owner of The Golden Leaf, whose name was apparently Wilson, opened the door of his shop for just a second to see who was shouting his name. When his eyes fell on the large man, he turned white as a sheet and immediately slammed and locked the door. The large man stumped over to the elegantly crafted, wooden door and, with one swing of his large club, smashed it to splinters leaving nothing but some broken hinges.
“Mr. Maxwell says you're late on your insurance payment again!” bellowed the behemoth over the cloud of dust and debris that had formed.
Wilson nearly tripped over himself as he desperately sprinted upstairs into another room, his office, at the back of the second floor of the shop. Again he locked the door though he knew it would do no good. He quickly grabbed the transponder snail off his deck, dialed the town's emergency number and the very second he heard a voice on the other end he screamed “Help!”
Meanwhile....
Marine Ensign Jeremy Filth had just started his second patrol of the morning when the call came through. A distress call had come through from one of the islands residents. No word on what was causing the distress as the caller had been hysterical but the dispatcher said they could hear a lot of noise in the background. Like something was being destroyed. The call had been traced inland, just a few blocks away from Jeremy's current location to an upscale tea shop. As the closest marine on duty to the location Jeremy was supposed to go check it out.
Shouldering his rifle, Jeremy sprinted down the paved stone streets of the city. To get there more quickly he cut through the alleyways between buildings and hopped over some fences and walls. It didn't take long for Jeremy to arrive on scene, a few minutes at most, but what he saw when he got there disgusted and enraged him.
The Golden Leaf had been demolished. It's doors and windows broken, furniture shattered, and it's floors cracked but that wasn't the worst part. In front of the shop was the shop owner, crawling on blood caked finger tips away from the cruel, laughing brute behind him. There were tears in the pitiable shop owner's swollen eyes as he begged for his life. Both his legs were visibly broken with jagged bone breaking through the skin.
Young Jeremy felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle up and a phantom pain seemed to form in the scar on his stomach. Suddenly time seemed to slow down for him and his senses seemed to sharpen to an extraordinary degree. He could see every twitch of the large pirate's muscles and hear his every footstep as if they were drum beats. He could even smell the cheap meat and cheaper booze on the behemoth's foul breath. It was haki, that manifestation of one's will that allowed for so many of the great feats that you heard about in great tales. Jeremy had first learned about it in boot camp.
Jeremy's fingers wrapped around the grips of the revolvers that were holstered on either side if his waist. His will was simple. He was going to kill this pirate.
“Oh...Wilson!” bellowed the behemoth of a man. His deep voice seemed to reverberate through the fog.
The rotund owner of The Golden Leaf, whose name was apparently Wilson, opened the door of his shop for just a second to see who was shouting his name. When his eyes fell on the large man, he turned white as a sheet and immediately slammed and locked the door. The large man stumped over to the elegantly crafted, wooden door and, with one swing of his large club, smashed it to splinters leaving nothing but some broken hinges.
“Mr. Maxwell says you're late on your insurance payment again!” bellowed the behemoth over the cloud of dust and debris that had formed.
Wilson nearly tripped over himself as he desperately sprinted upstairs into another room, his office, at the back of the second floor of the shop. Again he locked the door though he knew it would do no good. He quickly grabbed the transponder snail off his deck, dialed the town's emergency number and the very second he heard a voice on the other end he screamed “Help!”
Meanwhile....
Marine Ensign Jeremy Filth had just started his second patrol of the morning when the call came through. A distress call had come through from one of the islands residents. No word on what was causing the distress as the caller had been hysterical but the dispatcher said they could hear a lot of noise in the background. Like something was being destroyed. The call had been traced inland, just a few blocks away from Jeremy's current location to an upscale tea shop. As the closest marine on duty to the location Jeremy was supposed to go check it out.
Shouldering his rifle, Jeremy sprinted down the paved stone streets of the city. To get there more quickly he cut through the alleyways between buildings and hopped over some fences and walls. It didn't take long for Jeremy to arrive on scene, a few minutes at most, but what he saw when he got there disgusted and enraged him.
The Golden Leaf had been demolished. It's doors and windows broken, furniture shattered, and it's floors cracked but that wasn't the worst part. In front of the shop was the shop owner, crawling on blood caked finger tips away from the cruel, laughing brute behind him. There were tears in the pitiable shop owner's swollen eyes as he begged for his life. Both his legs were visibly broken with jagged bone breaking through the skin.
Young Jeremy felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle up and a phantom pain seemed to form in the scar on his stomach. Suddenly time seemed to slow down for him and his senses seemed to sharpen to an extraordinary degree. He could see every twitch of the large pirate's muscles and hear his every footstep as if they were drum beats. He could even smell the cheap meat and cheaper booze on the behemoth's foul breath. It was haki, that manifestation of one's will that allowed for so many of the great feats that you heard about in great tales. Jeremy had first learned about it in boot camp.
Jeremy's fingers wrapped around the grips of the revolvers that were holstered on either side if his waist. His will was simple. He was going to kill this pirate.
- word count:
WC: 681
TWC: 1633
- Maxwell
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Mon Nov 30, 2020 6:00 amMuch like smoke on a windless day, the criminal lingered. Having been blessed with ample time, he took a moment to simply enjoy the peace and quiet. Ladies Luck and Fate, upon seeing this, decided that such loitering absolutely would not do. Working in mischievous unison, they summoned a veritable mountain of muscle from the depths of the fog. Richard wasn’t exactly short himself, but this ogre of a man sure made him feel that way. Venom green eyes caaarefully crept upwards, flinching at every terrifying detail they found. The weapon, the tattoo, the beady glare... He deftly stepped aside, ducking out of the behemoth’s way. Fortunately, the hired muscle didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in him. Barely even noticed him, actually. In fact, the big fellow had a very deliberate direction to his march.
The Golden Leaf.
Perhaps it was idle curiosity... Or simply scoping out competition... But the rat crept only a couple of steps further, before slyly glancing over his shoulder. It felt unfair to call it eavesdropping, when the massive man’s equally massive voice rumbled so far. ...As did his less than polite knock on the door. Richard swallowed a clump of fear and glanced at his wristwatch. Good heavens, look at the time. He was supposed to be literally anywhere else right about now. Never one to overstay his welcome, he turned tail and hastened his steps. The last thing he needed was this enthusiastic fellow mistaking him for an eye-witness... However, the threateningly dropped name struck a chord, as it well should. Weren’t many Maxwells running around, see, especially not on a peaceful island in the middle of bloody nowhere.
Quickly the terrified crook vanished into the fog. He desperately pretended that he didn’t hear the screams for help. Or the gruesome smashing sounds. All that racket sounded a whole lot like someone else’s problem. While fleeing the scene, he took a moment to mull over the brute’s claim. Mr. Maxwell, huh...? Funny, he didn’t recall running any protection rackets around here. Hm, food for thought. Along the way, the shifty man passed by a curious sight, a cowboy, wait no, a gun-toting marine who seemed to be in an awful hurry. It didn’t take a detective to figure out where he might be going... The rat tugged the wide brim of his hat lower and kept walking. Nobody paid any mind to an average citizen after all...
Several blocks and one whole cigarette later, the quivering coward arrived at the docks. He took a moment to dump the smoldering remains of his vice. Deep breaths calmed his nerves. The jitters slowly faded away. His eyes scanned the surrounding buildings, drab warehouses of brick and steel. Wind swept the fog away lazily, like an unmotivated janitor. The air had a salty sting to it. Burly sailors and dockers were busily unloading a merchant ship onto the docks. Huge crates were being hauled into an open warehouse. His gaze trailed a path past the workers and towards a quiet corner of the harbor. Quietly he surmised that the meeting spot was... right... around... there-ish.
When the workers all had their backs turned, the sharp-dressed rat scurried past them. He found a promising hole in a chain link fence and snuck behind a beaten, old warehouse. Another glance at his watch told him that there was still about ten minutes or so before the appointed time. Just as he was about to kill some time with another smoke, a raspy voice demanded his attention. “Whadda ya think yer doin’ here?” A group of thin, unkempt men came crawling from the shadows. Five in total, they surrounded the intruder. “This ‘ere is Mr. Maxwell’s turf.” Richard’s attention strayed onto matching tattoos decorating their arms. The snarling rat design stirred a fresh memory in his mind. He feigned polite ignorance.
“Mr. Maxwell, you say...?”
The Golden Leaf.
Perhaps it was idle curiosity... Or simply scoping out competition... But the rat crept only a couple of steps further, before slyly glancing over his shoulder. It felt unfair to call it eavesdropping, when the massive man’s equally massive voice rumbled so far. ...As did his less than polite knock on the door. Richard swallowed a clump of fear and glanced at his wristwatch. Good heavens, look at the time. He was supposed to be literally anywhere else right about now. Never one to overstay his welcome, he turned tail and hastened his steps. The last thing he needed was this enthusiastic fellow mistaking him for an eye-witness... However, the threateningly dropped name struck a chord, as it well should. Weren’t many Maxwells running around, see, especially not on a peaceful island in the middle of bloody nowhere.
Quickly the terrified crook vanished into the fog. He desperately pretended that he didn’t hear the screams for help. Or the gruesome smashing sounds. All that racket sounded a whole lot like someone else’s problem. While fleeing the scene, he took a moment to mull over the brute’s claim. Mr. Maxwell, huh...? Funny, he didn’t recall running any protection rackets around here. Hm, food for thought. Along the way, the shifty man passed by a curious sight, a cowboy, wait no, a gun-toting marine who seemed to be in an awful hurry. It didn’t take a detective to figure out where he might be going... The rat tugged the wide brim of his hat lower and kept walking. Nobody paid any mind to an average citizen after all...
Several blocks and one whole cigarette later, the quivering coward arrived at the docks. He took a moment to dump the smoldering remains of his vice. Deep breaths calmed his nerves. The jitters slowly faded away. His eyes scanned the surrounding buildings, drab warehouses of brick and steel. Wind swept the fog away lazily, like an unmotivated janitor. The air had a salty sting to it. Burly sailors and dockers were busily unloading a merchant ship onto the docks. Huge crates were being hauled into an open warehouse. His gaze trailed a path past the workers and towards a quiet corner of the harbor. Quietly he surmised that the meeting spot was... right... around... there-ish.
When the workers all had their backs turned, the sharp-dressed rat scurried past them. He found a promising hole in a chain link fence and snuck behind a beaten, old warehouse. Another glance at his watch told him that there was still about ten minutes or so before the appointed time. Just as he was about to kill some time with another smoke, a raspy voice demanded his attention. “Whadda ya think yer doin’ here?” A group of thin, unkempt men came crawling from the shadows. Five in total, they surrounded the intruder. “This ‘ere is Mr. Maxwell’s turf.” Richard’s attention strayed onto matching tattoos decorating their arms. The snarling rat design stirred a fresh memory in his mind. He feigned polite ignorance.
“Mr. Maxwell, you say...?”
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Tue Dec 08, 2020 9:34 pmWhile a certain well dressed gentleman was having a meet and greet with “Mr. Maxwell's” crew Jeremy Filth was having one of his own with one of their debt collectors. Jeremy's deft hands shot down to his revolvers which had been dubbed Judge and Jury by the hot headed marine. In one smooth motion he pulled them from their holsters, aimed them at the looming lawbreaker and fired them both at the same time. The shots landed flush, hitting the pirate square in his sizable gut.
The huge man gasped in pain and staggered back, if only for a second before regaining his composure. He was bleeding but the wounds were hardly serious. Jeremy aimed down the sight of one of his revolvers again, taking his time to line up the perfect shot right between the eyes of the pirate but before he could fire another round the would be target slammed his tree trunk sized club on the ground in front of him.
The force of the blow sent a loud, rumbling shock wave that kicked dirt and stone into the air as it made its way towards Jeremy, just barely missing poor Wilson in the process. The young Marine dove out of the way allowing the wave to break on a brick wall behind him. Once he was out of harm's way Jeremy quickly aimed his pistols back at the target but once again the pirate was one step ahead of him. For such a big fellow he was surprisingly quick. This time the mammoth man wrapped his hand around the neck of the nearly dead Wilson and lifted the poor shop keeper up in front of the gun.
“Careful,” taunted the pirate “if you don't put your gun down I might get scared and squeeze his neck.”
Reluctantly Jeremy lowered his weapons. He hated pirates, that was true, but not enough for him to just gun down a civilian.
“That's what I thought. Now get lost. Mr. Maxwell's goin' to be real mad if this takes too long.”
Jeremy glared at the pirate and his grip on Judge and Jury tightened. Suddenly the image of that wanted poster, and what it meant, flashed into his head.
“You work for Richard Maxwell, the super nova? That Richard Maxwell?” he asked as if unable to believe what he'd just heard.
The pirate smiled proudly.
“Yeah that Richard Maxwell now fu...”
He wouldn't even be able to finish his sentence before Jeremy moved into action. Powered by haki and spurred on by a combination of hatred for the man before him and excitement at the prospect of getting to gun down such an infamous criminal, the rookie marine moved suddenly and quickly. Thanks to haki that amped up his senses to a supernatural degree, the world seemed to move in slow motion and thanks to the haki that now powered his weapons, invisible to those who couldn't sense it but black as black could possibly be to those who could, his shots would now have the power to put the pirate down like the rabid dog he was.
Jeremy's first shot was low and to the side, strategically placed so that it would ricochet off an upturned rock and hit the pirate's large elbow. Sure enough, the joint shattered and the pirate screamed and dropped his captive. Now with no hostage in his line of sight Jeremy fired two more times. The first shot slammed into the neck of the pirate, ripping a nasty looking hole into his wind pipe. The second shot hit him in the face, just above his nose. This shot would break through his thick skull and drill into his brain.
The pirate fell back, dead as a doornail and not a moment too soon. For a rookie like Jeremy using haki as much as he had in that short fight was extremely draining and as his haki faded away he fell back on his bum. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath and sweat dripped from his hands and head. His vision was a little blurry now and he would never admit it but, for a moment, he was worried that he might pass out from exhaustion.
Once he caught his breath enough to speak, he would pull a portable din din mushi from his coat and call in for medical assistance and once that assistance arrived he would slowly begin to make his way back towards the docks where the marines were headquartered on the island. With all the ruckus that had been caused and the information Jeremy had gathered, his superiors would want to know what had happened and what had been said.
If a man like Richard Maxwell was really on Drum Island then he likely had a long day ahead of him.
The huge man gasped in pain and staggered back, if only for a second before regaining his composure. He was bleeding but the wounds were hardly serious. Jeremy aimed down the sight of one of his revolvers again, taking his time to line up the perfect shot right between the eyes of the pirate but before he could fire another round the would be target slammed his tree trunk sized club on the ground in front of him.
The force of the blow sent a loud, rumbling shock wave that kicked dirt and stone into the air as it made its way towards Jeremy, just barely missing poor Wilson in the process. The young Marine dove out of the way allowing the wave to break on a brick wall behind him. Once he was out of harm's way Jeremy quickly aimed his pistols back at the target but once again the pirate was one step ahead of him. For such a big fellow he was surprisingly quick. This time the mammoth man wrapped his hand around the neck of the nearly dead Wilson and lifted the poor shop keeper up in front of the gun.
“Careful,” taunted the pirate “if you don't put your gun down I might get scared and squeeze his neck.”
Reluctantly Jeremy lowered his weapons. He hated pirates, that was true, but not enough for him to just gun down a civilian.
“That's what I thought. Now get lost. Mr. Maxwell's goin' to be real mad if this takes too long.”
Jeremy glared at the pirate and his grip on Judge and Jury tightened. Suddenly the image of that wanted poster, and what it meant, flashed into his head.
“You work for Richard Maxwell, the super nova? That Richard Maxwell?” he asked as if unable to believe what he'd just heard.
The pirate smiled proudly.
“Yeah that Richard Maxwell now fu...”
He wouldn't even be able to finish his sentence before Jeremy moved into action. Powered by haki and spurred on by a combination of hatred for the man before him and excitement at the prospect of getting to gun down such an infamous criminal, the rookie marine moved suddenly and quickly. Thanks to haki that amped up his senses to a supernatural degree, the world seemed to move in slow motion and thanks to the haki that now powered his weapons, invisible to those who couldn't sense it but black as black could possibly be to those who could, his shots would now have the power to put the pirate down like the rabid dog he was.
Jeremy's first shot was low and to the side, strategically placed so that it would ricochet off an upturned rock and hit the pirate's large elbow. Sure enough, the joint shattered and the pirate screamed and dropped his captive. Now with no hostage in his line of sight Jeremy fired two more times. The first shot slammed into the neck of the pirate, ripping a nasty looking hole into his wind pipe. The second shot hit him in the face, just above his nose. This shot would break through his thick skull and drill into his brain.
The pirate fell back, dead as a doornail and not a moment too soon. For a rookie like Jeremy using haki as much as he had in that short fight was extremely draining and as his haki faded away he fell back on his bum. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath and sweat dripped from his hands and head. His vision was a little blurry now and he would never admit it but, for a moment, he was worried that he might pass out from exhaustion.
Once he caught his breath enough to speak, he would pull a portable din din mushi from his coat and call in for medical assistance and once that assistance arrived he would slowly begin to make his way back towards the docks where the marines were headquartered on the island. With all the ruckus that had been caused and the information Jeremy had gathered, his superiors would want to know what had happened and what had been said.
If a man like Richard Maxwell was really on Drum Island then he likely had a long day ahead of him.
- word count:
WC: 802
TWC: 2435
- Maxwell
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Thu Dec 10, 2020 8:40 amCreeping closer, the group of crooks eyed the gentleman with the same kind of eyes a wolf pack had for its prey. Their greedy gazes hungrily devoured every detail. That suit alone was worth a pretty penny, not to even mention the huge suitcase. Knuckles were cracked and shoulders were rolled. “Yeah. And we’re his posse.” In stark contrast, Richard adjusted his tie anxiously and tried to stop his knees from wobbling. He was rummaging through the dark corners of his mind for a plan. Any plan. Five on one were pretty poor odds, you see. So, rather than testing his lousy luck with a fistfight, he instead chose... Bluffing.
As any aspiring tactician knew, the first move was often decisive. So it was here too. The sharp-dressed man cleared his throat and flashed a cheery smile. “Ah, excellent! Then you must be the contact I’m supposed to meet.” Immediately the hoodlums stopped their approach and exchanged confused glances. Not... exactly the reaction they were used to seeing... The liar pressed the advantage, words flowing from his lips with practiced ease. “You know, for the wares? For Mr. Maxwell? I bring the goods and he brings the money, see?” All the best lies had a seed of truth in them. For the finishing blow, he brought a hand to his chest and feigned honest confusion.
“Surely you know who I am?”
Finally the leader of the suspicious squad piped up, mildly offended. “My name ain’t Shirley... Uh, I mean, yeh, sure do.” His unsure expression betrayed the utter bullshit he was blurting. “Yer that broker guy, uh, Mr. Whatsit?” Without missing a beat, the older criminal decided it was good enough and rolled with it. “Well, it’s pronounced Whazit, but yes that would be me.” And so yet another alter-ego was crafted on the spot. He doffed his hat politely. “Mr. Whazit, trader extraordinaire, at your service.” In return, the five hoodlums awkwardly introduced themselves as Inky, Pinky, Dinky, Blinky and Clyde.
Knowing full well not to give the group time to think, the rat hoisted his suitcase. “You can go tell Mr. Maxwell that I managed to get... the thing... he wanted. He’ll know what I’m talking about.” And even if the identity thief didn’t, there was no way the man would actually admit it. Some baits were too juicy to pass up, you know. ...He would know. True enough, the gleam in their eyes was replaced by a different kind of greed, the gleam of hungry scavengers hoping for scraps. Anything that was good for the boss was good for them. “Roight. We’ll go tell Mr. Maxwell. Just wait here. Won’t be long.” In a perfectly disorganized scramble, they hurried back into the shadows.
As soon as the last silhouette vanished, Richard let out the breath he had been holding. His confident posture deflated. A drop of cold sweat crawled down his spine. With shaky hands, he lit another cigarette and tasted the soothing smoke. Silent steps took him back to the chain link fence, where he could watch the docks. Nothing but the clouds, the sea... And the rhythmic marching of footsteps. Nearly dropping his smoke from the fright, he ducked behind a corner. Caaaarefully he peered out, watching men in uniforms march past. Huh. That... was an awful lot of marines. You’d think there was a base near here or something...
As any aspiring tactician knew, the first move was often decisive. So it was here too. The sharp-dressed man cleared his throat and flashed a cheery smile. “Ah, excellent! Then you must be the contact I’m supposed to meet.” Immediately the hoodlums stopped their approach and exchanged confused glances. Not... exactly the reaction they were used to seeing... The liar pressed the advantage, words flowing from his lips with practiced ease. “You know, for the wares? For Mr. Maxwell? I bring the goods and he brings the money, see?” All the best lies had a seed of truth in them. For the finishing blow, he brought a hand to his chest and feigned honest confusion.
“Surely you know who I am?”
Finally the leader of the suspicious squad piped up, mildly offended. “My name ain’t Shirley... Uh, I mean, yeh, sure do.” His unsure expression betrayed the utter bullshit he was blurting. “Yer that broker guy, uh, Mr. Whatsit?” Without missing a beat, the older criminal decided it was good enough and rolled with it. “Well, it’s pronounced Whazit, but yes that would be me.” And so yet another alter-ego was crafted on the spot. He doffed his hat politely. “Mr. Whazit, trader extraordinaire, at your service.” In return, the five hoodlums awkwardly introduced themselves as Inky, Pinky, Dinky, Blinky and Clyde.
Knowing full well not to give the group time to think, the rat hoisted his suitcase. “You can go tell Mr. Maxwell that I managed to get... the thing... he wanted. He’ll know what I’m talking about.” And even if the identity thief didn’t, there was no way the man would actually admit it. Some baits were too juicy to pass up, you know. ...He would know. True enough, the gleam in their eyes was replaced by a different kind of greed, the gleam of hungry scavengers hoping for scraps. Anything that was good for the boss was good for them. “Roight. We’ll go tell Mr. Maxwell. Just wait here. Won’t be long.” In a perfectly disorganized scramble, they hurried back into the shadows.
As soon as the last silhouette vanished, Richard let out the breath he had been holding. His confident posture deflated. A drop of cold sweat crawled down his spine. With shaky hands, he lit another cigarette and tasted the soothing smoke. Silent steps took him back to the chain link fence, where he could watch the docks. Nothing but the clouds, the sea... And the rhythmic marching of footsteps. Nearly dropping his smoke from the fright, he ducked behind a corner. Caaaarefully he peered out, watching men in uniforms march past. Huh. That... was an awful lot of marines. You’d think there was a base near here or something...
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Tue Dec 15, 2020 9:49 pmJeremy took his time walking back to “headquarters”, which was really just a series of five galleon ships docked next to each other at the harbor and loosely connected by gangplanks. By now the adrenaline from his fight had worn off and, thanks to the intense pain in his left ankle, he'd begun to realize that he hadn't dodged the shock wave as cleanly as he thought. This made walking painful, particularly along the stone roads which weren't always evenly paved. On the bright side, thought Jeremy, at least now the ocean breeze felt good.
As he walked along the docks he noticed a couple of gruff looking men rolling some large boxes across the docks on a pair of dollies. Normally this wouldn't raise any suspicions as it was a fairly common sight but Jeremy noticed something unusual. Poking out of the collar of one of the men's jacket, along the side of the neck, was a rat tattoo that was extremely similar to the tattoo on the now dead pirate's arm. For a second the young ensign tensed up as he eyed the man up before ultimately deciding against any sort of action. It was anti-climatic but he had neither the time nor the energy to harass every sailor with a slightly suspicions looking tattoo. Instead he simply nodded at them and continued on his way.
The rest of his walk back to base would be uneventful and what felt like just a few minutes later he was standing at the base of a slender metal walkway leading up from the dock to the deck of the first galleon in the series. He walked confidently across the white, steel deck over the gangplank that connected the ship to the next one in line and again to the one after that until he was on the deck of the third and largest ship of the bunch. Of course there were other marines up on the decks as well. Most of them were either cleaning, performing inspections and maintenance, or running some sort of drill but Jeremy ignored them for the most part save for the occasional head nod or salute as required.
Captain Thomas Mateo, the man in charge of the marines on Black Drum Island, was not known for being patient with his subordinates and the head of the crew that had been assigned to deal the aftermath of the Golden Leaf incident (as it was already being called) had told Jeremy the captain had explicitly demanded that Jeremy come to his office immediately and give his report in person. As it stood the young ensign figured he was likely to get an ear full for walking, not running, over. Wouldn't be the first time Captain Mateo had chewed him out.
Jeremy shrugged at the thought as he pushed open the heavy door to the ship's main cabin where he was immediately greeted by distinct sounds of typewriters typing as well the smell of over cooked coffee and some general chit chat. Jeremy looked around, seeing several men and women scattered about various desks doing what appeared to various bits of office work. As before while on deck, Jeremy ignored these marines doing their jobs as he made his way towards the back of the cabin where there was a somewhat nice looking door with a brass label that read “Capt. Mateo”.
Jeremy only had to knock once before he heard his captain's gravely voice shout “Come in!”
Captain Thomas Mateo was a short, stocky fellow who seemed to be permanently sunburned. That last detail seemed particularly strange to most of the marines given that it had been cloudy on the island for the passed couple of weeks and even if the sun had been shining, the captain rarely seemed to leave his office. Upon seeing Jeremy he got up and marched right over to the much younger marine.
“Well if it isn't Jeremy fucking Filth?! It's about fucking time!” he shouted “I give you a direct order to come see me and what!? You decide to go for a leisurely stroll, maybe pick sea shells down by the sea shore! Maybe stop at one of those nice little cafes for some eggs and toast! No need to rush right!”
The man was a good six inches shorter than Jeremy but the rookie marine still found him intimidating. Still, Jeremy being Jeremy decided to smirk and respond.
“Well sir, on my way here I passed by some merchants selling barrels of sunscreen and I thought you...hurk...”
Before Jeremy could finish his retort his captain's fist slammed into his stomach, causing to him to double over and spit up some bile onto the carpet. No points for guessing who was going to have to scrub that up later.
“Don't try to be smart with me ensign, you might hurt yourself.” ordered the captain though he was no longer shouting so that was an improvement. “Now tell me about what happened at the Golden Leaf.”
Jeremy did as he was told, recounting how'd he been called to deal with a distress call, the destruction of Wilson and the Golden Leaf, the details of the pirate that had caused it and the fight that ensued. He ended the report by talking about the brief conversation between him and the pirate and the revelation the supernova, Richard Maxwell, may have been on the island. When he was done with the report Captain Mateo walked back to his desk and pulled out a file simply labeled “Maxwell”.
“Few weeks ago they wouldn't even think about making a commotion like that in the middle of the day. Damn pirates are getting bolder,” grumbled Thomas. “We've been tracking Richard Maxwell for awhile. He first showed on the island a few months ago but hasn't been causing too much trouble. We know he's been buying a lot of...something...we don't know what yet but I bet it ain't puppies and kittens...from some mad scientist on the grand line. Been recruiting like crazy to. Got a whole bunch of small time crews working for him now. He's got a big shipment of that something coming in tonight. I was going to get some friends together and go see what it was but...”
Captain Mateo trailed off for a second as if thinking over his words.
“...I need a good sniper for this and the one I was going to invite to this party went and got sick. Doctor says he's going to be spraying out of both ends for the next couple of days and I can't wait that long. You got top marks in marksmanship didn't you Filth?”
“Sir?”
“I just asked you a question. Get the bird shit out of your ears and listen. When you were in boot camp it says you got top marks in marksmanship. Some the best anybody had ever seen. Even says you managed to use some haki while you were there. Is that right?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Yes sir. That's correct.”
“Well I don't like it but you and that other sniper were the only men in my company who could shoot worth a shit. So I need you on this mission, understand?”
Jeremy couldn't believe what he was hearing. A minute ago he'd been getting chewed out and belittled by the captain and now he was being asked to help this man take down an extremely dangerous pirate. Luck had a funny way of changing at times. He smiled.
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” nodded Thomas “Meet back here at 21:00 and I'll brief you further. You're dismissed.”
Jeremy saluted the captain and turned to exit the office but before he could leave the captain had one thing else to say.
“But first,” Captain Mateo pointed to mess Jeremy had made on the floor when he'd been punched in the gut “clean that up.”
As he walked along the docks he noticed a couple of gruff looking men rolling some large boxes across the docks on a pair of dollies. Normally this wouldn't raise any suspicions as it was a fairly common sight but Jeremy noticed something unusual. Poking out of the collar of one of the men's jacket, along the side of the neck, was a rat tattoo that was extremely similar to the tattoo on the now dead pirate's arm. For a second the young ensign tensed up as he eyed the man up before ultimately deciding against any sort of action. It was anti-climatic but he had neither the time nor the energy to harass every sailor with a slightly suspicions looking tattoo. Instead he simply nodded at them and continued on his way.
The rest of his walk back to base would be uneventful and what felt like just a few minutes later he was standing at the base of a slender metal walkway leading up from the dock to the deck of the first galleon in the series. He walked confidently across the white, steel deck over the gangplank that connected the ship to the next one in line and again to the one after that until he was on the deck of the third and largest ship of the bunch. Of course there were other marines up on the decks as well. Most of them were either cleaning, performing inspections and maintenance, or running some sort of drill but Jeremy ignored them for the most part save for the occasional head nod or salute as required.
Captain Thomas Mateo, the man in charge of the marines on Black Drum Island, was not known for being patient with his subordinates and the head of the crew that had been assigned to deal the aftermath of the Golden Leaf incident (as it was already being called) had told Jeremy the captain had explicitly demanded that Jeremy come to his office immediately and give his report in person. As it stood the young ensign figured he was likely to get an ear full for walking, not running, over. Wouldn't be the first time Captain Mateo had chewed him out.
Jeremy shrugged at the thought as he pushed open the heavy door to the ship's main cabin where he was immediately greeted by distinct sounds of typewriters typing as well the smell of over cooked coffee and some general chit chat. Jeremy looked around, seeing several men and women scattered about various desks doing what appeared to various bits of office work. As before while on deck, Jeremy ignored these marines doing their jobs as he made his way towards the back of the cabin where there was a somewhat nice looking door with a brass label that read “Capt. Mateo”.
Jeremy only had to knock once before he heard his captain's gravely voice shout “Come in!”
Captain Thomas Mateo was a short, stocky fellow who seemed to be permanently sunburned. That last detail seemed particularly strange to most of the marines given that it had been cloudy on the island for the passed couple of weeks and even if the sun had been shining, the captain rarely seemed to leave his office. Upon seeing Jeremy he got up and marched right over to the much younger marine.
“Well if it isn't Jeremy fucking Filth?! It's about fucking time!” he shouted “I give you a direct order to come see me and what!? You decide to go for a leisurely stroll, maybe pick sea shells down by the sea shore! Maybe stop at one of those nice little cafes for some eggs and toast! No need to rush right!”
The man was a good six inches shorter than Jeremy but the rookie marine still found him intimidating. Still, Jeremy being Jeremy decided to smirk and respond.
“Well sir, on my way here I passed by some merchants selling barrels of sunscreen and I thought you...hurk...”
Before Jeremy could finish his retort his captain's fist slammed into his stomach, causing to him to double over and spit up some bile onto the carpet. No points for guessing who was going to have to scrub that up later.
“Don't try to be smart with me ensign, you might hurt yourself.” ordered the captain though he was no longer shouting so that was an improvement. “Now tell me about what happened at the Golden Leaf.”
Jeremy did as he was told, recounting how'd he been called to deal with a distress call, the destruction of Wilson and the Golden Leaf, the details of the pirate that had caused it and the fight that ensued. He ended the report by talking about the brief conversation between him and the pirate and the revelation the supernova, Richard Maxwell, may have been on the island. When he was done with the report Captain Mateo walked back to his desk and pulled out a file simply labeled “Maxwell”.
“Few weeks ago they wouldn't even think about making a commotion like that in the middle of the day. Damn pirates are getting bolder,” grumbled Thomas. “We've been tracking Richard Maxwell for awhile. He first showed on the island a few months ago but hasn't been causing too much trouble. We know he's been buying a lot of...something...we don't know what yet but I bet it ain't puppies and kittens...from some mad scientist on the grand line. Been recruiting like crazy to. Got a whole bunch of small time crews working for him now. He's got a big shipment of that something coming in tonight. I was going to get some friends together and go see what it was but...”
Captain Mateo trailed off for a second as if thinking over his words.
“...I need a good sniper for this and the one I was going to invite to this party went and got sick. Doctor says he's going to be spraying out of both ends for the next couple of days and I can't wait that long. You got top marks in marksmanship didn't you Filth?”
“Sir?”
“I just asked you a question. Get the bird shit out of your ears and listen. When you were in boot camp it says you got top marks in marksmanship. Some the best anybody had ever seen. Even says you managed to use some haki while you were there. Is that right?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Yes sir. That's correct.”
“Well I don't like it but you and that other sniper were the only men in my company who could shoot worth a shit. So I need you on this mission, understand?”
Jeremy couldn't believe what he was hearing. A minute ago he'd been getting chewed out and belittled by the captain and now he was being asked to help this man take down an extremely dangerous pirate. Luck had a funny way of changing at times. He smiled.
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” nodded Thomas “Meet back here at 21:00 and I'll brief you further. You're dismissed.”
Jeremy saluted the captain and turned to exit the office but before he could leave the captain had one thing else to say.
“But first,” Captain Mateo pointed to mess Jeremy had made on the floor when he'd been punched in the gut “clean that up.”
- Word Count:
WC: 1312
TWC: 3747
- Maxwell
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Wed Dec 16, 2020 7:38 amFortunately, the gang of lackeys came scurrying back before the sharp-dressed rat changed his mind and bailed. The thought was still tempting, but... Well, honestly he was just curious to see what kind of person was stupid enough to willingly use his name. Even he didn’t use his own name. Following the lead, the rat slipped through the thin path snaking between the warehouses. Eventually they arrived at a hovel of sorts that was only barely better patched than the buildings around it. It vaguely resembled a manor cobbled together from shipping containers, driftwood and metal sheets. The unmistakable sounds of music and merriment echoed from inside.
Stepping inside, Richard was slapped in the face by the mixed stench of smoke and booze. The interior was inspired by the speakeasies of the fancier islands, with old-fashioned and tasteful wooden decor. It clashed horribly against the tasteless criminals dwelling here. People in messy outfits were lounging on chairs and tables, singing local drinking songs in perfect disharmony. Seagulls squawked prettier than them. Real rats nibbled on the food scraps littering the dusty floor. At the very center of the chaos sat a bulky man with a wine glass in hand. His chocolate-brown suit was a poor fit, leaving his big gut spilling out beneath the once-white shirt. Each of his fat fingers was lined with golden rings. Beneath the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat was a rough, angular face that desperately needed a shave. A thick cigar burned between his teeth.
It felt like looking into a funhouse mirror.
The mobster motioned the visitor closer. “You are... Mr. Whazit, yes? You come to my island. To my home. You better have a good reason for bothering me.” His thick, snobbish accent felt forced. Richard suppressed the urge to insist he didn’t sound like that. Instead, he donned his usual smile like it was a well-fitted mask. Spreading his arms wide, he blew away the oppressive atmosphere. “Mr. Maxwell, my brother from another mother! So good to see you again!” It worked exactly as expected. The mobster quirked a brow, hesitating before such warm friendliness. “It’s been years, yet you haven’t changed a bit.” Trapped by societal convention, he couldn’t simply admit that he didn’t remember this man at all. It would make him look like a complete bozo. ...Not that the talkative con man gave the mark a chance to question it in the first place.
“Speaking of business, I managed to get that rare drug you asked for...”
Without missing a beat, the crook set his suitcase down on the floor and knelt beside it. With a set of satisfying clicks, the locks snapped open. At a glance, it only contained a set of carefully folded spare clothes. However, the real treasure was buried beneath them. After some quick rummaging, he pulled out a tiny vial, barely the size of a finger. Light blue liquid sloshed gently within. Pinching it between his fingers, he presented it with an air of hushed mystery. “Undiluted sildenafil... The serum of male virility... Even a tiny dose will guarantee a night to remember.” Well, technically he wasn’t lying. That kind of miracle medicine did exist, though it admittedly went by a different name among the general populace... He leaned closer for a conspiratorial whisper. “But be warned... The side-effects may include weight-loss and sudden hair-growth among other things.” And there he went lying again.
Now the hesitation vanished from the bulky identity thief’s expression. His smile sharpened. Right... His disguise was just that perfect... Of course this... whoever... would think he was the Maxwell. He just had to play his cards right and he would get everything he deserved. With a hefty rumble of a laugh, he waved the warning aside. “Heh heh heh, I think I can live with those...” He clicked his fingers, summoning a waitress with a new bottle of wine. A couple of crooks pushed a relatively clean chair closer. “Come, sit down, brother. We can discuss this business while we drink.” Never one to miss a social cue, or a free drink for that matter, the dealer took a seat and grabbed a glass.
While the waitress filled the rat’s glass, he took the opportunity to carefully probe the mob boss for something useful. “So, business is going good, eh?” He nodded towards the rowdy crowd drinking their hearts out. The head hoodlum grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, it’s going good. Real good.” He puffed his cigar pensively, but eventually he was unable to stop himself from bragging. “In fact, I’ve got a big haul coming in tonight.” A devilish grin tried to creep onto the thin rat’s features, but he suppressed it by taking a sip of the wine. ...Which, eugh, tasted like grape juice fermented in a moldy cellar. At least it killed his eerie smile real quick, leaving behind just the genuine curiosity.
“Is that so...? Tell me more...”
Stepping inside, Richard was slapped in the face by the mixed stench of smoke and booze. The interior was inspired by the speakeasies of the fancier islands, with old-fashioned and tasteful wooden decor. It clashed horribly against the tasteless criminals dwelling here. People in messy outfits were lounging on chairs and tables, singing local drinking songs in perfect disharmony. Seagulls squawked prettier than them. Real rats nibbled on the food scraps littering the dusty floor. At the very center of the chaos sat a bulky man with a wine glass in hand. His chocolate-brown suit was a poor fit, leaving his big gut spilling out beneath the once-white shirt. Each of his fat fingers was lined with golden rings. Beneath the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat was a rough, angular face that desperately needed a shave. A thick cigar burned between his teeth.
It felt like looking into a funhouse mirror.
The mobster motioned the visitor closer. “You are... Mr. Whazit, yes? You come to my island. To my home. You better have a good reason for bothering me.” His thick, snobbish accent felt forced. Richard suppressed the urge to insist he didn’t sound like that. Instead, he donned his usual smile like it was a well-fitted mask. Spreading his arms wide, he blew away the oppressive atmosphere. “Mr. Maxwell, my brother from another mother! So good to see you again!” It worked exactly as expected. The mobster quirked a brow, hesitating before such warm friendliness. “It’s been years, yet you haven’t changed a bit.” Trapped by societal convention, he couldn’t simply admit that he didn’t remember this man at all. It would make him look like a complete bozo. ...Not that the talkative con man gave the mark a chance to question it in the first place.
“Speaking of business, I managed to get that rare drug you asked for...”
Without missing a beat, the crook set his suitcase down on the floor and knelt beside it. With a set of satisfying clicks, the locks snapped open. At a glance, it only contained a set of carefully folded spare clothes. However, the real treasure was buried beneath them. After some quick rummaging, he pulled out a tiny vial, barely the size of a finger. Light blue liquid sloshed gently within. Pinching it between his fingers, he presented it with an air of hushed mystery. “Undiluted sildenafil... The serum of male virility... Even a tiny dose will guarantee a night to remember.” Well, technically he wasn’t lying. That kind of miracle medicine did exist, though it admittedly went by a different name among the general populace... He leaned closer for a conspiratorial whisper. “But be warned... The side-effects may include weight-loss and sudden hair-growth among other things.” And there he went lying again.
Now the hesitation vanished from the bulky identity thief’s expression. His smile sharpened. Right... His disguise was just that perfect... Of course this... whoever... would think he was the Maxwell. He just had to play his cards right and he would get everything he deserved. With a hefty rumble of a laugh, he waved the warning aside. “Heh heh heh, I think I can live with those...” He clicked his fingers, summoning a waitress with a new bottle of wine. A couple of crooks pushed a relatively clean chair closer. “Come, sit down, brother. We can discuss this business while we drink.” Never one to miss a social cue, or a free drink for that matter, the dealer took a seat and grabbed a glass.
While the waitress filled the rat’s glass, he took the opportunity to carefully probe the mob boss for something useful. “So, business is going good, eh?” He nodded towards the rowdy crowd drinking their hearts out. The head hoodlum grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, it’s going good. Real good.” He puffed his cigar pensively, but eventually he was unable to stop himself from bragging. “In fact, I’ve got a big haul coming in tonight.” A devilish grin tried to creep onto the thin rat’s features, but he suppressed it by taking a sip of the wine. ...Which, eugh, tasted like grape juice fermented in a moldy cellar. At least it killed his eerie smile real quick, leaving behind just the genuine curiosity.
“Is that so...? Tell me more...”
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Wed Jan 06, 2021 11:49 pmAbout 14 hours later...
Night had fallen on Black Drum Island and the fog had finally cleared. Yet even without its presence the night was unusually dark as the winter clouds in the sky above blocked out the moon and most of the stars. If it hadn't been for the street lamps around the docks that came on at sunset Jeremy wouldn't have been able to see a thing. Some of the more superstitious marines that Jeremy had worked with would have said that such a thing on the night of a mission was an ominous sign.
A few hours ago Jeremy had again met with Capt. Mateo in the captain's office where, behind the closed door, he'd been briefed on the mission. The shipment Capt. Mateo had mention earlier that day was coming via freighter ship to a private dock owned by Acme Imports. According the intelligence that had been gathered the last several weeks, this company was owned by Richard Maxwell, and was mainly used to insure his shipments seemed legitimate. That and good old fashioned money laundering. Every smart criminal knew to have some legitimate income coming in and you didn't get much smarter than “Plague Rat” Richard Maxwell. He was a supernova for a reason.
The plan was simple. Captain Mateo and some of his most trusted personnel had ensured that the men working the docs tonight weren't going to show up for work. Jeremy didn't ask what that meant. Wasn't his place. But knowing what kind of man Thomas Mateo was, there were probably some bodies at the bottom of the harbor that had rat tattoos on them. Captain Mateo and his men would be impersonating the missing personal while Jeremy provided fire support from an empty warehouse just a couple blocks away.
“If you have to shoot then shoot to kill,” had been Capt. Mateo's words.
The go sign would be when the crate was opened. Once the contents were inspected and secured the men would make their move and take down Richard Maxwell and any of Maxwell's minions that were unfortunate enough to tag along. Dead was better than alive according to Capt. Mateo. Less paperwork involved and less chances for something to go wrong. Jeremy Filth wasn't going to argue with that logic.
Jeremy had been up in the warehouse for about an hour now, looking out over the docks in question through a pair of binoculars. Beside him was his trusty rifle, Peace Maker, with Judge and Jury well within reach. Behind him, on an old milk crate, was a den den mushi that connected straight to island's marine HQ, just in case things went really wrong and back-up was needed. Like the other marines on the mission Jeremy was dressed like your typical dock worker who was working in cold weather, but unlike the others, he didn't have any rat pictures air brushed onto him by a local tattoo artist.
Finally the ship they were all waiting for peeked over the horizon and announced its presence with a blast from its horn and a shine from its spotlights. The large ship glided smoothly through the dark, still waters. Slowing steadily until it came to a near perfect stop as it neared docks. The ship lit up once again as six heavy anchors, two on each side, one at the front, and one at the back descended slowly into the water. Moments later, after the ship's anchors had hit the sea floor, a large gang plank, easily big enough for two or three large men to walk shoulder to shoulder next to each other on it, descended from the ship to the docks. Once it was secured the lights cut off and the night became silent again.
From one of the nearby buildings Jeremy saw two other men approach the docks. One was shorter, fatter and carried a large looking tommy gun, a sub-machine gun that was popular among mobster types due to its light weight and how easy it was to break down and set up, which made concealing and smuggling them easier. The fact that it was fully automatic and had a high rate of fire as well as a large ammo capacity didn't exactly hurt the weapon's popularity either.
The other man was taller, leaner and carried a nearly comically oversized suitcase but seemed to be otherwise unarmed. From such a distance and in such poor lighting it was hard for Jeremy to make out either of their facial features, even when looking through the lens of his rifle scope. Neither of them were dressed like your typical dock worker.
As the two men approached the docks the disguised Capt. Mateo pointed to the short, fat one and said something to the other men that Jeremy couldn't make out. This gesture and whatever those words were would seem innocuous enough to everybody down below but the finger point had been a signal both to other men on the ground as well as to Jeremy up in his perch. That was their guy. Richard Maxwell. The man who would die tonight. Jeremy trained his rifle onto the fat man and had to seriously fight the urge to pull the trigger. Not until the goods were intercepted. Those were his orders.
There were some more words exchanged between the men and mobsters that Jeremy only wished he could hear clearly. After the words were exchanged Mateo and his men disappeared onto the ship only to emerge minutes later hauling a crate marked on all sides as “fragile” in big, bold, capital letters. The men would haul the crate down the gang plank to the docks before setting it down gently. From his perch Jeremy could see that one of Mateo's other men now held a crowbar. The fat one said something to skinny one, who now looked visibly uncomfortable, even from a distance and shoved him towards the crate.
The fat one sauntered back to the building from which he'd originally emerged as Mateo's man handed the skinny one the crowbar, practically forcing it into his hands. After some goading the skinny one would finally start to pry open the crate open and when that happened everything went to hell.
The crate exploded with loud BOOM! that rocked the whole town and bathed the docks in red hot flame. The concussive force of the blast was enough to knock out the windows of the surrounding building and the chain link fence that surrounded the docks of Acme Imports was completely obliterated.
Jeremy could only duck for cover.
Night had fallen on Black Drum Island and the fog had finally cleared. Yet even without its presence the night was unusually dark as the winter clouds in the sky above blocked out the moon and most of the stars. If it hadn't been for the street lamps around the docks that came on at sunset Jeremy wouldn't have been able to see a thing. Some of the more superstitious marines that Jeremy had worked with would have said that such a thing on the night of a mission was an ominous sign.
A few hours ago Jeremy had again met with Capt. Mateo in the captain's office where, behind the closed door, he'd been briefed on the mission. The shipment Capt. Mateo had mention earlier that day was coming via freighter ship to a private dock owned by Acme Imports. According the intelligence that had been gathered the last several weeks, this company was owned by Richard Maxwell, and was mainly used to insure his shipments seemed legitimate. That and good old fashioned money laundering. Every smart criminal knew to have some legitimate income coming in and you didn't get much smarter than “Plague Rat” Richard Maxwell. He was a supernova for a reason.
The plan was simple. Captain Mateo and some of his most trusted personnel had ensured that the men working the docs tonight weren't going to show up for work. Jeremy didn't ask what that meant. Wasn't his place. But knowing what kind of man Thomas Mateo was, there were probably some bodies at the bottom of the harbor that had rat tattoos on them. Captain Mateo and his men would be impersonating the missing personal while Jeremy provided fire support from an empty warehouse just a couple blocks away.
“If you have to shoot then shoot to kill,” had been Capt. Mateo's words.
The go sign would be when the crate was opened. Once the contents were inspected and secured the men would make their move and take down Richard Maxwell and any of Maxwell's minions that were unfortunate enough to tag along. Dead was better than alive according to Capt. Mateo. Less paperwork involved and less chances for something to go wrong. Jeremy Filth wasn't going to argue with that logic.
Jeremy had been up in the warehouse for about an hour now, looking out over the docks in question through a pair of binoculars. Beside him was his trusty rifle, Peace Maker, with Judge and Jury well within reach. Behind him, on an old milk crate, was a den den mushi that connected straight to island's marine HQ, just in case things went really wrong and back-up was needed. Like the other marines on the mission Jeremy was dressed like your typical dock worker who was working in cold weather, but unlike the others, he didn't have any rat pictures air brushed onto him by a local tattoo artist.
Finally the ship they were all waiting for peeked over the horizon and announced its presence with a blast from its horn and a shine from its spotlights. The large ship glided smoothly through the dark, still waters. Slowing steadily until it came to a near perfect stop as it neared docks. The ship lit up once again as six heavy anchors, two on each side, one at the front, and one at the back descended slowly into the water. Moments later, after the ship's anchors had hit the sea floor, a large gang plank, easily big enough for two or three large men to walk shoulder to shoulder next to each other on it, descended from the ship to the docks. Once it was secured the lights cut off and the night became silent again.
From one of the nearby buildings Jeremy saw two other men approach the docks. One was shorter, fatter and carried a large looking tommy gun, a sub-machine gun that was popular among mobster types due to its light weight and how easy it was to break down and set up, which made concealing and smuggling them easier. The fact that it was fully automatic and had a high rate of fire as well as a large ammo capacity didn't exactly hurt the weapon's popularity either.
The other man was taller, leaner and carried a nearly comically oversized suitcase but seemed to be otherwise unarmed. From such a distance and in such poor lighting it was hard for Jeremy to make out either of their facial features, even when looking through the lens of his rifle scope. Neither of them were dressed like your typical dock worker.
As the two men approached the docks the disguised Capt. Mateo pointed to the short, fat one and said something to the other men that Jeremy couldn't make out. This gesture and whatever those words were would seem innocuous enough to everybody down below but the finger point had been a signal both to other men on the ground as well as to Jeremy up in his perch. That was their guy. Richard Maxwell. The man who would die tonight. Jeremy trained his rifle onto the fat man and had to seriously fight the urge to pull the trigger. Not until the goods were intercepted. Those were his orders.
There were some more words exchanged between the men and mobsters that Jeremy only wished he could hear clearly. After the words were exchanged Mateo and his men disappeared onto the ship only to emerge minutes later hauling a crate marked on all sides as “fragile” in big, bold, capital letters. The men would haul the crate down the gang plank to the docks before setting it down gently. From his perch Jeremy could see that one of Mateo's other men now held a crowbar. The fat one said something to skinny one, who now looked visibly uncomfortable, even from a distance and shoved him towards the crate.
The fat one sauntered back to the building from which he'd originally emerged as Mateo's man handed the skinny one the crowbar, practically forcing it into his hands. After some goading the skinny one would finally start to pry open the crate open and when that happened everything went to hell.
The crate exploded with loud BOOM! that rocked the whole town and bathed the docks in red hot flame. The concussive force of the blast was enough to knock out the windows of the surrounding building and the chain link fence that surrounded the docks of Acme Imports was completely obliterated.
Jeremy could only duck for cover.
- Word Count:
WC: 1098
TWC: 4845
- Maxwell
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Fri Jan 08, 2021 4:49 amPatience was a virtue, perhaps the only virtue the greedy, dishonest rat still had left. He didn’t mind simply standing there, watching the black sea beneath the starless sky. Had he picked up painting as a hobby, like his ex-wife had often suggested, he would have had an easel and paints at hand right about now. In his hectic line of work, he rarely had the opportunity to appreciate such calm, sere- *DOOOOOOOOOT* ...Never mind then. Richard shielded his eyes from the spotlights piercing through the warehouse window. “I get the feeling that your shipment has arrived.” His nonchalant tone masked the sarcasm. Behind him, a rotund shadow stirred in its chair. “Took them long enough. Let’s head out.” Right then. Time to get to work.
As the mismatched duo strutted towards the workers, the thin gentleman cast a sideways glance at his business partner. A sly smile crept onto his lips. He could almost see tomorrow’s headlines. ‘Notorious criminal Richard Maxwell found dead.’ Ah, beautiful. He could get a fresh start in his business. No bounty, no criminal record, nothing. The only pieces missing from the puzzle were a distraction... And a couple of well-placed bullets in that wide back... Meanwhile, the bulkier counterpart cast a similar glance at the thin sucker. He had been almost worried, when the real supernova marched into his base, but now it was obvious the rumors were exaggerated. All that fame was wasted on this loser. Once he got rid of him, nobody would ever find out. No suspects, no competition, nothing. He would start his new criminal empire with a bang.
And best of all, this useful idiot has no idea what’s coming to him.
And best of all, this useful idiot has no idea what’s coming to him.
Upon reaching the ship, the pretend broker took a step back, while the fake Maxwell handled the business. When one of the men spoke the classic words ‘Mister Maxwell, I presume’ the rotund fellow nodded. “The one and only.” Behind him, the rat stifled a laugh under the guise of a sneeze. Excellent. He had witnesses too. His hand slithered to the holster hidden beneath his jacket. Just a little longer now. He waited patiently, while the workers and the mobster exchanged the usual pleasantries. Supposedly this shipment was all highly experimental drugs from far away. Well, those who couldn’t make their own had to buy them.
However, when two plans clashed, one inevitably lost. The robust mobster was quicker on the metaphorical draw. Smiling like a shark, he shoved the thin gentleman towards the crate. “Now then, Whazit, my friend... How about you do the honors of checking the goods?” One of the workers helpfully offered a crowbar too. Panic seeped like poison into the coward’s blood. No, nonono, this wasn’t how he had envisioned this. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take that honor from you, friend.” His attempt at deflection was promptly bounced back. “I insist.” With that, he retreated while the lackey pretty much shoved the crowbar into the reluctant rat’s paws. His nose twitched, smelling something rotten. With a nervous gulp, he set down his suitcase and started prying open the lid. The nails released their grip of the wood with a dry crack and...
BOOM!
A massive explosion shook the town. The deafening sound reverberated far. Rising flames painted the night sky with their hot glow. The shockwave had torn the immediate area apart, scattering scorched wood and shattered stone across the docks. Soon, a smoldering silhouette covered in soot fell from the skies. It hit the cold water with a pitiful splash. An imaginary row of judges gave the dive middling scores. Good form, but the landing needed work.
WC: 621
Total: 3396
As the mismatched duo strutted towards the workers, the thin gentleman cast a sideways glance at his business partner. A sly smile crept onto his lips. He could almost see tomorrow’s headlines. ‘Notorious criminal Richard Maxwell found dead.’ Ah, beautiful. He could get a fresh start in his business. No bounty, no criminal record, nothing. The only pieces missing from the puzzle were a distraction... And a couple of well-placed bullets in that wide back... Meanwhile, the bulkier counterpart cast a similar glance at the thin sucker. He had been almost worried, when the real supernova marched into his base, but now it was obvious the rumors were exaggerated. All that fame was wasted on this loser. Once he got rid of him, nobody would ever find out. No suspects, no competition, nothing. He would start his new criminal empire with a bang.
And best of all, this useful idiot has no idea what’s coming to him.
And best of all, this useful idiot has no idea what’s coming to him.
Upon reaching the ship, the pretend broker took a step back, while the fake Maxwell handled the business. When one of the men spoke the classic words ‘Mister Maxwell, I presume’ the rotund fellow nodded. “The one and only.” Behind him, the rat stifled a laugh under the guise of a sneeze. Excellent. He had witnesses too. His hand slithered to the holster hidden beneath his jacket. Just a little longer now. He waited patiently, while the workers and the mobster exchanged the usual pleasantries. Supposedly this shipment was all highly experimental drugs from far away. Well, those who couldn’t make their own had to buy them.
However, when two plans clashed, one inevitably lost. The robust mobster was quicker on the metaphorical draw. Smiling like a shark, he shoved the thin gentleman towards the crate. “Now then, Whazit, my friend... How about you do the honors of checking the goods?” One of the workers helpfully offered a crowbar too. Panic seeped like poison into the coward’s blood. No, nonono, this wasn’t how he had envisioned this. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take that honor from you, friend.” His attempt at deflection was promptly bounced back. “I insist.” With that, he retreated while the lackey pretty much shoved the crowbar into the reluctant rat’s paws. His nose twitched, smelling something rotten. With a nervous gulp, he set down his suitcase and started prying open the lid. The nails released their grip of the wood with a dry crack and...
BOOM!
A massive explosion shook the town. The deafening sound reverberated far. Rising flames painted the night sky with their hot glow. The shockwave had torn the immediate area apart, scattering scorched wood and shattered stone across the docks. Soon, a smoldering silhouette covered in soot fell from the skies. It hit the cold water with a pitiful splash. An imaginary row of judges gave the dive middling scores. Good form, but the landing needed work.
WC: 621
Total: 3396
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Fri Jan 08, 2021 8:42 amRound 1:
Jeremy Filth uses:
Yeehaw! on himself.
Crack Shot on Fake Richard Maxwell
UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
Jeremy Filth uses:
Yeehaw! on himself.
Crack Shot on Fake Richard Maxwell
UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
NPCNPCTracker
Name : Variable
Epithet : Variable
Age : 0
Height : Variable
Weight : Variable
Species/Tribe : Variable
Faction : Variable
Crew : Variable
Ship : Variable
Crew Role : Variable
Devil Fruit : Variable
Bounty : Variable
Balance : Variable
Posts : 1289
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Fri Jan 08, 2021 8:42 amThe member 'Jeremy Filth' has done the following action : Dice Roll
#1 'Reflex Check' : 15, 1
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 19, 9, 6
#1 'Reflex Check' : 15, 1
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 19, 9, 6
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Fri Jan 08, 2021 2:42 pm“What the fuck?!” screamed Jeremy as the blast violently rattled the sheet metal warehouse where he'd been perched up in one of the rooms on the second floor.
Shaking with shock and adrenaline now, Jeremy stayed low to the floor as he quickly scrambled towards the den den mushi, which had been knocked off its milk crate by the blast. As soon as he reached the device, he quickly and desperately yanked it towards him and put the receiver to his ear...only to receive nothing but static. The blast must have damaged the device.
“God damn it!” he cursed again. By now the ringing in his ears had died down enough for him to hear himself scream.
Jeremy quickly grabbed his holstered revolvers, Judge and Jury, and strapped them around his waist. Next he grabbed Peace Maker, which had been flung across the room, and scrambled back up to the windowsill where he'd been perched before the bomb went off. Black haki coated the rifle as Jeremy pointed it out the window and peered through his scope at the now burning docks. So determined was he to find and kill that fat rat that he hardly noticed the heat from the red flames down below or the smell of the thick, black smoke that rose from them.
“Where are you asshole!?” yelled Jeremy into the night and surprisingly the night answered.
The tell tale sound of machine gun fire ripped through the night air as Jeremy instinctively pulled his rifle to his chest and rolled out of the windowsill, back down to the floor though it hardly did any good. The recycled sheet metal that made up the floors and walls of the warehouse did little to stop the spray of bullets as they easily ripped through the building, each one of their entries punctuated with sharp metallic clink. The young, adrenaline fueled ensign griped Peace Maker tightly as he jumped to his feet and ran for his life. He practically dived through open door out onto the balcony that overlooked the main floor where he would tumble over the railing and land on his left shoulder when he hit the concrete floor below with a painful.
For a second Jeremy just laid there on that floor, sandwiched between two massive metal shelves that extended nearly the entire length of the floor, as he wondered how. The marines were supposed to be the greatest, most advanced fighting force on the planet. So how was this rat bastard one step ahead of them every time? A second later, the machine gun fire stopped, presumably so that Mr. Maxwell, as everybody seemed to be calling him, could reload.
Jeremy used one of the metal shelves to pull himself back to his feet. He was hurt, he knew that much, but he couldn't tell how badly. The mixture of rage and adrenaline formed a potent painkiller which made it hard to tell but there were other signs. His shoulder where he'd landed felt slightly swollen and it was a little bit difficult to move it. Worse than that however was the blood on his right side that had begun to slowly trickle through his clothing. A cursory check of the wound, performed by slipping his fingers under his shirt and touching the area with his fingers, indicated that yes, he been shot at least once, probably twice. Luckily the bullets had missed anything vital and passed right through him on the outside of his rib-cage.
The young ensign looked over at the big roll-up door at the front of the building. If he listened closely he could hear the fat rat's fat foot steps coming from the other side. Jeremy walked over to one of the side walls, crouched down into a kneeling firing position and aimed Peace Maker at the roll-up door. He quickly fired off one round, which punctured the door but missed his enemy by a country mile. That was fine though. The only purpose of that shot was to get their attention. Just as expected the door started roll up and Mr. Maxwell's rotund frame came into view. Jeremy waited a few seconds, just long enough to get a good shot and the infamous criminal's wide chest, before pulling Peace Maker's trigger again.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Jeremy, the situation outside the docks had grown far more chaotic than any of the marines would have expected. The bomb at the docks had been just as much a signal as a statement. When it went off all the small time crews under Mr. Maxwell's control went buckwild and began ransacking the town of Iron Side, destroying property and attacking civilians as they saw fit. Of course the two hundred or so combat ready marines stationed on the island quickly mobilized and fought back to quell the criminals but between the civilians that needed to be protected and the sheer number of pirates who wanted to make themselves look good in Mr. Maxwell's eyes by causing as much damage as possible...well, it was all they could do to keep themselves from being completely overwhelmed.
Shaking with shock and adrenaline now, Jeremy stayed low to the floor as he quickly scrambled towards the den den mushi, which had been knocked off its milk crate by the blast. As soon as he reached the device, he quickly and desperately yanked it towards him and put the receiver to his ear...only to receive nothing but static. The blast must have damaged the device.
“God damn it!” he cursed again. By now the ringing in his ears had died down enough for him to hear himself scream.
Jeremy quickly grabbed his holstered revolvers, Judge and Jury, and strapped them around his waist. Next he grabbed Peace Maker, which had been flung across the room, and scrambled back up to the windowsill where he'd been perched before the bomb went off. Black haki coated the rifle as Jeremy pointed it out the window and peered through his scope at the now burning docks. So determined was he to find and kill that fat rat that he hardly noticed the heat from the red flames down below or the smell of the thick, black smoke that rose from them.
“Where are you asshole!?” yelled Jeremy into the night and surprisingly the night answered.
The tell tale sound of machine gun fire ripped through the night air as Jeremy instinctively pulled his rifle to his chest and rolled out of the windowsill, back down to the floor though it hardly did any good. The recycled sheet metal that made up the floors and walls of the warehouse did little to stop the spray of bullets as they easily ripped through the building, each one of their entries punctuated with sharp metallic clink. The young, adrenaline fueled ensign griped Peace Maker tightly as he jumped to his feet and ran for his life. He practically dived through open door out onto the balcony that overlooked the main floor where he would tumble over the railing and land on his left shoulder when he hit the concrete floor below with a painful.
For a second Jeremy just laid there on that floor, sandwiched between two massive metal shelves that extended nearly the entire length of the floor, as he wondered how. The marines were supposed to be the greatest, most advanced fighting force on the planet. So how was this rat bastard one step ahead of them every time? A second later, the machine gun fire stopped, presumably so that Mr. Maxwell, as everybody seemed to be calling him, could reload.
Jeremy used one of the metal shelves to pull himself back to his feet. He was hurt, he knew that much, but he couldn't tell how badly. The mixture of rage and adrenaline formed a potent painkiller which made it hard to tell but there were other signs. His shoulder where he'd landed felt slightly swollen and it was a little bit difficult to move it. Worse than that however was the blood on his right side that had begun to slowly trickle through his clothing. A cursory check of the wound, performed by slipping his fingers under his shirt and touching the area with his fingers, indicated that yes, he been shot at least once, probably twice. Luckily the bullets had missed anything vital and passed right through him on the outside of his rib-cage.
The young ensign looked over at the big roll-up door at the front of the building. If he listened closely he could hear the fat rat's fat foot steps coming from the other side. Jeremy walked over to one of the side walls, crouched down into a kneeling firing position and aimed Peace Maker at the roll-up door. He quickly fired off one round, which punctured the door but missed his enemy by a country mile. That was fine though. The only purpose of that shot was to get their attention. Just as expected the door started roll up and Mr. Maxwell's rotund frame came into view. Jeremy waited a few seconds, just long enough to get a good shot and the infamous criminal's wide chest, before pulling Peace Maker's trigger again.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Jeremy, the situation outside the docks had grown far more chaotic than any of the marines would have expected. The bomb at the docks had been just as much a signal as a statement. When it went off all the small time crews under Mr. Maxwell's control went buckwild and began ransacking the town of Iron Side, destroying property and attacking civilians as they saw fit. Of course the two hundred or so combat ready marines stationed on the island quickly mobilized and fought back to quell the criminals but between the civilians that needed to be protected and the sheer number of pirates who wanted to make themselves look good in Mr. Maxwell's eyes by causing as much damage as possible...well, it was all they could do to keep themselves from being completely overwhelmed.
- Word Count:
WC: 894
TWC: 5739
- COMBAT TRACKERS:
- PLAYER STATS:
(List the current values for your stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
HP:133 (155 - 10 - 10 - 2)
ATK:151 ((110 + (110 * 0.1)) * 1.25 )
DEF:105
RX:120
WP:110
- PLAYER RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list your current RX% and DMG% against them.)
Jeremy Filth vs. Fake Richard Maxwell
RX%: 120% (120/100)
DMG%: 116% (151/130)
- USED 3 TECHNIQUES | 0 TOGGLES | 1 HAKI:
(List all techniques (including UTs), toggles, and types of haki used/activated this turn and their effects.)
TECHNIQUES
YeeHaw! | LT | hit | stat morph | +25% attack | self
Crackshot | HT | hit | flat | 58| Fake Maxwell
Generic UT | UT | miss | flat | 0 | Fake Maxwell
TOGGLES
{toggle name} | {toggle effect}
HAKI
Color of Arms | 10% of WP to ATK
- 1 TECHNIQUES ACTIVE | 0 TOGGLES | 1 HAKI ACTIVE:
(List all techniques that have currently active effects and indicate the remaining duration. Also, indicate what effects they are dealing: e.g. DoT value, Stat Morph value.)
TECHNIQUES
Yeehaw! | +25% ATK to self | 1
TOGGLES
{active toggle name} | {toggle effect}
HAKI
Color of Arms | 10% of WP to ATK | 1
- 0 TECHNIQUES COOLING DOWN | 0 HAKI COOLING DOWN:
(List all techniques and haki that are currently on cooldown and note the number of rounds before you can use them again.)
TECHNIQUES
{technique name} | {cooldown left}
HAKI
{haki type} | {cooldown left}
- OPPONENT STATS:
(For each one of your opponents, list the current values for the stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
Level:15
HP:112 (170 - 58)
ATK:110
DEF:130
RX:100
WP:140
- OPPONENT RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list their current RX% and DMG% against you and your Crew Companions.)
Fake Richard Maxwell vs. Jeremy Filth
RX%:83% (100/120)
DMG%:105% (110 /105)
- OPPONENT TECHNIQUES USED:
(List the class, damage, and target of techniques used by each one of your opponents if you or your Crew Companions are the direct targets.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
LT | hit | 10 | Jeremy Filth
LT | hit | 10 | Jeremy Filth
UT | grazing hit | 2 | Jeremy Filth
- Maxwell
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Mon Jan 11, 2021 8:08 amShortly after the pitiful splash, a flailing hand broke the water’s surface. It was briefly accompanied by a gasping head, before both sank back under. Again and again, the blackened silhouette bopped to the surface and returned to the depths, like some sort of grim swimming performance. Eventually, the desperately grasping hands managed to latch onto a floating piece of wood that had once been a crate’s lid. The scorched and soaked rat scampered onto the makeshift raft. ...Only to have it sink beneath his weight. He wasted a bit of his precious air spouting words not suitable for children. Or adults, for that matter. Fortunately, the cold sea mother washed his mouth thoroughly.
Finally, after what felt like a solid eternity, Richard managed to grab a barrel. It still held enough air to support him, as he flopped weakly against it. Wheezing breaths and ugly coughs slowly replaced the water in his lungs with air. Severe burns painted his skin. His heart was hammering, ears ringing and vision swaying... But he was still alive. See, if there was one thing the rat had gained during his career as a pirate, it was endurance. He was far sturdier than his lanky frame suggested. The cocktail of chemicals always coursing through his veins was keeping him conscious even against shock and agony. Not the most pleasant sensation, no, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Ever so carefully the doctor reached into pretty much the only pocket his poor jacket still had left. He shifted through the broken glass until he found a vial merely cracked instead of shattered. Squinting at the liquid inside, he made sure it was green rather than black before giving himself the shot. Slowly the gentle warmth seeped through his body. It started knitting his broken ribs back together, making breathing a little easier. Little by little, the injuries faded away, as if they had never even happened... Well, except for his eyebrows and moustache. Those would be gone for a good couple of weeks.
While waiting for the healing concoction to work its magic, the wary rat turned his eyes towards the blazing harbor. As much as he just wanted to slink away, he couldn’t do that quite yet... His beloved suitcase was still in there somewhere. It had definitely survived the blast. He hadn’t spent a small fortune on reinforcing it for nothing, you know. First, he needed to figure out a way to climb back up there without getting caught in the chaos... Or, you know, just caught, period.
WC: 424
Total: 3820
Finally, after what felt like a solid eternity, Richard managed to grab a barrel. It still held enough air to support him, as he flopped weakly against it. Wheezing breaths and ugly coughs slowly replaced the water in his lungs with air. Severe burns painted his skin. His heart was hammering, ears ringing and vision swaying... But he was still alive. See, if there was one thing the rat had gained during his career as a pirate, it was endurance. He was far sturdier than his lanky frame suggested. The cocktail of chemicals always coursing through his veins was keeping him conscious even against shock and agony. Not the most pleasant sensation, no, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Ever so carefully the doctor reached into pretty much the only pocket his poor jacket still had left. He shifted through the broken glass until he found a vial merely cracked instead of shattered. Squinting at the liquid inside, he made sure it was green rather than black before giving himself the shot. Slowly the gentle warmth seeped through his body. It started knitting his broken ribs back together, making breathing a little easier. Little by little, the injuries faded away, as if they had never even happened... Well, except for his eyebrows and moustache. Those would be gone for a good couple of weeks.
While waiting for the healing concoction to work its magic, the wary rat turned his eyes towards the blazing harbor. As much as he just wanted to slink away, he couldn’t do that quite yet... His beloved suitcase was still in there somewhere. It had definitely survived the blast. He hadn’t spent a small fortune on reinforcing it for nothing, you know. First, he needed to figure out a way to climb back up there without getting caught in the chaos... Or, you know, just caught, period.
WC: 424
Total: 3820
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Tue Jan 12, 2021 12:46 pmRound 2:
Jeremy Filth uses:
Trickshot on Fake Richard Maxwell
The One Two on Fake Richard Maxwell
Between the Eyes on Fake Richard Maxwell
UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
Jeremy Filth uses:
Trickshot on Fake Richard Maxwell
The One Two on Fake Richard Maxwell
Between the Eyes on Fake Richard Maxwell
UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
- NPCNPC
Tracker
Name : Variable
Epithet : Variable
Age : 0
Height : Variable
Weight : Variable
Species/Tribe : Variable
Faction : Variable
Crew : Variable
Ship : Variable
Crew Role : Variable
Devil Fruit : Variable
Bounty : Variable
Balance : Variable
Posts : 1289
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Tue Jan 12, 2021 12:46 pmThe member 'Jeremy Filth' has done the following action : Dice Roll
#1 'Reflex Check' : 10, 16, 7, 4
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 4, 13, 2
#1 'Reflex Check' : 10, 16, 7, 4
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 4, 13, 2
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Wed Jan 13, 2021 6:31 pmMr. Maxwell was down and, from a distance, appeared to be dead. Jeremy would pause for a second, waiting for any sign of movement. When the coast appeared to be clear, the young marine slowly crept over towards the down mobster, his rifle trained on the target the whole time. As he got closer he noticed the smell of blood slowly became stronger until it began to overpower the other smells of smoke and gunpowder. It didn't take him long to see why.
Jeremy's last shot had struck Mr. Maxwell square in the chest though it was hard to see exactly where. There was too much blood and clothing in the way and even with the large roll-up door open the lighting was still poor. The flames that burned brightly outside actually made things worse in that regard as the constant but erratic pattern of the flickering shadows they created made it that much more difficult to discern the details of any one small thing in the warehouse.
Even still Mr. Maxwell, didn't seem to be moving. Not even breathing as far as Jeremy could tell, and the young marine couldn't help but think that was a good sign. He would just need to check the rat's pulse to be sure. Jeremy's first mistake would be turning the safety of his rifle on and slinging it back over his shoulder instead of keeping it aimed at Mr. Maxwell. His next one would be bending down and placing his hand on the gunshot wound.
With surprising explosiveness for a man of his stature, the fat man grabbed the inexperienced, young marine and, in one smooth motion, pulled him close, spun them both around and slammed Jeremy back first into the concrete floor. The two men would scramble for a bit and Jeremy even managed to avoid most of Mr. Maxwell's attempts at what could best be described as ground and pound, but ultimately the rat would wind up on top, using his knees to block Jeremy from reaching the guns at his waist. From there he would use his forearm and his considerable weight to press down on Jeremy's windpipe.
Desperate for air but unable to reach his guns Jeremy would struggle to find something, anything he could do to avoid being choked to death. At first he tried striking at Mr. Maxwell's head and body with fists, palms and elbows but from such a disadvantaged position, even with his haki hardened hands, he was unable to put enough power behind his swings to move his much heavier opponent and Mr. Maxwell simply absorbed the feeble shots and continued to press down harder.
Finally, in an act of desperation Jeremy managed to thrust a couple of his fingers into Mr. Maxwell's left eye socket, hooking and scratching at mobster's eyeball with his dirty fingernails. This it seemed, was enough as Mr. Maxwell staggered off of the young marine cursing about his eye. Before the string of curses and insults was even finished Jeremy would jump back up his feet. On the way up he would draw Judge and Jury, firing off the first shot before the two revolvers were fully drawn. The bullet from this blast would bounce off the ground and strike the malicious mobster right in his fat gut. Then, after he'd gotten completely back up to his feet and the guns had been drawn proper, he would fire off two more shots, planting them firmly in Mr. Maxwell's torso. Mr. Maxwell would stagger back from the onslaught and drop to his knees but he was hardly finished.
“Stay the fuck down!” commanded Jeremy. He was aiming both revolvers at Mr. Maxwell's head.
“Who do you think you are?” growled Mr. Maxwell as the black sheen of his haki covered him in entirety just as Jeremy's own haki began to fade.
Jeremy's last shot had struck Mr. Maxwell square in the chest though it was hard to see exactly where. There was too much blood and clothing in the way and even with the large roll-up door open the lighting was still poor. The flames that burned brightly outside actually made things worse in that regard as the constant but erratic pattern of the flickering shadows they created made it that much more difficult to discern the details of any one small thing in the warehouse.
Even still Mr. Maxwell, didn't seem to be moving. Not even breathing as far as Jeremy could tell, and the young marine couldn't help but think that was a good sign. He would just need to check the rat's pulse to be sure. Jeremy's first mistake would be turning the safety of his rifle on and slinging it back over his shoulder instead of keeping it aimed at Mr. Maxwell. His next one would be bending down and placing his hand on the gunshot wound.
With surprising explosiveness for a man of his stature, the fat man grabbed the inexperienced, young marine and, in one smooth motion, pulled him close, spun them both around and slammed Jeremy back first into the concrete floor. The two men would scramble for a bit and Jeremy even managed to avoid most of Mr. Maxwell's attempts at what could best be described as ground and pound, but ultimately the rat would wind up on top, using his knees to block Jeremy from reaching the guns at his waist. From there he would use his forearm and his considerable weight to press down on Jeremy's windpipe.
Desperate for air but unable to reach his guns Jeremy would struggle to find something, anything he could do to avoid being choked to death. At first he tried striking at Mr. Maxwell's head and body with fists, palms and elbows but from such a disadvantaged position, even with his haki hardened hands, he was unable to put enough power behind his swings to move his much heavier opponent and Mr. Maxwell simply absorbed the feeble shots and continued to press down harder.
Finally, in an act of desperation Jeremy managed to thrust a couple of his fingers into Mr. Maxwell's left eye socket, hooking and scratching at mobster's eyeball with his dirty fingernails. This it seemed, was enough as Mr. Maxwell staggered off of the young marine cursing about his eye. Before the string of curses and insults was even finished Jeremy would jump back up his feet. On the way up he would draw Judge and Jury, firing off the first shot before the two revolvers were fully drawn. The bullet from this blast would bounce off the ground and strike the malicious mobster right in his fat gut. Then, after he'd gotten completely back up to his feet and the guns had been drawn proper, he would fire off two more shots, planting them firmly in Mr. Maxwell's torso. Mr. Maxwell would stagger back from the onslaught and drop to his knees but he was hardly finished.
“Stay the fuck down!” commanded Jeremy. He was aiming both revolvers at Mr. Maxwell's head.
“Who do you think you are?” growled Mr. Maxwell as the black sheen of his haki covered him in entirety just as Jeremy's own haki began to fade.
- Word Count:
WC: 689
TWC: 6428
- COMBAT TRACKERS:
- PLAYER STATS:
(List the current values for your stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
HP:123 (155 - (10 + 10 + 2) - 10)
ATK:151 ((110 + (110 * 0.1)) * 1.25 )
DEF:105
RX:120
WP:110
- PLAYER RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list your current RX% and DMG% against them.)
Jeremy Filth vs. Fake Richard Maxwell
RX%: 133% (120/90)
DMG%: 116% (151/130)
- USED 4 TECHNIQUES | 0 TOGGLES | 0 HAKI:
(List all techniques (including UTs), toggles, and types of haki used/activated this turn and their effects.)
TECHNIQUES
Trick Shot | MT | hit | flat | 23 | Fake Richard Maxwell
The One Two | LT | hit | flat | 11 | Fake Richard Maxwell
Between the Eyes | LT | hit | flat hybrid | 5 | -10% Reflex | Fake Richard Maxwell
Generic UT | UT | hit | flat | 5 | Fake Richard Maxwell
TOGGLES
{toggle name} | {toggle effect}
HAKI
{name} | {effect}
- 2 TECHNIQUES ACTIVE | 0 TOGGLES | 1 HAKI ACTIVE:
(List all techniques that have currently active effects and indicate the remaining duration. Also, indicate what effects they are dealing: e.g. DoT value, Stat Morph value.)
TECHNIQUES
Yeehaw! | +25% ATK to self | 0
Between the Eyes! | -10% Reflex to Fake Richard Maxwell | 1
TOGGLES
{active toggle name} | {toggle effect}
HAKI
Color of Arms | 10% of WP to ATK | 0
- 1 TECHNIQUES COOLING DOWN | 0 HAKI COOLING DOWN:
(List all techniques and haki that are currently on cooldown and note the number of rounds before you can use them again.)
TECHNIQUES
Crack Shot I 5
HAKI
{haki type} | {cooldown left}
- OPPONENT STATS:
(For each one of your opponents, list the current values for the stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
Level:15
HP:68 (170 – 58 – (23 + 11 + 5 +5))
ATK:110
DEF:130
RX:90 (100 * 0.9)
WP:140
- OPPONENT RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list their current RX% and DMG% against you and your Crew Companions.)
Fake Richard Maxwell vs. Jeremy Filth
RX%:75% (90/120)
DMG%:105% (110 /105)
- OPPONENT TECHNIQUES USED:
(List the class, damage, and target of techniques used by each one of your opponents if you or your Crew Companions are the direct targets.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
LT | miss | 0 | Jeremy Filth
LT | hit | 10 | Jeremy Filth
UT | miss | 0 | Jeremy Filth
- Maxwell
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Sat Jan 16, 2021 9:22 amWith careful motions, the nearly drowned rat paddled his poor excuse for a raft. His muscles were screaming at this torture known as exercise, but he couldn’t exactly afford to stop. The coldness of the water was clinging to his very bones, beckoning him back into embrace of the depths. Stopping spelled certain death. However, being the crafty sort, he had a plan to clear his first major hurdle. See, there weren’t exactly many maintenance ladders around these parts. At least he hadn’t seen one. So, his best bet was the anchor chain of the smuggler’s ship docked nearby. As long as he could get aboard it, he could... borrow... some warm clothes... And a weapon.
Sneaking beneath the shadow of the ship, the criminal found the hefty chain plunged into the sea. Luckily it was huge enough for his slender hands and feet. Like a horribly inconvenient ladder, really, but a ladder nonetheless. After several minutes of huffing and grunting, he managed to haul himself onto the deck. Flopping over like a fish, he gasped for air like one too. Such an active lifestyle didn’t agree with him, no sirree. While catching his breath, he noticed the ringing in his ears was slowly fading. He could hear gunshots and furious shouting from across the burning docks. It was something of a relief, actually. Whoever was out there clearly had their hands full.
Much to Richard’s luck, regaining his hearing also meant that he caught the footsteps drumming against the deck. Rolling onto his stomach, he quickly scampered onto his feet. His eyes scanned the area for any hiding place, passing over lifeboats and ventilation boats, until finally stopping on an open door. There! He rushed inside and pulled the door shut behind him as quietly as his trembling arms allowed. Outside, the footsteps ran past his hideyhole. Puzzled voices argued whether they had actually heard something or if it was just their imagination. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. Safe... For now.
After a moment of fumbling in the dark, the rat found a light switch. He squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. It seemed he had stumbled right into some sort of storage room. Hm, a food storage to be exact. Dry rations lined the shelves. At the back of the room, another door led deeper into the ship, most likely the kitchen if he were to guess. Hanging from a hook was a chef’s uniform. And kitchens had knives... One by one, the pieces started finding their place... Carefully he pried the ruined remains of his suit from his body. The fresh air stung his burns, but he managed to power through it. Snatching the fresh clothes, he donned the new disguise as quickly as his injuries allowed. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
Soon enough, the disguised criminal peeked out of hiding. The coast seemed clear at a glance, which was good enough for him. He tiptoed across the quiet deck towards the walkway extending to the docks. The fact that the beaten thing had somewhat survived the explosion spoke well of its craftsmanship. Keeping a low profile, he swept the smoldering remains of the explosive trap with his gaze. Come on, come on... Where was his dear suitcase...?
WC: 549
Total: 4369
Sneaking beneath the shadow of the ship, the criminal found the hefty chain plunged into the sea. Luckily it was huge enough for his slender hands and feet. Like a horribly inconvenient ladder, really, but a ladder nonetheless. After several minutes of huffing and grunting, he managed to haul himself onto the deck. Flopping over like a fish, he gasped for air like one too. Such an active lifestyle didn’t agree with him, no sirree. While catching his breath, he noticed the ringing in his ears was slowly fading. He could hear gunshots and furious shouting from across the burning docks. It was something of a relief, actually. Whoever was out there clearly had their hands full.
Much to Richard’s luck, regaining his hearing also meant that he caught the footsteps drumming against the deck. Rolling onto his stomach, he quickly scampered onto his feet. His eyes scanned the area for any hiding place, passing over lifeboats and ventilation boats, until finally stopping on an open door. There! He rushed inside and pulled the door shut behind him as quietly as his trembling arms allowed. Outside, the footsteps ran past his hideyhole. Puzzled voices argued whether they had actually heard something or if it was just their imagination. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. Safe... For now.
After a moment of fumbling in the dark, the rat found a light switch. He squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. It seemed he had stumbled right into some sort of storage room. Hm, a food storage to be exact. Dry rations lined the shelves. At the back of the room, another door led deeper into the ship, most likely the kitchen if he were to guess. Hanging from a hook was a chef’s uniform. And kitchens had knives... One by one, the pieces started finding their place... Carefully he pried the ruined remains of his suit from his body. The fresh air stung his burns, but he managed to power through it. Snatching the fresh clothes, he donned the new disguise as quickly as his injuries allowed. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
Soon enough, the disguised criminal peeked out of hiding. The coast seemed clear at a glance, which was good enough for him. He tiptoed across the quiet deck towards the walkway extending to the docks. The fact that the beaten thing had somewhat survived the explosion spoke well of its craftsmanship. Keeping a low profile, he swept the smoldering remains of the explosive trap with his gaze. Come on, come on... Where was his dear suitcase...?
WC: 549
Total: 4369
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Mon Jan 18, 2021 5:41 pmRound 3:
Jeremy Filth uses:
High Explosive Grenade on Fake Richard Maxwell
UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
Jeremy Filth uses:
High Explosive Grenade on Fake Richard Maxwell
UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
- NPCNPC
Tracker
Name : Variable
Epithet : Variable
Age : 0
Height : Variable
Weight : Variable
Species/Tribe : Variable
Faction : Variable
Crew : Variable
Ship : Variable
Crew Role : Variable
Devil Fruit : Variable
Bounty : Variable
Balance : Variable
Posts : 1289
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Mon Jan 18, 2021 5:41 pmThe member 'Jeremy Filth' has done the following action : Dice Roll
#1 'Reflex Check' : 4, 11
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 4, 2, 15
#1 'Reflex Check' : 4, 11
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 4, 2, 15
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Mon Jan 18, 2021 8:32 pmWith his arms wide open, Mr. Maxwell charged at Jeremy, smashing into the young marine shoulder to stomach and knocking the younger man's wind out of his chest. As soon as he made impact the malevolent mobster wrapped his thick arms around Jeremy, pinning the gunslinger's arms to his sides. In response Jeremy's grip tightened around his revolvers. He found that he could still angle them just enough to put a bullet in one of Maxwell's legs. Hopefully that would be enough.
It wasn't.
The gun in Jeremy's right hand, the revolver he called Jury, fired and the shot landed clean in Mr. Maxwell's leg but thanks to the mobster's haki the bullet hardly broke the skin. Instead the rat bared his teeth, quickly shifted his hips and tossed the marine through the open door and down the concrete entrance ramp. Mr. Maxwell's head snapped to the tommy gun that he'd dropped when he was hit by Jeremy's first volley. He quick lunged over and grabbed it before Jeremy had even hit the bottom of the ramp. A sinister smile crossed his lips as he adjusted the drum and his haki shifted. That jet black sheen disappeared from most his his body save for his hands and forearms and instead it oozed like a thick ichor over over the gun.
Meanwhile Jeremy tumbled side over side and head over heel down the entrance ramp. He barely had time to get back to his feet before he saw the mobster holding the machine gun. The young ensign went wide eyed for a second and literally dove around the the side of the building just in time to avoid another volley of machine-gun fire. Jeremy reached back into the dirty, brown winter jacket he'd adorned as part of his undercover outfit and fingered one of his grenades. After a few seconds the machine-gun fire stopped and Mr. Maxwell yelled out.
“I asked you a question kid! Do you know who I am!?” yelled the mobster before the machine-gun resumed, this time ripping through the warehouse wall that Jeremy was hiding behind.
“Yeah!” answered Jeremy as he dove back towards the entrance, once gain narrowly avoiding being perforated by the machine-gun fire. As soon as he landed he pulled out one of the high explosive grenades from his jacket.
“You're a dead man!” shouted Jeremy as he tossed the grenade through the open door before diving around the corner to the other side of the warehouse to avoid both the next volley of gunfire as well as the blast of the grenade that came a few seconds later.
When the blast came, smoke and shrapnel shot out from the doorway and Jeremy could heard a loud metal banging as one of the large metal shelves toppled over which created a domino effect as it knocked over several more. Jeremy would wait a few seconds for the smoke to clear and to listen for any sounds that might indicate it wasn't safe to go in. Sounds such as shouting. Or gunfire. When no such sounds came Jeremy aimed Judge and Jury forward and slowly...carefully...walked back inside the warehouse.
What Jeremy saw next shocked him. Standing in the middle of the warehouse, covered in blood and haki, and smiling like a madman was Mr. Maxwell. The infamous mobster had taken the grenade blast head on and the only thing he'd lost was the tommy gun, which had been damaged beyond use.
“You're wrong kid,” he snarled. “I'm Richard fuckin' Maxwell.”
It wasn't.
The gun in Jeremy's right hand, the revolver he called Jury, fired and the shot landed clean in Mr. Maxwell's leg but thanks to the mobster's haki the bullet hardly broke the skin. Instead the rat bared his teeth, quickly shifted his hips and tossed the marine through the open door and down the concrete entrance ramp. Mr. Maxwell's head snapped to the tommy gun that he'd dropped when he was hit by Jeremy's first volley. He quick lunged over and grabbed it before Jeremy had even hit the bottom of the ramp. A sinister smile crossed his lips as he adjusted the drum and his haki shifted. That jet black sheen disappeared from most his his body save for his hands and forearms and instead it oozed like a thick ichor over over the gun.
Meanwhile Jeremy tumbled side over side and head over heel down the entrance ramp. He barely had time to get back to his feet before he saw the mobster holding the machine gun. The young ensign went wide eyed for a second and literally dove around the the side of the building just in time to avoid another volley of machine-gun fire. Jeremy reached back into the dirty, brown winter jacket he'd adorned as part of his undercover outfit and fingered one of his grenades. After a few seconds the machine-gun fire stopped and Mr. Maxwell yelled out.
“I asked you a question kid! Do you know who I am!?” yelled the mobster before the machine-gun resumed, this time ripping through the warehouse wall that Jeremy was hiding behind.
“Yeah!” answered Jeremy as he dove back towards the entrance, once gain narrowly avoiding being perforated by the machine-gun fire. As soon as he landed he pulled out one of the high explosive grenades from his jacket.
“You're a dead man!” shouted Jeremy as he tossed the grenade through the open door before diving around the corner to the other side of the warehouse to avoid both the next volley of gunfire as well as the blast of the grenade that came a few seconds later.
When the blast came, smoke and shrapnel shot out from the doorway and Jeremy could heard a loud metal banging as one of the large metal shelves toppled over which created a domino effect as it knocked over several more. Jeremy would wait a few seconds for the smoke to clear and to listen for any sounds that might indicate it wasn't safe to go in. Sounds such as shouting. Or gunfire. When no such sounds came Jeremy aimed Judge and Jury forward and slowly...carefully...walked back inside the warehouse.
What Jeremy saw next shocked him. Standing in the middle of the warehouse, covered in blood and haki, and smiling like a madman was Mr. Maxwell. The infamous mobster had taken the grenade blast head on and the only thing he'd lost was the tommy gun, which had been damaged beyond use.
“You're wrong kid,” he snarled. “I'm Richard fuckin' Maxwell.”
- Word Count:
WC: 589
TWC: 7017
- COMBAT TRACKERS:
- PLAYER STATS:
(List the current values for your stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
HP:118 (155 - (10 + 10 + 2) – 10 - 5)
ATK:110
DEF:105
RX:120
WP:110
- PLAYER RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list your current RX% and DMG% against them.)
Jeremy Filth vs. Fake Richard Maxwell
RX%: 133% (120/90)
DMG%: 85% (110/130)
- USED 2 TECHNIQUES | 0 TOGGLES | 0 HAKI:
(List all techniques (including UTs), toggles, and types of haki used/activated this turn and their effects.)
TECHNIQUES
High Explosive Grenade | AOE | miss | flat | 0 | Fake Richard Maxwell
Generic UT | UT | hit | flat | 4 | Fake Richard Maxwell
TOGGLES
{toggle name} | {toggle effect}
HAKI
{name} | {effect}
- 1 TECHNIQUES ACTIVE | 0 TOGGLES | 0 HAKI ACTIVE:
(List all techniques that have currently active effects and indicate the remaining duration. Also, indicate what effects they are dealing: e.g. DoT value, Stat Morph value.)
TECHNIQUES
Between the Eyes! | -10% Reflex to Fake Richard Maxwell | 0
TOGGLES
{active toggle name} | {toggle effect}
HAKI
- 5 TECHNIQUES COOLING DOWN | 1 HAKI COOLING DOWN:
(List all techniques and haki that are currently on cooldown and note the number of rounds before you can use them again.)
TECHNIQUES
Crack Shot | 4
Between the Eyes | 5
Trick Shot | 3
The One Two | 1
Yeehaw! | 5
HAKI
Busoshoku | 9
- OPPONENT STATS:
(For each one of your opponents, list the current values for the stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
Level:15
HP:64 (170 – 58 – (23 + 11 + 5 +5) - 4)
ATK:110
DEF:130
RX:90 (100 * 0.9)
WP:140
- OPPONENT RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list their current RX% and DMG% against you and your Crew Companions.)
Fake Richard Maxwell vs. Jeremy Filth
RX%:75% (90/120)
DMG%:105% (110 /105)
- OPPONENT TECHNIQUES USED:
(List the class, damage, and target of techniques used by each one of your opponents if you or your Crew Companions are the direct targets.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
LT | miss | 0 | Jeremy Filth
LT | miss | 0 | Jeremy Filth
UT | hit | 5 | Jeremy Filth
- Maxwell
[tracker=/t139-richard-maxwell#516]
Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 49
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species/Tribe : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Bounty : [bel=r] 243,000,000
Quality Score : S+
Income Bonus : +0.20 (to all allies); +0.11 (from turf)
Shop Discount : -10%
Balance : [bel] 2,204,829,125
[[bookworm]][[firstaidkit]][[berryprinter]]
[[identitytheft]][[identitytheft]][[improviseadaptovercome]][[logia]]
Turf : [turf=/t353-turf-details-rubeck-island#1168]Rubeck Island[/turf]
Posts : 320
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Fri Jan 22, 2021 4:23 amFor once in Richard’s wretched life, his desperate prayers were answered. He spotted his precious suitcase past the smoldering remains of the crate, at the end of a beaten pier. It seemed relatively intact, only mildly scorched. Perhaps Lady Luck finally took pity on the poor, soaked rat. Or maybe she figured dangling his goal right in front of his nose, yet all the way across a blazing warzone, would prove amusing results. Because if it was the latter... She surmised correctly.
The undercover crook peeked to his right and glanced to his left. While the ship seemed quiet, marine patrols were running all over the docks like upset ants. Some were trying to contain the fires, while others were more interested in containing any criminals they came across. For every bucket chain splashing icy seawater into the flames, there were at least two groups handcuffing everyone in sight. Arrest first, ask questions later seemed to be the trend here. Worse yet, the chorus of gunshots that ended with a hefty explosion reminded him that the mobster was still out there. And the big fellow clearly wasn’t going down without a fight...
Richard forced the rising clump of fear back down his throat. It felt like trying to swallow a ball of tar. The old smoker knew that sensation all too vividly... Against all his self-preservation instincts, he tiptoed down the walkway and snuck towards his goal. His quiet steps took him deftly over burning pieces of planks and crushed bits of brick. There was next to no cover out in the open, so he had to quicken his pace. Even pain faded from his mind, as greed took over. He practically sprinted the last dozen feet and snatched his suitcase into a tight hug, like a parent greeting their child. Safe!
“Hey, hold it right there!”
The rat tensed with wide-eyed terror. In his haste, he had completely forgotten about that no cover bit. One of the marines had performed the demanding maneuver of actually turning around. Now that enterprising officer was aiming his rifle at the suspect’s back. ...Much to the said suspect’s chagrin. “You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can-” And so forth. Honestly, the rat wasn’t actually listening. Instead, he was busy running his fingers over the combination lock. With a silent, yet satisfying click, the treasure trove opened. With one, unpredictable motion he pulled out his trusty gun and whipped it towards the marine still reading him his rights. A couple of trigger pulls cut the spiel short.
He could only hope someone would provide more gunshots to cover up the noise.
WC: 445
Total: 4814
The undercover crook peeked to his right and glanced to his left. While the ship seemed quiet, marine patrols were running all over the docks like upset ants. Some were trying to contain the fires, while others were more interested in containing any criminals they came across. For every bucket chain splashing icy seawater into the flames, there were at least two groups handcuffing everyone in sight. Arrest first, ask questions later seemed to be the trend here. Worse yet, the chorus of gunshots that ended with a hefty explosion reminded him that the mobster was still out there. And the big fellow clearly wasn’t going down without a fight...
Richard forced the rising clump of fear back down his throat. It felt like trying to swallow a ball of tar. The old smoker knew that sensation all too vividly... Against all his self-preservation instincts, he tiptoed down the walkway and snuck towards his goal. His quiet steps took him deftly over burning pieces of planks and crushed bits of brick. There was next to no cover out in the open, so he had to quicken his pace. Even pain faded from his mind, as greed took over. He practically sprinted the last dozen feet and snatched his suitcase into a tight hug, like a parent greeting their child. Safe!
“Hey, hold it right there!”
The rat tensed with wide-eyed terror. In his haste, he had completely forgotten about that no cover bit. One of the marines had performed the demanding maneuver of actually turning around. Now that enterprising officer was aiming his rifle at the suspect’s back. ...Much to the said suspect’s chagrin. “You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can-” And so forth. Honestly, the rat wasn’t actually listening. Instead, he was busy running his fingers over the combination lock. With a silent, yet satisfying click, the treasure trove opened. With one, unpredictable motion he pulled out his trusty gun and whipped it towards the marine still reading him his rights. A couple of trigger pulls cut the spiel short.
He could only hope someone would provide more gunshots to cover up the noise.
WC: 445
Total: 4814
________________________________________________________
Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Sun Jan 24, 2021 3:14 pmRound 4:
Jeremy Filth uses Barrage of Bullets on Fake Richard Maxwell
Jeremy Filth uses Napalm Round on Fake Richard Maxwell
Jeremy Filth uses Tazer Round on Fake Richard Maxwell
Jeremy Filth uses UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
Jeremy Filth uses Barrage of Bullets on Fake Richard Maxwell
Jeremy Filth uses Napalm Round on Fake Richard Maxwell
Jeremy Filth uses Tazer Round on Fake Richard Maxwell
Jeremy Filth uses UT on Fake Richard Maxwell
Fake Richard Maxwell uses:
LT on Jeremy Filth
LT on Jeremy Filth
UT on Jeremy Filth
- NPCNPC
Tracker
Name : Variable
Epithet : Variable
Age : 0
Height : Variable
Weight : Variable
Species/Tribe : Variable
Faction : Variable
Crew : Variable
Ship : Variable
Crew Role : Variable
Devil Fruit : Variable
Bounty : Variable
Balance : Variable
Posts : 1289
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Sun Jan 24, 2021 3:14 pmThe member 'Jeremy Filth' has done the following action : Dice Roll
#1 'Reflex Check' : 9, 11, 20, 20
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 5, 9, 9
#1 'Reflex Check' : 9, 11, 20, 20
--------------------------------
#2 'Reflex Check' : 5, 9, 9
- GuestGuest
Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie
Mon Jan 25, 2021 9:59 pmMr. Maxwell charged again. Jeremy opened fire but Mr. Maxwell was fast enough to put his hands in front his head and block the bullets with his haki coated forearms as he powered through any pain he may of felt from the attempted counter attack. This time the young marine tried to dodge to the right but the older, more experienced mobster's left hand out shot out and with one wild swinging, open-handed haymaker he sent Jeremy flying into one of the damaged metal walls.
Jeremy groaned. He had landed hard and the pain from the various injuries he'd sustained so far, such as the gunshots just over the his surface of his rib-cage, were now screaming at him and the adrenaline was only doing so much good. He was starting to realize that he'd need something with a bit more of a kick than what his normal ammo provided. Luckily, he thought, as he reached his hands into one of the pockets on his dockman's outfit, he had just the stuff. He quickly holstered Jury and reached his right hand into one of those pockets and pinched a red tipped bullet between his fingers. Mr. Maxwell lunged forward with a powerful haymaker and Jeremy rolled out of the way.
There was a loud crunching sound as the mobster's fat, black fist punched through the wall of the warehouse. It would take Mr. Maxwell a second to pull himself free and that was all the time Jeremy would need. The ensign quickly popped open Judge's cylinder and dumped the ammo and spent casings out onto the floor before inserting the red tipped bullet. He snapped the cylinder close, pulled the hammer back and then...
Click. Bang!
A burst of black and red flame shot from the barrel of the gun and, for a split second, illuminated the dark warehouse with its ghastly glow. The ball of fire engulfed the mobster's head and he screamed a terrible scream as the smell of burning flesh, like pork that had been left on a frying pan way too long, filled the air. Mr. Maxwell yanked his arm out of the wall and patted desperately at his head with his hands in a futile attempt to put out the flames.
Jeremy wasn't done.
Once again he popped open Judge's cylinder and once again he pulled out another special round, this one blue tipped. Jeremy quickly loaded the round into the revolver and fired again. Another click, another bang and the round slammed in Mr. Maxwell's chest. A shower of blue electrical sparks would ensue and another scream would escape the mobster's lips as the electricity from the round made his muscles convulse and he dropped to his knees.
And yet Jeremy still wasn't done.
Jeremy pulled the other revolver, Jury, from its holster so that he was holding both guns. He quickly popped open both cylinders and dumped their contents out to the floor below before shoving them both back into their holsters on his waist just deep enough for them to hold tight but not so deep that the cylinders would be forced closed again. The young gunslinger then reached back into the pockets of his outfit with both hands and in each one pulled out six green tip rounds. These rounds were armor piercing. They weren't as flashy as the red or blue rounds but they were armor piercing. That meant they'd have the kind of kick he was really looking for.
Jeremy quickly loaded his six shooters with all twelve rounds and clicked their cylinders shut. With the rat still incapacitated by the fire and lightning rounds from earlier Jeremy drew on him again and began to fire shot after shot after shot after shot after shot into him.
Outside the battle still raged between the marines, pirates and riotous civilians. If Jeremy paid even the slightest bit of attention to it he'd be able to hear the sounds of shouts, screams, gunshots, and all manner of other unpleasant things from not so far away. But he wouldn't wasn't paying attention to those things. Instead he was be far too focused on his battle with the infamous Richard Maxwell in that dingy, worn out warehouse. Anything going on outside, near or far, might as well have just been white noise to him.
Jeremy groaned. He had landed hard and the pain from the various injuries he'd sustained so far, such as the gunshots just over the his surface of his rib-cage, were now screaming at him and the adrenaline was only doing so much good. He was starting to realize that he'd need something with a bit more of a kick than what his normal ammo provided. Luckily, he thought, as he reached his hands into one of the pockets on his dockman's outfit, he had just the stuff. He quickly holstered Jury and reached his right hand into one of those pockets and pinched a red tipped bullet between his fingers. Mr. Maxwell lunged forward with a powerful haymaker and Jeremy rolled out of the way.
There was a loud crunching sound as the mobster's fat, black fist punched through the wall of the warehouse. It would take Mr. Maxwell a second to pull himself free and that was all the time Jeremy would need. The ensign quickly popped open Judge's cylinder and dumped the ammo and spent casings out onto the floor before inserting the red tipped bullet. He snapped the cylinder close, pulled the hammer back and then...
Click. Bang!
A burst of black and red flame shot from the barrel of the gun and, for a split second, illuminated the dark warehouse with its ghastly glow. The ball of fire engulfed the mobster's head and he screamed a terrible scream as the smell of burning flesh, like pork that had been left on a frying pan way too long, filled the air. Mr. Maxwell yanked his arm out of the wall and patted desperately at his head with his hands in a futile attempt to put out the flames.
Jeremy wasn't done.
Once again he popped open Judge's cylinder and once again he pulled out another special round, this one blue tipped. Jeremy quickly loaded the round into the revolver and fired again. Another click, another bang and the round slammed in Mr. Maxwell's chest. A shower of blue electrical sparks would ensue and another scream would escape the mobster's lips as the electricity from the round made his muscles convulse and he dropped to his knees.
And yet Jeremy still wasn't done.
Jeremy pulled the other revolver, Jury, from its holster so that he was holding both guns. He quickly popped open both cylinders and dumped their contents out to the floor below before shoving them both back into their holsters on his waist just deep enough for them to hold tight but not so deep that the cylinders would be forced closed again. The young gunslinger then reached back into the pockets of his outfit with both hands and in each one pulled out six green tip rounds. These rounds were armor piercing. They weren't as flashy as the red or blue rounds but they were armor piercing. That meant they'd have the kind of kick he was really looking for.
Jeremy quickly loaded his six shooters with all twelve rounds and clicked their cylinders shut. With the rat still incapacitated by the fire and lightning rounds from earlier Jeremy drew on him again and began to fire shot after shot after shot after shot after shot into him.
Outside the battle still raged between the marines, pirates and riotous civilians. If Jeremy paid even the slightest bit of attention to it he'd be able to hear the sounds of shouts, screams, gunshots, and all manner of other unpleasant things from not so far away. But he wouldn't wasn't paying attention to those things. Instead he was be far too focused on his battle with the infamous Richard Maxwell in that dingy, worn out warehouse. Anything going on outside, near or far, might as well have just been white noise to him.
- Word Count:
WC: 589
TWC: 7738
- COMBAT TRACKERS:
- PLAYER STATS:
(List the current values for your stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
HP:105 (155 - (10 + 10 + 2) – 10 – 5 – (4 + 9))
ATK:132 (110 * 1.2)
DEF:105
RX:96 (120 * 0.8)
WP:110
- PLAYER RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list your current RX% and DMG% against them.)
Jeremy Filth vs. Fake Richard Maxwell
RX%: 96% (96/100)
DMG%: 102% (132/130)
- USED 4 TECHNIQUES | 1 TOGGLES | 0 HAKI:
(List all techniques (including UTs), toggles, and types of haki used/activated this turn and their effects.)
TECHNIQUES
Barrage of Bullets | MT | grazing hit | DOT |3 | Fake Richard Maxwell
Napalm Round| LT | hit | DOT | 3 | Fake Richard Maxwell
Tazer Round | LT | critical hit | flat hybrid | 7 | -10% ATK | Fake Richard Maxwell
Generic UT | UT | critical hit | flat | 7 | Fake Richard Maxwell
TOGGLES
Armor Piercing Rounds | +20% ATK, -20% RX
HAKI
{name} | {effect}
- 3 TECHNIQUES ACTIVE | 1 TOGGLES | 0 HAKI ACTIVE:
(List all techniques that have currently active effects and indicate the remaining duration. Also, indicate what effects they are dealing: e.g. DoT value, Stat Morph value.)
TECHNIQUES
Barrage of Bullets | 3 DMG | 4
Napalm Round | 3 DMG | 4
Tazer Round | -10% ATK, 7DMG | 1
TOGGLES
Armor Piercing Rounds | +20% ATK, -20% RX
HAKI
- 6 TECHNIQUES COOLING DOWN | 1 HAKI COOLING DOWN:
(List all techniques and haki that are currently on cooldown and note the number of rounds before you can use them again.)
TECHNIQUES
High Explosive Grenade | 3
Crack Shot | 3
Between the Eyes | 4
Trick Shot | 2
The One Two | 0
Yeehaw! | 4
HAKI
Busoshoku | 8
- OPPONENT STATS:
(For each one of your opponents, list the current values for the stats below, accounting for stat morphs and damage.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
Level:15
HP:44 (170 – 58 – (23 + 11 + 5 +5) – 4 – (3 + 3 + 7 + 7))
ATK:99 (110 * 0.9)
DEF:130
RX:100
WP:140
- OPPONENT RATIOS:
(For each one of your opponents, list their current RX% and DMG% against you and your Crew Companions.)
Fake Richard Maxwell vs. Jeremy Filth
RX%:104% (100/96)
DMG%:94% (99 /105)
- OPPONENT TECHNIQUES USED:
(List the class, damage, and target of techniques used by each one of your opponents if you or your Crew Companions are the direct targets.)
Fake Richard Maxwell
LT | miss | 0 | Jeremy Filth
LT | hit | 9 | Jeremy Filth
UT | hit | 4 | Jeremy Filth
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