[Episode] You Get What You Give

Some towns were too small to have a real name. Or maybe the name was something people preferred not to say. Either way, this particular rundown town was rather quiet today. Though passing visitors might not know the real reason. Only a few people were on the streets. Others were steering clear of... something... Almost like they were hiding. Or avoiding trouble, depending on who you asked. Well, peace and quiet were still nice. Salty winds kissed the streets gently. Laughing gulls flew overhead. Days like this could be best described as serene. Picturesque even.

“No, no and for the last time NO!”

A shrill shriek of a posh, upper-class accent echoed far. It was coming from the gate to a massive manor, the home of a certain pompous, fat windbag. “Get out this instant! Out, out, OUT!” Curious bystanders watched with a mix of shock and pity, as a short, elderly maid armed with a broom chased a tall, lanky man. He had the sharp attire of a gentleman, the massive suitcase of a salesman, and the gait of a long-distance runner. Only after he was out the gate, the maid came to a screeching halt. She barked after him like a mad guard dog. “His highness Lord Morgan is not present at the moment and even if he were, he would not invite a mere commoner into his home. Begone and do not come back!” Not wanting to feel the business end of that broom again, the rat quickly scurried away.

Several streets and corners later, the fleeing man finally came to a stop. Wheezing weakly, he leaned against a wall. He dug into his pockets, producing a lighter and a cheap cigarette. A flame flickered and soon smoke swirled around him. Richard Maxwell, a self-proclaimed entrepreneur and oft-proclaimed crook, found himself back on square one yet again... See, after the farce that had been his short and violent trip to Las Camp, he had escaped all the way here on the hunt for something easier. No risky schemes or convoluted scams and certainly no suicidal missions against the government. In fact, he was thinking of something clean and simple...

Just a good, old-fashioned heist.

Unfortunately, information gathering had gone poorly this time. Personally, the criminal blamed poor timing more than anything. Apparently the richest man around -and thus the most lucrative target- had wandered off to oversee some sort of construction project. He had tried to slip into his manor under the usual pretense, an artist looking to paint a mural of a beloved leading figure. The plan had promptly crumbled when it was revealed that said man wasn’t exactly a people person. And neither were his servants. Honestly, that meant he needed a whole new approach. If the surly lord preferred his maids that... erm... fiery, then he shuddered to imagine what kind of a bodyguard he employed. He had heard some unsettling rumors, see.

Richard took a little stroll to clear his mind and to rethink his approach. Light, calm steps took him towards the town center. He hummed an idle tune beneath his breath. He needed... an excuse. A connection. Some sort of reason to approach the man directly. Rounding a corner, he arrived at the town square. His wandering gaze found the beginnings of what looked like a grand statue. Workers sauntered around it like reluctant ants, building something out of obligation rather than passion. As for the statue itself, the starting shape didn’t quite represent the country’s king, nor any other famous figure. Now, being a well-traveled man who read the morning paper, he could take an educated guess on who it might represent.

And that sparked an idea.

The crook shifted his attention onto the workers mingling nearby. He needed someone young and naive enough... Someone like... His eyes strayed onto a scarred fellow finishing his lunch nearby. ...That guy. Taking a couple of soundless steps closer, the sharp-dressed rat cleared his throat. “Say, that statue... wouldn’t happen to be depicting our glorious leader Morgan, would it?” He went light on the sarcasm. Never knew when you might run into the one nutjob who actually liked the guy. Leaning idly on a nearby street lamp, he took a drag of his cancer stick and exhaled a stream of gray haze. “I hear he is quite the personality... I've never met him though, so I wouldn’t really know. Have you?” Just lazy smalltalk, something to break the ice.

WC: 746

At last, Lady Luck started smiling. The crook could hardly contain his sly glee, as the young worker turned out polite and talkative. A double jackpot. It often paid off to simply shut up and listen, which is exactly what he did here. Every little nugget was valuable right now. He nodded along where appropriate, wearing that friendly smile as his mask. So, the mark wasn’t especially well-liked around here... Good to know. So very good to know. It meant that there wouldn’t be any surprising heroes rushing to the rescue. However, his smile wavered at the mention of the scary bodyguard. His knees already did a couple of practice shakes, before he shifted his posture. Right. That was the obstacle number two on this little heist...

When the young stranger asked a fair question in return, the gentleman was quick to casually wave it aside. “A beef? Oh, nothing quite so drastic. I have nothing against the good fellow, I assure you.” Spoken like a true politician, a nonchalant and ultimately worthless answer. He was not here to make enemies. ...Not quite yet anyway. A fortunate coincidence practically dropped the young man’s name into the rat’s lap. Saved him the trouble of asking. “Ah, but where are my manners?” He doffed his hat in lieu of shaking hands. “You can call me Franky. All my friends do.” The fake name was dropped with practiced ease, like he even believed it himself.

Since Theon didn’t seem to be in any hurry to return to work, ‘Franky’ leaned closer for a friendly suggestion. “Say, Theon, how would you like to grab a drink after work? My treat.” Beneath the carefree tone, he was carefully gauging the worker’s reaction. Expression, stance, tone, they often told more than words did, you know. “See, I have a job offer that might interest you...” And speaking of words, his were ever so cautiously crafted for the situation. Just an old habit. Never knew when someone was eavesdropping, you know. “Just a little side gig, really. Something you can do while you work on the statue. It’s about... balancing the scales, shall we say.” He figured this guy wasn’t quite dumb enough to swallow a deal that sounded too good to be true, so instead he let him read between the lines.

The criminal  took one last drag before flicking the spent butt aside. He straightened his back and grabbed the hefty suitcase again. “If you’re at all curious about the job, come find me when you’re off the clock. I’ll be staying at the Black Cat inn tonight.” With another tip of the hat, he bid the worker goodbye. For now. “Give it some thought. Ciao~!” Tugging the brim lower, until a shadow covered his features, he strode off.

WC: 464
Total: 1210

The Black Cat inn was a shady little establishment at the edge of the town, right by the docks. Three stories tall and gnawed by time, the bulky building had been squeezed between two old warehouses. The sign depicting a smiling cat was barely staying above the door on rusty bolts. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of grease, sweat and rum. Honestly, the booze was mediocre and the food awful, but at least the place offered a roof and something resembling a bed for weary travelers. Another trait the regulars liked was the complete lack of any marines or bounty hunters. Troublesome folk weren’t welcome here, which was why the new face garnered such stern glares. Luckily, the strict rule of ‘don’t start none, won’t be none’ still applied.

Criminals who stood out didn’t get far in the business. Blending into the crowd was an important skill for any thief. That’s why Theon’s gaze didn’t quite catch the crook hiding in plain sight. Leaning against the counter, he kept his head down and ears open. When the grouchy drunks around him started mumbling about a newcomer, he knew it was his cue. Raising two fingers, he ordered drinks from the hideous old crone watching over the bar. With two frothing beers in tow, he slipped past the mingling crowd like a scurrying rat. The explosion the young man was waiting for came in the form of a sudden greeting.

“Ah, my friend, I’m glad you could make it!”

The cheery man set down the beers and pulled up a chair. He pushed one of the tall pints right under the nervous worker’s nose. “You must be parched. Here, drink up.” The most important part of any scam was making the mark feel comfortable. To gain their trust. That started with proving that his offer had been an honest one. ...Even if his wallet protested the mere idea. Pushing the distracting thoughts aside, he gave the young fellow a moment to calm down and take a sip if he liked. He for one would drink at least. Much to his quiet disappointment, the mediocre taste didn’t live up to the hefty price... The term ‘daylight robbery’ sprang to mind...

Before the moment could grow awkward, the sharp-dressed rat cleared his throat. Donning the usual smile, he voiced an idle question, as was often his habit. Icebreakers were important in any business, you know. “Tell me, Theon... Have you ever opposed a tyrant?” Anticipating a certain kind of answer, his smile and tone sharpened slyly.

“Would you like to?”

Leaving the question hanging in the air, the gentleman fell strangely silent. He dipped a hand between his suit lapels into his breast pocket and fished out a small, white card. Carefully he slid it over to the man to inspect or ignore as he liked. A closer look would reveal a mysterious logo depicting the letters N.R.A. On the other side, there was an inspiring -or blasphemous depending on view- declaration of war against the World Government and the Celestial Dragons, along with some strangely scrambled contact information. It looked like the real deal... Because it was. If the worker tried to offer it back, the sly gentleman would motion for him to keep it. He had a whole stack of them, you see, after... finding... a wallet the other day. Already they were coming in handy.

‘Franky’ took another sip of his beer before piping up again. His tone was calm, hushed, the kind meant of sharing secrets. “Me and my... associates... have watched a certain man grow greedy and complacent for some time now.” He set down the pint and laced his fingers together. “He has been given plenty of chances to change his ways. To show his people even a shred of kindness. It’s unfortunate that he rejected every single one.” Carefully he wove the words together into a net. Reason, justification, righteousness... They were all just excuses with prettier names. “Thus we have no choice but to act. To balance the scales. To... get back at him, as it were.” Grinning, he echoed Theon’s words from their first meeting. That smile soon subsided in favor of sincerity.

“For that, I need your help.”

WC: 710
Total: 1920

Beneath the carefully crafted poker face, the criminal was struggling to contain his devilish glee. That fire in the fellow’s eyes told him all he needed to know. Hook, line and sinker! He could hardly believe how easily people fell for this nonsense. Had he known the revolutionaries carried this much clout among the poor suckers, he would’ve started riding their coattails years ago. It was the perfect crime! One that couldn’t possibly backfire! He had to wash the devious thoughts down with a quick swig, before he was able to answer. Even then, his response was far from direct. “Let me ask a better question...” He raised a pointing finger to punctuate his point. “What can you do?” He let the open-ended question linger for a moment.

The rat wagged his raised finger, weaving words together with casual ease. “See, in this line of work, everyone does their part. We believe that every person has a special talent for something.” In a different life, he could’ve been a politician with these slogans. He brought a hand to his chest. “Take me, for instance.” Grasping the lapel, he pinched the fabric between his fingers. It was fine silk, far too expensive for average working folk. And it tied together perfectly for his little cover story. “I used to be a tailor. One of the best, in fact. Now, my talent with the thread and needle serves me in other ways. Clothes and disguises are always in high demand, you see.” The best lies were woven together with thin truths.

Another light sip gave the gentleman’s words a brief pause. He set the pint down and watched the golden liquid slosh around. “I may not have any special powers, but there are still things only I can do.” His gaze shifted back onto the worker. “So, what is it that you can do?” His smile was warm, encouraging... and entirely fake. Years of practice made it a perfect counterfeit. “Once we know that, we can decide your role in this operation.” In truth, he already had a couple of roles in mind for this useful idiot. However, first he needed to determine the level of usefulness he was dealing with here. It was like evaluating stolen loot. Sometimes you could make... surprising finds.

WC: 382
Total: 2302

Conning and fishing had a lot in common. Patience was the key to both. It was important to give some slack and let the target nibble the bait. Eventually, there would be a bite... Thus the conman gave his blissfully unaware mark ample time to explain his talents. He nodded along, jotting down notes on the imaginary journal in the depths of his mind. Naturally, he had guessed as much about the builder's background. Some would have you believe there’s no such thing as an unemployed shipwright, but that was only half the truth. Not all of them got work in their field for various reasons. Money was the best reason, of course. Swordsmanship came as a surprise, but a welcome one to be sure. He could always use the extra muscle in this operation.

Finally, the last detail in particular caught the crook’s attention. So his new friend was a fruit user, hm? He would call that an incredible stroke of luck if he hadn’t been running into so many of them lately. Well, the folks running the racket would have the populace believe Devil Fruits were exceedingly rare and valuable... And the Black Market prices confirmed the claim, sure, but... Sometimes it felt like everyone and their dog had one. Still, it wasn’t his style to scoff at an unmistakable opportunity.

‘Franky’ steepled his fingers, chewing and savoring the claim like it was a piece of gum that still had some flavor left. “Hm, so what you’re saying is...” His smile sharpened. “You can create the perfect alibi for any occasion.” In the background, the dingy, old cash register chimed loudly. For a brief moment, his venom-green eyes twisted into shapes associated with money. Or was it merely a trick of the light...?

The rat could think of a thousand ways to use the power to double things. However, now was not the time for wild theorizing. He had to reel in the day’s catch. “For instance, if some surly tyrant saw a daring hero doing something legally questionable...” He chose his words carefully to cultivate a certain image. “...but all of his fellow workers, honest bystanders and perhaps even actual Marines confirmed that he was somewhere else all day...” His idle wondering ended with a sly smile. “Who do you think the long hand of the law would believe, hm?” And a rhetorical question to go with it.

Leaving the mark to stew on the thought, the conman oiled his throat with some more beer. He leaned idly back on his seat. “On an entirely unrelated note, this clone of yours, is it strong enough to work at a construction site all day?” In the laboratory of his imagination, ideas were already bubbling in a glass container. He needed some more details and confirmations, before he could properly distil a plan. “And your shipwright skills wouldn’t happen to translate to dismantling as well, would they?” His restless fingers were tapping together, dancing from joy instead of his legs. “See, I have this rusty, old cabin door I need taken apart...” His words may have sounded innocent, but his tone told plenty enough.

WC: 525
Total: 2827

Piece by piece, the puzzle came together. Beneath the polite listener’s mask, the rat greedily gobbled up every last scrap of information he could gnaw from the young fellow. Estimations, limitations, special conditions, it was all useful. While he was by no means an expert on supernatural powers, over the years he had learned that the cursed fruits tended to have the strangest weaknesses. Like, say, seawater for instance. His sly smile sharpened as the worker confirmed his particular condition. The clone was fragile, unable to handle any injuries. As long as it didn’t melt in rain or spontaneously combust in sunlight, he could make the plan work.

When Theon returned the query ball, ‘Franky’ took a moment to wet his throat and to craft an excuse. He had never actually seen the target’s home further than the front door, but he couldn’t exactly admit it. “Well, it’s a heavy and stubborn, old thing.” The memory from the morning flashed through his eyes, sending shudders down his spine. He could still feel that broom beating against his back... “Metal frame and all. Solid craftsmanship surely.” At least that applied to both the front gate and the door beyond that. Why would the interior be any different? “You might want to bring the big tools for this one.” Even a simple crowbar would prove useful, but he wasn’t the type to make assumptions about a fellow professional’s toolkit.

Another sip gave the crook a convenient pause. He mulled over his options. His smile, however, remained unwavering. “Even if it proves beyond your expertise, I’m sure two clever people can figure out a solution on the fly.” Going through a window was always an option. Noisy, sure, but an option nonetheless. Likewise, money was the easiest and the cleanest thing to steal, but rich folk tended to have many other things worth grabbing. “So grab whatever you can comfortably carry. Oh and... Bring a sack and some rope, would you?” Both were key components for the plan, certainly.

After downing the rest of the nearly empty pint, the gentleman rose from his seat. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me... I have to make some... arrangements for tomorrow.” He wasn’t going into the operation empty-handed either, you know. While stepping past the worker, he leaned in for a quick whisper. “Meet me at sunrise behind the tyrant’s estate. Look for a red ribbon on the fence.” Leaving the young man to memorize the information, he walked off and headed upstairs to his room. Tomorrow would be a busy day and they both still had work to do before bed.

At sunrise...

Morgan’s estate was one of the best-known locations of the town. Who could miss that massive manor the size of an entire apartment building? A tall iron fence surrounded the green yard, accompanied by a lush hedge so that the owner wouldn’t have to see the dreary barrier of black bars. The ornate front gate was tightly shut, complete with a pompously dressed guard standing by it. However, behind the estate, right at the shadow of the towering building, a small ribbon clung to the fence. It waved in the wind, as if beckoning people closer. However, the gentleman was nowhere to be seen... And neither was anyone else. The back road was blissfully quiet this early in the morning.

WC: 558
Total: 3385

Shortly after Theon arrived, the bush near the red ribbon rustled. The leaves parted and the head of an old man peeked through. A bushy, white beard covered most of his features and the rest were hidden beneath ridiculously large shades. “Pssst, in here.” The sharp whisper wiggled the white whiskers. Not simply content with gesturing the man closer, he actually tried to drag him inside given half a chance. Indeed, behind the conveniently concealing foliage the second fence was missing a section of the iron bars. The hole was barely large enough for a grown man to fit through. ...As long as he sucked his gut in at least. Breaching the perimeter had never been easier.

If the co-conspirator accepted the strange invite, he would soon find himself inside the lush fence. The old man would scooch aside just enough to give the younger fellow some room. A closer look revealed the beard to be laughably fake, the kind sold in the cheapest costume shops. Likewise, the rest of the disguise looked like he had just collided with a bargain bin and left running. His orange shirt was at least two sizes too big, while his black, baggy jogging pants were only held up by a rope and good wishes. Worn-down work boots completed the chaotic getup. At the very least, no ignorant bystander would ever suspect that this clown was the dapper gentleman from last evening.

All the leaves aside, the hole in the fence was a rather cozy hiding spot. One could see the estate and this side of the yard with a glance. The impeccably trimmed lawn was decorated with small statues depicting everyone’s favorite selfish and fat noble. A fountain glimmered in the center like a blue jewel. At the end of a paved walkway, the unguarded backdoor beckoned to the uninvited visitors. Not a living soul in sight, no guards or guard dogs. It all seemed perfect.

After surveying the yard for a moment, ‘Franky’ turned his attention to Theon and lifted his shades. “It’s me.” He said it like his identity had been some sort of indecipherable mystery. The sly wink afterwards was just unnecessary, really. He was so proud of himself. “And I must say, your disguise isn’t half-bad either. You even brought the sack and the rope. Good, good.” Lowering his shades again, he ever so carefully stepped out to the yard. “We have to move. My sources tell me the target won’t get up until lunch, but I would rather not take any chances.” With soundless steps, he snuck over to the nearest statue and motioned his ally to follow.

WC: 440
Total: 3825

Simply surveying the empty yard was enough to quicken the nervous rat’s pulse. He masked it beneath an air of professionalism. “That’s the plan. The best place to hide is in plain sight, where people don’t want to notice you.” All cities had their poor, unfortunate souls who were practically invisible to the so-called better folk. Borrowing their distinct fashion had its perks.

Peering from the shadow of the tasteless statue, ‘Franky’ focused on listening. Silence was a good sign. He quickly scampered further ahead, before answering in a hushed whisper. “No, he doesn’t trust alarms. Rather, he employs some...” A flashback of the menacing broom beating him down flashed before his eyes. “...guards. Angry ones.” Old-fashioned, perhaps, but undeniably effective.

Following another quick glance to right and left, the sneaky thief crept across the yard with long, silent steps. He pushed himself into the shade of a decorative bush. If and when his partner followed, he would continue sharing hushed secrets. “The worst of them is Julius, his personal guard. Never seen the man himself, but supposedly he can bend iron bars into pretzels.” Or so he had heard. Honestly, he for one would rather not test the rumors.

“So let’s not get caught, alright? Right.”

With a firm nod, the rat tiptoed the rest of the way, to the shadow of the building. The backdoor was within arm’s reach. Sadly, his arm quickly confirmed that it was locked and wouldn’t budge. Typical.

‘Franky’ dug into his pockets. While he rummaged, he also took the opportunity to fill in the gaps. “As for the target... Well... He heh... About that...” He stifled an awkward, disarming laugh. A force of habit, really. “The information on the mansion’s layout is vague, see.” Oh come on now, which pocket was it...? These blasted pants better not have a hole in them.  

The anxious crook stopped for a moment, thinking he heard something. Footsteps? He hoped dearly it was just his imagination. “But if I were a gambling man...” And he was, it was a serious problem. “...I’d wager it’s somewhere in the basement, out of sight and out of reach for average burglars.” Either that or the door he had caught a glimpse of yesterday led to a very secure wine cellar.

Ah, found them.

Well-versed -and armed- in the art of skulduggery, the shady man revealed a pair of thin, curved, metal sticks. He slid them gently into the lock and pressed his ear against the door. Holding his breath, he focused. His hands worked with the practiced precision of a tailor. Or a surgeon...

The thieving tools sang their quiet song. Each twist and turn elicited a little rattle. Click on one, click on two, snap on three... Wait, no. He pulled out the sticks, or rather their stubs. Maybe there were some tools that should not be stolen from the bargain bin. “Rats...” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner in crime. “Hey, got any tools to get us through here?” At this point, he would accept anything ranging from a screwdriver to a stick of dynamite.

WC: 518
Total: 4343