[Episode] Earning Ensign

Spoiler:

Round 1

Moreau activates Toggle Lightweight Construction
Moreau uses LT Hone on self
Moreau uses HT Swan's Neck Lunge to buff self and attack against Warrant Officer Warrick
Moreau uses UT against Warrant Officer Warrick

Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses UT against Moreau

COMBAT TRACKERS:

The member 'Moreau' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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#1 'Reflex Check' : 20, 3

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#2 'Reflex Check' : 14, 6, 1

The member 'Moreau' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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#1 'Reflex Check' : 19

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#2 'Reflex Check' : 10

Round 2

Moreau uses HT Rosewood Bash against Warrant Officer Warrick
Moreau uses LT Rosewood Strike against Warrant Officer Warrick
Moreau uses UT against Warrant Officer Warrick

Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses UT against Moreau

COMBAT TRACKERS:

The member 'Moreau' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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#1 'Reflex Check' : 20, 7, 17

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#2 'Reflex Check' : 14, 3, 16, 9

Round 3

Moreau uses AoE  Briars Encore against Warrant Officer Warrick
Moreau uses UT against Warrant Officer Warrick

Warrant Officer Warrick uses MT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses UT against Moreau

COMBAT TRACKERS:

The member 'Moreau' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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#1 'Reflex Check' : 19, 6

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#2 'Reflex Check' : 3, 1, 7, 10

Round 4

Moreau uses AoE  Siegebreaker against Warrant Officer Warrick
Moreau uses UT against Warrant Officer Warrick

Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses LT against Moreau
Warrant Officer Warrick uses UT against Moreau

COMBAT TRACKERS:

The member 'Moreau' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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#1 'Reflex Check' : 15, 13

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#2 'Reflex Check' : 6, 17, 9, 16

Round 5

Moreau's DoT Briars Encore finishes off Warrant Officer Warrick's remaining 6 HP by dealing 7 damage.

Warrant Officer Warrick is incapacitated and cannot use techniques.

VICTORY

COMBAT TRACKERS:

To remain in place, for things to remain as they are, is this the essence of peace? To watch on blissfully as soldiers set sail for turbulent waters, is this what it means to live a peaceful life?

In just under a week’s time Moreau was set to cast away his peace, to fight in obeisance of a commanding officer’s orders, and to venture away from the place that had been so patient with him. However, his assignment would be at Commodore Faivre’s discretion. She'd even said that she might have to hold him back at the academy in her letter; she was probably joking.

Like a distant dream, the waves beyond the horizon carried glory, hardship, and ambition in equal measures; but here, the rocky beaches of the 119th branch served as an unyielding bastion of hope and peace. Each winter Moreau had watched his fellow students culminate into stronger and more confident versions of themselves, blooming into Navymen as the island’s flowering carnelians returned from their dormancy. He had always attended their sendings off with tears of pride for them, hope for their safety, and the fear that he would never be a true Marine like them.

A gentle snow had fallen over the Naval base since the middle of january, never giving way to hail nor heavy snowfall, the hoary clouds had been persistent in their politeness. In the dining hall the holdout ate alongside his fellow graduates, a raucous group ready to set sail and bring justice to the seas.

“Hey Moreau! Aren’t ya excited?” one of the others shouted over to the demure young man.

With a weak smile he called back over “Of course!... it’s just all happening so fast." The others , knowing that their classmate had been in training for 7 years, initially attempted to hold back their laughter but quickly burst out into an uproarious cacophony. Moreau smiled politely, finished the rest of his herring noodle, donned his winter coat and left the hall.

The snow gave way with a light crunch as the lonesome man made his way towards the beach. The base’s walkways had been vacated by all but the errant straggler, the evening was bitter cold, chilled by the winter’s seabreeze. After some time Moreau reached the boulderous border of the branch’s beach and brushed the snow from a large rock before taking his seat beneath one of the island’s budding willows. As the salted mistral wind cut against his cheeks, he thought of what it would mean to fight and to die for a commanding officer, to bombard an enemy fleet alongside an Admiral, to capture a pirate’s ship alongside Commodore Elise, to die in battle against one of the world’s many monstrous pirates; to serve a duty seemed natural, but to take a life?

A moment passed as the falling snow insulated the young man’s grim contemplation.

“Hey, sorry about things back there.” The classman who had incited the group’s laughter, Ben Bingham, had evidently followed Moreau’s tracks. He stood at the tree’s base, keeping a respectful distance.  

“Nothing to worry about. It has been a while.” the somber retort escaped Moreau’s lips, as he looked up through the parting clouds, to the stars and their waning crescent. “It’s nice here, it feels like home.”

“Hah really? This stuffy place?” the mustachioed man looked over to his younger comrade and nodded. Ben brushed off another rock to sit and get a better view of the night’s sky.

“Guess I never thought of it that way.”

That night the two watched as twinkling powder fell gleaming like stardust, scarcely speaking a word between them. The base, even the sea, for a short time were completely tranquil; as though blessed by the stillness of the Northern cold.  As a blanket of clouds rolled back over the island, the two departed back for their dormitories, sharing a handshake before going their separate ways.

The next morning Moreau awoke at 6:00 AM, as is his preference, and started into his morning routine: First was the matter of getting dressed, Moreau layered his lounging-robe over his pajamas, prepared his day’s uniform, and poured himself a glass of water on his way to the bathroom. After a hot shower and a cold glass of water the gentleman emerged from the bath exfoliated, hair slicked backwards, stubble shaved, wearing a well-kept cadet’s outfit, and ready to embark for his day. Before departing from his dormitory the young man prepared his morning’s supplies, a tea-set, and a triad of novellas he intended to read on the beach:
- The Bizarre tale of Mr. Jackson and the Sixth Street Surgeon, by Louis Robertson, a dark and rich horror story and the longest of the day’s selections.
- The White Death of Flevance, by Leo Toy, a semi-historical story of a minister of Flevance who succumbed to the white lead’s poisoning.
- Woadman, by Henri Thoreau, a text of greenery and philosophy.

Once ready he quickly went back to the dining hall to meet with other early-risers. While the gentleman was accustomed to serving morning tea to a couple of the base’s faculty each morning, two full tables of the hall were fully occupied by them, including most notably the base’s presiding Commodore Wilford “Rook” Drace. Quickly noticing his cadet enter, Drace waved Moreau over. “Morning Cadet!”

“Good Morning Sir!” Moreau responded, alongside the salute for his superior.

Drace laughed “At ease boy! We were waiting for you! We figured ya'd make some tea for us!"

Relaxing his shoulders the cadet stuttered out "A-apologies for making you wai-” Suddenly, with one hand the Commodore slammed a triad of tall tea tins onto the table, embedding them slightly into its surface of the wood through sheer force. Moreau startled, but was quickly enthralled by the delicacies sitting before him: White Peony, Dark Jeelong, and Green Sencha, all distributed by the renowned and historic Feuilledor tea company. A highly coveted selection of blends fit for a seasoned connoisseur.

After accepting the blessing of  leaves in the young gentleman was stunned, taking an effort to collect himself he stuttered out "Th-thank you sir, are you su-"

"Absolutely sure! And you're welcome boy! Cost me an arm and a leg, but it's all yours so long as ya get to brewin' some up for us!" The Commodore’s interjection was paired with a hearty grin.

With an order from his superior Moreau nodded, and with a bit of effort pried the tea tins from the table before departing for the galley. Excited to serve, the cadet rummaged the kitchen cupboards for every teapot & kettle he could find; and in fact, stashed amongst the pots & pans were four serviceable vessels. Moreau filled each up high with tap water, before setting them on the burner to boil; now was the matter of finding another two strainers and a sufficient number of cups, a task that proved vexing, but ultimately accomplishable.

In some eight minutes the young butler was able to prepare five pots of tea (having, of course, brought his own teapot initially): two pots of Dark Jeelong, one of White Peony and of Green Sencha, and a small pot of his personal blend. With efficacious grace and speed Moreau was able to take and serve 28 cups of tea perfectly; his final order would be for the Commodore.
"What would you like sir?"

Drace quickly scanned the remaining 8 cups, and looked over to the 5 Cadets who had filtered into the hall. “Ha! Well what do you have left?!”

“A cup of Sencha, one of Peony, two of my own blend, and a fair amount of Jeelong.”

“Alright boy, we’re leavin' the rest of the Jeelong for the Cadets. Y’all could use a pick me up. I want Sencha and Peony in those two little cups there” the Commodore gestured to two of the remaining mugs “and I want the rest of your Rose tea in that big ‘un there!” he gestured again, this time towards a comically large mug.

Moreau smiled knowingly “Are you sure sir?”

Wilford looked back quizzically, and paused a moment before retorting  “Sure I’m sure boy! Get the dang tea!”

The young gentleman chuckled to himself as he fetched his Commodore’s sampling of beverages, setting them down on a small platter. Two small white mugs each flanked their novelty counterpart: a large white mug, glazed with black text reading “#1 Cadet.”

Drace looked down, then shot the boy an exasperated glower. Moreau looked back timidly, worrying his joke was over the line. Then suddenly the Commodore turned his mug to the rest of the table and began laughing. The rest of the table soon followed suit as Drace went to show the other faculty; in short order the entire dining hall was, once again, filled with uproarious laughter.

Moreau continued to serve tea until Drace and the remaining faculty filtered out of the hall at 9:13 AM. Afterwards, he packed up his tea kit, and enjoyed a day to himself in his dormitory watering his roses and herbs, and reading his novellas late into the evening.

The next day the young gentleman slept into the leisurely hour of 8:00 AM, a rare occurrence, but not unheard of. He was surprised to find, however, that those in the dining hall were awaiting his return, with several members of faculty expecting a reprisal of Monday's démontrer de thé. Moreau quickly apologized for his lateness and prepared a round of tea before making his exit.

As the holdout had spent 7 years at the base he had grown quite fond of the library, having familiarized himself with every weapons manual available and read over much of the remaining selection. Upon arriving he was met with the librarian Maxine’s usual orneriness:
“Hey… if I’m not mistaken this is gonna be the 7 year nerd’s last visit to the library! Finally gettin’ outta my hair eh?!”

“Hello Maxine, pleasure as always.” Moreau was always cordial with Maxine, and he did genuinely appreciate her.

“Alright kid where am I sendin’ ya?” The boy had often required direction to find what he was looking for amongst the base’s stacks.

“Actually Maxine, I think I’ll just be wandering today.”

“Dang not even gonna ask me to bump your access again? Maybe you really have grown up.”

“Well if you’re offering.” Moreau smirked sarcastically. Over the last several years the young man had repeatedly, if not somewhat jokingly, asked the librarian to grant him access to the faculty stacks in hopes of finding more weapons manuals and schematics.

“Real funny kid. Careful I don’t lock ya in there, make ya miss yer boat out.” Maxine commented, as she opened the door for her nerdy nemesis.

The library had a cold ambiance, its stone walls and labyrinthine halls would be well suited for a dungeon. Moreau perused the shelves by chandelier-light, picking a selection of books he had overlooked in his prior visits, and that he figured he would be able to finish by the end of the day. When he had finished choosing his material, the following texts sat upon his library reading desk:
- A Sea of Old men, by Errant Heironimus, a semi-autobiographical novella written by a former pirate about the futility in searching for the One Piece.
- The Book of Five Elements, by Mishima Nobunaga, a book written by a Wano Kuni samurai describing the techniques of a swordsman through pragmatic and metaphorical lenses.
- Booby Traps & Common Pitfalls, by Vernon Quint, a manual describing how to set up & avoid booby traps.
- Small arms Schematics, by Stanway Sweat, a small manual and portfolio outlining how to draft Small arms Schematics.
- White Leviathan, by Sherman  Millefoille, a book about it’s author’s encounter with, and fixation on, a Sea King.

Wednesday was, as Wednesdays often are, largely unremarkable. After serving morning tea Moreau went for a walk, hoping to appreciate the base’s foliage, but the prolonged snowfall put a damper on these plans as it had kept much of the island's flora in dormancy.  

"Purururu Pururur-"
Moreau picked up the receiver of the ringing snail. Whoever was calling chose to do so at the crack of dawn, waking Moreau an hour earlier than usual.

"Hello?"

"Howdy kid. We're making  time, so we'll see you Saturday. Hope you're in fighting shape, one of my officers has a bone to pick."

The drowsy young man paused for a moment as he stretched and rose from his bed. "Oh… Elise, good to hear it. Is it something important?”

“Could be. Only for you really. I highly reccomend you get yourself back in practice, my men are in the best shape they’ve ever been. I’d like to see that you’re up to snuff.”

“I don’t know that I’ve fallen out of practice, I’m just enjoying the last of my time here.” Moreau looked down from his icy window to the campus’ frosted willow trees.

“No excuse can change the consequence of poor performance on the battlefield. I wouldn’t be so sure of that last part either Moreau.” Elise’s tone was cold and stern, and the more subtle implication of her reprimand flew over the drowsy gentleman’s head.

“I agree. I’d best get back to practicing then, in the future would you give me warning before you sicc your crew on me?” The young man responded with a playful but exasperated tone to his voice as he stared out towards the carpet of fresh coruscating snow.

“Watch it. We’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Ko-Cha” The call was brief, but Moreau’s sleep had been cessated, and so his day was to begin an hour early.

Separating the 119th branch from its surroundings is a ring of sheet-ice and glaciers, the branch is accordingly: quite difficult to enter or exit, and therefore used almost exclusively for training and logistical purposes. In most sea-charts, the area is simply referred to as an icefield. Elise and her crew sailed onwards relentlessly through the broken ice, as they had been training on a Marine base not far to the north, they only had to travel a short way southwards; however the Commodore had still had to drive her men in order to break through the ice.

Moreau, anxious at the coming of his harshest instructor, quickly prepared his joggers, and made his way to the base’s training facility. For all the 119th’s faults, it was a brutal proving ground. Its track and sparring field had been built upon a short tower the same height as the base’s ramparts, and thus were exposed to the Northern winds; Marines who emerged from the 119th were often quite resilient against the wind and cold because of this training.

The exhausted young man set down his messenger bag, and arranged a small recovery area for himself using a floor-mat, a set of hand-weights, a set of hand towels, and two full bottles of rose water.

Moreau had engaged in a thorough and extensive stretching routine since noticing stiffness in his joints shortly after eating his devil fruit, the rotation of his joints had sounded more similar to articulating metal ever since; as the gentleman went about his warm-up a pair of young cadets looked over in evident concern. Coming to his routine’s conclusion he snapped his back and shoulders into place, before doing a final test of flexibility: nice and limber, might last a day or two.

Between the hours of 6:00 AM and 8:00 PM Moreau engaged in vigorous exercise, running a total of seventy kilometers between his weight training and combat forms. To run against the island’s icy seabreeze was torturous, the crystals of salt and ice that permeated the winds were like tiny daggers dragging themselves against the cadets faces. Instructor Gus had always taken time to make clear to the recruits that this was a fraction of the pain that it was a Marine’s duty to undertake, that this would be the least of their hardships. Over his 7 years training Moreau had taken this message to heart, and sprinted forwards through the pain, interval after interval, running as quickly as he could. As it began to rain, the young man looked upwards, the burning pain of his rubbed-raw cheeks was lightly assuaged by the falling droplets; the remainder of those training had made their exit promptly, however one cadet was just arriving.

“Hey buddy.” That familiar voice cut through the rainfall with deadly accuracy. Prendick Drace, son of the commodore, and Moreau’s opponent in the two’s final combat examination. “Heard dad gave ya a nice graduation present, n’ here I was thinkin’ I’d graduate this year. Honestly I don’t even know what pops n’ his judges were on about, I did everything perfectly, just figured I could get things over with quickly against some old loser.”

“Well we all have our lessons to learn, don't we Prens?” Moreau retorted.

“Tch. Fight me again then, prove it wasn’t a fluke.” The young Drace snarled out across the rain-slicked sparring field.

And so Moreau, politely obliging his fellow cadet’s challenge, donned his live-sparring clothes. Both of the young men, now set to fight, bowed to one another and began their melee. The purple-haired gentleman had chosen an estoc from his inner armory, whereas the commodore’s son had brought along his sabre; the two clashed, leaping from the soaking ground towards one another.

“You know that the sabre is generally viewed as an inferior form? You come to rely on your edge…” Moreau made a thrust for his opponent’s shoulder before continuing. “... rather than your technique!” He followed with a salvo of lunging strikes, his opponent deftly avoiding or parrying each one.

“And you know why you’re inferior Moreau?...” The young Drace feinted for a blow to the shoulder before dropping his blade. “Because you’ve come to rely on pity rather than ability!”

The sweeping flat of sabre struck into Moreau’s knee, knocking him off his balance. The gentleman grunted as he withdrew, assuming a full guard against his opponent. The two exchanged blows and parries for some 8 minutes, Moreau guarding himself while managing his stamina and knee, Drace toying with his prey.

As Moreau, now thoroughly winded, gasped out for air, Prendick struck. The slash was made against the exhausted Moreau’s right hip, and left ankle, and was followed by a pushing kick. This allowed Prendick to knock his opponent to the ground and bring an end to the duel with his sabre ready to coup de grace.

Moreau shot a solemn and pained look up towards his opponent, as the commodore’s son looked down disdainfully at his opponent’s gasps for air. “Neither one of us is winnin’ on a fluke. Meet me back here tomorrow at midnight.” Prendick strode away with his victory and the last word, but with little actual satisfaction, thus as soon as Moreau’s rival had arrived he was gone.

Low to the ground the wind was gone, and the young man lay lonesome on the ground, soaking beneath the rain like the roots of the island’s willows. Amongst the falling droplets his gray eyes were as storm clouds, pouring their bounty upon the earth. As the rain continued on the 119th branch was absolved of its prideful snowfall, father winter had begun to falter.

After warming up in the training facility’s showers Moreau returned to his dormitory with his head hung in shame.
“SHIUH-HU” upon arriving the young gentleman, cold from the day’s wind and rain, began sneezing violently and seeing white. Recognizing the issue the young man immediately took efforts to resolve his hypothermic symptoms, putting a pot of tea on, changing into his lounging-robe and fleeces, and running a bath; trembling and struggling to maintain consciousness throughout. Luckily his self-treatment was sufficient, as his breathing steadied and the bath raised his core temperature. With the thoroughly exhausting and awful day behind him Moreau retired for the evening and steeled himself for tomorrow’s challenge.

Moreau awoke that Friday early as usual, and went about the beginning of his day at a leisurely pace, savoring what would be one of his last chances to serve tea to the base, and it seemed that a sizable portion of the cadets and faculty had a similar idea. The dining hall was all but completely full, a rare occurrence for the mornings, but it seems word had spread of the morning tea’s quality. Once again the young man put himself to the task of serving a great amount of tea, and fortunately it seemed that somebody had brought an additional set of cups and fetched the kitchen’s teapots from its depths. Though there were sufficient cups, it would require multiple rounds of tea from each kettle to serve all present; and so Moreau steeped pot after pot of tea, emerging from the kitchen with plattered cups to serve a table at a time.

The first table served was that of the graduate cadets who raucously ushered their server over as soon as he had prepared his first steep. "Hey Moreau!" Ben beamed at his fellow cadet, and a number of the other graduates also seemed happy to see their former stooge in good spirits.

"Hello Ben, good to see everybody doing well! What can I pour for you?"

"I'm pretty excited! Haven't been much for tea, but I heard yours was really good so surprise me! We'll be able to head out onto the open seas soon here man!"

"Hah! I hope so! Even as much as I enjoy it here with all of you!"

Moreau quickly served the cadet's orders, bringing Ben a cup of Peony. As he served the group he made small talk with them, and offered to bring them another round once he had gotten to the other tables.

Maxine and other administrative faculty awaited their server's arrival, as the purple-haired gentleman exited the kitchen the ornery librarian called over: "Hey nerd! What's with the hold-up?"

Moreau sighed and carried the platter over to her table. "So what's the deal? Servin' those kids over there 'fore ya get to our most esteemed party here?” The middle-aged woman exaggeratedly rolled her palm over towards the rest of her table, Moreau squinted back for a moment before the librarian broke character with a self-satisfied smile. "Hei-hon-hon-ho Hei-hon-ho!" The librarian cackled. "You shoulda seen the look on yer face! Hei-hon-h… oh alright, I've had my fun, get on to servin' us."

"Of course Maxine. Yare-yare-shi." Moreau let out a mildly irritated laugh before pouring Maxine her preferred cup of Dark jeelong, and serving the rest of the table courteously.

Only two tables were yet to be served, that of the underclassman, and that of the upper faculty. Upon returning to the floor Commodore Drace waved the young gentleman away from his table, over towards the last of the cadets. After turning away from the elder Drace Moreau was met with the condescending smile of the younger. Prendick beckoned his server over.
"Hello Prens, I don't suppose you were wanting tea then? I thought you hated the stuff?"

The gentleman recalled the first time Prendick had attended morning tea, wherein a cup of fine Nilgiri had been spat out rather dramatically.

"Oh no I want some! Pops bought ya plenty didn't he? Plus, last night was pretty chilly,I could use somethin' to warm up.”

"Quite so.” Moreau bitterly recalled his brief encounter with hypothermia. “But of course I can make tea for you Prens. Wouldn't want to face tonight on unequal footing would we?"

"Hah. I don't know what you're gettin' at, I'll beat ya tonight too! Just don't get yourself winded before we start again!” The elder Drace looked over to his son from the other table, he had been wondering why Prendick had returned to his dormitory so late last night. The young cadet immediately shot Moreau a panicked look, before barking out his order: "Get me some of the Sencha! C'mon just get on with it!" The young Drace was flush in the face as he buried his head in his hands. Moreau smirked, before pouring the young man his tea, and graciously serving the others at the table.

Now the time had come to complete the Ordeal, the butler would serve tea to senior faculty, and then he would  be free to go about his day. “What will it be today sir?” the gentleman asked the senior Drace, who had attended each day’s tea since Monday, sampling each of the blends he had purchased for Moreau extensively.

“I’d love some more ‘a your Rose Blend. Damn good stuff kid.” Moreau was pleased with the Commodore’s compliments, and fetched his order with a joyful smile before attending to the remainder of the table, serving a bit more to the first table of Cadets, and promptly making his exit.

Moreau spent the remainder of daylight at the training facility, engaging himself in light exercise consisting primarily of combat forms and aerobic weight training. By the end of his training day he was feeling far less exhausted than his prior day of compulsive cardio, a bit of composure had gone a long way. The young man continued his training well into the night, by the time midnight came, he had grown somewhat tired but was ready for his second duel.

The sky was clear that night as the waning crescent moon leaked its light upon the sparring field, Prendick arrived in shadow, followed by a familiar pair of hulking figures. As the trio drew nearer the faces of Instructor Gus and Commodore Drace were revealed.

“Hello Gentlemen.” Moreau spoke out to the trio, neglecting his superior’s titles as he spoke, if only for convenience's sake.

“How’s it going, Moreau? Heard my kid challenged ya to another fight.” The elder Drace spoke on his son’s behalf.

“Well enough, Elise told me to train so I’ve been doing so. Your son has actually challenged me to three fights since our exams, I simply denied his request for a rematch while we were being evaluated. Here we are for our third little bout, might as well call it a set.”

“Hah, I heard about yesterday. Seems like he caught you after you’d been running for 12 hours.” The Commodore glared down at his son, seemingly ashamed that Prendick had picked such an unfair fight. “I hope you’re doing better this evening.”

“I am. I’ve felt no compulsion to run from my problems.”

“Look at our Cadet, all grown up, and a man of quality it seems!” Instructor Gus interjected over top of his Commodore. “I knew we’d make something of ya one of these days!”

“I was all but grown when I came here Gus.”

“I don’t know about that Cadet! Still got a little bit of that sheltered brat in ya!”
The purple haired man shot a glare towards his Drill Instructor. Though he respected the man, it often seemed that Gus was flippant when mentioning Moreau’s past.

“Let’s get on with this, I’m ready.” The young gentleman’s forearm reconstituted from metallic ichor into his estoc.

“Finally! Now get outta the way pops, you too Instructor!” Prendick hissed back towards his cadre.

“Let’s settle this! No more flukes, playtime’s over.” The young Drace shouted over to Moreau, his voice cracking with “playtime.” After an embarrassed pause, he readied his weapon and the two opponents drew towards one another.

As Prendick advanced he saw no openings in his opponent’s form, Moreau’s demeanor had shifted from that of an incompetent inferior, to one of menacing calm. As Drace went for a lunge against Moreau’s shoulder he was met with a sharp pain against his cheek, the gentleman’s lightning-quick retort had drawn blood.

“Tch. Lucky.” Prendick dove in for another attack, but was tripped as his opponent sidestepped and bashed the estoc’s guard against the back of his head.

The fuzzy visage of estoc stabs were matched with sharp pains as Moreau’s blade drove into Prendick’s shoulders and sides. “There is no luck, Prens. Only technique and conditioning.”

“You smug asshole!” the young Drace roared as he wildly swung out towards his opponent.
Moreau dodged the sabre’s slashes as his opponent advanced blindly towards him.

“Ah, temper, temper.” The gentleman duelist sidestepped once again, tripping the young Drace onto his palms.

Prendick’s head began to clear, his vision stabilized, and his frustration had reached its breaking point. With a frightening glare upwards towards his opponent Prendick threw all of his strength into a single strike. “You’re mine!”

Moreau’s training lamé ripped as the sabre drew it’s cutting edge through the armor, drawing a thin cut all the way through to the gentleman’s torso. Prendick’s expression changed to that of a feral smile as he continued striking for his opponent’s shoulders with accuracy and fervor. Moreau blocked each successive attack with the guard of his estoc before dodging backwards, lowering his blade, and raising his hand.

“I concede, you win Pren. We shouldn’t be fighting on damaged armor.” the gentleman gestured towards the large tear down his vest, and the several holes driven into Prendick’s.

“Oh no! This isn’t over yet, Moreau! I was just startin’ to have fun!” The wild Drace charged towards his conceded opposition. Moreau dodged 3 strikes, before a hulking and menacing presence entered the battlefield, looming behind the berserker like a monstrous mountain.

“Son. YOU WILL NOT KEEP ATTACKING AFTER AN OPPONENT HAS SURRENDERED!” The Commodore had grabbed his son’s blade, a drop of blood spilled to the grass below, Prendick looked up at his father and was terrified. The hulking figure picked his son up by the scruff of his vest. “NEVER AGAIN!”
The Commodore Wilford Drace slammed his son into the turf of the training field, the youngling crumpled into semi-consciousness, letting out a choking cough as he was driven into the dirt. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to drive him to this.”

“No… no it’s not your fault. He’ll be damn lucky if he doesn’t get held back longer than you did!” The Commodore spoke loudly, his son groaned out from his human-shaped indentation.

“Guess ya learned surrender doesn’t always work out so well eh Moreau?” Instructor Gus called over from the benches. “Sometimes your just gonna fight people who don’t know when enough is enough! Be grateful our Commodore here didn’t let ya see what happens when ya give in to someone like that. Let me tell ya, you’ll be lucky if ya die fighting against someone like that.”

“As though I’m going to surrender to anybody outside the Navy?! As though we shouldn’t be able to expect some semblance of decency from our ranks?” Moreau called back with an irritated tone. The Instructor shot back a bemused smile.

The young gentleman checked his pocket watch, the hour was 12:15 in the morning. “I apologize sir. I have another matter to settle tomorrow before I embark, would you mind if I take my leave so I can go to sleep?”

“Of course Moreau. Get back safe. Sleep well.”

And so the fledgling retreated to his dormitory, having lost technically, but with his pride unscathed.

Commodore Elise was as boisterous and punctual as ever with her arrival to the 119th branch, her ship docking and blaring its siren’s “all hands on deck” pattern at the ripe hour of 4:39 AM. All across the base a collective groan could be heard as the Cadets and Faculty shuffled out of their living quarters and down towards the docks.

Moreau’s night of sleep had been rather short, as he had arrived back at his dormitory at 12:28 PM, and gotten to bed by 12:42 PM. In total the young man had been able to sleep for just under 4 hours, and upon his arrival at the docks this was evident; dark bags hung beneath the young man’s eyes, his movement was disjointed and laden with the sounds of creaking metal, and he seemed slightly delirious as he groaned out half-responses to those who greeted him.

Elise stood in a bold pose, throwing her pointer finger out towards her drowsy student.
“Moreau!” The Commodore bellowed with a dramatic pause. “It’s about time we see if you’re really ready to leave this place!” she procured a piece of paper from the inside of her suit-jacket, and held it outwards, pointing at it with her other hand “This here? This is my recommendation to hold you back another year, all it takes is a signature from Mr. Drace over here to keep you.” Commodore Drace looked apologetically over towards the young gentleman as Elise gestured to him.

“Warrick!” she called up to one of her crewmen, still resting against the navy ship’s railing. The man dropped from the ship, as he landed the wood of the dock let forth a thunderous groan. The man was lean and tall, with a broad muscular chest barely contained by the hem of his uniform.

“Yes Commodore Elise!?” The dark haired man awaited the orders of his superior. Moreau could swear he recognized this man, as though he was a more powerfully built version of a familiar face.

“State your issue to our Cadet here!”

“Hello Moreau! I understand that you’re now being permitted to attain the rank of Seaman Recruit! Before I can allow that to happen, we have a quarrel to resolve! On the date of september 16th 1822 you pointed firearms at two Officers! I was one of those Officers, and I want to make clear that I found that choice unacceptable then, and that I find it distasteful that such a person would be allowed to join the ranks of the Marines!” The crowd muttered amongst themselves, nobody had known that Moreau had engaged in any delinquent acts.

“I apologize sir! I didn't mean to do that!”

“Hah! Didn’t mean to do it eh? I haven’t known many men stupid enough to point a loaded weapon at anything they don’t intend to kill.” Warrick shouted over to the young man in a mocking tone.

“Sir I had no contr-” the young man was cut off.

“Enough talk!” the wolflike man growled down towards Moreau. “Fight me and we’re even. Beat me and we’ll take you out for deployment. All I ask is a chance to hold you at the end of my weapon!” Warrant Officer Warrick whirled his Jutte up to point towards the young gentleman.

“Alright. I suppose it has to be this way.” Moreau cast his estoc from his arm.

The crowd watched on excitedly as the two met gazes, and as the fight began. Warrick charged down the docks towards his young opponent, feinting an overhead strike with his Jutte Moreau went for a block, but was punished as the Officer shifted his weight into a devastating side kick. The young duelist stumbled backwards from the force of the kick and attempted to regain his balance before falling on his ass. With another sudden strike Moreau felt a crack to his chin, as the underhanded Jutte strike knocked him fully prone.

Moreau Coughed out “Ugh. Guess we’re even then eh?” His speech stilted and weak from the freshly-bashed fracture in his jawbone.

“Oh we’ve barely begun. This one’s for Lawrence!” The Warrant Officer kicked his prone opponent in the side, the Cadet crying out in pain. Warrick then proceeded to kick, stomp, and punch Moreau for a full minute as much of the crowd watched on in horror.

“You’re gonna Kill ‘im!” Maxine shouted out. The Officer continued his onslaught.

“That’s my buddy! You gotta stop man!” Ben called over to the Officer. The Officer stood with his foot pressed firm against the young man’s chest.

“We get it. He’s stayin’ with us Rick.” Commodore Drace started to walk over towards the combatants to break the fight. Moreau extended his arm, trying to crawl free.

“So your just gonna surrender again?” Prendick called over to his injured peer. “I’m sick of seein’ you give up, askin’ people for second tries.” Moreau looked back with a pathetic smile. “You gotta keep fighting, even if you break, ya gotta keep fightin’.” Prendick looked down at Moreau with shame “Plus I’m sick of seeing your fuckin’ face around here. Go fall off a ship.”

Taking his rival’s “encouraging” words to heart, Moreau continued the fight, transforming his extended arm into the estoc, and shunting it through the Warrant Officer’s Achilles tendon. The Officer cried out in pain and lept backwards, dragging Moreau partially back to his feet as his sword-arm sloughed out from his enemy’s grievous wound.

The young man, now free from his opponent’s restraint, took deep and laborious gasps for air as his opponent howled on in pain.

“You little bastard!” Warrick, with a swing of his Jutte, attempted to fight through the pain of his injury, but as he lifted his heel for a second strike against his young opponent, a sharp pain rang throughout his body. “Groughooo!”   the Officer cried out in agony as he toppled forwards onto his good leg.

The young man chuckled at his opponent’s futile efforts, and coughed out a mouthful of blood before uttering, with an eerie euphonia: “Guess I spoke too soon. This ends now.” Exploiting his opponent’s injury, Moreau quickly transformed his estoc into a sturdy bokken before cracking his opponent upside the head, sending the Warrant Officer staggering backwards as he jabbed wildly for the young duelist. Only one of these attacks landed, slamming into Moreau’s shoulder and pushing him backwards.

On his back foot Moreau lept backwards, evading his opponent’s meager followup before unleashing a hail of daggers on his enemy. The officer’s feet were impaled and stuck down to the board of the dock, and the remainder of this hail thoroughly lacerated the man’s Officer jacket.

Warrick grunted out in pain “Damn it! What is this rookie just made of weapons?”

A brief silence ushered over the crowd as the irony washed over them.

“Well actually yes.” Moreau stated matter-of-factly as he sprinted to his opponent’s flank and launched into a jumping ax kick. The force of Moreau’s kick was sufficient to knock the Officer off of the dock and over into the ocean; the wide-framed man’s fall splashing a large spray of salt-water upwards.

As Elise’s crew went to rescue their officer the remainder of those present began to cheer and applaud, and it seems that members of both Elise’s crew and the branch had been ready to celebrate as cups of ale and rum began to appear in the hands of Cadets, Faculty, and Navymen alike. This day the island’s carnelians and willow trees had begun to bloom, and the celebrating Marine base enjoyed their food & drink beneath the beginnings of the foliage’s beauty.

As the night wound to its conclusion Elise approached her protege, an Officer’s jacket draped over her forearm. “I’m surprised you could beat Warrick. Maybe you really have grown.” compliments, even backhanded ones, weren’t common from Commodore Faivre.

Elise handed Moreau’s jacket over to him, he received it with watering eyes. “Must have.”
“The unit we’re deploying you to needs a Weapons Officer, and a homemaker. Seems up your alley, and I guess you can hold your own against a Warrant Officer. Might as well make you an Ensign.” The Commodore procured another document and a pen from the inside of her jacket “Sign this and the job’s yours.”

Moreau looked over to his cold mentor. No going back. No more surrender. The young man took the paper and signed it.

“Kiah-ha-ha!” Elise smiled towards her new Ensign “Alright kid! We’ll get out to sea tomorrow then! Get packing!” Moreau smiled back at Elise before heading back to his dormitory.

The time had come for the island’s Gentle-Weapon to pack his things and on the morrow he would depart for broader horizons. He could hardly believe it. Moreau set himself about the task of gathering up his things, packing his teas, teaset, gardening supplies, book collection, hygiene products and other personal belongings into a steamer trunk before going about his laundry.

Before he packed his clothes Moreau was intent upon properly laundering them, he began with the precious new article he had earned: his Officer’s jacket, and ran it alongside his first load of whites, he proceeded through the remainder of his white uniforms before continuing to his pants, after running the bulk of his civilian clothes Moreau finished the matter by running his reds. As the young gentleman pulled his rouge suit from the laundry he noticed his mistake:

He hadn’t removed his jacket from the first load of laundry, and it had been run alongside every other load, the coat was now a gray-ish pink.

Moreau initially began to cry, taking his mistake to heart as a sign that he wasn’t fit to be an Officer. However he quickly reassured himself. There would be no more surrender. Moreau dried the coat again, sealing its pigment in as he slept his last night at the 119th branch.

The next morning was beautiful, the rose-colored sky sprouting from the morning sun. Elise had afforded her crew, and Moreau, the luxury of sleeping in until 6:30, at exactly that hour a series of rattling knocks were let forth at the dormitory’s door. “Ensign! Get your things! It’s time to go!”

Moreau, still somewhat sleep deprived, grabbed his coat and slid off of his bed onto the floor. After crawling out of his room Moreau accepted that he had to stand up, did so, put on his pink coat, and grabbed his luggage before double-checking that he hadn’t left anything behind, and making his way out the door. Elise and her fresh Ensign left campus, Moreau stopping by the dining hall to say a tearful goodbye to those gathered, the Draces, Bingham, Maxine, Gus, and a number of other Cadets wished him well on his journey.

As Elise’s ship, the SSS Mistral made it’s way through the icefields once more its inhabitants seemed in good spirits, savoring the orange and fuschia skyline and its clouds of willow and lavender. “Hey aren’t ya gonna apologize for stabbin’ me through the foot so many times kid?”

“You were trying to beat me to death. I figured we were even?” The Officers, now confrères, sat beneath the golden hour and voyaged outwards towards the thrilling mystery of the horizon.

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