[World Event] A Fool's Errand

Tue Jan 16, 2024 8:48 pm

A Fool's Errand

The world event begins _{(third time's the charm)}!

World Event Rules & Instructions

The world event has now begun! All participating player characters must abide by the rules below. Some of the rules may be subject to change as we progress through the event.

Boss Fights

Players interested in boss fights will be offered various options for combat at suitable times during the World Event. You may have the following options when the time comes:

Face off against Impies (may require team-ups and may only be available to certain players)
Face off against other players (must agree on potential consequences beforehand as described here.
Face off against normal bosses as assigned by the NPC posts

Your difficulty scores for the first two options will be determined based on the gap in levels/tiers and the number of characters on each side.

If you choose not to have a boss fight, you will be assigned a difficulty score of -4 as usual.

Chapters

Each longer NPC post will be posted as a chapter which will drive the main plot of the event forward. There may also be intermittent NPC posts in between chapters depending on whether Impies or Tempies (Temporarily Important NPCs) are interacting with player characters.

Posting Pattern

Once a chapter is posted, players will have two weeks to make at least one post with their participating character. If you are part of a group (see RP groups section below), you must agree upon a posting order that will allow all of your group members enough time to post. Once those two weeks are up, the thread will be locked for 2-3 days (possibly longer) until the next chapter is posted and the thread is unlocked again for further player posts.

Time Limit

Each participating character will be required to post at least once after every chapter. If you have multiple characters in the event, you must pick one primary character at the start of the event with whom you must post once a week. Your quality score assessment and word count requirement will apply to the selected character only.

If you miss a post a total of three times through the event, you will start losing 20% of the total rewards for each post you miss (including the three posts you already missed).

IC Time Constraints

Each chapter will provide an IC "stop-time" in an OOC spoiler. All of your character's RP actions must take place before the IC stop-time. If your character's actions persist beyond the stop-time, it may generate inconsistencies in the event's plot and you may be asked to rework your posts.

Word Count Requirement

While your individual posts can be as long as you want, your total IC word count by the end of the world event must be above 10,000 for whichever character you are mechanically participating with. Length bonuses will also apply as per the Questing Guide.

First Round

The first round of posts after the first chapter is posted will be free - as in, anyone can submit their first post without worrying about whose turn it is. However, I highly recommend you discuss how you plan to enter the event with other participants you want to form a group with (see the RP group section below). The NPC chapters will provide context for each faction's settings.

RP Groups

Once the first round of posts is complete, each player can form their own RP group in the thread. Each group only has to wait for their group mates to finish posting before repeating the post order. The NPC will throttle any groups that move too fast in comparison to others. The stop-time will also help in this regard.

You are welcome to freely switch between groups or merge with other groups, so long as both parties are informed appropriately.

When you form or change a group, please include an OOC spoiler note in your post to keep everyone informed.

If you are not part of any group, you may post as many times as you wish as long as you don't RP beyond the stop-time.

God-modding

Typically, god-modding another player's character is not allowed without the concerning player's permission. However, if you miss a post and your character is vital to a scene, your character's actions may be god-modded by the NPC (or by a player designated by me).

Read Every Post!

Participants must read every post in this event. I realize this may be more than what some of you may have bargained for, but, please remember that there will be a vote at the end of the event that will decide who should get the top three prizes. Additionally, it will help you keep track of the overarching story and keep you aware of any characters outside your RP group trying to interact with yours.

The event will continue to evolve at varying paces, so, please try to be patient and yet vigilant. But, above all, enjoy yourselves! You will rarely get the opportunity to interact with such a diverse cast of player characters and Impies in a single thread.

Be open to adjustments

It may be necessary for me to request adjustments in your posts if they create inconsistencies or contradict the event's plot or any concrete plans. Please be open to making said adjustments.

Questions?

Needless to say, if you have questions at any point, please feel free to ask in the [discord]help-desk[/discord] channel.

Combat Encounters:

Tue Jan 16, 2024 9:07 pm

References:

Setting

The Jolly Keys—an unassuming set of tropical isles in the South Blue—are a nest of vipers, a den of thieves, and home to the wicked. Two larger islands form the eyes while a chain of smaller islets shapes the archipelago's eponymous smile.

The presence of officials and authority figures is as welcome on the Jolly Keys as cold sores on a hot date. But, even in this moshpit of crooks, many innocent civilians live out their dull lives.

Many fishing villages and camps dot the Jollies—a popular nickname for the archipelago. But, the majority of the population can be found in its three cities.

Port Teardrop is the largest of the three and perhaps the least crime-infested. It sits snugly between a lone mountain and the southeastern coast of Dexter Eyeland. Out of the three jolly cities, Port Teardrop has the highest tolerance for outsiders and benefits from all manner of free trade. The Mourning River runs down the mountain and through the city, dividing it into two nearly equal halves. Many wide stone bridges built over it support hundreds of buildings, practically making it an underground river.

La Crima, a town on the western edge of Dexter Eyeland, is more infected by crime and illicit businesses. Assassins, organ traders, human traffickers, and smugglers of all sorts congregate in this place. Tourists in La Crima are bound to have their wallets snatched or their panties stolen.

Lastly, the city of Carbuncle sits by the Bay of Spectacles on Sinister Eyeland. Jagged reefs and shoals—affectionately called "The Lashes"—protect the bay like a guard dog's fangs. Ships entering the bay will surely find their watery graves unless they are familiar with the tide schedules and the surrounding currents. The entire length of Sinister Eyeland's coast consists of high cliffs and various dangerous rock formations. This serves as a solid natural defence for those with vested interests in Sinister Eyeland.

A patch of mountains—unsurprisingly referred to as the Patch Mountains—lay on Sinister Eyeland. An active volcano lies in the centre of this patch. Several factories operate in these mountains and in Carbuncle, mining minerals and producing substances unfit for model citizens. The owners of these factories fiercely protect their assets and rule the Jolly Keys from the shadows.

For an archipelago so averse to authority, it somehow does not fail to fall victim to strong leadership. Carbuncle is a city closed off to all outsiders, for it is home to notorious criminals who hold the Jollies under their thumbs.

Chapter 1

April 1, 1829, ~6:00 A.M.

Somewhere in La Crima...

[npc=revo]"Why are you even here, Mancie?! Didn't the boss-man order you to keep an eye on things at Briss?"[/npc] Barked a five-feet-short baldy.

His much taller associate, an electric eel fish-man, pouted as best as his unsettling underbite would allow. His skin was yellow as if jaundiced. [npc=revo]"Ahd do dat, bud, ya noe hoe uzezz ya are, Godli-zan."[/npc] He replied as if stating a fact. His answer did not detain him from spiking the ends of his ragged blond hair. His skinhead companion's shiny scalp served as a suitable mirror.

The vertically-and-follically-challenged grump folded his arms and howled. [npc=revo]"Shut your ugly mouth, ya dumb fish-out-of-water! You're the only one who thinks I'm useless. And it's not like I came here alone! If only that damn hurricane hadn't sunk our ship!"[/npc] The passers-by paid them no heed. Angry exchanges were a common sight in the streets of La Crima as sure as water is wet.

Mancie scratched his round chin and pondered over the excuse. After a moment's thought, he shrugged. [npc=revo]"Da hurrycan wooden be zo durrybull if ya hoomuns noo hoe duh zwim."[/npc]

[npc=revo]"We know how to swim, you idjit. Hurricanes are bad news for everyone."[/npc] Gotli rolled his eyes and turned away.

[npc=revo]"Anyway, since you're here, you might as well help me find at least part of our unit. I'm not going to meet a bunch of pirates with only an imbecile watching my back."[/npc] The pair walked down the muddy thoroughfare—dodging beggars and stray dogs—in search of their fellow revolutionaries.

One of the many docks at Port Teardrop...

The morning sun peeked through the black clouds lingering after the hurricane. A few rays broke through and lit up the features of a raven-haired man in a wedding-white suit and a matching fedora. He tightened his black tie, cleared his throat, and spoke into a transponder snail.

[npc=cpol]"To all my cousins of the Gull family - you are cordially re-invited to the wedding reception of Seamus and Bradley. Sadly, the wedding hall was damaged during the hurricane, so, the ceremony will be held at Dock Warehouse No. 28. Be sure to bring your original invitations. The event will start at 8:00 A.M. sharp. That is all."[/npc]

Somewhere in a dark corner of the city, a young man with dark blue hair and matching eyes listened lazily to this message alongside a company of armed ruffians dressed in haphazard suits and ties of varying colours. [npc=navy]"Is the whole cloak-and-dagger thing really necessary, Rear Admiral? That Lord Foul seems overly cautious. I bet these halfwits wouldn't hear us coming even if we barged in beating war drums,"[/npc] said one of the ruffians as he flexed a bow adorned with two yellowing horns.

The Rear Admiral shrugged. His dark eyeliner seemed to bring out the blue in his cynical eyes. [npc=navy]"If it were up to me, we would march in there, proudly wearing our uniforms, and lay down the law. But, that's the thing about joint operations. We have no choice but to play to Cipher Pol's tune."[/npc]

[npc=navy]"Are you two trying to blow your cover?"[/npc] Questioned a slender woman with frizzy red hair as she entered the alley. The other men cleared her a path to the Rear Admiral. [npc=navy]"These disguises are pointless if you're not gonna make an effort to hide who we are,"[/npc] she added with a tired sigh.

[npc=navy]"You're in no position to judge when you somehow manage to get lost every ten minutes, Captain Wyre,"[/npc] the bowman argued with an impertinent sneer.

The captain flicked the insolent sailor's forehead. [npc=navy]"I wasn't 'lost'. I was scouting. Maybe you should try it sometime, Lieutenant Commander Virtanen."[/npc]

The Rear Admiral snorted. [npc=navy]"We'll all be scouting in a minute. Yumiko's already up on the roof, keeping an eye out,"[/npc] he said, pointing up at the building behind him.

He climbed up on the moss-ridden box which had served as his seat for the past hour, adjusted the two katanas strapped to his left hip, and barked at his company brimming with confidence.

[npc=navy]"Spread out and deliver the message to any stragglers. We'll regroup at Dock Warehouse No. 28 at 0800 hours. And don't be late. I'd rather not give Lord Foul an excuse to question our competence."[/npc] He paused to allow most of his troops to scatter before turning to the bowman. [npc=navy]"Virtanen, pass on the orders to Yumiko. Tell her to not go around flying. She's got a reputation for calling attention to herself."[/npc]

The previous evening aboard a certain ship...

The din of gears turning and axles whirring rang through a wood and metal beast of the sky. A hatted silhouette scurried through the shadows, finding the darkest corner on the vessel. He sparked a lighter, letting its solitary flame illuminate his stubbled jaw and an unrolled note.

[npc=cpol]"New mission..."[/npc] He mumbled under his breath. [npc=cpol]"Rendezvous with 'Red Tails'... Soiled Trousers, La Crima... April 1st, noon..."[/npc] A few more words from the note manifested themselves out loud on his lips, for he was certain no one else could hear them.

Once he had repeated the orders to himself enough to etch them into his memory, he shifted the lighter under the note. The paper caught aflame and quickly withered to ashes.

Sometime later, the covert agent found himself alone in the darkness once again, surrounded by the noise of the same loud engine. A screw loosened here and a valve broken there and soon the machine was coughing and choking. He lowered the brim of his hat to shade his fervent gaze, his face beset by a conflicted frown.

A bridge over the Mourning River...

A ginger-haired boy dangled off a high ledge with a shiny spyglass strapped over one of his bulbous green eyes. He fiddled with a scroll on his brass scope and trained his inquisitive gaze towards a lonely shore some ways away from Port Teardrop. His jaw dropped as he spotted a massive shadow in the fog descending from the clouds.

He removed and pocketed his spyglass in a hurry and swung off the ledge to grab a clothesline. He spun around the line twice with the skill of a trapeze artist before dropping two storeys down into a puddle on the stone road. The splash from his landing earned him a "Hey!" and a "Watch it!" from a few pedestrians. He darted down the street with not a single apology for his monkey business.

[npc=misc]"Granny! Granny!"[/npc] The ginger boy shouted as he rushed towards a lady who seemed shorter than a thumb and older than time itself. The crumpled old woman stood with a man under a shed. A sign reading "Bell's Gears and Grease" hung from the awning above. Several pallets with neatly stacked and polished mechanical parts were placed on a wooden platform nearby.

The lady ignored the boy's calls. One would be right in assuming she was simply hard of hearing. She was attempting a transaction with a customer. The exchange was no doubt two parts repeated questions from the customer and one part "Eh? Say again?" from the half-deaf crone.

The boy scowled and slowed. [npc=misc]"Granny! How many times do I have to tell you to use the listen-gooder?"[/npc]

As he got closer, the grandmother finally noticed his presence. She scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes as if to see past her thick glasses. [npc=misc]"Eh? I cannae hear ye. I lost th' doohickey,"[/npc] she yelled before turning back to the customer. The man tapped his foot impatiently with his arms folded. [npc=misc]"He's such a fine lad, ye see? He made me a li'l doohickey that aids me hearin',"[/npc] she boasted.

[npc=misc]"It's not a doohickey, granny! It's a listen-gooder. And you didn't lose it,"[/npc] the boy whined. He stood by her side and reached into a pocket in her long, chequered skirt. He fished out a tiny metal saxophone with a frown. [npc=misc]"I told you that I put it in your pocket."[/npc] The customer cocked a brow.

Granny cooed when the boy handed her the hearing aid. She hooked the device over an ear and spoke quieter, [npc=misc]"Ooooooh. Lookit that! 'Twas in me skirt a' 'long. Now, what was it ye was sayin', me boy?"[/npc]

The boy's eyes sparkled once again as he pointed in the general direction of the lonely shore he was surveying. [npc=misc]"I saw a ship flying down from the sky, Granny! It was amazing!!"[/npc]

The customer let slip an untamed cackle. [npc=misc]"AHAHAHAHA!!! A flying ship, you say?! Do you think it came down from the moon? I bet you think it's full of people made of nothing but metal too! HAH! How ridiculous."[/npc] The child's shoulders folded inwards and he stared at the ground red-faced.

The grandmother howled.

[npc=misc]"Away wi' ye, ye hooligan! Away!"[/npc] She yelled and waved a heavy wrench at the skeptic. The customer wasted no time in taking his leave of the crazy pair.

The grandmother turned to her grandson with a confident smile and screwed her listen-gooder tighter into her ear. The words that followed cheered up the humiliated boy once again.

[npc=misc]"Dinnae ye listen tae 'im, li'l Winny. He doesnae ken nothin'. There's many-a-things in th' world that ye wouldnae believe. Men that live in th' sea. Ships that crawl on th' land. Machines older than even me."[/npc] She placed a wrinkled hand on the boy's messy ginger head.

[npc=misc]"So, if ye're tellin' me ye've seen a ship sailin' down from th' sky...

...I believe ye."[/npc]

Notes:

2,002 out of 2,002 words

Wed Jan 17, 2024 12:00 am

1800 hours Night before the Crash, Crew Cabin, Emilia's Interior

Susu perched himself on the upper rafters of the cabin, resembling a brooding gargoyle cloaked in black, his eyes trained on Bill Holiday. The rodent felt nothing but hatred for the Cowpoke, spending every night since the man had boarded the airship, watching, waiting. Looking for the perfect opportunity to destroy him.

Patient in his vengeance, he has since become one with the shadows. The monster that lurks in the dark, waiting around every corner, hiding in every ditch and hole. The thing that goes bump in the night.

There would be no escape for the rodent's mortal enemy, everywhere he went, Susu would be there. Everything he did, Susu would be there. The gunslinger's own personal Boogeyman.

While fantasizing about all the ways to erase Bill's very being from the universe, a subtle movement brought the squirrel back to reality. It was him. The bane of Susu's existence made his move. Creeping like the villain the rodent knew him to be, careful to make sure no one heard what he was up to.

Though unbeknownst to him there was always someone watching. And just like that, the chase was on.

His tiny paws gripped the wood as he moved silently in the darkness. Practiced and elegant, he flipped and spun his way through the air, making his way from rafter to rafter. Stalking like the predator he knew himself to be.

The cowboy skulked down a hallway that led to a single door at the end of the hall. The flickering flame illuminated the sign, Engine Room.

Susu cocked his head in confusion, followed by a suspicious hop. Surely this heinous villain wasn't considering? No, that would be insane.

The moment Bill's rawhide-covered hand hit the doorknob the squirrel took flight. The wind swept across his face, tears flew from his eyes. It was on this day that Susu found a speed that surely no other had achieved. He felt a power swell inside of him, propelling him forward, it was as if fate itself guided his hand this day.

Thud.

But even that was not enough. Like food to a wall, he stuck and slid. Crashing to the ground, a fallen jet plane made its last dive. The tiny beast of vengeance was thwarted by an immovable barrier of vast proportion. Whether it be through sorcery, machinery, or a devilish pact, the ghastly cowboy was now beyond his grasp.

His eyes glanced up, defeated, but unbroken. Empires were not built in a day, they were earned, inch by bloody inch. Susu knew this one ended in favor of the villain, but the next he would not be so lucky.

0550 Hours | Somewhere near the Jolly Keys

Emilia's metal frame groaned as the wind and rain pounded her to no end. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. No one was getting any sleep tonight. Her engines screamed to stop as the damage Bill had done came to a head.

The merciless winds grew fiercer still until nature herself sent out a thousand-volt warning shot. The accompanying thunder was deafening and sent Susu into a guarded frenzy. Sure in his thought that the despicable Bill had a hand in this.

Volo's hammock swayed back and forth with the storm. Something the fearless sky captain was more than familiar with at this point. He slept like a baby, safe and sound on a ship destined for a date with the ground.

For a moment, Susu stared, as if waiting for the captain to suddenly wake up, take charge, and save everyone from their current predicament of imminent death.

That's not happening. From his own tiny hammock in the ceiling, Susu descended upon his comrade in arms. Aiming carefully for the snot bubble, timing the breath perfectly with his landing.

"Wha... Ahh, c'mon Susu... It's too early...for thiszzzzz..." Volo responded groggily, shoving the squirrel off his face and rolling over in the hammock that hung from the ceiling. The sound of the storm grew ever louder, drowning out the whine of Emilia's engines.

Once more Susu dove onto his face, this time harder and louder, communicating the urgency of the situation..

"Susu...!" Volo shouted as he tossed him off again.

But again Susu returned, this time claws out. Scratching and biting the pi(lot)rate's face until he woke up.

"Yoooowww!!!" Volo shouted, "Alright, alright! I'm up, I'm up..." Rubbing his eyes as he leaned up to a spazzing rodent on his chest. Pulling at his clothes, chittering and chattering nonstop. "What the hell man....." He yawned, "I'm already up, leave me alone...."

"Ahhhhh...~"Volo yawned again, glancing around the cabin to see Karl asleep in his hammock and Bill's seemingly empty. He rifled through his pockets for a dented carton of cigarettes, plucking one out and placing it on his lips.

Half asleep and needing a nicotine boost, he failed to notice the impending doom that awaited them.

"Now then let's see..." Instinctively reaching for his lighter, patting his pockets several times. "Ahhh fuck me.." He groaned, scrunching his face in confusion as he desperately investigated his immediate area.

"Ahhh.... Not again.... Karl! Karl! Oi, Karl!" He shouted, now on all fours scouring every inch of the cabin for his missing lighter. "Hey Kar- Nevermind! Don't worry about it." He snickered, locating a handheld blow torch underneath a table.

Testing the starter several times before the blue flame ignited. "There we go, hehe." Inhaling deeply on the tobacco before releasing a cloud of smoke large enough to fill the room.

Volo looked down to see Susu stomping his feet in protest as he desperately tried to explain the situation. Motioning toward Bill's empty hammock aggressively and then again toward the door.

"What's up Su..? Something about Bill....?" Volo inquired as he played charades with the rodent. To which the rodent happily responded with a nod, now gaining hope for the young captain. Now motioning aggressively to the door, he had hoped to continue his point.

"Hmmm.." Volo mumbled as he tussled his hair, the embers on the cigarette devoured the paper as he took a confused drag. "Bill is... fist pumping..?"

Susu shook his head and repeated the motion once more.

"Bill is.... knocking on the door....?" Leaning over to see the door wide open with no need to knock.

Again Susu shook his head and continued to make the stabbing motion.

"Look I don't know what you are doing, is he taking a shit or something..?"

Susu rolled his eyes as he buried his face into his paw, it was useless explaining this to Volo.

"Hey, Karl." Volo said, "See if you can try and figure out wha-....?!" Cut off by the groaning of the engine growing louder and louder. Gears screamed as the engine sputtered to a halt.

"Wait... Do you hear tha-...?!?"

With a final resounding screech, Emilia Jerked to a stop in the air as the propellers slowed until there was no movement left.

"Well, that's not good..." As if nature agreed, the wind took the ship and sent it into a spiral as it violently whipped around the funnel cloud. Sending anything not nailed down tumbling around the zeppelin.

Volo rushed to the engine room only to be greeted by the smell of diesel and smoke. "What the hell..?!" His eyes darted all over the machinery, "Shit, shit, shit...!"

Gritting his teeth, he shot to the helm, manning the wheel with an arrogant smile. "Bill! Karl!" The captain shouted, "Hope you guys are holding onto something!"

0600 hours, Possibly falling to our deaths near Dexter Eyeland

WC 1,270

Wed Jan 17, 2024 3:16 pm

Crime had a characteristic odor. It smelled like filth and gunpowder, dancing with cheap booze and freshly spilled blood. The stench swirled in the air as a miasma of misery. It hung especially thick and noxious over the isles that formed the Jolly Keys.

Yet, some souls would insist it was the scent of freedom. Of people getting to live their lives exactly as they chose. They loved the isles precisely for it, rather than in spite of it. Some souls... were fools.

One traveler was especially unhappy about the state of the archipelago. A silent silhouette stood on a storm-kissed roof of an abandoned warehouse. Watching... Guarding... Judging.

Peering closer revealed a short and slender, young lady. An icy glare sat stubbornly on her sharp and pale features. Touches of crimson eyeshadow decorated the corners of her eyes, resembling war paint more than makeup. Her long, dark hair was bound by multiple hair ties into a tidy ponytail. Like a paintbrush with a white tip, it swept the air as her head turned.

Dressed in a refined, black suit, the woman blended rather poorly into her environment. With that kind of tailcoat, she would’ve looked more natural in a fine party -or a penguin enclosure- rather than a filthy port town. White, silken gloves clutched a leather violin case. It held no music - only violence.

Yumiko’s sharp senses carefully combed the urban jungle. Her predatory gaze slowly swept the streets. Every new scent in the wind made her sharp nose twitch. Each suspicious sound scratched at her ears.

Yet, beyond the lingering distaste, not much of the information stuck...

Hazy memories flooded the Marine’s mind like endless fog. Ever since an awful argument, nay, unforgivable mutiny against Rear Admiral La’Croix, she had been crewless, directionless and restless. Being assigned here, to serve her fellow Marines, had been a blessing from above.

Unfortunately, the samurai had let lingering regrets sour her mood. During the voyage, she had been awfully cold towards her allies, keeping to herself and hardly saying a word to them. It was inexcusable. She silently resolved to apologize to every single one of them later... To beg for their forgiveness on her hands and knees...

Worse yet, the journey had not been without misfortune. A massive storm had swallowed the ships. There was terrible beauty in a true hurricane, in how it howled and trashed like a gigantic beast.

Of course, the weasel woman had tried to fight against the winds with her powers. However... Before Mother Nature, she was as powerless as a child wielding paper fans. It had been a humbling experience.

Kamaitachi no Yumiko...

She clicked her tongue at the epithet. Tch, such arrogance, to call herself that.

After arrival, the frustrated warrior had quickly donned her disguise and volunteered for guard duty. She had insisted. Anything to take her mind off of past failures.

[npc=navy]“Yumiko.”[/npc]

The samurai’s ear twitched. She snapped out of her thoughts, head pivoting towards the vaguely familiar voice. It tugged at some recollection in the corner of her mind.

A man with a bow on his back hoisted himself onto the rooftop with ease. He dusted his ill-fitting suit. It was more of an idle gesture than an effort to stay clean. He had already failed that part, looking like something of a ruffian.

Immediately, Yumiko clicked her heels together and snapped to a salute. “Sir.”

Naturally, she recognized Lieutenant Commander Virtanen. The peculiar name stuck to her mind as much as the rare weapon choice. She held deep respect towards anyone who -in a world of gunpowder and killing machines- chose a historical and honorable hunter’s tool.

[npc=navy]“Go sniff out any stragglers and fetch them to the meeting spot. Warehouse No. 28 at 0800 hours.”[/npc]

She nodded, without relaxing her stance. “Yes, sir.”

There was a pause. A beat. [npc=navy]“No flying, though. Really, don’t do anything that would call attention to yourself. The Rear Admiral’s orders.”[/npc]

Hesitation visited her features, but only briefly. “...Understood, sir.” An order was an order, no matter what.

[npc=navy]“And Yumiko?”[/npc]

“Sir?”

The bowman cocked his head, measuring the woman with his brown, lazy gaze. [npc=navy]“Try not to be so stiff. Remember, we’re just civvies, here for a wedding. Got it?”[/npc]

“Got it, sir.” She did not, in fact, get it.

And the Lieutenant Commander noticed. He scratched his messy, blonde hair. [npc=navy]“Riiight... Will you find the meeting spot on your own?”[/npc]

Without a word, the weasel woman stepped closer. Closer... Even closer. Utterly ignoring any notion of personal space, she sniffed the man’s chest and neck intently. After a handful awkward seconds -that felt like an eternity- she stepped back and nodded. “I will now, sir.”

Yumiko marched past the superior officer, to the edge of the building. “Moving out, sir.” Unceremoniously, she jumped off.

The bowman turned to watch the weird warrior go. A half-weary, half-amused sigh escaped his lips. [npc=navy]“Hoo boy...”[/npc] All of a sudden, he understood exactly what the Rear Admiral meant by [npc=navy]‘calling attention to herself’[/npc]. ...Welp, not his operation, not his problem.

Sniffing the air, the hunter stalked the weathered streets with silent steps. She struggled to recall the people whom she had seen before the hurricane. Not their faces or physiques necessarily, no... But rather their scents.

Picking a faint trace that felt familiar enough, the tracker set off. Her quiet steps hastened. Down a street, across a bridge, through an alley...

Was it an animalistic musk, belonging to someone large and powerful? A floating aroma as light as feathers in the wind? Maybe a fragrance of flowers, wine and gunpowder dancing together? A thick odor of leather wrapped upon more leather?

Might it even be a lingering mixture of all four?

The stench of crime threatened to drown the trail beneath its weight. Playful winds stirred the smells, blending them together. It felt like trying to follow a frayed string of wool through a thicket of thorns. Every few steps, something completely unrelated stung the tracker’s sensitive nose.

Yet, the weasel woman persisted. In her haste, she rounded a corner too quickly. She bumped into something -or someone, rather- before staggering back. Rubbing her nose, she quickly dipped into a deep bow. “Mine apologies!” Her voice chimed like a silver bell. Loud. Clear. And oh so very cold...

Now, who exactly did she come across so suddenly...?

Words: 1063
Total: 1063
Current time and location: 6:10 A.M. - Near Port Teardrop

Fri Jan 19, 2024 1:02 am

It was always a bit of a toss up, bringing cargo into La Crima, as opposed to heading for the more safer Port Teardrop. On one hand, the place was absolutely riddled with crime. It was almost expected someone would try to swipe something, and if that wasn't the case, the dock master had the tendency to charge people to a rediculous degree just to dock. On the other hand, it was the perfect place to sell less than legal merchandise, and the demand allowed them to name their own prices. And now, thanks to the recent hurricane pushing boats in towards the island, there was plenty of potential in the market.

And one such ship was unloading its cargo. A couple of men set down a large crate next to a growing pile, before taking a step back, one of them wiping the sweat from his brow. [npc=misc]"Ok, that should be the last of them,"[/npc] he sighed, [npc=misc]"I swear, it honestly feels like we have more here than we started with."[/npc] His crewmate shrugged. "Eh, whatever. Just means more money for us, huh?" he chuckled, "Anyway, we're done here, and I could use a drink. You comin'?" [npc=misc]"Only if you're buying."[/npc] As the two of them started to walk away, the first man paused, noticing something on his hands.

A sort of black smudge on his fingers. Ink? Where had that come from? He glanced back towards the crates before giving a shrug. Maybe some of the writing on the crates had smudged onto his fingers. Strange though. After all this time on the ship, one would think the ink would have drived by now. Well, no matter. He could simply wash it off later. Right now, it was time to drink.

Though if the man had just continued looking at the crate for a little bit longer, he would have noticed it melting away, leaving nothing but a simple drawing of a crate on the ground, and a rather stylish man rising up from the crouched position he had been standing in. Hyde Garland dusted himself off, taking a brief look around before tucking his hands into his pockets and casually strolling away.

It had been a rather neat trick he had come up with, since his escape from Las Camp. While most people would try to sneak aboard ships by hiding within barrels or boxes brought on board, Hyde had the advantage of being able to create his own. He just had to make sure he copied the others perfectly. Nobody ever seemed to notice an extra crate or barrel amongst the cargo, and when it came to take inventory, Hyde had already slipped away. It had been a good method of transport for him, even if it was a bit cramped and uncomfortable. It kept him off the radar for a bit.

But now, after a couple of stops on the way, Hyde felt like he had put enough distance between himself and the marines that he could start walking around more openly. Besides, this was La Crima, a place practically made for people like himself. Where criminals of all walks of life can walk around freely, at least from marines and law enforcement. They always had to watch out for eachother after all.

But now that he was here, there was the question of what to do. Hyde tilted his head in thought as he quietly left the docks and into the city proper. The Black Dawn pirates were officially wiped out, and the man was now left without a job again. He wasn't simply going to join up with another pirate crew again. This had been the second time an organization he had joined had gotten too big for its boots and went belly up. If he was joining up with someone, he wanted to make sure they were capable of keeping themselves afloat. No more bosses who crumbled in the face of real opposition.

Though there was always the choice of going into business for himself. But just where was he going to start with that? He had some notoriety now, thanks to his recent activities, but that alone wouldn't be enough to get him started. No, he needed to find something. Something he could work with and propel him further up in the world. He would need to keep an eye out for such opportunities.

But for now, he whistled a small tune as he walked down the street, keeping an eye out for any potential pickpockets who might think they're lucky today.

Word Count: 761
Total Word Count: 761

Sat Jan 20, 2024 9:05 pm

Sunflower (向日葵)

Off the Coast of La Crima

Stuck within a metallic prison, Sabian continuously banged his head against the cage. After several hours of the pointless struggle, the dinosaur man transformed into his more primal state, freeing himself finally.

“Tch. I wouldn’t be in this cage in the first place if it wasn’t for that baldy,” Sabian commented in frustration.

You see, temperatures on the ship ran high as Sabian got into an argument with one of the officers about the bombing on Briss. When he finally told the superiors to inform the lower-ranking officers of the real meaning behind the NRA’s involvement, he was essentially told to mind his tongue and his business.

Long story short, he lost the scrap, Noah pleaded for him, and he was placed in chambers beneath the deck of the now-sunken vessel. The irony is that he was then saved by the same meathead that put him there in the first place.

Being a hammer, swimming wasn’t exactly McQueen’s forte. Now, separated from his cell, Sabian spent countless hours frustrated, whacking away at the steel prison for nothing. Last thing he remember was him and Gotli tussling on the deck of the ship, and Gotli tossing him overboard. As he awoke from his torrential slumber, Sabian coughed up a bit of sand that he’d ate after being tossed ashore.

Shore Side - A few miles off La Crima

Seconds later, a sigh of relief was breathed, as Kathy and Sabian’s eyes met.

The duo traveled towards the heart of the island and met civilization in the form of the town known as La Crima. The city had a dangerous air about it, and it didn’t embrace those who weren’t its own easily. As such, Kathy and Sabian's soaked attire stuck out like a sore thumb.

Noticing the duo in distress, a traveling shorty by the name of Genie interrupted the sullen atmosphere among the pair and recruited them into their encampment on the outskirts of town. Genie was around her mid-twenties, just very short, but she had a kind of charm and spunk to her that was appropriate for her role in the circus.

First, she’d offer them a tent to strip away those soaked clothes, and then, she’d offer garb for both Kathy and Sabian. Starting up the bonfire, the pack of carnies huddled around, trading jokes, ale, and foodstuffs as they waited for their papers to be cleared with the ‘officials’ of La Crima.

“We heard this was a lawless town… but I guess there’s a bigwig everywhere. We were stopped at the border by a pack of thugs claiming we need to pay for clearance into the city,” Genie explained. “Our boss is dealing with them as we speak though.” She'd shoot a smug grin.

Sabian was now fashioned in a white dress shirt, his trademark army jacket soaked down to the smallest fiber. Slacks, his steel-tipped boots, and green long dress pants were the only remnants of his former style. Kathy was dressed in more tribal attire; it was the only clothes Genie had that accommodated her figure.

“Our intelligence says La Crima is pretty much a lawless state. Whoever’s trying to haggle you for an entrance fee is probably a no-good hustler,” Kathy chimed in.

“Ah. Even if that’s the case, Boss will handle it. They have a way with words, yuh know,” Genie explained. Suddenly, a mass of human flesh came tumbling through the encampment, crashing into Sabian’s chest plate; the two bodies made a wheel and rolled several meters into the woods, crash landing on a tree.

“Y'all no-good Lesser Minks! Trying to charge us to enter into a lawless place. Begone! Let’s pack it up, boys and girls! I found us lodging for the night! We can set up our camps on an old abandoned manor at the edge of town! That’s where we’ll hold our show!” The Big Boss announced, a giant rabbit-looking creature with a massive top hat.

Shaking the stars out of his eyes, Sabian pushed the lifeless lump of flesh off him and sprung to his feet, checking his hands to make sure nothing was damaged. Sighing a breath of relief, he then turned to Genie, “T-That’s the Big Boss. He’s pretty violent, isn’t-,” before Sabian could finish his sentence, Genie dashed over to his position and hopped to silence the male.

“She. She's pretty sensitive about that. The Big Boss is a lady. Well, a female Mink but a lady nonetheless! She’s just a bit burly!” Genie declared. Eyes opening wide like that of a Looney Toon, Sabian and Kathy followed the encampment of circus nomads into the bustling streets of La Crima, estranged from their group and allies.

@Noah

Word Count: 787/10,000

^{Sabian’sTracker}

Sun Jan 21, 2024 9:43 am

5:40 AM
Crew cabin, Emilia's Interior
Somewhere in the skies over The Jolly Keys

A noise could be heard between the walls of Emilia's crew cabin, the flying metal blimp. A noise only challenged by that of the rattle the blimp produced… And the ship's engine loud steam engine. But if one could filter out the rattle, they could easily hear the echo.

A snore.

It came from none other than the sole sleeper left in the room at that very moment. Karl… The bartender of The Red Wing Pirates. The man was deep asleep in the hammock made of multiple ropes, hanging between the two wooden pillars with metal supports.

It had been a good couple of months since Karl had been dragged along onto this flying deathtrap by its captain. Through a lot of reluctance, the man accepted his fate over this ‘short’ period.

The life he knew was no longer there. His actions and everything that involved him had pushed him on a different path in life. The path of a criminal, as much as he dislikes it. But it has not always been the life of a criminal to him… Not too long ago, he could momentarily consider himself an adventurer. A breath of fresh air.

But, there was still one very common theme about this whole situation…

Karl to this day still believes that everything that has happened to him in the past… All the things that had pushed him onto this very path, were still, at their very core, an accident. Karl was, by no means, a clean boy himself. His decisions are as much to be blamed as those of others... But sometimes it is easier to live in denial than accept the cold harsh truth.

The thought of living on the flying death trap still churns his stomach in a wrong way. But those who don’t evolve, they perish. Despite its constant rattling, being unreliable, and multiple breakdowns, Emilia had never dropped them from the sky.

And thus he has accepted Emilia the Blimp to be their choice of transportation… But he promised himself that he would never be a fan of flying.

Thanks to this acceptance, however, he had even started to sleep better!

Or…

It is possible that his deep slumber was thanks to a certain magical juice. The magical juice was neatly contained in a brown bottle next to the hammock on the ground, and next to it, a small glass. Some of the light brown colored magical juice was still left over in the glass.

5:50 AM
Crew cabin, Emilia's Interior
Still somewhere in the skies over The Jolly Keys

[plyr=pirt]"Hrm... What... What... WHAT?!"[/plyr]

His ‘eternal’ slumber was disturbed. The captain of Emilia, a lad named Volo, dared to call out Karl's name. With a rough and growling raspy voice, Karl responded to him. He was not happy to be woken up, not to mention he was not in his best shape at that very moment.

All of this shouting… All of this name-calling… And for nothing! His slumber was disturbed, only to hear the words 'never mind'. [plyr=pirt]"Get the heck out of here!"[/plyr] Had Karl had any strength to deal with this longer, he would have thrown something in his reach at Volo.

Fortunately to Volo, Karl could shrug off his annoyance this time, and he tried to re-enter his slumber… But there was something very irritating in the air. Something that irritated his sniffling nose and also his eyes.

The entire room was full of dark gray smoke.

[plyr=pirt]"Hrm... What part of do not disturb don't you understand?"[/plyr]

To get more sleep was impossible. Karl sat up and carefully got off the hammock. His eyes were tired… The head felt like someone had laid a brick on it. The body was weak… And the stomach felt like it was steering a pot inside it.

Carefully he bent himself over and took a hold of the brown bottle and the glass with some of its contents left in it. The glass, however, did not stay with him for too long as he shoved it to Volo to be held.

[plyr=pirt]"Don't you dare drop a single piece of ash or a single bud down. It took me too darn long to polish the room up."[/plyr]

Before Karl joined the crew on the blimp, Emilia was filthy. Being from an orphanage injected Karl with some basic manners, especially those of being clean and well-maintained.

The floors were full of ashes and cigarette buds, the same could be said about the drawers and even barrels. Wherever one turned, they could see them.

If that wasn't bad enough, the smoke from cigarettes had begun to taint the wooden walls and metal frames in the rooms. If one was to step into any of the rooms, it reeked of cigarettes. It was like a smoked sauna, except stinky.

But no more! The room had a nice neutral scent… It was clean, and so were multiple other rooms on Emilia. If one looked hard enough, they could even see some shiny reflections of themselves from the wooden floor.

It took Karl months to achieve cleanliness. He seemed to be the only one caring for it! On the bright side, it was a way of ‘meditation’. A way to cope with his given situation.

The glass which Karl shoved to Volo was to be used as an ashtray. It was the only way to maintain the cleanliness! [plyr=pirt]"I would very much appreciate it if you smoked all your troubles away up on the deck!"[/plyr] Karl followed the rushing Volo out of the crew cabin shortly after, slamming the door shut after him.

With the head being like a heavy balloon, Karl had completely let Volo's words slide, and forgotten he had to ask Susu of anything.

The trip through the main hallway contained Karl experiencing the worst hangover of his life. His one hand was used to support him leaning against the wall, maintaining balance. During this short but ‘mighty’ trip through the hallway… He swore to himself.

[plyr=pirt]"Never again... Am I sampling so much, on my own made drinks..."[/plyr]

5:53 AM
Storage room no.1, Emilia's Interior
Still somewhere in the skies over The Jolly Keys

Karl pushed the storage room's door open with his left hand. He left the door wide open after he had entered the room. The room contained multiple crates that were neatly placed by one of the walls. On the other side of the room, there was a small counter created out of two crates and a plank of wood placed on top of them.

Behind the counter, there were four crates set down in rows, with each having its lid removed. The crates created a neat line of selection of what was contained in them... Booze. Karl had created a small makeshift bar in storage room No. 1. He was not there to serve the clients, he served the crew… On occasions.

The bar also served as his training ground for his hobby that started from his bartending job.
Karl had experimented with different kinds of drinks, and last night he got a bit carried away.

The half-empty bottle was placed back in the crate among others of its kind. While doing so, he also did a quick inventory check. The bar was sacred, and no other was allowed there! Unfortunately to him, he traveled with criminal scum, like him.

Fortunately, every bottle was in its place… Especially that of the Dozen he had found.

His hands gripped onto the special bottle, holding it like a baby in his arms. [plyr=pirt]"Thank god... I need to find a better place for you... Those rat bastards cannot differentiate you from the bottom shelf rum"[/plyr]

6:00 AM
Storage room no.1, Emilia's Interior
Still somewhere in the skies over The Jolly Keys

The engine splurted. The rattling stopped, but only for a moment. Moments later, the rattling had returned, and worse than before.

[plyr=pirt]“No…”[/plyr]
The crates in the storage room had begun to move, despite them having been tied down hard… Or so Karl thought. The gravity was sure to show Karl’s flaws in his knot-tying.

[plyr=pirt]"No no no no, what is happening? Just when I! OH NO![/plyr]

He could see the crates lifting themselves off the ground and sliding away in the very room… The same could be said about the crates that had their lids open. Karl himself was also sliding away from his spot.

He smashed into the pillar in the middle of the storage room, around which he wrapped his arms and legs… But he could never let go of the famed bottle of Dozen… That stuck with him, while other bottles fell.

The glass shell of the bottle is a fragile thing. The open-covered crates had flipped over, letting the bottles and other goods roll out of them. The shattered bottles let all of its liquid out, leaving a sticky mess on the floor.

[plyr=pirt]"This... Can't be... THIS IS WHY I HATE FLYING!"[/plyr]

And way down... They went.

[1511/1511]

Group:

Mon Jan 22, 2024 12:23 pm

Glass. The great oppressor. A powerful barrier between desire and reality. Warden against greed and sentinel against theft. A stalwart defender against tactile sensation and hot breath. Steadfast towards sticky fingers and smudgy noses. An uncompromising warrior, guardian over the treasures within, yet bold enough to display them so brazenly…

[npc=misc]"Sir… Could you stop drooling on the glass? You are scaring other customers."[/npc] A bored feminine voice, monotone, chastised Orion.

His face was pressed up against the glass. A caricature of its usual features, smushed as they were. Eyes too large, checks comically swollen and a nose turned up like a pig. An unconscious trickle of drool oozed down the polished surface from the crevice of his lips.

Orion could care not for the peasants in the face of such wealth. His steel-grey eyes turned green with greed as he took in the veritable horde of collectible treasures. Each one was neatly packed in an orb of plastic, waiting to be opened and discovered. If only he could break them free from this labyrinthian puzzle. This strange amalgamation of glass, machinery, and magic. A powerful golem of myth protecting his master's horde.

No, Orion would not be defeated. If he could not solve this, he did not deserve the wealth within.

A flash of insight sparked behind Orion's eyes. A merchant's wisdom–trained into him since childhood–aided him on his quest. He nodded his head in pride. Long strands of unkempt light-green hair followed the motion, exaggeratedly swinging about his shoulders.

"Hoh, I've solved your riddle, Puzzle Master."

[npc=misc]"Sir, please don't destroy the Gacha Machine. It is Port Teardrop property."[/npc]

Orion begrudgingly lowered his titular umbrella from its poised position to strike, its haft easily as tall as he. Metallic and glinting, it spoke of assured destruction, and way more work for the store clerk.

"Tsk… Well played, Puzzle Master." Orion's respect for the machine only grew.

An audible sigh from the store clerk pulled Orion's gaze away. She stood behind the counter nearby, a surprisingly bored look on her face, as if she was used to such characters passing through Dexter Eyeland and Port Teardrop. She was a waif thing with narrow shoulders and a narrower frame who busied herself filing her nails. It was only the weight of her sheer disinterest that gave her substantial presence.

"How much?" Orion asked, attempting a different approach.

[npc=misc]"If Sir wants to play the machine, it costs one hundred Belli."[/npc] The store clerk responded, not even bothering to look up from the inspection of her manicured fingers.

"Heh. She thinks too small, Puzzle Master."

[npc=misc]"Sir, please do not talk to the machine. You are scaring the other customers, again."[/npc]

"No. No. Merchant Lady." Orion waggled his index finger at her.

"When I asked how much, I meant for the whole machine."

[npc=misc]"What? Sir wishes to buy the Gacha Machine?"[/npc] If she was surprised by the request, it certainly didn't show on her face.

"Two thousand Belli."

[npc=misc]"Sir, I don't think it is for sale."[/npc]

"A merchant's blood runs thick in her veins, Puzzle Master. Five thousand Belli."

[npc=misc]"Sir, I am not haggling with you, I don't think we can sell it."[/npc]

"Gah, fine. Twenty thousand Belli!"

[npc=misc]"Sir…"[/npc]

"Damn. Damn. She knows of their value. A collector's goldmine. Fine. A hard bargain. I offer you all of my money." Orion slammed down his huge and only sack of Belli on the counter, his eyes growing bloodshot.

[npc=misc]"You know what? Fine… I don't even care anymore."[/npc] She truly didn't care anymore.

"So… Am I correct in assuming this is now my property?"

[npc=misc]"If Sir wishes to destroy his property, he must do it outside of the shop."[/npc]

Orion once again begrudgingly lowered his umbrella.

Grumbling, he kicked the bolts on the floor that kept the machine mounted in place. Seemingly, without any effort, Orion pulled at the machine and the bolts slid from their fastenings to the ground as if lubricated by grease. Orion hoisted it onto his shoulder and nonchalantly walked out the door.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you."

[npc=misc]"Please don't come back."[/npc]

Orion made it fifteen steps out of the shop before he could no longer contain his excitement. He was in heaven. Heaven. Port Teardrop had been a paradise of rare items, knick-knacks, trinkets, and other collectibles.

So varied and vast, that most merchants didn't understand their value. Requesting paltry amounts of money for their wonders. Orion would have been a fool to pass up on the deals. What he couldn't afford though, he took. Orion would have been an even greater fool to pass up on the steals. They'd understand, eventually.

All collectibles were worth more as a set anyway. They'd even thank him… eventually.

He set down his backpack. A bag, far too large to be ported safely, and burgeoning with an impossible amount of goods. The cobblestones cracked under its weight. He had stuffed his bag with everything that had struck his fancy and now it seemed like it was one item away from bursting at its seams.

Giggling to himself as he if knew a secret no one else did, he planted the Gacha Machine in the dirt and assessed it.

"You've played your hand and I've won, Puzzle Master. Bring forth your treasures."

Swinging like a child aiming for a pinata, Orion smashed open the Gacha Machine with all the force of a freight train. Plastic orbs, full of valuables Orion would bleed for, took flight with the explosion of force. As if fragments from a grenade, they blasted away, raining down from the heavens upon Port Teardrop like golden meteors.

"Ah… I did not think that through."

6:50 AM
Somewhere in Port Teardrop Market

Word Count:

Mon Jan 22, 2024 7:48 pm

There are many folktales and legends about “things” in the Seas. Almost but not quite human, strange creatures from the depths, these stories vary in detail but most share an element of dread. Some were explained by the existence of Fish-Men, but many cannot be described as mere exaggerations of these underwater people. Reptilian beings that drag people underwater. False humans of seaweed and blood. Drowned men that wish to add to their numbers. Faceless beings beyond comprehension.

Nowadays, these are all considered superstitions or fanciful tales designed to scare children. Very few people believe these stories anymore, and those who do are treated as gullible or from a “backwater village.”

There were a few more believers in La Crima today.

Shambling out of the water was a culmination of all of those stories. A soaked, robed figure covered in seaweed and stained with blood, with a face with few visible features, groaned horribly as it slunk onto shore. A hollow wheezing sound came from within its hood. It stared at a large, burly man from its sunken, shadowed eyes, and he passed out in fear. It wandered further inland, and a mugger and his victim fled together. It stopped and stood still as a statue, and uttered in an empty voice - “Sorry Sergeant Stout, I had to swim my way here anyways.”

Earlier, aboard Commander Gotli’s ship

Weather in the South Blue could be as treacherous and surprising as anywhere, save the Grand Line. What Maquet assumed would be smooth sailing quickly became a nightmare as a hurricane bore down on the ship she was on. Her iron mask made the sting of the winds less harsh, but her robe was far from waterproof or windproof. She struggled as much as the rest of her crewmates as they followed the rapid-fire orders to keep the ship from becoming a wreck. Alas, in this fight between man and nature, nature was winning. It soon became apparent that their ship was doomed, and the order to abandon ship was announced.

One good use of Maquet’s metal mask is that it makes it harder for anyone to see her fear or panic. She hesitated for a few seconds, but she was sure nobody noticed it.

[npc=revo]”Maquet! Focus!”[/npc] Maquet straightened up and saluted the tall, lanky man that shouted at her. His disheveled hair and stubble on his gaunt face were ink black on pale skin. ”Yes sir. Sorry sir." Her calm, somewhat deep and almost monotone voice did not match her sudden jump at his command.

[npc=revo]”The ship’s going down with or without you on it. Your choice.”[/npc] The man pointed over to the lifeboats and gave her a nudge towards them. [npc=revo]”I don’t think you want to swim all the way to the Keys.”[/npc]

”That would not be my first choice, sir.”

[npc=revo]”Then get in the boat!”[/npc]

Maquet almost did get in the boat, until she saw that the skinny man - Sergeant Stout - was not; he was helping others into the boats and directing them, trying to help make it easier for Commander Gotli. Seeing this, Maquet decided to stay behind and join in.

[npc=revo]”What are you doing? Get in the fooking boat!”[/npc]

”You first, sir. You are far more valuable than I.” She said this without hesitation or insincerity.

[npc=revo]”You want to die?”[/npc]

Here there was hesitation. ”N-” she let slip in a higher voice. She then shook her head and returned to her deeper voice. ”N-not my first choice, but logically I am more useful here than taking up a space. You should go, sir.

[npc=revo]”I AM going, dumbass! Once you are on and there’s one spot left on this boat! Stop your self-sacrificing for a moment and get on!”[/npc]

”...oh.”

What happened next was an explosive blur. Pieces of the ship were flung past Maquet and over her head. There was both some blunt and slicing pain, but she never saw what hit her, and did not care. She scrambled to the lifeboat, and pulled Sergeant Stout into the boat with her, just in case he changed his mind about not staying behind. The boat took off and headed towards their destination, but with the terrible weather and waves, it was rocked and slammed back and forth. Eventually she was launched from the ship and into the water.

How far was it to shore? Was she the only one that fell overboard? Could she make it before the icy cold water and pounding waves sunk her for good? Maquet had to clear her mind of these screaming thoughts as she swam as far as she could, in the direction she thought her boat was going. The warm running spots on parts of her body were not a good sign, nor was the pain, but she had to persevere.

Finally, Maquet made landfall. She was battered, bruised, freezing, and disoriented, but she was alive. She limped onto shore and examined her surroundings. Could this be somewhere on the Jolly Keys? Had she made it? The locals were not very helpful, as one passed out and a couple others ran from her. On the one hand, she made her mask to be intimidating. On the other hand, sometimes it was better to not intimidate everyone. She let out a sigh, though it came out as more of a wheeze. She thought back to her earlier conversation. ”Sorry Sergeant Stout, I had to swim my way here anyways.”

Word count:

Tue Jan 23, 2024 12:22 pm

Chapter 1 - Part II

Earlier aboard a certain flying steel coffin...

Three hammocks swung like cradles, courtesy of the ferocious winds, while the cracks of lightning somehow served as a lullaby for the heavy sleepers of the crew aboard the airship, Emilia.

However, Bill Holiday knew no rest—especially not that night.

"Traitor..." The ship groaned, its metal frame shrieking out its derision.

[npc=cpol]"Shut up!"[/npc] Bill responded, his voice smothered by the coarse fabric of the hammock. He tossed and turned as every fibre in the cloth scraped and tore at his skin as if it were trying to shred him to pieces.

"Liar..." The ship cried to its vandal.

[npc=cpol]"No, I'm not!"[/npc] Jeremy Filth answered, drowning in night sweat.

[npc=cpol]"La Crima isn't far from here,"[/npc] he had said to the crew the evening before, not long after he had manufactured a reason for a detour. [npc=cpol]"We should stop there for parts and repairs. The Jolly Keys have some of the best engineers around and no law to speak of,"[/npc] he had claimed. He had no idea how right or wrong he was. All that mattered was that the crew believed him.

Before the accusations of a lifeless vessel tore a hole in his hammock and forced him to the floor, Bill curled out of the sagging bed. His vacant green eyes fixated on his dozing comrades. It was a wonder they could sleep through that maelstrom. He tried to wake his pilot captain, but words failed to leave his tongue.

[npc=cpol]"I'll do it myself,"[/npc] he thought as he donned his felt cowboy hat. With a hand against something stable at all times, he trudged through the ship's creaking corridors. The walls closed around him, lurching with the whispers of the wind.

"You're killing me," they lamented.

[npc=cpol]"No, I'm trying to save you,"[/npc] Bill argued. He felt beady little peepers glare at him through the dark halls. They belonged to that damned squirrel, no doubt. He had noticed the tiny monster's distrust for some time, and it was only getting worse. If the little shit could speak, what songs of treachery would it sing? Jeremy was glad Volo was as likely to interpret the creature's mimicry correctly as the Red Line was to crumble.

Bill was less glad—or certain.

He gripped the wheel and struggled to steer the ship, blindly feeling his way through the dark miasma of the squall. But, what could one man do against the fury of nature?

[npc=cpol]"Fuck! If I knew a storm was gonna hit us, I wouldn't have bothered with..."[/npc] His words trailed off.

"Saboteur!" The ship screeched.

[npc=cpol]"Yeah, that,"[/npc] admitted Jeremy.

Once upon a time, Jeremy would have zealously performed his duty. After all, pirates were despicable scum, while the Navy and the World Government were the heroic saviours. But, ever since he adopted the name of Bill Holiday, his zeal wavered at every turn.

Once he realized his efforts against the storm were futile, he abandoned the wheel. He was never the pilot his captain was. Nor did he have the aid of a devil fruit's powers. For a moment, he hoped his assignment would end in one great flash, the ship falling out of the sky and taking the crew with her into the depths, delivering them to Davy Jones' locker. But, just as quickly as the hope had found its way into his mind, he burned it away.

[npc=cpol]"I've got a job to do,"[/npc] he said as he busied himself around the ship, securing cargo and preparing for his captain's eventual orders. When his blond crewmate, the Venomous Bartender, joined him in the hold, Bill silently aided him in fastening the crates.

Not long after, the ship tipped forward in what felt like a suicidal nose dive. [npc=cpol]"Oh fuck, this ain't gonna be good..."[/npc] He grumbled to his crewmate as they both hurried to hold on to anything solid, preparing for the inevitable crash.

If they were to survive and rise again within the Jolly Keys, Emilia's crew would find themselves one man short, for Bill Holiday would be nowhere in sight.

677 out of 2,679 words

Wed Jan 24, 2024 7:22 pm

[plyr=revo]”’It would only be a short trip’, they said.”[/plyr] Noah was lying on the shore south of La Crima. His clothing was utterly drenched but right now, he could not be bothered about it. Just surrounded by parts of the unit, as far as he could tell, he decided to catch his breath first.

It all started when a group of NRA operatives was gathered and moved to the Jolly Keys, including Noah and his unit. In contrast to some of the passengers, though, he at least knew something about their destination: A nest of rampant crime, this archipelago was more often than not avoided by travellers. As such, the redhead was sure their superiors had a good reason for leading the lot there, even if everyone was kept in the dark for now.

[plyr=revo]“”We’ll inform you once we’re there’, they said.”[/plyr] Here he was, with no clue why he was sent here. Or no idea where “there” was supposed to be. But busting his head into the sand would not be helpful right now. Well, other than letting off some steam- with his head underground, he could scream without attracting too much attention.

As much as Noah could live with being kept in the dark, Sabian loudly demanded some information- and naturally got on the nerves of their superiors. Whenever Noah tried to calm the blonde down, he just realized how Sabian was not willing to listen. Ultimately the redhead had to watch how his partner in crime was locked away- literally. Some minutes later, quietness returned to the ship, though Noad did try to plead for Sabian, with no success.

[plyr=revo]”I know you’ll want to inform us whenever we reach our destination, but would it be really so bad to use the calm before the storm we have right now?”[/plyr] At this point, Noah could naturally not know which storm was approaching. Instead, he just heard the mantra he had heard multiple times already from his superior. [npc=revo]”We’ll inform you once we’re there.”[/npc] Yet again, he was none the wiser, accepting his fate.

[plyr=revo]“‘The sea is calm enough. Nothing you need to worry about’, they said.”[/plyr] As long as he would be just sitting around, nothing would change. The teen stood up and started by wringing out his clothes. This was of course not enough to suddenly look presentable, but at the very least he should be able to enter civilization without looking as if he just washed ashore.

With nothing better to do, Noah tried to rest his eyes a bit, though he quickly realized that this would not work. Their vessel seemed to hit stormy sea and murmuring soon occupied the crew. The redhead did his best to stay calm, but when officers tried their best to calm everyone down, he started to get sceptic. So far, he was still convinced that he would be one of the last people who had to fear for their safety- Noah could still reassure himself that he could fly.

[plyr=revo]”And, of course, they said ‘Get on the damn boat already!’ when everything went downhill.”[/plyr] When the hurricane hit them, their vessel quickly had problems staying afloat. In the hectic that soon followed, officers were shouting commands in an attempt to regain order. As was often the case, some operatives cooperated without hesitation, whereas others needed some more time to properly process what was happening. At that moment, Noah belonged in the last category.

While Noah ultimately moved towards the lifeboats, this happened mostly thanks to the pushing and pulling of his comrades. He was preoccupied with other things: Sabian was still missing. Noah tried to move against the crowd but was quickly pushed back, something their superiors soon realized. [npc=revo]”Now get on the damn boat, Lacroix! There’s no time for this nonsense!”[/npc] Before he knew it, Noah was pushed into one of the lifeboats and was soon at the mercy of the elements. Water was everywhere, pouring from above, waves daring to overturn their small boat.

As luck would have it, their vessel was ultimately washed ashore and nobody really knew what they should be doing now. Finding the rest of their unit would be a good start, so Noah soon decided that it would be time to try exactly said. Having vented enough, he shook his head and soon headed towards La Crima.

WC: 725 | 725/10,000

Fri Jan 26, 2024 4:26 pm

6:01 AM | A Crowded Port Teardrop Dock

Early mornings were the worst. Regardless of any beautiful sunrise or song from a bird, no man should be obligated to wake up at such an ungodly time. Unfortunately, Stone’s superiors didn’t seem to share the same philosophy. Oh well, no matter how painful they are to follow, Stone doesn’t ignore orders.

Rising from the weathered crate, Stone tucked the transponder snail away. The men directly under his command seemed a little on edge, but whether that was due to the recent weather or the general location wasn’t very clear.

Not that Stone could blame them, the very winds of Port Teardrop seemed to bring a warning with it. The scents of the sea, booze, and food only a drunk could stand to eat filled the air.

But above all else, the smell of that damned storm still lingered.

6:10 AM | That Very Same Dock

The hulking man slid into yet another suit jacket. His good friend and ever so gentlemanly comrade, Jean Beaufort Moreau, insisted on all the marines around dressing up for the “wedding” later this morning. Although Stone was not one to dress up or care too much about what he wore if it would help him get into character better, who was he to argue? It’s not like wearing a nice suit would kill him.

Riiiiiiip…

Stone sighed as he threw off his fifth jacket of the morning. In the marine captain’s opinion, he was already dressed to the nines. The Kodiak had acquired a modest collection of dress clothes while the marines were in the Briss Kingdom, and while the tailors had fitted the clothes to the best of their ability. All of the jackets were just a little too tight on the shoulders for the marine’s liking.

Rolling up the sleeves of his salmon-colored dress shirt, the Kodiak grabbed the closest thing to him and sent it into the sea. It was only when Stone felt the burning gaze of an angry dockhand that he realized his mistake. Sweat rolled down the captain’s forehead while he frantically searched for his wallet. Nearly ripping through his back pocket, the captain hastily yanked a handful of berries and shoved them into the dockhand’s chest.

“Here! This should be enough to buy ten of those!”

Heavy footsteps shook the ground as the embarrassed Kodiak retreated from the docks. Only when Stone had decided that he was far enough away from the still-angry dockhands did he relay the latest message to his men.

“Just in case we get split up, head to Warehouse No. 28. If you don’t remember how to get in…”

The marine officer paused for a short moment.

“... Actually, I shouldn’t say anything else.” Stone scanned the group of sharply dressed soldiers-in-disguise before pointing at a dejected, scraggly-looking man, “Jackie, You go ahead with half of these guys. We don’t need to be walking around as one giant group, I have a feeling we stick out too much as is…”

6:20 AM | Port Teardrop

Any crook worth half his salt could spot a good mark. The clothes a person wears, the way they carry themselves, even the look in a person's eye is enough of a tell.

But the best marks were the ones that even a complete amateur could recognize.

Amongst the early risers, a tall and wealthy-looking man made no effort to hide what tax bracket he was in.

Of course, there was always a catch. Just next to the perfect target was a massive bear of a man, most likely a bodyguard of some sort. A shame, but nothing that can't be easily worked around

Slithering his way over to the monocle-wearing man, a gaunt fellow with a glint in his eye approached the out-of-towners.

[npc=misc]"Aren't from around here are ya?"[/npc]

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RP Group:

Fri Jan 26, 2024 6:09 pm

0620 | Shores of Dexter Eyeland | Jolly Keys

Susu shot to his feet as his consciousness returned, his eyes darting about his newfound surroundings. What happened? Where was Volo? Karl? Then it hit him.

Bill.

No doubt this was the heinous villains doing. The squirrel readied for battle, the moment his eyes locked onto the cowpoke he would tear him limb from limb. Though he was nowhere to be found, no amount of scouring could find him.

Just gone. All but confirming the man's guilt to the squirrel.

His brooding interrupted by a sense of danger, accompanied by a noice from above.Mine Mine Mine Mine The sounds echoed as shadows danced on the beach, closer and closer. He was soon surrounded on all sides by massive Shorebirds rained down from the sky, their numbers vast and never ending.

Outnumbered one hundred to one, Susu sighed, with a smile he boasted they should have brought more. Reaching into his match pack, he pulled two fire sticks and struck them ablaze. Giving the giant flying rats one last chance to retreat, though one called his bluff.

The circle expanded and the challenge was accepted, he was their biggest, strongest. Deadliest.

With a roaring battle cry sure to curdle the blood of even the hardest of soldiers. Susu charged the beast, fearless and arrogant, the squirrel wielded the blazing torches with finesse and grace.

The bird pecked and flapped, unable to corner the agile rodent as his fire dance singed its feathers and seared its beak. A flaming spectacle of brilliance, something only the finest of warriors could accomplish.

Taking the Gullzilla's back, he scratched and bit, tore and clawed. The fierceness in the creature's mighty paws knew no rival, his flaming mallets striking with the fury of a thousand suns. Hammering away at the bird's skull, setting it ablaze before it took to the skies to rid itself of the nagging pest.

Higher and higher they went, flames extinguishing, both the birds feathers and the fire sticks. His weapons were all but useless without the burning flame of justice blazing atop them.

Thinking quickly, the squirrel shoved the splinter into the Birds Eye. Gouging it out and sending them both tumbling back to earth.

Opening his wings, Susu glided back into battle, a warrior at heart he relished the bloodshed. But even more, he knew this was an enemy that he must defeat if he were to ever hope of extinguishing the evil that was Bill Holiday.

0640 | Shores of Dexter Eyeland | Jolly Keys

A whiff of salt air filled Volo's nostrils as the squawking gulls throbbed in his head. "W-whcoughat...." Expelling the water from his lungs as his vision adjusted to the soft sandy shore of the Eyeland.

"Where...?" Rolling over to see the Gulls, pecking, swatting, and dancing. Struggling to his feet, his eyes widened at the sight of a beaten and bloodied Susu fending off the crowd of birds. Their feathers were bloodied and burned, and their wings splintered with wood.

"Oi! Go on! Get!" Volo shouted as he scared the ten or so birds away, rushing to the squirrel, "Susu! Pal!", catching him as he collapsed from exhaustion.

Eyes heavy and battered, Susu stared up at his savior, once again thankful for the man he was already so indebted to. Someone he always trusted to come to his aid.

"Heh, ya did good buddy." Volo snickered as he looked up at the ones Susu managed to kill. Their eyes were carved out from their skulls. "Brutal... But good."

With a smile, the squirrel's eyes finally shut, unable to stay conscious any longer. Safely being tucked away in Volo's pocket before the pi(lot)rate's attention turned to the massive abomination of wood and metal lodged into the sandy shallows. Her hull creaked as the gentle waves crashed against it, seeming to sink just a tiny bit deeper every time.

"Well, that's really not good."

WC 640/1,910

Sat Jan 27, 2024 2:03 am

[npc=misc]“Yeah yeah, tell us again ‘bout the place Julius! You say there are treasures there? What is it...Gold? Women? Never-ending fountains of booze?”[/npc]

A voice called out from above the deck, the plea set the group ablaze with curiosity. It’d been the fourth time he’d had to retell the story, each one changing bit by bit than its previous cousin, but the calling out and cheering for the potential way to enchant the group was almost as tempting as honey to flies… Julius gave a dramatic smirk, his lips curling while he did the same trick he had to truly hear the excitement from the crowd on the ship. His voice came out as a coy and yet childish dismissal of it. He had cast it out, the scenes of the previous stories all melding together for an already planned new execution of it all. His tongue itched to tell, but the body stayed it as he turned his head up, shaking it with a slow pride.

[plyr=pirt]“Oh trust, you don’t want to hear it, nothing good comes from repeating the same story twice, ya know?”[/plyr]

Hook.

[npc=misc]“C’mon Julius! You’ve gotta tell us, a crew can only have such morale when there is something to look forward to!”[/npc]

Line.

Another voice responded impatiently as the young man kept his face towards the sky, the eagerness of the crew warming his face just like the sunlight had. It was times like these that he loved the most, he was a skillful Scheherezade, someone who lured in those with little imagination and could almost tempt anyone to follow what he said, and with how the people seemed to almost hunger for a reason to continue to sail for the Jollies, it was exactly the feeling he enjoyed the most.

[plyr=pirt]“Huh? You lot don’t have much of a drive already? What a pack of ravenous dogs you all are, you know! No wonder why Marines seem to call pirates pirates this greedy!”[/plyr]

Sinker.

The crowd burst into laughter, and before he could protest anymore, a wooden mug of warm ale was in his hand, only for Julius to take a large sip of it as the crowd cheered. His muddy brown eyes sparkled as he tried to remember exactly what he had told on his last drunken storytelling, those grand pupils reliving what he had never experienced, his father’s tales of the place, with little renditions of what he had made up on the spot.

[plyr=pirt]“Fine ya dummies! We’re talkin’ bout the Jollies! A place said to hold women who’d easily make a man lose his pockets if he isn’t quick, but if you’re lucky, you’ll score big!”

Some of the members whistled loudly at such the idea, their alcohol-addled brains trying to keep up with the images of what the young man described. The whistle made him continue, taking it a bit more liberation in his concoction of second-hand stories and his fiction.

[plyr=pirt]“A place with your freedom in your hands, you know! Power and Prestige, I can tell ya that ultimately it’s something down there! And if it ain’t the ladies, then I’m damn sure they make a mean beer! You’ll never have to worry bout dealin’ with the headaches of piratin’ when you got a cold one in your hand! And the best part ya’ dummies want so much, ain’t nobody to stop ya!”[/plyr]

Another cry came from the crowd, and soon after, the drunken laughter of men and women alike. Julius rocked himself off his barrel for a moment, finding his footing on the rocking boat as he weaved through the rowdy crowd to get a quick breath at the edge. It hadn’t been long since he had asked them to come aboard, not as a member but rather to get to the next destination. And while at first, it had been a "no" to such a thing, he had made it easy to convince them with the “information” he had promised to give in exchange. Well, it was kind of "information", but not authentic…Nor…Credited. But, who was to question the source if they had little information about it themselves? They’d never miss an opportunity to get the chance to take what they could, and he’d never miss an opportunity to get a story into someone's head.

At that moment, Julius took a breath, letting the sea breeze cloud the scent of wheat and barley he tasted. They were almost there, the Jolly Key figure looming over what had at first felt like an endless stretch of sea, and he’d be the one to experience it all in his way. His finger itched as he imagined what could have been in the place. Given its look, he could have mistaken it for an inhospitable jungle, a place where only beasts roamed. An excited smirk from the thought came, that image would make any reader listen. His account from the treacherous Jolly Keys. Surely, his father would be curious about what exactly went down on such an adventure.

Before he could get too far into his fantasies, the boat lurched abnormally, sending his cup into the fierce depths of the waters as the cheerful singing of the crew turned into orders barked. And soon the docile nature of winds slowly turned sour, forcing those not assigned to manning the boat to head towards the quarters, to fasten belongings and things that may have tumbled over. Julius had been among the latter half, his head rearing upward only to see the new concern and panicked faces of the crew members with him.

[plyr=pirt]“The hell is with the wind?”[/plyr]

Julius asked, confused about the state of affairs that had been going on outside. He’d never been out to sea in such a storm, and his naïveté showed plainly as day…As the insiders pushed themselves against the wooden walls of the cabin to keep their balance, a short pufferfish woman replied, with a sigh.

[npc=misc]“A hurricane, ya dunce, ain’t ya been out before? Never encountered one a day in yer life?”[/npc]

Julius shook his head, playing off the question to not reveal the secret he’d never been anywhere on the sea, and let out a hearty laugh.

[plyr=pirt]“Seems you are a pretty unlucky group, huh? Of course, there have been storms, but little has stopped me from traveling, my hometown had plenty of ‘em destroy some stuff…But to think the world would hate us pirates so much to try to stop the adventure here, you’d think this was a challenge!”[/plyr]

With such a statement, he almost could feel that the lie could have been fact as if he was cursed by both land and sea holding a grudge against him, but deep inside Julius knew now was not the time for his little bouts of fiction, especially with how his heart raced.

So, it’d be an easy choice for him that when the boat slowly seemed to sink under him, his first instinct was to grab the sword he had and swing open the cabin door once more to see what the situation had escalated to now, and even quicker to leave those who were with him in the cabin behind. The main crew scurried like mice about in the jaws of the storm, many trying to keep the sail aloft while others were smart to abandon ship when the dangers of staying outweighed their chances of survival, and Julius was no fool to make a decision.

When no one could see him, he’d hurry to the end of the ship, watching as the waves danced their destructive embrace, and jump, hoping the lie told would not reveal itself as truth now. He hadn’t gone swimming in an area where his feet could not touch the earth, or where his mother hadn’t been able to reach him had he felt too weak to continue, but currently there was no mother, nor ground. The cold water swept him up immediately as if he were but a speck of dust, and before he could regret his decision, a wave pulled him under…

Word Count:

Sun Jan 28, 2024 12:42 am

Somewhere Off The Coast of The Jolly Keys - Ungodly Early in The Morning

The vision of the brewing storm from above the decks of the rugged old galleon had been as breathtaking as it was nerve-wracking. Staring into the dark of the early morning Aya could see it clear as day. The lesser minks on board seemed blissfully unaware.

The first prickle of change on the wind had driven the invisible artist to a frantic climb, ascending into the ship's rigging long before the crew had fallen into a frenzy to try to prepare for the storm's onslaught.

The new lookout point was certainly more inspiring than the glimpse Aya had caught from the deck, but it still wasn't enough. Luckily the man previously tending the crow's nest began his clamber down toward the safety of the deck, effectively vacating the perfect plein-air painting perch.

The wall of grey born from drops in barometric pressure would surely pose a serious risk to cargo, crew, and stowaways alike.

But aloft in the direct path of the gale, tucked away from sight in a tiny slapdash studio, the tools of her trade sprawled all around the crow's nest...

Pikasso felt nothing but thrill.

Her nimble paws furiously worked to capture the moment on canvas. With each stroke of pastel, the storm drew ever closer and the artist became more consumed.

Winds began to howl, nearly pulling the canvas from Aya's hands.

Just when she felt she was finally getting the jump on capturing the force of nature the exhilarated creator came to a stand-still.

Plip.

A perfect, tiny circle sat shimmering in the middle of the canvas.

Plip plip.

Moments later torrential downpour cascaded from above. In seconds the little red panda mink was soaked to the bone, watching wide-eyed as her work washed away into muddled streaks of pigment.

A flash of lightning illuminated the artwork as it poured its soul into her lap.

Thunder shook her tiny frame and rumbled into her core.

"...C'est la vie."

Aya let the canvas fly free from her paws, delighted laughter lost to the winds as she disappeared and began the perilous descent back to the deck.

Somewhere Off The Coast A Little Closer to The Jolly Keys - A More Reasonable Time in The Morning

Stowing away on ships had a multitude of complications.

Certainly not the least of which was a complete and utter inability to control where you were going. Worse yet, there was no way Aya could control how she was going, either.

As she listened to the crew above, their shouts muffled by the wailing of the hurricane and the sickening lurch of the hull, she was essentially helpless. Hoping the crew of a ship as sea-worn as this one looked to be could handle themselves was all that she could do to ease her nerves.

That, and help herself to the bottle of wine she had saved from smashing to the floor of the storeroom. It certainly helped ease the fear of the worst-case scenarios.

A sunken boat. The crashing waves. An invisible mink lost to the hungry seas with nary a soul to know of her fate.

As the crate she was seated on slid from one end of the storeroom to the other, Aya took another swig from the bottle.

It already seemed like this had been going on for hours.

With no way to nap through the din and no hand steady enough to paint through such a violent jostling, drinking was the best pastime available until fate decided what it would.

Port Teardrop - 6:30 AM

The Port was a sight for sore eyes. Aya searched the scenery for some sort of identifiers as she finished the final sip of wine from the bottle.

It was certainly a good-sized port and seemed just the right amount of suspicious to be interesting. As the boat she came in on began to offload their wares, Aya took the opportunity to make her departure from her chauffeur.

With practiced ease, the invisible mink weaved her way past the unaware to further explore the chaos of Port Teardrop.

{Post: 691 / Total: 691}

Mon Jan 29, 2024 11:41 am

6:03 AM
Storage room no.1, Emilia's Interior
Still somewhere in the skies over The Jolly Keys

Moments like these stir up a variety of emotions in oneself. To say that Karl has felt that a lot these past few months would not be an over-exaggeration—Times where Karl has expressed his dislike to the whole flying shenanigan of this ship.

But the man has been ignored, some moments sounding like he has been ridiculed for that dislike… That’s what he gets when the ship is captained by an airhead!

The time was nigh. Fear, anger, hate... Karl felt all of these emotions stirring up at that very same moment… And as the order of business goes for such negative emotions… He had reached the last part of the chain.

Suffering.

Somewhere deep within, however, Karl also had an odd sense of righteousness. He knew flying was a bad idea! He always knew it! But no one listened. Take that the flying crew!

Casting his thoughts aside, all Karl could do now was hold on tight around the pillar, and of course, the bottle. All the while the metal blimp was shaking and moving uncontrollably straight down towards the ground… Or the sea, whichever was awaiting for them.

The boxes seemed to be happy over this entire ordeal. They kept on dancing around the room uncontrollably, ready to wreak havoc. And havoc they sure wreaked. The open crates had flipped over, having broken multiple glass bottles, leaving at least half of them intact, for now.

[plyr=pirt]"Am I really on my way back to zero?! I'll... Grr, cash in from Volo!"[/plyr]

But as with everything in life, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Karl could feel the shaking ease up. Perhaps everything was finally all under control once more. Slowly but surely Karl loosened the grip, slowly sliding down from the pillar.

As the feet made contact with the sticky ground, Karl could feel the sadness emerging. [plyr=pirt]"I’ll avenge all of you."[/plyr] He swore under his breath while stashing the fabled Devil's Dozen in his vest.

Karl was ready to go for his mission of vengeance immediately. [plyr=pirt]"VOLO, WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?! Ngh!"[/plyr] It was not the greatest idea to shout, especially while one was experiencing a massive hangover.

While the ‘stability’ had been achieved, the unstable setting of a flying ship remained. That had made walking easier. Thus Karl tried to slowly make his way out of the storage room and head over to the deck. He had to know what happened.

On a hindsight… Perhaps he should have stayed in his room. The curiosity killed the cat. The curiosity in this story was Emilia, and she seemed to be ready to kill Karl. [plyr=pirt]"Wait wait wait…"[/plyr] Emilia tricked Karl into thinking it was safe… But Karl should have known better.

The instability returned, and the former route was reassumed.

There is a saying that all it takes is one unfortunate event to ruin one's day. That day was here once more. Out of the storage room rolled an intact bottle of rum. With absolute convenience, it found its way to end up right under the barely stable Karl’s foot.

Slipping on the bottle, Karl rolled down the already tilted forward ship, like a bowling ball.

[plyr=pirt]"Aaaaaaaaaaah!"[/plyr]

Thud

Most unfortunate events have a sad ending. This one's end was not the worst that could have happened. Karl's head had happened to simply hit the corner of a doorway. With the blood gushing from the cut on his forehead all over his face, Karl was lying on the ground of the falling blimp.

Knocked out cold, he was waiting for the inevitable end.

~6:40 AM
Shores of Dexter Eyeland
Jolly Keys

[plyr=pirt]"W..Wh…So warm. Is this… Heaven?"[/plyr]

With Karl's eyes slightly opening, the rays of the sun shined into them. It felt like he could stay like this forever. With the sun gently stroking his skin, the sand giving him the cushion… Yes. This truly was heaven.

"Susu! Pal!"

One sentence with a certain voice. That is all it took to change the perspective. This was no heaven… Oh no.

This was hell.

[693/2204]

Group:

Tue Jan 30, 2024 12:11 am

4:45 AM | Seas outside of Jolly Keys

Late to bed, and early to rise, all-in-all the Ensign had only managed to sleep for just over two hours. What precious little he had been able to do to assist his fellow sailors in the face of the prior evening’s storm had made his relative powerless in the face of overwhelming danger, he was little more than a cog in a well-oiled machine that had narrowly managed to sail their ship to its intended destination.

The large merchantman that The Hunting Party and their fellows had used to smuggle themselves across the Jolly Keys steadily broke through the choppy and unsettled waters surrounding the archipelago. Before they had departed for their journey, the vessel had been meticulously worn to make it seem perfectly at place amongst the islands’ rough-and-tumble shipyards. Quite fortunately, despite its cosmetic damage, the Marines had managed not to compromise the ship’s function; the vestiges of the prior evening’s hurricane winds had made for a difficult night of sailing, requiring the mission's strongest and most experienced sailors to avoid capsizing the vessel beneath the sea's inky waves. Upon waking early Moreau prepared tea for his crewmates, a bitter steep of dark jeeling that he figured would snap even the most poorly-rested sailor awake for the mission ahead; having a first cup, it proved a paltry remedy for the man’s aching bones and throbbing head.

Having woken before many of his crewmates, after selecting a dark and dapper outfit from amongst his things the Ensign began hauling his luggage as well as some of that of his crewmates up to the deck above; simple acts of service such as these: rising early, doing his job dutifully, aiding those around him, and preparing simple comforts, were the least that the Officer could do to help The Hunting Party prepare for the harrowing mission ahead of them.

6:10 AM | Docks of Port Teardrop

As the crew landed at Port Teardrop Moreau aided them in transporting their luggage to the docks, bantering with Stone as the two readied themselves for the task ahead “Sir I do understand that this mission is a bit unconventional but it’s good to get out of your element every now and then, we’ve been told to enter under the guise of attending a wedding so it only seems suitable that we should dress as such.”

The Captain seemed hardly enthused as he tried to cram himself into the formal attire.

Many of the lower-ranking Marines aboard the merchantman took turns using the ship’s private rooms to change from their civilian clothes into the base layers of their disguises, after letting down the gangway the crew filtered down onto the bustling deck.

As Stone shattered a crate in frustration with the un-accommodating hems of his jackets, Moreau spoke reassuringly to his captain “Sir, it’s not uncustomary to dress down in such a tropical climate, even for an ostensibly formal affair. I can barely stand the heat myself.”

The mere thought of wearing a jacket in this weather gave the cold-adjusted gentleman visions of heat stroke and swamping sweat.

Moreau went about inspecting the disguises of the men and querying their cover identities. After 5 minutes of inquisition, he seemed satisfied with the group's preparations; however one of the Marines had wandered off as soon as she'd changed into her disguise. Moreau informed Stone of the missing Petty Officer before grabbing one of the crewmen as backup and chasing into the portside.

6:20 AM | Streets of Port Teardrop

The two “groomsmen” looked rather out of place making their way through the lively streets of the Port Teardrop; among the coarse and corsair citizenry of the Archipelago, this Port was known for being relatively amenable towards strangers, but it seemed as though the disguised Marines reeked of the unwelcome scent of justice.

The cybernetic-armed man wasn’t sure precisely what he or Stone had done to tip the man off, but as he answered the inquiring stranger, Moreau curled the mechanical fingers of his left fist into a brick of metal. The fact that his arm was cocked and ready to knock the man’s block off was betrayed by the chipper tone in the traveling dandy’s voice:

“Thé-hé! That easy to tell is it? My second cousin is getting married down here, they’re on the rougher side of the family, but my brother insisted that we make the trip to celebrate the union and welcome our new relatives into the family…” leaning down to match the man’s height, Jean tilted his derby upward, and though he still bore a pleasant grin, his steely eyes shot daggers at the stranger, “... my name is Mordecai J.H. Pennyfarthing-Hackenbush II, pleasure making your acquaintance. Did you need us for something? Or might I ask for some directions since you’ve found it in your heart to help us out-of-towners?”

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Tue Jan 30, 2024 1:40 pm

~2:30 AM, April 1, 1829, in the South Blue Sea…

What better activity during a raging hurricane is there than to treat your spar like a tightrope to perform on?

“Captain!” A stout Torino wrestling with the wheel of the ship lifted his eyes against the vicious assault of the rain. “What do you think you are doing?”

The captain in question was currently using a metal rod as a balancing pole, wobbling whilst he strode up and down the spar of the mast. “What does it look like, Nauplius? Wah-yayayayayayaya!”

Nauplius’s voice, deep and rocky, again cut through the cacophony of thunder and torrents of water. “It looks like you are doing something that could very well result in injury or worse.”

“Nah!” he shouted over his shoulder, crossing to the right side of the spar. “I’ll be fine! What better way to train my balance, right?”

The Torino only groaned. As much as he wanted to direct the ship into a swiftly rising wave in hopes of teaching the captain a lesson, Ickarus would just climb back up and try again. In fact, Nauplius wouldn’t be surprised if the laughing inventor somehow kept his balance through a wave like that.

His captain, Waxhead–er, Featherfoot Ickarus, had an unfortunate habit of doing things that should kill him. Without second thoughts, Nauplius might add.

A sharp flash of lightning cut through the darkness of the night and storm. The captain and the navigator both flinched, starry spots dancing about their vision. Nauplius only grunted in annoyance, and Ickarus rubbed his eyes. The Torino’s eyes flicked towards his captain when a clatter rang out from the deck of the ship.

“Ickarus!” Nauplius roared. “Did you just drop your balancing pole to rub your eyes?!”

Ickarus looked down at his navigator, then to his empty hands, then to the deck where the metal pole lay. His face broke into a sizable grin. “Wah-yayayaya! Guess I did. This’ll be fun!”

Nauplius seized the wooden handles of the wheel and spun viciously, avoiding a collision with a wave by only a few meters. “Captain, you need to get down from there! Or at least get your pole!”

The water beneath the vessel swelled, not-so-gently rocking the boat. “I’ll be fine! Promise!” Ickarus said, careening his arms. He smirked down at the navigator. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Nauplius!”

“Then stop doing things that would end in me retrieving your corpse!” Nauplius yelled.

Ickarus ignored his senior, scrambling up and down the spar on the whims of the violent undulations of the sea. He grit his teeth in a feral smile, grey eyes alight with the risk of what he was doing.

The billowing mass of blackish green continued thrashing the Waxhead ship, playing a perverse game of tennis with the vessel. The wood creaked and groaned, and the wheel under Nauplius’s white knuckles made unsettling popping noises every few seconds.

Something in the distance caught the navigator’s eye. Squinting through the relentless pounding of rain against his body, he saw what looked to be the Colossus of waves. Considering the options to avoid it, Nauplius came to a dreadful realization: They were surrounded by massive crests of water, any of which would send the captain to a watery fate.

“Captain! Get down, now! Do it!”

Ickarus had spotted the giant waves around the ship and paled, recognizing a challenge he could not face. Only for a moment did he stop to hesitate, but a moment was all that was needed for the ocean to take advantage.

A wall of water collided with the port side of the boat. Ickarus finally lost his footing and nearly fell into the murky waters before he seized the rain-slicked spar with his hand.

“Nauplius!” Ickarus cried, his body flailing in the wind. “Is there any way to avoid them?”

“What does it look like I’m trying to do, Captain?” Nauplius snapped back, adjusting the wheel at speeds faster than Ickarus’s eyes could track.

Before Ickarus could snark back with a witty reply, Colossus was upon them. Nauplius cursed as he turned the ship to the right. The mast of the ship went nearly horizontal and the navigator heard several shouts of surprise from below deck issued from the other members of the crew, now roughly awakened. Great, more people to complicate the situation… Nauplius thought.

The captain himself was struggling to clutch the mast. The ship felt like it was going to capsize any second, and Ickarus grit his teeth in his efforts to keep himself from falling. Suddenly, the vessel cleared the top of Colossus and went airborne, skidding down the rough surface of the backside of the wave.

As the ship slammed back down against the choppy sea, Ickarus lost his grip and was sent upwards. “NAUPLIUUUUUUS!” Ickarus shouted, panicking whilst he flew out towards the sea.

Ickarus felt his flight reach its climax, and he glanced downwards to see the stormy sea grow closer as if it was reaching up to claim another victim. The captain looked towards his ship next, seeing Nauplius scramble to attempt to catch him. It was futile, and they both knew it.

“Meet me at Pline Peaks, Nauplius!” Ickarus cried, unsure if his voice carried through the wind or not. “I’ll be fine!”

Nauplius’s keen ears heard the storm-muffled shouts of his captain and turned back to witness Ickarus encasing himself in a thick ball of wax. The waxen sphere met the sea, shooting up a splash that seemed miniscule in comparison to the surrounding waves.

The navigator held his breath when the ball containing Ickarus went under with its momentum. Keeping his eyes trained on that area, he waited…waited…

And the sphere floated to the surface, waves carrying his captain far from the ship.

“We really need to find a proper helmsman,” Nauplius rumbled, extremely annoyed.

------

Ickarus rubbed his head inside his self-made globe. Crashing onto waves dozens of meters below you doesn’t get any less painful when in a wax ball, apparently. At least he still had his goggles!

The dark silence was only broken by Ickarus’s heavy breaths. He steadied himself, well aware that the amount of oxygen he had was very, very limited. But he couldn’t help but issue a small chuckle.

“Wah-yayayaya, maybe I should start listening to Nauplius.”

WC: 1053 / 1053

Wed Jan 31, 2024 2:10 pm

1:00 AM, April 1/ Open Water

The wind was freshening from the northeast and very cold; Viari stirred from his half-slumber and looked through the porthole up to the dimming stars: only a couple of hours had passed. Huddling deeper beneath his blankets, he tried to ignore the steady pain in his neck. There was scarcely room for conversation under Riley's grim and watchful eye. Though occasionally, the lieutenant could hear indistinct cries of sailors from the deck above.

"You are awake," Riley said unexpectantly, and Viari rolled his head to look into those deep pits that studied him. "Oh. Well, you know me. A night owl through and through." Viari replied without enthusiasm. In response, Riley produced a dejected sigh.

"Spider Miles to Briss; Briss to Jolly Keys. It's an eventful week."

Viari nodded, tiredly, and pulled himself up; the threat of Briss was gone, he thought, at least until the Operation was concluded. There was no sense in exerting himself only to prove his father wrong. And yet, he couldn't help but feel the pressure mounting. It wasn't enough to dismiss or ignore that burden; he wanted, no, he needed acceptance.

"Is it strange that I am more at home in this cabin than in the brick and mortar of my family home?"

Riley did not answer, instead looking out of the pleasant round windows. Their cabin had several, not drafty, and near the ship's galley, and dimly lit lanterns swung like pendulums animating shadows in their soft glow. The walls were spartan, a far cry from the intimidating trophies his father collected. Viari's hanging cot mimicked the motion, lulling him to sleep. The saturation of the wordless waves against the ship's hull provided constant reassurance.

3:00 AM, April 1/ Bluenose Channel

Viari awoke suddenly, his breath jolting from his lungs before his eyes opened. He felt the crashing noise rippling through his ears. The deck had abruptly slanted, and he reached out to stop himself from striking the roof; a rodent went across the floor and caught up on the lockers.

The ship righted itself, and Viari heard the crushing swell slamming the ship's hull, covering the windows in foam. Had the hurricane followed them from Spider Miles? Was his luck that bad? Viari scowled.

5:45 AM, April 1/ Teardrop Docks

Their visit to Briss did come with an advantage; Riley and Viari had taken to raiding his father's wardrobe. For his part, Viari had dressed with special care, wearing his best courtier uniform. In truth, it was a gift from his father, one which - until now - had never seen any proper use. The only problem was the shoes. Leather with hardwood soles that would have cost any ordinary labour a year's salary, and Viari was well aware that they probably wouldn't last the week.

Riley, for his part, dressed in formal but comfortable clothes. They were suitable for his cover as the ward of an esteemed guest. Meanwhile, there was a great fuss about the cargo they had brought. Earlier, Viari had demanded of the Dock Master to store his wardrobe - of some twenty-five chests - in one of the nearby warehouses, where it would be retrieved later.

"I haven't the time nor want to confirm your cargo against the manifest; how am I to know you are not smuggling..."

"Smuggling?!" Viari interjected in disbelief, "Sir, I am Viari Govine. The first son of a Courtier to His Majesty Philip of Briss. Do you sincerely believe that I would slander my good father's name by doing something so untoward as smuggling?"

Ten minutes later, the contraband was on its way. Beneath layers of clothes, small furniture, and other miscellaneous goods were iron and steel. A small armoury that should prove useful in the not-distant future.

Word Count: 631
Total: 631

Wed Jan 31, 2024 6:58 pm

"This is so frickin awesome!" A voice called out from Emilia's shadowy depths. "I told that butthead it was real!"

"Wait what..?" Volo mumbled, glancing over his shoulder to Karl before patting his pocket for Susu. "Bill..?"

"Bill?" The voice questioned back as a ginger-haired boy swung from the rafters into view. Reaching the edge of the balloon, he smiled, and with a twist and a flick, he was hanging from his legs and scratching his head.

"Who's Bill?"

"Obviously not you." Volo quipped back.

Flipping onto the deck, the child leaned over the railing, "Is this your ship, mister? It's so cool! Where'd it come from? Did you build it? Oh, Did you design it? Oh! I found out what's wrong with it, c'mon! I'll show you!". The lad's excitement ran wild, his fantasies given life. If one was real why couldn't they all be?

Without waiting for an answer he disappeared into the shadows once more, his childlike wonder echoing through the metal halls.

"Mister...?" Volo grumbled.

With a smokey sigh and a shrug to Karl, the pi(lot)rate shot to the deck with a billowing blast of smoke. The wood creaked under his boots on impact. "So uh, where ya at, huh kid?" Calling out as he cautiously entered the darkness.

"Kid..?" He asked again.

"Yo! Ki-Ahh! Shit!"

"HERE!" Swinging down from the ceiling the moment Volo turned around.

"FUCK!" Volo shouted with a heavy sigh, "Shit, kid. You scared the crap out of me."

"Kikikikikiki!" The boy chattered, "C'mon, the engine rooms this way."

"But, I-I...know where the engine room is..."

Using Emilia's unique interior, a fusion of materials, where metal and wood meet and flow. Ridges and rafters, shelves, frames, and posts. Her hull was an acrobat's playground and the boy treated it as such.

Each step confident, precise, and fueled by an innate natural talent honed through years of practice. A second nature that seemed almost primal as the smiling redhead lept and swung his way around the ship.

To the engine room, they went, greeted by the smell of diesel and smoke. "It ain't pretty." Mumbling as he made his way to the engines. "The room I mean, not the engine. The engine, she's, wow. The room...." Pausing to look around, "Well, Granny said it's best to keep certain comments to myself."

"No, no, I get it." Glancing around the room himself, Volo understood the kid's point of view. "But, the engine, you uh, you understand all this?"

"Understand it? Mister, this is one of the most awesomest things I have ever fricking seen! I can't believe you built it!"

"That's because I didn't, my sister did."

"Well, for coming up with this..." Stars in his eyes as he was lost in the mechanics, adjusting this and tightening that, "She's the awesomest!"

A smile came to Volo's face, "She sure was."

Too lost in excitement to focus on the words he was told, "This is the problem!" Pointing to a valve hose that had been damaged. "We got plenty of these at our shop! I can get this fixed no problem!"

"Really?!" Now stars in his own eyes, "You can really do that?!"

"Tch, butt head, don't compliment me, it's just my job!" A proud smile erupted on the boy's face as he tried to deny how much he enjoyed the words of affirmation, rubbing grease on his nose from all the excitement.

"Wahahahaha, okay, yeah sure. So how far is this shop?"

"Oh yeah, c'mon! It's just right in town, let's go!" Excitement taking over once again, the boy spidered up the wall and out the door.

"Alright greaseball, hold up." The pi(lot)rate begged as he chased behind the grease-stained ginger.

"Hey, it ain't greaseball!" Swinging back towards the pi(lot)rate aggressively, stopping Volo in his tracks, "It's Winny." He said with a sharp crack all but eradicating the serious vibe he tried to cultivate.

Volo's eyes thinned, the thought of letting the child win never crossing his mind. "And what are you gonna do about it, greaseball?"

For a moment, it seemed as if Winny would stand his ground. He could take on a pirate right?

"..Jerk." He mumbled, disappearing into the rafters above with a tear in his eye.

"Ahh.." Volo tussled his hair, "Shit."

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a shotty pack of cigarettes, a lucky last one remained. He plucked it out and placed it on his lips and before he could worry about a light, Susu sparked a match.

"My bad kid.." Pausing as the embers devoured the paper, "How uhh, how about this, eh? We give a sweet nickname, yeah?"

He waited for a response.

"Sniff...Yeah..?"

"For sure, yeah, come on down." Stopping for another drag, "We'll call ya GB, that's cool. Yeah."

"GB?" Winny questioned hesitantly.

"Yeah, yeah, GB, it stands for Ginger Boy Shishishi"

WC 809/2,719

Thu Feb 01, 2024 10:50 am

Chapter 2

April 1, 1829, ~8:00 A.M.

Dock Warehouse No. 28, Port Teardrop

A scarred tree of a man stood vigil outside a decorated warehouse in a suit two sizes too small for his frame. Ornaments of a hundred kinds and one - wreaths, flowers, streamers, and more clung to the red walls of the building.

The tree guarding the large set of doors glowered down at every stranger who walked by. The guard's dimensions and scowl deterred most nosy or mischievous party crashers.

Most, but not all.

A gang of four hoodlums approached the usher with their chins turned up, their hands in their pockets, their knees buckled and their legs bowed wide. Their garments were ragged and they all carried batons of varying quality on their hips. [npc=pirt]"Oi, oi, oi, oi. I don't remember hearin' anythin' about a party goin' on 'ere,"[/npc] said a tattooed stick with a pompadour as he stood on his toes less than an inch away from the usher, trying and failing to meet him at eye level.

[npc=navy]"This is a private affair. Move along,"[/npc] said the usher. He seemed unperturbed by the thin gangster threatening him with his absurd hairdo.

The hoodlum spat a loogie and looked back at his smirking friends before stretching himself taller until his pompadour bent against the usher's forehead.

[npc=pirt]"This 'ere's Billy Earful's turf. There ain't no private affairs 'ere he don't know 'bout. If he finds out you're havin' a celebration at the docks without payin' party taxes, he ain't gonna be 'appy,"[/npc] claimed the hoodlum.

[npc=navy]"If your boss has a problem with our celebration, why not come tell us himself?"[/npc] A commanding voice asked. A seven-foot-tall man with flowing raven-blue hair and matching eyes lumbered over the thug's back with two katanas at his side and a company of armed men and women in dishevelled suits behind him.

The thug's voice stuck to his throat and only a meek chirp came out when he tried to retort. The domineering man raised an arm to his side as if showing them the way out. The goons wasted no time in scurrying away like wounded rats.

The usher smiled and cracked the door open for the company. [npc=navy]"Glad you could make it in time, sir,"[/npc] he said as the soldiers entered one after another. No efforts were made to ornament the inside of the warehouse. It would've been a waste.

Those already inside cleared the way for the new arrivals, recounting their names with hushed murmurs. [npc=cpol]"'Nine-Grain' Nottingham..."[/npc] One of them whispered to another. [npc=navy]"...'Kamaitachi no Yumiko' ..."[/npc] Another mumbled back.

The blue-haired swordsman approached a dapper gentleman in an expensive three-piece suit with a long white coat. A chequered silk scarf hung loosely off his shoulders, and a fedora rested on his head with a black ponytail snaking out from behind.

[npc=cpol]"Why the hell are you and your men dressed like you're going to the farmer's market, Nottingham?"[/npc] The fashionable man asked his tawdry colleague.

Rear Admiral Bradley Nottingham soaked in his surroundings. Most attendees wore modest event-appropriate suits, while his men's wardrobe was fished out of a river. All except Yumiko and Wyre.

He shrugged.

[npc=navy]"Seems to me like the rest of you are the ones dressed out of place, Fowl. Our threads don't stand out like sore thumbs in these parts. Can you really say the same?"[/npc] Bradley asked.

[npc=cpol]"Just because I'm going to be digging through trash doesn't mean I have to wear it too,"[/npc] Chief Seamus Fowl grimaced.

[npc=navy]"Try not to complain when your suit gets filthy."[/npc] Bradley grinned.

Seamus relented when he realized their exchange had intrigued their subordinates. [npc=cpol]"Whatever, never mind the disguises. We're missing a few stragglers still, but we're already past our rendezvous time."[/npc]

The chief adjusted his overcoat, tightened his tie, and whistled sharply. The rear admiral leaned against a beam a few feet away, arms folded. He motioned to Yumiko and the rest, commanding them to form up.

The attendees lined up in a disciplined assembly before Seamus began. [npc=cpol]"We realize that most of you have no idea why we sailed through that awful tempest just to get to this lousy island. I--"[/npc] He paused as a group of marines walked in late to the meeting. A few glares made them well aware of the nuisance.

Seamus cleared his throat and continued. [npc=cpol]"As I was saying, I will now provide you with our mission's details. Less than two weeks ago, the NRA bombed the World Government embassy in Briss. As some of you may know, I was present at the time and barely managed to survive."[/npc] Bradley groaned under his breath and rolled his eyes.

[npc=cpol]"We learned that one of the shichibukai may be supplying the NRA with essential materials for their signature explosives. We have traced the origin of said materials to The Jolly Keys. We aim to pinpoint the factories where it is produced and shut them down. It is imperative that we identify and arrest the criminals in charge. This includes the shichibukai who may be leading this operation. As soon as we find evidence against them, their immunity will be revoked, and we have orders to engage should they happen to be around."[/npc]

The troops traded anxious whispers. Bradley peeled himself from his backrest and approached their formation. He walked along its edge with his hands behind him. [npc=navy]"It should go without saying that the shichibukai are extremely dangerous. If you encounter one here, your first priority should be to report it to Chief Fowl and me. Engaging a shichibukai without our entire force should be done only as a last resort."[/npc]

[npc=cpol]"That being said, we have no assurance that we will find the shichibukai here,"[/npc] Seamus added. [npc=cpol]"Most, if not all, tend to stick to the Grand Line. But, in the name of the World Government, we will scour every document, interrogate every criminal, and turn every hovel inside out to uncover their identity."[/npc]

[npc=navy]"We'll teach this dirtbag pirate that he can't keep operating with impunity. Justice has come knocking, and if no one answers, we'll just break the door,"[/npc] Bradley promised.

[npc=cpol]"Stealth is paramount. Any reports you make should avoid direct references to our mission targets and goals."[/npc] Seamus eyed Bradley for a moment longer than anyone was comfortable. [npc=cpol]"I am aware that we have some recognizable faces and ability users. I demand that you use your abilities discreetly or not at all. We must not alert the criminals in charge of these islands without first locating our target. Once we have done so, we will begin our raid in full."[/npc]

[npc=navy]"Marines will be splitting into teams under the commands of the following officers: Myself, Captain Wyre, Captain Okirama, and Lieutenant Commander Virtanen. Each of us will be leading a squad of twelve. Our limited resources allow for only two transponder snails per squad."[/npc] A CP2 agent handed transponder snails to each squad leader and their designated second-in-command.

[npc=navy]"There should be ferries frequenting between here and La Crima. The ride should be less than an hour. Captains Okirama and Wyre. Your squads will take separate ferries to La Crima. Investigate the shipping yards there. Report if and as soon as you find information pertaining to our mission. Avoid confronting any other criminal activities when possible. Many of you have strong moral codes, which I value dearly. But, the town is riddled with crooks. Catching them all is not our concern today,"[/npc] Rear Admiral Nottingham said somberly.

[npc=navy]"That said, if you happen to kick some ass while fulfilling your mission, I'll have no complaints,"[/npc] he added with a smile.

He then ordered Virtanen to investigate the yards in Port Teardrop. Meanwhile, Chief Fowl evenly split fifteen CP2 agents between himself, Agent Broad, and Agent Borrows. Their instructions were to scrutinize known illicit businesses for information.

The squads trickled out one after the other to avoid attracting unwanted eyes and departed for their targets.

Somewhere in La Crima...

A group of ten to fifteen congregated around a short baldy with a beady necklace and a fish-man with a pointy mohawk and an ugly underbite.

The baldy palmed his smooth head as he spoke. [npc=revo]"Where the hell is Sabian? I don't know if we can trust the pirates we're about to meet. It would be nice to have his ability around just in case."[/npc]

The fish-man yawned. [npc=revo]"Heez prolly oud drowin' zum gurlies, pretennin' do be a Eero or zumdin'."[/npc]

The baldy sighed. [npc=revo]"I wouldn't be so sure this time. He made a fuss on the way here over me not disclosing the details of this mission. I had to lock him up."[/npc]

[npc=revo]"Wade - joo logged heem ub?! Dozen dat mean he zank indo da ozhun wid da zhip?"[/npc] The fish-man's watery eyes highlighted his concern.

[npc=revo]"Of course not, you idiot. First of all, he had already broken out of the cell - it's not like I shackled him with sea stone or anything. Second of all, he didn't sink with the ship cause I made sure I put him on a boat before he turned into an anchor."[/npc]

[npc=revo]"Zo joo zaved ebryone bud jorzelf."[/npc]

[npc=revo]"I guess I did,"[/npc] The baldy said, oddly proud.

[npc=revo]"No bunder Ah haddo zave joo. Joo're zo uzezz, Godli-zan."[/npc] The fish-man snickered.

[npc=revo]"Shut up and keep chewing on your lips like you always do, ya damn fish,"[/npc] the glossy cueball retorted before seeking the attention of his gathered comrades.

[npc=revo]"Listen up! I want you all to spread out and find Sabian, Noah, Stout, and the rest. Tell them to meet us at the Tackling Whale by 10:30 this morning. Tell Sabian there's an art gallery there. That should convince him to hurry along."[/npc]

The NRA soldiers saluted their commanders and dispersed.

[npc=revo]"Izzder reelly an' art gary wer weer goin', Godli-zan?"[/npc] The fish-man asked.

Gotli smirked and snorted. [npc=revo]"Of course not. Does this shithole of a town look like a place where you'd find an art gallery? You'll sooner find a museum of human organs."[/npc]

They both agreed that the latter was a far more likely enterprise in La Crima and carried on their way to the Tackling Whale.

April 1, 1829, ~10:15 A.M.

At the La Crima port...

[npc=pirt]"Be careful wif dat, blockhead!"[/npc] Yelled a sailor shaped more like a square than the crate he carried. He shifted the weight on his shoulder and hurried behind a slimmer, younger fellow along a mossy dock. [npc=pirt]"If ya drops da goods, ya could blow us all da way to da Grand Line,"[/npc] he added.

The brown from the youngster's freckled face drained. [npc=pirt]"Wait, what? This stuff is explosive?! That's not what I signed up for!"[/npc]

The older man supported the youngster's barrel with a gentle hand. [npc=pirt]"Hah! Kids dese days is all da same. If ya really finks yer gonna git a job in dis town dat ain't likely ta take an arm an' a leg, ya got anoder fing comin'."[/npc] He nudged his junior to keep walking. The boy complied hesitantly.

[npc=pirt]"What're we doing with this stuff anyway? The factories in Carbuncle have been pumping out more and more of it lately from what I can tell,"[/npc] the young dockworker asked with an unhealthy curiosity.

The bigger man snorted and grumbled. [npc=pirt]"Dey dun tell us nuffin'. We's jus' suppose to shut our pie holes an' do da jobs. But, rumours is, dey's pushin' dis gunk to some rebels - buncha upjump'd, no-good punks."[/npc]

A nearby group of disguised marines perked their ears to this exchange. A report was sure to come.

August 1823

On an abandoned island half-ablaze, half-frozen...

A tall man with shaggy silver hair and one good eye strolled through a narrow, snow-filled corridor. A thick layer of frost shrouded the metal walls around him. But, the man knew there was nothing pretty to admire behind the ice. Frigid winds whistled through the holes in the ceiling and walls to bring the melancholy of a thousand wailing women. But, the explorer seemed undisturbed. Perhaps he knew the wind was playing him for a fool, or maybe he just didn't care.

A glass bubble shielded him from the shards of snow raised by the coiling breeze. As he moved forward, so did his shield, always keeping him at its center. Several shafts of sunlight weakened by dense arctic clouds surged through the broken roof to light up his path. He hunted for his elusive swan in one demolished laboratory after another. Not a single living soul was around to ask him why.

The one-man expedition continued for hours that blurred into days. But, the wanderer's quest in the frozen ruins was not fruitless. A crescent moon and a matching grin lit up his face as he held a tattered journal. Its leather seams were worn to oblivion, and its pages seemed ready to scatter with one careless turn. The cover was too ragged to make out anything except two bold letters—an abbreviation.

The letters read "CC."

Notes:

2,156 out of 4,835 words

Thu Feb 01, 2024 2:19 pm

April 1, 1829, 6:10 AM

Somewhere in Port Teardrop alleyways...

Trouble.

Yumiko had come across trouble. As she straightened her back, her gaze slowly scaled a mountain of meat looming before her. She was fighting every instinct to draw a blade or claw.

A bulky, tanned man with a proud mohawk and a jacket two sizes too big for his belly sauntered closer. “Hey, hey~ What’s the hurry, toots~?” His long tongue lolled out of his mouth, as he leered at the lady.

Several shady characters crept from the shadows behind the man. Looking like the aftermath of a flea market explosion, their colorful outfits were as wild as they were filthy. They reeked of ill intentions.

Yumiko stood her ground, glaring at the strangers. “Greetings.” Her voice remained steady and proud. “Kindness is the mother of all wisdom.” She spoke, testing the waters in hopes that she had found allies.

No such luck, of course not.

The thug’s leer twisted into annoyance. “Huh, the hell are you babblin’ about?” He circled around her like a hungry hound, eyeing her figure... And the case in her grasp. “Whatcha got there? Looks expensive.” His allies drew closer, snickering darkly.

Grip tightening, the warrior remained still. “‘Tis a violin case. It has a violin in it. And nothing more.” She lied clumsily, disliking the taste of deception. If the contents of the case were revealed, it would surely spark further questions. Yet, neither honesty nor honor would get her out of this.

So what was left...?

The huge thug glanced at his buddies and snorted. “A violin, eh? Heh heh hey, how about we form a band? See, I’ve got a flute you can blow, toots...” He leaned close enough to nearly lick her ear, his breath brushing against her skin “A skin flute! Riiif~rafrafraf!” Throwing his head back, he let out a raspy laugh and presented his crotch. His buddies joined in, their chorus echoing far through the alleyways.

Yumiko’s gaze dropped down. What was left, she asked herself one more time. Her eyes focused on the area that was offending two of her senses simultaneously. Familiar instructions of a former friend echoed in her head. Hand into a ball... Wrist straight... Two knuckles for the most damage...

Meanwhile, at the port market, a stall keeper was going through his stock. He found a pair of plums that smelled funky. Wrinkling his nose, he tossed them over his shoulder. They hit the pavement with a wet squelch.

A falsetto scream pierced the air like the whistle of a sea train.

Back in the alley, the mountain of meat toppled with a hefty thud. Eyes bulging and snot dripping, he curled up into a miserable, little ball. His scream petered out, leaving behind only a breathless wheeze.

Most of the goons winced in shared sympathy. Instinctively they guarded their jewelry... All except one, who grumbled about how he had to pay for gals to do that. He got concerned looks from his comrades.

Backing away, the ashamed samurai took her quiet leave.

April 1, 1829, 6:51 AM

Somewhere in Port Teardrop Market...

While scouring through the port town, the hunter was struck by a strange weather phenomenon. It bonked her right on the head. Startled, she spontaneously flipped onto the nearest rooftop. Her wild eyes scanned the surroundings. An attack?! Who, what, where?!

A small, plastic orb clattered against the pavement.

The puzzled samurai carefully stalked closer. From inside the cracked container, she rescued a small charm depicting a weasel. She stared at the trinket’s little dot eyes. It stared back. ...After a moment, she slipped it into her pocket. It was... Erm... An important clue, yes.

Sniffing the orb, then the air, the tracker tried to trace back the source. Where was this peculiar trail coming from? Her nose led her over the rooftops, to the edge of the market.

Reminiscent of a rather sharp-dressed gargoyle sitting on a rooftop, the hunter surveyed the area. Her sharp eyes found a tall man armed with... Some manner of kanabō? Further suspicion raised the ruined remains of a strange machine scattered around him.

Yumiko’s nose wrinkled at the stench of trouble... Even from this distance, she could tell that the peculiar stranger reeked of it. Thus, she quietly memorized his features and weapon of choice... Just in case.

A cold breeze blew across the market...

And the gargoyle was gone.

April 1, 1829, ~8:00 AM

Dock Warehouse No. 28, Port Teardrop

Despite Yumiko’s best efforts, the scouting proved dissatisfying. The dangerous town was a veritable maze of bad architecture and worse people. Every trail had led to a dead end. Ultimately, she had only accomplished one objective... She hadn’t called any attention to herself.

None whatsoever.

The weasel woman followed her nose and regrouped with her commanding officers just in time. Like a shadow, she trailed three steps behind them. Silent. Unassuming. Trying desperately to blend into her surroundings... A shadow.

Thus, it cut all the deeper, when the swordswoman’s sharp ears caught her name leaving the lips of a stranger. A few weeks ago, she would have been honored... Now, all she felt was bitter shame. She was not worthy of that name...

Not yet.

Yumiko’s grip on the violin case tightened. This was her last chance to make things right. She could not... Nay, would not fail.

Not all was doom and gloom, though. As the briefing commenced, the marine gaze was glued to the most important figure. Her eyes gained an odd glimmer, reminiscent of tiny stars. Or was it just a trick of the light...? A faint smile warmed her usually icy features. Her restless fingers fidgeted with her violin case, as if unsure how to properly hold it.

As for the figure who had gotten the samurai’s attention...

Why, it was none other than Rear Admiral Nottingham, a fabled warrior and a master of Ittoryu! ‘Twas a great honor to be graced by his noble presence. Oh, if only she could cross blades with him on a vast, grassy plain under the silver moon...

The starstruck soldier clung to her superior’s every word. She admired his every motion. The way he stood, the way he walked... If she could only be less like herself and more like him, then... Perhaps she could redeem herself.

Little by little, word by word, the disgraced samurai found the strength to cast the shackles of shame away. Mimicking the Rear Admiral’s mannerisms, confident and efficient, she volunteered for his team. “Sir, ready to follow thee to the gates of netherworld, sir.” She wouldn’t be just a shadow, nay.

She would be his shadow.

Words: 1081
Total: 2144

Wed Feb 07, 2024 1:05 pm

Sunflower (向日葵)

Glances crept out from the crevices of La Crima as the circus, led by a Mink, paraded through the bustling town. Sabian noticed that as soon as the locals took one glance at the circus leader, the mood would immediately become heavy.

“It’s been like that since the incident with the Feral Pirates. Sucks since Maestro has one of the kindest hearts,” Genie commented about the nasty looks the group had been receiving.

“Tch. I wish people would stop believing everything they read in the news,” Sabian snarled.

“Isn’t that ironic for the man who just argued with his superior over the same thing,” Kathy thought, chuckling to herself internally.

The group came to a crossroads, the circus members heading towards the venue they’d booked in town, and Sabian noticed some familiar faces approaching from the east. “I guess this is where we part. If y’all ever need a gig on the road, look out for old Genie, I’ll put in a word with Big Sis for ya!” Genie shouted.

Kathy shook the woman’s hand, and they embraced, and Sabian simply grabbed the woman’s arm, leaving a single gentleman’s peck on her hand as he bowed. Seconds later, messengers from the Army drew closer to Kathy and Sabian.

Taking their conversation to a less public area, the party of five made their way into a nearby alleyway. “Sabian! Kathy! I swore you were goners the way Commander Gotli tossed ya into the sea!” one of the revolutionary messengers exclaimed.

“That bald-headed prick! He knew I was a hammer too! I literally passed out from the shock! When I woke up, he was nowhere to be found! I gotta a bone to pick with him and HR! I bet he was mad about that dusty cage I broke!” Sabian grumbled.

“Your memory must be foggy from chaos of the storm… He didn’t toss you off the ship, more like onto the boat. Albeit, he was a bit rough but given that you wrestled with him when he was trying to save your life… I’d would’ve done the same.

I lost track of Noah, but Sabian stuck out like a sore thumb, so I was tracking his and Gotli’s path from the boat,” Kathy explained.

“Wrestling with Commander Gotli… Eh. These new recruits are all monsters all of em’.” The second messenger thought to himself.

“Anyways! That’s beside the point! You need to find your Captain and Sergeant Stout! Stout will form a temporary cell with yourselves and the other officers in his care! Report to the Tackling Whale by 10:30!” the other messenger chimed in.

“Stout? Who's that?” Sabian inquired, cleaning out his ear with his pinky, his eyes squinting due to the sweet sensation that comes with such a nasty habit.

“He’s one of our commanding officers for this mission. God, you need to pay more attention during briefings,” Kathy explained with a sigh.

“I heard there’s a few lady operatives in Stout’s group too.” a messenger added, knowing of Sabian’s rumored womanizing ways.

Sabian’s ears perked at the sound of the vowels and consonants in the word ‘lady,’ and instantly his attention was locked in.

Clearing his throat, “I’m not sure about Noah, but we can’t leave the lady recruits alone in such a treacherous town like this!” Sabian exclaimed, of course, with the most chivalrous of intentions.

“And here we go…” Kathy murmured with a long sigh. “Tackling Whale, 10:30. I’ll let our captain know. Sabian isn’t really the message-carrying type. I’m worried though. La Crima isn’t exactly a small place, how will we find them in this sea of scum?” Kathy inquired.

A bolt of lightning surged through the blonde’s brain, which means nothing good will come of what was about to happen next.

Chuckling to himself at the genius of his idea, Sabian scooped up Kathy by the collar of her blouse and dashed off into the streets of La Crima. Transforming into his giant reptilian form, the Allosaurus caused havoc and uproar amongst the locals.

Letting out a mighty roar, Sabian would announce to the entire area as he’d rampage through the town, “The Circus is in town! The Circus is in town! Come one! Come all! See the giant dinosaur and his compatriots in a smashing show of the odd and obscure! Beautiful ladies are especially welcomed!” Sabian shouted at the top of his lungs.

Strapped onto the nape of the dinosaur's neck was Kathy, holding on for her life! Somehow the roles had reversed, and news of the giant dinosaur and circus's arrival spread like wildfire through the town.

@Noah @Anne La Tene

Word Count: 769. 1556/10,000

^{Sabian’sTracker}

Group Details and Order :

Fri Feb 09, 2024 11:00 pm

What to do? What to do? That was the question going through Hyde's mind, almost ignoring the arm of the scrawny man he was twisting who had thought it was a good idea to try and steal from him. The unfortunate thief was not any sort of fighter, squirming and hissing in pain as his arm was held painfully behind his back. Barely anyone was acknowledging them either. This was La Crima. An unfortunate pickpocket getting his ass handed to him was a common occurrence. "Now then, learned your lesson yet?" Hyde asked quietly. He wasn't really feeling in the mood for giving someone a beatdown. Just a bit of pain to drive them off would be enough. The man nodded his head rapidly, before Hyde released him. "Good. Then get out of here!" The would-be thief didn't need to be told twice as he quickly scurried away down an alleyway. Well, at least this little display would deter other potential thieves. Hyde had more important things to think about.

Tucking his hands back into his pockets, he continued strolling down the street. Now, back to planning his next move. He was a wanted man now, there was no doubt about that, and he wasn't going to simply join up some random crew again. Unfortunately, he didn't really have much to get himself started in business either. Not notorious enough to form a crew, at least not one worth its salt. Besides, just general piracy wasn't really cutting it. Soon enough, you get the marines bringing the hammer down on you, or if not them, some other crew. No, he needed to do something else. Something a bit more...secure. Perhaps smuggling or black market dealing? But he didn't have any underworld contacts. And he couldn't sell what he made with his fruit. That was temporary at best, and get a lot of strong people pissed at him really fast.

He let out a groan of frustration. He was in a world full of opportunity, and he couldn't find a single, damn one!

And then, it barreled past him. Hyde paused, stunned and confused. The massive form of a dinosaur running past, and was it yelling something about a circus? And was that some woman it was holding in its little dino-arms? Hyde watched as the large dinosaur charged down the street, continuing to scream out its advertisement.

Hyde threw his arms up in the air. "Well, ain't like I got anything better to go on." While he had only seen small pieces of the world in his travels so far, he was pretty certain you didn't just ignore a giant dinosaur running down the street. Wherever it was going, hell, whatever it was, was bound to lead to something juicy. He ran down the street after it, trying to keep up. Fortunately, Hyde was one of those people who was pretty light on his feet, and the busy streets of La Crima gave him plenty of cover, just so that big old lizard wouldn't notice the sharply dressed man following him. Of course, he was going to be careful about all this. You don't just run head long into things and no expect to get thumped. No, he would watch from a distance, get a read on whatever this was before deciding whether to step in or not.

And, well, if this didn't lead to anything, it at least gave him something to do. Sometimes it was just good to follow what leads you find, even if they lead to nowhere.

Post Word Count: 591
Total Word Count: 1,352

Sat Feb 10, 2024 7:32 pm

The redhead needed some time, but, ultimately, he did set foot into La Crima. He took his time in an attempt to look more presentable after experiencing the storm, only to realize that it hardly worked out. He was soaked to the skin and without a change in his wardrobe would hardly manage to change this- without investing time he did not have, of course.

As such, it did not surprise Noah that people were looking at him when he eventually entered the settlement. Similarly, it did not surprise him that nobody offered help. On the contrary, given what he knew of the town, it would rather make him wary of somebody from around here if they would offer aid. The redhead would not be surprised if somebody already planned how he could trick the poor soul who was literally washed ashore.

[plyr=revo]”Great, now it’s time for a plan.”[/plyr], he said to himself. On paper, finding his comrades sounded easy. However, this was before he realized how big the city was. For a moment he moved through a few streets trying to come up with a plan, but he quickly came to a halt when he saw something which caught his eye.

[npc=misc]”Ladies and gentlemen, young and old, dreamers and daredevils, step right up!”[/npc] Noah stopped in his tracks, looking at the scene unfolding in front of him. A boy roughly of Noah’s age dressed in a black tuxedo and white shirt balanced a top hat on a finger and did his best to attract as much attention as possible. Well, at least in the case of Noah it started to work and as far as he could tell, the redhead was not the only one who stopped in his tracks.

[npc=misc]”Brace yourselves for a heart-pounding, jaw-dropping extravaganza that'll leave you breathless: the circus is in town! Your ticket to the extraordinary is just a tiny hop away!”[/npc] Before Noah fully realized it, the performer had a set of cards in hand, performing some tricks with those. Was this the newest scheme in town to rob thoughtless passers-by? It would at the very least be an entertaining trick if so.

Noah was just about to leave the spectacle, the street performer doing his best to intercept, when suddenly an allosaurus was in town, carrying a girl. Soon, both stared in the general direction of the reptile and at least Noah had a good idea who he was looking at: Sabian and Kathy. As it seemed, the blonde really disliked secrecy, even though it made Noah’s job right now much easier. [plyr=revo]”Am I dreaming?”[/plyr] Without wasting another word, the performer pinched Noah. [plyr=revo]”Nope, not dreaming. Thanks.”[/plyr] The dinosaur which advertised for the circus was real.

It did not take long until the first people around here asked if that was also part of the show. [npc=misc]”Of course, everything to amaze our dear spectators!”[/npc] Of course, the performer took credit for the scene and bowed to the audience’s applause. Noah couldn’t blame him, though. Neither could he rule out that Sabian would run into new trouble. Noah sighed and hurried in the direction as he finally had a lead.

It did not take Noah long until he reached the circus. A living dinosaur was easily an attraction many people seemed to have an interest in and could Noah blame them? If he were just a civilian who did not know about Sabian’s powers, he might very well be trying to catch a glimpse of the reptile too. [plyr=revo]”Where can I find you now?”[/plyr], the redhead mused as he looked at the ever-growing crowd of spectators while missing any traces of his allies.

WC: 610 | 1,335/10,000

Boss Fights

Chapters

Posting Pattern

Time Limit

IC Time Constraints

Word Count Requirement

First Round

RP Groups

God-modding

Read Every Post!

Be open to adjustments

Questions?

Chapter 1

Off the Coast of La Crima

Shore Side - A few miles off La Crima

Chapter 1 - Part II

1:00 AM, April 1/ Open Water

3:00 AM, April 1/ Bluenose Channel

5:45 AM, April 1/ Teardrop Docks

Chapter 2

Navy

NRA

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