[World Event] A Fool's Errand

Orion blamed this place for the frequent flashbacks. It was the bleak. The bleak weather, the bleak setting, the bleak surroundings. Bleak on bleak on bleak. Trauma kept trying to come back up, unbidden, like spoiled gutter rat.

It was supposed to stay buried. He had to shove those memories down constantly. Deep down, where he could ignore them later.

At least the one rising up the back of his throat this time, didn't have the same bile inducing tang as the others. It was more… bittersweet. A happy moment, seasoned by age.

---

Orion was standing in a familiar hallway. Younger. Hair not as long, umbrella not as tall.

Antique ticking-clocks filled the walls, each clicking away, tracking a different time. Tracking a different place. Peeking through, between Cuckoos and Grandfathers, was a burgundy wallpaper filigreed with gold leaf. The golden weave ornately patterned to look like little ships, each as varied as the next.

Orion had always loved this hallway, it reminded him how big the world was.

At the end of the hallway, where Orion stood, he faced an absolute monster of a painting. Clocks had been shoved aside to make way for its bulk. Its frame was an ostentatious nod to the color silver and in no way made the painting any better.

Orion couldn't even begin to understand the painting. Calling it grotesque was putting it mildly. An assault on the senses, with colors intentionally clashing. It was the worst thing Orion had ever seen.

"What the actual fuck is this?"

"Ho ho! Magnifique, eh?" Nato stood beside him, in purple. Purple tux, purple hair, and purple mustache.

"Horrendous. Definitely the worst thing I have ever seen, and I've literally been tortured."

"I know! It's perfect!"

Orion didn't get it. Nato saw that instantly.

"Knowledge SLAP!"

Orion was blasted into a wall, leg twitching.

"Something like this will never be forgotten! It's unique. Rare. That's Beautiful."

Orion pulled himself from the wall grumbling.

"You could've just said that…"

Nato placed a massive hand on his shoulder, and Orion looked up at him to see a warm smile.

"It's important. Something like this would've never been made without–"

"You paid for this?!"

"It's important, Orion. To be a patron of the arts. It's important."

---

Orion stuck out his hand towards Aya, a wise grin on his face.

"It's important to be a patron of the arts."

"I've got just the thing…"

Word Count:

Maquet managed to maintain her composure after the words of wisdom from her mentor. She quickly returned to work on the ship, putting all of her focus into it.  The stormy, shaky weather still kept her on her toes, but while it was physically demanding, the mental strain was greatly diminished. She threw herself into her work to distract her from any anxieties that tried to well back up. For the most part, it was a success. As long as she did not give herself time to think, everything would be okay.

She went wherever she was needed, and worked whatever jobs needed to be done. When there was no work, she would make work. She sharpened her rapier, planned future forging projects, and patched up her cloak. Eventually, however, she began to run out of things to do, and doubts started to set back in.

Hearing something about the Iron Beast didn't help any. This was going to be a big one. Was she ready? Would she be ready? What would her role in the upcoming battle be?

Strangely enough - even she herself thought it was odd - the closer to the battle site they came, the calmer Maquet felt. She knew the chaos that awaited her at the shore, the violent clashes that she could get swept up in, the possibility of her own death - and yet was almost at peace with it. While she would hate what violence would occur, and the many deaths that may happen, the thoughts of the aftermath were to be left for during the aftermath. In the now, she could both make herself a target with her metal mask helping her stand out, and yet also blend into the outright chaos as just one soldier among many. Work could occupy one's mind and keep one from thinking, but all-out combat worked even better. She just had to know what to do and do it, and leave her suffering until later.

Meanwhile, the near-skeletal Sergeant Stout addressed some of the greener men on the ship. He paced back and forth in front of them, holding his head high and his stare stern. [npc=revo]"I know we've all been enjoying our luxury cruise, but it is time for us to pay the fee for our kind hosts' hospitality. They are counting on us to clean up a little mess when we get to port."[/npc]

Stout snorts and shakes his head. [npc=revo]"I'm not going to lie to you. This is not going to be a walk in the park. We are all risking our lives in a battle that - on paper - has no clear outcome. If that terrifies you... go back in time and make another choice cuz you've reached the point of no return. The odds look shaky, I'll admit. But what any big brains trying to figure out who is going to win in advance don't have all the statistics. They can look at the numbers, how many heads and what feats each side has. But they don't see how much stronger our hearts and minds are. We're more clever, more stubborn, and bigger sons of bitches than they can put on paper! If you think this battle could go either way, you haven't been paying attention! Understood?"[/npc]

Word count:

The ground cracked as his fist dug into the earth, the swan man effortlessly sidestepped the reckless charge. "Why you..?!" He grit his teeth, pivoting off his back foot for a speedy counter-attack.

A counter that was frozen in place the second the young boy put two and two together. Millenium Surfer... Logia Ability..... The words echoed in his head, the seconds felt like hours.

"Pops...?" Mumbled as he met the cold stare of the monstrous bird before him. "Y-you know pops...?"

For a moment his mind slipped back to the warm summer sun on his skin, the smell of the salty breeze all about him. Relaxing on the ocean blue as he rode astride a great ship with his father by his side. It was pure bliss.

Then it all came crashing back down.

Gritting his teeth once more, Volo pushed back the childhood memories and opted for a more hamfisted approach. "Oi! Nice job Karl!" Snickering as the suited man fell into a tirade over the wound.

Volo, primed and ready with an insult smiled as the chief screamed. However, before he could showcase his wit, the man gained the upper hand.

HOSTAGES!

One word was all it took to make the pi(lot)rate's heart sink as he whipped around to see several pistols pointed at his head.

"You idiots think that'll stop me..?" Volo smiled as he clenched his fists for round two.

"No." One of the agents smiled in response as he stepped to the side to reveal the guns drawn on Winny and the old hag. "But, I'm sure this will." And right he was, the young crew had fallen right into the cipher pol agents trap.

"Tch..!" Begrudgingly Volo raised his hands in surrender, "Oi! You too, Karl.." Nodding to his first mate to go along quietly.

"That's a good boy.." The agent muttered as he slapped a pair of pale green cuffs onto the young man's wrists. A pair of black-suited men flanked Volo from either side, grabbing his arms and guiding him past the swan man.

The pi(lot)rate forced a stop as they came up to the chief, using what little strength he had left to demand an audience.

A gag-inducing snort could be heard from the boy's throat. Followed by a snicker as he hocked a wad of green snot on the man's freshly shined shoe.

"Fuckin' milquetoast ass chicken.."

WC 398/6,881

Well, it was worth asking, even if he didn't get the answer he was looking for. Still, it seemed like he was going to get something out of all this in the end. "Well then, just gotta make sure you get out of this alive then, don't I?" He held on tightly to the lizard as it was making its way down the side of the cliff. He glanced back up over his shoulder, trying to see if there was anybody pursuing them. At least their mount gave them a bit more mobility on their descent. If they had to climb down themselves and got caught out, things would get bad very quickly.

Looking back out towards the town below, he could still hear the sounds of chaos and fighting raging down below, along with the roars of a certain shichibukai. "Man, big guy's really tearing things up down there," he murmured, before looked back towards Nesbit. "So, what's your escape plan? We head to the main facility and then what? I doubt the plan's to hunker down and simply hope CP9 just gets bored and leaves." Someone like Nesbit would surely come with a back up plan in case things turn sideways. Especially since he was aware of CP9 to begin with.


Post Word Count: 213
Total Word Count: 6,995

Karl took a swift turn as he slid back away from the agent, creating a distance after a successful attack. The 'poor' man did not take this well as the 'Rusty nails' blistered his skin.

However, it was wishful thinking that this alone was enough to take the agent down, especially since he introduced himself as a chief of Cipher Pol. They had to be a strong bunch of people. If there was still any chance to get out, it was to face him.

But the agent chose not to play fair and a set of his underling agents showed up within moments like a well-oiled machine. Their work was swift, arresting those deemed the enemies of the Chief within a matter of seconds.

As the agents were gathering, Karl stood his ground, and planted his feet firmly within the ooze, forming a larger puddle around him. [plyr=pirt]"Tsehehehe~... Things are getting out of hand."[/plyr] Preparing himself to attack, or perhaps even defend, his attempt was called to an abrupt end.

Karl looked at Volo who had called the shot.

"Oi! You too, Karl..."

'You too what?' Karl had thought to himself just as Volo had raised his hands in the air, indicating a surrender. [plyr=pirt]"You have got to be kidding me?!"[/plyr] Karl couldn't believe it, the man he was calling the 'captain' of the flying ship he is a resident of... The man who flew into a fight without a second thought... Surrenders.

[plyr=pirt]"What on earth..."[/plyr] Karl raised his hands, leaving the remains of the purple ooze on the ground.

He surrendered.

[262/5886]

~1:45 PM, April 1, 1829, Swiftly encroaching on an enigma of smokestacks and factories…

The sweat-dipped brow of the imaginative inventor might well be permanently stained the sickly ivory of his wax. That giant panda gave him a chase to remember, but, he reminded himself as he twirled his reclaimed Candlestick, he’s been a fleet-footed master of speed since Torino Kingdom.

Ickarus purviews the antics of his unwitting allies with mild interest until a shadow envelopes him from behind. A disgusting smell that could only be described as black swirls itself into his nostrils and the waxman sighs. Somehow, this smoke smells worse than that damn wide-eyed repro’s did.

From his view at the precipice of the ferry, some smokestacks seemed to be as large around as his boat, perhaps even more bulbous than that on a few. The entirety of Carbuncle oozed a similar fearful feeling as Port Teardrop, only dipped in the most despicable acts of terrorism and left to rot in the middle of a forest for years until it expanded into an industrial complex. Ickarus’s mind sent him back to his time with his father on Therma Current, where a much more wholesome approach to manufacture was taken than here.

Yet still, his curiosity wasn’t quenched. There has to be so much random stuff there…things he could use. After all, a warehouse of parts is nothing without, well, parts. “I’ll make something to show them when I get back,” Ickarus mused to no one, “just to stop Nauplius from telling me I was ‘wasting time.’ Wah-yayayayaya…”

~2:00 PM, April 1, 1829, Disembarking the boat of bedlam…

Sidling into place behind the Ancient One and redhead, Ickarus surveyed Carbuncle once more. The nasty ache of apprehension didn’t allow him to sheath Candlestick inside his beloved pelt coat, and his stormy eyes swept up and down the dock as he meandered off the ferry with the group.

The white-haired waxman snapped to attention; they were being greeted by some slashed-up stick figure of a man. He seemed to be acquainted with wrinkles and greaseball, though it was Ickarus’s personal and very professional opinion that calling him “useless riff-raff” was not in good taste, but he decided not to raise a shout.

What did cause him to speak up, however, was when the shrimp’s voice shrilly cut through the business-like tone set by scarface.

“Is that a fish-man?!”

“No way!” Ickarus’s head flicks hard enough to crick his neck. True to the pipsqueak’s word, a slimy mass of human-shaped eel with a mohawk drawn up from its blonde hair. “Wah-yayayaya! That’s awesome!”

The white wick atop Ickarus’s head quivered with the inventor’s excitement as the eel fishman introduced himself and his bald-headed (and hot-headed) associate. Definitely not a waste of time! Best mistake I’ve ever made, falling off the spar!

When he saw his double’s face light up in boyish glee at the mention of a water race, however, Ickarus rolled his eyes. “Hey, dimwit clone, you can’t swim. How’re you gonna race with those two?”

Their hopes of a race were dashed anyway before the waxhead’s words registered, however, due to the pudgy “properer-than-thou” businessman’s intervention. This earned another eyeroll from Ickarus; at the very least, manners indicated that a quip be received and replied to before interruption.

Abruptly, the merriment was cut short by a rumbling distant enough to feel safe from but far too close to be completely at-ease.

“What the hell…? Some sorta volcano, on top of all the other crap on Carbuncle?” Ickarus sighed, and his internal suspicions were reinforced. Apprehension indeed.

WC: 616 / 3968

“Owwwwwwwwwwww-”

If the steadily growing pool of blood leaking from Leland reminded him of the pasta sauce he made so often, the splinters that coated (what was left of) his clothing would be akin to an overindulgent helping of grated cheese. But now was not the time to think of food. It was the time for revenge! Best served cold, kind of like the crooked cook’s specialty pasta…

Stirring the distracting thoughts away, Leland searched his still-spinning mind for any semblance of a plan. It only took a few moments before the pirate’s face twisted into a devious grin.

“Time to cash in on a few favors…”

---

[plyr=navy]“Ms. Wyre definitely wasn’t lying when she said that Ali guy was a pain to talk to.”[/plyr] Cracking massive knuckles, Stone lumbered out of the still-destroyed coastal base. [plyr=navy]“And all these crooks have been pushovers so far…”[/plyr] 

Almost as if Stone’s own body was retorting that claim, A sudden stinging sensation spread along the marine's head.

[plyr=navy]“Guess that’s what I get for acting cocky.”[/plyr] Stone put the flat blade of his axe to his forehead, trying to soothe the dull pain.

[plyr=navy]"No sense in sitting around here any longer. Might as well rejoin the others."[/plyr]

---

Three minutes after rejoining the fight...

“What the hell!? I don’t think the bears down here in the South are supposed to get this big!” Shortly after the haggard hoodlum made his obvious (but not unfounded) observation, Stone finally decided to put his two cents in. 

[plyr=navy]“Really? No giant bears by the South Pole or anything?” [/plyr]

Seemingly unbothered by the presence of a talking animal, the two henchmen slowly lowered their weathered flintlocks.
 
“Well…”

“Don’t think either of us has ever been that far south.”

True, but I doubt the bear has either.”

[plyr=navy]"I wouldn't have asked the question if I already knew the answer!"[/plyr]

Not giving the outlaws a chance to respond, Stone reverted back to his normal self.

[plyr=navy]"You know what? Enough of this."[/plyr] The marine captain stretched barely weary muscles. [plyr=navy]"Any more of that nonsense and my migraine will never remedy itself."[/plyr]

The Kodiak lowered himself into a fighting-ready stance. [plyr=navy]"You have three seconds to prepare yourselves before I begin fighting."[/plyr]

"Wait!? You were a person the whole time!?" Turning tail, the first of the 'dockworkers' fled. It didn't take long for the rest to follow suit.

"No one said we'd be fighting ability-users!"

"Let's just get outta here!"

"I'm not going back to jail!"

[plyr=navy]"If you guys wanted to leave..."[/plyr] Transforming into his hybrid form, Stone shook his left arm, freeing the retractable shield from his wrist. [plyr=navy]"... you should've just said so!"[/plyr]

Firming planting bear-like feet into the ground. Stone dug his claws into the golden shield, with a quick twist of the hips and flick of the wrist. The Meito-stopping hunk of metal was let loose. [plyr=navy]"Breakfast Cannon!"[/plyr]

Ricocheting off ramshackle buildings, Stone's shield made quick work of the retreating wrongdoers. With a final bounce off of a nearby wagon, the shield made its return to Stone's outstretched hand.

Setting the shield back on his wrist, Stone tapped the center, causing it to fold back in on itself. Stepping over scattered bodies of former foes, Stone was already on to the next big thing.

[plyr=navy]"What is that smell?"[/plyr]

Word Count: