Re: [World Event] A Fool's Errand

Mon Feb 12, 2024 5:29 pm

Perhaps rising from the depths looking like a bloody sea monster had its benefits. Maquet was far from inconspicuous, in her mysterious, obscuring hooded robe and her creepy metal mask. There were bound to be questions if anyone approached her. She had planned on changing before arriving and blending in, only to change back to hide her identity once the operation - whatever it was - commenced. The hurricane changed her plans, however. Luckily, people were too terrified of the ‘hideous swamp creature’ to approach ‘it.’

On the other hand, it was quite hard for her to be stealthy when she sloshed and groaned with every step. Spying on people from the rooftops was not going to work in this condition. Gathering information would be quite difficult. She had no idea how she would contact the rest of the crew. At the very least, she needed to find Sargeant Stout. They definitely needed to have a conversation. I hope he’s okay…

Meanwhile…

[npc=revo]”Damn hurricane… damn mission… damn Keys… damn lifeboat… damn damn damn!”[/npc] Far from Maquet, her Sargeant grumbled and swore under his breath. Stout shivered as he made his way into town. The icy water did him no favors, especially with the lack of body fat to keep him warm. A large, bulky ‘concerned citizen’ took notice of him and put an arm around his shoulder.

[npc=misc]”You okay mister? You look like a drowned corpse. Let me help you.”[/npc] He guided Stout to an alley. [npc=misc]”Let’s get you out of this wind and some dry clothes.”[/npc]

[npc=revo]”That’s quite kind of you. I’m quite grateful."[/npc]

[npc=misc]”Grateful enough to, say… give me all your money?"[/npc] As soon as they were out of the sight of the general public, the stranger’s demeanor changed. He slammed Stout into the wall.

[npc=misc]”I really think we should talk about this…"[/npc]

back with Maquet…

I’m sure he’s fine. A man like that doesn’t get into trouble, he gets people out of it.

More importantly for Maquet, she had to think about herself and where to go. She couldn’t ask for directions - not that there was anyone to ask. Everyone was avoiding her and -

- wait. People were starting to approach her. She readied herself for combat, reaching for her sea gunk-covered sword. If they realized who she was, and were after her, she would not give in without a fight.

[npc=misc]”What are you doing here,"[/npc] one of the small yet gathering crowd asked.

”I’m not g-”

[npc=misc]”You’re going to be late!"[/npc]

”Late for-"

[npc=misc]”Are you lost,”[/npc] asked another.

”Oh! Um… I am, can you tell me-”

[npc=misc]”The circus was heading that way!”[/npc]

”The circus? But I-”

[npc=misc]”This way! This way!”[/npc]

”I’m not heading to th-”

[npc=misc]”I can’t wait to see you perform!”[/npc]

One of the crowd grabbed Maquet’s slimy hand and the crowd softly dragged her towards the commotion of the circus. Soon she was in sight of the ‘other’ circus performers - and a dinosaur. Guess I’m part of the circus now. I bet Stout’s doing better…

In the alley…

One of the NRA messengers finally caught sight of Sergeant Stout after a long search. [npc=revo]”Thank goodness I found you, sir! I have a message for y- who are you standing on?”[/npc]

Underneath one of Stout’s feet was the would-be assailant, showing more bruises than skin. [npc=revo]”This here’s a friend, he was kind enough to show me this alley. Say hi, friend!”[/npc]

The alley carpet groaned and let out a meek [npc=misc]”...hi…”[/npc]

The messenger cleared his throat. [npc=revo]”A-anyways… Tackling Whale, ten-thirty.”[/npc]

Stout nodded solemnly, then rifled through his pockets. [npc=revo]”I’ll be there. I just have to take care of some business.”[/npc] After the messenger left, Stout stepped off of the failed mugger. He pulled out a modest amount of change and placed it on the ground. [npc=revo]”You need to see a doctor about those bruises, friend.”[/npc]

Word count:

Tue Feb 13, 2024 2:38 am

[World Event] A Fool's Errand - Page 2 Img_1312

Sunflower (向日葵)

April 1, 1829, ~9:30 A.M.

Circus Tent - Downtown La Crima

Sabian, back in his human form, sat knelt on the ground, his face covered in bruises from the beating given to him by the Mink Boss of the circus.

The swollen face of the blonde-haired beauty almost made him unrecognizable, as Kathy sat adjacent, trying to calm down the Boss with Genie as her accomplice.

“We aren’t even halfway in setting up for our show yet! There’s a line as long as my mama’s family tree out there! I barely managed to set up the tent in time when your reckless ass came stumbling over here as a huge dinosaur! You should be ashamed of yourself! What a joke.” The Big Boss Mink verbally abused, nursing a cigar.

“Sorry.” Sabian uttered with a slur, his eyes swollen so much he could barely keep them open. He’d sworn never to hit a lady, but even if he’d fought the Mink Boss seriously, he wasn’t sure if the squabble would go his way.

“What’s all this hullabaloo about being a part of our circus, eh? You think the life of a carney is easy, huh?” The Boss commented, slapping Sabian on his back repeatedly with a metal hand fan, each strike causing the revolutionary to slip in and out of consciousness.

“Sorry.” Sabian uttered once again, bowing his head in shame. In his mind, it was such a good plan too, to become the giant attraction to bring all his people in one spot; everyone in the army of any importance knew of his abilities. It was the Rabbit Mink’s jump kick to his face and Kathy’s scolding afterward that made him realize that this might not go down well with Gotli or Stout.

“Anyway! Lemons into lemonade! Alright, you sorry lot of misfits! The dinosaur boyo has given us some free press! Move yer asses! Let’s set up this tent and give the people a show they won’t forget!” The Mink shouted.

“Please, let me help set up as well as compensation for the-“

Before Sabian could even finish his sentence, the glare from the Mink sent a shiver down his spine. Cowering at the feet of Genie, Sabian would gently grab onto the woman’s waist like a small infant would.

“No. No. You’ve done enough Sunflower! Genie! These normies are your responsibility! Babysit them while we get ready!” The Big Boss shouted.

Checking her pocket watch, Kathy's eyes ballooned as she realized it was almost an hour before the agreed meeting time, and they hadn’t even the slightest clue where the Tackling Wale was.

“And we still haven’t found Noah or Stout or any of the other Revo’s even with Sabian’s ‘stunt’,” Kathy thought to herself with a sigh. “If we’re any later… Combined with this incident Sabian pulled, Commander Gotli will be-“

The thought sent shivers down Kathy’s spine.

Shaking her head at the thought, “If the news spreads around town fast enough, we can salvage this! Noah. Please hurry up! I can’t deal with Sabian on my own!” Kathy exclaimed in frustration as her internal monologue spewed into actual words.

Nursing Sabian’s wounds, “I haven’t seen the boss lady this happy in a long time! I guess the amount of people gathered on the outside got her juices bubblin’!” Genie commented. “I guess it would’ve been better if you consulted us first, though.” Genie continued on, sticking out her tongue playfully.

“I was trying to send my people a message while giving y'all a bit of free advertisement. But it seems I got carried away,” Sabian stated, attempting to smile as she’d dab away at his wounds with gauze, applying bandages to his face that gave him the appearance of a mummy.

“Hey. I noticed when Boss was pummeling on you, ya guarded your hands in a really awkward obvious way. What’s with that?” Genie commented, as Sabian’s body language was strange enough for her to pick up on the weird habit.

Looking at his hands, the man smiled warmly underneath the bandages, “These are my treasures. I gotta protect them at all cause even if I am a bit of a klutz! My foster dad used to say - ‘One day those hands of yours will paint something that will change the world.’ He was a drunk and terrible with money but that was my old man, you know?”

“Oh! Wow! You can paint?! That’s amazing! You gotta show me some of your work sometime!” Genie announced.

The woman’s enthusiastic response sent his ego soaring at an all-time high. To him, a woman’s enthusiasm was like an aphrodisiac to the soul and mind, and Sabian’s Neanderthal of a spiritual essence was surely massaged by her kind words.

“Foster Dad huh? I guess I can relate. Most of us carnies were all orphans until Big Boss picked us up. That’s why we’d do anything for her,” Genie responded, finishing up the bandaging as she’d fondly reminisced on her first encounter with the Mink Circus Leader.

“Hey Genie. I’m sorry to dump this on you but could I leave Sabian in your care? I need to go and scout something important for our mission,” Kathy chimed in, the talks of parents made her mind wander to her own father who’d just recently passed.

“Sure! I’ll hold down the fort! Take this,” Genie stated, digging through her belongings and revealing a Baby Den Den Mushi Snail. “I’ll give you a call if any of your guys show up,” Genie exclaimed.

“Genie. You're heaven-sent babe,” Kathy commented. Turning her gaze to Sabian in a very stern way, “And you, stay out of trouble. No harassing Miss Genie okay?” Kathy warned. Nodding his head in approval like a scolded child, Kathy donned her hood and blended into the crowd, off in search of the Tackling Wale’s location.

@Noah @Anne La Tene

Word Count:975. 2,531/10,000

^{Sabian’sTracker}

Group Details and Order :

Wed Feb 14, 2024 7:03 pm

Noah started to walk around, trying to locate any familiar face within the increasing crowd of people trying to find the dinosaur. However, without a ‘dinosaur this way’ sign, finding Sabian might still be easier said than done: Without his transformation, the blonde was as easy to spot as every other human.

Among the people around here, though, Noah still stood out, as he was one of the only individuals who was openly carrying a weapon. However, this helped others who were looking for him to identify him as well. Some messengers sent to pick up the NRA operatives naturally found their way here and Noah quickly approached one of them.

Before the messenger could brief Noah, though, somebody else seized her chance and hugged the redhead. "You don’t know how happy I am to finally find you!" Noah ran into Kathy who, along with the messenger, quickly briefed him. Now he would at the very least know where he had to be. "Please, try your luck with Sabian. Maybe he will listen to you." With that, she also added where Noah could find him.

[plyr=revo]”Thanks, I’ll do my best. You go on ahead, I’ll follow shortly after, okay?”[/plyr] After a quick goodbye, Kathy already headed towards the Tackling Whale and Noah wished to follow soon after- ideally in the company of others, but in a worst-case scenario, he would leave alone. Shortly after, he exchanged a few words with the messengers, coordinating who would keep searching where- they still had some time left if they wished to arrive at the meeting point on time.

On his way to Genie where Noah hoped to find Sabian, he passed another scene which caught his attention. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, a swamp monster was roaming around. He paused in his tracks, deciding that there had to be a logical solution to this phenomenon- other than the circus collecting oddities. But, upon closer inspection, didn’t the ‘monster’ look pretty human and… somewhat familiar?

[plyr=revo]”Sorry, sorry, could you let me pass?”[/plyr] Noah excused himself as he tried to quickly sneak through the lines of people around him. [plyr=revo]”But we really need to prepare our performers right about now. Sorry again!”[/plyr] As soon as the last few words left his lips, he placed an arm around Anne and softly tried to lead her away. Shortly after, he whispered something into her ears. [plyr=revo]”Sorry for the sudden intrusion, but we still have a mission to accomplish, right?”[/plyr] Out in the open, Noah did not feel like talking too directly about their mission, but briefly passed on the information about where everybody should be and when. [plyr=revo]”Oh, and I’m Noah, by the way.”[/plyr] With that, he hurried along, on his way to reach Sabian.

At long last, he reached his destination and faced Sabian. [plyr=revo]”I guess you really want to make sure that the commanders are angry, huh?”[/plyr] With that, he quickly made sure to greet Sabian and thanked Genie for looking after him. [plyr=revo]”Don’t forget we still have a mission to accomplish. It looks like beautiful ladies are in danger and the commanders need every help they can get.”[/plyr] Was Noah lying? Yes, as far as he could tell, nobody was in danger yet. But if this small lie would speed up the process of gathering operatives, he would gladly apologize later. And it was not as if he had better things to think about while on his way to the Tackling Whale.

WC: 579 | 1,914/10,000

Sat Feb 17, 2024 1:08 am

Port Teardrop Docks - 6:40AM

With every place she hitched a ride to, Aya always had a goal in mind. The world was full of beautiful things, marvelous sights, and breathtaking scenes, all just waiting to be artfully documented. Some islands broadsided a person with awe upon first sight.

Others.. took a bit more searching.

With the glorious visage of the storm evading depiction, her yearning to find something to fill that blank space on the canvas had only grown.

The comings and goings of this port were not the most inspiring, however. The invisible red panda couldn't hold back a yawn as she stared off at another ship unloading cargo further down the docks.

An artistic muse had to be lurking here somewhere... but where?

Port Teardrop Market - 6:50AM

Aya's wandering mind instinctively developed into wandering feet as she meandered and took in the sights.

She looked on silently as people went about their lives and passed the phantom by without a second thought. Shopping, haggling, petty theft, smashing open strange objects that littered the surrounding area with what seemed like dozens of little hard-shelled bubbles...

Taken aback, the see-through mink circled closer and plucked up one of the strange orbs.

If people hadn't been so engulfed in their own worlds, onlookers might have noticed the small object seeming to float a few feet above the ground as the clear artist looked it over.

Of course, it was only natural to shake it.

And when the container produced a noise that confirmed some sort of contents, Aya couldn't help but be all awash in curiosity. Suddenly the strange rubbish had become a source of thrilling mystery.

Without a second thought, Aya pocketed the capsule and it disappeared from view. She turned to leave...

...Until another round container fell into sight up ahead. It rolled a few feet, then rocked as if beckoning her to it.

Temptation proved too much for the runty woman.

After a little dash to close the distance, the capsule rose from the ground and spun mid-air as Aya lifted, examined, and shook it in the same way.

She was too enraptured with intrigue to realize at first that she wasn't the only one to have followed this lure. A scruffy-looking Lesser Mink man stood frozen in front of the invisible woman, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

As if trapped in an unseen mirror Aya stared up at the man, completely still, wide-eyed, and still holding the tiny prize out in front of her.

Her gaze shifted from the man to the capsule and back as he tried and failed to stammer out some sort of questioning exclamation that might have gotten the attention of someone nearby.

"... Finders keepers."

With those two hushed words the second orb disappeared into thin air, the sound of Aya's hurried footsteps the only fleeting proof to the baffled man that any of this had been more than some sort of mid-morning fever dream.

That was enough of the market for her for one day.

Surely someplace less populated would prove more inspiring.

With her tiny treasures tucked away, Aya made her way out toward the shores to seek out a quiet spot on the beach to take stock of her new paltry prizes.

{ Post: 550 / Total: 1,241 }

Mon Feb 19, 2024 11:42 pm

The glint of the gentlemanly Ensign’s silver arm would have surely blinded the bear of a man had he been born of average stature. Luckily, Stone had been born fortunate enough to live life without experiencing such inconveniences. Though the Kodiak could see what his second-in-command was doing clear as day, the same could not be said for the haggard charlatan in front of the duo.

[npc=misc]“You know, now that I think about it…”[/npc]

Turning tail with a swiftness usually reserved, the spindly scammer booked it back into the obnoxiously busy crowd.

[npc=misc]“It’s time for me to head out of here!”[/npc]

As the crafty criminal-turned-coward fled, Stone couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh, “Rahahahahaha! While this walk has been an eye-opening experience, I fear that we have dragged our feet long enough! Let’s catch up with the others, Moreau!”

Leading the charge was one of the few times that Stone felt that his height was a benefit and not a hindrance. Sure, being able to grab things atop very tall shelves was helpful, but when you are as big as Stone and running as fast as possible people tend to move out of the way. All things considered, the Captain believed they were making good time.

Reaching the outside of Warehouse No. 28, Stone noticed that only two sentries remained outside. Fearing the worst, the Captain picked up the pace even more and quickly found himself in front of the guardsman. “Kindness is the mother of all wisdom!”

After waiting a few seconds the mostly-dynamic duo was let into the warehouse. Stone did not quite understand what was being discussed beforehand, but after loudly entering all voices inside abruptly went silent. Feeling the eyes of his peers staring right through him, the Captain could only think one thing, “This is so embarrassing!”

Shortly After the Meeting…

“Arriving just one minute late… How disgraceful!”

First impressions meant a lot in the Marines. Stone’s only consolation was the fact that he still had time to redeem himself.

His team would not—

No.

They could not fail again.

…Is what the Captain would like to say to himself. Unfortunately, the combination of Chief Fowl's orders and the involvement of Shichibukai left a bad taste in the brown bear’s mouth. How was he to protect himself or his men from monsters like that?

The walk back to the docks was much more uneventful than the first time through Port Teardrop. Stone once again saw the same crimes, only with different people committing them. And to think Port Teardrop was one of the more tame settlements in the Jolly Keys. Once Stone and his men were in the vicinity of their ferry, a pair of kind, honest, and hard-working fellows approached the group, Moreau in particular.

Stone’s vice-captain wasted no time in making friends. When the Ensign checked for Stone’s approval the Captain would only shrug as an okay. If the locals could so easily be played for the fools they are, why should Stone pity them at all? Too many people forget that the fine folks on the bottom of the totem pole have ears as well, surely some of the dock workers in both Port Teardrop and La Crima know more than they let on.

Stone felt the cold gaze of a stranger while Moreau made fast friends. Looking through the heavy traffic of the docks, Stone eventually found the culprit. An older-looking man made his disapproval of the disguised marines no secret. In response the Captain glared right back at the senior, daring him to try something.

The undercover marines had a nice, calm reprieve from their duties while on the ferry to La Crima. Once on the boat, Stone ordered everyone to at least try and separate for the time being. But even once the ferry set course to La Crima, Stone was still unable to escape hearing the conversation between Moreau and his new pal.

Moving farther away, Stone leaned against the boat's railing. Though, with Stones' size, it was more akin to sitting on the edge of the vessel. A dangerous gamble for someone who could not swim, but a risk taken nonetheless. When the trip neared its end, Stone once again began to feel eyes on him once again. The marine looked high and low but found himself unable to locate the grouchy geezer from before.

La Crima | Sometime Between 8:00 AM and 10:20 AM

As his team got off the ferry one by one Stone did a quick head count and set off to La Crima’s shipyard. The Captain only heard bits and pieces of Moreau’s seemingly endless conversation with the dock worker, but he was thoroughly impressed by the Ensign’s mental stamina. Stone avoided talking to criminals and civilians alike. And when he did, it was usually an interrogation instead of a friendly chat.

But if Port Teardrop could be described as a pit chock-full of snakes, La Crima was a deafening swarm of locusts. The miscreants that call this town home may be but lowly pests to any diligent marine, but strength can be found in numbers, and the agents of justice were vastly outnumbered.

Word Count:

RP Group:

Tue Feb 20, 2024 9:55 am

Sunflower (向日葵)

Sabian breathed a sigh of relief once he'd seen the redhead enter underneath the circus tent. Now, he could focus on knocking things down, and Noah could do all the mental heavy lifting. An ominous swamp-looking figure trailed Noah, causing Sabian to rub his eyes a few times to be sure he was seeing straight.

"That baldy had it coming to him! I just didn't expect him to be so strong! I mean, I knew he was a commander, but I thought my headlocks were world championship class!" Sabian shouted with a snarl.

Noah and Genie exchanged casual greetings as Sabian's ears perked up at Noah's comments about saving beautiful revolutionary comrades. Clearing his throat, the blonde knight for love and justice looked into the nearby mirror and fixed his outfit.

Picking out any remainders of seaweed and dusting off any remnants of sand from the beach, once spick and span, Sabian lunged once again into a proposal stance, grabbing Genie's hand. "I'm sorry, but we must part! The ladies—I mean, the revolutionary's life is one that makes him a rolling stone! And as the legendary saying goes - 'Lose your dream, you lose your mind.'" Sabian blurted out in a suave manner.

"Ughh… Okay. Thanks again for bringing us a crowd, Sunflower! I'm not sure about all the complicated stuff in the middle, but if you need to go, we'll give y'all a lot of the perfect cover!" Genie exclaimed, raring to go.

April 1, 1829, ~10:00 A.M.

As the circus performers prepped for their new influx of patrons, a snack cart carrying a variety of goods trailed the line for those waiting to gain entry to the show. Circling the block, after a few minutes, the snack salesman took a break by the nearby alleyway to smoke his favorite cigarettes opposite where the circus had pitched their tent.

After knocking on the cart three times, the stowaways made a break for it. Hopping off from the covered section of the snack cart, Sabian, Noah, and friends beelined it for the rendezvous point. "Damn it! We're gonna be late! Where's this Shackling Orca anyway?! Kathy mentioned it had paintings!" Sabian declared, checking his pocket watch for the time.

Later on that day, the mysterious Rabbit Mink and her circus of carnies put on a show that went down in La Crima's history books as one of the greatest ever beheld. However, strangely, Sabian had a sixth sense that they were being watched. As he’d look over his shoulder and at the adjacent alleys, he couldn’t see anyone, weird.

@Noah @Anne La Tene

Word Count: 400. 2,931/10,000

^{Sabian’sTracker}

Group Details and Order :

Tue Feb 20, 2024 10:56 pm

Sabian's sixth scense would prove surprisingly accurate, for the little gang of revolutionaries was indeed being watched. From roof top to roof top, the bird moved across the buildings. A simple seagull, by the looks of it. A common bird, considering that La Crima was a port town. However, if one were to get a good look at the bird, one would notice something about it was quite...off. Subtle differences between it and what would actually be a genuine bird. As it stood though, the gull remained far back enough that nobody would notice this sort of thing, and who would pay attention to a simple bird as it perched on the rooftops, seemingly looking around, but its dark eyes always watching the group below.

Several blocks back, Hyde Garland casually strolled along, blending in with the crowd and seeming just like your regular denizen of the crime infested island.

It had been a neat little trick he had learned back in Ilisia, the ability to see and manipulate his creations. Though the last time he had done that, he had been controlling a small squad of fake marines, even impersonating their superior officer, and the strain had caused him to pass out. That wasn't the case today. Not only had he gotten more proficient with his devil fruit, but a simple bird was much more easier to handle by comparison. And it was through this feathered spy that Hyde had picked up quite a bit of interesting information.

A revolutionary meeting huh?

Truth be told, Hyde didn't really put a lot of stock in the Revolutionary Army. Sure, they both shared the distinction of being wanted criminals by the marines and the World Government, but for the most part, pirates were mainly out for themselves. Revolutionaries on the other hand were idealists. And while they always claim that they ultimately want to do good for the world, the funny thing about ideals is that they always tend to change under pressure, and normally in a bad way. Who was to say this group, if they had their way, wouldn't turn out just as bad, or perhaps even worse? Well, that was neither here nor there. Hyde was out for himself. No sense in getting tangled up with that lot.

That being said, a secret meeting was something of interest to him. That implied things were about to go down here. And while it may not affect him personally (unless whatever they were planning did, then he simply HAD to know about it), knowing such information might be useful. Certain people might be very eager to learn what is going on here. And this little fact was starting to give Hyde an idea on just what he wanted to do with himself. And if this all just turned out to be nothing, well, it at least provided him with a little distraction, and some inspiration.

That being said, he couldn't stop the feeling in his gut that told him that this would be something big. Especially if one of the revolutionary commanders was going to be present. And so he continued to stroll along, seemingly going in the same basic direction as the little group up ahead, but his little spy kept them firmly in his sights.

Post Word Count: 547
Total Word Count: 1,899

Wed Feb 21, 2024 4:36 am

La Crima Port | 10:16-20 AM

In all honesty, Moreau was thankful to have Stone’s sturdy leadership to lean against in the den of thieves; his persnickety ways did him little favors in the land of pirates, being late to bed and early to rise had dealt the dandy a devastating migraine — the entire morning had been little more than a whirl of blurring forms. The only thing he had fully absorbed from the morning’s meeting had been their mission: help the operation shut down a shickibukai’s explosive materials factories, he and his Captain were to investigate the shipyard at La Crima.

Amongst the few thoughts that passed through the exhausted gentleman’s mind as they traveled to La Crima, the most notable was this: one of the warlords is supplying weapons to the revolutionaries? I thought the entire point of extending them that title was to get them under control, why would a pirate choose to agree to the Navy’s terms if they were just going to stab us in the back? I hope we uncover something that proves our suspicions wrong…

… but if they are correct — what’s this guy’s endgame?

It wasn’t long before the undercover Marines arrived at their skullduggerous destination.

Though he was bleary-eyed and had a splitting headache, Moreau snapped to attention the moment he overheard the dockworkers’ unsettling conversation. They were clearly talking about the object of the mission; were he more lucid and well-rested, perhaps the undercover Navyman’s better judgment would have prevented him from leaping into judgment.

But the ordinarily precocious young man’s patience was wearing thin, and his hatred and distrust for pirates had grown more severe ever since the loss of his arm. Turning back to Stone before heading to mingle with the dockworkers, the mustachioed man spoke in a low whisper, “You should make the call. We have the perfect lead right here in front of us-- they were just talking about the explosive materials being sold off to some rebels. I’m going in. Either I can talk these rapscallions into revealing more than they mean to, or we can force the information out of them.”

With an eerily gleeful and frantic expression, Moreau did his best to play the part of a common criminal. The morning seemed almost unreal already, it seemed fitting to play the part of an actor on this stage; to not reveal even a fraction of his true identity as he masked it over, and then over again.

“Hello my fellow pirates, ‘tis I, Captain Bert Montifringilla; though I’ve a bounty of millions, I enjoy the finer things in life. You men look positively run-ragged by your work! Tell me, would you two care to take a morning break for tea?”

Though the undercover cop approached the men rapidly, and under… questionable pretenses at best, if there was one thing that “Bert” knew how to do, it was set a tea table. Almost as if out of thin air the devil prepared three seats and three cups of tea for the dockworkers.

“Please, join me! Tell me your favorite part about it down here in La Crima! Mine is living so close to Carbuncle, truly I think that the brilliant minds running the factories over on that island have brought so much amazing trade and, ehm — employment opportunities here with them! I’ve hardly met a proper local, such as myself, who has even a singular minute negative thing to say about them! Tell me, my fellows, wouldn’t you agree? To Carbuncle, the infallible titan of industry!”

The pale-faced, obviously not from-around-town man offered up his teacup for a toast, waggling his eyebrows as though to invite them to properly celebrate Carbuncle. In truth, the silver-handed socialite was just as ready to throw a punch as he was to enjoy a sparkling morning’s conversation with the men whose work he had intruded upon.

Word Count:

Wed Feb 21, 2024 11:25 am

“We’ll stick close by just in case things go south. Usually, stuff like this never ends up going as planned…”

Leaving the vicinity as discreetly as a ten-foot-tall man could, Stone crept away from the dock. It didn’t exactly feel right to leave Moreau alone with the group of loose-lipped laborers, but Stone knew his strengths, and acting was not one of them.

Peeking over a somewhat nearby pile of boxes just shorter than himself, the marine captain woke up the sleeping Den Den Mushi in his shirt pocket.

“Rear Admiral sir, this is Captain Okirama. The dock workers say explosives are being made out of a factory in Carbuncle. Ensign Moreau is seeing if we can learn more from them. What would you have us do?”

Word Count:

RP Group:

Approximate Time:

Wed Feb 21, 2024 2:04 pm

~6:45 AM
Shores of Dexter Eyeland
Jolly Keys

Sun was blazing from the sky, but a cold shiver went down his spine. Frantically Karl began to comb his hand over the front of his upper body.

[plyr=pirt]"Where is it? It has to...- Oh thank a deity!"[/plyr]

Karl pulled a bottle from the depths of his shirt. The deep brown flask carried a wrinkled label. Time had not been kind to it, with the letters left barely readable. But that was simply another status symbol, a mark of a historical beverage.

One very treasured bottle had survived... But what about the others? Karl recollected himself and dusted himself off from the sand. [plyr=pirt]"Volllllloooooooo..."[/plyr] He tried to get the attention of the warden of this hell... But he was nowhere to be seen. But he could hear him...

And he was not alone.

As he began to take steps towards the crashed Emilia, his heart sank. [plyr=pirt]"I've got a bad feeling about this."[/plyr] Emilia the blimp was in less than ideal shape. For fragile items to survive without them being properly tied down... Minimal.

But Karl still had hope.

[plyr=pirt]"Let's go see if any of your younger siblings survived."[/plyr] Along with the bottle of a dozen, Karl headed over to the ship. With a desire to punch Volo in his face, Karl found the strength to hold his fist back. Seeing if any of the bottles survived was his first priority. Bartending was his bread and butter.

Casually he walked past Volo and an unfamiliar figure, paying no mind to the two. He was a man on a mission with a single goal in mind.

~6:50 AM
Storage room no.1, Emilia's Interior
Jolly Keys

[plyr=pirt]"I am ruined."[/plyr]

Deep down Karl had hoped the situation was better. But that was a web of lies he kept creating for himself.

He slid the bottle of dozen back into his shirt for safekeeping while starting to browse through what once was an inventory... An inventory that could once upon a time quench the thirst of a dozen men, for at least a few days!

And now it was gone, turned to liquid and shards of glass.

Rummaging through the crates, fate smiled upon Karl... A single bottle of vodka! [plyr=pirt]"That's something... I guess."[/plyr] He dug his teeth into the wooden cork and pulled it off the bottle. Rummaging a bit more, he found a small glass which is primarily used to serve bourbon.

Karl poured a bit of the clear liquid into the glass and raised it immediately after. [plyr=pirt]"Here's to you all... You shall all be restored one day."[/plyr] And he downed the Vodka from the glass, letting the burning liquid flow through his throat.

[plyr=pirt]"And here's one... To celebrate the survival."[/plyr] He stopped himself from downing the shot. What was once a clear liquid had now turned slightly pinker. A drop of blood had made its way into the glass.

He gently placed down the vodka bottle and rubbed his face a bit. Perhaps he had hit his head and was seeing things, but the reality seeped in once he moved the hand off the face.

His hand was covered with blood.

[plyr=pirt]"That's... Not good."[/plyr]

[534/2738]

Group:

Wed Feb 21, 2024 7:02 pm

Before Noah could properly process everything, Sabian was already on his way. [plyr=revo]”As eager as ever, huh?”[/plyr] The redhead should probably hurry not to lose track of his partner again, but he waited for another moment to leave Genie with a few parting words. [plyr=revo]”I can assure you that spending time with him quickly ends in a surprise, so being unable to follow his plans can happen often enough. But thanks again for looking after him, I’ll better follow before he gets too far ahead!”[/plyr] With that, his farewells were complete and he could only hope that the circus could profit from Sabian’s spontaneous advertisement.

When Noah heard Sabian’s words on their short trip, he quickly corrected him. [plyr=revo]”The Tackling Whale, not Shackling Orca, Sabian.”[/plyr] So far so good, assuming he would listen, but the redhead could almost feel sorry for the blonde. As it seemed, he was not the only one who had tried to trick Sabian. Noah might want to start thinking of an apology while he still could. For now, however, he hoped to bring Sabian to the right place instead.

As they approached, Kathy was the first to greet them. "Great, you made it in time!" A sigh of relief left Noah’s lips. The first hurdle of this operation was behind him. A look on a watch later and the redhead knew that the meeting should start in a few minutes. Soon, the mystery surrounding this whole operation would finally be lifted and they would learn why they were sent here today.

WC: 256 | 2,170/10,000

Thu Feb 22, 2024 6:07 pm

Things were already happening much too quickly and chaotically for Maquet’s liking. First the hurricane, then the swim to shore while barely conscious, and now mistaken for a sea monster and forcefully drafted into the circus by the public? It felt like fate was playing a game of cards and dice with her, and she didn’t know all the rules. Then one of her allies pulled her aside and delivered the message she needed. Her ally introduced himself, and before she could answer, he took his leave. ”...Maquet.” She was sure she was too late, but it would have been rude not to at least try to reply.

Maquet now knew the time and place of the meeting, but she still needed to know how to get there. The more immediate issue, however, was how to get away from the crowd that thought she was part of the performances. She went to speak, to try to convince them to let her leave - after all, she couldn’t just sneak away looking how she did. When she tried, however, she stumbled forward and nearly fell. All of this took much more out of her than she realized.

Someone in the crowd asked if she was sick. ”I’m fi-” Maquet began to assure them, but then had an idea. ”...no, can’t hide it,” she said ponderously. They expected an act? She would give them one. She swayed and drooped, talking in a deep, menacing yet ill-sounding rumble. ”Am sick. Came anyway. Should be home, but must perform. Did not want to disappoint...” Sympathetic members of her audience told her they understood, and to go home and get some rest. Some of the younger or more naive onlookers wondered where swamp things lived or how they could get sick.

”Okay… I go home…” Maquet lurched forward, and the crowd made an opening for her. She slunk off slowly yet deliberately away, until she was completely out of sight. She then sloughed off the seaweed and other gunk, and started her search for the Tackling Whale. While she had no such luck with that endeavor, the hand that fate did deal her scored really high in her mind.

”Sir!” She saluted the figure before her.

[npc=revo]“Maquet,”[/npc] Stout cheerfully exclaimed, [npc=revo]“You’re all right!”[/npc] He gave her a pat on the shoulder, then frowned. [npc=revo]“Where the Eight Hells have you been?”[/npc]

”The circus.”

[npc=revo]”Wha- the circ- …ya know, that makes sense. They’re always looking for more clowns.”[/npc]

”...ouch. Fair enough. So…”” Maquet leaned in and spoke softly. ”We’re supposed to meet at-”

[npc=revo]”The Tackling Whale, yes. I’ve been helping lead my lost sheep there already. Just follow me.”[/npc]

Soon the two had arrived at their destination, entering quietly and checking to see who all had made it.

word count:

Sat Feb 24, 2024 8:52 am

0830 hours | Port Teardrop | Jolly Keys

"C'mon! Hurry up!" Winny shouted as he sprinted ahead, jumping onto the bridge railing.

Turning back with a grin stretched ear to ear, "Welcome to Port Teardrop!" Throwing his hands up to accent the vast city behind him before quickly pointing out a single mountain in the backdrop.

"The river starts alllllllllllllll the way up there! And then it rushes like wooooosh! Alllllll the way down to here!" His animated gestures only highlight his current excitement.

"And the whoooooooooollle town is built right 'ere on top of it! Pretty cool right?! Granny always says her and Pops helped with a lot of the modern construction on it. If it wasn't for them we coulda all been washed away during a storm."

The monkey boy took a few steps along the railing before turning back to Volo and Karl.

"OH!" Winny shouted before turning back to Volo as he approached, "And you guys don't need to worry, ain't no marines welcome around 'ere!" Following up the statement with a wink and a nod to the pair of pirates.

Glancing around before continuing, he leaned down and whispered, "I saw your flag.." His hand marked a cross over his chest, his tone even more hushed than before, "Secrets safe with me, promise."

Volo snickered before tussling the boy's hair, "Good, 'cause otherwise, we'd have to kill ya. Pirates code and all, you get it."

"Mhm!" Winny nodded sternly as he folded his arms, "Pirates code for sure!" Said with the confidence of a hardened pirate, or that of an experienced bullshitter.

As the trio crossed the bridge, the squawking of gulls and salt air of the coast was replaced by the hustle and bustle of the early morning market.

A soft morning glow illuminated the buildings and reflected off the portions of exposed water. White buildings, clear water, and smiling faces along the streets, all seemed to give the city a filter of innocence to the untrained eye.

Like the river hidden beneath them, the crowds of people flowed unimpeded, seeming to bend and curve around obstacles instead of stopping.

"Oi! Winny!" A deep voice shouted out from the crowd, drawing the little grease balls' attention.

Perking up, he noticed a shining bald head belonging to a large man whose hair appeared to have migrated to the rest of his body some time ago, "Mr. Jericho!" He shouted back, "What can I do for ya?!"

"Tell yer Gran the 'eaters on the fritz again, could use some of that tender lovin' 'are you two are always goin on about."

"Sure, we can take a look at it later..." He paused, "But it'll cost ya, that heater of yers ain't exactly in primo condition and we both know yer too cheap to get a new one." Volo noticed a twinkle in the boy's eye, one he had not seen yet. One that could burn a hole in anyone's pocket.

"If it weren't for yer prices I could 'fford a new one by now."

"If it weren't for our quality of work you wouldn't have one at all." Winny chimed back. "Everyone knows we are the best in the Keys."

"Tch. If it weren't for the quality of work, you and yer Gran would be outta business with those prices you be charging, boy."

He took notice of Volo and Karl tagging along, "Oi, you two better be 'areful, this one here, he and his Gran will get ya if ya don't watch out. Yagagagagagagaga."

"Quality work lasts far longer than the feeling of a good deal, you should know that by now Mr. Jericho."

"Quoting the old bag now too, eh? Yagagagagaga, just tell yer Gran for me, would ya?" With a smile and a wave, the man disappeared into the crowds.

Winny turned back to the pair and gave em a nod, "Don't mind old man, Jericho, he's just a grouchy ol grump." Pausing for a moment, "That's what Gran says anyway, I think he's pretty nice. But sometimes he pays us with food instead of money. Gran says it's okay, but I think Beli is better."

The trio continued on, Winny stopping and chatting with those in the town. It was clear he and his Grandmother were very well-known in the area something that seemed to help keep the dirty looks shot in Volo and Karl's direction at bay. Even with a higher tolerance than other places in the Keys, not everyone was happy to see strangers.

"Looks like we lucked out," Volo mumbled to Karl as the pair hung back a bit from their excited tour guide. "End up with the best mechanic on the island and all we had to do was crash for it. Wahahahaha."

0910 Hours | Bell's Gear's and Grease | Port Teardrop

"Here we are!" Winny exclaimed proudly as he presented a small shed with a squeaky swaying sign. Pallets of parts and machinery were stacked in front of it and the ground was stained black from oil.

"Oh." Volo mumbled, "This, this is it..?" It was far from a dump, but the modest size did not match the stories Winny had told. The perspective of a child verse that of a young adult varied wildly.

"What..?" Winny asked, "Something wrong..?" A hint of disappointment could be heard in his voice.

"Huh? Oh, uhhh, no it's fine, great, it's great, yeah... I just, I don't know..." He leaned around the side of the building to see if he was missing something. "I just expected more, I guess...?"

Winny snickered with excitement before rubbing his nose, "Wait till ya see the inside!"

WC 944/3,663

Sat Feb 24, 2024 4:01 pm

~8:30 AM
Port Teardrop
Jolly Keys

Usually, Karl would consume the scenery that Port Teardrop provided... But the eventful morning had consumed his whole appetite for adventure. He knew that all they had to do now was get their blimp fixed and get away from the island.

In pain and fairly unattentive, Karl followed Winny and Volo. He paid no attention to the tour he was about to receive. His strength was being used to fight the throbbing pain underneath the bandages around his forehead.

Fortunately for him, the wound had not been as thirsty. It was generous enough to save a bit of vodka after cleanup. It was a perfect drink. A shot of it and the pain vanished, even if for a moment. And every twenty to thirty minutes, the clear liquid was poured once more into the glass he was carrying with him.

[plyr=pirt]"Cheers."[/plyr] He mumbled before taking each shot from the glass.

A tour through Port Teardrop took longer than it probably would take... That's what happens when they have to stop after every few minutes. Someone amongst them was mister popular, and that sure as hell was not Karl nor Volo. Volo went as far as to even call Winny the best mechanic, possibly the best tour guide.

With an unamused voice, Karl responded to Volo after he had downed another shot. [plyr=pirt]"All it takes is a moment to make a rose out of this glass bottle."[/plyr] Fortunately for Karl, the journey through Port Teardrop was about to come to an end... But was the actual journey over?

After forty minutes of walking, they had made it. Their destination.

A shed, with a squeaky swaying sign.

'Bell's Gears and Grease'

[286/3024]

Sat Feb 24, 2024 4:39 pm

~8:30 AM, April 1, 1829, Port Teardrop in the Jolly Keys…

“Well, tha’s a balluh wax, innit?”

An aged dockworker observed the off-white misshapen sphere that the two had just dredged up. “Well, I’ll be dayum’d. Wonder if it’s worff anythink…”

His junior gave a half-toothed lopsided smile. “Prolly. C’mon, gotta gets the thing tuh town first.”

The pair squatted and tensed, hands slipping as they failed to find purchase on the slick, slightly slimy ball. After an embarrassingly long amount of time, they began their trek back from the docks towards the town of Port Teardrop. The elder dockworker glared at those who looked greedily at his waxen treasure; the Jolly Keys were oversaturated with pirates, gangs, thieves, and the like, and Port Teardrop was no exception.

“Ay, watch it, you–!” the younger of the two snapped as he was tripped. The two’s balance was offset and the wax began to tumble out of their hands. Swiftly, an assortment of characters emerged from the shadows and dashed over to the heavy ball. Their hands lunged forward, looking to snatch the wax and run.

The old dockworker planted himself between the thieves and the wax ball. “Now this think here’s is mine. Scurry and steal sommat else, fleabags.”

“Funny you think there was an option, old fool.” the one who tripped the pair up drawled.

“Sellin’ this ‘ere wax’ll feed our fam’lies, men! Ye can’ jus’ take it!” the old man’s partner cried.

“Does it look like I care about your families?” the thief said.

“Man, that was a good nap!” the ball of wax said. Every eye involved in the situation was drawn to the sphere. The short fall had splintered one side of the ball, from which a voice was echoing. “Hmm…Doesn’t feel or sound like I’m at sea anymore. Let’s get outta here…”

The small crowd looked on slack-jawed as the sphere melted and a man stood up from the goopy liquid. The newcomer’s hand ruffled his waxy white hair and smiled at the group.

“Heyo! Mind telling me where I am? I’ve no idea, wah-yayayayayaya!”

The thieves blinked a few times, utterly bewildered. “Come, men,” the tripping thief grunted. “There’s nothing for us now.”

The two dockworkers breathed sighs of relief mixed with disappointment. Nothing to show for a morning’s work.

Ickarus (for of course it was he) tilted his head in a pout. “Jerks,” he spat. He shifted his grey eyes to the two who were unknowingly carrying him moments ago. “You two know these islands? Or are you just as lost as me?”

The old man cleared his throat, still caught off guard by the waxman. “Well, where y’are righnow is a chain o’ islands called the Jolly Keys, an’ this town’s called Port Teardrop. Pirates ‘n’ scoundrels frum all ‘cross the South flock ‘ere all the time.”

“Hmm,” Ickarus mused. “I don’t suppose we’re near Pline Peaks?”

“Not too bad uva cruise,” the younger one responded. “Couple o’ days east.”

A grimace plagued Ickarus’s features. The putrid smell of fish on the dock was so not helping his irritation at being stranded on an unknown island. “Any shot you two’ve got a ship or something? I got separated from my crew.”

“Unless ya came on a ship, there ain’t much we can do,” the old man said, rubbing his shoulder.

Ickarus exhaled huffily. “Any ships for sale or rent? Maybe one that crashed? I’m a shipwright, so I might be able to fix up a busted one.”

“Well…” the senior considered. “No normal vessels’ve bin wrecked ‘ere recently tha’ I know of. But I did hear a rumor abou’ a…wha’ was it? Blimp? West of the village, I think.”

The junior dockworker shrugged. “Yuh, I heard summat like tha’. Annoway it’s real, though. That stuff’s only in fairy tales ‘n’ dreams.”

“Wah-yayayaya!” Ickarus smiled. A trail to follow! “A rumor’s a better chance than nothing. You guys were trying to sell my wax, right? Here…”

The two dockworkers watched in wonder as wax poured off of the man, forming a solid ball twice the size of the one he was in. Before the pair could even start to sputter thanks, the pirate was gone.

------

An actual blimp! Even if I can’t get a ride on it, I’ve gotta see it! The ingenuity it would take to build something like that…

The white-headed waxman strolled in the direction the old man said was west. Ickarus noticed that suspicious looks were thrown around constantly, which he supposed was reasonable for a place that seemed like the heart of crime.

As he strutted down the cobble road, he entertained himself by thinking of what his crew was doing. Nauplius is probably super annoyed with me. Well, it isn’t the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last!

A chuckle escaped his lips at that thought. Suddenly, he flicked his head around. To the left, right, behind…Ickarus had no idea where he was. The waxman had just started walking and he let his mind wander. He supposed he could just walk back where he thought he came from, but there was no guarantee he’d end up back in Teardrop.

Ickarus slowly continued forward, a level of decisiveness now following every footfall. As if the thought he might be lost awakened him, he swore he could feel the eyes of everyone crawling across his back. He walked a tad bit quicker, looking behind him as his slow stroll broke into a run.

WHAM!

“Gah!” Ickarus roared. A metal sign swung on its hinges, the chains holding it up angrily tinkling down on the man who had run into it. “Stupid sign! Who decided to put a hanging hunk of metal there?!”

His tunnel vision, previously focused on that swinging piece of scrap, widened back to normal. The sight that greeted him was less than ideal; three people were congregated beneath the sign which Ickarus had just dashed full-speed into. He finally read the words inscribed on the rusty metal: 'Bell’s Gears and Grease.'

The first person was a blond man in bartender’s clothes; the second, a greasy redheaded kid; and the third was…himself.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t Ickarus, but whoever he was had to be his long lost cousin or something! Apart from the greenish-teal hair, they were identical! Anger boiled inside of the waxman.

“Hey!” Ickarus barked up at his reflection, who smelled strangely like smoke. “You can’t just steal my look! The goggles and coat are my thing!”

WC: 1083 / 2136

Sat Feb 24, 2024 8:09 pm

8:25 AM
Port Teardrop Market - Near Bell's Gear and Grease

Shoulders slumped and not from the weight of his overly stuffed rucksack, as burdened as it was with his recent haul, he sighed heavily. Picking up another emptied Gacha. The plastic ball was discarded thoughtlessly and tossed away after the wealth had been retrieved.

Yelling at no one in particular, excluding perhaps, the world at large.

"ITS VALUE DROPS IMMEDIATELY UPON OPENING!!!"

Orion wasn't the type to act without thinking, as much as his recent actions begged to differ. Of course, he liked to present himself that way if he could. Sensible nonsense was just as effective a strategy as an umbrella to the face. Orion preferred when people didn't know which one of those to expect.

Yet here, among all the quick-fingered, skull-dug, enterprising sorts, he lost himself to the hoard of riches they had acquired. In a dream state, drunk on dopamine, Orion was skipping along a golden road forged of collectors edition bottle caps. He built a mountain of bobbleheads, with hubris to match its great height.

Just like the bobbleheads, he bobbled. Half-formed thoughts formed complete action, and now he followed Gacha toys, their shells, and discarded caps like a trail of plastic breadcrumbs.

Port Teardrop had changed during his quest for redemption. Well-maintained merchant shops, immaculately decorated and staffed by sharply dressed men and women were replaced with street stalls manned by street vendors and hawkers with wary eyes. The iconic stone bridges grew worse for wear and the cobblestones became more and more disparate in their placement, as if replaced by any old rock or stone found along the way.

Orion grew more sure with every misplaced Gacha he found, that he would not be able to collect them all. He could already imagine the empty spaces on the cabinet where they would have been displayed. Open wounds on his Collector's Pride.

"I'm morose."

Sulking, and with enough self-punishment to warrant therapy, Orion trudged along cobbled streets. Each ball led him further into Port Teardrop proper. On a winding chase through alleyways and storm drains. Through an open window, an inhabited bathtub, and a very disgruntled old Oni man. Through water fountains and a bird's nest.

Admittedly, Orion was still able to find some enjoyment in ruining a bird's day. Silver linings.

Word Count:

Sun Feb 25, 2024 6:59 pm

Chapter 3

A few days ago...

The waters of South Blue...

[npc=navy]"From all you've told me so far, it sounds like you're just passing me a bag of trouble,"[/npc] complained a blue-haired naval officer to a transponder snail receiver, leaning back in his chair with his feet crossed on his desk.

[npc=navy]"She has the abilities of a mythical zoan and a strong sense of justice that made me think of you. She'll be an asset if this mission leads to a confrontation with a Shichibukai,"[/npc] argued the transponder snail in the voice of someone distant.

[npc=navy]"I'm almost heartbroken that you think I need even more help taking down a Shichibukai, Vice Admiral Yoshiko,"[/npc] the officer said.

[npc=navy]"I can hear you grinning, Bradley."[/npc] The snail pouted. It heard right. [npc=navy]"Don't underestimate a cornered snake no matter how sharp your claws may be."[/npc]

April 1, 1829, ~10:30 A.M.

Somewhere in Port Teardrop...

The ruckus of bottles breaking and furniture fracturing surged out of a dingy establishment. The building's rotten wooden walls were ridden with moss, cracks, and flakes of ugly green paint. A jagged board dangled near its wrecked swinging doors. Only someone fluent in gibberish could read the scribbles on the makeshift sign.

A roughneck filthier than sin crashed out of a window and plunged into the mud. One would be wise to assume the window had never seen better days. Probably the man too.

Inside, a gang of ten supposedly undercover marines led by an impatient rear admiral thrashed countless regulars of the dirty bar.

[npc=navy] "I don't think these slags know what they had for breakfast this morning, let alone the answers we're looking for," [/npc] admitted the rear admiral as he let go of a half-conscious drunkard beaten to a pulp. The marine snatched a bar towel and wiped his bloodied fists.

[npc=navy]"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover,"[/npc] said one of his subordinates before remembering to add [npc=navy]"sir"[/npc].

[npc=navy]"Do you not see this place? It was begging to be investigated. No decent person would ever step foot in here." [/npc] Rear Admiral Bradley Nottingham grumped. He turned to the long-haired shadow joined to his hip since the bogus wedding party. [npc=navy]"Back me up here, Yumiko."[/npc] Surely his newest fan would take his side.

[npc=navy]"Doesn't that make us indecent too, then?" [/npc] Argued the subordinate. [npc=navy]"Sir."[/npc]

With no more rebuttals in hand, Bradley hung his head in defeat. The marine ensign allowed herself a victorious smile only for a blink of an eye.

Just as they were about to rescind their patronage from the nameless pub, a transponder snail sang the song of its people. The song ended with an abrupt "kaccha" when the rear admiral answered the call.

[npc=navy]"This is Nottingham," [/npc] he said as he stepped through the swinging doors. The last hinge finally gave out on one of the two doors. Bradley side-stepped the falling mass of splinters with ease.

Stone Okirama wrote:[plyr=navy]"Rear Admiral sir, this is Captain Okirama. The dock workers say explosives are being made out of a factory in Carbuncle. Ensign Moreau is seeing if we can learn more from them. What would you have us do?"[/plyr]

Bradley glanced at his gang of marines as the snail mimicked Captain Okirama. [npc=navy]"Carbuncle, huh? Looks like we'll have to sail to Sinister Eyeland. I'm told the gnarly reefs in the Bay of Spectacles can sink ships if you're not familiar with the tide schedules and currents. Lucky for us, we have a genius helmswoman to take us there."[/npc] He smiled fondly. [npc=navy]"After all, if it weren't for Wyre, we might not have made it out of that hurricane intact."[/npc]

With his head on a swivel, Bradley scanned their surroundings. When he was satisfied with their privacy, he continued. [npc=navy]"I'll have new orders for the others in a bit. In the meantime, find us a ship we can sail through the rough waters leading to that island. Something nimble and sturdy. I'll have Wyre meet us there and sail us to Carbuncle."[/npc]

[npc=navy]"Oh, and Okirama..."[/npc] Bradley smiled proudly. The transponder snail on the other end of the call mirrored the esteem.

[npc=navy]"...Keep up the good work."[/npc]

As the transponder snail returned to sleep, Bradley spoke to his shadow. [npc=navy]"I have new instructions for you, Yumiko."[/npc] His gaze had to extend down a good way to meet the short woman's.

[npc=navy]"Since you're the only one of us who can fly, I need you to hurry to the La Crima docks and lend Okirama and the others a hand if things go south before the rest of us make it there,"[/npc] he said, his smile voting for his confidence in her.

Somewhere in Carbuncle...

The endless clamour of heavy machinery rang through a dreary chamber. A single lamp lit a desk cluttered with circuitry and a farm of black transponder snails.

Many of the tiny creatures talked over each other with different voices. Some spoke of shady businesses, while others spoke of mundane trivialities. But, one snail caught the ear of a lonesome keen listener.

[npc=navy]"All units, this is Nottingham. Rendezvous at the La Crima docks by 1230 hours."[/npc]

The eavesdropper brought his ear closer to the snail with each of the message's three repetitions. Two miniature saxophones—one hooked to each ear—aided his hearing. His greying head crept out of the shadow and into the lamplight.

[npc=pirt]"Oh, this is just fuckin' great... if I know what they mean!"[/npc] He growled.

At the Tackling Whale in La Crima...

[npc=revo]"What the hell were you thinking - running around town as a fuckin' beast calling attention to yourself, Sabian?"[/npc] A skinhead shorty complained as he sipped tea from a cracked saucer.

[npc=revo]"Ah doonno wye joo broad im wid joo,"[/npc] grumbled his fish-man colleague.

[npc=revo]"I suppose I did bring him because of his ability..."[/npc] The baldy sighed. [npc=revo]"At least your circus act seems to have gotten everyone here in time somehow,"[/npc] he said to the blond revolutionary while scanning the tea shop crowded with hooded NRA agents.

[npc=revo]"Oh, and... Sorry I lied about the art gallery,"[/npc] he added with scant remorse.

A brief moment of chatter later, a chubby old fellow wearing a thick monocle, a gold-trimmed peacoat, and a chequered cravat approached the group of rebels.

[npc=pirt]"Good morning, gentlemen! Please pardon my tardiness. I trust I did not keep you waiting too long."[/npc] He lifted his tricorne off his balding pale-blond head as he stood beside them. His greeting was as jovial and pink as his clean-shaven face.

[npc=pirt]"I am Nesbit Langhorne, but, many fine people of these islands call me 'Three-Eyes'; on account of my monocle, you see?"[/npc] He adjusted the lens to highlight the feature in question. [npc=pirt]"Not particularly clever, I must admit. But, I suspect you must understand how I feel, Commander Gotli,"[/npc] he said smugly as he looked down at the cue ball of the NRA.

[npc=revo]"If I ever find out who first started calling me 'Meat Torpedo', I'll torpedo him to pieces,"[/npc] Gotli snarled.

Nesbit turned to the aristocratic blond. [npc=pirt]"Reports of a dinosaur on the loose were sent to me earlier. If my eyes and memory do not deceive me, I suspect the reports were about you, Mr. McQueen. Quite an odd coincidence..."[/npc]

[npc=revo]"Never mind him, Langhorne. We didn't come here to trade names and exchange pleasantries. We're here to ask some questions you may not like,"[/npc] Gotli said.

The air grew heavy. The handful of customers unaffiliated with either side promptly abandoned their breakfasts and hurried to the exit while the shop owner retreated to the kitchen.

Nesbit smiled. One of his followers pulled a chair from another table and provided a seat for him at Gotli's. The fat man sat with a thud.

[npc=pirt]"Indeed? Please indulge yourself with your inquiries, then, Commander."[/npc] He fished a notepad from his coat and scribbled on it with his fingertip. His gaze never scrolled down to peek at his notes. Perhaps it didn't need to.

[npc=revo]"There was a bombing in Bleue Fontaine,"[/npc] Gotli said.

[npc=pirt]"Ah, yes. Such mischief so near us tends to attract unwelcome attention. But, if the newshounds are to be believed, that was a deed of your comrades."[/npc] Nesbit continued to write blindly.

[npc=revo]"The news lied,"[/npc] Gotli insisted. [npc=revo]"Someone used explosives with the same composition as ours to bomb the World Government embassy in Briss and framed us for it."[/npc]

Nesbit paused and rubbed a sentence away with his thumb as if it were never there. Gotli watched Nesbit's unique writing ability intently.

[npc=pirt]"It appears then that the New Revolutionary Army is in the market for stronger locks for its storehouses."[/npc] Nesbit turned a page and resumed writing with his fingertip.

Gotli leaned forward with a fist on the table. Nesbit's followers reached for their swords only to be halted by their boss' raised pencil-finger.

[npc=revo]"At first, that's exactly what we thought,"[/npc] Gotli admitted as he sank back into his chair. [npc=revo]"But, after a thorough audit, we realized it's not our stores in need of new locks. All of our explosives were accounted for."[/npc]

[npc=pirt]"My dear Commander Ta'al, I sincerely hope you are not insinuating something scandalous on our part."[/npc]

Gotli remained silent with a determined glare. Some of the other revolutionaries grimaced also.

[npc=pirt]"You wound me, sir,"[/npc] Nesbit said dramatically. [npc=pirt]"Our arrangement was made in good faith, and good faith I intend to keep."[/npc]

[npc=revo]"Like you said, with Briss being as close as it is to these islands, you can't say this doesn't look fishier than my friend here."[/npc] Gotli grunted while nudging his head towards the fish-man.

[npc=pirt]"While this may be true, that point only argues in our favour. For us to conduct such horseplay so close to home would be nothing short of imbecilic,"[/npc] Nesbit argued with a chuckle. [npc=pirt]"We would never--"[/npc]

A ringing baby transponder snail interrupted him.

[npc=pirt]"Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,"[/npc] said Nesbit before he retrieved the noisy snail from his coat and answered.

[npc=pirt]"Good morning, Mr. Audi. I hope your interruption to our conference is not for trifles."[/npc] Nesbit spoke into the snail with his eyes fixed on the revolutionaries. Gotli tapped his foot, making no effort to mask his annoyed frown.

[npc=pirt]"It's big fuckin' news, boss... if you know what I mean. I was sniffin' some calls... if you know how I mean, and I heard a big shot's name."[/npc]

[npc=pirt]"Well? Don't keep us waiting for the curtains to rise. Do tell us which celebrity you're talking about. As it happens, I already have the honour of being in the presence of a few,"[/npc] Nesbit said with a grin.

[npc=pirt]"It's Bradley fuckin' Nottingham. Fuckin' Nine Grain... if you know who I mean."[/npc] The revolutionaries looked at each other tensely. A sparkling bead of sweat rolled down Nesbit's forehead. It hugged the outline of his monocle and dropped down his red cheek.

[npc=pirt]"He's havin' some sort of titillating rendezvous at the La Crima docks... if you know where I mean,"[/npc] Audi added. [npc=pirt]"Said it's at 1230 hours... if you know when I mean."[/npc]

Nesbit loosened his cravat before equipping his jolly smile again. [npc=pirt]"As you are aware, we are in La Crima at the moment also. I had received reports of dubious individuals nosing around the port, but, I failed to anticipate the gravity of the situation. Perhaps we will adjourn our parley to Carbuncle if our guests are amenable."[/npc] Nesbit glanced at the rebels with a subtle head tilt.

Gotli rubbed his shiny scalp and agreed.

Nesbit put away his notepad and set the snail on the table. He then closed his left fist around his writing finger and started to twist. The sound it made was akin to wood being shaved.

[npc=pirt]"Very well. Mr. Audi, please make preparations for some company. Instruct Mr. Brow to give Rear Admiral Nottingham and any of his ancillaries a jolly welcome at the docks. And while I have you relaying instructions, sequester the service of Mrs. Bell and her wonder boy again. Last night's storm was not kind to the acid pumps. The sooner they can work their magic, the better. I expect to see them there this afternoon at the latest,"[/npc] he commanded before bidding farewell to Audi.

Nesbit fluffed his coat after returning the snail to its folds. He twisted his tricorne and hurled himself off the chair, bowing to his guests. [npc=pirt]"Commanders, let us retreat to Carbuncle. We will let my esteemed colleague, Mr. 'Gurdy' Brow, tend to our marine friends."[/npc]

[npc=revo]"Wye doo dey gall im Guddy Bow?"[/npc] The fish-man commander asked.

[npc=pirt]"If you are asking why they call him 'Gurdy' Brow, Commander Bracken, it is because the man has only one brow, and he loves to play his hurdy-gurdy."[/npc] The revolutionaries couldn't help but giggle. The rotund businessman sighed.

[npc=pirt]"There are no limits to a sailor's imagination."[/npc]

As they left the Tackling Whale, Gotli whispered new orders to a ginger-haired comrade. [npc=revo]"Listen carefully, Noah. I need you, Sabian, Stout, and a couple of the others to poke around at the La Crima docks. Whatever you do, do not get caught. We just need to find out why the marines are here at the same time as us. I doubt it's a coincidence,"[/npc] Gotli paused to ominous effect.

[npc=revo]"If things happen to go south, you'll need Sabian's trouble-making talents. Otherwise, I trust you to keep him from digging himself into that hole."[/npc] Gotli continued with a cheeky grin, [npc=revo]"Once you find out what's going on there, join us at Carbuncle. From what I've heard, sailing there is dangerous, but, I'm sure you'll figure out a way to get there somehow."[/npc]

[npc=pirt]"Come now, sirs, let us hurry,"[/npc] Nesbit said, looking back at his guests. [npc=pirt]"Today is a fine day for an excursion through our factories. It is an excellent opportunity to see our employees hard at work, and you may even get the privilege of meeting our benefactor. He happens to be a more infamous celebrity than even all of you!"[/npc]

Gotli's contingent followed Nesbit's troop towards Sinister Eyeland.

April 1, 1829, ~11:30 A.M.

Docks of La Crima...

The screeching racket of an instrument long beyond its lifespan spoiled the morning of sailors near the busy docks of La Crima. A tone-deaf voice as hoarse as a raven began to sing.

[npc=pirt]"The day is young,
But fools have sprung.
Outta the fouled storm,
Comes out a blue swarm."[/npc]

The pitch changed abruptly.

[npc=pirt]"Fear not, dear sailors,
I'll kill all the jailers.
Face me if you dare,
There's no one I will spare."[/npc]

Nearly two hundred armed pirates assembled around the cacophony wrought by their single-browed leader and his hurdy-gurdy. Every one of them had their ears plugged with subtle cotton balls.

The troubadour squawked while cranking his instrument.

[npc=pirt]"Step outta your hidey holes ya filthy blues,
For we've brought our crews,
Over on this pier,
To fuck your day up and cheer."[/npc]

It seemed the bard had run out of rhymes for the time being. His flunkies thanked their lucky stars as they began their hunt for the marine invaders. While out of words for the time being, "Gurdy" Brow did not stop turning the crank on his instrument to play ear-shredding tunes. A ravenous scowl tortured his half-burnt face as he waited for his enemies to reveal themselves.

Notes:

Sun Feb 25, 2024 11:11 pm

Sunflower (向日葵)

As the group finally arrived at the rendezvous point, Sabian immediately began to distort his face at the dainty little tea shop. He knew it instantly: this wasn’t an art gallery, and once again, his trust in his superiors wavered even further.

Breaking away from Noah and Kathy, Sabian stormed into the tea shop, only to be met with Gotli’s smug mug. Standing next to him was the impressively well-stacked Fishman in Bracken, whom Sabian would nod confidently at in a respectful manner.

Gotli’s words hit him like a ton of bricks, “Look! It wasn’t my smartest move, okay? But once again,” before Sabian could've rubbed the fact he’d gotten the estranged revolutionaries back together, Gotli disarmed him with a compliment.

However, Sabian’s sweet moment of self-gratification was wiped away when the comment about the art gallery was offered to the table.

“That’s it, Noah! I'm gonna give this baldy a piece of my mind!” Sabian shouted, Kathy rushing ahead of the pack to create a shield between Sabian and the commanding officer.

“Watch your tongue, brat! You’re lucky that a stunt of yours didn’t jeopardize our mission,” Stout chimed with a stern scolding.

Before Sabian could swing around to engage Stout, their contact had made his presence known. As the commander and the contact exchanged greetings, Sabian was chomping at the bit to put his boot in Stout’s mouth.

Then came the information that Nesbit knew about Sabian’s Devil Fruit abilities. “I know my commanders know about my Devil Fruit abilities, but how did he…” Sabian thought to himself.

“That’s Nesbit Langhorne,” Kathy whispered to the puzzled Sabian. “Don’t let his jolly composure fool you; he’s a well-connected man in the Underworld for all the wrong reasons.” Kathy concluded, resting her hands on Sabian’s shoulder, hoping that this would cue Noah to help her calm down their favorite firecracker.

Cleaning out his ears with his pinky, “I guess he’s a big deal, huh? I just realized there are no ladies here either!” Sabian exclaimed with a pout. A swift shot to his groin area was delivered to him by Kathy as she puffed out her cheeks. “Hmph!” Kathy exclaimed.

Sabian rolled around in pain momentarily until information about the bombing in Briss was injected in between the minor banter between the two parties. Finally, what Sabian had been waiting for weeks for a superior to confirm or deny, the bombing wasn’t done by the army, but it seems someone was trying to frame the NRA.

Honestly, Sabian got lost in the exchange about bomb compositions and storage houses. At this stage, he’d leave the intricate details to his Captain. Noah was good at keeping up the intellectual jargon and nuances. He knew his place in the world: paint, womanize, and kick ass.

Sabian turned his eyes to the metal-faced recruit momentarily, scanning the woman from head to toe. Though a bit muscular, his senses were telling him that beneath all that garb and scrap was a beauty. An artist's eyes are never wrong.

Kathy would notice him ogling the fellow agent and once again deliver a swift blow of justice to disarm our local friendly dinosaur. The skin on Sabian’s body stood at attention when the word of Rear Admiral Bradley’s presence in La Crima became public knowledge.

Anyone who was a known criminal had heard about Bradley’s style of justice. Back in his days as a Happo Army member, the members would trade war stories of Bradley’s exploits. Sabian was lost by all the commotion; up to now, they hadn’t even been briefed as to why they’d come to the Jolly’s in the first place.

Well, the storm kind of ruined that bit.

Sabian watched as Gotli whispered something to Noah, the two exchanged a handshake, and then Noah turned to Sabian. Breaking it down into the simplest of terms, Gotli’s faction would go with the chubby monocle gent, and Noah would lead their group along with Stout towards the docks to investigate why the marines were present in La Crima.

“Before moving forward… I’d like to address a few loose cannons in the group. Well. Really, just one,” Stout declared, scowling at Sabian.

Butting his head against Stout’s own, “Oh yeah? I wonder who it could be; you're referring to Sergeant Stout?” Sabian declared smugly with a wide tooth grin.

“I take this as a sign of insubordination, McQueen!” Stout shouted.

“You can take it however you want to! I don’t mind taking orders and falling in line, but this next statement goes out to you and whoever else thinks I’m a troublemaker. I joined this army to help make a change! If that requires me to sit around in tea shops and bargain with shady baldies for intel, then I’ll do that a hundred times over.”

“But if you think for a minute, Mr. Stout, that I’m going to take any orders just because you’re ranked higher in this Army than me, then think again. If it puts innocent people’s lives at stake, I’ll fly off the hinges whenever I see fit!” Sabian shouted.

“Eh. Is this the same man who goes running through a public area as a thousand-pound dinosaur talking about innocent people’s lives? You need to wake up, McQueen!” Stout shouted, headbutting Sabian onto the floor.

@Noah @Anne La Tene

Word Count: 882. 3,813/10,000

^{Sabian’sTracker}

Group Details and Order :

Mon Feb 26, 2024 12:41 pm

April 1, 1829, ~10:30 AM

Somewhere in Port Teardrop...

Every shadow mimicked the shape they followed. Yumiko was no different. She wielded her sheathed sword more like a baton than a blade, beating the daylights out of drunkards twice her size. She took no pleasure in pointless bloodshed...

But this... This felt justified.

Also oddly therapeutic.

When the superior officer requested moral support, the self-appointed sidekick was eager to provide. She put a pause on the beatdown. “Yes, sir! There are no decent people here, sir!” The irony was, of course, lost on her.

Thus, in a single deft line, the master of verbal judo reversed those words right back at the samurai. She recoiled. Doing her best impression of a fish on dry land, she quietly gasped for a counter-argument that never came.

Leaving behind a pile of broken chairs and bruised muscle, the loyal warrior followed along. While her eyes scanned the perimeter, her ears were drawn to the conversation. Explosives...? How dishonorable. These pirates were even more filthy than she thought.

Receiving the order with a firm nod, the samurai clicked her heels and saluted. “As is thy will, sir!” She was not in the habit of asking unnecessary questions. And that smile lit a fire within her.

Failure was not an option.

A powerful gust whisked the light woman high into the sky. Reminiscent of a human-shaped kite, she rode the wind over the streets and the buildings. She was not worried about being seen. Rare were the oddballs who bothered to gaze upwards.

April 1, 1829, ~11:30 AM

Docks of La Crima...

Soon enough, the docks of La Crima came to view. The hunter swooped lower. Her keen eyes narrowed at the sight of a peculiar gathering...

However, a sudden surprise assault caught the flying marine completely off-guard. Writhing in agony, she clasped her hands firmly over her ears. It didn’t help one bit. “Hnngggh...! Gods above, please, make it stop...!” She had witnessed many horrors, but never anything like this. It felt like two blades stabbing into her ears... And they were dueling inside her skull!

Utterly paralyzed by the cacophonous music, the mythical weasel was unable to control her powers. As the winds ceased their song, she stopped flying like a kite and started flying like a brick. Straight down.

A blur fell from the heavens, followed by a loud crash. Wooden splinters went flying. Yumiko struggled to regain her bearings, rising from the ruined remains of a shipping crate. Her legs quivered. Twin trickles of crimson ran down the sides of her head. A phantom echo still rang in her ears. Only one thought had remained intact in her rattled mind...

Find the source of that awful racket...

And silence it!

Unfortunately, the warrior found herself faced with a veritable sea of enemies. Enemies of all shapes and sizes stared back in quiet disbelief. At the very center sat a mockery of a musician carrying an unholy imitation of an instrument.

Their eyes met.

[npc=pirt]“Lookie here, a filthy blue!
My boys have been looking for you!
No running now, time to get trashed!
Courtesy of the next Cuzco Cash!”[/npc]

The realization struck Yumiko almost as painfully as the lousy lyrics. Somehow, their foes had seen through their disguises. Questions swirled around her head. How? When? And most important of all...

“Whomst?”

‘Gurdy’ Brow recoiled, yanking the crank so awkwardly that the sound resembled a record scratch. His jaw dropped and eyes went white with sheer shock. A question lingered on his lips, but he failed to put it into words. How could someone not know who Cuzco Cash was? The man was a genius!

“Hrm, no matter... Thy wicked deeds have gone far enough! Innocent lives are at risk because of thy endless greed and violence... No more! This one shall not let thou run free any longer! Know this, vile villains! A samurai wavers not before a mere army!”

Yumiko drew her blade, aiming a sweeping point at the enemy horde.

“Have at thee!”

...And the crowd erupted into laughter.

The lead singer said nothing. Instead, he grinned like a hungry wolf and started cranking his beloved instrument of musical destruction. [npc=pirt]“Oooo~!”[/npc] The beginning of a tune crawled from the depths of his throat.

As soon as the first awful notes pierced the air, Yumiko visibly cringed. “Do not dare!” She swung her sword, launching a shimmering blade of wind. It flew like an arrow towards its target. ...Only to suddenly miss, as the surprisingly swift man bounced to the side with what looked like a jaunty dance step.

Intent on keeping the initiative, the samurai leapt into the fray. She flew through the air, riding a violent whirlwind. Ignoring the small-fry, she beelined for their loud leader. Sparks flew as her weapon clashed against the instrument, which proved far sturdier than looks suggested. Every impact felt like striking invisible steel...

A messy exchange of blows ensued.

On one side, the samurai unleashed a frantic series of moves, a war dance with a dizzying tempo. Winds whirled around her, forming shimmering phantom blades that mimicked her every move. Together they bit into cloth and flesh. Any minions foolish enough to intervene were cut down in the chaos

Yet, the opponent was no slouch. Every note he cranked out felt like razor blades going through the ears. Each word he bellowed threatened to shake teeth loose. And when the swordswoman strayed too close, missing a swing, he brought his instrument down like a sledgehammer. Bones cracked beneath the impact.

Coughing blood, Yumiko collapsed. The world was spinning. She could feel the foes swarming her, their fists and weapons bashing and slashing against her hide. Sweet, blissful darkness was creeping close, calling her name... Promising an escape from the pain...

...No.

NEVER.

Suddenly, the samurai’s features twisted with a beastly snarl, taking on a more fitting shape. Humanity faded from her eyes. A dark coat of fur burst through her pale skin. The bloodied hands warped into monstrous claws shaped like sickles. A long tail grew behind her, its tip thin and sharp like a scythe. In moments, the woman was gone and in her place stood a weasel bigger than any average man.

Howling winds erupted from nowhere, engulfing the mythical monster. She shook the assailants away as if they were water from her fur. Extending the massive claws, she rushed towards the true target. A frenzied storm of slashes tore through the crowd.

Finally reaching the foe, the claws clashed against the instrument... But only briefly. Power... Her body begged for more power. And her indomitable will answered. Turning harder than steel and sharper than swords, the claws carved right through.

With a splatter of crimson, the dreadful troubadour went down. Skidding backwards, he hit a shipping container with a hefty thud. Wheezing weakly, he struggled to find his legs... Only to collapse onto his ass. His wounds were deep, but not life-threatening. As its final service, his trusty instrument had saved his life. For better or worse.

However, the mythical creature wasn’t in much better shape herself. Crimson wounds marred her tattered clothing. Her vigor was leaking out with every drop. The howling winds were falling quieter. Yet she stubbornly turned to face the remaining foes. “Whomst... is next...?” She asked between raspy wheezes, her gaze burning with peculiar madness.

Words: 1212
Total: 3356

Mon Mar 04, 2024 5:11 pm

As Noah took a look around the meeting point, he quickly realized that the place did not really match his expectations. Of course, this could precisely be why the Tackling Whale was chosen to begin with. In his imagination, it had been a run-down shack and not a dandy tea shop. Drinking a cup of tea while finally learning what was going on was not really what he had believed would happen today. But who was he to complain after everything that went wrong until now? The day could only get better, he hoped.

[plyr=revo]”An art gallery, huh?”[/plyr] Noah turned to Kathy while the two of them entered the shop. Sabian rushed forward and it would be wise to follow him. "Yeah, not the kindest approach, but hey, it worked? So, what story did you choose?" Noah smirked and had to agree, retelling his lie. [plyr=revo]”Better keep an eye on him. We might manage to trick him, but can we really predict what he’s going to get himself into?”[/plyr]

Soon after, the revolutionaries had a last moment of peace, before Sabian risked to blow off again. While Noah would usually be the one who tried his best to calm down his compadre, right now, Stout and Kathy chimed in, managing to buy enough time until their esteemed guest appeared. As such, Noah just tried to signal that Sabian should calm down and shortly after everybody other than Nesbit and the commanders was simply watching as the conversation unfolded.

[plyr=revo]”Remember what we did in Briss?”[/plyr] Noah entered the conversation when he noticed Kathy’s cue. [plyr=revo]”Let’s just say we didn’t proceed as subtly as we could have, so somebody who specializes in gathering intel shouldn’t have too big of a problem knowing what we are capable of.”[/plyr] In the end, the redhead would not exclude his powers. Even though he had acted less like a wrecking ball back then, it would not surprise him if Nesbit knew about his Zoan as well- he just did not feel like spilling the beans in case it was still a mystery.

When his lie finally surfaced, Noah opted to perform the most apologetic smile he could offer. While he did not completely lie, as Kathy demonstrated, he did stretch the truth by adding some little facts: obviously, no lady was in danger here. At least not yet. Luckily for the redhead, though, the topic quickly changed as the commanders now addressed the Briss Kingdom bombing. However, Noah more or less just got the confirmation for what he had already believed in. He refused to believe that the army was responsible for these attacks and hearing his commanders confirm his assumption was a relief. Of course, he did not yet know who wished to frame them, but the redhead was confident that this would change soon.

Naturally, hearing Bradley’s name made Noah pay extra attention, as the Rear Admiral's presence could not mean anything good- at least from the perspective of anyone criminal in these seas. However, he was not as afraid as he should have been. Naturally, he did plan to avoid the Marine’s presence as best as he could, but Noah tried his best to stay optimistic. Worrying about what might happen later instead of focusing on the here and now would not be helpful.

Instead, after the meeting was interrupted by a call, Noah was given a new order and as such was handed another matter to occupy his mind with. When Gotli ended his short order, Noah simply answered with a [plyr=revo]”Got it. Leave it to us.”[/plyr] However, when he delivered the message to the rest of the squad which would accompany him, Noah soon realized how Sabian and Stout got into a dispute. At first, he got no chance to intervene, but as soon as Sabian was lying on the ground, the teen had enough. [plyr=revo]”Don’t you two have other problems? Marines are at our doorstep and you think it’s high time to dispute. Please, if you have energy to spare for this nonsense, you goddamn have energy left for the task at hand!”[/plyr]

WC: 683 | 2,853/10,000

Mon Mar 18, 2024 4:43 pm

Things just kept going from bad to worse, didn’t they? Finally sheltered from the elements and able to rest, finally not mistaken for a sideshow performer, Maquet now learned more of the details behind her mission - and she was not happy.

The bombing of Briss was not done by her comrades - but now she had some idea as to what actually happened. The information was welcome, but now she realized they were working and talking with someone who - directly or indirectly - may have caused the incident and had them take the blame! Maquet did not like working with such shady individuals, but it was out of her hands. If her superiors wanted to work with this explosive slimeball, then she had no choice.

Perhaps it soon would be time to learn more about her teammates for this mission - especially since one of them claimed there were no ladies here. Maquet stifled a giggle at knowing how well her disguise worked - At least until further examination. This Sabian seemed to be sizing her up. She tried to ignore this as she listened to the bomb-supplier.

Then another metaphorical bomb went off. They were dealing with Nottingham’s men! Maquet’s fists clenched and her tired body stood up straighter and more rigid. Any bit of her skin showing would have paled. Luckily, her role would be one of stealth, not direct combat. After her ordeal, fighting Nottingham and his crew would be a nightmare!

Then the idiot Sabian got into an altercation with Sargeant Stout. As dumb as this was, Maquet knew Stout. He’d be able to disarm the situation with some stern words and cutting sarcasm, but-

Oh.

[npc=revo]”Look, friend,”[/npc] Stout replied gruffly to Noah, after turning away from his headbutting victim. [npc=revo]”I’m doin this for his own good. This isn’t a fighting mission you are going on. I’m not letting him get killed because he thinks fighting is better than sneaking, or because he has an impulse to do something fookin stupid. But I’ve said my piece, you take care of him!”[/npc] With that, he turned and walked away.

Maquet then offered her hand to Sabian to help him up. “What did you do to get on Stout’s good side,” she asked, her mask hiding a smile. “He doesn’t normally resort to violence like that. He only does that with people he likes! Anyways, are you okay?”

Maquet also looked toward the guy defending Sabian. ”I appreciate you standing up for your friend. I look forward to working alongside you. I am ‘Iron Fencer’ Maquet if you are unaware, which with what little fame - or infamy - I have, is most likely the case.”

Word Count:

Mon Mar 18, 2024 10:27 pm

The distant discordancy was like a lure for the inquisitive Moreau, and drawn like a moth to a candle he fluttered to the light's edge. Bidding his Captain pay attention to the cacophonous notes as they wafted through the air, Moreau waved with his hand and anxiously yammered back to his superior officer with no tactful regard for the dockworkers that surrounded them.

"Stone! I haven't the faintest what's going on down there, but it sounds like the sort of inscrutable rapscallionism that our mission demands we pursue posthaste. What if our compatriots are in trouble? What if they're all already dead, slaughtered, put to an untimely and inglorious end by these cruel-spirited scoundrels! My soul quavers at the very thought of such senseless bloodshed..."

Word Count:

Thu Mar 21, 2024 11:51 am

The sign squeaked as it swayed in the wind and the wood creaked like old bones as Winny snickered.

"If you say so..." Volo replied, plucking a cigarette from a dented carton labeled 'Wani's', a popular brand imported from an island in paradise. The logo depicted a cartoon Bananwani with sunglasses and a leather jacket.

Resting it on his lip he rummaged through his pockets, first his pants, then his jacket. Nothing but some dirt, lint, and a sleeping Susu. Letting out a heavy sigh he turned to his trusty suited friend.

"Oi, Karl, you got a ligh-.."

"You can't just steal my look! The goggles and coat are my thing!"

"Huh...?" The cigarette dangled off his lip as a raging bull barreled towards him. "Your thing..?" He muttered, eyes darting up and down the bellowing beast.

What was this guy talking about...? Steal from him? When did he? Then the hamster wheel started turning, "Wait a second..."

Volo snarled as he stomped towards the beast, meeting him head-on. "What kind of copycat, discount con job you runnin?!" Locking horns with the bull as the pair now stood forehead to forehead.

WC 191/3,854

Mon Mar 25, 2024 9:29 pm

Port Teardrop Market - 9:15AM

Even with the allure of a beachside nap or an unknown landmark to fill an achingly empty canvas, the click of curious claws on the plastic bric-a-brac protector in her pocket was alluring enough to cut Aya's walk short. But she still needed a little solitude before she could break into them and see what she had snagged.

The nearest gap between buildings would do. Through planning or pure happenstance, the way Lesser Minks seemed intent on filling cities and towns with perfect spots to hide away from prying eyes was endlessly convenient. A few crates or barrels to duck behind was all she needed for cover.

Splitting the orb down the middle produced a delightful little 'Pop!' as Aya's claws worked it open. A shrill yelp quickly followed.

Cupped within the red panda's paws and cradled within the two halves of the capsule sat the prize:

A lucky rabbit's foot fashioned into a keychain.

The surprise brought the runty Mink to full shocked visibility for a few seconds as she stared down at the morbid trinket.

"...So creepy!"

In one swift move, the prize returned to its container and was chucked back into the street, bashing into the head of someone across the way.

Aya grimaced and tried to shake the chills from her dreadfully fluffed fur.

As she regained her composure, the artist turned transparent once more.

"Yuck... I hope the other one isn't gross." She muttered to herself, lighting a clove-spiced cigarette to calm her nerves.

{ Post: 254 / Total: 1,495 }

Wed Mar 27, 2024 2:31 am

~9:10 AM, April 1, 1829, Outside Bell’s Gears and Grease…

Ickarus did not appreciate this owl-eyed blatant thief’s insult. He had no business slandering the waxman’s good name with his cheap cosplay!

“Copycat? Con? Are you serious?” Ickarus spat through bared teeth. This green-haired bastard had the absolute audacity to start marching towards him, so Ickarus did what was reasonable: Meet the man head-on, locking foreheads. Ickarus’s wick-like protrusion of hair was lit ablaze in his thirst for justice as Ickarus yelled. “I’ll yank those goggles right off your face!”

Upon hearing the downright disrespectful response from the scarfed individual, Ickarus roared and clenched his fist. Solid wax hardened around it.

“Take this, you wannabe!”

With everything he had, Ickarus threw the punch…and stumbled down as his fist met air. “Wh-what?! What the- Where did he g-”

The strong scent of poignant smoke broke through his senses a second too late as a strong-armed strike from the swirling dirty gray gas left behind from the impersonator drove into his stomach. Ickarus skidded back, coughing and seething.

“Hey, no fair! I can’t even see you to hit you!” the waxman whined. Even so, Ickarus grinned defiantly. “You know what…If you just ‘smoke away’ when I try to touch you, I’ll just keep hitting the smoke until you feel it, you offbrand! Wah-yayayaya!”

This strategy was not going to work.

WC: 206 / 2342

Circus Tent - Downtown La Crima

April 1, 1829, ~10:00 A.M.

Chapter 3

Navy

Revolutionaries

Pirates

Everyone

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