Welcome to Maricea

[Deleted]

It was decided that able marines stationed in both the North and East Blue were to be deployed on the latest marine front in the fight for Maricea. With it the marines would have a powerful new base of operations and more importantly a plentiful, untapped source of sea stone. As such ships laden in the material the occupants would be fighting to obtain began trips along the calm belt to the East Blue and shorter travels straight to the very close North Blue. Amongst the new arrival all of whom were of lower to mid ranks, two were to be summoned. Lieutenant Black, one of the highest ranking officers from the new dispatch and Seaman Recruit Williams, the only Seaman Recruit to be summoned thus far.

However, perhaps the small number and the relative low ranks of the marine men being called in so far spoke less of how short on spare resource the marines were, and perhaps more on how much they underestimated the ferocity and determination of the island natives. Time would reveal just how much resilience they would face.

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The two men were ushered into an office, the pair of marine escorts who had accompanied them had open the door, turned abruptly and closed the doors behind them, assumedly now standing guard outside. The room was lavishly decorated; a red leather sofa on the one side, plants, pictures and an unusual headdress all decorated the room’s walls and floor. The air smelt of smoke, although a window was open taking some of the smokes potency away. The source of the air contaminant was a smartly dressed man who much like the room was lavishly decorated, his fingers were laden with jewelled rings and his blonde hair fell into place naturally, yet perfectly. He was leant back on his expensive chair, one leg folded and rested on the other. His shirt unbuttoned his manner relaxed yet somehow commanding, he exuded self importance as his handsome features fell on the two new arrivals he took a long puff on his cigar taking both a cloud of smoke and the new arrivals in. In front of him on the otherwise empty desk lay both men’s files.

Slowly he turned to the man who was wearing the odd clothes; he carried a cane and wore a large top hat, the marine insignia wrapped around his right arm the only symbol that he was indeed one at all. This man was in turn looking at the third man, who by comparison made the average heighted but strangely dressed man look positively tiny. In reaction to the height the man in the hat was glancing at the taller toe to head and then head to toe again, emphasising the fact overly dramatically and then to top it off he turned to catch the eye of his superior and silently mouthed the word ‘wow.’ Dismissing the silent comment entirely the man in the chair began to speak.

“Firstly gentleman, let me say welcome to Maricea. As you probably know I am Rear Admiral Robert Raice. Pleasantries aside, Lieutenant Black, due to your seniority of rank and past performance taking down the uhm... Cross Pirates was it? You are to be placed in charge of our ninth division. You will be escorted to our newly established and northern most camp, newly and are defend it until I send order for the unified push.

I am sure you’ve already been aptly briefed but in case you haven’t let me lay out what’s going on here. To the north lies a battlefield, it is situated between two savage tribes and the frontline of our progress. These men have proven both... entirely uncivilised and to be enemies of the forces of justice and initiated this conflict. The goal is to destroy the hostiles and capture those non-aggressors. We can then harvest the raw material, the sea stone and harness it for the greatest good. A word of warning though... despite their savagery, these tribesmen have a certain... base cunning and are highly dangerous.”

The words hung in the air for a moment as the Rear Admiral took another long puff on his cigar before turning his attention to the other man. “Seaman r—or should I say, ex-captain Williams. Reading your file was certainly... interesting. I don’t care what it is you’ve done, of the men I’ve been sent you’re quite possibly a rare resource indeed, what you are now is useful, or at least potentially useful. You will head up division nine alongside the Lieutenant here; although he is the senior officer perhaps you’ll be able to teach him a thing or two, eh? Either way, perform well and maybe you’ll see some of your former title restored, but screw up again and well... just don’t screw up.”

Placing his cigar down slowly the speaker slowly rose to his feet and turned to face both men.

“Division nine has been formed as you’ve been briefed, we have screened the fifteen most able new arrivals and they shall be waiting for you. You are to be my frontline gentlemen, brief your men as you see fit but make sure you do what you’re told and everything will go just swimmingly. I have here a map we have managed to produce from observation, familiarise yourself with it but remember it is far from comprehensive. Your mission here is to neutralise the island for the benefit of the entire marine forces, it is highly important work, but to the savages... this is a war. Horses are the best mode of transport here... other trivia I suppose you’ll be told or figure out, speaking of which... your division will be waiting for you along with two supply carts. I will make sure carts make it to you regularly as you progress up the island and that orders reach you... you must make sure you have reports ready to be sent straight back. That is all gentleman, do you have any questions."

Regardless of if there were questions or weren’t the Rear Admiral would lift his cigar and take yet another deep puff before either answering and then concluding, or simply concluding;

“Very good, dismissed.”[/blockquote]

[Cirrus]

The journey from East Blue into the Calm Belt had been relatively uneventful and frankly quite boring. Dustin Williams was a giant of a man, so it was no surprise that he required mass amounts of entertainment. Proportions aside, all that could, and would, be said of that naval journey was that never again would any sane man offer to juggle dangerous things for a certain marine ex-captain. It honestly wasn't his fault that the average seaman recruit couldn't juggle seven feet and three inches of honed muscle. How was he supposed to know? But they'd buried that "hatchet"
anyway...

Dustin had been debreifed on the way to Maricea, and he already knew on a shallow level what he was here to do. Which was, when he thought about it, actually kind of vague...'Lead the division in the defence of marine property' hadn't been the most optimistic description anyway. Knowing the marines, the cynic in Dustin thought, they'd probably invaded some random island, maybe on a noble's orders, possibly not, and decided that it'd do nicely as a piece of conquest. At any rate, he had been told many things about his mission.

He had not been told that there would be a madman.

And yet, that's what he was standing next to -- or maybe loomed over would have been more appropriate. For that was the current situation. Weird hats and clocks and a whole manner of card motifs were sprawled all over the marine, as if someone from some wonderland had puked the contents of their magical ways on to him. The red hatted man was like a crimson speck within the vast room to which they had been summoned. Dustin faired slightly better; more comparable to a reef in the endless sea of blue that lined the walls of the impressive abode of Rear Admiral Raice. Still, even he felt small, insignificant perhaps, standing in the middle of the imperious cavern. Add that to the mystic smoke that danced around the room and with the curiousity of a child and the lethality of poison, played with anything it fancied. The source of such smoke was the aformentioned Rear Admiral, a man who appeared to be much more at home here, in the foreboding ominous place, than out in the field fighting for whatever shit the marines actually worked for. As far as Dustin was concerned, it wasn't justice. The ex-captain couldn't help but recoil as his superior began to talk in a voice lined with silver and some other illicitly gained gems; each of which he wore on his fingers.

“Firstly gentleman, let me say welcome to Maricea. As you probably know I am Rear Admiral Robert Raice. Pleasantries aside, Lieutenant Black, due to your seniority of rank and past performance taking down the uhm... Cross Pirates was it? You are to be placed in charge of our ninth division. You will be escorted to our northern most camp, newly established and defend it until I send order for the unified push.

I am sure you’ve already been aptly briefed but in case you haven’t let me lay out what’s going on here. To the north lies a battlefield, it is situated between two savage tribes and the frontline of our progress. These men have proven both... entirely uncivilised and to be enemies of the forces of justice and initiated this conflict. The goal is to destroy the hostiles and capture those non-aggressors. We can then harvest the raw material, the sea stone and harness it for the greatest good. A word of warning though... despite their savagery, these tribesmen have a certain... base cunning and are highly dangerous.” He said, his preamble already letting the ex captain of the marines that he didn't like this man. Dustin sighed inwardly; he'd have to remember all of these notes..and from what he'd heard this was to be more of a conquest than a defence. The 'Turquoise Tiger' glanced at the hat wearing marine below him, looking to see his reaction. Unfortunately, because of the rim of his hat, he saw nothing and so the peculiarly dressed marine remained as enigmatic as before.

“Seaman r—or should I say, ex-captain Williams. Reading your file was certainly... interesting. I don’t care what it is you’ve done, of the men I’ve been sent you’re quite possibly a rare resource indeed, what you are now is useful, or at least potentially useful. You will head up division nine alongside the Lieutenant here; although he is the senior officer perhaps you’ll be able to teach him a thing or two, eh? Either way, perform well and maybe you’ll see some of your former title restored, but screw up again and well... just don’t screw up.” Raice's hesitation sparked hope within the ex-captain. Could the results of this mission affect his rank? And for a second Dustin was back twenty years; a new seaman recruit naive to the true nature of the World Government. For a second, he was optimistic and ebullient when every mission was announced. But then the smoke hit him, suddenly as solid and as gut-wrenching as a punch in the stomach, and he was reminded of his current position. Sure, he may have been promoted through after this; he was almost guaranteed to do a good job -- he was an ex-captain, after all. And yet the marines would never wash the black stains from their record in his eyes. They couldn't use fame as abluence. What had happened in history was indellible. Dustin gave a quick shake of the head when the Rear Admiral asked about questions. He had no volition to speak to this man; this terrible man who advocated such wanton desctruction of human life in pursuit of a flawed dogma; this man, that acted so casually, and sat and smoked while countless marines were out there fighting for false glory.

He made him sick.

The two marines dismissed, Dustin didn't speak. His lips were sealed shut with rage, and fear, to a lesser extent, that he would say something rash. He may have been a child at heart but he was an adult in mind and so he bit his tongue.

[Deleted]

Briefing over the lieutenant left the building, escorted out by the same men that had beckoned him to the meeting in the first place. In toe was the silent, mammoth sized man; the alleged ex-captain Williams. The air that greeted them on their exit was humid, to some perhaps it would be described as pleasant, but to a man who had spent all his life living in the arctic temperature of the North Blue it was an adjustment, albeit not an entirely unwelcomed one but it was still a drastic change.

Idly spinning his cane between his fingers he began to walk, his eyes caught the supply carts waiting in the distance, each wagon hitched up, fully stocked and ready to set out. In all directions only the marine base perimeter wall and grass with a yellow, sun-baked tinge caught the eye. It was clear to all on arrival that this unscathed island, with its flats and mountains was a beautiful place, it had its own emotion to it... in fact if one were aware of Maricean culture it would be very clear why the Sachem were as they were and why they had such a great respect for the nature around them. Well it would be evident to most at least...

“Ex-Captain Williams hmm? What does the ex stand for I wonder? Exemplary, explosive or perhaps... excruciatingly quiet? A naughty one huh, a bad boy... some may say that I’m a bit of a maverick myself... but enough of my nattering, apparently we’ve got men to lead. Oh I’m as giddy as a... as a ... child with a magnifying glass.”

The two wagons grew larger as they came into a closer vicinity, each was attached to four horses and they were surrounded by the fifteen men that would comprise the newly formed ninth division who stood in addition to the two cart drivers. As the two silhouettes emerged from the distance, there outlines blurred by the heat wave that constantly hovered in the field of vision, a by-product of the lazy and yet relentless sun that was apparently almost a year round constant, the rest of the men began to fall into rank.

The Hatter had briefly attempted to read his taller companion, but other than discerning an apparently serious nature and his freakish height found him to be almost intentionally unemotive and so far uninteresting. Although the fact he’d once been a Captain was one point of intrigue that may have to be divulged in full detail later on, especially the part explaining the drastic demotion.

Still he’d talk his mind to anyone and even if the authoritative seaman recruit didn’t want to be the recipient or take part in this discourse he would be happy to talk to himself.

“Well, well... thank goodness for this scuffle, liberation, war or whatever it is we’re supposed to be doing, right? Without it this island would be positively humdrum. Funny though, that an island should exist with such a bountiful supply of seastone... getting this cane was absolute murder.” Lifting the cane he’d been twirling so that his new friend could get a better look, the Hatter came into range of the men placed under his and also Williams’ dual charge. Hopping onto the back of one of the carts as the fifteen men, all in perfect line; raised their hands to salute the new arrivals. Returning the gesture in a goofy and exaggerated manner, the oddly dressed marine officer turned to address the squadron.

“Hello ants, and welcome to what is now officially the ninth tea-- squad... uhm division thingy. I’m not sure if the nine is just the chronological number that we happen to have been assigned, or some kind of tier marking us as the best or worst... but as we’re being sent to the frontline let you hope that it’s my best hypothesis. I am Lieutenant Black or so I’m told, but enough from me... your faces say I’ve said too much, or at least not enough that fits with your military sensibilities, already. This here is the ambiguously ranked ex-captain Williams and as you can see, he is big, and this is his big chance, a big chance for a biiiig man. He’ll be running this whole shebang up alongside me and so if you have any questions, please... please... don’t hesitate to ask him first.

I think that’s that covered, let’s go, go, go... we’ve got orders after all. Wouldn’t want to let ol’ Bob down now would we?”

Leaning back Edmund concealed a chuckle with a smile and let the marines digest his words as they would. This place had a sense of freedom about it, even within the stricture of marine life, something felt different about it... after all, how often did a seaman recruit get given a role that exceeded stuttering and getting in the way? As he waited for the other marines to either saddle up, or get on one of the carts he couldn’t help but think this would be a lot of fun.

[Cirrus]

Silence.

So often it was portrayed as a bad thing; oppresive, cold, and dead. But for Dustin this was not the case -- the one thing keeping him from talking to the man in red attire was like a warm blanket in the humid air, one that, although he was very much aware of, was not in any way shape or form something he wanted to do away with. In fact, he wanted it: it meant that he wasn't talking to the Lieutenant. Dustin didn't know why, but he was rather against engaging in any sort of conversation with the man he was sent to do work with. Maybe it was his quirky demeanour, or maybe it was something else; children were known to judge, and do so harshly...At any rate, the brown haired individual was wary of doing anything that could instigate a conversation. Unfortunately, as is always the case, the second one tries so very hard not to do something, it becomes infinately easier to do it. As such, when Dustin removed his cap due to the humid and heavy air, and he wanted to be prudent when it came to one of his most prized possessions, it seemed to be around about the same time the madman started to talk. Of course, it was mere coincidence, but the mammoth of a man was letting his childish views rule the roost today, and so he instantly attributed it with his ridiculous conclusion: the Hatter was out to annoy him. The silence Dustin had cherished was suddenly torn to pieces by the hatted man's whimisical, although ultimately meaningless words.

“Ex-Captain Williams hmm? What does the ex stand for I wonder? Exemplary, explosive or perhaps... excruciatingly quiet? A naughty one huh, a bad boy... some may say that I’m a bit of a maverick myself... but enough of my nattering, apparently we’ve got men to lead. Oh I’m as giddy as a... as a ... child with a magnifying glass.” Dustin ventured a groan in response. Was he even talking to him? The way he left no gaps after questions as the words tumbled out of him like an adventurous girl near rabbit holes. He hesitated; should he bother answering? He thought. He decided against it. It proved prudent to do so too; the Hatter went on, talking without a care in the world about how the island had natural reserves of seastone and how hard it was to obtain his cane. Dustin shrugged -- for him, obtaining the seastone gloves he always had on his person, and were now currently in the safety of his deep pockets, had been simple. Although he had been a captain, he assumed seaman recruits, or if not seaman recruits then petty officers, had access to marine issue seastone cuffs. This confused him somewhat; maybe the quirky man had a different meaning? He had, after all, put some strange stress on the word murder...

Dustin shook his head. He was being paranoid. Besides, no one with that amount of jewellry on their person could kill in such cold blood; the act would tarnish their gemstones and shiny metals with black hate. At any rate, on a more logistical level, pirates didn't have the access to seastone like marines did -- probably because of islands like this out in the new world or something -- and any scallywag that did get their hands on something made from the devil fruit counteracting mineral sure as hell made sure it was something that could take an arm or too clean off.

While Dustin was concerned with his thoughts, the Hatter was concerned with rallying the..er...troops.

“Hello ants, and welcome to what is now officially the ninth tea-- squad... uhm division thingy. I’m not sure if the nine is just the chronological number that we happen to have been assigned, or some kind of tier marking us as the best or worst... but as we’re being sent to the frontline let you hope that it’s my best hypothesis. I am Lieutenant Black or so I’m told, but enough from me... your faces say I’ve said too much, or at least not enough that fits with your military sensibilities, already. This here is the ambiguously ranked ex-captain Williams and as you can see, he is big, and this is his big chance, a big chance for a biiiig man. He’ll be running this whole shebang up alongside me and so if you have any questions, please... please... don’t hesitate to ask him first.

I think that’s that covered, let’s go, go, go... we’ve got orders after all. Wouldn’t want to let ol’ Bob down now would we?”

Palms hit faces.

"ANTS?! You're talking to bloody ants?! Why? Why on Earth why!" Dustin couldn't take it anymore. This man was crazy! Who in the world talked to ants? Questions turned to shouting as the ex-captain flew off the handle, his normally soft voice turned into an imperious thing, demanding to know the reason for such a transgression, and, in all honestly, thinking it was rather a good idea to start postulating for decapitation. At least in that way Lieutenant Black would shut up, thought the brown haired marine darkly. A shadow fell on Dustin's features at that thought. Normally he wasn't one to be so quickly wound up, but it was something about the man he was told to work with that set him on edge, made his buttons easier to press...And then he realised that, contrary to what he thought, the madman was adressing the people around him, all of whom were giving him the look of some suboridnates who weren't quite sure that their leader was quite right in the head anymore. Dustin coughed awkwardly, realising that what he had passed off as meaningless chatter was actually, in some respects, slightly detailed conversation; metaphors and all. A dark cloud of shame hung over the disgraced marine's head; he had been so quick to judge...he'd acted rashly without opening his mouth. Dustin sighed, and then got over it. Despite the fact he was wrong, his childish petulance wouldn't allow him to rethink his judgements of the Lieutenant next to him. But the intensity of his dislike dwindled, reduced, despite himself, to a civil weariness. Much better.

The cart groaned as his huge frame found purchase on it, causing more than one seaman recruit in the wooden transporters to wonder if it'd make it the whole journey. Dustin sighed, moving with only the slightest amount of awkwardness to the position next to his partner. For some reason Raice wanted those two to work together. For some reason Dustin disagreed. It mattered not, however, for by the hatted man's side he stood, and with a grunt and a moan the cart began to move, and off to whatever twisted fate they had in store the tiger and the hatter went.

[Deleted]

"ANTS!? You're talking to bloody ants?! Why? Why on Earth why!?"

“Indeed... Ants, it seems I’m always talking to ants, they can be so amazing to observe when you sit back and just watch, but then... being ants, after a while it becomes drearily predictable and someone has to introduce a burning leaf to the situation.”

Stifling a yawn the Hatter made himself comfortable as the newly formed company of marines began the journey to their appointed station. The men seemed relaxed enough, especially when given the fact they had a loon for a leader, although perhaps they thought he was just trying his hand at the tough love approach, hello maggots wasn’t a world apart from hello ants, after all. Soon chatter began as men met each other for the first time; very few it seemed were previously acquainted. After leaving from the concrete insured safety of Cape Levus, one thing became immediately apparent and that was just how wild and unmolested Maricea truly was. A recently created dirt track stretched into the far distance, winding around obstacles such as rocks and ridges. In all directions was grass, with its definitive sun-kissed golden hue, and only behind them was there any form of blemish that alluded to the existence of a civilised world at all. The ride was lightly bumpy; the only noise apart from the wind and the occasional animal sound was the talking of the men, the plodding of horses’ hooves and the turning of eight large wooden wheels. Naturally one man was already feeling the need to hunt out some form of stimulation, absently he turned to the large ex-captain, but he felt he’d already wound him up enough for the time being, keep going now and there’d be nothing to do later on. So continuing the search his eyes fell onto the man charged with driving the cart he happened to be sat in.

“Hey, horse-man, it seems you know where it is we’re going, so you must have been out here already. What can you tell me of the natives?”

The man looked slightly perturbed at being called horse-man, but equally happy to have conversation. Unbeknownst to the Hatter at least, the cart drivers often did these kinds of supply journey alone and depending on pace that could be a solitary day or two of plain riding. So merrily enough he engaged with, what some may consider an irritating man.

“Names, Ted, Hat-man and I’ve heard enough about ‘em tribesmen to be glad of the fact I ‘aint a military man.” Edmund secretly enjoyed that quip, Hat-man it was closer to his pirate epithet, which he’d grown quite attached to, Lieutenant Black wasn’t awful, but it was too close to Edmund Black and that being his rightful name was entirely too boring.

“Well Ted, aren’t you delightfully colloquial, what then is it that you’ve heard that makes you so un-envious of our position?” Black questioned, his curiosity piqued.


“Well, first off them Mohawks, ya’ know the ones with the spiked hair. They call ‘em savages, but it’s worse than that, they aren’t animals, they’re worse... they don’t fear pain, or death... they become frenzied with blood and they’ll keep hacking at you until they’re dead or you are, tha’ is... so I’m told.” A smile had formed on Edmund’s features, these men sounded like they knew what was what. Still he could sense he thought, that the driver had more to say and sure enough with just a nod he was able to keep him talking.

“They use bone, flint and seastone weapons, but worse still they line their blades with this stuff, juice from a cactus, toxic stuff... nasty, fast acting too – seen a man in a fevery delirium, the stuff's even killed some others so I’m told. You marines tried to use the stuff, I can show ya’ a cactus if you like, next one I see... but it’s no good, they figure they must willingly eat the stuff... build a tolerance, some... mad warrior thing.”

The Hatter’s mind flashed back to Robert Raices’ briefing, some of this information would have been more useful than his fake assurances, ‘base cunning indeed... sounds like a good deal more than that.’

“Then there’s the other ones, Hachem, or Sachem or something. I ‘aint seen any of ‘em, not many men have... since we lot first arrived they’ve been scarce... some are even sayin’ they’re not separate at all, just the Mohawks and miscommunications at the beginning. Not true though, it’s documented, they’re longer haired, some say more peaceful although others are pretty insistent on how nasty they are. Then others claim they use some spiritual hocus pocus... that their Chieftain has all these mystic powers. Sounds like nonsense to me... but then there are stranger things, perhaps he has a devil fruit or somethin’.”

Having now heard quite enough of the driver’s gruff narrative and never one to enjoy the sound of a voice that wasn’t his own, the Lieutenant offered no response and so the conversation died away into silence. Through his periphery he sighted foothills on the horizon; casting his mind back to the map they were shown he concluded they should soon see some mountains. He quickly grew bored once more and simply couldn’t resist at least trying to chat with his new favourite person. “Heeeey... Williams, what’s going on Pal? You just enjoying the scenery huh? It’s ok... you don’t have to chat, you’ll warm up to me, I just know it.” It was then with the Hatter beaming massively, that the driver made good on his earlier promise and alerted his attention to a cactus with striking purple flowers.

“Ye’ purple flowers that’s the poison one... or it could, be the one they use to hallucinate couldn’t it? Pretty sure it was purple for poison though...”

“Either way,” exclaimed the suddenly enthused maniac, as he proceeded to hop off the cart and move in for a closer examination.

“Find a beri, pick it up and all day you’ll have good luck... but ride a cart and lick a flower and pray you’re still alive in an hour.” Chuckling as he brandished the knife that he kept in his ankle strap, and living up to his preferred name Edmund cut into the cactus, flicked open his pocket watch and proceeded to use the covering half to scoop up some of the liquid, which he promptly drank. Then rather hastily he caught up to the plodding convoy and made his way back to his seat.

“Are you insane man? That stuff is nasty” the driver asked, scarcely believing what his passenger had just done.

“Just... taking the advantage, better now than later... good news though, you were right, because that definitely wasn't hallucinogenic” said the poisoned man.

“How’d ya’ know if it t'was or not??”

“Trust me... I’d know...” the speaker managed, his speech becoming more forced as his discomfort suddenly became apparent, sweat formed at his brow and suddenly he ellected to collapse back into a comfier position, raising his right hand to hold his stomach. “Oh boy... Williams... this local cuisine, it’s got a bit of a kick to it” even in his lightly poisoned state, he couldn’t resist joking around and he punctuated his joke with a painful yet cheery chuckle.

[Cirrus]

(OOC: Happy Birthday! Here's your present: MY 1200^th POST!)

Dustin ignored what the hatter said, being too steeped in his own shame to hear what frivolous words came from his cohort's mouth. His mammoth frame was hunched, the weight of his embarrassment being too much to bear, even for someone with his immense strength. The brown haired individual sighed -- wasn't he meant to be leading these men? And here he was, dwelling on an easy mistake and feeling sorry for himself! Indignance flowed through his veins, giving him the jolt of energy he needed to supersede his temporary depression and actually act as a rolemodel for the other ordinary seamen recruits. Dustin stood tall, sticking out like a spear into the dusty haze of the humid air. The rythmic bounce of the troop-delivering cart was almost soothing, calming the ex captain of the marines, serving almost as a preamble to the speech he was about to give. It didn't matter if he liked the mission at hand; orders were orders. And a good marine followed orders. There were repercussions if you didn't: Dustin had first hand experience of the consequences. And so the muscular marine opted to rile up the troops, so that, as they marched to their deaths, it would be honour they felt in their hearts, not despair.

"Okay listen up! We're gonna go in there soon -- real soon -- and you're gonna have to be ready to kick some arse! The target is to be neutralised -- only kill if you have to! They're gonna be gunning for blood, so stay cool; remember that's how the badasses do it. Who's gonna kick some-" Dustin's rousing speech was clearly having an effect, its mixture of colloquialism and a serious laying down of objectives delivered with a measure of eloquence only someone as experienced as the ex-captain could have was a very powerful oration indeed. It would have had a very effective ending too, if it weren't for the interjections of a certain hatted Lieutenant...

“Heeeey... Williams, what’s going on Pal? You just enjoying the scenery huh? It’s ok... you don’t have to chat, you’ll warm up to me, I just know it.” Dustin turned around, the indignace he felt prior to his speech fueling his actions.

"Oh Hatter guy..you're mad, ya know that? Seriously, I'm giving a decent speech and...and...is that a flower?" The ex captain's acrimoniousness dissipated as he talked, adding another ethereal emotion to the air which was already saturated with the smorgasbord of feeling that emanated from the cart. The thoughts of each and every marine in the transporter mixing with those of all the others, osculating in the air and forming a unique air of conflicted emotion. Dustin's contribution to such a melting pot was that of his anger, an emotion he'd been feeling rather a lot lately. It was probably due to his proximity to someone as quirky and as non sequitur as the Lieutenant. At any rate, his speech trailed off at the sight of the red clad man's adventurous taste for stupid things. His question needn't have an answer: it was clear to all that the loon that leaded them was drinking the juice from a cactus flower, against the advice of Ted the horseman. A smile came to Dustin's face at the thought of their driver; Ted was a down to earth man, he knew people as well as he knew these roads. Often they'd talk at length about life in general, most of their conversations ending with the horseman's saying of how things 'simply ain't right' -- a voice laden with experience and general distrust of the natives that was somehow comforting to the ex captain of the marines. Ted knew his story; Dustin hadn't hesitated to tell him. The mammoth man felt at ease around the cart driver, as if the two were long lost friends. And, unfortunately for the horseman, he had to put up with the hatted man's barmy antics.

"Oi ya stupid fool! Ya've got ta' listen to me! I know these parts like a man knows his er..yunno.." Ted seemed to suffer from the same condition as Dustin -- he simply couldn't deal with Lieutenant's antics. How a man could act so foolishly was simply foreign to him, a man of the earth, who learned at an early age that indulging in whimsy was a surefire way to get you chucked out on the street, involved in a barfight, or killed. Three brothers. Three fates. The cart driver's face darkened. Turning his head so that only his occiput was visible, the cart resumed plodding along the road, only the opportunity for idle chat with the horseman had gone.

Dustin could feel the sweat rolling down the back of his head.

More than one set of bewildered eyes watched Lieutenant Black as he happily hopped onto the cart, making light of the fact he was poisoned. Dustin stood stock still like a statue, hoping that the poison his partner had ingested was the hallucinogenic and that he'd melt into the scenery in the quirky man's warped mind. Unfortunately, Lady Luck wasn't shining on him today -- the hatter's mind was warped already. Sighing, the ex captain motioned for the medic they had on the cart to come forward and treat the Lieutenant. As much as it pained him to say it, he actually needed him around if the mission was to be a success.

That, and he'd rather the vomit be on someone else's shoes.

[Deleted]

At Dustin’s beckon a medically trained marine began to approach the increasingly flushed Hatter. Pausing a moment to give him a somewhat derivative and perhaps even contemptuous look, she produced a vial from a satchel fastened to her waist.

“Although the antidote is quite easy to synthesise from the local flora, this is still a waste of supply and so I’d appreciate that in the future you don’t poison yourself... uh- Lieutenant, sir.” Forgetting herself the woman made it quite clear how she felt in that brief but firm moment of lecturing. However it appeared that the Lieutenant didn’t mind being addressed in such a manner as he managed a chuckle, wincingly.

“Quite... I quite agree, uhmm?--”

“Lockwell, Warrant Officer Lockwell” the woman interjected, giving way to the fact she was probably one of the more qualified soldiers in their squadron.

“Ah, well then Lockwell, you should be more pleased. I don’t intend to drain the precious resource, in fact, I don’t ever intend to. Didn’t Hors—Ted, didn’t Ted mention the locals were immune, assumedly from repeated exposure? Plus I only had a tinsy-winsy sip, I’m right as ra— urghh.” In an attempt to demonstrate how fine he was Lieutenant Black had tried to stand, which had quickly resulted in him falling back into a reclined sitting position.

“Well whilst in theory that idea’s fine, you could for one die... and two, there is no way to tell how long you have to expose yourself to the stuff before you gain any kind of immunity” Amy Lockwell countered.

“Oh... I think there’s one way to find out, and trust me... I’ll be fine, I’ve tried worse poisons, but it’s touching, really, that you and Williams care so much, I must be making a great impression, huh?”

“On second thought, your fine... in fact I don’t think you’ve drank enough” she said, firing off another heated rebuttal, which was once more laughed off.

“Good Lockwell... that’s the spirit” he said to the back of the female marine, who was already getting back onto her horse.

It was now midday and Lieutenant Black, to the relief of well... everybody, had faded into a slight, but quiet delirium. The heat, to which he was unaccustomed, combined with the fever that came with the poison left him grinning but unmoving as he lay toward the back of the cart staring into the distance, immobilised by sheer warmth. ‘Never thought I’d miss Ice Nine... never thought I’d lead a platoon, gone too far, hope this poison fades soon, fast acting, fast gone... that’s a thing right? Going to have to change things, hey mountains... red mountains.’ With the majority of the journey complete the delirious Hatter was indeed correct as he faded into an uncomfortable sleep. The mountains that framed this Island, shaping its strategic landscape emerged from the horizon, shimmering due to the heat waves that obscured their clarity. The red dust and clay covering the mountains, combined with the absence of grass caused them to look almost other worldly. The northern most marine encampment was not so far now, but neither was the contested territory known as Death Basin.

[Cirrus]

Dustin watched, taciturn, as the marine first aider assisted his partner in all this business. His lips were sealed for more reasons than one, although the only one he'd be willing to divulge would be the prudency of not disturbing a professional while she worked -- the others weren't too good for morale. Dustin blinked as the mountains sprung themselves upon him, their red clay covered hides dominating his vision as they rose up from the horizon; their hiding place. The way they lazily stretched into the sky, their peaks languidly stroking the edge of reality, made them seem like some resting giant king, whose power made ruling his kingdom -- the vast land of Maricea -- almost a trivial pastime.

"Hey, er...Lieutenant, how much longer?" Said the mammoth of the man, apparently struggling to comprehend the fact that the wacky marine who had just received medical aid for something that anyone with enough sense to fill a midget's thimble would have avoided, was technically his superior. And it was because of this fact Dustin had to hesitate before asking, having already ruled out talking to the disconsolate horseman -- unfortunately the hatted man had ruined him with more alacrity than the brown haired marine had expected. The incandescent weather seemed to be wreaking havoc on everyone's moods today; even Dustin would admit that he wasn't so prone to losing his temper. Yes...despite outward appearances the marine was still thinking about the way he had flipped out on the Lieutenant.

He was a mysterious chap, wasn't he? Talking about murder, wearing hats with all the bells and whistles on -- not quite literally, but close enough, licking flowers and generally making a nuisance of himself. There was something not quite right about him...Maybe some first hand experience in the field would allay his worries.

...Or cement them.

Dustin sat, fatigue finally setting into his legs, partly due to exposure to the Hatter, partly due to the sweltering heat combined with the humid conditions. His huge frame dwarved the marines with whom he sat. He looked like a pig among guinea pigs; that is to say, badly out of place. Sadly, he felt that way too. Despite the fact that majority of the marines around him, and here on Maricea, were of the same rank as him, they could not relate. He wasn't one of them. He was simply holding a place, making up numbers; everyone knew it, despite what they said to their snide friends, that Dustin belonged up with the greats of the force: the higher ups that reclined in glory as the lower downs worked night and day to ensure safety. Much to his chagrin, Dustin also knew this to be true. For some reason, anyone who had attained the rank of captain or above only got off of their glory-burdened arses when there was a serious situation going on and it was clear -- really clear -- that the run of the mill marine wasn't going to be capable of finishing the job.

Dustin looked into the sky once more, and sighed.

[Deleted]

“Hey, er...Lieutenant, how much longer?”

Edmund stirred, bolting upright suddenly, “No... w-wait, oh what? How much longer?” He awoke from a rather strange dream that already had largely seemed to dissolve from memory. His fever was down somewhat, the effects of the poison had largely been filtered. Relatively short lived but fast acting; it was indeed a tool for battle. Ted picked up on the repeated question and interjected with the answer.

“If ya’ squint you can see yur’ camp from ‘ere, it’s close but I won’t be hangin’ round longer than I need, it’s just o’er that ridge, get ready to unpack, bad things can happen this close to the basin.”

There was a feeling of claustrophobia, and true enough this was probably a good place for an ambush, all around the mountains stretched straight and almost parallel, meaning there was only one straight road. This island was a strategist’s nightmare, or on the flipside dream. Unhindered however, the party made it to their station, pulling up slowly the nerves were clear on Ted’s face but the marines seemed in better spirits. After all they had already ridden passed three other marine encampments and all seemed well and good. Standing slowly the Hatter felt much better and stooping to lift his namesake he then dropped from the carriage and gave an order to unpack. As he did so, three men who he had not yet seen approached from within a tent.

“Welcome to your garrison, Lieutenant, Rear-Admiral Raice transponder snailed ahead, we were to hold this camp between the three of us until your arrival. A coms room has been set up, for emergency orders, but little else. Unfortunately... the information we have has recently changed, up until a few hours ago the camp has been uneventful, but not two hours ago we sighted a couple of Mohawks in the far distance to the north. We fired on them but they escaped, we figure them to be a scouting party. May be we’re encroaching too far; an ambush in my opinion wouldn’t be unexpected. If you wish, we could remain behind a while to help.”

“I think we’re alright, after all our jobs to hold this place, we should have to be capable of doing it ourselves, plus I doubt you could get Ted to wait for you.” The aforementioned man let out a grunt of agreement, relieved at the dismissal of the offer. As such the three men packed a couple of their own things on the now empty cart and set out back toward base. Not helping with any of the unpacking Lieutenant Black adjusted his ridiculous hat and found among the stock a spyglass. Curiously he gazed the plains toward the North, but could sight no Mohawks. No matter how stealthy they were, if they came in the number they needed to take the settlement he’d be able to find them at least, that was the theory.

Turning his attention to his own men, the ex-marine come pirate, come marine again wondered how he’d come to end up here. ‘It’s so hot... I’m a North Blues man. Then I’m responsible for these men, how did that happen? Poor guys have no idea... still best make use of it. Not sure what I’ve planned yet, but perhaps it’s best to play a marine for now. License to kill and toy soldiers... yes, make the most of it while it lasts.’

“You,” the Hatter said to a startled marine, “Look out duty, here look through this, simple.” Turning to another he barked a second order, “You, cup of tea if you would... don’t look at me like that, it’s not because you're female it’s because you’re closest.” That mouthy medical woman was quickly rising to challenge a certain goliath for the position of favourite. Walking into the smaller more important looking sleeping quarter’s tents, the apparent leader of this so called division claimed a bed before heading back outside to enjoy what was left of sunlight and his cup of tea.

Finally sat, there was little to do now but wait... being a marine was fairly easy, ‘but so boring.’ Looking up from his mug he located the ex-Captain, it wasn’t hard with that hulking figure, “Hey William’s... if you were an angry native, you’d wait until night and before they could settle in to a routine take them unawares, first night they arrived... right? Perhaps we should take some kind of precautions, we’re kinda’ partners here right? I came up with that logic, so perhaps you should do the organising bit? Or would you like some tea first?”

SPOILER: Click to show

((OOC: Thanks for not complaining or anything and sorry for the delay, I did the plot sub finally, managed the WBlock event which turned out to be 4000 words and this, up to date. I shall return to my regular speedy self. Sorry again though. As far as this thread goes feel free to take it anyway you like, keep it freestyle. And the scale I think allows us to post things like, for two days nothing happened, the Hatter's innane prattle was getting progressively worst and Dustin was at his wits end, etc. Skipping forward and whatever, want to just go with the flow, although I do have some set themes in mind not got any conclusions in mind... so yeah *stops rabbling*))

[Cirrus]

(OOC: No problems. Somehow your post in Writer's Block instigated the resurgence of my posting aptitude, so it all worked out eh?)

“If ya’ squint you can see yur’ camp from ‘ere, it’s close but I won’t be hangin’ round longer than I need, it’s just o’er that ridge, get ready to unpack, bad things can happen this close to the basin.” An unexpected word from the previously taciturn horseman provided Dustin with his answer, something he rather welcomed since it meant he didn't need to listen to the drivel his companion was so fond of producing. The ex-captain took the information with much zest; already he had grown tired of the cart on which they sat -- it was rickety, really, pockmarks of glue and the pride of a man's man were the only things keeping it functional, and that was all rather well for, say, one or two men to ride on, but a division of marines? Sadly it didn't seem to be able to handle it. Out of the peripheral of his eye, which was as keen as the average man's sight -- it had to be; he used to be a captain -- Dustin saw plenty a man try to hastily repair any plank of wood they may have accidentally broken off during the horseplay that ensued when all someone has to entertain themselves is camaraderie. He kept quiet, not wanting to dampen Ted's spirits any further, although it was fair to say the Hatter had managed to soak them to bone.

Dustin sighed.

Why did he think so lowly of the Lieutenant? Sure, he was mysterious, sure, he was annoying, sure, he was silly, sure, he was...well actually that was about it, as far as the brown haired marine could discern. He would have squeezed his striped cap in worry had it not been in his pocket. Something about that man put him on edge, and Dustin was deathly afraid of falling...

Speaking of fear, the narrow passage through which they were travelling certainly instilled a sense of the emotion. The marines behind him, who had previously been rough-housing, fell silent at the foreboding nature of the thin road. The mountains were on either side, seeming to swallow them up with nothing more than their sheer enormity. If the crimson-faced rock was being languid before, it had certainly received some sort of jolt up the backside, for it was definitely making pains to cause intense amounts of discomfort within the marine troupe. Maybe the mountains were the homes of some native god, and were acting upon prayer, or curse. Regardless of the reason, the outcome was the same: Maricea didn't want them there. Not just the inhabitants, but the land itself; the very soil over which the cartwheels ran seemed to stick to the wood in a desperate attempt to weight down the carriage, like a feeble hand trying to hang on to the ledge when all of space and time was conspiring to make it lose its grip. There it was again...edges. But surely it wasn't just the Hatter putting them in his mind? Dustin grimaced at the thought. If that man, steeped in the uncanny, could cut sharp through his mind and through reality with nothing but a single edge -- perhaps that edge was the cane he held dear to him -- then there could be little doubt as to his true identity. Not to the religious, anyway. Besides, if there was a god then as surely as the sun would set this man must have been the devil.

Not the most ideal companion in a mission.

Not the most ideal companion anywhere.

⌀-⌀-⌀

“Welcome to your garrison, Lieutenant, Rear-Admiral Raice transponder snailed ahead, we were to hold this camp between the three of us until your arrival. A coms room has been set up, for emergency orders, but little else. Unfortunately... the information we have has recently changed, up until a few hours ago the camp has been uneventful, but not two hours ago we sighted a couple of Mohawks in the far distance to the north. We fired on them but they escaped, we figure them to be a scouting party. May be we’re encroaching too far; an ambush in my opinion wouldn’t be unexpected. If you wish, we could remain behind a while to help.” They were met with a short speech detailing their situation upon arrival, a speech Dustin largely ignored. He would rather find a bed somewhere and flop down and sleep; maybe the sandman could bury him somewhere, some place remote, so remote that they couldn't find him. And he'd be buried deep too, so deep that he simply fell out of this lunacy and into a normal life...maybe open a bar or something...But that could never happen. He was a hero. Heroes didn't run away. Heroes didn't feel fear: they felt fearlessness! And that's what flowed through his veins, running so thickly that it was a wonder that his heart hadn't given out already. But there was good reason; his fearlessness was backed up by fervent will; the will to be the very best, the greatest hero that ever did live. It wasn't childish -- it was right, and by god he was going to crush all that stood in the way of righteousness. None with black in their hearts would survive the onslaught of justice.

Not even the Hatter...

Speaking of the quirky fellow, he appeared to have followed Dustin to his quarters. 'Oh no..we have the same ones don't we?'

At any rate, the hatted Lieutenant was addressing him.

“Hey William’s... if you were an angry native, you’d wait until night and before they could settle in to a routine take them unawares, first night they arrived... right? Perhaps we should take some kind of precautions, we’re kinda’ partners here right? I came up with that logic, so perhaps you should do the organising bit? Or would you like some tea first?” Dustin's face would have lit up with pride if he hadn't been talking to the devil. The Lieutenant was actually asking him for help; that was what civilians did to heroes! A puerile enthusiasm caused him to stand up, and it was also the culprit for the mammoth marine forgetting about his size. A sharp pang of pain shot through his body as his lofted head collided with a tent pole or some other arbitrary camping device. He didn't cry out though, he was much more focused on delivering an answer.

"Heroes don't drink tea!" Said the ex-captain, as majestically and heroically as he could manage.

"Er..but they don't do much planning either, so I guess a mug would be pretty good." Continued Dustin, his words inciting an eavesdropping recruit to rush away with brown liquid on the brain.

"Now, your logic is pretty sound...maybe we should take watches over the camp -- you're a Lieutenant and I'm an ex-captain, so I suppose we should be able to take on a mob of rowdy tomahawk-wielding natives. In defence of marine intentions, of course..." Dustin trailed off. That last sentence had sounded so fake, so wrong. What exactly did that mean? He had simply been repeating the words of Raice's correspondent, whom he had met on the ship over to Maricea. Everything here seemed a little mysterious, anyway.

But mysteries were meant for unravelling...

[Deleted]

“Heroes don't drink tea! Er... but they don't do much planning either, so I guess a mug would be pretty good.”

The Hatter nodded as he proceeded to pour Dustin a cup, he’d never been one for reading people well, particularly when it came to things like fear, embarrassment or indeed love. However purely lateral thinking wasn’t without its benefits. ‘Heroes,’ the word rang in his head. Heroics, brave and epic deeds but always done for some just purpose. Justice, a word that’s all it was... it didn’t reference any real thing, the Lieutenant knew that but he was beginning to build an image of this ex-captain. ‘Nearly every marine believes in justice, be it absolute or more subjective, situational. He thinks himself a hero, or strives to be one is that not what that meant? Yet he was disgraced, they stripped his rank, no way did this guy do something that bad.’ He passed the mug of tea to his allegedly, heroic companion as he continued to speak.

"Now, your logic is pretty sound...maybe we should take watches over the camp -- you're a Lieutenant and I'm an ex-captain, so I suppose we should be able to take on a mob of rowdy tomahawk-wielding natives. In defence of marine intentions, of course..." Something had changed in the man’s voice; his reluctant tone had been replaced with one of excitement. ‘A hero complex.’ Until this point Seaman Williams had been visibly irritated and cold toward Edmund, but this chance for authority seemed to bypass that if only momentarily and it didn’t go unnoticed. Despite the man’s professionalism even the Hatter could sense the difference between them, they were dramatically opposed seperated by a chasm of differances.

Whilst this man, hulking in form, strong, handsome and with such an honest face that he could have been a marine poster boy, almost epitomised that marine bravado and indeed was a marine Captain in all but title. Then you had the Hatter, charming perhaps but unnerving, cold and deceptive, he was a Lieutenant in title alone. Where Dustin may have thought disgusting, and felt repulsion the man analysing him felt only intrigue. Truly a love hate relation could form here, the Hatter would love to mess with him and he’d hate it. ‘Still plenty of time for that’.

Edmund sipped noisily at his tea as the last of the sun began to disappear behind the mountains, it would not be long for nightfall now. “Indeed, that sounds about right... we should have no trouble if we can sight them at a distance. We’ve got stakes in place even if they did make it, sandbags to fire from behind – they’d need a great number or to take us all unawares to possibly win, or so I’d think. Guess we just have to decide who takes the first watch, I don’t mind staying up or getting up... I don’t sleep much anyway, so your preference.” He stopped taking another large gulp of tea, it tasted nice and the night was cooler than the day but still pleasantly warm, he could get used to this. Waiting for Dustin’s opinion on the night watch, he would then continue. His mind flicked back to that queer choice of phrase, ‘In defence of marine intentions, of course.’

“Still, I think all heroes drink tea, don’t they? I’m just fighting in defence of my own life tonight,” he said pausing, ‘and of course for fun’. “Aren’t all the greatest hero’s reluctant? Looking to be a hero is looking for trouble and is it really even altruistic? Of course it isn’t, I suppose it’s the closest to heroic you can get... just want to help, but altruism and justice,” he gave a derisive snort, “How can we claim to be just when all we do is follow orders, who’s justice? Robert Raice’s?” The Hatter paused again, did he have it right, was that it? 'Perhaps all a hero needs is a decent villain. How do you work?' He had to know.

“That’s what you think isn’t it? You pursue titles and rank so that you could implement your ideals, to help people, to be a hero? That’s what they all do... but it’s the same is it not? You’re orders will conflict with those following you.” Another sip, but his expression reflected the effort of hard thought. He mulled the word over, it didn’t make sense to him, was this the way Dustin saw the world, how these others saw it? He couldn’t contain his own opinion, he never could.

“Justice... what is justice? Well, it’s the application of the imagined personal ethic onto another person. Right and wrong are just words... to one it may mean something and to another something entirely else, but in reality they mean nothing. Moral absolutism or absolute justice is just a system of control that allows the marines to enforce their agenda on the populace. On the opposite side of the coin, you have moral relativism which is just the opposite, the ruled majority trying to limit the power of their leaders.” He cut out abruptly he had to check himself; there was more that shouldn’t go outspoken, not yet. He'd certainly revealed he wasn't as scatter-brained and stupid as some may assume. ‘In truth however, there is simply what a person will do and what a person won’t do, and once you know what they won’t do... you know how to kill them.’ Instead he invented a different conclusion,

“So what can you do? Just your best I suppose.” He’d ranted more than intended, draining the dregs of his tea he sighed satisfactorily and leaned back, some men had already gone to bed and the others looked like they'd soon be on their way.

Perhaps he'd hit the nail on the head, perhaps he'd just been speaking hypothetically, being so egocentric he'd made a lot of assumptions so that he could continue to talk, he'd be interested in William's reaction to his own philosophy anyway. And it was only fair if he’d managed a glimpse of Dustin, to give one back he reasoned, but perhaps that was a glimpse too much. Still, he’d sounded fairly normal... at least to himself, if he could play the role of pirate for more than a year, surely he could play the part of marine for at least a fraction of that. Regardless of views on justice, it was about time someone went on watch.

[Cirrus]

(OOC: Sorry about this post man...I just ain't feeling it at the moment. Not your fault...just...I had so much enthusiasm right up until I started writing. >.> Need to sort some stuff out methinks...)

Dustin had allowed himself to get too comfortable, too used to talking to whoever would listen. He had unwillingly sparked a torrent of the Hatter's drivel, and now it seemed he would pay the consequences. The first tones of a man truly insane reached his ears, resonating with his eardrums in the most unpleasant manner -- unpleasant because it told Dustin that the Lieutenant was talking, and he would have to listen.

“Indeed, that sounds about right... we should have no trouble if we can sight them at a distance. We’ve got stakes in place even if they did make it, sandbags to fire from behind – they’d need a great number or to take us all unawares to possibly win, or so I’d think. Guess we just have to decide who takes the first watch, I don’t mind staying up or getting up... I don’t sleep much anyway, so your preference.” He said, practising the art of talking too much and saying too little. So many words, but what did they all mean? Why didn't he just say that the mammoth of a marine could take the watch if he liked, and they were well prepared for any sort of attack? Pontification, was the word for it, and Dustin disliked it. But then again, he had admitting to disliking the Hatter before...maybe it was simply everything he did? 'But that's what he'd want me to think...' Oh gosh...maybe he wanted him to think that that was what he wanted him to think? Why oh why had he let his guard down!? All it had resulted in was the brown haired marine getting into an endless circle of paranoia. The sad thing was, that kind of thing wasn't above the Hatter. Not that Dustin knew this, and it was fair to say that even if he did the knowledge would only serve to exacerbate the situation.

“Still, I think all heroes drink tea, don’t they? I’m just fighting in defence of my own life tonight...Aren’t all the greatest heroes reluctant? Looking to be a hero is looking for trouble and is it really even altruistic? Of course it isn’t, I suppose it’s the closest to heroic you can get... just want to help, but altruism and justice,” he gave a derisive snort, “How can we claim to be just when all we do is follow orders, who’s justice? Robert Raice’s?” Ah. Here it was -- what he'd been waiting for! The spark of a rant of a century on nothing more important than what colour a crocodile's underpants should be! Wait wait wait...was he attacking his ideals? Nope nope nope. He wouldn't stand for this. He couldn't anyway; standing up in this place had proved dangerous. But that wasn't the point -- the point was that Dustin felt raw indignant emotion flood his veins and fly out of his eyes in a cool laser that reduced the Lieutenant to a smouldering pile of crazy...

Okay, he was childish.

At any rate, Dustin wasn't going to just sit there while his ideals were broken down step by step by some loon who had nothing better to do than antagonise him.

"HEY! Justice is a good thing! Who are you to say that we should all sit back and let the bad guys win? Let innocent people die?" He shouldn't have entertained him. He shouldn't have got involved. He should have just ignored the Hatter and let his spark of insanity fizzle out in the cold mud of indifference. But no, he had to react; he had to escalate. On later reflection Dustin would sigh and wish he acted more maturely.

Er...much much later, maybe.

For now he'd play the Hatter's game, be a pawn, no matter how brutish his appearance conveyed him to be.


“That’s what you think isn’t it? You pursue titles and rank so that you could implement your ideals, to help people, to be a hero? That’s what they all do... but it’s the same is it not? Your orders will conflict with those following you.”

"PFFT! I'm seaman recruit! I'm still a hero! The only thing rank means is more legroom and a free biscuit!" 'Although those biscuits are rather good...' Thought the seaman recruit, regrettably. As far as he knew the Hatter wasn't able to read his thoughts, but sometimes the way he acted made it seem as if Dustin was just giving him the manual on his body. His buttons were well and truly pushed, he'd grant him that, but he still had one more card to play -- and it wasn't currently part of the Lieutenant's attire!

“Justice... what is justice? Well, it’s the application of the imagined personal ethic onto another person. Right and wrong are just words... to one it may mean something and to another something entirely else, but in reality they mean nothing. Moral absolutism or absolute justice is just a system of control that allows the marines to enforce their agenda on the populace. On the opposite side of the coin, you have moral relativism which is just the opposite, the ruled majority trying to limit the power of their leaders. So what can you do? Just your best I suppose.”

"Haha! You think you've won, and maybe you have -- but that doesn't mean I've lost. You and your crazy words with hidden messages and stupid rants have told me one thing about you; one secret that even you couldn't hide underneath the insanity and clocks and whatever magic you have hiding under that hat." Said Dustin, a little bit of hysteria fraying his voice at the edges, making him seem just a little crazy. He pointed the accusing finger in the Hatter's face, as if that would make him seem more sane, as if that would make a difference.

"I hold the keys to this chest, and within it are all your secrets -- the secrets. You are wrong. Justice is right, and I have the means to prove it." In all honesty Dustin wasn't too sure what he meant by this. Maybe it was the unfamiliar incandescent air. At any rate, he was out to prove something, anything, to the Hatter. There hadn't even been a competition...

Had there?

CLASH OF TWO WILLS! DUSTIN VS EDMUND!

...No he wasn't childish!

[Deleted]

“I hold the keys to this chest, and within it are all your secrets -- the secrets.” That was interesting, whether some base intuition, perceptive insight, or a baseless accusation, the unconfident sentence was truer than Dustin could possibly know. Really? Then open it, go on... we’ll see if you like what’s inside.

“You are wrong. Justice is right, and I have the means to prove it.” He’d provoked more of a reaction that anticipated and that was deliciously entertaining. The naivety was almost endearing, he couldn’t help but grin.

“How... cute, you’re defiantly my favourite Williams. Certainly those are some bold claims, but are they the words of a hero, or the babbling of a child? I fear this island will be a battlefield in more than just the obvious sense.” The Lieutenant shrugged with indifference. “I guess we'll have to see this justice in action before we're to know who's right. Only time will tell, and I can tell the time is late, and as you’re so riled up you can take the first watch.” The Hatter stood abruptly and headed towards his sleeping quarters,

“I know we’re in safe hands with you... safe, massive hands. Massively safe hands. Wake me when it’s my turn or when the natives decide to greet us,” he spoke in a jovial tone despite the very real and concerning possibility of a raid. How utterly fortunate I am to have such a man to play with, I will make a cynic of him yet, providing the island doesn’t make a corpse of him first. Whilst the Hatter found himself lying in bed, comfortably warm and lazily scheming, envisioning how things may play out and how he could make them play out better, not so far away the excitement he so desperately craved was already on its way.

--

The night sky was almost wholly clear, but for the odd cloud shaped blemish. The moon was full and surprisingly large, exposing those places normally concealed by darkness. Yet the mountains cast long-shadows, and these men moved as if they were wind. There were no places to hide, no real cover and yet that didn’t matter. They were the breeze, the shadows, a flicker in the grass, or a trick of the moonlight. They were experts in this terrain, indeed this was their homeland, their proving ground. They were young men, young men on a blood trial. Slinking like mountain lions they communicated without once uttering a word, the scouting parties had done their job well. The first had been exposed when only three ocean men occupied their strange camps, but another party had remained un-noticed and they knew what numbers they were dealing with. This group of twenty ranged from mainly adolescents to a few young men, all had to prove themselves to gain the esteem of the warrior, who above all else valued blood. Still, their success would depend on stealth – these strange ocean-men, clad in matching white clothing, who moved so unnaturally and uniformly brought with them strange and exotic weaponry. By now most had seen, or at least heard of guns and that made them weary. Smaller than bows, with arrows so tiny, that fired with the sound of thunder instead of a twang. The power of a buffalo contained in a shell not much larger than an insect, it was odd indeed. However, sleeping men made for terrible shooters and easy prey, no matter what advantages they may be equipped with.

--

It had taken some time but the Hatter was finally asleep. His stomach had been unsettled, the remnant effects of the poison still giving his system a slight unease. Yet at the best of times he oft had trouble finding sleep, it was such a waste of time. That said dreams were often fun, even here Edmund was in charge. For a long time he had been able to control the content of his dreams, he always recognised the dreamscape it was so obviously distinct from the mundane world. Still, he let things play out subconsciously most of the time, controlling everything was as bad as controlling nothing, for fun there needed to be both chance and skill. He wondered how lookout duty was going, and how long had passed so far. Clearly nothing has happened, or I wouldn’t still be asleep. His thoughts were audible here, echoing whilst he stared at his reflection, gleeful eyes looking back from the blade of a knife. The gaze that met his was recognisably his own, but as he stared it began to morph, a marine uniform replaced his favoured attire and then his face began to blur. In its place, briefly appeared Dustin’s likeness follow by Lockwell’s and then finally Robert Raice stared back at him cockily. He threw the knife casually, with utter effortlessness and physics defying speed it soared into the distance. striking a passing dove and pinning it by a wing to a tree. The next moment he appeared next to the poor creature, it did not squirm though, it looked back at him with a kind of indignant pride. His hand grasped the knife once more and twisted it slowly; the bird glared back but refused to cry out. Finally after he’d almost twisted it full circle the bird began to change, its eyes turned to anger as it began to struggle, its body fused with the knife and soon a white serpent was coiled around his arm. The Hatter grinned, “That’s right...” he remarked, as it struck for his throat.

[Cirrus]

The night...

It was soon dark as pitch. The moon swam lethargically through the swampy gloom, seeming a little disheartened over the lack of excitement occurring on Maricea. But it continued with its toils regardless of the lack of entertainment, trudging through the black of night with the utmost reluctance, as if the second it turned away something sensational would surge up from whatever hiding place in which it was previously concealed. Despite the fantastic nature of this notion, having it actually happen was a lot easier than the lunar guardian had realised. There was no need for the moon to travel so slowly.

Dustin Williams was on duty. And he was dutifully walking from left to right, trying to imprint the rash emotions and accompanied outburst into the ground with each step. With each pace he took he came closer to his goal; sooner rather than later, any bad feelings he had after storming out of the tent he shared with the quirkiest quirk in the marines would be buried six feet under. Under what, Dustin didn't know. It didn't particularly matter; just so long as he made it through the night without feeling compelled to rush back into the tent and apologise, just so long as he stayed out here and guarded the camp, just so long as he entertained the moon.

The mammoth marine stared out into the night with tired eyes. Fatigued eyes surveyed the blackness, flickering around like fireflies despite the weight of exhaustion upon them. They darted from silhouette to silhouette, unknown shadow to unknown shadow, gazing for a second at the slightest hint of movement before ultimately growing bored with them, and moving on to find another instance of activity within this dead midnight. The night watch wasn't a job for those of an eager disposition; the average law enforcer burdened with such a duty normally got by through lying -- the call of "All's Well" actually translated into "I've stopped giving a shit, criminals do as you please, I'm going for a coffee". Dustin murmured a silent concurring with his thoughts; he really could go for a coffee right now. It wouldn't do to fall asleep on the night watch, especially on a mysterious and hostile island. He'd have thought more about why everyone seemed to be against the marines, but such mutinous notions weren't going to help him get through this ordeal; if anything they'd hinder him further -- Dustin may not have been especially intelligent, but he knew himself well enough to realise that thinking bad thoughts about something for long enough would end up in him eventually doing something about it. In this case, it would result in the death of the marines. He wasn't just over-estimating his own abilities either; the mammoth of a marine would fight his way to the edge of earth if it meant he realised his dream: true, unadulterated justice...

What had that hatted man said? Oh yes...he remembered -- he hadn't forgotten really. Such scathing words, such acerbic words, left stains on people; stains that didn't come out in the ablutions of reassurance. Whose justice did he want to impose? It was a question Dustin would have normally answered quickly and confidently -- of course he wanted the world to function on the laws of moral justice. But now he wasn't so sure; did he even go by moral justice? He couldn't honestly say he did, not now he was here -- was there such a thing as morals here on this damned island anyway? The people fought each other, the marines fought the people, and all over what? Some silly little rock. Objectively speaking, this was lunacy, but that wasn't fair; when there were people involved there was no such thing as a simply object. Everything was a subject; subject to the whims of other subjects. In a world where crime could spawn from the execution of justice there was little room for organised, unified, bodies. There was no room for the Government. People acted and people talked, but not all the people because too many cooks spoiled the broth. But there could have been a damned turd in the broth for all Dustin cared -- he still hadn't answered the question in this midnight reflection. And as he stared into the black mirror, only one constant came to mind.

Under the watchful eye of the moon, the world turned on a twisted axis...

[Deleted]

The sound of a drawstring growing taught was almost inaudible under the gentle wind. The shadow’s had enveloped camp now, like a pack of wolves they had stalked across the grass, they had their prey surrounded. This was as close as they dared get but not as a product of cowardice, these men lived for an honourable death, but they also fought to win. Steadying his hand the boy knew the importance of his task and yet he felt no nerves, he drowned them; they were of no use here. The ocean men had not been so careless as to leave the camp unattended, but on this side there was only one lookout, all night watchers should have partners.

--

Some time had passed, but it was not enough as the night was still pitch black. Restless Edmund kicked off his covers and reached for some water, this place was entirely too hot. He found his mind wandering with a bizarre fondness to memories of the bitter North Blue Sea, to the time he spent in Serine City, to... Ice Nine. He shuddered slightly; the warm perhaps wasn’t so bad after all. He was unaccustomed but this abrasive humidity was nothing on the subzero temperatures he had endured. Somewhat happier the Hatter flumped back onto his bed his mind turned to Maricea. ‘What am I doing here?’ a question he seldom asked, for this lack of questioning was the reason he was here in the first place. He hadn’t been asked for this station, but the task suited him well enough. As he saw it the mission was nothing less than genocide. Not that he was in anyway discriminatory, in that sense he was a very forward thinking man, he relished in all human pain... equally. That wasn’t the question though, what was he doing here, what was he going to do here. The answer was something, something soon he couldn’t bare a stagnant routine. Maybe he could murder a marine, hold some kind of trial, and watch the platoon crumble from the inside, yes maybe.

‘I’m done with sleep, it would seem’ the Lieutenant decided. No word from Dustin yet, perhaps he could go keep him company, or alleviate him of duty early – they’d probably amount to the same thing, so far William’s hadn’t exactly warmed to his charms. With that settled the Hatter decided to dress.

--

Twang, thump! Twang thump! Two arrows were loosed, two marines dead. The East and West had been positioned to look for mountain ambushes, they were positioned more southerly as a rear attack was deemed unlikely there was no third man for that task. A third arrow was relinquished with a third twang, he couldn’t have asked for a bigger target. Seventeen hands tightened around the wood of their tomahawks. Twenty men waited; breathlessly they listened, listened for the thump. Their hour of glory was upon them.