The Prehistoric Juggernaut's Dilemma

[Jade]

"Sir?"

The grey-haired man stepped over the threshold, dwarfed by the massive frame built specially for the building's hulking inhabitant. "Is something bothering you?"

The much larger figure was leaning over a railing, resting his hands on the steel that prevented him from tumbling over the ledge and falling... What was that? "Alistair, about how far up from the ground do you believe we are, currently? Ten, maybe twelve feet up?" When his butler did not respond, Greyson sighed, shaking his head, and then straightened his frame up to his full height. "I was just thinking about your proposal again. That is all." The fighting man grimaced as he turned to face Alistair. "While I do agree that I should leave Stetson... Why-"

"Why the life of a pirate?" the older gentleman smiled, bowing his head and pushing his glasses back up into their proper place. "Life on the ocean seems like such a foreign concept, especially when you take into consideration your, ah... Condition. However, if my guess is correct, and I believe it is, you will warm up the idea before very long." Alistair gave a curt bow to Greyson and turned to walk back through the doorway. "Now, if we are to be leaving sometime in the near future, I believe it is high time for me to begin preserving some of the roses. Just give me the word when you are ready for lunch, sir."

When the sounds of the steps of Alistair's perfect stride faded out of Greyson's hearing, the self-proclaimed gentleman slumped back on the railing, slowly sliding down the metal rods. He looked up at the bright blue sky and watched as a cloud covered up the sun for, by Greyson's guess, two minutes and thirteen seconds, and then he closed his eyes. The life of a pirate... I just don't see the appeal, Alistair...

When he next opened his eyes, Greyson was confronted with... Something that smelled delicious. He blinked a few times before realizing that, yes, there was a plate sitting in front of him, with lettuce and tomatoes arranged in a delightfully pleasing manner. Alistair had even gone far enough to place a fork in the palm of his left hand, that... That... Wow, he was hungry. Skipping breakfast probably hadn't been the best idea. Greyson pulled himself up with one hand, taking care not to dirty his fork, and gathered up the plate before entering his home.

He walked through the fine house like he was walking towards his own death, head hung low and his eyes closed, relying solely upon his memory of the arrangement of furniture to get through without bumping into anything. He opened his eyes again when he came to the stairs, and, sighing, made his way down the stairs. He passed by Alistair, who must have started gotten around to starting preserving roses, on his way to the small table with two chairs, one much larger than the other, and sat. He picked up his fork again and began pushing the lettuce on his plate around, seeming to have forgotten his hunger again.

Five minutes later, when Alistair glanced over his shoulder, Greyson had already devoured his lunch, prompting a smile from the older man. A raised eyebrow, however, was the response to Greyson suddenly standing and beginning to make his way to the door with heavy footsteps. "Sir?"

"I'm going out for a drink."

"When can I expect you back?"

"... Tomorrow morning."

(~*~)

Not a half hour later, Greyson was just another body occupying a seat at a bar. Other than the man who would refill his glass every so often, the other patrons gave the well-dressed man a wide berth. In all his thirteen years on the island, not a soul had seen Greyson Gaunt imbibe as much of any alcoholic beverage; in truth, Greyson couldn't think of a time he had done this, either. Sure, he drank on occasion, but... Always for an occasion. Now... Now he just wanted to drink until he stopped thinking.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be happening any time soon.

[Aubs]

The boat rocked back in forth in the dock. The small manila folder that was sitting on his lap had a single man staring up, brown hair and brown eyes. The caption on the photo read “Aubrey ‘Bulletproof’ Meador, Wanted Dead or Alive, 25,000,000”. As that paperwork was tucked away carefully into the small folding clipboard that was assigned to him a single Marine looked out his porthole into the docks of one Stetson Island. At only 6 feet tall this simple marine was no wonder to behold, dark skin with hair so closely cropped it was nearly bald, and thin frame glasses set against his face. He wore a red button-up shirt with a white color and cuffs that were rolled up as well as black pants to match his slightly pointed shoes. Finally, his white Justice Cloak was draped across his chair as he awaited one of the soldiers below him. Speaking aloud the young officer addressed the few men collecting things for their departure.

“Why are we here again? I could have sworn we were assigned to Marine HQ, not errand duty.”

“Yes, well they said we were in the area…”

“We were not…”

“And yet here we are.”

The officer smiled. “I suppose you’re right Chief.”

The man that had answered was another dark skinned Marine, not as dark nor as refined. But he was grizzled, which probably had more to do with being a Chief Petty Officer than anything else. Experience did have its downsides after all. Just as the conversation was about to continue however another Marine walked in the hatch. “Lieutenant Mack, we are cleared to leave the dock, I have the file for the suspects we are to collect.”

Sighing to himself LT Xavier Mack, one of the newest transfers to Marine HQ rose to his feet and collected his things, including his sword with its wide, cross-shaped guard. He and his newish crew really had been selected for transfer to the Grand Line and were on the way when a Den Den had them redirected to the middle of the West Blue of all things to collect some strangles from a fighting ring that had been rather prominent and full of criminals. Seeing as Xavier had not known a single man on this ship before he was tasked to it for transport, it was a bit strange that he had been put in charge of it. All of this seemed to indicate that this mission had been thrown together at the last second. As he was the highest ranking Marine on the boat the task had fallen to him. It was only temporary of course, because once the marine transport, which had only be tasked with collected a few transfers from the East Blue had been repurposed to pick up a handful of prisoners, a Captain Ranking Marine had been assigned from their destination (Stetson) to take command of the ship and get them to the Grand Line. However, if LT Mack was supposed to collect these street fighters then so be it, it was probably more fun than the East Blue.

The Marines departed the small craft and headed into the city. Stetson as Xavier understood it was a simple place full of backwaters, but at least they obeyed the law. So when he opened the small folder containing the names and complied information on each suspect he couldn’t help but be a bit surprised.

“Suspected Devil Fruit user huh? Well this just got a bit more interesting. Send a runner over to the base on the island, I want to walk around before they take command of this mission and make me do something stupid.” The Chief grunted a laugh and began tasking seamen out to accomplish these things.

“You don’t seem too excited about all of this sir. I take it the Officer ship isn’t suiting you?"

So the crew was aware that he had only recently been promoted eh? Well then they probably didn’t have a lot of faith in him. Xavier pushed up his glasses gently. “I’m more upset that they sent a ship to come get me from the East Blue then decided I was going to the West Blue before I ever got to the Grand Line. And then they tell me ‘oh just kidding, we will get a Captain to do this, but you go anyway and do the leg work.”

“It’s always something isn’t it?”

“Yup. Now let’s get this shit over with before we have to spend the night here.”

It can be funny when things go awry, but it can be downright hilarious when you never see it coming.

---

---

[Deleted]

Stetson Island smelled different. Nothing wrong about it, just different. The kind of different that sticks with you and keeps coming up. The kind of different most people try to get past. The kind of different that just won’t let you ignore it. It’s this kind of different Crimson kept coming up into, and even though she knew it so well, it always smelt different to her.

Fortune blew in a gust from the incoming tide. “I think it’s my hat.”

Maybe not so different, but definitely worth the trip.

Stetson, the island of a million blades and no morals, Crimson never stopped to ask if she would fit in and no one stopped to ask her why she was hauling an anvil around. Push aside the fact the island long since turned away from the arms trade for more agrarian trade failed to make its way to Crimson’s limited memory. For now, she strode through the wood clad homes as though she called the rats from the crevices to the call of her pied flute. “This place is a little more reserved than I would have thought. It’s like no one wants a blacksmith.” Trade winds blew in mysterious ways and only to those fully aware of what the trade of the island consisted of.

The heat rose with the index, but everyone around town stayed bundled up in deep patterns of some blue cotton. Looked sturdy, but how they managed to breath went beyond the pink cotton clad Alabastan.

After hauling her anvil from the ship she cruised in from, Crimson strode through the rough streets to the closet bar. While it looked rather unpromising in terms of the weathered patrons, she did finally begin to put together a litmus test of how people would respond to a blacksmith carrying an anvil through town.

“The Hell you supposed to be?” A rough looking man pushed the table in front of him back a foot to allow him to stand. “Some Pecos punk come to gloat over what you stole from us?”

Crimson dug through the vast amount of memory contained within her amnesiac brain. Then he came up with an answer. “No?” Spoken like a question.

“Can’t you see she’s from round here.” With his hand wrapped around a towel, the barkeep wiped down a mug. “Probably not from town, but gotta be from the island. Who’s kid are you?”

“I don’t know?” Without answering or lying, Crimson effectively said nothing.

Not taking to the barkeep’s reasoning or Crimson’s poor handling of the interrogation, the man continued in his rough treatment of the foreign girl. “I don’t know a single Stetson who would wear baggy pants like them…” His judging finger pointed out each offense he found. “And surely ain’t no woman round here gonna walk around with their belly shown off.”

Wiping the drips of water from the sides of the glass, the barkeep continued on without ever looking Crimson over. “Gotta point. You ain’t got family and look like some Alabastan excuse for a knock off of a Stetson.”

Crimson finally passed some assertion. “Exactly!” Probably not the kind you would want, but she felt conviction in her handling of the situation.

The barkeep didn’t know if the situation really diffused, but the girl appeared too daft to lie. “Well she ain’t Pecos.” He looked down to the glass to hide his lips. “People from Pecos got something called subtlety.”

Pulling the table back over his lap, the man with biceps bigger than Crimson’s head kept his gaze on her and her peculiar anvil. “Still, I don’t wanna see some sand rat come striding through here with a hat and an anvil, trying to show up hard working…” With chagrin soaked in his beard and venom on his tongue, the old man chewed out his last word. “…farmers.”

“Well…” Crimson began on her quest to make things worse. “I’m not going to show you up.” To the dismay of everyone in the bar hoping things would deescalate, those were not her last words. “At first, but I think I can show you ways to temper metal in a new way.”

She barely ducked as the table flew by her head, but safely missed the bulk of the throw. “I’ll temper your metal in a way you’ll never forget.” A vein pounded within the man’s forehead in a menacing manner.

Everyone in the bar grew deathly quiet at his resolve. “Don’t get me wrong…” The words of reason no one ever used to make people see reason jumped out of her mouth. “…I’m sure the weapons around here are great, it’s why I came, but I want to make them better.”

“Better?” The man laughed at her assessment. He turned his head to survey the bar while he chuckled.

“Yeah.” Feeling a connection, Crimson returned the smile and confirmed her answer.

“Well…” With his hands of his hips, he squared up to Crimson with a full head above her. “Let me see that weapon you made.”

Finally her handiwork could go on show. Crimson pulled out her wakizashi and handed it to the large gentlemen. He gripped it with one hand and examined the chain and the iron fan. All the ornate design and embedded silver ran smoothly across his hand. While he felt impressed by her handiwork, he refused to let her demeanor pass unpunished. He smiled as the blade came smoothly out of the sheath, whistling like music. “Fine craft. Let’s test the chain.”

Crimson gazed perplexed. “Test?”

Answering her question, the man wrapped the chain around her arms and secured her to a post. He plunged the blade into the post to hoist her of the ground. She fell forward but could not get loose from the chain around her waist. “More to learn about weaponsmithing than just smithing a weapon, girl. Now hang around and find out. I’ll be back tomorrow, sand rat.”

Crimson squirmed for a minute before seeing the men with the large, old bruiser make for the exit. “Wait, you can’t seriously be leaving me here until tomorrow.” See turned her head to the barkeep, whom kept occupied cleaning his mugs. “Are you going to let me down?”

Without taking his eyes off of the dangling girl, the barkeep kept on with his duty. “Bad back. I’m sure someone will come help ya.”

[Jade]

The large body sat and drank through pretty much the entirety of Crimson's encounter with that older fellow, who Greyson hadn't recognized by voice alone, not really caring to pay it much mind until the very end. He glanced over, just as the older fellow left (the back view still left the Devil Fruit user drawing a blank on his identity) was leaving, and then glanced over to watch the interaction between the ever-busy barkeeper and this new girl, who was currently tied up by a chain, asking for someone to help her in getting down.

To Greyson's amusement, but not surprise, nobody rose to assist the young lady. At least, he assumed the most recent arrival was a young lady; he hadn't actually felt the need to lift himself off the bar during that whole meeting of the minds. But now he did, pushing himself up with one elbow, squinting to look at the girl. Well, she was easy on the eyes, certainly, but... He chuckled as he stood, setting his sadly empty glass down gently as he moved forward to help her. "Oui, mademoiselle. Just a moment." He smiled at her in a way he had perfected to be reassuring, working at the chain for a half minute before it came loose. He took a step back, retaking his seat with a smile, and then drained his glass before speaking again.

"I'm afraid that you'll find most people around here are like that, mademoiselle..." The large man waved off the attempt to refill his glass... Although he appreciated the gesture, and nodded, almost without thinking about it, at the bartender, who put the wine back with an unneeded, and unnoticed, rolling of his eyes. "Now, is there anything else I can do for you? Perhaps a drink or two, mm?" Greyson took a moment to really look the hat-wearing lady over, not caring much for subtlety for the time being, allowing his eyes to stop over first the weapon he had just undone, and then the... Anvil? Why did she have a... Hmm. He looked the girl over a couple more times before deciding it was time for another drink. Except his glass was empty. Phenomenal.

An anvil on Stetson... Who would have thought... And being dragged around by a foreigner, no less. Greyson smiled in a manner hinting at wistfulness, but was, in truth, more bored amusement in nature. Perhaps a herald of even stranger events to come?

(~*~)

Alistair opened the door in the middle of the frantic knocking, avoiding getting punched by the over enthusiastic guest by only a hair. "Yes? Is something the matter, or are you just attempting to break into the Gaunt house?" The older man gave his guest, a burly man with a curly mustache who stood but a few inches shorter than Greyson's butler, a wry smile. He didn't look like much, to be honest; certainly not as a snazzy a dresser as anyone Alistair would care to associate himself with at this point, but the man had been one of those in the fighting ring that managed to slip through the cracks when Y Knot and a few others were taken away. "I would like to point out that breaking and entering usually involves a greater deal of stealth."

The man glowered, and then went back to his previous sense of urgency. "Is Greyson 'ere? I gotta talk to him, geezer." His meaty hand went to mustache, twirling an end of the lip hair in agitation.

Alistair raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. "No, I'm afraid Greyson is not currently present. You could leave a message for him, which I shall deliver later, however..."

The glower turned to a scowl. "No time fer that. 'Pparently, someone from the ol' ring spotted a Marine ship. Started runnin' around, yellin' nonsense like, 'oh no!'" The thick, rather ugly man's deep voice suddenly went into what could only have been a poor imitation of a squealing pig, in Alistair's opinion. "'They're comin' fer the rest o' us!' Friggin' looney. Anywho, thought I'd warn him, jus' in case there's any backin' to tha' rumor."

Alistair merely smiled and shut the door on the stout man, who, after a few seconds of growing rage, left, stomping down the small path from Greyson's door.

[Aubs]

Xavier was already walking down the street when his Den Den Mushi went off. Stopping with a sigh he put the thing to his face and began speaking. “This is LT Mack.” His coat fluttered behind him with the short stop in motion. It was getting windy here on Stetson today, though the heat was still pressing nicely on the tops of the people’s heads. Whether or not it was that heat that was making the man on the other end of the line so mad was beyond our friend Xavier, but he certainly was angry with the young Marine.

“Oh so you’re the guy that is walking around my island with a bone to pick!?” Cutting back his annoyance, Xavier narrow his eyes and replied coolly. In retrospect it wasn’t his most charming response, but there is always a moment of truth. It was now the time to earn that rank he had been given, or so Xavier thought.

“Depends, I’m here to round up criminals, I thought that was my job sir? Is that going to be an issue?”

While the reply was a moment in coming, it was no less venomous. “Son you are going to get yourself in the handcuffs if you talk to me like that again. Get over here to my office in the Headquarters before I have you arrested!” As the insect turned off the young Marine took a moment to think about the situation.

He was tasked with collecting a few stragglers of a larger underground fighting ring that was undermining the authority of the World Government. How that all made sense he had no idea, but perhaps the powers that be just didn’t like people brawling in the streets. The specific target of his campaign had apparently eaten a devil fruit, which made slightly more sense as to why he was he. While our friend Mr. Mack was nothing special by Marine standards, it would be more reasonable to mass some forces when dealing with a Fruit-user. At the same time, he still quite understand why he was here.

And now that he was going to be in trouble for letting his frustration show, he might as well do what he could before getting yelled at. He didn’t expect the tongue-lashing to be all that bad after all. Given a few hours really he could wrap this whole thing up nicely. And he knew just where to begin, funny how easy it was to find someone’s house when you already knew their name…

---

The door to the bar opened with a thumb as a small knot of Marines walked in, shoulders held back and heads up and alert. The man in the back was dark and talk, with a grizzled appearance of a dark beard that was beginning to go grey and a bald head that shined. He had his arms crossed, and even if he might have been in charge he was not doing the talking. His uniform was cut off at the shoulders, displaying his hardened arms and the gold bracelet he wore on his left wrist. But, it was the sly looking man in the front of this go-good-gang who began to talk. His slick backed hair matched the slip in his voice.

“People of Stetson, we are looking for Greyson Gaunt. He is accused of Disturbing the Peace and Undermining Justice. Any information regarding his whereabouts will be seen as an assist to the World Government.” The other Marines moved about the bar, spreading out to search the people. While they didn’t really know what this Gaunt looked like they were under the impression that he would stick out eventually. The man in the back, with his grim figure only stood by the door, making sure no one would walk out just yet, not while they were still searching of course. The sly Marine had stopped talking and was now looking from person to person as their eyes met.

And he stood and waited for the response that was sure to come…

---

“Excuse me sir, could you help us find someone?”

As Beak Uz walked away from the door of the Gaunt home he was met by a single man, lean and tall with dark skin and a small pair of glasses. His white Justice Cloak flapping in a small breeze as he awaited his own reply. One Xavier Mack had already arrived at the place he needed to. The slim sword at his waist was not readied but still had a menacing look to it. Unperturbed by the silence at first he continued. This man looking back him only got more and more worried, which was exactly the point of course.

“I’m looking for a Greyson, I was hoping you would be able to help me find him, I believe his house should be somewhere around here.”

---

---

[Deleted]

It felt good to slide down the affixed position of the post. Most likely out of the comparable pain of her previous activity, but never look a gift horse in the mouth—even if the horse is spouting an oddity of a language for ‘woman’. “I think you have me mistaken for ‘Mademoiselle’, but I’ll take the help anyway. I get people confused sometimes when I can’t remember their names too.” Crimson obliviously shoved off the nominator assigned to the woman whose name failed to be pinned above her mantle place. “I’m Crimson…” She brushed off the chain marks from around her torso to try and bring some coloration back to her belly. Getting back to the man’s question about her drink order, she held up her right index finger. “I’ll take the drink…” Then motioned her index and middle with the left. "And the two.”

The drink came quick but lingered around. Whatever this place made liked Crimson about as much as the crowd she first met. “Is that lamp oil? Do they have lamp oil in this drink?” She bickered her lips while slurring her insulting accusations against something authorities would probably label ‘attempted murder’, but alas, Crimson merely gazed at her two full drinks less dull of empty substance than the majority of her words. “Oh, why do people keep saying foreigner like it’s some kind of weird ailment, and I’m sure lots of people travel with anvils. They probably just aren’t as easily identifiable as I am.” Stating the truth never catered so many misconceptions. “I don’t know if I would ever take a job in the heraldry business…” She touched the drink to her mouth and placed it down as the aroma entered her nose and reminded her stomach of the substance she almost willingly digested. “…It’s tough enough just being a blacksmith traveling from place to place; I could only imagine if I had to come to this place and tell them the government was closing on their bar.” Placing the drink roughly on the bar, Crimson motioned her head towards the obliviously observant barkeep. “Maybe I would get some kind of action from someone if that were the case.”

“You provided plenty of action as a trophy for a bit.” The fine rag around the barkeep’s hand formed a fitting groove inside of the glass as he scrubbed it clean.

“Whatever, your hat is stupid.” Throwing the drink back against her throat, her cheeks could only reflex in a strong bitter face. “And stop putting fertilizer in the drink.”

“I only try to poison the pretty ones, miss.”

“I can’t remember if you told me or not…” As Crimson struck back the conversation with Greyson, she heard the bashing of doors from behind her. “But, I didn’t catch your name?”

Before she could mutter out the rest of her belated introduction, the most ornate of the marines barked an order to search for a man named ‘Greyson.’

“Greyson Gaunt…” She spoke into the third drink she now splashed around in her hand. “Hate to be that guy right about now.” Spinning her stool around to see the marine standing by the door, Crimson remembered failing to remember any kind of rulings on weapons in public. Coming to this place came under the misconception she held about it being an arms community, so she could only draw a blank on how criminal she looked, or even was, at this moment. “I’m not a Greyson, but if I were I don’t think I would announce his list of crimes. Better to see if anyone knows about him in a clean slate kind of way, but I’m just a blacksmith with a terrible taste in my mouth…” Feeling she could finally get a rouse out of the barkeep, Crimson turned to the barkeep and then back to the marine. “The only information I know is don’t let strange men buy you three drinks here. It wastes their money and your time.”

[Jade]

Greyson remained quiet and amused after Crimson asked him his name, right before the Marines showed up, announcing that he was a wanted criminal. About time the law-enforcers got a clue, the Zoan user thought with a smile, tuning out Crimson's wordy response to the Marines. When she was quite finished, and just as a Marine was coming to question him, the well-dressed, self-proclaimed gentleman stood, dwarfing the baseball-cap wearing young man, staring instead at the slick man and the larger man behind him.

"I'm a little surprised it took you so long to come knocking on my door." the black-haired, tall man smirked, folding his arms in front of his chest. His gaze shifted to the young woman he had just released from chains of her own crafting, and his smirk turned into a full-blown smug smile. "My name, mademoiselle, is Greyson Gaunt, of course. As for you two... I sincerely hope you weren't expecting me to go quietly. That said, it would be a shame to destroy such a lovely establishment..." Greyson frowned. As if they would let him remove his shirt, let alone leave the building, without putting a pair of handcuffs on him. As long as they didn't know about his Devil Fruit power, however, he still had the advantage of surprise to fall back on, if he really needed it.

As he faced down the Marines for a moment, not paying any mind to the lower-ranked ones, the people in the bar, who had just a moment ago been looking at Greyson in a way that could only have been described as a mixture of shock, anger, and, in a few cases, smug amusement, either stared down into their drinks or food or moved back reflexively, sensing the challenge in Greyson's words. The large man unfolded his arms slowly, debating which Marine he should target first, if this did, indeed, come to blows...

(~*~)

Beak Uz stumbled at the sight of the Marine approaching, and it didn't make him feel any better when he realized said Marine was only looking for Greyson. A thousand dumb ideas jumped to the stout man's mind as his admittedly silly mustache quivered on his lip, and then his meaty hands lifted, moved once into a fist, and then dropped to his sides. "Aye... Greyson lives in tha house right there." His thumb, thrown casually over his shoulder, pointed at the rather out-of-place two-floor building that Greyson called home. "'Fraid he ain't home right now, though. His butler's home, if ye wanna talk to him?" Mr. Uz moved to leave, walking past the Marine.

"I'll let ya know if I see him."

(~*~)

Inside the house, Alistair was well aware of the Marine essentially right outside the door. How could he not be? Beak's loud, nervous voice couldn't have been more of a dead giveaway if it had tried to have been one. What an odd fat fellow, Alistair thought with a smile as he placed one last rose in the vase on the otherwise empty table in front of him. I don't believe I shall miss him much.

The old butler had no doubt in his mind that a Marine of most any standing could easily best him in a fight, but, nonetheless, the ornate sheath of his Rose Blade was on his belt, ready to be drawn if a fight were to break out, but beautiful enough, he hoped, to stand simply as a decoration if the Marine decided to be purely pleasant.

[Aubs]

Xavier smirked at the meeting. If there was any man that looked guiltier of hiding something than this rolle-polle he would have to deny his commission. But anyway, nice two story house in a rather inexpensive part of town, perhaps this Gaunt man had some clout. But then again, with riff-raff inhabiting his home he must also have very weak resolve. Still musing to himself the Marine walked to the front door and simple banged the knocker down three times. Sometimes the slow chase was the best approach. This guy was supposed to be a street fighter, so it was unexpected that he would be dastardly or crafty. He might swing a fist or two, but that was nothing to be concerned with.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for a Greyson Gaunt.” The door began to budge slowly, causing the LT drop his hand back down to his side almost too casually. Now was the moment.

---

It didn’t take all that long. Without much warning a single Marine that had been canvassing the area swung around, having heard the large man’s spiel and knowing that he was their target, and draw his sword. Another of the lackeys pulled out his flintlock pistol and squared up. That man in the back however, the dark one with the bald head did not flinch, he was experienced enough to know what was really going to happen here. And besides, he was standing in the doorway, and his presence alone was keeping everyone from running out of the bar, which was a feat in itself. When he did speak, his gruff voice seemed like the only thing going on in the room despite the commotion.

“Stand down boy, it’s not worth your life. And tell your friend to do the same.”

“Put your hands up!”

The Marines closed in, tightening their circle while the crowd tried to make themselves scarce.

---

The door fell over into the foyer, sliced clean in half by two insane sword strikes. Stepping inside causally, his sword sliding back into its long sheath. Xavier placed his hand on the door and lowered his head inside, mindful of some of the shards of wood littered on the nice floor. “I’m getting tired of waiting.” He called out into the house. It was actually quite a nice place, with solid tile beneath his feet and excellent banisters in the foyer before him. It all spoke of a man who had wealth. However, it was uncommon for a street fighter to have money or class, they tended to be wandering vagrants. So, just who was this Gaunt fellow and what was he doing here then. It was clear that this house was not originally built with the older ones in the neighborhood. Why the hell was this even going around in his mind, he must be getting bored. The Officer continued to yell as he moved deeper into the foyer and looked down one of the attached hallways, hoping to find anyone that might lead him in the right direction. He was running out of time after all. He was just about to start down a random hallway when he saw a movement from the corner of his eye. And there he was, someone to help him, a servant perhaps? Seeing Alistair stand there, Xavier lowered his voice and readdressed the man. “Now, can you tell me where I can find Greyson Gaunt? I’m getting the feeling he might not want to see me.”

---

Around town the Marines were beginning to muster as well. Partially for the sake of finding this asshole Lieutenant. But in addition, the fact that Marines from outside Stetson were here in the first place meant that something was going on, and they wanted part of it. What was really happening was still a bit in the air, but it was definitely going to interesting.

---

---

SPOILER: Click to show

excuse the terrible post, i was having creativity issues

[Deleted]

Crimson faced a moral dilemma. Standing in firm absolution for his own decisions, Greyson probably did something worthy of the attention he garnered, but on the other side of the law, these marines did not factor in the fact he bought her three drinks. “Wait just a minute…” The three drinks spoke through Crimson’s mouth. “You do disturb the peace?” She framed her understanding of the situation in ignorance. “I think these guys are doing more disturbing than anything. When I was drinking with this guy… ” Her hand motioned to man beside her. “…It was all fine, but then you guys came in and made a ruckus, so I think you are confusing your own crimes with that of someone whose only crime is assisting a stranger to a strange land.”

Even though she could not comprehend the series of events this would ultimately lead her into, Crimson decided to toss her hat into the ring of this debacle. Quite literally. Flying from her head and towards the floor in front of the marines, the hat would burst in a cloud of cinnamon. While the cloud rose up and filled the small area with a red shroud, Crimson wrapped the chain around her arm and braced the grip of her wakizashi.

A level of pretense could wash away with the brash waves of steel about to crash against the bar, but with all the excitement it made more sense to pay no attention to the locked away reason Crimson held deep within the labyrinthine neural lapses. The air smelled a little nicer than it did a moment ago. If nothing else good became of this meeting, at least it would leave the bar with the fresh hint of spices before it the staff would need to scrub the nauseating stench of blood from the wooden planks of the floor.

Right now, it looked like the Gaunt held the bulk of the blame for whatever incrimination stood before them. With this being his indictment, Crimson stood ready for him to make the first move. If she needed to get involved, her level of involvement would be less stressed outside of the range of effect of a flint pistol. Dragging an anvil around didn’t seem so dumb now. Not to Crimson at least, but what she planned on doing with it could be seen as dumb. For the sake of balance, Crimson dragging around an anvil, even in the case of using it to secure an exit for a wanted fugitive, would still be a dumb idea, but it was better than no idea.

So, Crimson decided to act out her dumb idea to prove dragging an anvil around wasn’t a dumb idea. The anvil flew dumbly through the air and landed a few feet from Crimson when Crimson dumbly forgot anvils are heavy. “Well that didn’t work.” She still had a sword and chain for arguments sake. “I still have a chain for fighting sake.” Or that.

[Jade]

Greyson smirked at Crimson's efforts to attempt defend him, and then let the smirk grow into a full-on smile as the young lady attempted to defend him by throwing her anvil. He continued to disregard the Marines' attempts at getting him to come quietly (all utterly pointless, as far as he was concerned), although the weapons certainly didn't escape his notice. "Well, I certainly appreciate your desire to be of assistance, mademoiselle..." The Zoan user said, directing the comment to the blacksmith girl but keeping his eyes trained on the big man keeping people from leaving the bar. "But I believe I can handle them on my own."

No sense in waiting any longer, really. Time to be a little... Showy.

The wealthy Gaunt man, with his arms raised in preparation to punch, began to grow in size rather quickly, his clothing stretching to fit his new height while two sets of horns, one at the top of his head, where his hair met his forehead, and the other at edge of his jawline. Greyson changed his stance slightly, putting both his hands, now covered in a protective layer of dull brown scales, in front of his chest, cracking his knuckles, and then moved. "Un." The half-ankylosaurus man took a step toward the Marine closest to him, letting his fist, currently embedded in the man's face, pull him closer to his next target. "Deux." His next swing was aimed at the Marine to the left of the one he just punched the face of, right at the man's chest. "Trois." And his final punch was aimed the man to the right of his original target; he spun low, rising up to the hit the man in the jaw.

"As you can see..." Greyson turned his back to the Marines, almost certain his back armor would be enough to block any sword swings and hoping it would be enough to stop any bullets, although he had a pretty good idea that it would not be enough for the latter, to face Crimson. "I am more than capable enough to hold my own against these bastards."

At those last words, Greyson's eyes flitted to the left, trying to look at the large, bald man at the door without turning. "And for your information, I'm no boy, old man."

(~*~)

Alistair remained silent as the Marine entered the house, although he felt a slight pang of regret as the shards of the door hit the floor. He remained silent as the unwelcome guest exclaimed his dislike for boredom, and silent for a few seconds after the Marine directed a question at him. He stroked a petal tenderly, not even bothering to look up at the intruder, and then spoke up. "Sir Greyson Gaunt is not currently present in the house. He left the house a little while ago and informed me that he would be going to, ahem, 'get a drink'." The old butler looked up, staring, unblinkingly, at this young man.

"So, I would suggest looking for him out at the local bar. He never really liked that place, and avoided it like the plague, but after this whole thing with his only pastime being shut down by the Marines?" Alistair sighed, continuing his unblinking glare at the Marine. "Oh, my, I bet he would find a way to drink it all away."

[Aubs]

Sword having been replaced in its sheath at his side, the young officer took a moment to study this servant. He seems rather brusque, apparently unafraid of the law entering his place of work as such. Just who was he dealing with really? Tapping the simple pommel of his sword Xavier looked around the foyer for a moment longer before he decided on his next course of action. He was already aware of the marines going to local bars to find those willing to testify against Mr. Gaunt, which had been the easiest course of action after all. Perhaps there was more to learn about why this mission was so hastily put together. Voice stilled, he began to speak.

“So what can you tell me about this Mr. Gaunt? I’m curious as to why so much of a fuss is being made over him.”

---

Even with the other marines being so easily crushed behind the immense strength of the augmented Greyson, the single man that had been the stalwart protector of the doorway to the outside world was very unimpressed. He was completely un-phased by Greyson display of power. Had he seen things like this on the seas before, or was his just equipped with a very good poker face. His arms were bare, showing the hard work he had done for the service of the corps over the years. Stepping forward he moved right into the fray that had been caused by this little cowgirl and the street fighter with a very interesting ability. An anvil rolled a few feet away, the last ditch effort of the redhead to defend herself, though she had done a decent job if the sprawled marine by her was any indication. Without another word the man, whose name for the record was Marv, drew from his belt a single set of knuckles with a blade attached, an older, crude weapon referred to as a trench knife. Marv moved not toward Greyson but towards this Crimson, who would make the much better target after all.

---

Marines were setting off the make shift blockades that had been prepared for sieges of the little town in older days. Small wooden walls that could be carried in and placed between streets. The nameless protectors of the town were working diligently to prepare for something, what they just didn’t really know. It all seemed rather strange, as if some big riot was about to happen. I mean in reality one was very close to occurring but how the local marines had any idea was beyond them. Off in the shadows of this busywork the Captain of the island with his commanding, and somewhat demeaning voice spoke with another voice over the den den. His own marching orders no doubt. Clicking to end the call he walk towards the nearest group of his Marines and gave his commands.

“Everyone, take them to the center square. No exceptions.”

Nodding gravely the marines charged down the streets to execute their orders. Every man woman and child would be sent to the town square to receive the message presented by the Captain. It was for their safety, why else would they have to do all this? Banging on the nearest door, the seaman recruit asked politely for the people to proceed to the square, and that the most direct route had been made for them, it was very urgent. When one man down the street slightly refused to be bothered, a marine kicked in his door and dragged him out by the scruff of his clothes. The sun was just beginning to set around them.

---

---

[Deleted]

Well things got started. And, Crimson thought for a minute Gaunt finished them under the weight of his incredible power. “What the hell?” Never before did Crimson ever witness such an odd, unnatural power. His moves filled her with uneasiness. Siding with anyone exhibiting the signs of an unnatural power usually gained it through a form of illegal means. The exact nature eluded her mind, but she assumed deep down she knew. A little complying message couldn’t hurt. “What exactly are you…” Twice in one day favors came imparted from the now ravaging force of reckless energy giving some marines a sound thrashing. “Wait, did you get a whole lot bigger or did I just get a whole lot drunker?”

In all honesty, she no longer knew whose side she was really on in this debacle.

Then Marv attacked.

Followed by the return of Crimson’s resolution.

“Hey!” Crimson swung her chain to try and grapple Marv’s open arm as he came in for the swing. As her chain wrapped up, she would go down to one knee and turn her back to Marv to defend from the impact of his legs and to give her some leverage to throw him. In all the excitement of the moment, Crimson forgot she threw her metaphorical hat into the ring when she threw her literal hat into the group of marines. Now she needed to find a way to keep this fight moving in a direction she “I’m trying to decide about whether or not I make good decisions!”

Adrenaline and alcohol made for a good combination when it came to dueling a skilled opponent. If motion failed and Crimson couldn’t throw the man over her shoulder, she would try her hardest to wrap her legs around his left leg and pull the chain to take his right arm to the opposite side of his body to get him to have to fight against his natural pull. “I don’t care much for the venue for this duel…” Either way, her objection to his attack came more from her discomfort from where the duel took place. “Would you like to step outside to finish this?”

The bartender kept to his cleaning while the brawl continued. “By all means, miss…”It felt like a good day to file claims with the local authorities to get a few new amenities added to his establishment out of someone else’s pocket. “I think I’m up for a good vacation, so knock yourself out.” If not for the severity of the blade seeking to make a new home within her gut, she would rather ask the bar keep the question she presented Marv.

[Jade]

"Well, that's answered simply enough." Alistair broke his glaring at the young Marine officer, instead turning his attention toward the backs of his hands, which were squeezing the back of a chair. "If you would like, please, you are more than welcome to sit down. After all, I doubt Sir Gaunt will be returning to care whether or not his possessions were defiled by the man who comes to take him away."

The old butler rounded the chair he had been gripping and sat down himself, leaving his sheathed sword leaning on the side of the chair as he smoothed his pant legs. "Truthfully, I am not sure where to start... I have known him for the past 12 or so years now, serving him as his one and only butler and personal accountant." The older man turned again to look at the Marine officer, giving him a wry smile. "As I am sure you are already aware, Greyson had been a member of an illegal fighting ring on this island. He had always held a love for combat and expensive things; I helped him to combine those two passions into one illustrious, albeit criminal, career."

Alistair raised his left hand, and then made a sweeping hand gesture, meant to draw the Marine's gaze toward each and every furnishing, wall ornament, painting, and tiny detail in the ornate living room. "As you can see, our work certainly came to some fruition. When I first came here, Greyson's fortune, given to him by his parents, was all but gone, having paid for the expense of building the home, but none of the beauties he desired. Y Knot, one of the fighters already apprehended by your peers, came knocking on his door one day, and gave him an invitation to the fighting ring. Greyson took to the combat like a fish to water, and, with my assistance, his fortune rose again, and doubled, and then tripled, and kept growing. It seemed like it would never quite end..." The butler's wry smile turned to a slightly amused poker face. "But, as we both know, it did end."

Standing once more, the older servant, leaving his sheathed blade to lean on the chair he had just vacated, stalked into the kitchen with perfect poise. "I hope that was enough to sate your curiosity. Greyson truly is an interesting man... Certainly not a shining example of human virtues, but definitely interesting. It has been my pleasure serving him these past few years..."

(~*~)

Greyson, slowly reverting back to his normal, full-human form, took a step back, content to merely watch the Marine known as Marv's weapon and method of combat when matched against the foreign girl. The weapon was certainly... Interesting, that was for sure; if he had to take a guess, it wouldn't exactly fare too well against his full-ankylosaurus form, however. But where would the fun in that be? "While I do think your handling of this situation is... Admirable, mademoiselle, I believe I'll be taking over from this point." He stepped between Crimson and the trench knife-equipped Marine, splaying and bending his fingers before putting them back into fists. "Especially since, as far as the two of us are aware, je suis the only one here you wish to capture."

Marv merely realigned his sights, holding up his dual weapons, continuing his trend of being absolutely silent. The lower-ranking Marines all cowered off, ready to assist their obvious superior if the need would arise, but unwilling to get in between the two powerhouses and risk unnecessary injury. The Zoan user grinned, mockingly taking the same stance as Marv; and then the latter sprung forward without warning, making a fast jab past Greyson's face.

The wealthy combatant made to grin and catch the Marine with a punch to the gut, but instead grimaced in pain and made a move to the right. He put a hand up to the left side of his face, pulling away his fingers to reveal a bit of blood. "Merde..." Greyson muttered the oath to himself, once again becoming aware of the blades that made the weapons the dark-skinned Marine wielded truly dangerous. Meanwhile, Marv was already back at it, taking another swing at his face. This time, Greyson was slightly better prepared; instead of doing anything else, he merely called upon the power of his Devil Fruit. Muscles and bones shifted in an instant as he elongated; a hard, rocky armor developed along his back; a mighty tail, with a heavy bone club set on the end, sprouted from his body. Without waiting even a second to gauge his opponent's reaction, Greyson barreled forward, catching Marv's gut like he had originally intended to (although this was with his head, as opposed to his fist, as was the actual original plan), and smashed the Marine into the wall.

Taking a few steps backward, shifting again into his fully human form as he did so (making the transition from all fours back to being bipedal look nearly seamless had taken several years of practice), Greyson gave the Marine officer a wry grin. "Check, bâtard."

[Aubs]

The charging Greyson was nothing new to Marv. With trained skill the man simply shifted his back leg and let the blow from the larger man streak past his face. Then with equal precision he took his left hand and bent the dull side of his trench knife around the wrist of Mr. Gaunt. Pulling his arm back the behemoth of a man was pulled along with it arm first. Finally to cap off the move our Marine took his knife and lightly sliced Greyson on the side. Just as quickly he disengaged and stepped away from his enemy, displeasure on his face. The lady named Crimson or what have you must have escaped in the hustle and was nowhere to be seen, leaving only these two to fight it out. Gritting his teeth Marv prepped for another onslaught, only to be caught off guard by a ramming to his chest by an inhuman head.

Shattering into the back of the bar the marine could only use what strength was in his arms alone to beat on Greyson’s thickened skull until the beast pulled away and transformed into a human once more, still far larger than the Marine was. This was no longer a simple grab mission like he had expected. Now Marv knew why they had been rerouted to this little island. It was not to mop up some street fighting ring, it was to catch this man, a Devil Fruit user who could transform into an animal. Our Marine slide to the floor slowly as he came out his depression in the wall, his body easing out of its hole. Pain was already slowing him down, but Marv had a few more tricks up his sleeve before this one was over, and he certainly wasn’t calling it quits just yet.

In a flash he was gone, as if he had faded out of existence. Then just as quickly he was punching Greyson in the side of the head with his metal knuckles. This was the power of the Marines, the power ultimate form of the human fighting style, the Rokushiki. Quickly flipping the knife in his right hand over so it was blade first Marv swung downward, ripping the air in front of him with a sickly green slash that shattered the air in front of his airborne frame. The ceiling of the small bar was not all that far from his head now, and the release of such a strong technique made it shake and rattle.
This was just getting started.

---

“Good to hear sir. Then I suppose you are willing to join him in his captivity?” Xavier was sitting in one of the plush chairs looking over nonchalantly at Alistair from the corner of his eye. Before him, on the coffee table was the Daily Coo, stuffed today with a few bounties of recent interest. Leaning forward the Marine pulled out the stack and began to browse through them. With a sudden sharp jolt Xavier came to his feet, the rest of the papers falling to the floor as he held one bounty poster in his hands. Turning swiftly he came face to face with the wise-ass butler.

“Take me to where he would be, now. I don’t know why I was sent here to get one stinking street fighter but I’ve about had my fill of this place. After you.”

He wasn’t taking no for answer, politely folding and tucking away the single bounty poster in his breast pocket while watching the servant carefully. Whatever had just happened was important to him, much more so than whoever this Greyson character was. The quicker Xavier finished with things here the faster he could find the answers for those questions now swimming through his head at a maddening pace. Voice growing sharp when the butler did not immediately move, the Lieutenant gave it another shot, this time with vigor.

“Now!”

---

[Jade]

Greyson's facial expression didn't change at all when the Marine man vanished, but anyone who was watching closely would have noticed his posture change slightly. His fists tightened and his shoulders went rigid, a simple enough change but vastly different than the relaxed stance he had held not a moment before. Despite the lack of perceptible change in the physical plane, on the mental one, Greyson was, and rightly so, in a panic. His eyes quickly took in his surroundings, scanning the room in front of him back and forth in the hope that the vanishing had just been a cheap trick and that the Marine hadn't actually moved far from that spot. He was in the process of swiveling on his heels when the punch connected with his head.

Reflexively, the large brawler shifted into his hybrid form, but it didn't do much good as the air slash Marv had made connected with his side, ripping his shirt and the poorly-protected skin underneath asunder. The small patches of scales weren't nearly as durable as they were in his full-Zoan form, and even less durable than the back armor he possessed. The attack sent Greyson flying back into a group of Marines who had just been gathering the courage to point their rifles at the outlaw, toppling them over and snapping at least one of their rifles.

"You... You're an imbécile." The half-ankylosaurus man shakily stood, not particularly caring at this point that his left side a nasty cut that was currently causing him to lose a decent amount of blood. No, no; at this point, the fight had truly become personal, and he was going to tear this man limb from limb. Or at least smash him until his ribs had the same consistency as his blood. Planting one hand on the ground while Marv spun the right knife back to its starting position, Greyson quickly grew once again, and then set off at a charge mid-transformation.

His back armor was fully in place by the time his head connected with the Marine's stomach again... Or, at least, that had been the plan; Marv wasn't going to be played a fool by the same strategy twice, and met the incoming collision with both fists and a ready stance, stopping Greyson in his tracks. His tail was fully developed and the last strands of hair had disappeared from his head as the Devil Fruit user bellowed at Marv, pushing forward with all his might. His vision was just beginning to dim as the exertion caused his blood to flee his body faster when Marv's legs gave out, and then Greyson was on top of the man, smashing down on the Marine's torso with the full weight of his Zoan form.

(~*~)

"I would not use the word 'willing', but I will not be putting up a fight, if that's what you mean."

Alistair had moved forward, picking his blade up, when Xavier suddenly made his demands. The old man stood stock-still for a moment, caught mid-bend in picking up his dear sword, and remained as such even after Xavier yelled once again. "Honestly, you younger folk don't know the meaning of patience, do you? Greyson is not going anywhere. And I have a simple request for you... Just as a final favor to an old man who is surely about to see his last days in a prison due to a cruel chance..."

The butler turned to face the Marine officer stiffly, presenting his dear Rose Blade to the man. "I simply request that you make sure that this blade is taken care of. It has been in my family for generations, and its quality is nearly peerless in the world of simple blades. You may take it for your own use, or keep it simply as a decoration, but... As my final request, I beg of you to see this sword safe. I will go without so much as a thought of making your job any harder, but I beg of you, please. Grant me this."

(~*~)

Greyson stood again, staring down his opponent, swinging his tail menacingly behind him. Marv was clearly in pain now, with a bit of coughed-up blood drying on his chin, but Greyson's own wounds were just as great as the Marine's broken ribs. The Zoan user bellowed another challenge at the Marine, who once again disappeared. Bellowing, this time in frustration, the brawler stomped the ground once before the Marine reappeared above him, sending another air slash down at his back.

Unfortunately, that attack had as much affect as the landing on Greyson's back shortly after had on the thick armoring; although a good sword may have been able to cleave him in half, even through the armor, if a great swordsman was the one to deliver the blow, the air slash may as well have been like a breeze when it hit the thick plating. Greyson quickly shifted into his hybrid form, throwing himself backward as he did so, in an attempt to crush Marv below his mighty weight; the Marine did manage to get mostly out of the way, although one foot was caught under Greyson and produced an awful noise as the ankle was twisted and more than a couple of the bones in the foot were broken.

Marv made the first noise Greyson had registered in this fight at that, yelping in pain, and then he pulled away. Greyson lifted himself back up to view his opponent, who was attempting to stand as the Devil Fruit user stood. To his dismay, the Marine did stand, although it was obvious that he wasn't going to be pulling that stupid vanishing act again, nor any fast lunges. Or slow lunges. Maybe he would be able to hobble toward Greyson pitifully, but the brawler was now confident that this fight was in the bag. "Ah, now then, monsieur... You're still an imbécile. Good bye."

Greyson lunged at the man, grabbing the man's head with one hand. "Un." A fist was delivered to the man's gut, prompting another spray of blood to come forth from the man's mouth. "Duex." Greyson let go of the man and delivered another punch, lower than the first and positioned to knock the man slightly into the air. "Trois." A final, cracking blow to the side of Marv's head, sending the large Marine into the now-vacated bar, breaking the wood as he traveled through it, and finally came to rest on the opposite end, in the wall, bleeding from the final wound to the head.

Greyson stood still, smirking in his victory as the horns on the side of his jaw slowly retracted into his head as he resumed his normal human form, still oblivious to the world and his wound. Marv remained still and glassy-eyed, to the brawler's well-hidden joy; and it was then that he realized his wound. The blood already lost caused Greyson to stagger, and he tore one of his great sleeves from his already-ruined shirt to tie around his waist to prevent any more blood from being lost. "Don't... Don't think I've forgotten about the rest of you..." He snarled his challenge at the Marines pointing their rifles at him as the horns once again jutted from his jawline.

"I'll tear you all membre par membre!"