Post by Terminally Chill on Jun 23, 2013 23:59:06 GMT -5
“LAND!”
A pair of boots planted themselves firmly on the shabby wooden dock as the erupted throughout the unknown town. A dinky rowboat knocked against the dock, tied securely beneath with the oars placed inside. The new arrival's youth was evident in both appearance and his curious, coffee-colored eyes. An adventurous spark burned in the teenager's irises, slightly shadowed by the hood pulled over his unkempt blond mop. A stick rested against the rookie's shoulder, sparse belongings hanging in a cloth from the end – the stereotypical symbol of leaving home.
The kid's name was Oskar Riles, a title he was more than willing to throw in the face of everyone in the world. The gun-smoke greenhorn was dramatically thankful to be on solid land again, kneeling down to confirm the reality of the island. After setting out from his home in Baraca Town on Cinna Island, the new pirate's inexperience at sea became dreadfully apparent. Oskar was unsure how long he'd been at sea, burning through his rations with little thought of conservation and finding himself generally unprepared for a trip at sea. Oskar would never admit it was anything except glorious, though. After all, he ended up at some sort of destination in the end, right?
Oskar ceased his terrestrial worship, finally taking his first steps toward adventure. A wooden sign at the dock soon answered one of the many questions swimming in Oskar's hard head. The young fighter paused a moment to read the sign, accustomed to any sort of strange South Blue spellings that would have tongue-tied a foreigner.
“Atzintli.”
Dwelling on the name for a moment, Oskar managed to pull the city's name from memory. The Ciudadela Queendom... So that's where he'd managed to land. Although the bullet-fist brawler had been on Cinna Island all of his life, he wasn't lacking on knowledge of the sea. Cinna Island was a trading hub where all sorts of information was passed around. The teen's knowledge of the Queendom was vague at best, but images of a beautiful white marble palace was almost always the focal point of any stories travelers told. What Oskar saw in front of him was a modest town of rugged brick buildings. The hoodied rookie had attracted the attention of the locals with his boisterous antics, shooting him weary glances. They were hardly dressed in lavish garments, ranging from conservative and simple to only steps above rags. There was a stark contrast to the extravagance Oskar was expecting; his vision of islands may have been skewed to the fantastic by his life rather sheltered life on Baraca Town.
Oskar shrugged, certain that the town with brick houses was hardly all the Ciudadela Queendom had to offer. The human pistol continued through the town of Atzintli, eyes drawn to the various farming techniques being practiced in the fields. Azintli's fertile fields weren't a far cry from the plantations of Cinna Island. The town's simplicity gave Oskar a sense of home, a feeling that brought him bittersweet comfort. Being caught in the day-to-day island routine was also somewhat disappointing, embarking on adventure only to be faced with a similarly mundane picture. Oskar only expected over-the-top occurrences of epic proportions from here on out. Not farming.
A rough shoulder suddenly rammed into Oskar, pulling him from his careless observation of the townsfolk. The neophyte adventurer stumbled, belongings scattered to the ground as he lost his grip on the stick securing them. Oskar let out an embarrassed grunt, whirring around in a fury to face the person responsible. The stranger made no effort to acknowledge his offense, continuing on without a care.
“Oi oi!” Oskar let out an exasperated shout, brandishing a dangerous fist. “Don't you know who I am?!”
The man hesitated a moment before stopping, unsure if he was the one being addressed. His modest garb made it obvious he was another Atzintli citizen. Raising an eyebrow, the man turned his body entirely around upon realizing the blond pipsqueak was shouting at him.
“Eh...?” The Ciudadelan walked to Oskar, head cocked curiously. “Am I supposed to, brat?”
“The name's Oskar Riles!” The youth's sleeve snapped as he threw an impressive punch to punctuate the gravity of his name. The Aztinli man gave a few clueless blinks, his blank expression far from impressed.
“You know, Cinna Island's Young Peacock? The Champion of the South?!” Oskar threw two more punches to accompany the self-proclaimed titles.
“Never heard of you,” said the man flatly, waving Oskar off without a thought and continuing on his way.
The teenage weapon's eyes widened in shock, having been completely dismissed despite his grand status. Oskar made a single step forward, teeth grinding together and fist clenched. The moment of humiliation passed though – fighting such a man wasn't worth of Oskar Riles' first battle. Oskar turned in a huff and knelt down, grumbling as he bundled the pile of belongings in the frayed cloth once again and tied it tightly to the stick. Resting the makeshift pack against his shoulder, the Baraca boy looked to the silhouettes of buildings looming in the center of the island.
'I'll have to do something about that, then.'