Post by Terminally Chill on Dec 27, 2014 23:38:31 GMT -5
“That didn't work out.”
“Yeah, no shit?!” The frustrated grunt was slightly muffled, spat out while Magnum Garands, the Pirate King, chomped down on one of the metal bars denying his freedom with the insane tenacity of a rabid dog. The effort of gnawing through the solid metal was futile, the bar unharmed by the ravenous biting.
The ship's underbelly was in stark contrast to the grand festivities exploding into life on the deck. The cluster of shabby cells were crowded together somewhere in the bowels of the ship, faint trails of light spilling through splits in the wood to illuminate specks of dust floating lazily through the stale air. A prison beneath the deck was the newest addition on a long list of sketchily suspicious elements pertaining to the Grand Floating Festival. Surely this was where the masked security guards intended to place Garands: the place where those who couldn't wait for the ominous Main Event ended up. The blue-haired berserker didn't really care about any of that, though. His one-track mind was solely focused on breaking out of the cell and then breaking through Liger Delgado's face. With his fist.
“This is all your fault, who know that?” Garands snarled at his cell mate: the shieldful young man who had (fortunately) failed to break his meteorite entry into the ship's deck. The crazed gnashing came to a halt as Garands lost his balance and collapsed to the hard wooden floor. His feet were now bound as well, locked in a similar contraption to the hunk of metal locked around his wrists. A solid metal sombrero ensnared his ankles, an anchoring memento from the Flamenco Force. While the punk with the golden belt managed to slug a few of the dancing security guards before going down, the strange restraint made sure his struggle was short.
“Why the hell are all their cuffs so weird?!” Garands struggled against the two stylish contraptions now containing him, rolling on the dusty floor and cursing in rage. The tantrum eventually rolled the caged bull to his knees, followed by a strenuous struggle to his feet. A violent fire burned in Garands' eyes as he clumsily hopped in the least-threatening way toward the captive knight.
“Shoulda offed you when I had the chance,” Garands growled out, eyes narrowing as he once against faced off against the larger man with unwarranted aggression. “I could headbutt you into nothin', right now.” The threat was laughable and might have even done well at a comedy open mic night with the right crowd, but the thug delivered the sentence with deathly gravity.
“Just a couple of small fries with no bounty.”
A pair of luchador guards belonging to the Bodyslam Brigade lumbered through the door amid conversation, the first motioning casually in the direction of Garands and Arcis' cell.
“Boooring... Why couldn't I have been put in charge of guarding the Ringling girl instead?” The other wrestler yawned, obviously not impressed by the ship jail's newest captives, or any of the other unfortunate souls in the other cells for that matter. “Wish Mr. Liger would get on with the Main Event so we could see some action.”
“Relax, relax. It won't be long now.” The first guard raised his hands assuredly. “Once Mr. Liger springs the trap, it'll be the biggest bounty haul in history! The pirates topside won't know what hit them.”
“Damn it... I'm gonna miss my chance to defend my belt 'cause of you.” Garands completely ignored any nuances of a diabolical plan carelessly revealed to him by the suited luchas, instead ready to make his previous threat of death-by-headbutting a reality. Until someone pissed him off even more.“OI! Shut up over there!”
“OI! Shut up over there!”
“YOU SHUT UP!” Garands immediately latched onto one of the metal bars once again, chewing furiously on the solid steel.
Nope... Still wasn't working.
Meanwhile, outside of Bailey's cell!
Purupurupuru. Purupurupuru.
A snail donning the mighty mask of Lucha Libre rang out its dull alarm atop a table in another part of the ship, away from the teenage magnum and the shield-bearing soldier. A suited luchador answered the Den Den Mushi's call, raising the transponder to the side of his mask.
“Y-Yes?”
“Put me through to Barnum's daughter.” The low and even voice on the other side of the Den Den Mushi was unmistakably that of the Flying Delgado Company's C.E.O., Mr. Liger Delgado.
“We have business to discuss.”