From Ashes Once Scattered, The Eighty-Sixth Division Arises!

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #1}

---

^{Marine Base B-4
Ilusia Kingdom
West Blue
Approx. 0900 Hrs}

It had been a gruelling task to say the least, but after several long days of cruising across the open ocean, Junior Lieutenant Yngvildr Yvionne and her contingent had returned to the West Blue’s centre of operations for all forces belonging to the World Navy. The day was hardly dismal, but definitely overcast, sunlight only once in a while piercing the clouds above in its full glory. That being said, it was still relatively early into the day proper, but B-4 was already working in full.

The oddity lay in the form of a rather mundane gathering of men and women — seamen ranked of First Class and higher who were all present for the same reason. A sparse at present congregation of uniforms loitering with some variable degree of patience about an open courtyard close to the dry docks. There had been no further call as of yet; not since the morning’s mandatory task assignments for permanent hands. They might have seemed out of place, slacking even, if not for one crucial factor.

“So I took some spare black powder, wrapped the whole thing tight, then launched it right at the f*¢<er!” chirped a rather excited man of shorter than average stature and darker complexion, wearing his signature cashmere fine curls beneath his baseball cap. His hands slammed together in a loud clap to emphasise his story, making one of the younger seamen jump slightly. The rest seemed unimpressed, but that did not disparage the stocky siege and demolitions expert known as Petty Officer Argyle.

Nearby stood another soul — a Warrant Officer by the name of Nightingale, whose lanky stature defied the kind of person they were. She could have easily passed as either sex, with an androgynous visage, modest physique, and raven hair cut short and neatly clipped. Hawkish features analysed people, one by one, as they entered the courtyard and joined the growing mass, her back soon straightening when she spied another.

Deep grey hair of feathered cut and eyes of cold plum were both striking features, readily identifiable as belonging only to one Marine — the functional and oftentimes menacing Yngvildr Yvionne herself. Justice Coat draped across her shoulders as any respectable officer would have, the collar and sleeves of a pristine white shirt poked free from a sleeveless, plum-coloured sweater of notable length. White trousers and black boots finalised the look in one sense, but it was the large, squared head of a maul resting over her shoulder that truly defined who she was. Few of those present had seen it; those that did understood the moniker.

^{“Lieutenant Yngvildr, ma’am!”
“Lieutenant!”}

A rather lively salute from Argyle was matched with a strong, well-drilled recognition of rank by Nightingale. The Hammer of Justice mostly ignored them, giving only a cursory glance in their directions as she approached the courtyard’s centre. There, she rested her hammer upon the ground, looking up to the top of an execution platform — one that had recently been used for the first time in some months. Several of Walter Bison’s men had taken their last breaths at the summit after extensive interrogations.

Yvie simply stared. An eagle, perched at the top, stared back.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
_{As newly established members of the 86th Marine Division gather, Argyle and Nightingale amongst them, Yvionne watches a bird atop an execution platform.}

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Nightingale [NPC] ❘ #36b5dd ❘ Warrant Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain

[The Love Ballad]

Petty Officer Dubrovnik Ragusa stared into the mirror, his green eyes meeting those in his reflection as he did so. The whites remained tinged with red, and the thick dark bags that outlined the orbs completing the visage of exhaustion that continued to ripple through him. The quartermaster could not sleep, he had been unable to do so since the mission had ended. Pain continually throbbed through his limbs, every waking and un-waking moment. He'd refused painkillers, they'd dull his mind, and he still had work to do. It was only during these private moments, in one of the quieter crew washrooms that he allowed himself to demonstrate his weakness so openly, his posture slumped and his teeth gritted. 

Dawn had not yet broken, yet the NCO had been awake for what felt like the whole night, his broken arm refusing to allow him a moment of rest. Thankfully, be it by fate or by luck, the rest of his wounds had begun to fade into memories and scars. The marine hissed through his teeth as he unwrapped the bandage from one such wound, a bullet that had scratched against his thigh during the battle. Had he not been transformed, then almost surely it would have hit an artery and the man would not be alive to tell the tale. As it was, however, it merely served as a painful reminder.

Without any more noise than a small grunt, Dubrovnik dutifully unwrapped the gauze, throwing it into the small bucket that served as the waste disposal in the lavatory before replacing it with a fresh dressing. The wound had long since closed and the blood-glow long since clotted, but the sutures remained in place, a visual reminder of his current status as little more than walking wounded.

His work done, the sailor blinked, before turning his vision back to the mirror. The rest of the crew would awake soon, and he had to look presentable when that happened. Officers, be they commissioned or not, could not afford to show weakness before their underlings. It spread fear through the ranks. Wordlessly he attend to his appearance.

---

It was a few hours later when the petty officer found himself on the shore of B-4, the great marine base in the West. The same base that had served as Ragusa's port of call for the length of his military career. No matter the division he was posted to, he always seemed to end up back in B-4. Throughout the years, it seemed that the base had barely changed, remaining the same bustle of white and blue that he had become so familiar with.

He supposed that would all change now, what with the formation of the Eighty-Sixth Division and his own posting to such. A lot of things would change. Truthfully, Ragusa had not put all too much thought into such, aside from the smattering of pride and nervous excitement that had run through his body continuously since he had been invited. A chance to properly prove himself.

Said thoughts had only become more present since they had docked on the base, even as he had worked through the few small tasks that befell him each morning as quartermaster. Now he found himself with more than a few of the marines who he had served with in the most recent pacification of Bison and his crew.

Where many of the men and women talked amongst themselves, reliving the mission with the kind of giddy excitement that could only be shared amongst comrades who had escaped the clutches of death together, the neatly presented petty officer stood aloof toward the centre of the courtyard. Where a few days earlier he had sat in only bloodied trousers, disheveled and unconscious, the marine that stood in the square that morning was a return to form. His arm remained in a sling, and the bandages that adorned many of his extremities were the only signs of weakness. His dress-whites, once more, were perfectly pressed. Not a single button nor hair out of place. Of course, he could do nothing to hide the exhaustion behind his eyes, but he could hide such in his movements.

Ragusa was standing idle, his mind dancing over the morning's events thus far, attempting to commit them to memory, when he noticed the approach of the junior lieutenant. Her approach was met by the salutes of her men, most noticeably the other NCOs, their words and actions drawing the silent snapping of arms from those junior enlisted men who stood around them. Ragusa, too, followed suit, his arm snapping to attention before easing. 

The woman paid her troops barely any mind, so Ragusa saw little merit in interrupting her focus. Instead he returned to his mental exercises, the sound of Argyle returning to his story of daring and danger fading into the background of his thoughts.

He was vaguely aware of the eagle perched upon the platform, although his mind had seen fit to put that in the same category as Argyle's excited words. Many officers had pets, and attention to a single bird was hardly required.

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #2}

---

“So that’s the LT?” one of the seamen asked, somewhat hushed, amongst a group of his comrades. Many of those present had not yet met the woman. For many, it was their first time seeing such an imposing, yet distant figure. A sight they would have to take in; one they would have to grow accustomed to, for sure.

“She’s taller than most of the men here,” another stated.

^{“That hammer of hers,” whispered another:
“I heard it crushed dozens of skulls!”}

^{“Why is she looking at the platform…?”}

You’re going to take your time, aren’t you? Miss Yngvildr asked in silence, eyes briefly meeting those of the eagle at its perch. With little more than a sigh, she raised her hammer, its head pointing downwards and allowed it to gently slam against the tiles of the courtyard. The sound drew the focus of some, if not all, of the troops present — even those finally joining the group seemed to hesitate a little at the sight. A single step back was all she took, turning to face the growing numbers and sweeping eyes across them with absent focus.

So these are the others who accepted the invitations, she pondered, occasionally stalling her scan upon seamen who seemed rather perturbed by her silent gaze. None, at least to her eyes, stood out to any great degree. A passing recognition of the faces of Nightingale, Argyle, and of course, Dubrovnik, was granted. But those were folks she had personally picked, the reason variable. Authority. Ingenuity. Willingness. Perhaps most importantly of all, they each shared a specific desire to do whatever it took to get the job done.

Wings fluttered.

“Hm… Sooner than I thought,” Yvie spoke, looking back to the eagle as it swooped overhead and began to circle the crowd at altitude, letting out a shrill shriek to announce itself. Of course, the bird meant little. What held weight and presence, however, was what had replaced it atop the execution platform. A figure of relatively average stature, shoulders draped with a Justice Coat not too unlike the Junior’s own. A man in his fifties, perhaps, with sharpened features and piercing golden eyes to match hair of pale electrum, short and combed back. A dark yellow suit with white shirt confirmed his identity almost as much as the singular scar that ran down the left side of his face, from temple to chin.

“Attention!” Yvionne called out, saluting.

^{“Oh, come on now,” the mysterious officer waved dismissively:
“Don’t worry about formalities, ladies and gentlemen…”}

^{“Tch…!”}

“Lighten up, Yvionne,” he smiled, lips ever so slightly crooked by the work of the scar. With an almost playful grin upon his face, he squatted precariously at the platform’s edge, arms resting on his knees as he looked down upon the many faces below. Dozens of eyes were processing what they were seeing, because sure as hell the CO hadn’t been there just a moment ago. Eyes locked onto various men and women in turn, finally settling upon the haggard man whose fatigue was not so easily hidden. “My second’s told me a lot about you, Petty Officer Dubrovnik,” he beamed: “It’s good to have somebody with talents like yours!”

^{キー
“…”}

^{“Oh! Where are my manners?” the blond chuckled:
“A few of you already know who I am, but…”}

Lazily, eyes closed and body lax as if laying on a hammock, he allowed himself to tumble from the top of the platform. With the slightest grimace of annoyance, Yvionne simply stood and watched as he, at the last possible second, landed upright. This was a man whose antics aggravated her to no end, yet she could really say nothing. Why? Because he was her superior? No. That would not turn the woman away from facing down someone she deemed inappropriate for the duties of a Marine. Because he was twice her age? No. Age was of no concern. It was simple. She had challenged his call only once before, yet for all her monstrous strength and ability, the Hammer of Justice’s signature steel weapon had shattered — solid steel broken like fragile glass upon the tip of this man’s finger.

^{“My name’s Jacob Talon,” he smirked:
“Captain of the Eighty-Sixth Division!”}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
<sub>Yvionne’s silent assessments are finally interrupted when Talon himself finally shows up.

Crew Page:— 86th Marine Division</sub>

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Nightingale [NPC] ❘ #36b5dd ❘ Warrant Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee ❘ #bbbbbb ❘ #888888 ❘ #555555

[The Love Ballad]

Ragusa strained his neck from side to side, allowing the soreness to spread and then dissipate with the stretch. His focus temporarily moved from his surroundings and to his battered and beleaguered body. It seemed rather obvious that he required further conditioning training if he was to continue fighting to the degree that he had been, after all, he had accepted the invitation to a division that was entirely centred around missions such as the one that had left him so injured. His muddle of thoughts were cut through by the sound of fluttering wings and the shrill shriek of a bird of prey, almost instantly his head cut back to its stationary position, his eyes alone glancing upward toward the bird now circling the gathered retinue. The petty officer studied the raptor intently, trying to garner meaning from its actions. His mind naturally cast back to prior experiences with animals on the base, could it be that it was signaling the arrival of the officer? It seemed the most logical conclusion.

As if to confirm such thoughts, the call came from the junior lieutenant.

Instinctively, Ragusa's eyes shot back forward, his own hand rapidly forming into a firm salute in the same movement. Where once the execution platform had been empty, it now was home to a man in a dark yellow suit. The colour of the clothing only serving to accentuate his natural golden eyes and hair. Where on Earth had the man come from? He'd been nowhere to be seen not a moment before, surely if he had moved then Ragusa would have caught the movement in his peripheral vision? That alone betrayed much about his skill level, to enter such a public stage without being seen was absurd. The petty officer would have been visibly impressed, if he wasn't so concerned with the appearance of the man. The suit wasn't breaking with uniform, but it wasn't entirely regulation, a sneaking suspicion began to grow in the back of the petty officer's mind.

The words that the senior spoke next all but confirmed his worries, "Don't worry about formalities, ladies and gentlemen..."

Even as his arm shot down neatly to his side, fluid in its movement, Ragusa's jaw clenched. The reaction was invisible to all the other marines present, but to the sailor himself the tightness of the tendons sent intense dull aches down his neck.

Memories flooded back, compartmentalised but equally as vivid as the scene currently unfolding before him. A cocky lieutenant, the son of some sort of admiral, breaking with tradition and insisting on treating the men in his charge with fragrant disregard for procedure. He'd given orders that were firmly off-book and entirely creative, novel approaches to situations that he'd no doubt mulled over during his training and discussed at great length with instructors.

He was dead. As were many of his men. 

Ragusa's gaze did not break, his lichen-coloured eyes held firm as the officer continued. With an almost cheeky tone he'd batted away the concerns of the woman who had been as an iron wall in their mission, a woman who's every movement bore the unmistakable mark of intensity and justice had herself been stone-walled by the grinning man in yellow. 

And then he turned his gaze to Ragusa himself, and for the first time since he was a boy he felt like prey staring down an eagle. His lazed position and crooked smile may have served to confuse some of the rank and file, but Petty Officer Dubrovnik was on edge, his posture as rigid as that of a bronco that had come face to face with a stalking lion. His words were all honey, and appeared genuine, but Ragusa could not help but remain on guard.

"Sir," Was his only response, curt, loud and without a hint of strain. 

The officer's movements were entirely laxed, as if he was taking pleasure in toying with the marines before him. Many of the younger seamen looked visibly confused, as if they were being subject to some sort of test, whilst Yngvildr showed but the slightest hint of annoyance. Ragusa's eyes did not leave the man, studying the yellow-suited officer with a degree of intensity. 

Only once he announced who he was did the facade break for even a moment, Ragusa's eyes widening ever-so-slightly. If this was to be his commanding officer what on the blue seas had he signed up for?

His name drew murmurs from the back of the crowd, a few apprentices it seemed did not have the sense to remain quiet during a briefing, regardless of how unorthodox it may be, and if Ragusa could hear it then surely the rest of the assembled sailors could. Including those commissioned officers.

Regardless of their idiocy, it did pose an interesting question, was the name Jacob Talon one that was meant to mean something? The man carried himself with the sort of lazy posturing that betrayed a sense of arrogance, and the way that he had not only quelled Yngvildr but had arrived entirely unseen was unsettling. The captain was in a league above Dubrovnik, ancient zoan be damned. 

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #3}

---

Murmurs spread through the back ranks of the present troops — an admittedly unusual and anomalous group amongst the World Navy — but Yngvildr Yvionne did not say or do anything other than shoot a brief, steely glance through the crowd. That silenced a few of them immediately, but it was times like these that the woman felt near enough a bystander. Utterances about a man who had purportedly assassinated the leaders of powerful piratical crews and criminal groups in plain sight of their subordinates and most trusted guards without a weapon on hand, escaping unscathed. Little did they know the truth; nor did she.

“So, first and foremost,” he began, slowly pacing his way about before the crowd, “I would like to personally thank you all for accepting the invitations given out to you. It means a lot to me for new blood to express such interest in the Eighty-Sixth Division, especially given our purpose. There are those who’ve turned down the offer and — if any of you gathered feel this still isn’t your cup of tea — you’re still more than welcome to step down and return to your regular postings if you wish. There is no shame in that,” he elaborated, his small and random route eventually settling in a more central position where most of the crowd was spaced around him. Hardly did it look like a Marine briefing; more like a town spokesman announcing news to the people. Much to Yvionne’s relief, not a soul seemed to step back, even as her Captain gave a pause to allow for it.

“Now then, I suppose there’s a lot on your minds right now,” the curious commissioned officer spoke again, straightening up slightly, taking a deep breath. Once more, the man’s mannerisms as a Captain sparked some semblance of anger within his silver-haired second’s soul, but still she refrained from any action — verbal or direct. Her ribs still ached somewhat from her fight with Bison. From that whole ordeal she knew this was as much about testing her suitability as it was rekindling a once defunct Division.

^{“If you have any questions,” the blond announced:
“Please, feel free to discuss them here and now!”}

^{“…”
キー}

^{“C— Captain, Sir,” one seaman from the back spoke first:
“What… What exactly is the Eighty-Sixth Division’s purpose?”}

^{“Yvionne, if you would…?”}

“The Eighty-Sixth Division…,” the LT began, somewhat curtly as the buck was passed unto her. “There are instances where entire settlements, sometimes even entire islands, are occupied by criminal groups or otherwise held under duress. The purpose of our Division is to assault such places directly in order to eradicate the threat, by any means we deem as necessary. Under normal circumstances, an entire island being controlled by a powerful pirate crew or other extreme threat to the World Government and its people would warrant a potential Buster Call…”

^{“Exactly! To that end,” Jacob finalised:
“We’re meant to be an alternative!”}

“So, we’re like a mini Buster Call, Sir? Awesome!” Argyle beamed, perhaps a little too cheery about the idea. A few others, Nightingale included, shot the siege expert a look of worry, but quickly focused upon Talon again as he gestured silently to the crowd at large.

^{“Anyone else…?”}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
<sub>Yvionne remains mostly quiet as she allows Talon to do his thing, speaking only when questioned on the purpose of their Division.

Crew Page:— 86th Marine Division</sub>

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Nightingale [NPC] ❘ #36b5dd ❘ Warrant Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee ❘ #bbbbbb ❘ #888888 ❘ #555555

[The Love Ballad]

Ragusa kept his head still, his eyes stone and ever-forward, even as his superior officer began pacing the ranks. He knew that this was far from a true briefing, that many of the men had hardly assembled into proper lines, that Talon's method of delivery was entirely unorthodox, that the man would not expect proper formality nor form in response to his address. Yet Ragusa did not flinch. He had a duty to the code, and he wasn't about to shirk it. He was sure that it would draw looks of ire or confusion from some of the rank and file, maybe even the captain himself, but he would not allow himself even the slightest waver from what was required.

Even still, he listened, the hushed tones of the marines speaking amongst one another shattered as if by a hammer to silence. All that Ragusa could hear was that of Talon's voice, with only the shrieks of the eagle and the distant sounds of the base and the ocean to serve as accompaniment. 

The man's speech was not new to the petty officer, after all, the lieutenant had all but said the same earlier. The right to resignation, the nature of the invitation, he'd mulled it over himself. It was beyond peculiar, but it was as it was. He was not one to turn down the opportunity to better himself and improve the power of the corps.

As such, he did not have much in the way of questions, not with regard to the nature of the unit itself. Slight annoyance tinged his thoughts as a seaman asked as to the purpose of the Eighty-Sixth, but he quickly dispelled the thought, the bulk of the enlisted sailors had probably not heard the spiel from the junior lieutenant earlier. It was not right to be frustrated.

But it was frustration that coloured the tone of Yngvildr as she spoke, most likely with the captain for throwing her the question. In sharp contrast to the excited tones of Argyle, the very notion of being involved in something remotely similar to a buster call appeared to bring joy to the man in a way that almost seemed unsettling. 

Yet with his response, the picture of the Eighty-Sixth was finally fully vivid in Dubrovnik's mind. He'd imagined it as a shock unit, one of assault and last resort. But to even be compared to a buster call, they were island breakers, or worse.

Talon asked for further questions and Ragusa held his tongue. At least, he did for a moment. Had the officer been another, more similar to the lieutenant in temperament, he would have waited for the official report and listing of duties. Yet, he had a suspicious feeling, that there would be no such paperwork to peruse, no such documentation as to the exact running of the unit.

"Sir," he spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse still. Yet to the seamen who had transferred with him it was not the sound of his voice that was surprising, but the very fact that he had spoken.

Ragusa was no stranger to speaking to COs, in fact he'd verbally dressed down more ensigns than he'd cared to count. But he did it privately, politely, well out of earshot and sight of the other marines. He'd never interrupted a briefing before. What was it that was spurring him to such? Such knowledge eluded even the petty officer as he spoke, the sheer lack of protocol had seemed to have compounded with his injuries.

"Operationally, how does the Eighty-Sixth function? I take it that the raid upon Flat Farm Island is to serve as a blueprint of future missions," The question was relatively simple, monotonous, dull. Even so, the follow up question was laced with code, to such a degree that many of the recruits and apprentices barely registered it. However, Warrant Officer Nightingale's usually stone-face registered alarm and her understanding was clear, "Will you take command in the field or will it be delegated?"

It was almost a challenge, subtle to all but the most experienced of NCOs who dealt such queries out as if they were playing cards. What was the purpose of assigning the lieutenant to a mission alone as lead? Was it a test? Was the captain the kind of man who merely ordered from a desk and allowed the men to die while the woman with the hammer took the field?

Dubrovnik Ragusa did not know Captain Talon, nor did he know the Eighty-Sixth or its reputation, it had disbanded but a few months after he had joined the corps and he was of the South Blue. But he knew officers, and he knew what needed to be done to test the waters with them. 

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #4}

---

“Sir,” Dubrovnik spoke up, breaking the odd silence that seemed to linger in the wake of each request for a query. It was an odd situation. The men and women gathered seemed to understand that, yet were hesitant to act out of place, perhaps for fear of being tested. “Operationally, how does the Eighty-Sixth function?” the Petty Officer asked, his prior experience tinting the question that followed near enough immediately. To say the least, though she showed little of it, Yvie was surprised by it.

Dubrovnik didn’t strike me as the type to question that sort of thing, she noted, recalling what she had surmised of the man during the breach of Bison’s attempt at a stronghold. Ragusa had been the strict, straight-laced follower of orders and protocols, never once challenging the woman’s command. As far as his behaviour stood, he was near enough a model soldier in many regards, but this? This was different. A previously unseen form of Dubrovnik Ragusa not related to the Sea Devil’s curse.

“Interesting question, Petty Officer,” Jacob Talon smirked — a broad smirk that betrayed his intrigue as he turned to face the wounded but recovering NCO. “You’re mostly correct in your assumptions. What happened on Flat Farm is an apt example of what we do, though a little unique in its case for different reasons.” He paused for a moment, Yvie watching the smirk on his face fade away as his eyes closed, inhaling deeply. Once upon a time, she would have understood the motions. Now? They were almost alien.

“Suffice to say, I will not be taking direct command over future operations,” the Captain began again, his tone somewhat different, though nothing the Hammer of Justice could place. “Though I’ve been given the confirmation to revive the Eighty-Sixth Division, I’m looking to retire from service soon. To that end…,” his voice trailed, piercing eyes looking over to the imposing woman whose presence seemed somehow quelled by his own. “I’ll be entrusting leadership to Junior Lieutenant Yngvildr, but only once she’s achieved sufficient rank. Not a moment sooner!”

^{“Captain,” Yvie interrupted:
“What is the point of all this?”}

^“Hm…?”

“Why not just brief them normally?” the silver-haired superior asked. Her aggravation with Talon’s odd ways was starting to seep through a little more clearly, though definitely far more subdued than one would anticipate. All the same, she had a point.

“Because that’s not what the Eighty-Sixth is about,” the man replied, extending his left arm in almost perfect harmony with the descent of the eagle, whose digits gently gripped the sleeve as great wings furled. “Which conveniently leads me to my next point. It’s been said to you all before, but, this is unlike any other World Navy Division. If we are to use any means necessary to achieve our goals, then there is no room for complacency amongst our ranks. We all must be capable of taking the initiative, of facing death without flinching, and most importantly,” he continued, arm rotating. The eagle, barely moving and indeed looking restful, retained a steady grip as it hung upside down from the Captain’s sleeve.

^{“We must be able to trust each other,” Talon added:
“Justice… It means nothing without trust!”}

^{“Hmph…”}

“Lighting a fuse; steering a ship; enforcing the law,” the curious Captain listed, rotating the majestic avian back to an upright position, the eagle’s eyes seeming to replace his own as it locked gaze with each of those whose ideologies held relevance. “They’re all founded upon trust. Wouldn’t you all agree…?”

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
<sub>Yvionne takes note of Ragusa’s almost uncharacteristic presentation of a question, which Talon answers all the same, soon driving a point home.

Crew Page:— 86th Marine Division</sub>

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Nightingale [NPC] ❘ #36b5dd ❘ Warrant Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee ❘ #bbbbbb ❘ #888888 ❘ #555555

[The Love Ballad]

Ragusa's stance did not change as the captain turned to face him, only his head changed in its positioning, his eyes meeting those of his superior officer. Where Talon smirked, Dubrovnik was stone-faced, daring not to betray even a hint of his own thoughts or queries by any measure more than he already had. His expression remained as it was, even as Talon's own smirk faded. Internally, of course, he mulled over the change in the officer's expression attempting to parcel its potential meanings together.

The words that followed were partially the ones that Ragusa was expecting, but the tone with which they were spoken was certainly not the one that he had anticipated when he'd posed his rather pointed questions. He'd expected a joyous rebuttal, or a defensive explanation as to how it was important for younger officers to have a chance to lead, but instead his answer had come entirely out of left field. Ragusa had no idea how to process the delivery, and was forced to content himself alone with the facts as they had been prepared before him. Flat Farm Island had been a test of some sort upon the junior lieutenant and her ability to lead, but it wasn't a test for the sake of a test, it seemed that the woman would very soon be promoted to leader of the division itself. The information was new to Ragusa, but he was not sideswiped by it.

The surprise came from the interruption that the very woman who the captain was referring to interrupting his spiel. He hadn't picked the lieutenant as the type to interrupt the briefing, but then again he hadn't thought of himself as the sort to pose questions either. The sheer oddity of the means of delivery appeared to have rubbed off on the assembled marines, the peculiarity of their responses feeding off of Talon's own personality.

Said personality shone through even further as he continued in his speech, this time uninterrupted but for the approach of the raptor that had seen fit to circle above for the duration of the briefing. Ragusa could not agree more with his disdain for complacency, and for the first time that day he found a small smirk piercing his lips, the stoney facade crumbling ever-so-slightly.

"Justice... It means nothing without trust!" Talon added. Instantly Ragusa's smile turned into a frown.

The bird seemed to stare at him the instant his expression changed, its avian eyes betraying a degree of surprising intelligence, almost as if the animal was judging his reactions.

It wasn't that Ragusa disagreed with his assessment as to the importance of trust between sailors, a unit must act as a well-oiled machine built upon mutual respect and understanding for the results to be appropriately successful and for the men and women to survive. Fundamentally, Talon had said nothing that the NCO disagreed with. Yet, his phrasing put Ragusa firmly on edge, it was dangerously close to philosophising. The relationship between unity in a crew and a lofty concept such a justice was distant, and entirely irrelevant to the battlefield. 

He found himself unable to hide his disdain for the notion, his scowl deepening slightly as Talon posed his question. The gaze of the avian was almost oppressive, as if every action the marine was taking was under a microscope. 

Dubrovnik stood still, stood silent, daring neither to move nor to speak as his eyes met those of the bird. Only relaxing slightly when it turned its gaze to another marine. Although to which sailor he did not know.

"Aye," Nightingale answered finally, and a small chorus of similar responses followed in response to the captain's peculiar question.

As if by obligation, Ragusa added his voice to the chorus, "Aye."

What was it about the man that put him so on edge? The way he carried himself made it obvious that he was capable, and he clearly had a reputation that would confirm such an assessment. Yet, Ragusa found himself unable to read him properly, and what he could read he was sure he didn't like.

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #5}

---

“Now then,” Captain Talon said, the utterances of agreement — whether full or half-hearted — confirming that these people understood his point. Some would have understood them more than others. Yvionne’s plum eyes remained trained upon the man and his eagle, the bird eventually setting its gaze to match. An invisible contest of wills seemed to take place in the space of a second, but it was the bird that finally blinked and turned its head away. She had not realised it at first, but she exhaled a little more sharply than normal.

How can a regular bird be so intimidating…? The question hung in her mind for longer than she would have liked, but it wasn’t the first time she’d been stared down by that eagle. The scoreboard was rather even as far as their staring contests were concerned: Two for two. Though the warrior woman had no idea whether her victories were true or not, such was the mystery of her Captain’s curious companion. One thing was for sure; the bird was a lot more intelligent than one might have expected.

“I look forward to working with all of you, even if it does become a short lived experience,” the Captain said, showing a strange mix of personal honesty and pragmatic thinking. “For the next three days we’ll be using the facilities here at B-4 as needed while I make the final arrangements. After that, we’ll be headed out to sea again, so use this time to prepare yourselves and tie up any loose ends you deem necessary,” he continued, more instructional in his delivery than before, but still far from the barking commands one would expect from a superior officer.

^{“And with that,” he added:
“Dismissed…!”}

“C— Captain Talon, Sir!” one seaman spoke up, a young Petty Officer, clearing his throat after realising his voice had cracked a little. Miss Yngvildr watched with blank curiosity as the man, modestly built and perhaps of about six feet with a short mop of light brown hair, green eyes, and glasses, almost seemed to address the Captain with a certain sternness. She could not read it, but to anyone else it would have been plain as day: Doubt. “I’d like to ask,” he continued, “about why the Eighty-Sixth Division disbanded seven years ago, and why you decided to reform it!”

^{“Cotton, right?”}

^{“Sir,” the PO saluted:
“Petty Officer Cotton!”}

I don’t recognise him… This was one of the troops that the Captain handpicked? Plum irises looked the Petty Officer over, but the only thing that really made this Cotton character stand out was the vivid malachite colouration of his own eyes. Indeed, though he wasn’t scrawny, he certainly wasn’t as physically favoured as many of the others. He was, at least, very well dressed in terms of uniform — a man who would have given Ragusa’s dress code a run for its money.

“Well, that’s a story,” Talon said solemnly, “but, maybe one for another time…!” With that, the Captain simply walked away, though not before meeting Yvionne’s eyes just briefly. A look in his expression resonated with something deep within her, her fists clenching and jaw tightening somewhat as she fought back those feelings. She knew that look all too well, understandable as to why he’d choose now to walk away without turning back, for the LT had never seen him do that before. She’d never seen him shed a tear…

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
<sub>Yvionne has a brief staring contest with Talon’s eagle while the Captain closes off the unorthodox briefing, but not before being interrupted by Petty Officer Cotton, whose enquiry seems to provoke emotion from Talon.

Crew Page:— 86th Marine Division</sub>

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Nightingale [NPC] ❘ #36b5dd ❘ Warrant Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain
Cotton [NPC] ❘ #5cb354 ❘ Petty Officer
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee ❘ #bbbbbb ❘ #888888 ❘ #555555

[The Love Ballad]

"Dismissed...!" Talon announced

The salute that Ragusa gave was crisp, perfect in its delivery. The petty officer's war-wariness may have been evident in his eyes and in the way he favoured certain sides of his body, but when he moved he did it with such deliberate action and precision that for but a moment he appeared as if an automaton. Just the way he liked it. The way he had practiced time and time again.

Yet, the briefing was not dismissed, not in truth. A sailor spoke up, his voice cracking slightly upon the first syllable. Instantly, Ragusa's eyes snapped to the source of the noise and he found himself inspecting a young petty officer. The man was clearly new to the post, the way he held himself, the way he acted, the slight movements that only experienced command staff and their support would notice. He wore the uniform perfectly, without a stain or blemish in sight, but even then it did not seem to fit him. As if he was a boy playing at man.

Petty Officer Cotton asked a rather innocent question to the captain, why indeed, had he decided to reform the Eighty-Sixth Division after such a period of inactivity? Truth be told, it was a query that Ragusa himself had found himself querying. After all, he was not at all familiar with the lore or history of the regiment. Had such tragedy befallen the unit?

The reaction of the captain seemed to indicate such, his voice turned solemn and almost immediately he turned to leave, not a word further from the otherwise jovial officer. It was as if a dark cloud had descended over the square, the innocent question having turned the spark of excitement into a dull throb of melancholy.

The atmosphere stood for a while until Nightingale finally declared, "Right then, you lot, CO said dismissed! That means you need to get back to work, you know your assignments!" Even her voice appeared to dance somewhere between masculine and feminine, disciplinarian and motherly.

The junior seamen knew not to disregard her orders though, no sailor worth his salt disregarded the orders of the highest ranked NCO, lest of all when she was 3IC of the whole damned division.

Ragusa blinked, now painfully aware that he had never managed to gather the orders as to what they were doing at B-4 and when their next deployment would be. He knew that the Junior Lieutenant would be the commanding officer in the field, but he did not know when the field would next be taken to.

Grumbling slightly, his voice joined the chorus of NCOs barking orders, "Petitfleur, Hansa," He called out, the two names unfamiliar on his tongue, the men and women who had served as his seconds in the hold having elected not to repeat the events of Flat Farm Island. The loss of Walais and Wakana had shaken them, death it seemed, was not a mistress they longed to meet.

Still the two young women made themselves present before him, seamen apprentices both, as different in appearance as night was from day. Petitfleur, despite her name was tall and broad, with an oaken complexion and ebony hair. Hansa was petit, barely taller than a teenager, mayhaps she was only that young, and had hair the colour of strawberries.

Still, Ragusa gave his orders gruffly, his throat aching from the earlier fight, his neck begging for relief, "I want a full inventory of our stock by sundown. Not one stone unturned."

Petitfleur's mouth dropped, "But sir-"

"Do you see a Justice Coat upon my shoulders, marine?" Ragusa snapped.

"N-no-"

"Then you are to leave the sirs for the officers, seaman. That was an order. See to it."

The two young women shot glances to one another before giving hurried salutes and answers in the affirmative.

Ragusa was tired, but his work was not yet done, he'd need to check his new assistants' work once they were done. He knew his joints and muscles would loathe him for such, but it had to be completed, there was no point giving an order he was not comfortable undertaking himself.

Still, he had questions for the officers, and the captain was no longer present. That left Yngvildr to consult. Probably for the best, if she was being groomed for command then she needed to know the intricacies of supply in any event. More than that, she needed to be comfortable in taking charge in Talon's stead.

The wounded marine would track down the lieutenant, his steps slightly more rigid when he would have liked.

"Ma'am," He saluted, "Do we have orders to deploy at this stage? Do we require extra munitions to be requested."

Pointedly, he did not mention the briefing nor his conduct during it.

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #6}

---

Nightingale was a good choice, Yvionne noted mentally as the androgynous woman barked at the assembled seamen and women. Though still only a Warrant Officer, she held the highest rank within the fledgling division, save for the CO’s themselves, though there was no guarantee she would retain such a position in the future. Individual standing was fluid; rank and file was rigid. All the same, Nightingale’s authority was a welcome grounding rod for concealed emotions turned turbulent.

“Ma’am,” Dubrovnik saluted, snapping the Hammer of Justice from her momentary trance. Orders and munitions were the man’s priority, despite his state of being — despite his somewhat out of character query from earlier. For a moment, perhaps a second longer than was normal, she simply stared at him.

“As Captain Talon said, we’ll be at sea for the foreseeable future starting three days from now,” she clarified, though despite doing so she could not shake the feeling that there was more to his questions than just the way he worded them. Ragusa wasn’t chosen for his ability to follow orders, well and truly, but for his scrutiny within both stocktake and field; furthermore his willingness to throw himself into the firing line, with his status as an Ability User just the icing on the cake. At least, that was how she had reasoned the choice.

“Put forth requisition for an additional fifteen percent of our current rations,” Miss Yngvildr listed, “and an added four barrels worth of gunpowder — that should compensate for Petty Officer Argyle’s usage…” Truth be told, the cheery firebrand that was Argyle had lived up to his reputation already, despite having only served within one operation. Any other Commissioned Officer might have taken disciplinary measures for such a stunt, but it had paid off in the end; the end result was victory for Justice.

“Also,” the LT continued, raising her hammer from the ground and resting it over her shoulder once again as she watched the bulk of the Neo Eighty Sixth scatter. “From what you’ve just seen, how do you feel about Captain Talon?” The question might have seemed odd, especially coming from somebody such as Yvionne, whose apathy was noticeable at the best of times. All the same, this wasn’t a matter of emotion or judgment, but of moral understanding; a follow up of her own to the Captain’s talk of trust. If any of those she had selected held such a thing, it was the man before her, even if he was still unfamiliar to her.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
<sub>Yvionne answers Ragusa’s questions, but replies with one of her own.

Crew Page:— 86th Marine Division</sub>

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Nightingale [NPC] ❘ #36b5dd ❘ Warrant Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain
Cotton [NPC] ❘ #5cb354 ❘ Petty Officer
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee ❘ #bbbbbb ❘ #888888 ❘ #555555

[The Love Ballad]

"Aye, Lieutenant," Ragusa answered, his voice free of any of its earlier tones, "I'll put the requisition in immediately. Allow me some time to speak to the seamen assigned to my charge and the ship will be fully provisioned and accounted for within twent- ... forty-eight hours."

The speech was well-rehearsed, formulaic, it had to be, given the amount of transfers that the quartermaster had seen during his brief stint in the World Navy. Officers tended to appreciate their non-comms taking charge of the minutia, it allowed them to deal with the more pressing tactical analysis. He'd learned that quickly from his first deployment and the petty officers he'd shadowed in his own time as a humble recruit. The only slight hesitation in his answer related to the timeframe, generally he prided himself on punctuality, being prepared well before a launch. Such punctuality had met its match in the form of Petty Officer Argyle. How half the stock of munitions had vanished without a trace was beyond the quartermaster, but he knew that the short siegemaster was responsible for it. Yet, he was a fellow NCO, and he saw no need to flag the overabundant use of explosives with their superior. The matter could be dealt with without the interference of the brass. Besides, it was almost certain that Yngvildr had noticed. Argyle was many things, subtle was not one of them.

Still the explosives expert was hardly the focus of the conversation, both the lieutenant and the petty officer knew that. Ragusa had hardly been subtle with his questions during the briefing, and his question as to their deployment was telling. On a surface level, it may have appeared to be a question as to simple clarification as to when they would next hit landfall to operate following their departure to sea, but the undertext was there. The NCO did not trust that the captain had told them the true nature of their entire operation. Philosophical speeches about trust were one thing, actions were another. The muscles in Ragusa's neck strained as his jaw clenched. 

Truthfully, Petty Officer Dubrovnik did not truly know what about the man rubbed him the wrong way to such a degree. He had dealt with commanders who had disregarded form and procedure before, but they had never done so with such a lazy confidence. Arrogance, yes, confidence, no. Something about the way he acted reminded Ragusa of stories that his mother would read around the hearth, of philosopher kings and tricksters. He'd hated those stories.

As if on cue, the lieutenant asked him his opinions on the captain. The petty officer's already straight posture went even more rigid as he froze.

Measuredly, he spoke, "Lieutenant, he has been appointed as commander of the Division by the World Navy. My personal opinions on the man are irrelevant to my ability to undertake my duties as he orders."

On any other day, such a response would have been more than sufficient, after all, it was the truth. But something about the way the Eighty-Sixth had operated thus far, so soon into their foundation tipped the marine off that it was not sufficient in this case. The culture of the unit was... different.

"But-" He started, suprising even himself, "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

The marine's eyes closed briefly, as he fought with all of his internal measures and inhibitions to disclose such thoughts to another, least of all an officer. Blasted Wallais, had he not died he would have been a fine confidant. 

"There are... procedures, formalities that he has opted not to follow," He spoke, his voice a hushed monotone, "I do not doubt the captain's ability nor his methods, but my experience under different captains dictates that the men will respond best to discipline and not to informal philosophical lectures."

As far as rebukes went, it was measured and calm, entirely appropriate in tone and substance for a marine when offering advice to their superior. But any sailor worth their salt could smell the subtext upon his words. Talon was less concerned with results and discipline than he was with selling his own vision of the corps. He was an idealist, not a soldier. 

Ragusa dared not blink as he waited for a response. Far above his head, he heard an eagle shriek, but he swore that was paranoia at such blatant questioning.

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #7}

---

What came from Dubrovnik’s mouth was nothing short of a well rehearsed spiel, expected of anyone of non-commissioned standing. Shunning personal opinionation was something that Yvionne had more than anticipated from the man before her; a satisfactory response to an unorthodox question. Then came the ‘but’. Had anyone asked her, she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t surprised by such a thing. One uncharacteristic outburst was an anomaly, but two? From a man like this, twice in the span of a single briefing was far from a coincidence.

“Granted,” Yvie nodded.

“I do not doubt the Captain’s ability,” the Petty Officer explained. “But my experience under different Captains dictates that the men will respond best to discipline,” Ragusa continued, finalising his point succinctly. It was a point that Yngvildr herself had to agree with, not a single dispute present. Talon’s bizarre and lax takes on briefings and meetings were exactly as her subordinate had described, at least in her mind; informal philosophical lectures. The words hung for a moment as plum eyes simply stared back into his deep green ones.

“Agreed,” Yvie responded, taking stock of the moustachioed man as she considered the future of this fledgling unit. A small ship, a selection of oddities amongst their ranks, and a Captain whom she very much despised despite also respecting his ability; needless to say, coming months would be very interesting ones. Steadily, she turned and began to walk again, but spoke up all the same. “Petty Officer Dubrovnik. Rest assured, henceforth, I will be enforcing those procedures whenever Captain Talon fails to do so. And, if I am predisposed, I expect people like Nightingale and yourself to do the same in my stead,” the Junior LT announced sternly, monotonously, yet truthfully.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
<sub>Yvionne considers Ragusa’s answer, finding him to share a similar mentality, and offers him assurance.

Crew Page:— 86th Marine Division</sub>

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Nightingale [NPC] ❘ #36b5dd ❘ Warrant Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain
Cotton [NPC] ❘ #5cb354 ❘ Petty Officer
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee ❘ #bbbbbb ❘ #888888 ❘ #555555

[The Love Ballad]

“Petty Officer Dubrovnik. Rest assured, henceforth, I will be enforcing those procedures whenever Captain Talon fails to do so. And, if I am predisposed, I expect people like Nightingale and yourself to do the same in my stead,” Junior Lieutenant Yngvildr spoke sternly.

"Aye, ma'am," Ragusa's salute was crisp and his words crisper.

Relief filled his beleaguered body, relief that at least part of how the Division was to be run would be by the book. The second-in-command of their unit may yet to be an oddity, one that Dubrovnik did not fully understand, but at least she understood the necessity of maintaining order and discipline. He'd lost too many good men to commanders who thought that their creative techniques would revolutionise the corps. Sure, such innovation may have shown promise in one-on-one combat, but an army had to be greater than the sum of its parts.

"With respect, ma'am, I'll see to the provisions."

The rest of the day was spent exactly how he wanted to spend it, with looks that were halfway between disapproving and stern cast at the hapless seamen who had been put into his care. How one managed to fail to account for smoked meat, of all things, in the ledger was beyond his understanding and he'd reprimanded Petitfleur heavily for such. But they were good kids, if a little slow in movement and in thought.

As the sun set over the marine base, the petty officer found himself watching the heavenly beyond disappear beyond the ocean so far away. The aches in his limbs had gradually begun to subside as the day continued onward, his limbs no longer screaming for assistance. Where once he had felt pain, he now found that his mind had cleared enough to allow himself to think. At least for a moment. The peculiarities of his situation had only just begun to fully dawn on him, the Eighty-Sixth thus far felt almost an entirely different beast to the Navy that he had grown so used to.

For the first time in a long time, he felt partially lost, as if adrift without a full understanding as to what the Navy required of him.