Niatnuom Esrever [Windwards]

[Tsin]

The sun was, by definition, an early riser. It was in fact the thing that early risers compared themselves to in order to discern whether or not they qualified under the mantle of... early riser. A bit of tricky business, hitting that sweet spot right between rolling out of bed too soon, before the solar star had even crested over the horizon and announced the popular beginning of a new day, and too late, at a time when even the night owl of a moon was kind of thinking of you as some kind of lazy ass. Hundreds, thousands, millions of people did it every day though, hit it just right, on land and on ships and in the sky even so... How hard could it be?

Nineteen years of trying, Jun just wasn't quite getting it. Or maybe he had just given up; not in a 'this is too hard' sort of way but rather more in a... 'why bother' sort of way. The mid and late mornings had their own sorts of pleasures afterall, and there was nothing that couldn't be achieved at those times that couldn't also be done as an early riser... Maybe except breakfast that is. But lunch was better anyways.

Though that did leave anybody on The Messenger who did consider themselves an 'early riser' to fend for themselves so far as culinary matters were concerned, something that the scribe didn't seem too bothered about as he stepped onto the deck, a towel draped over his wet hair. Judging by the scraps of kibble left in a bowl on the kitchen floor and the proud figure of a noble hound at the boat's bow, he wasn't the only person to mind either. Fenrir turned his head slightly to the cabin door as it creeked open, then barked out a simple greeting to the newcomer before turning his gaze forward again. And for good reason, the landscape before the ship was quite scenic, even if a bit unusual. A huge mountain, shooting straight out from the depths of ocean... Not East Blue, or perhaps not just East Blue but from all the blues, from Grand Line itself, one of the magnificently deadly gateways that guarded the greatest sea from reckless rogues. Or, as it was popularly known...

Reverse Mountain.

"Huh..." Jun scrubbed at his head with the once-dry towel, having showered without knowing that the plan for the day's events would probably have him soaked all over again, sea spray being what it is and all that. "After all those stories, I have to say that it looks surprisingly like any other mountainous region... minus the narrow upwards-flowing river bisecting it." The damp cloth vanished from the scribe's head and draped over his shoulders instead, like a second loose scarf over his already normal scarf. "Just... going to go right up there then, are we? Will The Messenger fit?"

The canine captain nodded enthusiastically, even images of the coming adventure causing his tongue to loll out of his mouth with happiness."Woof! Woooof woof rrrrwoof!"

A few steps brought Jun closer to the front of the ship as well, trying to get a closer look at the gateway ahead of him. Closer, of course, was a relative term and literally true, although he was only three or four paces closer in the span of several dozen boatlengths. "I see... To meet our end here then if it doesn't, your treasure of a ship obliterated against the raging waters of Reverse Mountain, all of our bones shattered like the body of your beloved vessel. Doubtless that our broken ragdoll figures will be pulled under by the current to a watery grave... And if by some miracle they float, still clinging onto life, into the waters of Grand Line, then the grotesque seakings lurking under the surface will consume our carcasses in a single opening of their gaping maws."

"Woof!"

"I agree, how could things go wrong? Suppose the other two might wanna be on deck for it though..." And to that end, the narrator and the navigator put on matching carefree smiles (or the dog analog thereof), looking ahead to the possibly gruesome future looming moments away.

[Terminally Chill]

The time the sun rose had little affect on the other teenager snoring on The Messenger. Most of the time the shaggy snoozer drifted in and out of sleep with no regard for time; hell, sometimes just a simple nap trascended time. No, the sun's light had no place in telling Gavin Amadeus D'Arras to wake up. Well, that was unless a certain, single ray of daylight slipped through a certain, single slat on a certain, single ship and landed directly across the eyes of a certain, single songwriter. That would be kind of hard to ignore. The bright stripe of light stirred Gavin from his sleep, the convenient awakening heralded by groaning and incoherent mumbling. Sitting up from his disheveled bedding, the guitarist ran a hand through his equally disheveled head of hair before placing his nearby beanie on top of it. After making sure he was still in familiar surroundings, Gavin picked himself up from the floor with a heave and a loud yawn.

Gavin slipped on his sandals, retrieving his guitar by the neck and continuing the zombie walk into the galley. The minstrel was too busy rubbing sleep from his eyes and take notice of anyone in the kitchen, pushing out of the door into the blaring sunlight and salty breeze of another day at sea. Although the musician hadn't completely joined the world of the living (it was debatable if he ever did), the words of the painfully-detailed description on deck still passed by Gavin in at least their base form of uttered sound.

“... All of our bones shattered like the body of your beloved vessel...”

“Yeah man... Bones shattered...”

“... Broken ragdoll figures... Consume our carcasses...”

“Totally... broken rag – Wait, what man?”

It was most likely the growing roar of Reverse Mountain that had snapped Gavin from his sleepy stupor as opposed to the actual reality of what he was repeating. Whatever grisly scene Jun had described was lost on the dopey drifter as he walked forward to join the scribe and their canine captain. Gavin could only scratch his head, unsure of what to make of the gateway at sea. The strap of the troubadour's treasured instrument was carefully placed across his shoulders, positioned for iminate symphonic launch. However, Gavin only stood still, studying the seaspray and stone with a puzzled look and a single hand hovering over the six strings. A haunting chord was strummed in the next moment, ringing out to join the rushing waters of Reverse Mountain. A single sentence was uttered in accompanyment.

“Mountain... of Doom.”

[BEX]

Jun’s monotone recital of death and doom sailed upon the slightly turbulent waters leading towards the looming structure of death. Gordon nodded his head sluggishly. He’d warned them about that mountain after all—they had simply discarded his words like he was some sort of…old guy? Benching the thought for the moment his lazy brown eyes rolled as it followed wave after wave allowing him once again to recede into the depths of his thoughts; a place none too friendly these days.

Here they were on the abyss of their demise and the only two companions he’d found on the sea since that day , well three counting the dog, but Fen’s, erm, Fenrir’s canine qualities yet baffled him. Though the four legged Captain was every bit the self-assured leader it still seemed a tad odd to be branding him as a ‘companion’ just yet. Another sigh parted his lips as the guilt ridden reminder of a thought whispered in the corner of his fuzzy-edged mind, Companions don’t lie to one another. Locks of gray fell limply against his forehead as the spray lapped up the side of The Messenger with a few droplets successfully making their way up the side of the ship every few moments. It was an exercise in futility really. He would always be guilty for his tiny fib—right up until their deaths it seemed.

With these gloomily pennies of rolling round his skull it was a bit of surprise to find himself suddenly nearly-walking into the smiling visages of Jun and arguably the ship’s most knowledgeable member. Somehow those hopeful grins seemed utterly appropriate, like a mar on a beautiful art piece. It made Gordon long to lick his thumb and smudge out both curvy lipped smirks—but of course he didn’t. As it was he had enough sins to feel guilty about. Now the sea went from moderately boisterous to outright. Clear emerald green hues transformed into dark, blue tinged with white edges as the choppy sea bounced its new play thing from one metaphorical hand to the other. Eyes riveted to the slowly rising peak of the reverse-current mountain Gordon commented to Jun, “This reminds of how much I like Greek mythology…or maybe it’s just the abundance of marble relics they erected. Hmmm…”

Why had he said that of all things? Shifting uneasily in his worn leather shoes he decided it just felt right. Little enough felt right these days and he could use some feel-good.

[Tsin]

Less than his captain had done for him earlier but just barely so, Jun only glanced backwards at the remaining two members of the ragtag Windwards as they surfaced from where ever they had been hiding. Their arrival upon deck wasn't without their own words, so the scribe silenced himself they spoke their minds... And his own mind swirled actively within the confines of his skull all the while too, a couple of thoughts coalesceing in the moment, a perfect pair of normal thoughts that any person would come up with given the circumstances. That is to say: staring out at a bone-crushing, human-devouring, merciless 'Mountain of Doom'.

The first thought: It was quite a nice looking mountain to be honest, and the weather was bright and beautiful which certainly helped. If Jun hadn't been such a winter weather guy, being born and raised in the more icy climes of Northern Blue, he would most certainly pick a day like this as being a fine day to die.

Most. Certainly.

The second thought: 'Scribe' and 'Scholar.' They were sometimes used interchangably although their meanings were quite quite different. Jun only considered himself as a member of the former though there were some occasions, usually before a stranger attempted to cause some undue physical harm, that he would be confused for the latter. And the scribe had to somewhat admit, he could be called a slightly more learned man than others gallivanting about the sea... He used words like 'gallivanting' afterall. But Gordon seemed bred from an entirely different stock because, in all his readings, even Jun was wondering...

"Greek?"

"Rrowf rrowrowf aaarrowf!!!"

There was no time for any answers though as Fenrir literally barked out his orders to the crew, grabbing ahold of The Messenger's special dog-friendly rudder mechanism. The Dragoon sighed and ditched the wet towel acting as a second scarf, throwing it under one of the deck's benches and turning to his companions. "Well, you heard the captain. Sails up!"

Jun stepped around the G-bros Gavin and Gordon and set his grip onto the main sail's rigging system, going to work. At the same time, the pull of Reverse Mountain's flow was having a noticable effect upon the ship's acceleration, Fenrir's beloved vessel gaining speed for every passing moment. And with the gates of the climbing current in plain view now... That dangerous course completely encompassed by cruel cliffs was only a minute away.

Probably wouldn't be a bad idea to brace yourself after those sails are up too.

[Terminally Chill]

The reference to Greek culture either went over Gavin's head completely or the dopey drifter actually understood what Gordon was talking about. Both possibilities were equally possible. On one hand, the simplest of sentences tended to fly over the songwriter's shaggy head. However, Gavin was also known to have moments of clarity that bordered on transcending dimensions; a knowledge of places never before fathomed in any of the world's seas. Either way, Gavin retained the blank mask etched on his thin face and shrugged off Gordon's farout remark.

“Rrowf rrowrowf aaarrowf!!”

“Well, you heard the captain. Sails up!”

Fenrir's unmistakable howls brought home the reality that there were more important matters to focus on. Perhaps the scribe and strummer could ask Gordon what “Greek” was after they weren't hurdling toward a mouth of jagged cliff edges and roaring water. Despite the growing urgency of the situation, Gavin let out a lazy sigh and casually strolled over to assist Jun in furling the sails of The Messenger. After a round of tandem tugs at the rigging, the sails were closed up and the comical cartoon dog hidden from view. Fenrir's prized vessel continued its rapid approach to the Grand Line gateway, the pull of the Reverse Mountain's current becoming apparent.

Gavin shielded his eyes against the sea's spray with a slender hand, the wind wildly whipping his unkempt bangs and threatening to pull the musician's beanie right off his head. Taking a couple steps back against the oncoming chaos, the guitarist used his other hand to clutch the ship's railing for balance. Through the salty mist, Gavin garnered a glance at the upcoming route and could not help but look puzzled.

“Wait so... We're going up a mountain to get there, man? Whaaat?” Obviously, Gavin had missed a vital part of their discussion the previous night. It was questionable whether or not he even understood where they were going at that point. “... Where are we even, going, man?” Okay, not so questionable. “Oh wait... the Grand Line. That's right, man.” Theeeere we go. With the minstrel's ridiculous revelation coming to pass, the more attentive of the Windwards would probably notice they were coming precariously close to the malicious maw of the mountain. The Grand Line would be the least of the wanderers' worries if they couldn't even make it past the entrance.

All they could do now was trust in their canine commander's navigation skills. Hoping for a bit of luck couldn't hurt either.

SPOILER: Click to show

You can handle going into the entrance, Jack. Figured I'd leave you with something to do.

[Tsin]

The rapidly closing distance between the bow of The Messenger and Reverse Mountain's grisly gates was definitely not lost on the captain, currently leaping up and down frantically and trying to get his paws between the spokes of his ship's steeling wheel for some balance. Eventually he did, after the fourth or fifth try, but as is the nature of things shaped roundly, he only kept his balance for a fraction of a second before the sway of the boat caused him to fall off to the right, taking the steering mechanism with him. Predictably, the vessel lurched violently to the side as the wheel did, going from a freaky but home-free path right through the narrow canal to a sure-fire agonizing collision against Grand Line's opening crag. Fenrir feverishly leapt up another time to try and correct his mistake, but he'd only slip off to the left side this time, turning his ship the other way and carving a quick and graceful S-shaped ribbon through East Blue.

Fittingly, exactly what the crash would probably do to the bodies of the four passengers.

Effectively, the dog was doing the exact opposite of what his role called for, throwing everything and all three bodies on the ship's deck across the expanse of its wooden surface every second and half, pouncing around like a rabid pooch in a pool of bacon. And every second he couldn't quite get things right, The Messenger sped up more and more and one wall or another loomed ever closer, promising the sea's wildlife a generous meal.

It was easy, in the psychotic panic, for anybody to miss one or two towels flying overboard, or one or two men flying overboard. Such would explain the lack of Jun's earlier rag, or the lack of Jun entirely, and the lack of Gordon.

The Dragoon put the kabosh on one of those things though, slamming through the door to the interior with his shoulder, dressed as he normally is once again. "Seas got really choppy while I was inside getting my jacket!" He yelled, over the constant clatter of boxes and equipment smashing against the starboard railing, then sliding over the wooden floors to the portside railing and smashing against them.

"RRRRRROWF ROWF ROWOWOWOWOWWF!!" Fenrir was on his back at this point in the game, thrashing wildly and trying to get back to his feet and steer him and his remaining crew members away from the reaper's scythe. After taking in the sight of what was happening then, Jun made for a sprint across the surface of the swaying ship, despite its constantly shifting momentum... and he was doing damn good at it too, the extra balance his martial skills granted him allowing for some impressively graceful movements even in the least graceful of environments.

But then he had a decidedly ungraceful moment, as a tacklebox slid right into his foot. The lancer went over like a sack of potatoes, barely throwing his hands in front of him to prevent his face from smashing into the wood. He scrambled to his feet, sliding into the railing himself this time, then narrowly dodging one of the rigging lines, the rough surface of a rope knot scratching his cheek slightly. Without any other options, Jun threw poise to the fishes and dove at the wheel, catching it with one hand and pulling The Messenger a little bit further in the wrong direction. He managed to slam a boot into the ground and right himself quickly though, stablizing things just enough for Fenrir to leap up and wrap his fangs around one of the wheel's spokes, wrenching it in the direction of Reverse Mountain's gate. Both Scribe and Navigator grit their teeth now, pushing against the deck with their whole bodies and trying desperately to correct their course. Even with their best efforts though, it looked doubtful... Just... a little bit... more...!

"Gavin! We'd appreciate a hand as soon as you could!" Jun, ever polite even in the worst of times.

"RROWF ROWF ROOOOWF!" Fenrir, on the other hand, did not mind resorting to name calling.

Unnecessary name calling too, since Gavin had the best reason to help; Not dying.

[Terminally Chill]

Sure, Gavin expected sailing a ship up a mountain in the middle of the ocean to be a rough ride. Nothing about the idea seemed easy, or even physically possible for the most part. So of course he continued bracing himself against the ship's railing, eyes straining to keep some visual through the salty spray of the mountain's perilous passageway. What Gavin was not expecting, was the vicious series of turns vessel suddenly took. One hand gripping a piece of wood was hardly enough to defend against the monstrous momentum The Messenger had been thrown into. Gavin found himself smashing against the sea-soaked deck of the ship without warning, uncontrollably tumbling like a ragdoll across the unforgiving surface of the ship. If Gavin usually had no idea what was happening, well... Then right now he definitely had no idea what was happening. Each time he attempted to scramble to his feet, the swaying of the ship would once again toss the instrumentalist to join the barrage of boxes and other equipment slamming from one side to the next.

If the situation wasn't so dire, one might laugh at the image of Gavin joining the clattering cluster in careening from one side of the ship to the other. At least, despite all of the knocks to the head the troubadour was taking, brain damage wasn't going to be all that great of a concern. Gavin's stumbling continued to snowball, the first fall having given him almost no chance of returning to the world of the standing again. The songsmith continued to attempt to orient himself amid the chaos, counting himself lucky that he had not been thrown overboard yet. By now the minstrel had almost entirely given up, attempting to make himself comfortable as the sliding continued. Luckily Jun's entrance into the fray gave Gavin something to go, recognizing the vague shape of the linguistic lancer at the doorway. Gordon was no where in sight since the beginninf of the nightmare, and the indigo blur of Fenrir clawing and scraping across the deck had not exactly registered in the constant trip from port to starboard.

“Seas got Whoooooa maaaan... really choppy while What is even haaappening...? I was inside getting my jacket!”

Fenrir's barks of panic were audible through the ruckus at this point, directing Gavin's attention to his captain's frantic efforts to keep the ship on course. The sleepy strummer also realized what was happening, sandals scrambling against the slippery deck in an attempt to aid the howling hound. Unfortunately, the uncharacteristic hurried manner of the entertainer was cut short by a sudden force hammering upside his head. Jun's decidedly ungraceful moment? The one with the tackle box? Well... That was more like Gavin's face. The boot of the dragoon bashed the bard across the face, sending him back onto the deck with a groan and throwing Jun into the air at perhaps inopportune moment. The dazed drifter struggled to gain his senses, stars blazing across his vision while his brain rattled in his skull. Through the pounding in his ears, Gavin could hear his crew mates call out to him.

“Gavin! We'd appreciate a hand as soon as you could!”

“RROWF ROWF ROOOOWF!”

“Hey man, not cool...” The voice of the requested wanderer came only seconds later, the Musician joining the Navigator and Scribe with surprising haste. Fingers usually reserved for a fretboard wrapped tightly around the wheel, every muscle in Gavin's body straining to aid his comrades in slowly but surely pulling the ship toward the great gateway. The sandals of the Six String Slinger dug into the deck with nearly enough force to split straight through the wood. A certain death courtesy of Reverse Mountain's jagged maw edged closer, the combined strength of human and hound threatening to rip the wheel apart. The trio had put their lives on the line; now their very survival was staring them in the face. The realization that their dreams could very well be ended in the same instant they became three more causalities of the notorious mountain was dawning on them in the most terrifying way.

Now they had to face it! As Nakama! As the Windward Wanderers!

The choice between life or death was quickly narrowed to one possibility as the treacherous doorway was upon them. Gavin could only clenched his eyes tightly and make one last mighty heave with his comrades in that fateful moment. The guitarist's eyes remained closed, heart racing and ears awaiting some sort of thunderous crash that spelled their doomed fate. But no such sound came. Was there even a chance for the sound to register? Had his life ended so quickly? As Gavin's mind calmed itself, it came to the realization that this couldn't possibly be the afterlife. Why? Because...

He could hear the rushing waters all around him. He could taste the salty spray of the sea against his lips; smell the salty breeze that accompanied it. He could feel the rough wood his hands were still so desperately clung to. And when he opened his eyes?

Gavin could see Jun and Fenrir still standing beside him.

Looking ahead, it became clear to the baffled bard that they had actually made it through Reverse Mountain's gateway! The Messenger proudly sailed up the river, the ship having finally left the eastern sea as it was someday destined to. Gavin released his white-knuckle grip, ignoring the pain in his raw hands as he simply fell back to take a seat on the ship's deck. A heavy sigh of relief escaped the lips of the wanderer. All he could do was use his sleepy eyes to stare at the approaching pinnacle of the mountain...

“Guess we made it, man.”

Not quite, though.

[Tsin]

The incredible struggle by two young men and their captain against the peerless collective strength of the world's four enormous oceans, both sides combining their willpower and spirit together at this singular point to become greater than the sum of their parts...

Even as he was straining every bodily fiber available to turn The Messenger's wheel and force its rudder into a position that didn't promise a future of death, the majesty of the possible narratives that would be birthed from this very moment were not lost on Jun. He would smile if he wasn't already gritting his teeth, and he would write if his fingers didn't already have a white-knuckle grip in the fight for his survival. If just the mere prospect of entering Grand Line had already brought this much adventure, this much story, into his life though... How could any self-respecting writer miss out on this fantastic opportunity, no matter the cost?

Doubtless that Fenrir was thinking equally as momentous thoughts as well, digging his claws into his beloved ship's woodworking and wrenching until it felt as if his fangs would be pulled right out. The final gift bestowed upon him by his father, the wishes he carried as the only remaining member of the Foehm line... Whether man, dog, fish or beast, the Captain of the Windwards would let nothing bar him from seeing this thing through.

And Gavin!... Well... And Gavin.

With one last burst of strength, of togetherness, the trio of men prevailed, stealing victory away from an enemy that had sunk entire battleships and sent dozens of men at once and thousands over its lifetime to their watery graves. The Dragoon stumbled backwards as the vessel slipped through the twin peaks, catching himself on the waist-high railing and taking a deep breath. The Howling Wind was more like The Panting Breath after that ordeal, splaying himself on the deck and letting his tongue loll out in exhaustion. Their reward though, and the reward of their musically inclined companion taking a seat on wood himself, was the roar of the Reverse Mountains waves, as loud as the bellow of a seaking. Not soothing by any means, but an impressive din that would be proper for any good triumph.

Jun glanced behind himself at the rushing waters, the wake of The Messenger straight and true like a mighty spear. The waves produced by their motion through the water crashed against the tall canyon walls on either side... They might have been oppressive on any other day, but in the rush of a win, they just looked magnificent.

"Why don't you play a little bit of something in celebration, Gavin?" The writer finally put on his trademark smile, a bit overdue but no worse for wear because of it. "I'll read us a passage of something uplifting... Fenrir can tell us of the wonders ahead and Gordon can... do... er... wrestle?" Jun stopped his mouth then, the good-nature in his voice already taking a turn for the shakey before he even finished his sentence. The scarved man looked around a little. "... Where is Gordon anyways?"

A few rapid sniffs, as dogs are prone to do, then a single looooong inhale. "Woof."

"Oh. Rather unfortunate." Despite having said that though, the smile was back on in full force and Jun turned his gaze to the summit of Grand Line's door, the sun shining with hope above.

And The Windwards pushed onwards, upwards.

[Terminally Chill]

After finally catching the breath the arduous ordeal had taken away from him, Gavin picked himself up from the sea-soaked deck with a heavy heave and stood by his companions once again. The Messenger continued to carve a path straight up the menacing mountain, the sound of the rushing river on either side continuing to remind the drifter that he had not become driftwood. In the same manner Jun's usual relaxed smile returned to his face, the dopey grin of Gavin surfaces as he nodded in agreement to the prospect of a lively tune. A little music would do them good after taking the intense first step into the notoriously dangerous sea where the continuation of their journey awaited. But before Gavin reached to his guitar, a rather important question the scribe posed caught his attention.

“... Where is Gordon anyways?”

“Oh yeah, man...” the musician muttered sleepily, having lost track of their older traveling companion amid all of the life-threatening excitement. Gavin did a sluggish sweep of the ship, but there was no sight of Gordon anywhere.

“Woof.”

“Oh. Rather unfortunate.”

“Bummer.”

The Windwards only continued wearing their smiles though, the absence of the new acquaintance not heavy enough to crush the three's collective jubilation. The summit of Reverse Mountain neared, the wind whipping through the wanderers' clothes as the sun shone on their salt-soaked faces. Gavin made sure to brace himself for the inevitable downward rush into the Grand Line, but even that daunting prospect did not stop the Six String Slinger from taking his treasured guitar out to oblige Jun's request. What better way to mark the momentous leap than with a song? The sunlight only intensified as they neared the peak; hardly a second now. The Messenger entered the spray and sunlight without fear, the vessel's keel having lost its grasp on the water. A cascade of droplets saw the young adventures off from the East Blue as they sailed through the air if only for a moment. In that surreal flight, Gavin Amadeus D'Arras strummed across his shining six strings to begin a song; the trio's first taste of Grand Line water waited only inches below.

“♪ Ooooooh...! ♪”

Onto the Grand Line, Windward Wanderers!

[Tori Tori Chopper]

'Oh you've gotta to be kidding me!?'
CRASH

The collision itself was hardly anything spectacular, though in argument she was the only one there to watch her small vessel collide with the much larger decorated ship and slowly destroy itself in the head to head contest of who had the bigger mass. The attachment that got her here so fast decided to abort before it too was swept up in the explosion of wood and metal, detaching from the remains of the small and narrow ship and spiralling off into the air as a thick chain suddenly hunted it down in its escape. The chain had quite a bit of force behind it after all, leaving the circular like jet to slow itself as it was wrapped up in linking steel, eventually being pulled back down from the weight of the girl who used it to bail from the ship before nothing was left of it. Funnily enough the girl was used to this kind of thing happening, sure shooting into the air on the remains of a jet-powered boat after colliding into a large vessel which was also flying in the centre of a mountain took the cake, but you don't really have time to admire the view of your own destruction when you suddenly realise that you're falling rather than going upwards like you wished.

The girl let out a grunt which sadly wasn't even heard amongst the approaching pointy mountain top, rushing water and screaming winds in her decent, barely yanking her attached chain from the exploding Arial engine before turning herself around to see yet another obstacle in her path. She seemed to have done some little damage to what she was about to land on, though what was really going through her mind was how she was going to destroy whoever owned the coincidental floating boat which obstructed her otherwise clean-ish escape.

Thump!

The girl wasn't so much a cause to the noise in her landing than the Baton was as it slammed against the deck of the ship, being yanked from the ground moments later as she was ready to throw it at the first living being she saw on the ship, sadly the only thing she saw was a dog which didn't really count in her books. A little wobble followed as she peeked her head back and over the side of the ship to realise her impact had finally started to have some sort of effect, the ship slowly tilting its nose down to the otherwise rocky sides of the currents, boasting general death and destruction. 'Oops..' Wait a second! This wasn't her fault at all! 'Stupid freaking ship getting in my way!' her temper tantrum of stamping her boot against the ship ceased as soon as it started, her eyes catching inhabitants on the deck other than just animals. 'Uuh.. Hi' she sent a light wave their way, pretty ignorant to the sudden dip in gravity when the ship itself began to be pulled off its usual course. Her anger had subsided slightly she'll admit, the situation looked a little bleak for her too while she was still on this ship. The peoples reactions were the least of her concerns, after her greeting she began to dart her eyes around the ship before licking her finger and putting it to the wind. 'Alright then...' She threw her large Baton like weapon over her shoulder, calmly reorganising her chains into their respective places to keep it on her back while she pondered the insane.

Well there was only one way to go about it, this ship as far as she was concerned was going to smack right into those rocks and re-enact her own vessels destruction with a bit more noise and mess, she had to leave. Taking a deep breath and moving from a jog to sprint she ran passed the occupants, giving them a light salute as she spun on her heel and leaped back off the ships side with her back to the ground as the weight of her weapon set her plummeting at ridiculous speeds shortly after her feet had left the wooden deck of the ship.

Spinning herself around in the free fall she covered her face from the water which smacked against her, the layers of clouds finding it funny to leave her soaking wet for the giant drop that was in store for her. Though on the bright side it was a curse and a gift, she would be falling for so long with the wind attacking her descent it would probably dry her out before she hit any sort of pointy or flat ground. There was nothing else too it, she would have been dead had she stayed on that ship... Maybe in hind-sight she should have jumped off in the direction of the grand line rather than evil rock faces but that was a little too late to regret. The boat was a mere obstacle in her escape, no doubt the marine chasing her would be able to find her or any part of the ship she stole now. All's well that ends well if she didn't impale herself in the fall... Though she couldn't help but think about the boat which kind-of-not-really saved her life as well as nearly doom it, would have to remember it if she lived.

They would have a lot to answer for.

[Tsin]

A "comedy of errors." That was how Jun planned on describing this whole scenario later when his hands had a free moment to grasp a pencil and scribble it down into his notebook. That whole slip and slide adventure up the impossible upwards current of Reverse Mountain, now this unexpected explosion from one side of the Messenger, and the amazing yet-to-be-seen method by which the courageous canine and his daredevil human duo would escape from this mess with their lives... Maybe it was more thrilling than a comedy had any right to be, especially when you were one of the participants, but the dragoon tended to remember "funny" and "almost dying three times in one half-hour" as exactly the same anyways.

Of course, that 'explosion' wasn't actually an explosion, but Jun sure as hell couldn't tell from where he was. It sure sounded like one and the impact was definitely no less than that of an enormous bomb, a sudden jolt of the ship to one side causing the scribe to flip backwards over the railing he was leaning on. Instinctively his hands flew upwards, his fingers curling tightly over the deck's edge and keeping him from plunging either to a grave of Reverse Mountain's choosing: strong and watery, sharp and rocky or otherwise. Things didn't look that much better from down there either though, a hailstorm of wooden shrapnel and splinters buffeting every part of his body. If this all came from The Messenger... There would be problems.

However, Fenrir couldn't see any of that, springing up from his lazy lay at the moment of the impact. And even if he could imagine it based solely on the thunderous bang that had erupted a second ago, he was a little bit distracted at the moment. First by the sight of a scarf fluttering wildly overboard and downwards, then second by the sudden thud of a girl on the deck of his beloved boat. Did she cause this fiasco? Or was she a victim as well? How the hell did she even get up here first place?! Who was she?!

The canine captain wasn't sure what to say, and a timid little "Uuh... Hi" certainly didn't help. He stepped cautiously forward, the alarm of the moment focused entirely on Miss Mystery in front of him even as the boat was recovering from its sudden collision and beginning to feel the inexorable pull of gravity. The girl seemed to have other ideas rather than and stick around and explain herself though, and sprinted past the pup and straight off into the wild blue yonder. In that windswept instant however, he caught her scent, a wisp of paint clear in his sensitive nose even in the worst of conditions... And then she was gone. But he'd remember.

Trading out one lunatic jumper for another, Jun braced the soles of his legs against The Messenger's hull and gracefully vaulted back over the edge in a single push. It helped that the boat was now sinking through the air rather than flying too.
"Hmmm... Not to alarm either of you or anything, but whatever happened knocked us more than a little bit off course." The scribe's eyes directed themselves downwards over the edge again, looking past where he was just hanging out and more at the mountain itself. "If we don't act quickly, it will be the our lifeblood that paints these crags red, maimed by the mounta--"

"ROWOWF WOOF!" The navigator cut off his long-winded crewman at that point, not wanting to waste time listening to another spiel, or maybe just not wanting to listen to it at all. The wind brushed past his body as he set his mind to work, rippling waves of blue fur all tugged in one direction...

... Ah ha, they were the Windwards, right? Following the wind was their namesake, so what better time than now. "RAAAAAAAWWOOOOOOOOO!!!" A howl went out, and Fenrir immediately latched himself onto the rigging lines, working them ferociously with his fangs as if they were made of beef jerky. At the beckoning of his Captain, Jun bounded across the deck in a few short leaps and caught a hold of the knot as well, using his advantage of opposable thumbs to let the sheet of canvas loose. Without pause, a glorious fwump! signaled success, and the cartoonish dog skull immediately billowed outwards, an incredibly powerful tailwind giving The Messenger some extra oomph.

Oomph enough to avoid the pointy peaks of Reverse Mountain? Well... It would be a close call in the best case.

[Terminally Chill]

The Windward Wanderers were having a bad day.

A terrible day, even. Or... perhaps a life at sea was really just this full of mishaps and misfortune? Gavin D'Arras wasn't exactly an authority on the daily routine of a seadog, but he had a feeling it wasn't like this. Whether you were a pirate, marine, or somewhere in between; the situation was just good old fashioned bad luck.

The troubled trio were thrown from one precarious predicament to the next with a splintering crash, “thrown” being unfortunately more literal for the two bipedal crew members. Whatever tune the troubadour had planned to pluck was suddenly silenced by whatever disorienting dissonance had exploded against the side of The Messenger. Gavin and guitar slammed into the salt-soaked deck of the ship with a loud 'bong!', followed by the groan of the bard, which was full more of disappointment than pain. The bard tumbled across the deck, hazy head having lost count long ago of how many bumps and bruises he had suffered on the wanderers' wildly unsuccessful venture into the Grand Line. Gavin managed to pull himself out of his ragdoll momentum, tumbling back until he was sitting firmly on the deck. After a shake of his shaggy locks, the beanie that sat atop the mess of hair was adjusted and the songsmith's prized instrument retrieved for inspection from close by. Even amid the chaotic flight of The Messenger, Gavin had to make sure his weapon of choice was still in tune. A single digit plucked each string one at the time, each note ringing to the satisfaction of the minstrel's meticulous ear. Gavin nodded, placing the guitar on his back before directing his attention to, you know, the fact that they were all probably going to die. As The Messenger soared with uncertainty through the salty air, it was becoming apparent to the entertainer that their course had been unexpectedly changed from the Grand Line to a grand death at the hands of the perilous gateway. Again.

What wasn't apparent was the reason a mysterious emerald-haired girl was standing before the worn wanderers. Sure, Gavin hadn't noticed the untimely departure of Gordon in their ascent, but he was pretty sure the fiery female wasn't originally on the ship.

“Uuh... Hi.”

“Hey man,” Gavin replied in his usual dreamy tone, returning the wave without missing a beat. The random passenger's greeting was just as fleeting as her time on the ship, as she suddenly bolted and rocketed off of the boat toward what seemed to be certain death. The shaggy strummer could only shrug, giving Jun a similar wave as before as the dragoon joined his friends above. Despite the dire circumstances, scribe and songwriter had no problem giving commentary.

“… Whatever happened knocked us more than a little bit off course.”

“Yeah man...” Gavin picked himself up from the slippery ship surface, brushing away dirt and debris. “... I think we might be in trouble.”

“If we don't act quickly, it will be the our lifeblood that paints these crags red, maimed by the mounta–”

“ROWOWF WOOF!”

Anymore obvious observations or gruesome grave-paintings were quickly put to a stop by the canine captain. Luckily, Fenrir was taking imminent death a bit more seriously than his comrades. The following howl was yet another familiar call to action for the Windwards, Gavin shaking off his sluggish demeanor to aid in the joint tug of the rigging rope. The sails unfurled, the namesake of the wanderers pushing against the canvas in an attempt to aid the adventurers in avoiding a nasty nosedive into skull-splitting stone. Gavin could only keep the line in a stranglehold with his slender fingers, holding his breath and hoping that Fenrir's wolfish wit would get them out of the astounding mess.

[Tsin]

The presence of the wind had been a constant in Jun's life.

That is to say, the presence of the wind is probably a constant in almost everybody's life, except for those who might choose to make their homes underground or underwater, never to come to the surface. But if you weren't a gnome or a dwarf and lived in the open air, where the fronds on palms sway and clouds leisurely meandered from one side of the sky to the next, then the role of wind was more or less absolute. For a disciple of the Sweeping Wind however, it was especially apparent. Perhaps 'presence' wasn't the word to describe it even, insinuating that it was just hangin' around. Doin' things. Pushing over trees or stop signs and causing the occasional unfortunate accident. No, the wind to a disciple of the Sweeping Wind was more like... a force.

In its usually intangible surge, there was potential, and since his time as a toddler growing up on the Yetine, Jun had been trained to harness that potential for his own use. Seemingly impossible feats were just steps away to the young man, sprinting incredibly across and leaping high above all manner of normal human boundaries.

So the moment was somewhat strange for the Dragoon, the ropes of The Messenger's main sail wrapped around his hands and arms, one boot on the deck and the other braced against the enormous mast of the ship in a constant struggle to keep the canvas taut. He was trusting the wind entirely to carry him now-- No, he and the others, an occasionally clueless but genial guitarist and their intermittenly irritable canine captain... They were all trusting the wind to carry them, and in this critically crucial moment where man, man, dog were all struggling for their lives, the sweeper was completely unable to bound up there and pull the wind along himself.

Its roar was immense though, drowning out Jun's own grunts and Fenrir's constant low growl, the rigging line gripped between his fangs as his talons fought against the deck for every centimeter of gain that his four legs could muster. Even the constant thunderous din of the upward flowing river splitting Reverse Mountain was silenced by the breath of Grand Line's unique weatherscape... Or more likely, the vessel had simply already left all that behind, the crash of waves against rocks dozens of meters above them as the trio of wanderers attempted to glide their boat down the face of a cliff. The massive gust was almost all they knew now; all they could hear except for their own heartbeats, all they could feel except for woven fibers rubbing their hands and lips raw, all they could taste except for--

The entire Messenger jolted at once, as if the elbow of a titan or even a god had accidentally nudged it while reaching for another mini-quiche off the divine party platter, and there was a matching noise that, when described from somebody on the inside, could only be justified with terms like 'cacophony,' 'pandemonium,' and 'oh god I think I'm deaf.'

And then the end of the road was as still as death and as silent as the abyss.

"... Rrrowf."

Well... almost.