Turning the Tide [Windwards]

[Terminally Chill]

The Messenger sailed along the waters of the southern sea with a surprisingly carefree pace. The warm waters lapped gently against the hull of the vessel, the scene a far cry from the previous peril the Windward Wanderers experienced. Yep, they were somehow alive, despite... Whatever it was that happened. Something with a mountain? If the trio had come away from some horrible near-death experience, you couldn't tell by the mundane nature of the situation. The ship seemed to have made it out of the ordeal quite fine; only surface damage was evident here and there, but otherwise it was perfectly seaworthy. The ship's canine captain would most likely be displeased upon examining the damage, but at least they all weren't dead. From whatever it was that happened.

Gavin Amadeus D'Arras was hung over the side The Messenger, arms swaying side to side over the railing of the ship. The musician's slender fingers were stretched toward the shining sea, a few droplets of sea spray catching the tips once in a while. Gavin was content with this act for a few more moments until tuning around and propping himself up against the railing with one elbow while using his other hand to rustle the front of his shirt. Whatever climate they had arrived in was considerably warmer than that of the East Blue. After wiping a few drops of sweat from his eyes and panting a bit, Gavin spoke to his other two comrades on the deck.

“So guys... I've been thinking.” Already the bard's proposal sounded dangerous. Thinking? Gavin had taken on his usual puzzled look, his fingers scratching at his stubbled chin in thought. “... I don't think we're in the Grand Line.” While this “revelation” was news to the dopey drifter, surely a navigator as skilled as Fenrir would have realized right away they had ended up in some other unknown sea. Hell, Jun had probably figured it out with just common sense. Although the majority of the Windwards realized they had been thrown more than a little off course, whether they knew where they were was questionable. All they could do was sail until they found some way to figure that out. Gavin's hazy eyes lazily scanned the sea, having accepted the mind-blowing prospect the wanderers were not in the Grand Line. However, an outline in the distance caught the bard's fleeting attention.

“Hey man, I think there's an island ahead.”

The mysterious shape soon gave way to what seemed to be an island. Towering palm trees were the most distinguishing part of the landscape, a city of circular, gray buildings resting beneath their shade. The city wasn't the most impressive one, but hopefully someone there would be able to give the wanderers an idea of where they were, and more importantly, how to get back on track to the Grand Line. There were a surprising amount of ships at the port for what seemed to be nothing but a tropical rest stop in the middle of the ocean. The island was nice and all, but it didn't seem like the first choice for a gathering in whatever vast sea they were sailing in.

“Maybe we can stop there and see where we're at, man.”

As the small harbor came into view, there was the mysterious sight of a waving black flag raised high above the island shore...

[Tsin]

Whatever ocean The Messenger had ended up in after that previous, unmentioned, perfectly logical, and perfectly reasonable scenario, it was proving to be a very calm one, something that didn't go unappreciated by the ship's captain. Despite not knowing where he and the crew were at current, probably one of the most basic things that a navigator should know about their own vessel at all times, he appeared fairly relaxed, the gentle sway of the deck accompanied by a continuous warm seabreeze putting the pup into an easy-going state of mind. A map of Grand Line's immediate surroundings were laid out beneath his sprawled, furry body, head turning this way and that every so often to inspect the information thereon. There was even the occasional looking up, to peek at his compass or gaze at a faraway island in hopes of pinpointing the thing as a reference, but it never quite worked.

Well, it wasn't quite accurate to say that Fenrir had no idea where his ship and his crew were. He knew that they definitely weren't on Grand Line; A single glance at the Eternal Pose hanging from his chains would tell nearly anybody that. And given the direction he and his men approached Reverse Mountain from, it wasn't hard to formulate a few educated guesses about the current location of the Windwards... Still, with that explosion or whatever it was, nothing was set in stone.

The Messenger was luckily included in that count of 'nothing' though, still sailing appreciably well to the Captain's slight surprise and enormous relief. His good humor probably owed more to that knowledge than anything else, even if the knowledge was only based on the first-hand account of his scribe, decidedly untrained in matters of shipwright-ery. But hey, he couldn't have been too wrong or they'd all be at the bottom of some ocean, right?

Speaking of the scribe, Jun was taking nicely to the period of calm as well, seated on the railing across from where Gavin had unceremoniously draped himself over the ship's edge. The warm weather in this mysterious new land wasn't quite the ideal for a man from the northern tundras, but the scribe could cope with it. No need to wear a jacket in temps like this afterall, even if he wouldn't hear the same advice being said about his scarf. At least it was pulled down, looser than usual, two tails slightly shorter but still fluttering in the breeze freely.

The writer's notebook lay open in his hand as he sat there, the pointed tip of his pencil ready to strike at the pristine white pages like the fangs of a viper...

"So guys... I've been thinking."

But he had nothing. And with one man looking at his maps and the other looking within his mind, Gavin's comment had gone unnoticed. Or ignored.

"... I don't think we're in Grand Line."

It wasn't that Jun was bored really, just... uninspired for the moment. Aside from the occasional rocky outcropping or crag, it was more or less just ocean everywhere. Blue, blue, blue, blue, where everything you could see except for water was water in every direction. And he had written about the water yesterday. In some length excruciating-detail no less... A sea-king attack would do his life good right now, in a manner of speaking.

"Hey man, I think there's an island ahead."

A book snapped shut at the same time as a canine leapt up from his prone position, balancing his front two legs on the spokes of the ship's wheel again (though with far less disasterous results than last time). Indeed Gavin was right; About 90 degrees from where both Jun and Fenrir were pointing their gazes was an island... A nicely sized one at that, showing signs of healthy civilization. Not a bustling metropolis it seemed, but given the number of boats in the harbor... Definitely a bustling something.

Fenrir, if he had wanted to, could have gone back to pouring over his cartograms and compasses, analyzing their direction and the length of time they had been sailing until their precise spot in the world had been divined. It was absolutely within his skillset, afterall.

"Maybe we can stop there and see where we're at, man."

"Woof! Rrrowf rowf!" But Gavin's way was easier, as it tended to be, and the captain certainly didn't mind that.

Jun nodded in agreement to the guitarist's show of wisdom too, slipping his notebook back into its bag and getting back onto his own feet. "It probably wouldn't hurt to have the hull inspected by a professional either, while we're docked. If there's space, in any case... Very busy. I wonder if there is some sort of event occuring?" And by 'event', of course the scribe was refering to some kind of athletic match, maybe a celebration or a festival, a religious or cultural gathering of sorts. A happy event.

Very rarely do those kind of things happen at the onset of a story though, Jun knew. But this was life, wasn't it? There couldn't be a conflict for every island the Windwards docked at.

... Though he and the others would probably be getting their fair share of athletics in.

[Terminally Chill]

The task facing the Windwards certainly seemed easy enough, and even pleasant if Jun's optimism was what ruled the day. They'd stop at the port, figure out where they were, maybe get a few minor repairs to The Messenger made, and possibly spend the rest of the day attending whatever event had attracted all of the ships resting in the harbor. Yeah, sounded like a pretty good day all around, especially after nearly dying a handful of times the very same morning. The trio definitely needed some rest and relaxation. So the ship drifted toward the tropical island with little urgency in its pace, the very lightest of breezes guiding it toward the foreign harbor.

As The Messenger came closer to the unknown dock, certain unsettling details began to catch the emerald eyes of the ship's absent-minded musician. The first was the details of the black flag that oversaw the entire port. Black flags were generally signs of trouble in the first place, but upon this was what seemed to be a fish's head with a jagged bill pointing downward with two red blades crossed behind. An intimidating sight to be sure, but perhaps the black did represent some type of sporting event. The insignia would definitely make an appropriate mascot for some sort of sports team. Better not to jump to conclusions, after all. If the ominous flag wasn't enough, the docked ships themselves became harbingers of some unfortunate events to come. Upon closer examination, the vessels appeared to have suffered fairly extensive damage. Furthermore, the damage didn't look like anything a natural assault could accomplish. No; the damage was all particularly crippling to the ships' ability to sail. The initial assumption by the wanderers was far from the truth. The ships weren't docked in the harbor...

… They were stranded.

Probably. If they were, you couldn't convince Gavin of that. All of those observations were what a normal person with an average amount of common sense might get out of the situation. For the goofy guitarist, they were pretty much still on track for what they had decided to do in the first place. No matter what the situation appeared to be, the fact remained that the canine captain and company had no idea where they were. The Messenger bumped lightly against the crude wood that constructed the dock of the unknown tropical island. Fenrir's insignia on the ship's black sail immediately attracted attention from what few people were walking at the dock. Come to think of it, where were all of the people..? The sails were drawn back in after a few tugs of the rigging ropes and the anchor dropped. You know, the usual. The number of people slowly grew in number, murmurs passing throughout the small crowd as they looked with shock-widened eyes at the exceptionally relaxed demeanor of the trio.

Gavin stretched out his limbs, readying himself for a much-needed walk after being cooped up at sea for so long. The crowd was slowly growing, but they didn't look like the welcoming type; confusion and fear was the common emotion evident in their expressions. The crowd of beaten-down faces switched their attention to whatever was causing them to part. The Windwards seemed to have not taken much of a mind to the attention, the boarding plank smacking against the dock. Just as Gavin was going to step off of the ship, five figures emerged from the crowd. Each of them brandished a saber; definitely the generic pirate-lackey type. Whoever they were, the onlookers seemed to want nothing to do with them. The crowd gradually begin to disperse, but it was a slow retreat; they still watched intently on whatever was about to transpire. Finally, the rugged swashbuckler at the front of the wolf pack spoke.

“So you guys are the ones who fell outta the sky, huh?” the pirate asked, his tone a mixture of amusement and surprise. “Been a long time since any of us have heard about somethin' like that happening.” The other four couldn't help but laugh a bit, nodding in agreement. “You two and the dog look in pretty good shape... And your ship too! Man, you guys got pretty damn lucky.” The pirate's look of genuine excitement over the whole ordeal gradually faded though, gradually becoming more stern. “And see, me and the guys are happy you're okay. That's great. It's just the ship part that is a bit of a problem...” The four accompanying pirates could not help but begin to smile with wicked intentions. “It's the boss' orders for us to trash any ship that comes through here, especially ships that belong to pirates like you guys. This here island is Red Tide Pirate territory. We were hoping that fall would have done the job for us, but I guess not.”

“Oh, we're not pirates man,” Gavin replied with his usual matter-of-fact manner. As if that had anything to do with the threats the so called “Red Tide” pirates were making. They simply looked to one another, trying to discern whether the sleepy songwriter was actually serious.

“Well whatever the hell you are...” The man doing the talking shook off the momentary fluster and resumed his cool-headed tone of intimidation. “You guys ain't leavin' this island. The captain is on his way to the Grand Line, and he left the boss and the rest of us in charge here to weed out the competition.” The five were now taking a few steps forward, their sabers at the ready. “Now, we can do this easily. We'll just trash your ship and you guys can join the rest of these fine people here on Baterilla Island. Not such a bad deal, right? Think of it as a really long tropical vacation.”

“Baterilla Island, huh...?” Gavin murmured, staring off into space and stroking at his stubble. That name definitely didn't ring a bell. “If you wanna do anything to the ship, you'll have to ask Fenrir about that...” Gavin motioned to his canine commander with a flick of his shaggy head. “It's his ship, man.”

The pirates looked bewildered upon hearing Gavin's suggestion. Falling from the sky? A dog for a captain? Just what the hell kind of pirates – or whatever they were – were these guys?! Did this musician have a death wish or something? The lead buccaneer let out a sigh of frustration, rubbing at a throbbing vein in his head before regaining composure.

“Oh, is that so...?” The cutthroat at the front asked, anger simmering his shaking tone. “Well Fenrir, what do you think about us burnin' your shitty boat into nothin' but a heap of ashes?!” Sabers were now brandished and ready, the pirates standing at the bottom of the gang plank. The crowd had thinned, but there were still those brave enough to stick around and watch; opposition to the Red Tide was a rare occurrence on the island.

One thing was for certain: the pirates meant business.

SPOILER: Click to show

Feel free to control the pirates for dialogue, but don't have them really do much if you would. I'll be handling most of that.

[Tsin]

Despite the amount of care it takes to safely guide a ship into an overcrowded harbor and perform all the myriad of actions required to properly anchor it in said place, Fenrir did somehow find a spare moment to glance through the railings of his own beloved vessel to the others moored at the city. It was fairly obvious too, even to his untrained navigator's eye, that they were in no condition to be anywhere but on dry land, or perhaps in a naval graveyard. All these boats, a single step away from being six thousand feet under, gathered in a single place as auspicious as an inhabited island... The possibility of somebody or somebodies roaming around and scuttling ships was too much to ignore, and the hound couldn't help but let out a gutteral rumbling in his throat as he put down the ramp, somewhat against his better judgment. Whether he growled to scare away his own suspicions or the arrival of a person who would confirm them... Either would be fine.

On the flip side, Jun seemed oblivious to the dire situations that the other vessels were in, his attention focused entirely on the flag of the other ship, opened completely for all to witness in the passing breeze. It, much like the flag that he sailed the seas under, did not feature the grinning image of a human skull colloquially known as a 'jolly roger', so the scribe immediately associated that with 'not a pirate crew.' The flapping cloth puzzled him a little though, even the thud of the boarding ramp not being enough to rouse him from his thoughts; For if it wasn't for a pirate crew then what could it be...?

Jun shrugged and put it off for later, departing from The Messenger's deck in a normal manner, rather than leaping over its side as he sometimes does. His arrival onto the docks was just in time to catch this piece of the conversation too: "... not pirates man."

'Oh? They're not pirates either? They must own that ship over there, then.' Quite fortunate for the scribe to be able to find the answer to his question so quickly! The man at the head of the saber-wielding union did already give the scarved one a few ideas though, talking about their "captain" and "competition". Not very nice of them though, this plan.

"Well, Fenrir, what do you think about us burnin' your shitty boat into nothin' but a heap of ashes?!"

Though the wolfkin was sitting at the top of the ramp, his fangs bared with a certain sneer of his lips and that continuing growl, he wasn't actually the one to answer. It was, instead, the Dragoon with his characteristic optimism and polearm. "No worries gentlemen, we're not competitors in the game that you play; Just a roving group of like-minded wanderers." The smile upon his face quickly vanished into something that could be described as angry though... Or maybe more disappointed? An expression that a father might put on when he found his son cheating in a baseball game. "This is rather unsportsmanlike of you though, isn't it? Stopping your competitors before they can make it to the venue... Surely no way to win the championship rings of whatever it is your team plays!"

Jun glanced up at their flag again, pausing for a moment to cross his arms over his chest and ponder, his expression visibly softening again. "Or... Cup, I guess. Trophy? Medals? I'm not sure what is your team plays, honestly. The... Red Swordfish, I'm guessing. Based on what I believe is your ship. Some sort of underwater ball game involving nets and blitzes, perhaps? That would be quite impressive." The scribe pointed at the flag in question, just in case the people he was addressing didn't own the ship at all and he was just completely wrong!

How embarassing would that be, eh?

[Terminally Chill]

The pirates were stunned speechless when the other human on board opened his mouth. They thought perhaps the scholarly-looking young man would bring some sense to the situation, or at least acknowledge how intimidating they were trying to me. However, the raven-haired writer actually one-upped his musically-inclined in terms of sheer befuddlement. A rare occurrence indeed; Gavin tended to be the ultimate source of confusion and frustration in any situation the wanderers encountered. The lead pirate's mouth kept parting in an attempt to respond, but the right words were hard to find. So they all just sat there, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of their head as they stood before possibly the strangest people to ever dock at Baterilla Island in the whole time the Red Tide Pirates had been there.

“Ooooh, players in a game, huh?” Gavin was the first to break the silence, taking what the scribe's word as absolute truth despite the fact that he had heard the group admit themselves they were no athletes. However, Jun seemed to be the more level-headed of the two; why not believe him this time? “Yeah man, we're not competitors. Noooo worries,” the musician echoed, waving off the apparent “misunderstanding” between amped athletes and weary wanderers. Although Gavin wasn't much for sports himself, the guitarist understood how the drive for competition might cloud one's judgment.

“Jun is right though, man. Not cool.”

Or maybe he couldn't. The pirate at the front had gone from bewilderment to holding back his rage from boiling over with clenched teeth, a vein throbbing his head. Being lectured in itself was irritating, but how about being lectured by strangers for something you didn't even do? The other four simply continued being dumbfounded, trying to wrap their minds around exactly where in the conversation the complete communication meltdown took place. Finally, the pirate doing the talking turned into the pirate doing the screaming, unable to keep his anger pent up any longer.

“YOU IDIOTS!” came the dagger-fang response of the wild-eyed buccaneer. “What the hell are you even talking about?! We're not competing in some game, we're p–”

“Hey guys!” A voice from another rugged seadog accompanied by a few more Red Tide rumblers came from a little ways off, cutting the pirate off mid-sentence. The one leading the second pack was waving jovially, some sort of spherical object palmed in his other hand. “Wanna get some practice in for that crew Ballball Tournament coming up?”

“WHAT TERRIBLE TIMING!” exclaimed the other four accompanying pirates in disbelief, while their spokesman fell forward like a ten ton anchor.

“Ballball...?”

Not the most original name for a sport, to say the least. One might even call it “the most generic sport” with a name like that. The other group of admittedly more-upbeat pirates arrived, the one carrying the ball tilting his head at his crew mates' reactions. The mentally-drained pirate at the helm of the first group slowly picked himself up from the dock, a crooked half-smile on his face and a nervous twitch evident in one eye.

“Sounds great. Why don't you toss me the ball...?”

“Yeah, sure!” The sports enthusiast tossed the ball to other pirate with a grin. After all, the Red Tide Pirates needed something to pass the time when they weren't terrorizing whatever unfortunate sailors decided to pass thr–

“MORON!” the pirate shouted, the strained smile soon breaking as he hurtled the ball with impressive force into the other unsuspecting pirate's face. The oblivious swashbuckler plummeted off of the harbor into the drink with a yelp. “If you didn't notice, we've got some 'new guests' at the island. You know what that means, right?!”

There was a collective “aaaaah!” from the other group of pirates, including the one now treading water at the edge of the dock. Those with their feet planted on shabby wooden port quickly gathered themselves to appear intimidating again, while the last of the group crawled back onto the deck and brandished his sopping saber.

“And yeah, I would like to practice later – But you three!” The lead pirate quickly changed gears, pointing a blade in the direction of the windward trio. “You three have stalled long enough. I'll say it again so you can get it through your thick skulls: we're the Red Swordsfish – ugh! I mean Red Tide Pirates! – and your ship ain't getting' off this island in one piece! Now are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?!”

Gavin blinked a few curiously at the group of armed men at the bottom of the gang plank, a group that had nearly doubled in size. What had also increased in size was the crowd; the bullies of Baterilla were too busy dealing with the odd trio to care about the gathering of amused spectators. The troubadour turned to Jun, scratching his head with a puzzled look on his face.

“Are we doing what, man?”

[Tsin]

Watching the spectacle from his position still sitting comfortably upon his ship, Fenrir chortled slightly, if one could imagine a dog doing something like that. It was already pretty obvious to him, given the condition of the other ships in the harbor and the speed with which an almost-intimidating group approached the Windwards upon their arrival, what exactly was going on at Baterilla Island. His sharp canine hearing and intuition didn't hurt either of course, though it probably didn't take that much to put two and two together and figure things out. The ship's scribe seemed to be missing at least two from his equation though, and the musician was a bit shaky on mental togetherness near-constantly... Still, the rare opportunity to witness their perceptual oblivion from the outside was pretty amusing.

And the show was continuing on it looked, with another band of the Red Tide toadies entering the scene with a perfectly timed desire to play. "Wanna get some practice in for that crew Ballball Tournament coming up?"

"WHAT TERRIBLE TIMING!"

Jun glanced back and forth between the two unions, shaking his head slightly when the leader of the first group tripped over how completely ludicrous this whole situation was turning out to be. "No no, not at all. Do not allow our arrival here stop you guys from attending practice. I actually wouldn't mind watching it if you'd allow me; I've never heard of Ballball before."

And though the head pirate didn't look quite happy when he said, "Sounds great. Why don't you toss me the ball...?" Jun still nodded with a satisfied smile at his words. The chance to learn about what could possibly be some sort of sport native to this area... The scribe would be sure to pay close attention and take notes; Experience like this might come in handy for a story someda--

"MORON!" The explosive POW of a game ball plowing right into another Red Tide pirate's schnoz interrupted the scribe from his thoughts, watching the man tumble over the side of the harbor. He would've commented on those actions too, probably something about that not being any way to treat your comrades on the sea or on the field, but his line of sight happened upon the battered and beaten conditions of the other ships nearby. All of them, in fact... And this, coupled together with a few words from the low-level Red Tide leader, referring to the Windwards as 'guests' and yelling about how they would stop them from leaving the island, finally gave Jun the other 'two' he needed to put this whole thing together.

"Now are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?!"

"Are we doing what, man?"

"Aaaaah... I've figured it out now. I feel rather foolish for not seeing it all earlier, honestly." Coming to his senses apparently, the scholarly-looking man was finally going to live up to his image. "You Red Tide Pirates... Your captain took the star players to the competition in Grand Line, didn't he? And he left you behind. But you valiantly practice in hopes of gaining the skills necessary to one day compete alongside your noble leader for the championship title, right?" The imagination in the fledgling novelist's head was really bangin' on all cylinders it seemed, conjuring up a wild story that, once again, was probably missing the mark entirely. "And now you're trapping these other crews here, forcing them into playing Ballball with you in an effort to hone your own skills!"

Jun nodded sagely at this version of the story, a somewhat sad tale featuring the underdogs of the sports world. But he remained hopeful for them! Even if their method of doing things wasn't exactly the best. "There is no need to ravage The Messenger though. I'm not sure how many players a team for Ballball requires, but Fenrir, Gavin and I would be honored to help you while we're here, to achieve the strength necessary to go all the way to the finals." The dragoon clenched his fist and held it at chest level, the international sign of 'Let's do this.'

And all the while, even though his ship was on the line, Fenrir struggled to keep himself from howling with amusement.

[Tori Tori Chopper]

'We appreciate you helping us with this.'
'Eh, I got time to kill.'

'You think its a good idea to be messing around with those wounds?'
'You tellin' me what what to do?'

'Not at all Ma'am!'
'Well lets get started!'

THUMP!

[/b]

The spherical object took flight down the long winding houses, the odd tower like shapes leaving it bounce and bounce until it vanished from the small grounds line of sight, the larger men looking down to the one-sided grin covering the bandage covered woman's face. The silence lasted a little longer than she expected, ruling out awe from her sheer awesome strike on the ball that was thrown at her, looking around with a raised brow. 'Ain't you guys supposed to catch it or something?' They shook their heads, pressing palms against faces as one finally managed to muster some words. 'That isn't how you play this game at all.' A few stuttered noises came from the aggressive female player as she looked from person to person. 'Well when you throw a ball at me I expect it has something to do with punching it, what was I supposed to do, catch it?!' Her arms flew into the air in disregard for her company, striding away as untied bandage ends flew about her upper body like a second skin, ignoring the pleas from the doctor who was trying ever so hard to fix her as she flailed herself and leaving him to rant about how he wasn't finished. The place as boring, a blunt tone was needed for such dire situations.. Sure she was saved thanks to those guys after plummeting into the sea and falling asleep while floating to heaven-knows where, but appreciation for their actions can only muster a certain amount of tolerance for their monotone natures.

The adrenaline hadn't taken the hint and died down for days now, probably one of the only reasons she's still alive after a fall from that height, the faces of those responsible still fresh in her mind as she slammed fist into open palm again and again at their stupidity. Why didn't they just move the damn ship, or maybe even go over some other stupid mountain. Her words even mentally summed up next to no logical meaning, but it was either this or go around punching physical things. The escape up until that point was something to look back on with a smile however, the ship which sailed across the seas with the air of some sort of propulsion system was impressive even for someone who knew next to nothing about fancy mumbo-jumbo gear, it saved her ass and she was thankful for the many planks it had exploded into when it hit the opposing forces larger mass. What lay to question is what to do next, she would have to hang around and heal up before she could force her way onto a ship without one of her wounds opening up again, which made her feel as grounded as she did a couple of weeks ago when she was stuck on that damn snowy-marine-infested island. This whole damn ocean had it in for her it seemed, ever time she tried to move to another place on the map something would meet her halfway and push her elsewhere, something you could leave down to calling if you wanted to feel better about it.

Yea! This was all fate, that's the story she'll go with. Some sort of divine presence guiding her about the islands in order to tell her something about her otherwise goal lacking travels. So there was no point in feeling down with this perspective, the dock was close and she had just gained the ability to move by her own means this morning, sounded like the best time to scout the island for ships and then steal one when she was back to full health.. Maybe not take one from those guys in town though, being her saviour and all. No, she needed something small, two-man vessel at most to hold her awesomeness and keep the speed after she got her bearings. From the quick turn into the long line of vessels her eyes began to flick back and forth as if browsing wares, her thieving nature noted the complete lack of ability to sail across the dock bar two ships who's actual intact sails peeked out from the otherwise wrecked ocean-craft. As the mess cleared her vision the scene appeared, a small group much like the ones she saw in town talking up to a small group above a rather interesting... Wait a second.

'Them.'

An idle thought which tried to sneak to the back of her mind was pulled back front and center, her fists clenching and teeth gritting as the laid back occupants of her ships murderer lounged around as a group on the dock barked and hissed amongst themselves. She subconsciously went to roll up her non-existent sleeves as she walked with a brash pace towards the social encounter. The sudden increase in pace left her weapon which dragged behind her begin to skip a beat against the random cobble, leaving almost a rhythm of bashing back onto the ground with every hop it made, easily announcing her arrival on the scene. The conversation didn't matter, neither did the party's involved. She had one thing to say as she shoved up beside the aggressive side of the conversation to get the Messenger-Crew's attention. With a sharp point complete with squinty eyes, her spare hand clutched her weapon of choice to prepare for any kind of response.

'You guys owe me a ship. I want it, now.'

____________________

Apologies for the delay, I left the pirates at your command in case I've jumped the gun a little.. That and the post was too damn long anyway.

[/size][/blockquote]

[Terminally Chill]

Just when it seemed like the Red Tide spokesman was about to explode into an unspeakable rage after suffering through the scribe and songwriter's unending ignorance, his expression took on one of shock. Surprisingly enough, the shock had not been caused by stupidity. There seemed to be a deeper meaning to the pirate's widened eyes; an emotion perhaps long forgotten by a heart hardened after many years in the southern sea. The words of the raven-haired scholar echoed endlessly within the marauder's mind, eyes slowly swelling with each reverberation.

'But how did he know...?' Images of the pirate's struggles to be a star Ballball player flashed through his mind, the recurring reality of his sporting shortcomings rising from the recesses of his memory. Jun was right in one regard: any Ballball players of notable skill were those pirates of the Red Tide that had accompanied their captain to the Grand Line. While the captain himself was not for games, the tournaments held between any players that had accompanied him were contests of skill that those in the South Blue could only dream of. They were truly the finals of Ballball. Needless to say, this particular pirate had felt crushing disappointment when he was left on Baterilla Island. While it was most likely due to his actual combat strength, or perhaps just random selection, he took it as a sign of his athletic incompetence. Gradually, his passion for the sport wavered until it had all but disappeared; all that was left was using Ballball as a pastime to break the monotony of threatening those who docked in their graveyard of a harbor.

“You're right...” the lead pirate muttered, the dreary end of his sentence trailing off. The other pirates averted their eyes; it seemed the painful burden was shared by all. If Gavin had been a more observant person, he would have recalled a similar situation in Roguetown when Jun uncovered the long-st,anding inability for a certain Marine squadron to move past elderly men. However Gavin wasn't observant. Not in the least. Instead, the musician had lost interest in trying to decipher the “confusing” words of the Red Tide Pirates and was zoning out on a far-off floating cloud.

'Kind of looks like a guy falling off of his bike...? Or maybe a stoat, man. Yeah. Totally a stoat...'

Aaaanyway...

Whether or not the scribe realized it, he somehow had a gift of tapping into the tempestuous turmoil in people's lives and stir their very soul to overcome the harrowing obstacle. Or maybe it was sheer coincidence... Either way, the pirate seemed to be buying it. For so long the fire in his eyes had been reduced to but a glimmer, his true passion put to the side in order to bully the bystanders of Baterilla. Yet now, here before him was a stranger offering his aid. The same stranger that the pirate had been unsuccessfully threatening for the majority of their fledgling relationship.

“Fenrir, Gavin and I would be honored to help you while we're here, to achieve the strength necessary to go all the way to the finals.”

The proclamation was a powerful one, and coupled with the writer's resolve clenched tightly in his hand, the final image was one that had the group of pirates struggling to stymie a sea of sobs. The marauder at the helm bent down, retrieving the ball that had come to rest at his feet after ricocheting ruthlessly off of his comrade's cranium. Wiping away any moisture from his eyes, the pirate held up the object of his passion proudly, looking into the lancer's dark eyes with blazing determination.

“If we're going to make it to the finals, we've got a lot of work to d–”

“You guys owe me a ship. I want it, now.”

The beginning to the pirate's potentially promising career in the awe-inspiring game of Ballball was effectively cut short by the appearance of a bandage-bound girl spouting off random demands. The other pirates had made way for her without question; there was just an air surrounding the new arrival that told them she wasn't messing around. The most vocal of the Red Tides wasn't as yielding as his comrades, turning to face the girl with a rapidly-reddening face. Apparently he had snapped out of his brief state of emotional nostalgia, lobbing the ball into the ocean (to the dismay of the pirate who had proposed a friendly game earlier) and throwing his arms into the air.

“What the hell am I doing?! Why isn't your ship a pile of scrapwood yet?!” The burning buccaneer pointed an accusing finger toward the windward trio. Gavin gave a clueless shrug, having decided to redirect his attention to the events at hand instead of shapes in the sky. The Red Tide bruiser then turned his rage upon the fiery femme. “And who are you, coming and making demands like you own the island?! Can't you see I'm busy here?!” The pirate's voice was worn to the point of breaking now, shamelessly brandishing his cutlass in front of the random addition to the ridiculous situation. The other enforcers of the Red Tide followed suit, drawing their weapons and putting on their most intimidating faces with the hopes of striking fear and quelling the flames of the hot-headed girl.

Gavin on the other hand, had been studying the strange mummy-like figure that was demanding a ship from the wanderers. Actually, most of the time the guitarist had been trying to figure out whether or not she was talking to them at all. However, the dagger-like finger pointing directly to the three had convinced Gavin that she was possibly addressing them. With the usual stroke of his stubble, the sleepy songsmith peered into her intense eyes with his hazy gaze. That emerald-colored hair, the dramatic but intense mannerisms, the feeling that you were one wrong answer from having every bone in your body broken.

There was no mistake about it. This girl was... ?!

“Uuuuh... Who are you, man?”

… A complete stranger.