Fighting for Hope: Ice Nine

[Lord Bromosalino]

One week ago…

Once on board, Vincent immediately headed to the staircase, hoping to get below decks. However, much to his great annoyance and despair, an old, iron mug had decided that it would put itself directly in Vincent’s path, unbeknownst to him. With a loud Clang![/b], Vincent ran for cover and found it in one of the supply closets. If the Marines on this ship were anything like this town, they would remain asleep. Though, that was serious wishful thinking.

Damn![/I]

Present time…

It had been a week since that day that defined Vincent Vitkas for who he truly was and, more importantly, for who he could become. However, on that fateful day, he lost it all. Well, maybe not all, but it was damn close enough. His one true friend, despite having just met him, and accomplice had been taken captive by the real scourges of the sea, the Marines. Knowing that while he was alone he could not make it off the island, Vincent Vitkas risked the chance to climb aboard the Marine ship of which he had hoped his partner Nikolai was being kept captive. However, like the bloody fool he was, Vincent had knocked over a large iron mug, nearly waking up everyone on board. Luckily, the Marine’s themselves had begun to fight over which of them had knocked over the item in their sleep, giving Vincent enough time to climb down the starboard side while remaining undetected. He lay low for those next few days, hoping that his existence would simply fade out of the very mind of the town, giving him another opportunity to leave the frozen, god forsaken tundra.

Yet, once more, the very nature and universe that Vincent occupied seemed to defy and taunt his very being. No more than three days later, the Marine newspaper had his picture on it’s front page! It was such a bitter, sweet moment. Of course it was a moment of much silent cursing under his breath, for obvious reasons. Yet, there was pride in his heart and mind. There, under his picture lay a bounty, his first! And what a bounty; 5,000,000 Beri! Though, as he continued to read the paper in the rum light of the abandoned shed that he had come to call his temporary home, rage once more rose, changing his face to the color of his hair. “With both skill and grace, the Marine Lieutenant had all but made the young Vincent pathetic as he played with the boy.” “Ensign Junpei, a Marine of outstanding qualities and honor” Those damn Marine’s, always covering up the truth in order to pull the veil over the rest of the world’s on looking eyes. Still, if Vincent was to put himself in that position, he might have done the same thing. It was still despicable and disgusting.

Throughout those next few days, Vincent became engrossed with the details that had been documented down upon that brown piece of paper. The last few lines commanding every bit of his attention. He was right, Nikolai was still being held aboard the Marine ships, the ones that still stood in the harbor, lording their presence over the island, reminding the citizens who wielded the power and might to rule. In addition, the Marines (the reason Vincent believed Thatcher had not left the island) were unsure to as where Vincent was. Some had even doubted he was on the island anymore. That was good, he could breathe more freely, if not only by a bit.

If only, if only, if only…

He couldn’t free Nikolai alone. He would need help, but who would dare help Vincent after the events that had taken place? They had been routed, Nikolai captured, and Vincent was now in hiding. Surely no one would jump at such a chance to join them. Still, he wasn’t defeated or captured just yet, he would have to find away. The young lad was never one to call it quits, and this was certainly not the time to start, not now. Vincent faintly recalled Nikolai calling this the merchant or business district. If it was, then this had to be the busiest and most populated district of the island, at least on a day to day basis. If so, then new merchant ships must be coming and going on a regular basis, new people teeming to find what this island had to offer, and such. Yes, there was a chance. There was hope.

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[Raab]

"Wake up, you lousy piece of shit!"

Splash!

Cold. It was so ungodly cold, though he should have been used to that. The past week away from his frozen homeland had made him sensitive...weak. The feeling of weakness was quite foreign to him, almost sickening. "What is this?", he thought. "What kind of hell have I been brought to?"

It wasn't hell. It couldn't be hell. He wasn't dead yet.

"Jesus. Are you gonna lay there like that all day, you miserable pile of filth?"

That same cold washed over his body once again, chilling him to the bone. It felt as if the icy hand of Death was wrenching his soul from his body. Though try he might, Death would have to wait; he wasn't ready to go just yet.

"I said wake u-...!"

No. No more cold. He wasn't going to settle for it any longer.

"Nikolai. My name is Nikolai, government dog."

Fsst.

Pow!

Splash!

With newfound strength, Nikolai rose to his full height, reveling in his triumph over the marine. With a swift kick, Nikolai had sent the water pail flying from the young soldier's hands; he had been dousing the mighty Ice Niner with bone-chilling water in attempts to wrest him from much needed slumber. It had been the one night in the past week Nikolai had been able to fall asleep...ever since that day.

It wasn't long before Nikolai was swarmed by the three additional guards standing just outside his cell's door. Nikolai had proven to be quite the handful having been designated with four supervisors at all times. Eight when he was transported to the bridge for daily exercise.

"God dammit. You shouldn't have done that, punk. Not when the Lieu-"

"You're goddamn right he shouldn't have."

Nikolai started at the sound of that familiar voice. It was him.

"Well, well! Looks like you're finally up...bitch."

The green-jumpsuited man who had just entered Nikolai's cell delivered a powerful punch to the Ice Niner's stomach. There weren't many men that could make Nikolai double over like he had.

"...Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant burst out with a mighty laugh.

"You're damn right it's me! But hold on...it seems like you got a visitor."

Nikolai, looking up from the floor, recognized the second man to enter the room. His devilish grin and bad haircut were too distinguishable.

"Hey there, swine."

With that, the second man unleashed a powerful set of blows to Nikolai's face and lower torso. It took three of the guards to pry him away from Nikolai's already mangled body.

"Jesus, Jun. Take it easy. No one likes a hard-ass."

Junpei tore himself away from the marines just long enough to deliver a final, powerful blow to the side of Nikolai's head. With the amount of pain Nikolai had felt over the past week, this was child's play.

"You may want to teach your men how to fight, Lieutenant. This one's weaker than my dead mother."

A flame lit behind Junpei's eyes, but before he could leap onto Nikolai for a second time, the Lieutenant stuck out his arm.

"I forgot how much I like this guy! Balls of fucking steel."

Junpei, thoroughly displeased with his commanding officer, turned o his heel and stormed out of the room, a wave of obscenities leaving his mouth as he did so. The Lieutenant could only laugh.

"Well then. We just wanted to, uh...check up on you. Let you know that we've hit a dead spot and that our trip has been delayed indefinitely. Looks like you're gonna' be with us for some time, Mr. Nikolai."

Nikolai didn't respond.

Thatcher, chuckling beneath his breath, turned around without excusing himself. He only had this to say.

"Next time, put him into the goddamn leg restraints. They're there for a reason!"

[Lord Bromosalino]

Yes, there was hope. But just what would he do? That seemed to be the question that lingered on his mind as he sat in the abandoned room, devoid of light. Multiple options came to mind, though none seemed like a good idea. Each idea seemed to pivot around the risk of Vincent’s own capture; re-boarding the Marine vessels, heading out to town in order to take a chance at recruiting others, attempting to sabotage the Marine ships. Nothing. Everything seemed far fetched, almost impossible. Even finding someone, just one person, that would be willing to aid him. Who was there on this island? No one. Nikolai himself had said that this island was lacking in true, real men, men of valor. Regardless, Vincent held on to his hope, even if the once large and blazing fire and dwindled down to a mere spark. He would simply have to fuel it once more. Now then, what would be his fuel, what would serve to rekindle that hope?

Over and over, his mind turned over the situation he had found himself in, his finger’s fumbling with the now wrinkled newspaper. Had the young man’s father heard of the news? No, probably not. Captain Vitkas was on duty in the New World. News from the Blue’s was hardly of any value, not in comparison with all that happened in those troublesome waters. Besides, his father was looking for him for years now, always vowing to bring his, how did he put it?, ‘stupid, reckless, arrogant son back, whether it be by choice or in chains.’ If his father had managed to get a hold of this news, and see the picture, there was no doubt in Vincent’s ‘stupid, reckless, arrogant’ mind that his father would have already arranged a way for him to be on the island now, or at least get into contact with the Marine’s on this island. Perhaps that had already happened. Maybe that’s why Thatcher was still here?

No. No, that wasn’t it. Thatcher was the type, as far as Vincent could tell, that enjoyed taunting his foe. And as the superior commander on the island, Thatcher probably wasn’t ready to accept this loss. He was in command, and he fled, fearing the truth of him and his subordinates would come out. As a result, Vincent was able to make his getaway. No, Thatcher was here for one reason and one reason only. He wanted to sniff Vincent out and publicly humiliate him. It was a shame though. Even if that’s what that green-suited bastard wanted, he himself had yet to make his appearance. Rather, he had left the ‘sniffing out’ to his lackeys.

Rumble![/I]

Ah, damn, came the immediate internal response. Regardless of his attempts to stifle that noise, his body pushed harder still. It was hungry, and it wouldn’t take no for an answer. It seemed that not eating for the past three days was something that the body certainly did not like. He would have to find food, but where? Lanky fingers instantly began to rummage through his pockets, searching for something, anything. With slight success, they were able to produce a few crumpled papers, each bearing the distinctive and attractive Beri symbol. He should be able to buy a few things with that.

Creak

With a cautious peek, the red haired lad poked hid face into the light. The coast was clear, of Marine’s at least. His zipper pulled way, way up, head down, back slouched, the fugitive in hiding stuck to the alleyways, staying in the shadows. Now where was that shop? Of all people, he should be damn grateful and help him out. Yea, it was this way.



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[Raab]

"Look alive, boys! The bear's out of his cage!"

The bustling about the deck of the modest marine vessel all froze, their eyes fixed on the now ajar cabin doors. Two riflemen stood at the ready, their firearms trained on the empty threshold. Though their prisoner's tantrums had tamed themselves quite a bit...one could never be too careful. The four stern, sword-brandishing foot soldiers stationed behind the riflemen could attest to that fact.

In the next moment, the frame of the threshold began to shake, wood creaking, moaning at whatever stressed them so. Soon after the creaking began, booming footsteps resonated from the depths of the dark doorway. What a sight it must have been, seeing all those soldiers bracing themselves before a quivering doorframe for a single man. How terrifying must that be?

"Time to get some sun, Mr. Chernekov. Can't have you lazing about down there all day, huh?"

The wooden doorframe breathed a sigh of relief as the shackled Nikolai crossed its threshold. The massive human being ducked quite far, over a foot at least, to just barely pass under the top of the door's frame. Nikolai rose shackled-hands to his face as the sun started its afternoon assault on his light-deprived body. Though, after a few seconds, the hulking Nikolai assumed his usual statuesque posture, making his way ever close to the center of the deck.

The marine that had been coordinating the scene made his way over to the slow-moving Nikolai, catching up to him rather quickly.

"Let's not have any issues today, okay Mr. Chernekov? How's about it, eh?"

Nikolai barely acknowledged the scrawny marine. His eyes were fixed on the coastline far off in the distance.

"Da."

There wasn't much Nikolai thought about these past few days aside from his time with Vincent. It had perhaps been the most exciting time of his life...and it had meant something. Nikolai showed his entire island what it meant to be brave in the face of certain defeat, to be feared by the weak of heart. That meant everything in the world to Nikolai. Everything.

Though, Vincent himself wasn't far from his thoughts either. Was he alright? Was he coming for him? Had he left the island? Nikolai, believing in the bond of honor and respect the two men had forged, was certain he had not seen Vincent for the last time. There was something, however, barring his comrade from coming to his rescue. Was it provisions? Was it power? Nikolai knew what Vincent was capable of, but with Thatcher aboard the ship...perhaps it was good that Vincent was taking his time with things. Perhaps he had even found another man worthy of standing beside him in battle.

Nikolai snorted humorously.

"That would certainly be the day."

Nikolai barely flinched as the marine beside him delivered a swift blow to the back of his head.

"Quiet! This is exercise time, not conversation time."

Nikolai, turning his head to the puny marine, delivered a stern rebuttal.

"I would not hit me again if I were you, dog. You might find that stick of yours in a most uncomfortable place."

The marine quaked in fear. His baton gradually fell to his side.

"...K-keep...moving...!"

Nikolai grinned with satisfaction. He may be the prisoner aboard this vessel, but he was not without respect.

[Lord Bromosalino]

There was no mistake about it, this was most certainly the place. One look was all it took to reassure the fugitive sneaking about in the alleys. The window and adjoining wall hadn’t been completely fixed, the gray patches of poor cementing sloppily fell down the side of the soon to be fixed wall. This was were all hell had broken loose upon this stupid island. The owner had better be damn happy to see Vincent, he owed him, as well as Nikolai, one huge favor. Hopefully, that wanna-be Marine Junpei wasn’t around. With a familiar ding, the delicate doors opened wide, revealing more destruction that hadn’t been fully repaired or replaced. Inside, the same store owner that had been the victim of the Marine’s ‘protection’ was busy sweeping the floors, doing all he could to put the messy store in its proper place. Throughout his motions and movements, though, the man looked to be frantic, as if he was in a hurry, and with good reason. If Junpei was the ‘man’ Vincent knew him to be, then the broken Marine would certainly be in quite a fit of rage over losing his precious protection money. Such a waste of a man.

Hearing the simple sound of his bell being rung, the man’s face contorted into surprise. Surely he had prayed that never again would he see this man, never again would his shop become the battlefield, never again would the pirate on the run ruin the only thing in this world he had. Fully expecting, no doubt, for Marine’s to come through the doors guns aimed and swords slinging and slashing. The poor man could do nothing more than cower on the floor, head covered. Vincent could only turn his head to the side. Confused, he looked behind him, over the counters, and even dared to take a look out into the middle of the street. Clearly the store owner was on edge, panicking over a simple visit, even if this was a visit from a ghost.

“Wh…what are yo…you doing here? D…d…do you know what’ll happen if you’re s…seen? We’re dead, the both of us!”

All fear and presumptions gone, the once timid and rabbit like man sprung to his feet, yelling, albeit in a whisper, with a harsh and rasp voice. The poor store owner couldn’t afford for this fugitive to be here in his store, especially in the middle of the day. However, Vincent himself couldn’t afford to not have met him in this way.

“Ah shut your mouth. You should be happy to see me you sniveling baby.”

And that was, if not only partially, true. Vincent and Nikolai had, in a way, saved the man and his shop from the clutches of evil, boldly taking on the Marines in his place.

“H…happy!? Look what you did to my shop! It’s been ruined thanks to you!”

That, too, was the truth. However, Vincent merely waved his hand as he turned, shooing the comment away. It was a small price to pay for freedom, after all. Besides, at the moment, that really didn’t matter. And to be quite honest, Vincent could have hardly care that the man’s shop had been destroyed, it really was no concern of his.

“Yea, yea. You’re shop's ruined, boo hoo. That’s not important right now. I need information, and quickly.”

“Boo hoo? BOO HOO! You destroyed my sho…”

Turning onto the indignant man, Vincent cast a dark and foreboding glare, one that instantly shut the man up. Vincent truly was a monster, and this man was a first hand witness to that, though he had nearly forgotten. He would not make the mistake of becoming the object of the demon’s wrath.

“You have a fine set of wares. Obviously they don’t all come from this island alone. When do merchant ships tend to get to this island? What port do they pull into? And how many arrive on a weekly basis?”

The man was a salesman. If there was merchant ships coming to and from the island, he was certain to know. And if he knew, then Vincent also wanted to know.

“They come every four days, usually. In fact, two or three should be pulling in today or tomorrow.”

Lips curled, and a grin formed across the lanky man’s face. Today (or tomorrow), he planned on meeting some interesting people. He would have his revenge.

[Deleted]

The day was still and the skies were clear and yet even so it was bitingly cold. The gentle breeze on bare flesh could cut through the average man like an icy dagger. A canvas of white blanketed the scenery, the virgin snow disturbed by only one set of tracks. Huddled over a small rock ridge crouched a figure secured in flowing black clothes. An extended thick collar, lined in a dark red shielded the young man’s face as his nimble fingers harvested the golden roots – its existence betrayed by the wilting yellowed flowers that offshot from the fibred roots.

“Rhodiola Rosea!” he proclaimed in an excited whisper. Commonly it was used as an anti-depressant but many proclaimed this arctic plant a wonder herb. He looked forward to examining the effects first hand later.

Pulling himself to his feet he secured his prize in his gatherers satchel and after quickly glancing for more, returned along the route he’d come by. His teeth chattered lightly together and he could feel a shake that pierced down to his very bone. This tundra was said to be the coldest in the world, the vegetation was few and far between and the wanderer was beginning to understand very well why. By most accounts Ice Nine was experiencing a mild day, but even to the seasoned Northerner this land lived to its reputation. Quickly he returned to his camp and to the rest of his things. A small fire had been expertly laid; a trick most had to learn to survive such climates. Aside from it was a smaller fire, the naked flame had died away leaving only the red hot embers. Atop it was a short-legged tripod which held a cup of steaming liquid. Nestling at the fireside the lone pirate gratefully grasped the boiled tea, his medicinal brew never quite so gratefully received as today. He felt it take the chill from his body and subdue the shake, which may not have been entirely a product of the cold. For a while he savoured the tea before finally setting out once again, all his belongings now secured in his larger rucksack. As he waded toward the town an umbrella swung gently with each traipsing footfall, dangling from where it was hooked on the strapping of his rucksack. Moving quickly he soon set eyes on his destination, Sleet Town.

Sleet Town was Ice-Nine’s merchant district and at this hour it was prime trading time, citizens bustled along the streets, sellers yelled prices as the occasional polar-bear pulled transport ran the wider of the busy streets. Jealously Jorgen eyed the locals, kitted out in little more than jumpers but looking somehow almost warm. True enough the life of the town provided some wisp of excess heat when compared to the open flats, but even with it, to the non-Ice Niner the weather could be said to be at best unpleasant.

The young botanist made his way through the street; his ears closed themselves to the cries of bargain and the boasting claims made of the world’s finest varying wears – his eyes kept focused on the roads straight, his direction indicating the docks to be his destination. However as he pressed on he found despite his focus, he could not guard his nose from the delectable smell that was suddenly wafted toward him – filling his senses. He began to salivate. Sensing his catch the merchant let out a booming laugh.

“Yes that’s right, none can resist my fine meats – My Shashlik will put hair on a man’s chest and a fire in his belly! For you sir, only three hundred beri~ Come... come... anyone you wish.”

The banter did little to encourage a purchase than the smell had already managed; already the once-a-time bandit was looking into his wallet. He could afford it easily, but he still needed to find passage off this Island. Nonetheless his stomach demanded he didn’t leave empty handed.

“All I have is a hundred and fifty, can that not do? I’ve been roaming the snows all morning,” he counter offered opening the barter. However they both knew he did not just have a hundred and fifty beri.

“Ah sir, I hear your plight but are you trying to rob me? Look at that skull upon your collar, if you aren’t a pirate by occupation you are by nature! Two fifty and no lower, which is truly a steal.” The stout-merchant drew upon years of practiced patter folding his hairy arms in a well rehearsed finality.

Still Jorgen pressed, secretly flattered at the pirate comment. “Okay... okay... two hundred then, surely you’re still in profit from two hundred? I would not want to disrespect such skilled cookery but a man must watch his wallet no?”

It was the merchants turn once more; his eyes studied the young boy but gave away nothing. Still Jorgen sensed he was enjoying this. “Fine, yes! Two twenty five... but that really is my lowest offer and only because you look like you could use some meat on your bones.”

The black-draped man leaned forward suddenly pressing his palms onto the counter, cautious of avoiding the hotplate at which the food was rested. With mock intensity he stared at the shrewd merchant before breaking a grin, his hands darted from their position across the counter and to grasp his opponent’s in a shake.

“Deal!” he said, before handing over the agreed upon price. Happily he selected one of the shish kebab styled meats, grasping it by the thin metal pole that skewed the alternating meat and onion. Taking a bite his buds were temporarily overwhelmed as must have shown on his face for the barterer let out a satisfied laugh – clearly pleased with the effect of the cooking. Proceeding to finish the meal and return the stake, he could indeed feel a fire in his belly. His chest as ever however, remained relatively hairless. A fact he pointed out.

“Haha, you cheeky scamp... it’ll take a few more than one to make a full man of you. Come back again and I guarantee sooner or later, you’ll be hairy enough to pull the polar bear carriages.” It was now Jorgen’s turn to laugh and at that he returned the metal stake and took his leave.

Quickly and unswervingly he made for the dock, with his hunger tempered no shout could call his attention. It was time to leave for a warmer pasture, he’d explored Ice Nine as much as he’d cared to these past days and was thoroughly looking forward to leaving. Still his monetary issues weighed on his mind. He had plenty stock of medicine for now, but that was one worry. More pressingly was finding someone willing to take him anywhere else for the paltry sum he had left. Still healers could usually find someone willing to transport them. As the black-shrouded man made it to the chilly docks, huddled slightly against the strong sea breeze he flicked his right hand slyly as a second Shaslik found itself in his palm. Letting out a jovial laugh he tucked into his free meal, his eyes scanning for a potential way off this frozen waste.

[Lord Bromosalino]

It was going to be truly troublesome. There was hardly any other way of putting it. Getting to the docks was an easy enough task a week ago. However, since the last seven or so days, that simple journey had become quite impossible. Marine’s continued to teem the streets of the cold merchant town, their ever watchful eye cast upon the darkest of shadows, the most suspecting of citizens. It was a wonder Vincent had even been able to make it this far. But here he would have to be even more careful, even more cautious. Now then, what was his move? Front door, back stair case? Either way, he was inevitably going to have to merge with the crowd at one point or another. Hmm, merge with the crowd, huh? That could work. It really was his only option, even if it was a bold one.

Turning away from the broken window, the pirate shot a quick glance to the owner of the store who, at this point, made it his point to stay quiet. In reality, he only wished for the menace to be gone quickly and quietly.

“Oi, you got any of those heavy snow coats?”

A quick look of pondering swept across the nervous owner, before he quickly bounded into a back room, which was most likely a storage room of sorts. Seconds later, he returned, a white and green snow jacket in hand. Spreading the jacket out wide, the eager owner looked on Vincent. Vincent himself was studying the jacket. It was good. Plain, simple, and it even had a hood to help conceal his face and trademark orange, spiky hair. Above all, he would blend in with the crowds of shoppers, almost every single one of them wearing a jacket of sorts. Besides, it would be nice to actually take a walk in that infernal cold without being chilled to the bone in the thin clothing that he owned. Just the thought of his escape into the tundra that week ago brought shudders back to the fugitive, his wounded shoulder beginning to throb. Clutching the paining shoulder with one arm, Vincent snatched the jacket from the store owners hands without so much as a word of thanks. The jacket was a bit big, but no matter. A ziiip later, and Vincent was ready to move out, heading for the door in which he came from. There was no sense in risking being seen before he could blend in with the crowd. Casting a final glance towards the store owner, the demon pirate knew that he didn’t need to say any words to the store owner; he understood. Vincent was never here.

In the time Vincent had spent in the shop, the air had become slightly cooler, nipping him as the breeze danced upon his face. However, with his newfound protection, the breeze was hardly more than a summer’s breeze. A simple addition of three or four inches of padding had done wonders. At least this way he wouldn’t be shivering the whole time, immediately setting him apart from the regular, everyday citizens of the winter island. His destination was the docks, though there was little reason for the pirate on the run to ignore everything going on around him. Just as the first day that he had entered the town, the place was bustling with activity. Everything was the same; every vendor was busy yelling and boasting of their wares, eager shoppers looked with great interest as they haggled over prices, and most importantly, the town would be caught unaware once more. Unaware that right under their noses Vincent Vitkas would shake this peaceful, calm society down to it’s core again. Though, with the amount of Marine activity, it would seem that Lieutenant Thatcher wasn’t too keen on allowing Vincent to make his move first.

However, Vincent already had the edge. He had begun to move without so much as attracting any amount of attention to himself. Bright green eyes peered out from the safety of the fur lined hood, roving, watching, observing those on the streets. Nikolai had seemed adamant about making his point that this island housed no real ‘men’, yet Vincent was just as adamant of finding men, even if it was just one. After all, hadn’t two men put this island’s Marine force in a tizzy. Now, Vincent Vitkas, soon to be terror of the North Blue, planned to finish what he and Nikolai had started. Stopping at a vendor every now and then, though he made it his business to avoid eye contact with anyone, Vincent took his time as he meandered through the streets. No one had managed to impress him, though he remembered that one could not always ‘judge a man by his appearance.’ Still, his eyes told him the truth that he knew to be evident; men of valor and strength were lacking here. Sharp eyes continued to dance and settle upon person by person, anger rising inside of him. Was there really no one?

“Ah sir, I hear your plight but are you trying to rob me? Look at that skull upon your collar, if you aren’t a pirate by occupation you are by nature! Two fifty and no lower, which is truly a steal.”

At the word pirate, Vincent turned on his heel, looking for the source of the word. It seems that he had been rewarded for his efforts, though not by much. The sound had come from the booming voice of a large cook. The object of his words seemed to disappoint Vincent slightly. The man in question was a fairly short, in comparison to Vincent and the monsters he had encountered lately, and looked to be sickly. There was hardly any meat on the poor kid’s body. Still, there was no denying that there was a pirate skull upon his clothing. Very befitting of his somewhat wild appearance. Upon his back, a large back pack of sorts hung, quickly leading Vincent to label him as a wanderer. No then, this was interesting. Maybe Vincent would follow him for a short period of time, see just what kind of person he was, how he interacted with others. Interestingly enough, the sickly man led Vincent straight to the decks. It would seem that even he wanted to get off of this stupid island. Vincent followed behind quite closely now, not caring if he was spotted by the man or not, the pirate would confront the man sooner or later, and for Nikolai’s sake, it might as well have been sooner.

Within moments, 'they' had reached the docks, and sure enough, the could-be-pirate revealed a nice little hint; a stolen morsel. Well, well, a natural pickpocket. Vincent wasn't even able to tell when he had stolen his free meal. If anything, it was a good party trick, though that coupled with his appearance gave Vincent a good enough reason to 'introduce' himself, rash as it may have been. Either way, it didn't matter. The thief didn't seem to be from Ice Nine, and unless he had seen the newspaper, there was no way he could possibly know who Vincent Vitkas was. They seemed to be fairly set apart from most of the people. Now seemed like a good enough time.

"Saw that, good little trick there, huh?"

His voice came out slightly rasped, and definitely dry, no emotion put behind the accusation. Bony fingers came out of their pockets, pulling the warm hood slightly off, revealing the face of the man who spoke those words. Moving to hide his face from the crowd, his back pressed against a railing, arms folded across his fluffy jacket, eyes as cold as the environment they were stuck in.

[Deleted]

“Saw that, good little trick there, huh?”

Jorgen turned slowly but unworriedly, the manner of the speaker was more calmly inquisitive than accusatory. Unbeknownst someone had been paying him some attention, only fair then that the playing fields were levelled. The man all but revealed himself to the young botanist; he was tall by most standards and not feeble looking. His face was almost expressionless, cold and hard to read – his fiery swept back hair stood as a stark contrast and told Jorgen immediately more than he’d sought to know. A gift, perhaps his financial troubles were coming to an end.

Neatly pulling the metal stake from between his teeth, he’d picked it bare of every last morsel. Idly he flicked it between his fingers before allowing it to fall without so much as a flicker of a glance, comfortably into his pocket below.

“I get by, but no amount of bartering can equal a good old fashioned five finger discount. A little misdirection here, a sly handshake there and it is not so difficult to swipe a thing from beneath a man’s nose. But to vanish from sight entirely, that’s no mean feat... Vincent.” The last word came out hushed, even without his obviously discrete demeanour the healing pirate knew well of this man’s recent escapades. How could he not? The real question was, was this guy worth more or less than the five million offered.

“It’s a pirate courtesy I believe, not to betray another to the marine’s without first at least hearing him out. I wonder... what was it that made two men think attacking the marine’s head on was a good idea- and more pressingly, why have you chosen to show yourself to me?”

Money was tight, but not so tight as to quell the young wanderer’s natural curiosity. There was something strange about this man’s character... something worth at least a short probing. Half face covered, secured in the extended collar Jorgen’s piercing eyes sat between black hair and black cloth, the green eyes that they met were no less examining – it was an odd feeling. At any rate, the advantage here was his own, no harm in divulging a little free information.

“The name’s Jorgen by the way...”

[Lord Bromosalino]

“I get by, but no amount of bartering can equal a good old fashioned five finger discount. A little misdirection here, a sly handshake there and it is not so difficult to swipe a thing from beneath a man’s nose. But to vanish from sight entirely, that’s no mean feat... Vincent.”

A smile swept across Vincent’s face, his normal calm and mysterious demeanor slipping as he let an unnatural expression rise up. And with good reason. He was already known, even to someone from another island. Still, the man before him was right. He was able to vanish from sight entirely, baffling an entire Marine force. Oh, if only he could see and hear Thatcher’s reaction, must have been one hell of a sight. With a simple shrug meant to brush off his feat to the wind, Vincent Vitkas moved pass the fact that he had been recognized by this skinny thief. The man’s calm nature put Vincent himself at ease as he pulled his hood back on. He already knew his face, there was no more need to risk himself in this way. This way, they could converse more freely.

“It’s a pirate courtesy I believe, not to betray another to the marine’s without first at least hearing him out. I wonder... what was it that made two men think attacking the marine’s head on was a good idea- and more pressingly, why have you chosen to show yourself to me?”

Well now. By either blind luck or destiny and fate, which Vincent hardly had any faith of any kind in, the man was a pirate, strange as he appeared. But then again, strange men existed in every walk of life, particularly in this ‘occupation’. All that mattered was that he was a pirate, scrawny and sickly looking as he might be. Furthering his already impressive introduction, the strange pirate confirmed his knowledge of Vincent by the mention of their attack. This meant that he really did know what they had accomplished on that day, rather than just seeing a bounty poster or having heard a stray word as he passed through town. No, this was a man well informed of the exploits of Vincent Vitkas.

“The name’s Jorgen by the way...”

Here, the two men stood apart, facing each other. Neither truly gave the other any information, good or otherwise. This Jorgen, strange name befitting of a strange man, had his face covered, not even showing Vincent his poker face, rather deciding to hide it. Well, Vincent never was a man that beat around the bush, preferring to be straight shooter, blunt and to the point.

“Well, well. Seems as if you’ve saved me from wasting quite a few words. A pirate, as you claim to be, should know why two men did we what we did. ‘Sides, it worked out all right, outside of one kink. If you know who I am, then you should also know that Nikolai is captured. I mean to free him, make no mistake about that. Figure now would be as good of a time as any to do a bit of…recruitment, you could say.”

Telling this Jorgen his plan may have been rash and bold, but hardly anything Vincent was doing today had been quiet or subtle. And Thatcher may have had patience up to this point, but like all patience, there was a limit. It wouldn’t be long, as Vincent saw it, before Thatcher took his leave to take his chance on another island. Besides, Vincent was already intrigued by this pirate known as Jorgen. And when Vincent became interested in somebody, he had a way of persuading them to his side. After all, hadn’t Nikolai been a cold and emotionless, and quite honestly a bastard, person to start with and yet they had accomplished much together.

“So then, how do you feel about ships?”

A look of slyness replaced the once more stern face. Yes, Vincent was going to take the Marine ship that held Nikolai captive and claim it as his own, as long as he had himself an extra set of hands that was.

[Deleted]

“Recruitment...” he tested the word on his lips unsurely. He’d understood Vincent’s entire proposal as quickly as he’d made it, but digesting it was taking time. Normally the offer would have been an instant turn down, but something about the man’s boldness disarmed him. He could fight him – if circumstance were different he may have been weary of this largely unknown opponent, but for once he’d have the law on his side. He recalled he had a Devil Fruit too; it was odd to know that looking at him, never having seen a fruit user in person. Jorgen had expected someone wilder, more outlandish and weird looking. Alternatively he could avoid the bother, find another way off the island as originally intended and leave Vincent to his plan. Oh yes the plan...

It seemed that the five million bounty head intended to storm the marine vessel, free his friend and claim it for his own. Rash, certainly and yet many would say stupid.

“Your plan is stupid...” Jorgen began. He continued to measure the reckless pirate all the while; curiosity really was the best and worst of his traits. Finally he seemed of a set mind. “Alright if we’re dropping the cool guy acts, I read about you in the newspaper. I’ve been on the island a few days. It said you killed people, you aren’t the naive type. Still you want to save you comrade – another point in your favour.” The botanist stopped his external mulling, already knowing his decision.

“Let’s go. But get this straight, I’m not recruited – I’m tagging along, if things get out of hand I’ll level with you, I won’t be hanging around. You aren’t the only guy who can do a disappearing act. Still if all goes according to this plan of yours, then we’ll see. At least I’ll have voyage and you can pay me the five million for not turning you in right here?” He grinned unthreateningly,

“Sorry... my cool guy isn’t all act.”

For some months now he’d been wandering alone, looking for a promising set of upstarts to attach himself to. So far he’d no way of knowing if his ideology would match up with this particular upstart – but he knew now that he couldn’t have left without finding out. Still he’d never imagined he’d even be contemplating joining a crew of two, one of which was being held in marine custody. As such already he was devising ways he could rid himself of Vitkas and any blame if things turned sour. After all, he’d been a pirate for almost half a decade now and still he could walk around in the public domain. That he hoped would soon be rectified.

“So... how do you propose we, urgh--” he moved his arm to indicate the marine vessel on the horizon, gesticulating the obvious distance between the boat and themselves. “I take it swimming’s off the table?”

[Lord Bromosalino]

“Your plan is stupid...” fair enough, thought the wanted man. His plan really wasn’t the best plan, but he tired of lingering. If he was going to act, then it would have to be know. “Alright if we’re dropping the cool guy acts, I read about you in the newspaper. I’ve been on the island a few days. It said you killed people, you aren’t the naive type. Still you want to save you comrade – another point in your favour.” Well, well. This Jorgen continued to surprise Vincent, it would seem that this was a man of honor and camaraderie. That was another point in his favor.

“Let’s go. But get this straight, I’m not recruited – I’m tagging along, if things get out of hand I’ll level with you, I won’t be hanging around. You aren’t the only guy who can do a disappearing act. Still if all goes according to this plan of yours, then we’ll see. At least I’ll have voyage and you can pay me the five million for not turning you in right here? “Sorry... my cool guy isn’t all act.”

Now, this was interesting, the possible engagement already playing out in Vincent’s mind. True, he had no idea of the man’s capabilities, but in size and sheer physical strength, Vincent clearly held the advantage. He thought he could turn in Vincent? The idea itself was laughable. Apparently he hadn’t really read the newspaper correctly, nor had he truly assessed the situation. The Marine’s didn’t simply deploy three ships worth of Marines for the capture of just anyone. Luckily, Vincent Vitkas wasn’t just anyone. Still, the five million bounty head would like to see what this Jorgen, as mysterious and physically useless looking as he might be, could do, though that would have to wait for the time being.

“So... how do you propose we, urgh--I take it swimming’s off the table?”

Pointing to the ships marooned off the shore, Jorgen had asked a question Vincent himself had been pondering for quite some time. Since the day that Vincent had disappeared, the Marine ships had moved farther and farther away from the coast line, leading Vincent to believe that their time here on this island may be short lived. Jorgen was right, swimming was out of the questing, for Vincent at least. Even if Jorgen did not have a Devil Fruit, as Vincent presumed, the waters certainly did not look inviting, rather looking like an icy grave. That, and the fact that the Marines on board would, without a doubt, catch sight of them before they could make it aboard. No, they couldn’t reach them, didn’t mean that they couldn’t make the ships come to them.

The question that lay before them was simple; how? A distraction was needed of course, but there would have to be a little something extra. A distraction big enough may attract their attention, though that involved bringing Lieutenant Thatcher to the scene, a very precarious situation. However, a distraction spread out across the town was sure enough to put the Marine’s into confusion. Something like that would have to be big though, big enough to make sure that the Marine’s couldn’t confuse them for anything else but an attack on the town. The more that Vincent dwelt on that idea, the quicker it grew, like a wildfire spreading from tree to tree. Soon, the entire forest was engulfed in this idea, obvious by the grin on his face.

“How handy are you with gunpowder?

[Deleted]

A lot of information passed unspoken with that question – of the vessels at dock, only the first of the trade ships had yet arrived. It alone looked steady enough to get them to their destination quickly and subtly, but having just arrived they’d be in no rush to brave the icy waters again until they’d turned profit. Stealing it would be difficult before even considering making it sailable with just two men. No, that would not do. Quickly his darting eyes noted the mooring lines securing the large ship to the peer. Otherwise the vessels were smaller, easier to steal but much slower – they’d be spotted and likely picked off. Vincent had realised all this it seemed and deduced that the only way to get to their destination was to bring it to them. Still, a covert operation could take a while to organise and this man’s brashness was overwhelming, they’d likely make a botch of it and get spotted anyway. So when considering his response to Vincent’s questions a lot of variables were being considered. Jorgen reached for his umbrella, leaving his rucksack propped against the wall he slid something into an inside pocket and drew himself to his feet, grinning at his unlikely new acquaintance.

“Help! Help! I’ve spotted him, it’s Vincent Vitkas!”

The cry almost sounded panicked and it quickly drew the desired effect, the men unloading the trade ship came to look and soon the bustle of town edged toward a panic, cries quickly reaching the patrolling marine ears. However, already the botanist had made his exist. The distraction worked and soon he was aboard the trade-ship. It took him not long to find what he sought. Although trade ships had little use for much in the way of artillery, not designed in any real way for naval warfare – they usually had a few canons for dire situations and of course, gunpowder sold. Among the stock he counted three casks, flourishing his hidden umbrella blade it quickly pride one open. If he’d answered the question in plain English it would have been modest, what Jorgen knew of and could do with gunpowder was little more than the next man. But what was there to know?

Deftly he produced his tinderbox from inside his loose clothing with his left hand, whilst his right steadied the blade into the open barrel. Carefully he let the powder run the full length of the blade, stepping back to pour it gently across the wooden flooring. Satisfied with the length of his trail, he refastened his sword into the concealing umbrella and hooked it temporarily into his collar. Now free his right hand reached for his fire-steel and struck at it with his flint, and with a practiced hand the trail was ablaze.

Like a whippet he darted through the passage ways, navigating quickly back the way he came and finding the deck with relief. He’d seen no one and hoped the spectacle he’d made of Vincent proved enough to keep the traders from returning aboard so quickly. Still there was little time for that, ascending the stairs toward the ships helm, adorned with the wheel that somehow commanded the great wood-construct he hopped onto the railing, span his umbrella upside-down, gripping it still by the hilt and with the hook end went zipping from the boat toward the dock. Barely had he landed before the vessel was ruptured, the three caskets ripping a substantial hole in the hull as wood was shattered, sent splintering through the air and raining into the icy waters below.

As explosions went, it wasn’t massive – but even so people began shouting and screaming, those converging on the no doubt somewhat surprised Vincent found themselves distracted from what was itself the distraction. Gripping his rucksack, which had gratefully been left unmolested Jorgen wove himself back into the now shaken public. He caught eyes with Vincent, an apologetic but cheeky grin on his face; he shrugged questioningly ready to follow whatever happened next – in as an invisible fashion as he could manage. The plumes of smoke erupting from the now blazing vessel were sure enough to do the job and with Vincent’s appearance hopefully it would not take long for two incidents to become one in the minds of the marines. All the while the mischievous healer could remain anonymous, some would view this attitude as selfish – Jorgen preferred to view it as cautious altruism. There was no need for two wanted men, and besides if the plan went well, it’d be Vincent who reaped the infamy. Win – win.... right?

“Handy enough...” came the hushed and severely late reply.

[Lord Bromosalino]

“Help! Help! I’ve spotted him, it’s Vincent Vitkas!”

For a moment, the once hidden fugitive couldn’t decide between running or letting a fist find its way into that bastard Jorgen’s face. However, as much as Vincent would have liked to flatten the ‘honorable’ pirate on his back, Jorgen had disappeared, true to his word. He had said he wouldn’t be hanging around if things took a turn for the worst, but why now? Had the rash pirate been…too rash? Either way, now was not the time to be pondering possible mistakes, trouble was coming. Men came streaming from the docks, each trying to locate and claim the five-million bounty head for themselves, and to make matters worse, Marine’s, who had been closest to the docks and its adjoining streets, had heard the screams and were now trying to find Vincent as well, ensuring that he would not and could not escape once more. Amidst the confusion and constant yelling and cry’s, Vincent looked for a way to duck out of the situation. As far as he knew, no one had seen Jorgen, and therefore couldn’t have seen the man on the run, which was quite good.

Though he was inside the security and embrace of his hood, every eye that set upon him made him wary, putting him on edge. Yet, he was forced to mingle with the crowd, putting up a pretense of searching for the fugitive that could have been anywhere in the square. It would have been exceedingly more dangerous to stay put where he was or to have bolted from the scene. No, he would have to mingle with the crowd and try to blend in, as uncomfortable it may be, until he could find a means to slip off unnoticed.

But where the hell was that Jorgen? Surely Vincent couldn’t have scared him off that quickly, or did he? But damn, he had seriously screwed Vincent over, putting him in such a delicate position. Without a doubt, Jorgen was probably hiding somewhere, waiting to see what Vincent would do, or waiting for an opportunity to capture and turn in the five-million beri head for himself. What an underhanded, dirty, pathetic move, even for someone who had previously claimed to have been a ‘pirate’.

The search for Vincent Vitkas had continued, and was being pursued with even more vigor. Marine’s had sent out word, via Den Den Mushi, that the escapee was somewhere within the square. Within moments, another squad of Marine’s had blocked any possible escape route, effectively trapping Vincent within the confines of the dock and adjoining shopping square. Whirling round on his heel, Vincent could only see an endless sea of unknown faces, each frantic to either find Vincent themselves or to stay as far away from the impending confrontation as possible.

In the moments of confusion, a sound was heard from the shimmering graveyard, booming throughout the plaza. The deafening noise had quickly grabbed the attention of every present body within that plaza, turning heads and producing more screams from those of a more faint heart. The sight was one to behold, to be sure, especially for a man like Vincent who relished the sight of destruction. A merchant ship, which had been attended by its crew prior to Jorgen’s bold statement, was up in flames on the dock, exploding from the inside out, as Vincent had concluded. No cannon had been fire, what need was there for the Marine’s in the bay to fire a cannon, and this couldn’t have been a fluke by some crewmember on the ship. This newfound distraction had caused all the Marines and worried crewmembers, at least those who were bolder than most, to approach the flaming inferno. Step by step, the group cautiously drew nearer, unsure of just exactly what they would find scurrying off of the vessel, if whatever had set off the explosion hadn’t been roasted inside that is.

“Handy enough…”

A hushed and concealed voice came over Vincent’s shoulder, startling him. It was Jorgen! It wasn’t until a few seconds later that Vincent remembered his question which had caused Jorgen to do the opposite of what Vincent had originally suspected; he had blown up the merchant ship! This scrawny pirate continued to amaze Vincent. Trying to look as normal, at least in this situation, as possible, Vincent continued to move towards the back of the crowd, noticing that some of the Marine’s had left their station, their curiosity and interest piqued. Taking this opportunity, Vincent signaled for his new found companion to move towards an open alleyway, to take cover and regroup. However, true to Vincent’s prior luck while on this island, a gust of wind managed to breathe into the folds of his protective hood, filling and expanding the empty space with bone chilling air, throwing off the hood, exposing his orange hair.

“Aahhh! It’s that pirate!”

Another chorus of screams erupted, adding to the confusing setting. Marine’s which had been approaching the burning vessel turned at the sound, taken back by the sight. There was Vincent Vitkas! It had been a full week, but they had finally found them, even if it had been by a stroke of bad luck. With all caution thrown to the wind, the exposed pirate took to the alleyway’s, twisting and turning, hoping to lose the Marine’s that were quick to take up pursuit. This was bad, word was sure to reach Thatcher soon enough. He wouldn’t allow the upstart fugitive to get away again. A left, a right, another right, dead ahead. The slush of the snow was making running difficult, but Vincent pressed on, determined to make a clean get away. With every step, Vincent became more sure of his steps, not looking back to see what might be following the orange haired pirate. Vincent couldn’t help but wonder if Jorgen would even follow him, probably not. But then again, Jorgen had been surprising him this whole time over and over again. But despite all of these thoughts, one lingered and dominated the rest.

“Damn, damn, damn…”