Little Girl, Little Tales! Hard-Hats Grand Arrival

[Tori Tori Chopper]

The Grand Line, a mile-stone of piracy, and the path to the fabled New World. A place of many faces and all walks of life, resting between the two calm belts of the world lies littered islands in as many mystery's as shapes and sizes. Stories of pirate legend and rising rookies start here, and for most, ends on this very same sea. As is tradition for the Lawless, one of the only ways for Pirates from the blues to approach the Grand-Line is via reverse mountain, a punishing up-mountain stream prepared to naturally root the good from the great.. A challenge the Hard-Hat's have tackled, maybe not with such grace and ease as others, but tackled none the less.

Upon their victory, with wounds from previous battles and a small battle with the mountain itself behind them, all took to sleep and rest, to prepare themselves for the long and wondrous route that lay ahead of them. In light of their decision for some much needed R 'n R, Eimi, Torin's sister, was left to watch over the ship until everyone was prepared.. Sadly having ideas of her own out of impatience. And so the Hard-Hat's adventure begins, though not in the place they first expected.

____________________

'Oi.. Torin.'
Her foot tapped, hands on her waist with furrowed brows.

'I didn't realise I'd given myself a time-limit, Sis.'
His hand waved up randomly, as if attempting to swat her away.

'We're here.'
'W-We weren't even going anywhere.'

She didn't respond, leaving the messy haired ball atop a skinny body to turn in curiosity, revealing his face and half open eye as his eyebrows moved in the opposite direction to hers. She looked up and out of the large hole that still blessed the ship, slightly boarded up in a quick attempt to avoid any major weather disturbances from getting inside, then back towards the man who had collapsed in his work. 'Look, I got bored..' He sat up, blinking a few times before resorting to rubbing his eyes to wake up, getting the feeling this was more serious than his sister was implying. 'What do you mean you got bored, what happened? Is it the weather or something?' She shrugged, an answer which was in fact not an answer at all. 'Fox could deal with that, you ask him?' She shook her head, placing her hand beside her temple as if struggling to be precise in her explanation. 'I moved the ship myself, to a different location.' as was Vent tradition, her hands explained the whole thing, picking up an invisible object and moving it slightly to the other side of her arms reach. '... What.' He sighed, getting bored of Eimi's charades and shakily picking himself up from the ground, wincing slightly as the large cut which went from one side of his nose to the next stung a week old pain. 'Still not over that, huh?' He funnelled air from his narrow mouth out onto his hair, brushing it aside as he tied a bandanna to his forehead.

'Don't change the subject, what're you talking about?'
'Just.. Ugh, come see, its easier that way.'
'Fine, fine..'

Four days have passed since they first arrived on the grand sea, a majority of this time spent savouring an odd feeling not often felt between this specific crew. Peace and quiet. The waves provided no pull, the weather impeccable to the degree that it was no longer a concern, with what travels and troubles awaited them beyond, a few days of recuperation were well deserved. On this day, in the slumber and silence of the slowly repairing Jolly Jericho, a certain pirate not of this crew grew impatient.. And in turn took action.

'Ooh, I see now.'
'Yea, see? I moved the ship, I have places to be.'
'That's fair, you've always kept yourself busy and what not..'

'... What is wrong with you?!' With a few yells and screams, a tackle and some barrel rolls, the two were trying to get in as many punches and kicks as possible as they moved back and forth on the deck. 'Ah, I give I give!' Torin had been reduced to a head-locked mess as he tapped in submission, the two quickly standing back up in both victory and defeat, poses and prodding of painful wounds ensued regardless of who was around to witness their little sibling spat. 'Not gunna wear the helmet?' His licking of wounds caught him off guard, looking to Eimi with a bit of suprise before quickly shaking his head. 'It hit the bridge of my nose the other day, didn't stop bleeding for hours..' His face slowly went from concerned to concrete, the sister's hand brought to her mouth to contain her laughter. 'Only you would have something that dumb happen to you.' He lip synced her response with a stupid face attached, letting out a sigh as the reality of their situation came back to light. 'Do you even know where you've brought us? How did you even move this without any of us noticing?' Another shrug, this time maybe a bit more needed, no logical cause would match up this travel and her doing it alone.

'I remembered the place I need to be being generally this way.' A series of half-baked words began to slowly flow out of the Hard-Hats mouth, making his way up to the front of the ship to get a better look at what was before them. 'And this is where you wanted to be..?' She followed close behind, a small push and shove from the previous fight not exactly ending before this time Torin being victorious, and taking the lead on climbing up the large Turtles head. 'Its close though, I'm sure I remember this island.' Torin would have argued, Eimi never being one of clear memory, though the island itself was rather striking in appearance. 'Ooh.. I didn't think the island would look like this, this routes qui-.. Wait.' He rummaged into his pocket, bringing the book to his view rather than adjusting it, flicking through the pages of the small hard-back only to lower it slowly, looking back and forth between it and the view. 'This isn't even the right route, is it.'

'Nope!~'
'Freaking.. Why are doing this to me?!'
'Haha, you look so stupid when you're angry at things.'

'Don't get so worked up..' She wandered off, Torin's eyes tracking her as she plucked Torin's helmet from the top of a large re-collected pile of valuables, previously thrown about the deck. 'You can get a pose from here specifically for the route, and before you know it, you're back on track.' She angled her head, a look on her face automatically making him do the same as she placed the band around his neck, accompanied by a quite interesting wrapped lace of sorts attached to it. 'There, I fixed it, you could at least have it on you now..' The strap had broken during the ordeal, leaving it to just fall off him at random intervals without noticing, a problem no longer with a Sisterly flair. 'You know most girls would put girly stuff on this, what are these, moulded skulls?' She nodded, giving them a tap, they dangled from the thick new strip which ran across his neck, allowing his helmet to actually stay agaisnt his back. 'This ones from my first crew, the second and third, this..' She prodded the more unique looking trinket, a circle with a quite menacing smiley face. 'This, you'll find out for yourself.'

'Since when were you mysterious, just tell me..' She sighed, a giggle escaping her as she adjusted his bandanna, smudging his cheek as he flailed in defence. 'Whats with you, stop being an actual sister!' Her relaxed face was something Torin hadn't often seen or remembered, like she felt at home around these parts. 'And this...' She delved into her pockets, taking out a small piece of paper. 'This is you..' He recoiled, the slightly torn square had his name upon it, though nothing of any real value. 'Are you just gunna keep giving me dumb stuff, are you dying or something?' He got a sharp punch in the chest for that, hissing and scrunching his face in reaction. 'This is how I found you, and this is how Mom and Dad knew where to find you before now.' Torin escaped, leaping back with a pose of idiocy before slowly walking back to the paper that seemed to follow his movements. 'I'll give it to them when I see them, they wanted to meet you once you got here.' He let out a sharp tick of aggravation, as he suspected, so did they. 'So you're leaving, that's what this is all about.' He let out another sigh, looking off into the distance with a calculating intent as he studied the island. 'You could have just left this stuff, not like you usually hang around.' He tilted his head back, the woman looking at him with that same confused face. 'I'll be fine, I got them to watch my back.'

'Yea-yea..'
With a little sniff and throat adjusting included.

'Try and give me some notice before dropping in next time, eh?'
He gave a cocky grin, throwing over her bag.

'Psh, goes to show how horrible a pirate you are.'
Hauling it over her shoulder, she looked down to the sea below.

'What did yo-?!' He turned to protest, the figure which lingered behind him had vanished before he even noticed, the sudden chopping of water below as the tanned figure's boomerangs spun like propellers, pushing forward one of the Jericho's small row boats. 'She didn't even ask for that..' With the whole family problems done and dusted, he left his problems or future thoughts aside, his sister landing them in a place way beyond his comprehension without even a shred of guidance to aid them.. This was going to be great. The sun had just began to spread some light around the area, the new day starting with this giving him a lot more to think about than he previously imagined. 'Hey, guys?! So uh..!' He made his way back down to the Deck, grabbing himself his morning pineapple and juice from his supply beside the stairs, taking a large bite out of its insides before letting out a monotone flat note of thought.

'We're here! I guess..?'

[Cirrus]

It took a special kind of navigator’s instinct to know some form of adventure was about to happen.
It took an even rarer kind of atavism to detect such a thing with one’s nose.

Exactly how unique Darius Fox was panning out to be was yet to be seen, but surely some form of comment would be coming his way subsequently after he burst out into the deck, focused entirely on the ether around them, an expression of both intrigue and disgruntlement etched on his face… more likely with crayon than with chisel. Puerile warriors were put aside for the moment, apparently of less important than the Hard-Hat’s navigator’s keen synopsis.

“This route smells funny.” He said simply, frowning. To be quite honest he was oblivious to the family antics of his captain and Eimi, only glancing at her leaving the ship and paying no heed to the implications of such a deed. Rather, the swordsman was much more intent on finding out just quite why the route they were on possessed such an odd aroma; he remembered how the sea and smelled when they had come off the back end of Reverse Mountain: brackish spray and metaphors for overcoming emotion! This… this was something rather more relaxed – but not in the comforting way; more a reposing of a predator, watching and waiting for the jugular to throb enticingly, to beat like the heart, waiting to tear it open and drown in the red euphoria that spilled…

Safe to say, Darius did not like the atmosphere of their vicinage.

He straightened up, gaining a semblance to a normal person, and looked around. The air was tinted with a mysterious lilac hue, as if a mist were all around them but flippant as to exist or not. It was disconcerting – uncertainty, certainly, was one of the many things that did not bode well for the crew of a ship. No matter how rancorous their mirth the Jolly Jericho could not and likely would not accept such feeble foibles. They had to have action; they had to decide on what to do – and probably find out where they were. “Smelly Route” probably wasn’t on the charts.

‘Charters! Maps! But… we’d need something… notable…’ He mused, his hands corresponding to his mind’s enthusiasm for cartography: the Jericho did indeed possess an anthology of records, such as they had used four days ago and even prior to get to where they currently found themselves. Definition was flippant on the high seas. Without the confirmation of the map, it was all just one big blue ambiguity, rolling on vapidly and swallowing the unlucky few, exhaling mysteries into the air – such as this weird colour the swordsman could swear kept fading in and out of being.

Not knowing was such a vulnerable state in which to find oneself.

And they should have known – it was a paradigm not too dissimilar to this one in which they had found themselves stalked by those red eyes! And a state of play almost exactly like this in which they’d had the floor blown from beneath them, only to fall into more and more hell-bursts of flame and unconscious! Yes yes – what were they doing being so lax, so at ease as they were? They should have been on the alert, looking out for any signs of red in amongst this damned purple vapour!

… They hadn’t really spoken of the wounds inflicted upon them at Rougetown. The cacophony of abject doom had drowned out their thoughts, silenced them with noise… and painful memory.

At any rate… well… preferably a quick one – anywhere but here would be a good place to go…
At any rate, The Crimson Arrow sojourned in his room, taking from it both his sword and what few maps of various portions of the early Grand Line he had in his possession, before corralling a box and a stool and distending the map upon the flat surface, paper scroll on wood, ashen ink on ash, dusty, cursive memory on what must soon be dust… Suffice to say he didn’t ruminate as much. The question of where they were came up like cud, only verbally this time.

“So uhm, Torin. How have we gone from post-mountain paradise to freaky graveyard waters in the space of four days? Where are… where are we?”

And then thinking to look at his log pose, he did so: it was pointing lethargically to nowhere in particular, some vague direction up ahead in the infinite span of the horizon. It was rather unhelpful as there was nothing to-

Oh.

“Oh.”

Were islands sentient? Could they rise up from the depths like a reverse Atlantis in an instant, displacing nothing, annoying navigators, inhabited by no one? It seemed so. It was likely the source of the lilac ninja mist, so striking were its purple structures glinting in the pale, half-there sun. The El Dorado in the sky was fading as this new isle came closer and closer, jagged crystal canines ripping into the skyline and enjoying their fill. Darius saw no one. He edged closer to the precipice of the Jolly Jericho, keeping himself just behind the turtle head, at this point beside the hard-hatted captain. Darius said nothing. It was really happening, wasn’t it… they were about to dock at their first island in the grandest of lines, they were about to- they were… they were!-

… “here… I guess.”

Hm. Something was off.

“What sort of portside town is so quiet…” He breathed, the stillness of it all enlisting him to its code, coercing a similar sort of silence from the Hard Hat’s swordsman. Why were they so subdued – where was Taro, Imuka, Robin – that new one too, Bessie? It was morning, but no… no breakfast? And Taro was either quietly drunk or… or something much more plausible. And Imuka was an early riser; and Robin too? There was a subtle sense of foreboding. The shush of hushes’ sibilance sliced noise… slightly… it was a warning. A silent siren. But its lack of sound didn’t matter. Darius was right to panic earlier. No matter how quietly they blared, the fact of their presence was this:

Alarm bells were ringing.

[Deleted]

The hollow ringing of an empty glass bottle shrilled out through the quite room, overpowering the underlying and complex melody that sounded almost fragilely in the background. With each rise, dip, toss and turn of the worn Jericho the bottle took off in another direction, scattering through the discarded papers – half compositions that had failed to impress even their creator. Elsewhere the room was little tidier, a chest of drawers draped in clothing had failed to be closed; indeed no effort of organisation was detectable in the entire room. Each drawer was open to a different degree and nothing in any of them could be called folded. A pile of used plates balanced precariously on another surface, a basic wooden tabletop. Aside it was an empty guitar stand. The walls were littered with current musical projects, a map and a few colourful abstract paintings. This was Taro’s room, or as he liked to call it his quarters.

The bed was central and dominant in the room; it constituted a double mattress flung across a fixed wooden frame. Strewn across it lay the fair-haired musician, clad in nothing but shorts and concentrating profusely. His normally excitable bright blue eyes were dulled slightly, but narrowed from focus. His hands idly danced across the guitar, one skipping across the neck whilst the other picked in unison. Then suddenly the song transformed as did the musicians index finger, the metallic cylinder was a product of the hinge fruit and made for a perfect guitar slide. All the while the musician’s eyes stayed intent; the subject of their attention was a second empty wine bottle. It stood balanced on the flat of Taro’s foot as he struggled to make constant adjustments to keep it steady and was succeeding in doing so until the vessel lurched to a sudden halt. They’d made port.

The room was empty almost before the bottle had smashed.

The form of the Hard-Hat’s resident guitar-wielding layabout came blundering up from below deck; half dressed he was sent tumbling as he wriggled into what were relatively new trousers. Fully flustered he came to a stand, his shirt he’d failed to button uniformly but as he adjusted it the smartness of the shirt combined with the natural shagginess of the lout wearing them came to reach a not entirely unpleasant equilibrium. The fact that this had happened probably surprised no one above deck, as on board the Hard-Hat’s pirate ship little could be call unusual. Still this was an unusual amount of haste, especially for Taro. The why however, when examined in the correct context was obvious.

The past four days some would describe as blissful, but among them would not be Mr. Span. Captioning the natural wonder that was Reverse Mountain in song format had proved a frustrating and thus far largely fruitless activity. Moreover the alcohol had run out some time ago. The weather had been good and the Grandline uncharacteristically stable weathered. Whilst tedium would perhaps be an exaggeration, anticlimactic would be a fair summarisation. All the pent up romantic and adventurous urges of the young pirate had been rattling about and now they’d come to a boil. The site that greeted him as he raced to detect what the stopping of the vessel signified washed all of that away.

The Crescent Moon Empire sat atop an Island that was although not fantastical, still remarkable. Of all the places the Hard-Hat voyage had blundered through this was by far the largest. Indeed the entirety of the Island was beyond the scope of vision. It stretched out all around, they had at some point unbeknownst to the vacant First Mate navigated to the heart of this Island. Passing the jagged stones of the shallow reef that made it awkward to pierce the moon shape landmass was well behind them, and in front was a small Island, hidden in the cove of the much larger mainland. It was this smaller Island that they had come to a stop on. Now made clear, this was an island that was itself not small when considered in isolation, only by contrast. It was bustling with life, a full city built across it; clearly this city’s lifeblood was the water. Fishing vessels rocked gently in the shadow of the Jericho. Peculiarly the dock pointed inward toward the mainland, suggesting that perhaps trade was thickest internally than through import. A dockyard sounded off in the close distance, rising out of it a mid-sized crane towered above even the tallest of the buildings. The pirate’s arrival had drawn a few wary eyes, but the lack of torches and pitchforks could only be taken as a good sign. In the far distance Taro could spot mountains, his eyes were alive with mischief. Stood, now fully dressed on the edge-most of their boat he glanced his Captain and the unusually apprehensive looking Darius.

For a moment he disregarded them far off in his own head. His unkempt lengthy hair blowing lightly in the breeze. This was where they were going to rise to greatness, this was the sea where he would find his true source of inspiration and this was where he was going to become known as the worlds greatest musician. It was also where he was going to finally master himself, where he'd become the man he'd always wanted to be and right now above all else, this was exactly where he was going to re-stock on alcohol.

“Mountains,” he commented factually, suppressing a chuckle. “So where the hell are we anyway?” As he made his enquiry he manoeuvred toward the gang plank and then suddenly with a single hinge propelled stamp, catapulted the lengthy wooden board into its correct position and began along it. Here they stood at the foot of their first adventure, what awaited them on this mammoth Island he couldn’t even hazard a guess, but he knew one thing more than any other, he couldn’t wait to find out.

“Shall we?”

[Kurosaki]

Four days was a lot of time. Then again, it wasn't a lot of time. Conflicted, Robin sighed and flicked her long red hair behind her as she sat at a chair and paged through a medical journal. She was keeping up to date with who was getting which medicines and who had which stitches that needed to be taken out. By the time that they actually got to an Island on the Grand Line, they would probably need an entire medical file cabinet just for the Hard Hat crew, she imagined.
Throwing it down on her bed, she glanced around the room that she shared with Imuka. It wasn't like it was small but it was gigantic either. It had a nice middle ground that made her feel as though she had her own space and plenty of it, without her having to intrude too much into Imuka's space. Her area was neatly organized so that she could easily turn her room into either an ER room, which was quite possible, or into a regular medical clinic. She had her medical bag sitting on a side table she had found and a metal tray she had also located had all of her instruments which gleamed brilliantly from the light coming in from the nearby window. It might be a little nerve wracking for anyone that was uncomfortable with needles to come into her room but she wanted to be prepared for the worst.

In all honesty, she would have preferred to commander a room and turn that into a Doctor's room where she could put her medical supplies separate from where she slept. But instead, she had found the ship to be lacking in rooms what with Taro taking up an entire one just for himself. Robin had seen that room from the corner of her eye when the musician was exiting out of it and the contents of that room would never be anywhere close to be clean let alone sterile. In fact, she really wanted to declare it a hazmat zone.

Shuddering, Robin stood up and found herself feeling antsy. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt that emotion rising up inside of her, however. She hadn't even been able to sleep very well for a few days after almost falling off the ship. For several nights she kept waking up, sweating and gasping for breath after having relived it. Her nightgown sticking to her back and her covers flung off of her, she would then proceed to quietly sneak past Imuka into the kitchen to try to get some ice to cool her temperature down and to drink something to calm her nerves which kept her up for an additional hour or so. So, keeping her lack of sleep in mind, her body should be wanting to recoup. Instead, however, she found herself exiting the room and wandering outside.

Perhaps she sensed it by the movements of the ship, or just the finite differences in the feel of the atmosphere around her but Robin wasn't all that surprised looking when she opened the door and stepped outside to the sight of a beautiful mountainous Island rising up in front of the Jolly Jericho.

Hanging back and yawning a bit, though she didn't feel tired, Robin just watched as they neared the Island and then drifted toward a smaller Island in the center of the crescent moon shaped land mass. Though at first she eyed the ships near them as suspicious, she relaxed her guard when it became clear that they weren't coming toward the Hard Hat ship and had other destinations in mind which involved wherever there swam schools of large fish.

Coming out further out and actually making her presence known once they had gotten to a point where they could actually dock, Robin waved, rubbed her right eye with her hand and then proceeded to walk over and lean against the railing, watching as Taro began to cross the gangplank. It occurred to her that they were coming into a place that was civilized and had no clear Marine bases around. The chances of her perhaps finding a metal table to have around for surgeries, in case anywhere needed which was a sure bet, were high.

Moving quite quickly back to her room, she retrieved her medic bag and some beri that she had gathered up for precisely this reason. It wasn't much, but she figured that it was worth the investment now before she found herself in a bind down the road.

"Wait for me!" Robin called, running down to the dock and catching up with Taro, she hoped. It would be nice if at least one other person was with her whilst on the Island, after all. Though she would have preferred it to be Imuka. She wasn't sure what the gunslinger was up to, however, and wanted to get going to get the supplies as quickly as possible.

"I need to get some medical supplies. So keep your eyes out for any clinics. They might have spare supplies that I can buy off of them," Robin told Taro, holding up a finger to emphasize that this was a serious matter and that she needed his help. "Also, guys, since this is a strange Island which we know absolutely nothing about and it's on the Grand Line, which is a hundred times more dangerous than anything we've done so far; please, try not to eat anything strange or mess with any flora or fauna while we're here? I do not want to bury anyone today."

Robin hoped that her cold way of phrasing that actually would make her words stick in their heads but the truth of the matter was what she said was very much true. There were Islands in the Grand Line with poisonous plants and animals. Ones with antidotes and ones that had no cure besides the sweet comfort of heaven. The countless numbers of pirates and other humans that had died because they were new to the environments and did not take proper care to protect themselves were too numerous to count. Throw in there a nack for getting into trouble like the Hard Hat pirates had and it spelled disaster.

[Die]

The four days spent at sea after their little escapade on Reverse Mountain had become a rather large boon for Imuka. It was well-deserved rest she should have gotten from the start. The four days of seemingly uninterrupted peace had allowed Imuka's sniper wound to close up and continue on with the healing process. Even better was the fact that these were dissolvable stitches, and already they were slowly being broken down by her body. Before that, she had to deal with constantly reopening her wound due to numerous stressors, namely a high-strung bartender and a mountain trip that would not cooperate. In fact, the Hard-Hat's gunner had slept heavily through all four days. Nothing short of a hurricane could wake her up. By comparison, the quasi-ruckus that was currently happening topside was equatable to that of calm waves.

Upon making it to the docks, the gunner stirred in her bed. She didn't mind sharing a room with Robin at all. At the very least there was another girl in the crew to keep her company, one that wasn't a raging banshee. What had woken were up was Robin tiptoeing past her. At that point she was well out of the heavy sleep zone, once again returning to her alertness as a former-Marine. The gunner stirred in bed as her eyes fluttered open. She sat up in bed, yawning softly and stretching her arms upward. "Ugh. How long have we been out at sea?" she asked herself. Four days straight of rest had completely thrown off her sense of time, though she could easily find out how long it had been between their trip over Reverse Mountain and first landfall in the Grand Line.

The voices above deck told her that the rest of the crew was ready to move on, save for Bessie, wherever she was. Imuka could care less though. They made land, and they were apparently heading off onto the island. It didn't matter much to the gunner. She had become a lot more independent since her time in the Marines, though she really wanted to go with Robin to make up for her ruined and much-needed shopping trip. But that wasn't going to happen today apparently. Again, it mattered not. Imuka slowly rolled out of bed, standing up for the first time in four days. The gunner arched her back and stretched up again, giving a little strained squeal of relief. A cold draft in the room came across, striking a little area of skin that was exposed on her stomach. She shivered a little, and remembered her wound. Imuka lifted up her tank top a little bit and examined her wound. Already she could tell it was healing up nicely. She could only hope that there would be no scars left behind.

The girl glanced over at her belongings, namely her weapons, armor, and a bunch of tools dedicated to the maintenance and modification of them. The massive tool drawer at one end of her side of the room contained tools and spare parts for her weapons, especially the Var. Walking over to it, Imuka began to dismantle her weapon to inspect it and perform daily maintenance. It took her all of five minutes to take the massive cannonblade apart. For the most part, the weapon was fine despite it having seen heavy use in the past few weeks. Many of the smaller pieces including rods and screws would have to be replaced soon, while others needed no maintenance. The gunner merely changed the most vital parts of the firing mechanism, both for the cannon and the machine gun, and put the weapon back together. Imuka then took inventory. All parts seemed to be well-stocked, except for ammunition. Both her HEIAP and machine gun rounds needed to be restocked, and that would be the reason for her venture into the the Crescent Moon Empire.

It was eerily quiet for her. The docks were silent, due in part to the current lack of Hard-Hat presence on the ship and whatever inactivity the docks seemed to be having. Even before the gunner stepped onto the gangplank, she felt and heard her stomach rumble violently. Four days without a meal would leave anyone ravenous, even if they slept through it all. Getting a bite to eat was her priority, but first, ascertaining their present location, the date, and locating a local gunsmith would come first. And with that, Imuka stepped onto the docks and made her way into the city.

[Tori Tori Chopper]

'Thats it!'
A thwap! from his fist meeting open palm fought the silence for a moment.
'I couldn't put my finger on it, but this place does smell..'

Though this was an opening statement for his navigator minutes ago now, it took him a while for it all to sink in, he wouldn't even be up now if his stupid sister didn't decide to be all dramatic. While the others no doubt stirred and awoke, Darius performing his own attempt to calculate where they actually were, Torin had his own method laid out in a giant pile before him, books of all sorts about all sorts always have the answer. 'Apparently, by the look of this island..' He peeked over the side of the ship to get a quick look at the island again before looking back down to sketch it agaisnt his previous concepts. 'I don't think its so much quiet as it is.. Uhh..' He signalled another discovery with a subtle noise, tapping his pencil agaisnt the finished idea before standing upright again. 'Weird. Giant half-moon islands are weird.' He passed his notepad over to Darius, he could easily draw the place and name it by its shape, but the man with the pose and the charts would probably have an actual idea from use of worthwhile material. 'Could be a day off or something.' As they got closer is was the only explanation, the whole dock was abandoned, but that hum of land-wide vocals still chimed across the wind.

'Has Taro been here the whole time?'
He leaned around Darius to get a better angle of the intense image.
'What are you doing? He's like..'

And with that horrible unfinished sentence he stood up on the side of the ship, folding his arms and putting on a face that could only be described as imitating a romance scene from a play, nearly looking like a different person while he wiggled his hair to replicate it being swept by the winds. 'You're like this, Taro.' He may not have been around long enough to hear the momentary intellect of the dual navigators at work, and this new perch he had created why role-playing a dramatic scene gave him a much better view of the now much closer port. 'If Eimi wanted to be here, its probably some sort of checkpoint, so it should really be much busier.' He hopped down to join Taro, who had taken the initiative with the docking procedures. 'Are you just gunna use your fruit for everything now?! Man..' Darius and Taro weren't short of spurring jealously in the hard-hatted captain the last couple of days. It didn't really occur to him until Taro's abilities became more evident, but people were progressing, getting stronger.. While he seemed to just be collecting battle scars and putting on a bandanna. Well, the scar would look pretty cool when it stopped hurting at least, something to look forward to.

'Is it wrong that I expected chaos?' He followed suit once the plank clapped agaisnt the cobble below, skidding down and attaching the rest of the ship to the land-mass while he continued. 'This is the Grand-line, we should be under attack, eaten alive, struck by lightning or something by now.. I dunno.' He was going to curse the sky, only to count his blessings under his breath moments later. 'This place seems so normal for the Grand line, quiet maybe but.. Yea.' There was noise coming from somewhere though, enough to paint the place in an ambience that only life could keep flickering. 'Hey Doc! you're u-uuh..' She ran away as quickly as she looked down to them on the pier, her clack-y shoes vanishing within the ship again. It did though, remind him for some reason, that things actually needed to be done before this moment could really be enjoyed. 'Don't go anywhere guys, I made a list.. A super serious list.' He said this while harshly scribbling out the dumb drawings he had made of Taro and Darius on the sides of the actual information.

'So the ships like.. Yea.. And our supplies? You saw where they went..' This would be in much more detail were he to show the list, though the silly images of his two male crew-members weren't vanishing under the darker scribbles as much as he'd hope them to. 'I think being ready to sail on these seas is top priority, we should split up and fill out the demand.' He had thought over this during their break-time, he'd already jinxed nothing going wrong by going over it in his head a thousand times, so the least they could do is kick off the ground with efficiency in mind. Sadly this at least unspoken fate was crushed, with a vicious feminine fist no less, as Robin's welcome reasoning and advice was taken more as a thing better left unsaid. Torin
visibly resisted the urge to physically crumble in defeat, instead letting out a cough to disguise the obvious. 'Its not like theres a rush but, I'll go handle the ship repairs, I've got some junk to buy too for some things, be easier to move around on my own.' He once agaisnt used the excuse of it being much to early to dish out and of his usual charm, clapping his notepad shut and shoving it inside his helmet before scanning the docks. 'Ah, boat-yard, awesome.' He gave them a light salute, wiggling his fingers and cracking his neck before breaking off into a free-flowing sprint, he needed something to wake him up.

A few hours to himself to contemplate a few things wouldn't hurt either.

[Cirrus]

The stars, the moon - they'd all blown out. They were in the dark... Figuratively speaking, of course. The Grand Line - this was it, this was what they'd toiled for so long to get to, to achieve. Darius struggled to fight the sense of anti-climax: it seemed a little like they were just going through the motions. They were at a new island, why not celebrate? Of course there were the needs Torin had stated, but the Hard-Hatted captain seemed just a little too eager to push on, push forward and get supplies and whatnot. Why weren't they relaxing, he wondered. If the Hard-Hat's swordsman was more pragmatic than he was, he'd obviously have realised the needs of the crew came before any implied social contract to drop the ball so unceremoniously before lowering their guards and inviting their enemies to come after them. They were pirates, proper, full-blown, bona fide pirates now! They had to be wary of any wooden horses presenting themselves; they couldn't just assume their villains had sailed away to Tenedos, and that it would be in their best interests to prance around the deserted campsites of their prior conspiracies like tourists. They were warriors.

And Taro.

And they had to keep their legacy going; the obituary of a hero is a short one, the eulogy of a martyr a tirade - but the tale of a legion lasts forever, entertains forever; their collective, undaunted, unconquerable spirits were fuel enough for the fire of pioneers. The world remembers not just Whitebeard - but Ace too, and lives on tentahooks to see the feats of Marco and the new breed, the worst generation. It is not Monkey D. Luffy whose name sends terror across the seas: it is The Straw Hat Pirates! Their Jericho would be Jolly if it were recanted as an astonishing tale of surmounting hardship, would it not be?

They had to look out for each other.
And he was doing that in a way, was he not? Everyone wanted to party once in a little while; everyone wanted a little break.

'So it's decided - we're having a party...'

Oh wait-

"We're having a party guys. We're gonna celebrate. Come on Taro, let's go." There we go. All done. Gesturing to the musician of the crew, beckoning him like one would a dog, Darius promptly left the Jolly Jericho, confident Taro would be in his stead - it simply wouldn't be like the musician to pass up such an obvious opportunity to cause havoc, as well as come into contact with booze. While they were both presumably walking down the earthen path - in Torin's wake - the crew's swordsman sought to strike up a conversation.

"I wonder where the markets are anyway - think you can sniff out the booze?" He joked, tongue-in-cheek as they walked. It was an honest question though, and in order to reaffirm as such the swordsman offered a questioning prod with the butt of his sword's scabbard, aimed hopefully at his cohort's legs.

Darius raised his hands above his head and looked out into the sky, as if this would be that one occasion out of a billion where it gave him the answer.

It wasn't.

But you could never blame a man for trying. To be honest Darius wasn't a 'plans guy' anyway - that was more Taro's forte, and although he'd never admit it, it was part of the reason he'd brought him along; the girls could do their thing, Torin was already off like a shot - and all that left was the bumbling fool he just so happened to secretly call his best friend-slash-rival. So what did the 'Crimson Arrow' have in mind for the celebrations and jubilations? Well... er, they'd probably tell Torin at some stage - and they would just like, drink... and that's how parties went, wasn't it? People imbibed coloured drinks and started acting all wacky, and afterwards they woke up with headaches and smiles on their faces. So as long as the smiles came around at some point, it would all be worth it.

"Taro?" He asked to the air, despite the fact he explicitly named whom it was he wanted to talk to, the question carried much ambiguity. He wasn't sure of himself - and he could hardly be expected to be, either; first day on Grand Line soil and all that: anything and everything could be anything and everything. Here was where it all existed... At the top of the tower! At the height of adventure! That was why they called it Paradise...

"It feels weird, doesn't it. Having a fruit I mean - the Devil's Fruit. I used to be the only one...

You feel... - you- you feel off, don't you? I mean, at first. Like, wildly unique an- and- and... what am i saying

Uhm. Maybe we could like, fuse powers or something."

Ever articulate, what Darius was actually suggesting was that they team up and spar together, though exactly how much of that came clear through his garbled speech was left up in the air. His voice had been choked with a raw, childlike excitement, which somehow vaporised, leaving the 'Crimson Arrow' a sheepish hunched up swordsman kicking the dirt, trying to pretend as if he'd never said anything.

"Whateverdon'ttakemeseriouslyIdidn'tmeanit." He muttered, before walking off again, as if distancing himself from the embarrassing act was tantamount to robbing it of its existence.

The trodden soil set about converting his state from clean to dirty, innocuous to burdened; the very ground was against him and he'd have done well not to forget it... but Darius was never the most careful of people; was he not en route to start celebrating? And in order to go on that journey, had he not thrown open the gates?

Bah - he'd be fine.

It wasn't as if any of this was on his mind anyway.

[Deleted]

After being unimpressed at Torin's impression of him, Taro had pushed on down the nearest street. Their Captain had already taken off determinedly in some seemingly random direction, intending to get the Jericho patched up. Meanwhile it seemed Darius has ideas of his own.

‘A party, huh?’

“I wonder where the markets are anyway - think you can sniff out the booze?”

“Haha... always man, always” Taro boasted baselessly. He turned his head to the sky and mock sniffed in an exaggerated impression of a tracking hound. His mind however was reeling through half memories, recalling fragments of blurred imagery from a year passed by. Cobblestones, hundreds of taverns that somehow seemed to have amalgamated into one, nights out in the heat, the cold, some in beds and some face down in the dirt. Alas it was useless; this place had no familiarity to him – in all likelihood he’d never been here before. Surely he’d have remembered an Island so large. Well that ruined the trick a little. Glancing around he tried to locate a tavern of some sort, there didn’t seem to be any immediately apparent. This was pretty weird. Luckily the ever pragmatic doctor had caught the wandering duo and provided the perfect distraction.

“I need to get some medical supplies. So keep your eyes out for any clinics. They might have spare supplies that I can buy off of them,”

“Ah me and Darius were just talking about getting some supplies, hooch is an anaesthetic right?” Half-jokingly the merry musician responded in his typically unreliable way. Nonetheless he turned his focus for a tavern to the task of finding a medical store and once again he was at a loss.

“Also, guys, since this is a strange Island which we know absolutely nothing about and it's on the Grand Line, which is a hundred times more dangerous than anything we've done so far; please, try not to eat anything strange or mess with any flora or fauna while we're here? I do not want to bury anyone today.”

“A hundred times?” he repeated, as if tasting the phrase – he found it quite palatable. “I sure hope so, but you guys notice there’s not much going on in the way of business around here? I saw a fishing boat or two at the dock... a dock that was pointing in land. Hmm... Ah well, apparently Robin, we’re having a party.”

“Taro?”

The question hung in the air a moment, unelaborated but it served in getting the musicians attention. For once the brash swordsmen seemed to be using tact, displaying a level of social tentativeness. It was a little strange.

“It feels weird, doesn't it. Having a fruit I mean - theDevil's Fruit. I used to be the only one...

You feel... - you- you feeloff, don't you? I mean, at first. Like, wildly unique an- and- and...what am i saying

Uhm. Maybe we could like, fuse powers or something.”

Instantly Taro’s mind flashed to images of himself holding the two halves of his axe-tar, hinges strategically located along the arms allowing them to spin, with aid of certain red arrows, like a buzz-saw. Still he’d resolved in his mind to ditch that weapon, he’d get Torin to make him a new instrument... a thing of beauty, once they had some spare time again. Speaking of which the Captain had ploughed on ahead, seemingly resolute in some matter or another; it was always hard to know what he was thinking. Turning the electric-blue eyes of the adventure-giddy guitarist found their final crewmate; Imuka had just left the boat in toe of the group. She also looked fairly set upon something, but then, when didn’t she?

“Whateverdon'ttakemeseriouslyIdidn'tmeanit.”

Pulled back to the question Darius had seemed to have become quite coy, perhaps from the lack of response from the distracted musician. However, whilst he may have misunderstood the meaning somewhat, the Hard-Hat’s first mate thought the idea a very good one. Still, just saying that’d be no fun, especially when his ever perfect rival was already so awkward. “Haha, what are you saying? That’s an awful--” he paused, trying to embarrass the swordsmen at least a little, “-ly good idea. We could definitely come up with some combination attacks, like... err... something.”

Waving to the serious faced gunner, Taro couldn’t help notice that the resident pocket (over-sized, deadly) rocket was looking much better. She’d taken more serious injuries than any in Roguetown and had since not had time to rest. Whilst the past few days had been drudging and frustrating for him, it seemed they’d been well needed by her.

“Mornin' Imuka, how was hibernation?” he chuckled lightly.

Everyone seemed to have a task in mind, Darius wanted to party, although what constituted a party for the walking typhoon was simultaneously a little worrying and equally exciting to the young music man. Likewise Robin had more practical supplies in mind and Torin had wanted to fix up the Jericho. Imuka's aims were less clear, but it was a safe bet she'd take any chance to develop that mammoth canon of hers. Or maybe she'd just go shopping with Robin, who knew? As for him, he was happy just to do whatever; see the sites and find the inevitable trouble before it found them. After all, an Island stay without some kind of disaster just wouldn’t be in-keeping with the crew’s image.

So then an initial bearing seemed obvious, they needed to find the local marketplace. Pushing on the bard’s eyes scanned the quiet streets, there were a few people here and there – most looked silently busy. Perhaps the island they’d stopped on, which was notably distinct from the rest of the crescent moon shaped mainland – was some kind of industrial sector and only manufactured.

“Yeah... having a fruit, it’s largely... brilliant. Yet sometimes one turns their mind to the ‘devil’ part. I was never much of one for swimming, but is their some other cost? Either way, it’s like I’ve been given a box full of potential and I’m fumbling at it clumsily. I feel like a child with a new toy, that he doesn’t quite understand. Or... more accurately, how I felt when I first held a guitar. Terrified at the possibility, hopelessly inept and yet empowered.” Having skipped the conversation back a bit, he provided an answer to Darius’ half questions. In fact he’d been giving it a lot of thought, the permanence of the change was more terrifying than he’d let on – but otherwise he’d been truthful.

“Hey, you there- yes Mister Headband.” Having sited a man carrying under his right arm a small crate that smelt more than a little fishy, literally, Taro had jumped at the opportunity to gather a little information.

“Yes?” he asked politely enough, but was clearly pretty startled by the stranger’s forthrightness.

“Where’s the market around here? We’re looking for supplies.” The sentence took a brief second to register, but instantly the assumed-to-be fisherman’s features lit up, a greedy glint in his eye.

“Ah, ah- we don’t get much in the way of imports, the currents here can be pretty hard to navigate and the coast has some dangerous rocks. What have you got to trade?”

Taro grinned, job done it seemed- these people didn’t get much imported. That partly explained the dock. Additionally, with that being the case surely they could wrangle a good deal. Maybe even stock up on enough wine to last until they saw the red-line again. Still he hadn't been aware of any trouble docking. Were Darius and Torin much better at the whole navigating thing than he had assumed. It seemed unlikely.

“Uhh- just good ol’ fashion beri, but a fair amount I’d wager.”

Instantly the man’s face fell, his inviting eyes instantly forming a frown. He let out a bitter laugh, “haha, you may find your beri doesn’t hold much weight around here. Do you even know where ya’ are?”

Taro leant in slowly, whispering in the strangers’ ear unembarrassed. “Actually, no... could you tell me? Quietly though” he didn’t want to come across stupidly in front of the rest of the crew, maybe they all knew where they were.

Shaking his head the fisherman strolled off back to his business, Taro flapping his arms out in exasperation turned back to the crew. “What the hell? Our beri won’t hold much weight, what does that even mean?”

[Kurosaki]

The unimpressed look on Robin's face read fairly clearly when she realized that Taro and Darius probably only had in mind getting drunk. Other than that though, she did notice that Taro was right about the docks not being very active as far as business was concerned. Sure, there had been a few ships that they had seen fishing but other than that not much. Robin hoped that their supplies weren't as disappointing as she thought they might be otherwise her shopping would probably have to wait until they reached another Island with a structured port and market. And who knew when that would be on the mysterious Grand Line? It wasn't like they could just call up the next Island and ask.
And apparently they were having a party.

Robin could feel the excitement.

Not.

Were they serious? They were going to probably go into some bar on the Island, get drunk and draw attention to themselves. Right after they had just barely gotten into the Grand Line and now that they had names for themselves? That seemed like a swift idea. Then again, this was the crew that she had gotten herself involved with.

Somehow she was also tagging along with the members of the crew that were the most likely to cause chaos. But who else was she going to go into town with? She could have gone by herself. After all, she was quite capable of doing things on her own. Then again, she felt some sort of responsibility for whatever these two were about to cause to happen.

"Just make sure you two don't blow each other up," Robin said with a negative air though in reality she was actually smiling. She had said it in comment to Darius' suggestion that they fuse powers. Despite the fact that Darius seemed to want to take the idea back, Taro was actually somewhat enthused by the prospect.

Luckily for her, just as she was thinking that she would be stuck in between these two talking about their fantastic powers, Imuka actually stepped off the boat behind them. When Robin spotted her, she waved enthusiastically in her direction. At least she felt like she could understand Imuka, even if she was a little more reckless than she herself would be when it came to things. Then again, she had to instantly worry about her as well. Her injuries were still not completely healed and while they were coming along nicely, it wouldn't be a good idea for her to get into any serious physical altercations for quite some time.

"Imuka! How are you feeling?" Robin called out to her. She was sure that Imuka would still be feeling a little woozy. After all, she had just gotten up from sleeping for a total of four days. That was bound to throw anyone off of their sense of time and also continue to make them feel sluggish though the best thing would be for her to move around.

Not wanting to just leave her to her own devices if she needed her to stay and look at her wounds, Robin went back over to the ship for a moment but saw that Imuka was already coming down and seemed pretty set on moving forward.

Was she planning on actually going into the market area? Well, at least she would get some exercise and wake her body up after all that sleeping. However, Robin was still going to worry that she might be pushing herself a little too quickly.

"Imuka... Are you sure you're fine with moving around so much? If you need pain medicine or even just some rest, please let me know..." Robin advised, realizing that Imuka seemed determined and probably wasn't going to back down from what she had in mind.

Robin overheard the tail end of the conversation that Taro was having with a man carrying a crate full of something fishy smelling. Fish, most likely, was his cargo. She hoped he showered when he went home every night or that was just gross...

Unfortunately, not only were there not many imports onto this Island, and by the looks of it this man was right about that, but their beri wouldn't be worth much either. Most likely bartering was the system most employed on this Island. Since they didn't have much to use in the way of bartering, they were mostly out of luck on that front.

"That means that trading is more important on this Island. Our beri won't get us much even if we have a lot of it because of that," Robin explained, folding her arms in front of her and closing her eyes for a moment. "Which means that most likely we won't be able to get much of our supplies here since all we have to trade with them is beri. Unless someone here is good at convincing them otherwise?"

Then again, they did have Imuka on their side who was quite intimidating looking if she brought along her VAR. But bringing that along would probably also be a bad idea since it would draw instant attention to the pirates.

At any rate, they weren't going to accomplish anything standing around contemplating if their beri would be enough to get anything from this Island. The best way to find that out would be to venture forward as their Captain had just done. At least he seemed like he knew what he was doing. Unless he was deciding whether or not to blow something else up. She hoped to god that wasn't in his plans...

"Alright, well, might as well head into the market and see what we can find," she said before starting forward ahead of everyone else.

[Die]

Imuka placed the Var down as she stretched her arms up and arched her back. It was an appropriate response to Taro’s question. She promptly picked up her signature weapon and sauntered over to the company of her fellow crewmates, waving just as enthusiastically at Robin. ”I’m feeling a lot better!” There was an odd glow about her, but if anything it was another indicator of her improved state of being since their departure from Loguetown. She stopped and turned her head as Darius awkwardly shuffled past her, looking oddly embarrassed. ”What’s his problem?”

[/i] she thought to herself. Dismissing it entirely, feeling that it was enough of a payback for hugging her, she kept on, stopping again amongst her crew. The Hard-Hat’s gunner held the Var by the second handle and placed it down on the ground again. The weapon stood vertically, showing just how much it towered over the short girl and probably over everyone else in the crew, though to a lesser degree for them.

She hadn’t heard much of Torin’s words from earlier, but caught enough to understand his cautiousness towards setting foot on their first island as a crew in the Grand Line. She chuckled at his apprehensiveness. Out of the rest of the crew, she was probably the only one who knew more about the Grand Line than the others seeing as how she grew up on an island near Water 7.

“This place seems so normal for the Grand line, quiet maybe but.. Yea.”

”Torin, relax. I grew up on the Grand Line. There are a lot of islands that are as well-populated as this one so it’s pretty common. It’s the navigation between islands that’s the hard part.” Imuka smiled. Unfortunately, it seemed like trade was a quite a bit different from the standard beri-goods deal most other places did. This island seemed to rely on an older barter system. She hoped the places she planned on dropping by still accepted beri, especially if it was an island that frequently saw visitors. Imuka seemed to be in unusually good spirits, probably enough to weird out the rest of the crew. Then again it wasn’t surprising considering how long she had to recuperate and recharge her strength. Though this lack of tension between her and the rest of the crew was a good thing, how long would it last remained the question. Robin’s questions however, reminded her that she still wasn’t back to tip-top shape. ”I’m fine, doc. I still have the pills you gave me earlier, so I should be fine…so long as I don’t do anything extra reckless,”[/color] she said with a smile and a wink at the only person who seemed to at least understand a little bit about her in the crew.

Imuka was always one to do things on her own. And this little shopping venture was no different. While the others had a plan of what to do, which by Taro and Darius’ standards, seemed to involve purchasing booze while Torin did things that generally involved patching up the ship and Robin finding medical supplies, Imuka was more concerned on stocking up on parts for her trademark weapon. Above all else she needed ammo, and if she could, she’d find someone who could produce molds for bullets and cannon rounds so she could make them herself onboard the Jolly Jericho. She picked up her weapon and started to walk away, waving her arm slowly in the air, ”Well if we’re all heading into market, I’ll be finding a gunsmith who can make me ammo. If you guys need me…any place like that would be a good place to start. Or you can go and cause a ruckus again like back in Loguetown…Torin,” that name rolled off of her tongue like a needle dipped in poison, reminding the rest of the crew of the last time they went off to do their own things on an island.[/blockquote][/size]

[Tori Tori Chopper]

'Oi..'

'Eh..?'

'Hm..?'

'.. Mm..'

Torin had found a decent place to set up his mental shop, away from all the chaos that often surrounded them with or without his assistance, there was quiet on the ship most of the time, all sorts of quiet here and there about the journey so far.. But when he walked away from that ship, cringing from the threatening mumble he heard from Imuka in his escape, the debates of travel amongst his crew as he skipped off towards what he previously saw as a boat-yard? which apparently was, but so official you waltzing in screaming for assistance was met with large angry men picking you up by the arms and throwing you into a selection of barrels luckily holding all sorts of fruit. He could feel it, that age-old quiet that surrounded him in the tunnels months ago in Logue-town, to him it was therapeutic beyond explanation.. Which had him content in this slightly uncomfortable bed of squished or ample edibles while he feasted upon whatever pineapple piece he could find in the mess like he was plucking specific colours out of a bag of candy. The exchange of grunts and primal noises that ensued while Torin consumed his weight in free food, was another looking to try the same thing.. There wasn't so much eye contact as the noises playing approval, not that it was needed.. The notable wooden clacks patting agaisnt the cobble in rhythm as Torin's eating buddy found his seat of choice before beginning his own scoffing spree.

'Yam, N'yam 'am nam..'

'Om nom.. Om no' nom.'

'... Whats with the pineapples.' The voice muffled between chomps and murderous intent of one edible object to the next. 'I 'rove pie'app- BUGHUH GUH HAUGH.' Torin's happy response wasn't with such grace as the apparently experienced eater who had joined him, rolling off the pile of food with hacks and wheezes throwing out of him while he punched his chest to cease and desist.. Finally letting out an exhale of satisfaction upon ending, looking to the man to realise he was no better with those dumb apples. 'Whats with you 'n apples!?' His pitch rose and lowered to mimic the mans strange addressing of the Hard-Hat, the mans glare saying more than just annoyance despite the retorts being nothing short of ridiculous. 'What'chu say to me?!' He pulled up his baggy sleeve, prepping his throwing arm as he tossed one of his collective apples towards the flailing arms of its targets, being caught in a momentary throwing from one hand to another. With great interest, rather than throwing it back, which was however an instant counter attack in his mind.. Was the weird shape and colour of the fruit that had been used as a weapon, it was hardly an apple, it was way too obnoxious and large. He would know, he had crates of them rolling around him the other day from Darius' stash as they tumbled down a mountain near upside down. 'Is this a..?'

'A fruit, what does it look like?'

'A, fruit-fruit?'

'.. What?!'

'You know, like one of those.. Devil fruits.' He rose his head from the oddly shaped consumable in his hands to the man who had thrown it towards him, only to get smacked square in the fore-head with a much more normal apple, that freaking hurt like a normal apple too. 'Its a fucking apple! Are you 'gonna eat it or not?!' rubbing his forehead, and getting back to his previous lowered position, as the apple itself seemed to have enough buck to smack him onto his back, he let the apparently mutant red-ish blob to roll towards the impatient mans pile, before vanishing into his obvious endless void. He decided to take a seat beside him, two of his own preffered and not freakish fruits cupped under his arms then placed by his side. Options of small talk littered the diggers mind, he wasn't going to up and leave this prime hunting group of helpless food just because this butt threw his weight around. No, he was going to tame the beast the way he knew by habit and trade, random Jibberish spewed the moment it came to mind. 'Are you.. A local?'

'Pirate..'

'Pirate.. Captain?'

'Nope.'

'Hey, have you seen this girl.. little..'

'Crazy small babe, no chest.' Torin nodded, he clamped his half-eaten victim in his mouth, making a thumbs down before continuing. 'Hopped town Digger man, sorry.' He smirked during his jaw churning, Torin grumbling.. Whats with him being anywhere near women, and them being immediately affiliated to them in a sexual manner? The mathematics of such a social assumption alluded him, as did most social scientific did on a daily basis. 'Seriously, I know how it is..' He seemed to have a little serious tone amongst the otherwise mindless and insensitive one. 'Ah, right.. Well uh, I got a ship? Aaand.. A crew?' The dude seemed alright, for the most part, and its not like he met any other crew member on better terms. The Grand-Line was daunting and riddled itself with dangers, add another badass to your roster of companions and your odds are bound to increase substantially. 'I'll pass pineapple dude, you're not even fodder to me.' And with that he rose, arms behind his head, self-righteous and.. Some other really insulting thing, without even a good-bye. 'At least tell me how to get into the boat-yard?!' It was where he seemed to walk up from, so it seemed logical that he had a boat there, or was browsing for talent like Torin was going to.

'Oh..' And so the muscle guarding one of the entrances crushed into a mangled mess when the man was done with them, not even a second they lasted, down and out like meat to the grinder, then just thrown aside as he waltzed into the dock. 'Oh...' The man turned, there was no wave, as was previously mentioned.. But instead a pose, fingers pointed away from his face, his wrists making a cross before he spun back around and vanished from view. '.. That was pretty cool.. Fair enough..' The spontaneous events that had unravelled before him only moments after he had gotten of his ship were hardly the silence he was relishing for the moment he had been thrown into the edible mountain.. But Torin took some sort of message from that, it was going to take a while to figure out exactly what that message was.. But it must've meant something, right? None the less! The path was open, he could slip in all sneaky like, as his frame and experience allowed with some finesse before finding himself someone worthy of fixing the turtle which gripped in a dangled mess just within view of where he was sitting.

.. Right after these pineapples.

[Cirrus]

“Haha, what are you saying? That’s an awful--”
“I’ll give you a million beri to forget I said-“
“-ly good idea. We could definitely come up with some combination attacks, like... err... something.”
“That’s why I said it, y’idiot!”

Though he insulted, he also grinned, showing the jesting nature of his speech; it was the very fibre of their rapport, affronts, and so whilst to an onlooker it’d appear untoward, you could sleep soundly with the knowledge that there was never any harm done. The swordsman continued walking, as did his musically talented friend, when there was a brief lull; the sound of different footsteps behind them incited the pause in progress, which was something Darius wasn’t particularly happy with… Until he turned around and saw that it was in fact Imuka. Taro greeted her, with a joke and for a minute Darius was stunned by the Hard-Hat musician’s audacity, half expecting violent repercussions to befall them both for the clear verbal misstep. Even he wasn’t too happy to talk about what happened in Loguetown: ballads simply weren’t to his taste; lamenting over the past wasn’t going to improve their future, after all. Besides, the strongest didn’t even have ballads, they had Aeneids and Iliads and Odysseys, they had epics.

At any rate, they walked onwards, the navigator and the musician continuing their conversation.

“Yeah... having a fruit, it’s largely... brilliant. Yet sometimes one turns their mind to the ‘devil’ part. I was never much of one for swimming, but is there some other cost? Either way, it’s like I’ve been given a box full of potential and I’m fumbling at it clumsily. I feel like a child with a new toy, that he doesn’t quite understand. Or... more accurately, how I felt when I first held a guitar. Terrified at the possibility, hopelessly inept and yet empowered.”
“Uhh, I getcha – like, I’ve had this thing since I was young, so I guess I really was a child with a new toy! You get used to it though… it feels more natural… never liked swimming anyway. Haha, I’d hope I’m more of the empowered and less of the inept!” Their walking ceased again as they shared discourse – Taro, it seemed, had spied someone who could perhaps shed light on their situation. It was safe to say they hadn’t a clue what kind of fire they’d jumped into from the frying pan, and rather predictably the flames weren’t hospitable either: Taro returned, no more enlightened as to their location than he had been before – though arguably more knowledgeable about the value of what they held so high here. Their peaks were the Grand Line’s basements; that was simply how progress worked.

“What the hell? Our beri won’t hold much weight, what does that even mean?” Said the Hard-Hats’ musician, confused. Being an orphan, however, Darius did actually have some experience with the penniless system of purchase and exchange; possessions were worth more than things that could just get you possessions: urchins were the scum of the streets and you don’t want any of their likely illicitly gained money passing through your hands – that was just begging for the marines to come sniffing. Or if you were kinder you gave them your produce in exchange – you didn’t want to exactly turn into a charity shop and there weren’t any on Saint Reia anyhow: every man for themselves, and fuck anyone that says otherwise. At any rate, a response with some thought behind it came from the swordsman in the striped jacket.

“It… it means that they don’t value money, like, at all. They want something else, things – like…” He paused, unloading himself of his blade and holding it out in his hand, a gesture to communicate his intention to resume the barter. The scabbard was scuffed and the weapon had clearly seen some use despite its relative novelty: the plight of a Hard-Hats’ adventure had aged it at an expedited rate. Besides, it had been too beautiful to use for combat, really; a warrior’s weapon was that of function primarily – the ornate crap was to be hung up at home or put in glass cages. And this particular blade held some bad memories anyway: being armed with Aphrodite hadn’t been enough to prevent the mysterious slew of explosions and gunfire that had corralled them out of Loguetown. They’d been all talk and no walk – a hollow shade of the new dawn of romance. No, he’d need something better.

He hadn’t noticed but he’d actually stopped talking for a good few minutes, arm still outstretched, sword still offered – it seemed they were all waiting for confirmation of what must have seemed to be a ludicrous proposal. Remembering himself, Darius finished off the sentence with what his physical actions must by now have indicated. He said,

“Uhh, like a sword.” He smiled sheepishly and jiggled the odachi a little, silently asking the fisherman to inspect it.

“Glorified knife… but I’ll see what I got for ya” The fisherman grunted, taking the sword and its scabbard and giving it the once over. Why on Earth he thought a fisherman would know about blade quality was frankly up for debate – after all, they couldn’t have known that this was Battalia Island, the isle of war; combat was everyone’s business irrespective of profession. Still, the paradigm was what the paradigm was, and so it could be chalked up to fate that such a harsh, and yet true summation of the weapon that had, in all fairness, gotten him through the latter half of the Blues. Darius flinched at the insult – regardless of his actions Aphrodite was still his sword for the time being and still meant something to him.

Turning abruptly the fisherman wandered off to a nearby shack, obviously expecting the trio – nope, duo (Imuka didn’t have time for this shit) – to follow. And so the Crimson Arrow did. As a light switched on inside the sheer array of fishing hooks and lines and baits and knives lining the walls astounded the swordsman. ‘It’s a bloody armoury!’ He noiselessly exclaimed, feeling as if he dared shift from a rigid, awkward posture that he’d end up skewered across the damp looking walls like a barnacle after high tide. Needlessly the fisherman gruffly commanded,

“Don’t touch anything unless you gotta death wish.” Before resuming his rummage. Darius hadn’t chanced a look at the floor yet, but when eventually he peeled his attention from the perilous walls and to the fisherman’s business he could see that actually the room’s floorspace was decidedly occupied by crates. Curiously peering over the fisherman’s shoulder he saw an inner layer of ice inside the wooden box, and guessed from the sound of chilled rustling that it was these that contained the fisherman’s catch of the day.

Darius frowned.

If they were going to get food, they’d need a cook – and if his memory served Eimi had departed already. Despite their achievements they weren’t a well-rounded crew yet, it had to be said… though not to Darius, clearly, as he pushed the thought out of his mind. It’d be fine – his job was just to throw a party; no one stipulated its quality.

“I said… d’you want this crate or don’tcha?!” Oop – he’d been caught daydreaming and now he was in trouble. The fisherman wasn’t pleased. The crate was cold, after all – presumably why he was so eager to offload it on his bartering ‘associates’. Darius didn’t dare look inside and waste more time: if he caused commotion in here it’d be the end of him most likely. And so he took the crate from the fisherman, glad to be standing by the doorway, and backed out of the fisherman’s hut-cum-armoury.

“I guess I gotta get a new sword, huh?” He said to Taro, perhaps postponing the party for a quick minute. Trouble would no doubt run into the swordsman sooner rather than later, after all, and Darius didn’t particularly fancy undertaking his first fight in the Grand Line comfortably outside of his comfort zone.

“Wanna come with?”

[Deleted]

Meanwhile on the Crescent Moon mainland an event of seasonal significance had all but consumed the lives of the native inhabitants. Large pavilions had been erected in the middle of the fields east of the fortress capital city. Since the Goggle Pirates had overthrown the prior tyrant, things had largely improved on the island. However, it’s naturally isolated position had not changed and as always resource and supplies were few and far between. In spite of their liberation, the locals were proud of the warrior heritage and so still honoured this particular tradition. Twice a year they met on the field of battle, risking their lives on behalf of their settlement. For it was any man (or woman’s) right to enter this bloodthirsty tournament. They would win acclaim and reverence for winning, but more than glory they earned food for their people. The strong would flourish, the brave rewarded and what could be fairer than that?

So here they came, the finest warriors from each of the main five settlements were already arriving. The people of the swamp village walked barefoot, they carried nets and short spears and specialised in quick deadly cuts and poisoning their enemies. Then there were the fisher folk of Waterway City. They too used nets and spears, but also harpoons and hooks. They were hardy folk who used guile to defeat an opponent. There were also the people of the Smith Fort, north of the Mountain Kingdom. They were by far the best equipped, using large weapons and heavy armour to give them the edge. Then there were the mountain-folk themselves, perhaps the strongest of all – they favoured hammers and axes but cared little for armour. Finally, there were the men of the Capital itself, Crescent Moon Central. The fortress had always been the most prosperous area and its people the most refined. They used a variety of weaponry but for the most part, they were a better trained and more refined kind of warrior and everyone knew that they were the ones to beat. Banners flying high, tent poles planted and the stands set up, the time of the great battle was not far off now. The whole thing was surprisingly civil, those that wanted too could register and generally fights were stopped before someone was killed, if it was at all possible. One could yield at any point and the crowd were free to watch and cheer on their representatives.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I guess I gotta get a new sword, huh?”

“Did you just trade your sword for a box of fish; couldn’t you have at least gotten some rum? What happened to the party?” Taro started confused into the shop Darius had just exited. The glint of weapons that lined the wall caught his eye.

“Wanna come with?” Darius asked, the musician didn’t even bother to ask where they were going.

“One mo~” requested the song smith, quickly slipping into the same shop that Darius had been so keen to escape.

“Hey mister, a sword’s worth more than a barrel of fish. At least chuck in some booze to soften the blow?”

“You cheeky scamp, them fish are easily worth that junk sword, ‘specially given the time of year. All the drink’s gone across the water, they’ll be needin’ it more than you.”

“Ah, so there is a party?” Taro asked excitedly, stood in the doorway of this glorified storeroom.

“Haha party? That’s one way of puttin’ it. Today’s the battle royal, folk here aren’t as spoilt as you pompous pirate types. Look at ya’, you don’t look like you know hunger. We fight for our livelihood here boy, that’s why your beri ain’t worth squat. It’s a man’s arm that counts here, nothin’ else.”

“I don’t believe it,” the guitarist remarked impressed.

“How could ya’, an outsider like yo--”

“You’ve really got no alcohol at all?”

The fisher man muttered some pretty foul obscenities as he bent over and rummaged around for a moment, producing a concealed bottle of wine he threw it angrily at the irritating adventurer youth.

“Take it and get the hell outta’ here, I’ve stock to attend and the--”

“Yeah, whatever mister.”

Stepping out from the shade of the shop into the sunny street, Taro turned his attention back to his comrade.

“Right, so apparently, people fight for stuff here or something, I dunno?” he paused to bite the cork out of the dusty wine bottle. “Like, I guess when you haven’t got much food, beri’s pretty useless. That guy seemed pissed that I wanted more for your sword, I mean these are some pricey ass fish.”

The two walked for a moment, seemingly aimlessly. The rest of the crew had definitely left them now. The streets here were fairly quiet, but then that was to be expected given the new information. Being isolated from the mainland, Waterway City was still the second busiest place for miles but suddenly it seemed a very dull place to be.

“You wanna’ go check out this tournament thing? They’re bound to have swords in a place like that right? Plus...” the mischievous musician cracked his knuckles, “we could earn some food and test out these new powers properly. Torin wouldn’t mind us having a little fun, right?”

[Die]

The heart of the city appeared to be a stark contrast with the docks of Waterway City. Eerie silence and a dearth of activity slowly gave way to more vibrance. Seemingly extravagant decorations, ones that Imuka would never have painted for what first appeared to be a backwards town on an island in the Grand Line. It was pretty apparent that they denoted some kind of festival. Many vendor stands had similarly gaudy objects, most likely for children. The question remained as to what these decorations were for. The grumbling of her stomach reminded her that there were more important matters to attend to presently. She needed to find a gunsmith soon.

Whispers from bystanders floated around her. Then again, it wasn’t hard to see why. A stranger walking around with heavy blue armor and a huge gun with a similarly huge sword bayonet bolted to the bottom was bound to attract attention anywhere really. She didn’t enjoy the attention at all, but resigned herself to it. Carrying a doombringer like that was never subtle, and her combat role reflected that as well. She commanded a presence as she strode down the street. Many citizens gave her a wide berth while others, most likely warriors, paid little attention to her beyond the fact she had an interesting weapon and was clearly an outsider.

It didn’t take her long to find a gunsmith. A few steps further in and around a corner and she came across a telltale sign with two rifles engraved hanging above a shop. As she entered an old man sitting at a work bench at the far end of the shop. Separating him from the service desk were numerous dusty shelves stocked with a random assortment of parts and partially-completed firearms. It appeared to be a sty, one that only the old man could possibly know to navigate. In stark contrast with the messy shelves, there were racks on the walls around the old man as well as drawers with neatly arranged tools. The Hard-Hat gunner took a good minute to just glance around the shop, inspecting items on her side of the counter, but being respectful in not touching anything. She didn’t want to offend the guy running the place or risk being unable to procure some molds for her ammunition.

Her entrance into the shop did ring a bell, however the old man seemed a bit too preoccupied to come to her service immediately. After a few minutes though, he gave a deep, gruff breath, blowing off the sawdust from the rifle stock he was gingerly engraving and stood up, walking over to Imuka. He was a little taller than Imuka, but his slightly hunched stance made him appear shorter. His blackened fingers, scraggly beard, and greasy hair were a testament to his industriousness, or maybe just a lack of hygiene in general, but that didn’t faze the gunner. Without so much as looking at her as he approached the desk he asked her, ”Well what can I do ya for, Hynkil?”

”Hello. Um…I think you have me confused with someone else,”

[/color] Imuka said.

The old man looked up in surprise, ”Oh forgive me! From the heavy footsteps and grim silence I thought you were someone else. How can I help you? From the sounds of it, it seemed like he had some sort of beef with someone named Hynkil.

Imuka reached into her pouch and pulled a few rolls of paper and a list for him, ”Well I was hoping you could help make some molds of these bullets and shells for me. And also can you with these parts?” she showed him a list of parts with quantities needed scribbled next to them.

The old man grumbled as he looked over the blueprints and the list. For a few minutes he remained silent, grumbling and nodding as he examined them, ”Young lady, what you’re asking for is certainly impressive, but I am a simple gunsmith. I can certainly provide you with some of these parts. Others…I have no idea what they are. Your fancy little drawings might help me make molds for them too. But for raw materials you’ll have to ask the blacksmith.

Imuka felt a little annoyed that this ended up becoming more complicated than she had hoped, ”I understand, thank you. How much do you estimate all of this will cost?”

”Oh I have no interest in your money. That sort of stuff matters very little around these parts,” the old man chuckled.

Imuka’s expectations of this island fell way short and her heart dipped slightly. Now how was she going to pay for it all?

Before she could say anything the old man continued as he eyed her, ”It’s pretty obvious that you’re an outsider. You see around here, we tend to rely less on beri and trade goods and services instead. So…whaddya got?”

”He can’t be serious right? I have nothing I can part with…” Imuka thought to herself. Reluctantly, she reached for her boot and plucked out a knife, placing on the counter.

The old man giggled, ”Hehehe. That’s it? That’s all you have to offer? This ain’t a charity case girly. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Imuka’s brow twitched, this old man was already starting to get under her skin. If anything she was going to call it a day and start intimidating the man into fulfilling her order.

The old man’s eyes quickly lit up as he stared at the massive cannon that rested behind the Hard-Hat’s gunner. ”Ah but you have that! Surely that will pay for everything, and then some!”

”Absolutely out of the question, came Imuka’s icy, sharp words as they pierced through the old man’s hopes.

He hung his head for a second before lighting up again. Clearly the Var had piqued his interests and he was apparently willing to do anything to get a closer look at it. ”You drive a hard bargain, missy,[/b] he said. “Perhaps you can show me the weapon up close? It’s not every day I get a little girl with a big gun at my shop.”

Imuka muttered something under her breath before obliging the gunsmith. He let her in behind the counter and the two of them made their way back to his workbench. All the while the gunner looked at the messy shelves. The shop seemed a lot longer in person, as though those shelves played tricks on her eyes and made it look a lot smaller than it actually was. How this man was able to navigate them escaped her. Once they made it to his bench he cleared out some space for the massive cannonblade, which she set down. Immediately he got to having a closer look, moving all over his bench excitedly like a child in a toy shop.

”This is remarkable! I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s definitely seen its fair share of fighting but this level of craftsmanship is almost unheard of. Whoever thought of combining three weapons into one like this is a genius. Did you craft this?”

”N-no,” she replied. ”It was a man named…von Koenig.” She had met the man who was directly behind the development of the weapon. Cold, calculating, his presence had given the normally stoic and composed gunner the chills. He said very little, and what was actually said consisted of instructions and a few short words she hadn’t quite picked up. Her thoughts then drifted back to the incident at Loguetown right before she had been shot. Was it he who had dealt with them? Did he shoot her back then? Normally her armor could stack up against Marine rifles, but all it took was one bullet right through the armor to take her down. No one else had access to that sort of firepower, at least no one she knew.

”Hey, what’s she like? How does she feel?”

His words snapped her out of her musings, ”Well...It has quite a lot of kick behind it. It would shatter the arm of any novice if they weren’t already knocked off their feet by the recoil.” While she was lost in daydream and giving an explanation as to how it felt to operate the weapon, the gunsmith produced a set of tools and sneakily opened up the weapon. By the time Imuka noticed, it was too late. She dropped a fist on the old man’s head, grinding it against his greasy hair. ”What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed through her teeth.

”Owowowowowow I’m sorry! But I couldn’t resist!” he winced as he hurriedly closed it up, after which Imuka took her fist off if his head. His face grew stern and solemn as he examined Imuka closely and then looked back at the weapon. ”Who are you really?

”Excuse me?” she replied, confused as to what he was getting at.

”You heard me. You’re not like any pirate I’ve seen before. No pirate who’s made their way through this island’s as well-equipped and well-kept as you are. No. The color of your armor and your weapon. You’re no pirate, you look more like a Marine. And I don’t serve any dog of the WG.”

”I’m not a Marine!” Imuka vehemently shouted. She shook as she clenched her fist and glared down at the old man. ”At least not anymore.”

”Is that so? Well…fair enough,” he sighed and turned in his seat. Imuka only responded with a confused look. ”You’ve told me all you needed to. I’ll do what you’ve asked, maybe even throw in some more. But the rest…I’ll tell you how to get that.”

”How?”

”Well you see. Here on this island we have this little festival twice a year. In short, it’s a tournament that tests the strength of warriors in the arena. It just so happens that we’re about to start one. If you can best everyone in the arena, you’ll win a year’s worth of supplies. It’s the quickest way to get what you need, but certainly not the easiest.”

”How do I join?”

”Shouldn’t be too hard to figure you. You’re a gunsmith after all.” he said. Before Imuka could question him as to how he knew, he started again. ”Relax. I could see it in your eyes.”[/b]

”Thank you…” ”Ayre. Name’s Ayre.”[/b]

”Thank you, Ayre.” Imuka said as she retrieved the Var from his workbench and made her way out.

”I’ll take care of your order, and I’ll be watching you at the tournament. Show me how that thing does in combat.” She nodded silently. ”Oh, and another thing. You might want to repaint your gun and armor. Marine colors stick out too much out here on the Grand Line.”

And with that Imuka left the shop. That was one task completed, but the gurgling from her stomach reminded her that she had another just as important matter to deal with at hand. She quickly found an eatery with mountains of free food similar to the one her captain had encountered. Unable to put off her hunger any longer, she took a seat, leaning the Var against the table and piled some of the food on her plate.[/blockquote][/size]

[EriChar]

Yes, this time, the design should be perfect… Mouth tilted downwards, angled towards the obtuse ‘V’ that her thumb and forefinger made as she inspected the object that she had built now standing in front of her, a young woman by the name of Tsun Dehre scrutinized a creation that was for most to be unlike anything that one had seen before; A cone shaped conglomeration of wood had been bound together with steel bindings, looking a little like a tipi that one had forgot to wrap in animal skin stood before her, with a strange protrusion hanging over it like a warped umbrella. The function of this appendage was not to provide shelter, however, no; a closer inspection of what might have been considered by a more rudimentary standpoint to be a parasol, was actually a long and winding piece of cloth, made from a similar sort of material as one might find hung from the beat of a mast to pull a ship forward on the wind. This corkscrewing piece of fabric however, sat not perpendicular to the ground but rather parallel to it, coiling downward in an ever increasing arc as the piece of material grew broader, attached firmly to hooks that connected the strange sail to a long shaft of steel that served as it’s ‘mast’. This ‘mast’ was not fastened to floor, however, rather its base was buried in a mound of metal, from which pipes and vents seemed to burst out from, and a small smouldering grill. Beneath this steel-made contraption was a simple round board, constructed of wood from which the whole, strange looking object was born, along with a small stool that sat in front of various dials and levers on the front of the metal mast-bearer, implying that the pieces of assembled iron alloy were not simply for decoration; they served a functional purpose.

I suppose I had better get ready then… Her eyes returning to a wideness that signalled the end of their use for narrow evaluation, Miss Dehre trotted away from her creation to find a pile of cloth and more metal that she had set aside in the clearing within which her ‘machine’ had been built, and picked up the first piece on the ground; a baggy and thick looking boiler suit, complete with stains and burn marks to show it’s less than new status, which the girl thrust her legs into. Pulling the full body covering upward and over the shorts and tan top she wore underneath, this small engineer fastened the piece of protective equipment up at her stomach and chest, before eying up her next item of apparel. Scooping up a long, buckled belt, Tsun wrapped what looked to be a bandoleer armed to the teeth with tools and devices around her narrow waist, and fastened it together with a large, dull metal buckle. The girl then paused in her application of clothes to address another concern of her appearance; her hair. Looped into to two long and untidy tails, the mechanic knew that these uncontrollable appendages would be a hazard while running a machine; she could only imagine the damage that a loose tail caught in the drive shaft could do to her machine, let alone herself, and so deciding not to risk that trouble, the young woman set about weaving her long, lilac locks into something a little more manageable. Keeping them bound up in their two loose tails, the young woman wove the pair together on top of her head, giving herself an almost extreme sense of ‘big-headedness’, given the bouffant quality that her hair now possessed seeming to increase the size of her head several times over.

I shouldn’t need it, if this goes right, but… The next item that Tsun scooped up was heavy half-ball of iron, which was like the metal-made shell of a walnut, hollowed into a concave form and straps studded to either side, which the girl now pulled hard down on to force the mass of her sizeable head of hair into.
“Unnnnnnngah!” With a sort of jerk at the end of her effort, the small girl with the large looking head finally managed to force the metal helmet over her skull, having the steel semi-sphere slam into her skull without any significant damage, thanks to the thick layer of hair that sat between the hard metal and her head.
Sort of heavy… Noticing the weight immediately, Tsun could feel her neck struggle to compensate for the sizeable piece of steel that sat on top of her skull, feeling a tendency toward letting her head rock and roll around as she grasped the pieces of leather strip and with another buckle fastened the strap underneath her chin to keep it from falling off.
I suppose it’s better than cracking my skull… Leaning forwards, Miss Dehre felt the mass of her cranium covering cast her head in front of her as well, putting some strain on her neck as she tried to stop herself from falling flat on her face, and scooped up the last two items that her wardrobe would need; large goggles, and gloves. Trotting back to her creation, the machinist put the goggles over her eyes as the pair of gloves was held by her teeth, dangling from her mouth as if she was some sort of animal carrying around a prize their forepaws couldn’t bear. The young woman then plucked the mitt guard from her mouth, and put them on quickly; she was finally ready to set off.

“Begin prototype Charlie-seven testing…” Mumbling to herself like she was making notes in a journal, the small girl sat on the stool that had been firmly bolted on the small, round deck of the strange mix of a tent and parasol that she had created, and began to probe and twist the various sets of dials in front of her. Touching a valve, a hiss filled the clearing as a white fog shot out from the opening, before a few more dials and levers were adjusted, and the output died down. The sound of shooting water vapour giving way to the rumble of an engine, slowly at first, the large winding stretch of canvas began to turn in a clockwise fashion, expelling a light breeze onto the grass around the rotating machine.
“All systems seem to be operating within safe parameters…” Making more verbal notes, Miss Dehre flicked at the gauges in front of herself, watching needles bounce a little and return, all of them sitting nicely with small green coloured areas that had been painted on their facing, and none making that unpleasant incline into the nasty red.
“Time for lift-off then…” That usual downward gradient of the girls mouth now finding the inspiration to point upwards, a rarely seen expression appeared on the face of Tsun Dehre as the girl flipped a lever to release what she had built in as a ‘limiter’; a small, satisfied smile.

GRAAAAAAAHUMM~UM~UM~UM~UM~UM~UM!

The engine’s restraint now released, with the howl of a wild animal, the machine that was in front of Tsun Dehre roared into life, transforming the gentle breeze that glided around the grass in her environment into a fierce whirlwind that not only dislodged strands and chunks of the greenery around the machine, but also cast the trees in the distant vicinity into motion; pushing them into shaking waves of movement. Pushing against its environment using the medium of the air itself, as the machine battled against its surroundings in a confrontation to see who would repel whom, the creation of the small girl finally lived up to its designs, and inches at a time, the craft crept upwards and into the sky.
Excellent; exactly as I expected. Giving her setting a fast glance around herself as she broke her concentration on the various dials, the smile that shone from the mouth of Miss Dehre grew broader, as she recognised the plants and tree’s shrinking away from her device as it whirred above her head noisily. Her progress gathering pace the longer it went one, the inches of upward direction that the machine managed to cover turned into feet and in the space of a few short seconds, Tsun now saw that it was no longer the trees that towered over her, but rather herself that looked down on the once tall and proud plants.
Amazing… The fact that the little girl had planned this outcome didn’t dampen the awe and wonder of the moment when she achieved her action of taking into the sky, and because of this, when the machine climbed even further into the air and high enough to see the port and sea in front of it, the engineer couldn’t help but be taken aback by its impressiveness. Tsun could see for miles around, like a giant could, simply by applying the right principles and technology to something that she had built herself; this wasn’t some tree grown by nature that she stood upon, or tower laid down by a stranger; this was a machine of her own creation, and using it, she was now flying.

“Lift design; successful. Testing drive system.” Still somewhat mechanically stating her objectives, despite the fact that now that she was high in the air and next to a roaring machine which drowned out her words, Miss Dehre poked at another dial and flicked a lever next to it, starting the next process in her design; direction. The spinning parasol of canvas had provided her machine with the lift it needed to slip into the sky, but true flight was about more than just hovering up and down, to truly fly, one would need to go forward. With the release of yet another valve, the underneath of Tsun’s creation sputtered like a cough, and chunks of grass and earth were spat out from the mouths of multiple exhausts, clearing the way for small jets of steam to spray in the soil’s stead. Spurting the machine into a change of motion, instead of climbing, the mechanical beast in front of Tsun Dehre began to edge forwards, plunging into the space in front of her and forcing the image of the docks in front of the girl to grow larger and larger with every passing second. Steady at first, the pace of the hovering craft built and before she knew it, the flying ship that Miss Dehre had built was sprinting through the skies faster than she herself could run, strutting across the sky in a manner unlike any flying, in a style all of its own.

There was only the passage of a minute, perhaps two, between the time that Tsun arrived in the sky and when she started to see buildings and people passing beneath her. Obviously, with such a loud and attention attracting entrance, Miss Dehre was not the most inconspicuous of guests in the city, and drew many an ear and eye to the shape of her strange craft moving across that invisible blue sea of the heavens; a sight unlike many in the world would have seen before.
I did it… I really did it… Cheeks reddened, both by the rush of air flowing by them and exhilaration of her adventure, the young girl couldn’t help but derive a sense of immense satisfaction as she saw eyes widen and jaws fall when they saw her dancing through the sky like a giant spinning umbrella. One could hardly blame her; after all, it was not every day that you became perhaps one of the first humans in the world to fly through the skies without the aid of a devil fruit, or a precisely prepared cannon. She was no longer a mere engineer, no, now Tsun was something more, something greater; Tsun Dehre was a pilot of the sky, at least for a few minutes. However, it was the attention and awe that it inspired within this young girl, coupled with inexperience that led to the end of this young woman’s first flirtation with sky-travel to end rather abruptly, and violently. In an age where travel through the skies was the furthest thing from commonplace, it was hard to say that this young woman was entirely at fault for not being able to give her method of transportation the fullest attention that it deserved, but that is what she did; for the briefest of periods, overwhelmed by attention and achievement, Miss Dehre let the machine get away from her, and this is what doomed her maiden flight.

SCRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNN!

Skirting too close to a weather vane poking out from the roof of a tall house was all that it took for the strength of the vessel to tear one of its guiding jets, and send the craft spiralling out of control. Steam jetting out from the craft’s side, the meagre force that it applied on the motions of the craft was enough to override it’s sense of direction, and as Tsun struggled to not have herself thrown from the machine and right the problem, she found out very quickly that her design was as ‘perfect’ as she had assumed.
Damnit… If I can shut off the drive jets… Seeking to return the arcing and jarring machine back to its stable position of hovering, Tsun reached for the dials that sat only inches in front of her hands in an attempt to correct the problem, but thanks to the forces of gravity tossing her around like a salad, this short distance seemed like miles for the young woman. Snatching at air where the lever to shut off her jets should have been, if not for the jerking motion of her machine, Miss Dehre felt her body thrown back onto the chair, and her head snapped back by the weight of the helmet that was supposed to protect it.

N-no… It can’t… Her head knocked backward, behind herself Tsun could see what the craft she sat on was hurtling toward; straight into the stone of the harbour, and gritting her teeth to prevent this, the girl thrust her body forward with all the might that she could muster and finally managed to grab hold of something; a lever.
“I don’t wanna die!!!” Not knowing if this handle was the right one to create the effect that she had originally desired, as her eyes filled with tears, Tsun found herself to be desperate, and unconcerned; she had no choice now, all that this girl could do was flip this catch and hope that things turned out well. It wasn’t the most scientific approach, I assure you, but in that moment, Miss Dehre didn’t care. Twisting the handle as far as it would go, the girl prayed that she wouldn’t meet her end at the hands of this flailing and out of control machine, and somewhere someone must have heard the request. Suddenly jerking in mid-air, Tsun lost her grasp on the handle and was cast into the air, moving too fast to see anything but a blur around herself, the girl felt a rush of air around her body for a few seconds, before everything suddenly went cold, and black, as her body plunged into the depths of the sea…