New Shores! Tempers, Treasure and Trailblazing!

[Cirrus]

“Huh? Wha’s that smell?”

The girl’s eyes blinked open as the sun’s rays repeated upon her face. Clearly something other than the effulgence of the life-affirming ball of fire in the sky had aroused her, as evidenced by her faintly whispered words, although they were still dripping with her charming dialect. In fact, it was the sweet aroma of raw cane sugar drooping off of the trade winds like fleeing caramel as it spills from a delicious treat. Sitting up from her previously reposed position, the girl, whose name was, rather noticeably, Islay Hotel Marce, appeared to be alone aboard the impressively sized vessel that carried her slowly towards the shore of the island. This wasn’t quite true – the ship, named the Ralph Lauren, was home to two lifeforms; Islay and her pet-cum-microphone Den Den Mushi, Brava. The snail had been sleeping innocently upon the blue haired girl’s forehead – they’d both decided a lounge in the sun would pass the time between their adventure, and in fact Brava had cottoned onto the new smell long before Islay had, but nature had conspired against him, for he was but a snail, and snails could not move very quickly. And so, as fate would have it, the moment the Bebop Belle sat up on the deck chair, Brava was flung from her head to the bow of her floating home with a rather more effective wake-up call than sweet scents.

CLANG!Ka-thump!

“Wha- Brava!” She exclaimed before diving to the deck to retrieve her mollusc companion. Brushing the Den Den Mushi off before reattaching the transponder, Islay looked out to the horizon. It was decidedly occupied by the fresh sight of civilisation: a town hugged the harbour at its front, quite obviously bustling, whilst in turn the urban was embraced by the rural; jungle rose up on soft hilly pedestals above the mini metropolis before it. To tell truth she was actually a little crestfallen – whenever her parents had talked of where they were from, Resinbar, they’d made it sound like all islands were like that: lush with green grass and fertile soil, houses few and far between in the best parts, if only for the farmland between them – even the cities weren’t as dense as whatever they called this place. Still, Islay didn’t let her head drop too much – by the smell of it whatever terrestrial shortcomings the island may have had they more than made up for it with attractions!

The Ralph Lauren drew close to shore and Islay disembarked, wading just a little of the distance between the boat and the actual anchorage, heels in one hand and a rope in the other. The sand felt disturbingly foreign to her toes, but it was exciting all the same; for her first experience on actual solid dr- well er, not quite dry land, that was just up ahead – it wasn’t actually all that bad. It definitely beat years of endless swimming!

Having tied the knots required to keep the ship from floating back out to sea without her, Islay dipped her feet in the inviting ocean next to the port to cleanse them of any sand. She really wouldn’t want that in her heels, that was for sure. Once her ablutions had been completed she redressed her feet and went on her way, pack strapped firmly to her back and hopes moderately high. And for good reason too: that sugary smell had only intensified the longer she’d been on the island. Swivelling her head from left to right, the groovy gal spied no flashing signs that indicated the production of sugar. She frowned. ‘Aw man, I’m gonna have to work for it? Not cool…’

The exploradora strode purposely forward, red ascot bouncing happily around her neck, aiming for the heart of the town; she decided that at some point or another, she’d actually figure out what this place was called too – Islay could almost hear her mother’s nigh on disappointed voice if she ever found out that the first thing the girl did with her freedom was be irresponsible about it. Knowledge of her bearings was imperative for a safe travel around the world. Additionally, she was only slightly interested in committing the name of the sugar island to memory; so far it had already booked itself a place on her visit again list.

As she walked down the cobbled path with Brava back out and on her shoulder, she entered a sort of trance like state in which she marvelled at the newness of it all; the shops, the bars, the restaurants and a whole manner of other establishments, the likes of which she’d simply never seen before: on the Michael Kors anything she wanted she could have it, whether by asking or by exploring – which led to asking anyway. Islay was simply dazzled by the market place; people were using money so openly, and so much! Did they really have to pay for all of those things, she found herself wondering. The scat songstress’ naïve thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar noise from her left.

‘Grrrowrr…’ She turned, only mildly alarmed. It was a lizard, forked tongue hanging in the air like a spear jammed in the ground, pointed directly at the Den Den Mushi on her shoulder. It was rather large for a lizard – though she didn’t know that; Islay hadn’t much experience with many animals except for what she’d learned in books. She glanced up from the lizard’s blank eyes: there in the shade was a lanky man, contorted around a wooden chair, leant back on its back legs, resting against the wall. He’d a piece of some unknown grain in his mouth, and appeared to be chewing on it absent-mindedly; like the lizard, though his eyes seemed to comprehend Islay’s appearance, there wasn’t really much more to it than that.

‘Grrrowrr…’
“Haha, he’s cute!”
‘Grr, rrwrror’
“He really likes you.”
“R-really? He seems more in’erested in Brava than me…”

The man’s eyes flashed at the statement, but Islay didn’t notice. He licked his lips before suddenly surging forward, clapping his hands in apparent excitement. The Bebop Belle hadn’t a clue what trigger she’d pulled, but all of a sudden the stranger became animated: his yellow suit became clear in the stark sunlight, but his face remained shaded thanks to the slick fedora he wore. Chiffon was the fabric of choice, for the insides of his blazer was clearly silken, on top of the ruffled scruff shirt he donned; his gelled black hair peeked out from under the hat to inspect this new business, but had no effect in distracting from his ever so slightly perturbing eyes: they were intensely fierce, like those of a predator.

“The name’s Hebrides, Hebrides Ranch. I’m a lizard man – need ‘em groomin’, tamin’ or breedin’, I’m the guy you come to, got it missy?” He stated; his was dialect only a little similar to Islay’s, which came as a surprise. Hebrides appeared to have assumed that this was a charming sort of tone, but to Islay it only came across as creepy – and in all honesty it was.

She backed away, tapping Brava a little further back on her shoulder, a little further away from the lizard vendor, as if the danger of her microphone mollusc being eaten was most around the human rather than the actual miniature dragon that stood stock still, tongue still out, still feeling for an opportunity to incite a string of events that it would surely regret.

“Uhh, I’m sure I will Mister Hebrides – though to tell truth I only really want that map you got there.” Mr. Ranch recoiled at the mention of the paper he hadn’t so smoothly stashed in the front pocket of his suit, and recoiled even further when he saw it in the hands of the blue haired jazz aficionado, who had been idly perusing it while the lizard man finished his over the top reactions. He promptly snatched it back, his voice taking a decidedly nastier tone as he said,

“Hey missy! Didn’t your mother teach you not to steal? This here map leads to treasure see, an’ that treasure is mine! Don’t go stickin’ your nose in other people’s business, ya hear?” His warning fell on deaf ears – Islay had stopped listening at the mention of the word treasure, and her eyes were practically beri signs as she read over the map, which she had stolen from Hebrides again.

“Hey! Quit that!” He’d noticed. He snatched it back again, making sure to distance himself from the cerulean exploradora this time to avoid a repeat of the back and forth rapport quickly growing between them.

“Sorry mister, there’s something wrong with your treasure map – it ain’t got any x’s on it! How’re y’all gonna find any treasure if y’all don’t have any x’s? Don’ you know x marks the spot? That’s like, explorin’ 101!” She quizzed. Islay did have a point, after all; a treasure map was useless if it didn’t tell you where the treasure was.

“Hey hey! Keep it down aight? Some’ere in this here circle is where the treasure is. Don’t make your treasure obvious to anyone else – that’s explorin’ 102.” He gestured to the map again before tucking it in his pocket.

“You seem mighty in’erested in treasure for a lil’ gal – say, wha’s ya name missy?”
“I’m Islay, and I’m gon’ find that there treasure~”
“Did I not tell you to keep your nose out? Don’ go lookin’ for none o’ my treasure – I got boys all over Cinna too, so don’t try doin’ it in secret neither!”

“… Damn.”

[Tori Tori Chopper]

'Its all about the method y'know.'

[/center]

Ssssssssssss....

'You find the right match, and the ingredients do the rest.'

Chop chop chop chop chop chop!

[/i][/right]

'Aaand.. Done.'

The bowl seemed to spin quite close to spilling its entire contents in a neat circle, spiralling off the concentrated flame which began to send ripples of heat onto the backdrop of anyone who looked through it, the culprit of this cuisine sliding all sorts of culinary items about the table as the product wobbled off without him. spatulas and tenderisers began to fly about the work-place as the creation came towards its completion, gently slowing itself down in the spot the cook seemed to have anticipated upon pushing it aside, stopping with a raised brow before looking onto the curious audience and then to the chef who looked on with an impressive crook to his mouth. 'Rum?' The chef who had been asked for a specific item of stock seemed entranced enough to not compute the request for a moment, quickly raising a finger to gesture a moment before one of the more burly observers simply offered his own bottle. 'Its pretty strong kid.' The kid in question took the neck of the bottle with his thumb out during the transaction in thanks, pressing it agaisnt the lid before sprinkling only a fraction of the contents that people presumed into the bowl before offering it back with the same thumbs up in thanks. The large gent seemed content with the show and his liquor still full enough to drink merrily while he looked on, clapping agaisnt the bottle as opposed to his hands, as did all once a strong fist into open palm clap of the cooks own signalled the finishing touch and a recipe ready to eat.

'Its something I picked up from a restaurant ship in the east.' As opposed to bowing or addressing the fans, the cook who quickly gained acclaim from his dexterity in the kitchen delved into numerous pockets before pulling out a very brightly patterned book of sorts, a hand extended towards the Chef who offered his own in return, two pieces of paper switching places before both shoved their rewards into back into storages of their clothing. 'Its nice to see the old days of trading haven't been consumed by currency 'lad, you've sure gained a few avid customers here should you ever return... That is if I can't convince you to stay that is.' The lad brushed a finger across his nose, pushing his hair back into a central pointed style before giving a light salute, along with a strange symbol with his fingers that had the Chef questioning whether to simply wave or replicate.. The golden clothed man turning his back and hoisting his equipment over his shoulder before he could make a choice on the matter.

'N-Not even a name laddie?!'
The flocking consumers seemed in the same curiosity.
'I've never been one for faces in my old age.'
It stopped the well-built foreigner in his tracks
'Its Arru. Tall tidings fellow craftsman.'

He had only first intended to buy supplies from the town, it was so desolate and out of the blue, no pun intended.. That the smells coupled with his rumbling stomach aboard the trading ferry simply lured him to investigate the wares rather than sleeping through the momentary stop of his first-rate bus onto the next random adventure. Since he had left Iailoon, his days had meshed into his weeks, leaving his hunger and well-being as the only concerns, collecting recipes to try the next town over only became a hobby once someone noticed his unique cooking style. The sparkling utensils sticking out of a bag of questionable origin to people only preferable to the safer parts of the world were suited to make only a certain kind of food, that apparently being proven wrong every time someone requests one of his own savoury meals in return for their own secrets of food nature. What he had been falling victim to recently however was his nose sticking itself in more than just fantastic flavours, while his taste for new feasts was being satisfied from island to island, only the more rowdy folk would look upon Arru to exchange fists with. If there was any kind of hunger in regards to the one known in his home-town as the Golden Gong? It was for a little more spice in these adventures.

Now the naive tourist boasted experience in his short time at sea, yet the sight of a interesting creature that he had not yet encountered put more sparkle in his eye than the cheers he obtained previously from his presentation, something which wasn't very surprising when coming from the mind-wandering brawler.. But priorities should be weighed when you find yourself drooling over a cold blooded reptile, as opposed to a hot dish. The man who tried to catch as much of the shade as possible didn't take notice to Arru, who had admittedly shimmied in from the side to observe and then challenge to a staring contest the big eyed and forked tongue creature which had wrapped itself around the supports of the building. '... Hello.' Like it was going to respond, a hand was raised and placed on the Lizards head before it slowly tried to escape the newcomer to its presumable common lounging spot. 'Ah, I see.. Sorry for interrupting.' He gave a bow to the slowly rising creature, who seemed to not care any less for the mans manners, instead simply getting higher to avoid any other limbs being pressed agaisnt it. Speaking of body-parts, ears twitched, eyebrows raised, a tune which Arru had not been familiar too since his early islands right after leaving home plucked the right strings.

'I could have a look at that if you want.'
His hand swerved around the man as he retreated from one person right into the next, the man then leaping back towards the apparently loud woman who attracted Arru in the first place.

'You pinchers are comin' out the woodwork!'
He reached over to obtain what was once again plucked from his pockets, only to meet a bit more resistance than he had the considerably petite woman behind him by comparison.

'You have a point here...' He flicked away at the map like he knew exactly what he was talking about, peering around the flailing body of the man attempting to pull Arru's arm from it's observing position. 'Theres not an X on here, the large circle would make just make it harder for even you to find it, if you have this map to remember where you put it in the first place.' As he released the map, the man tumbled backward and towards the ground, only to quickly be pulled back to his feet by a reached out grasp while Arru walked closer to the female of the conversation. Had the map been more specific, he may have seen hope to obtained the treasure himself, after all any sort of funding towards his travels meant the processes of discovery would not be delayed by small part-time jobs to get from place to place, not to mention ingredients. 'Sorry for bothering you, good luck in your treasure hunt through.' He bowed, the same interesting hand gesture passing by as she addressed only the woman, as opposed to the older man who looked on in confusion while organising his apparel and finding a better place to put the map. If only treasure hunting was as easy as an X on a map.. It would cut out the middle man and make finding gold and all sorts a simple task, maybe one day he would find one, as he wandered off towards the many cooking stands around the town.
[/size][/blockquote]

[White Mimic]

“And in the grand historical twines of time, we return to that which is oh so periodic. Like an obsessive musician who tries and tries but can’t get correct the one bar of his symphony, repeating the notes over, and over, and over, repeating, repeating, repea-”

“Someone SHUT HIM UP!”

The squeaking of pulleys and taut stretching of the ropes overlay the sounds of the ocean as a single lifeboat with a single passenger was lowered into the water, the man sitting with his legs crossed and a bored posture. “-peating, repeating, repeating, repeating,” With every utterance of the word, the lowering of the life boat seemed to grow faster and faster, though the man made no particular note of it. He was more engrossed with the horizon, the sky against the sea and the line drawn between the two. Now, ordinarily, the horizon at sea was nothing to sneeze at, no beauty, no real ugliness, just a bland color gradient of sudden occurrence and no marks of individuality. Boring. However, this time was one of those occurences where the usual line was upset by the blemish of nature and civilization, an island, how quaint.

“repeating, repeating…” His voice trailed off a bit as the lifeboat hit the waves started rocking to the motion of the water as opposed to the swaying of the ropes. Of course, the silence took a few of the sailors on the ship by surprise and they felt the need to indulge their curiosity, casting their eyes over the edge to the man in the lifeboat. He sat on the side of it, staring out away from the ship, silent and motionless for all but a few seconds. The tension was broken when he continued.

“…and repeating, repeating,”

“I swear to god just! GO! AWAY!” One of the sailors didn’t want to go through the process of detaching the life boat by the typical means and simply began to saw through the ropes with a cutlass. Being rid of this man was worth the loss of the rope. Many of the other sailors followed his lead and within a minute, their teamwork had hacked through the large cords tethering the life boat to the ship. Below, the lifeboat looked like a wooden octopus with jute tentacles spiraling through the water, though some of course landed heavily on the boat, one slamming down on the man’s left shoulder with a pop. The man continued looking ahead and “repeating”, though deftly he removed the ropes in the boat and, after he had cleared the little space he hand, brought a hand up to his left shoulder. Continuing to speak the word endlessly, he gave the shoulder a few squeezes and rubs in various areas before suddenly wrenching it up, again with a loud pop. The rope must’ve dislocated his arm and he had taken it upon himself to mend it quickly. The sight was disturbing and shocking for the majority of the sailors watching him as they set the course to leave him adrift. The man had said he was a doctor, and after an extended period of time with him, the ship’s crew had quickly doubted the sincerity of such a claim. No doctor in their right mind would teach such a person the practice. Still, the sailors weren’t cruel people, setting a lone man adrift at sea, no. He would be Cinna’s problem now.

As the ship began sail away from the man in his little wooden octopus, he glanced over at the island in the distance. A good balance, nothing boring, no clichés, yes this was comfortable. But that was about when the boat, free in its unstable drift began to rotate.

“…no…” Slowly and surely, the island crept further and further along the man’s perspective of the horizon. It inched gradually towards the center. “No, no… nooo… No, Nooo… N-NO, NO, NO, NO, NO-” His eyes widened and his voice flustered with varying passions as the perfect balance was destroyed by the usual symmetry. Rule of thirds broken, over-balance achieved, dreams shattered, and all because of this wretched ocean. It wasn’t fair to move an easel while an artist was at work. Horrible, just horrible!

“Dammit, BORING! It’s BORING, UGLY. I can’t- this is- GAH!” The man stood up in the boat and kicked its interior, hard. Not hard enough to break it, he wasn’t THAT enraged but still, had he been capable of it, the pain would have been unbearable. “Hmph. Can’t be helped I suppose.” He reached down and picked up one of the oars that were kept on the lower inside walls, a strong wooden tool that seemed to have seen its fair share of adventure, a chip on one side of its paddle. Elegant, characteristic, the man gripped the oar head tightly and slid it into the water, doing the same with the other. One way or the other, he was looking at the over balance of symmetry so he might as well work his way to a means of survival and continued travel.

This specific occurrence of rejection was not special in any particular way. In fact, it was quite typical. Gaining passage across the Blues on a ship not specifically prepared for the task of taking Picasso aboard generally ended in his eventual removal, one way or another, from the unfortunate vessel. No one could say for sure what the problem was that lead to this inevitable conclusion, Picasso never told the same story twice and his word couldn’t be trusted in this regard, and the ship’s crew were too uncomfortable to ever revisit the events. Spending enough time with the doctor, however, one could discern the likely events that always lead to his tragic fate, and of course the various reasons he could never find a long term medical position. Yes, for now, the journey for a place to work would continue, just as it always had.