Post by Terminally Chill on Jan 3, 2013 1:12:27 GMT -5
“Huh man...?”
Beads of salty spray flicked against a certain sleeping musician's scruffy face. That musician was Gavin Amadeus D'Arras of course; there were few who would sleep out in the open when sailing through the world's most dangerous sea. The constant barrage of sea mist finally accomplished the impressive task of stirring Gavin from his lazy slumber. He opened a bleary eye, peering to the billowing sail above him. The sea had grown restless since the shaggy songwriter fell asleep. A steady breeze whipped across the waters and a constant succession of choppy waves to batter the proud mallard of a ship, the remnants making it to the ship's top where Gavin was snoozing. A loud yawn escaped Gavin's lips as he wiped the sleep away from his eyes. As the world transformed from a blurred mess, a green blob caught his hazy gaze. Gavin raised a curious eyebrow as he was finally able to focus on the peculiar object.
“Uh... Hey man.”
A cactus was totally staring at him.
Well, it wasn't really staring at him. Cacti don't have eyes. This cactus did have shades though, and the glasses' position certainly gave the appearance of staring. The odd plant's outfit also included a bandana tied around just above it's two arm-like stems. A small cowboy hat atop its “head” made the cactus's Resinbar origins obvious. Although the desert island harbored cactus of impressive size and shape, this cactus was no more than a foot tall. The spiky stowaway remained stoically silent, resting in a small pot at its base. Gavin scratched his head, blinking in the face of the cactus's unwavering gaze. Gavin's hadn't noticed the cactus in the particular spot before he fell asleep. Actually, he didn't notice the cactus on the ship at all in the week since their departure from Resinbar. The bard shrugged the strange passenger off. After all, Gavin wasn't the most observant person in the great pirate era. Turning away from the random desert plant, Gavin looked ahead over the stirring waves. There was still no sign of land.
Nolan's method of navigation had proven to be unique, to say the least. The trio was offered some an object called a “Log Pose” and told it was essential to sail through the Grand Line effectively, but Nolan refused. The ragtag “crew” were making their way through the Grand Line mostly based on the whims of Nolan's scarf. Sure, the unlikely guide possessed basic navigating knowledge, but the treasured cloth around his neck was doing most of the work. The scarf had put the ship in perilous predicaments, but so far none of the globetrotters were corpses. While Nolan's unorthodox navigation was keeping them in one piece, they hadn't encountered another island. The trio's wounds from their Red Tide turmoil were on the mend, but their health wouldn't last long if they stayed at sea. The canned food provided by Resinbar was running low at this point. Supplies were necessary if their first voyage at sea wasn't going to end in disaster.
The situation was lost on Gavin; starvation wasn't exactly aconcern. The wanderer simply wished to stretch his legs since being cooped up was harshing his mellow. Gavin finally stood up, pushing himself from the ship's mast with a chorus of cracking joints. The troubadour unleashed one last yawn before retrieving a piece of clothing from the ship's top. Gavin's slim arms slipped through the sleeves of a blue-and-black flannel shirt, a piece of new clothing found in Resinbar. Considering his previous clothes were turned into a bloody mess in his ferocious fight with Thumper, a new attire was in order. The outfit kept true to Gavin's unassuming sense of style: underneath the flannel was a white shirt with the design of a cassette tape on the front. A pair of dark gray shorts and a new pair of sandals completed the vagabond's revamped appearance. The dark red cap continued to tame Gavin's wild mane, having endured through Thumper's beating. Despite being “new,” Gavin had already managed to make the clothing look like a disheveled mess.
The strummer retrieved his most prized position, slinging his guitar across his shoulder and stretching out his legs. Gavin left the mystery cactus in silence, descending to the deck with an agile hop. A quick turn brought Gavin to the entryway into the ship's quarters. He let out another yawn as he walked down the small set of stairs that led to the room. The great duck's innards were rather cramped, but the modest dwelling was enough to keep the trio safe from the elements. The room was in absolute disarray, the globetrotters' belongings and what was left of their rations strewn about the floor. A few hammocks were hung above the chaotic mess, although the extent of their use was questionable. A screen of smoke greeted the guitarist as he entered the room, making the presence of a certain fiery femme certain.
“When are we going to get to another island, man? I'm getting booooored.”