Windmill Wanderers Apr 2, 2013 1:32:59 GMT -5
Post by Terminally Chill on Apr 2, 2013 1:32:59 GMT -5
A calamitous crash crushed the quiet calm of Millton. Wood and plaster shrapnel ruptured outward as a single steel sole exploded through an unfortunate building's wall. The citizens roaming Windia's windmill-dotted industrial sector gasped, stunned by ear-breaking noise that had gripped their peaceful town.
“Get back here, bastard!”
Beck the Fighter emerged from the ruined rubble, dirtied but bulldozing forward despite the “minor” obstacle. The drunkard's bloodshot eyes were focused with deadly precision, reddened face wild with a predator's ferocity. He was hunting. The target fled with inhuman speed, standing well above the Flat Farm folk as it darted through them. Beck was barely keeping up, a reality made obvious by the frustrated veins pulsing in his forehead. Regardless, the wasted warrior continued his sloppy pursuit.
The fleeing figure took a sharp turn between two Windia workshops in attempt to lose the bounty hunter. Beck's sole sparked against the cobblestone as he made the same turn, nearly tumbling to the ground in his intoxicated state. Upon clearing the corner, the boozing bruiser found his prey cursing at a dead end. No longer moving in a blur, the runner's features were finally visible. The man had a lanky frame, fit with wiry muscle and dressed in only floral shorts and sandals. A sharply pointed nose was one of many distinguishing features, a mane of wild black hair whipping behind him as he turned to face his inebriated enemy. As Beck looked closer, it became apparent the bounty head wasn't a man at all. The azure hue of his skin was the first giveaway, but the oddest feature the man possessed was a brilliant blue fin starting at his head and traveling the length of his back.
He was a fishman. A sailfish fishman, to be exact.
“Heh. I knew it was you. You're that Red Tide Pirates courier!”
Beck finally caught his breath, taking a pull of rum as he collected himself. He suddenly ripped a scrap of paper from his jacket, displaying the fishman's malicious mug plastered on the front.
DEAD OR ALIVE
“FLASH FIN” RIGAN
Straightening up to return to his usual menacing stance, the drunken destroyer flashed a dagger-tooth grin. The fishman known as Rigan shifted uneasily, reluctantly readying himself for the coming conflict.
“I hear you're one of the fastest in the Blues. Guess that don't mean shit on land, huh?” Beck let out an unimpressed snort. He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep drag from his cigarette. “I don't know why you're here in a place like this, but you're an easy 4 mill as far as I see.” A thick cloud of smoke enveloped the alcoholic's animalistic features.
“I'm bringin' you in.”
“Beck the Fighter, I take it?” Rigan spoke calmly, voice devoid of fear despite the knowledge of Beck's violent reputation. “Your first mistake...”
The flash fin's arms dropped to his side, webbed fingers outstretched. The faint sight of liquid dripping from each digit could be seen. Beck raised an eyebrow, unsure of what the cornered courier was planning.
“... Was underestimating me on land!”
Beck's shoes snapped from the concrete the instant Rigan made a move. The sail back flicked his hands forward. The rummed-up rumbler found was halted, back slamming roughly against the ground before he realized what happened. Opening his eyes, Beck found his vision blurred from disorientation instead of drink. Shaking his head, the boozing barbarian touched his suit jacket. The spot where one of the bullet-force blows had struck. Beck looked to his hand, expecting his fingertips to be stained crimson. However, the liquid was clear.
'Water...?' Beck rubbed the substance between his fingers, murky mind attempting to make some sense of what landed him on his back. The drunken desperado was given little time to dwell on Rigan's unorthodox fighting style, as the fishman in question was making a breakneck sprint passed the fallen fighter.
One of the smoker's shins suddenly carved through the air just as Rigan rushed by, sweeping the fishman's legs from beneath him with brutal efficiency. The flash fin crashed into the street, letting out a grunt full of more frustration than pain. The sail fishman's sandals gripped the ground once more as he scrambled to stand. An ominous shadow enveloped Rigan as he finally began his flight once more. The Red Tide runner turned, eyes widened in shock as a monstrous force descended upon him until...
The concrete caved beneath a single skull-crushing stomp. Rigan's head was buried into the shattered mess, Beck letting out his usual barbaric battle cry as he drove his enemy into the street with one decisive blow. “Flash Fin” made not effort of moving, face bloodied, eyes blank and body slightly twitching after receiving the brunt of Beck's ridiculous strength. The alcoholic assailant grunted, straightening out his suit jacket and spitting blood onto the crumbled crater. A drink of rum washed the taste of iron from his mouth and dulled the pain of Rigan's mysterious water-slinging.
Windia workers peeked around the corner of the dead-end alley, eyes bugged out upon witnessing the carnage the sloshed stranger had caused. Amid the destruction, Beck caught a glimpse of an envelope discarded on the ground. While Rigan was nothing more than beri in hand to the drunken brawler, he couldn't help but be curious as to why a courier would be in a place like Flat Farm Island. Beck ripped the thick envelope open, unfolding the contents. The first page was a hastily-scrawled letter.
The twins and I were defeated in Resinbar. We retreated to the West Blue from the Grand Line. My deepest apologies for our failure. The posters of the three responsible are included.
May the spilling of their blood fuel the Red Tide.
- Commander Thumper”
Beck raised an eyebrow, unsure of what sort of event transpired in Resinbar and who this “Thumper” character was. The Red Tide Pirates were vaguely known to the bounty hunter. Their name only held weight because a few of their lower cronies had bounties in the west and were on Beck's radar. Rigan included. With a shrug, Beck carelessly discarded the letter onto Rigan's motionlessly body.
The posters were directly behind the letter. The first of them was an unassuming kid with an aloof manner, hair an unkempt mess and a guitar held on his lap. How the hell did this guy defeat anyone?
DEAD OR ALIVE
“SIX STRING SLINGER” GAVIN D'ARRAS
Regardless of how harmless he looked, the rookie possessed an impressive bounty. Beck moved the guitarist named Gavin aside, looking to the stone-faced girl beneath. A set of goggles sat atop her eyesore head of emerald hair. The chick looked like she had more fight in her than the musician, but had she really gone toe-to-toe with pirates in the Grand Line?
DEAD OR ALIVE
“LITTLE CONQUEROR” WINRY SAITO
The last of the posters made Beck let out a chuckle. Pictured was a blonde kid with a purple scarf and matching headband, face the picture of someone scared out of their mind. If the Gavin was unassuming, the hammered hunter wasn't sure what to call the last of the trio.
DEAD OR ALIVE
“LUCKY SCARF” NOLAN WARD
Did Thumper send the wrong posters over? Or maybe the Marines got the wrong pictures? Perhaps Beck was saving three unknowing nobodies an untimely death. Still, an 83-million-beri haul was nothing to scoff at.
“These kids look like a joke to me, but I'll hold onto these just in case.” The fighter stuffed the three posters into his suit jacket. After all, Rigan wouldn't need them where he was going. “Guess all the action's in the Grand Line.” Beck took a smooth drag from his cigarette, eying the fishman to make sure he stayed in place. The fighter placed a foot on his catch's back to make sure.
Soon enough familiar footsteps cut through the buzz of the murmuring crowd. The man Beck was waiting for had finally arrived. The western waster shot his company a venomous look, sneering after taking a great gulp of rum.
“Just where the fuck have you been?!”