Gold Dream Childcare Service (GDP)

[.::Haseo On The Clouds::.]

(My RP'ing skills are rusty so excuse the grammar issues.)

Blue skies, cloudless, blue sea, gentle...

The Gold Dream Ship...CHAOS.

"AHHH! What the hell! WHAT THE HELL!!" For the fiftieth time he had checked the map, and for the hundredth time he had looked over the log pose. A wave of frustration and confusion had crashed over the him as of this point as he tried so desperately to figure out how to navigate the ship. Under normal circumstances, the young captain would have no issues at all navigating the seas, after all he was quite adept at finding his way around even before recruiting a navigator, However, the Grand Line was a tricky beast, always unpredictable and taunting, a sea that even the captain of the Gold Dream Pirates had some difficulty in handling at certain times. Unfortunately for him, now was one of those times.

Thinking back, Haseo had wished that he could've foreseen Basil's early signs of illness, but he wasn't a doctor, how could he have known that Basil would grow dangerously sick!? As of then, even Kikuya was baffled at first by the sudden degradation of Basil's health but this was the Grand Line. Falling ill in these waters has always been a hazard. It was just unfortunate for Basil that Kikuya was so heavily focused on mending Haseo's wounds. If she was so preoccupied with his fatal injuries, Kikuya would have most likely seen through Basil's health condition to immediately handle the situation before it had escalated. Now, Haseo's navigator was out of action, leaving Kikuya to tend to him and Haseo to handle the ship and its course of direction.

Now of course, the Black Knight would take occasional visits to check up on his navigator. He would get any sort of advice that he was able to be given under Basil's mumbling and would return to his post, scratch his head, and hope that he would get lucky in striking land. Sadly, no such luck had fallen onto him.

Pacing back and forth on the recently mopped deck, Haseo tackled the mental battle of figuring out just where in the hell he was. The skies were blue, and there were no signs of any abnormalities in the weather, at least that was good. But after sailing on the Grand Line for so long, he had come to be cautious of the bipolar conditions of the great sea. Wet footprints followed his steps as the deck had not dried yet. Occasionally, dust from Haseo's feet stuck to the floor, leaving a faint dust print behind he paced back and forth.

Why hasn't he been able to make any progress? He had been following the white arrow for a week now but all that seems to have happened thus far was...absolutely nothing.

"Weird! You're supposed to follow the white arrow right!? Or...or is it the red one!? AGHHH!" Falling onto his back, he layed there, holding his left hand over his growling stomach. He hadn't eaten since the noon of three days ago, all due to the lack of supplies on the ship. After the crew had set sail once more, the number of food supplies had shrunk to scarcely minimal amounts. Being chased by marines, there was no other choice but to hurry aboard and leave without stocking up and now they were starving.

"This...this is bad. I c-can't think straight at all. If I don't eat...I won't be able work. I wish that a Sea King would just try to attack, I could go for some meat right now. Looking up the skies introduced the first clouds that he had seen in several days. White fluffy kinds, shaped like marshmallows and ice cream, meat and noodle bowls. With his stomach growling again, Haseo shut his eyes. "A little break wouldn't kill me now...would it?" A wave gentle sprayed water on the recently mopped deck, sprinkling Haseo's metal face before he dozed off to sleep.

[Vio]

A former officer agent of Baroque Works, Miss Goldenweek had become a wanted criminal during her time serving with the syndicate led by none other than the Shichibukai, Crocodile. However, after she and her partner had been defeated by the Straw Hat crew on Little Garden, the youth had severed practically all connections with her former associates. In truth, the last thing she really did was help free some of her comrades, and together they had reformed the Spider's café in Alabasta.

That peaceful life had come to an end, however. While the other former agents of Baroque Works had been happy to stay at the café, the artist's personal dream had slowly taken a hold of her heart more so than ever before. Tired of the endless desert that was the island of Alabasta, Miss Goldenweek had set off an adventure of her own, a journey to become a legendary artist. Of course, considering previous actions, she was not without difficulties in her adventures. Despite the destruction of Baroque Works two years ago, the World Government were still running minor operations in an attempt to apprehend the former criminals and had thus far succeeded in capturing the painter...


Miss Goldenweek stared with unblinking eyes at the superior officer, standing there on the deck of the Marine vessel that had found her small boat drifting at sea. With absolutely no idea where she was going - let alone attempting to get a Log Pose for navigation - she had been adrift between islands, surviving on an abundance of rice crackers, tea and sheer luck. The ship had intended to take the criminal straight to the nearest base, but vicious storm-wracked seas had forced the Marines to take a less direct route.

The officer stared back at the girl, attempting, and failing, to sustain the gaze. Of course, Miss Goldenweek was not actually staring at him, but rather her mind was drifting away with the clouds above, the vast majority of her brainpower devoted to the development of a new piece of artwork, mixing and melding the incessant quantities of blue and white in her surroundings. All she needed now were her brush, paints, palette and canvas... and maybe a rice cracker. Unfortunately, all of those things, even the rice crackers, had been confiscated by the Marines upon her capture.

The Marines had not been without their reasons when they captured her, considering exactly what had happened as soon as her feet had met the deck of the ship. Several of the seamen had ended up sitting and drinking tea with the artist for the best part of five minutes, until the superior officer had arrived on the deck and set them straight. Hypnosis was a powerful weapon in the right hands, but, those hands did not really belong to Miss Goldenweek. Her Nagomi no Midori Colours Trap had effectively rendered the men helpless. While the event was hilarious, the young artist regretted it, sort of, especially since the officers had taken away her most valuable possessions.

"Can I go, now?" Asked Miss Goldenweek, her voice quite monotonous and eyes glazing over as she continued to paint a mental picture. Of all the things that intimidated her, the bellowing of this officer was not one of them, especially considering her attentions were being devoted to more pressing matters. Though, is painting a picture more pressing than being arrested? Miss Goldenweek's answer was obvious by her current train of thought. There's too much blue for that to work. It just looks like I'd be painting the sea and sky. Oh, I could paint a Marine emerging from the waves! I can blend the colours of the sea into the trousers, then the squall can form into the shirt! Maybe...

"No! You're under arrest!" Shouted the officer, his brow furrowed in aggravation at the apparent ignorance of the aspiring artist. Again, she was not purposefully making a nuisance of herself, it was just the way people reacted to her. On the outside, she seemed lazy and blissfully ignorant of the world, on the inside she was very thorough, however, never skipping a detail that could be incorporated into her paintings. After a moment of silent staring, the officer finished the conversation, or lack of, there and then. "Take her to the brig, and take her tools to the storerooms. We'll be out of these waters soon, men. Then we can hand her over to base and get her out of our hair!"

[Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro]

There were not words to accurately describe just how unhappy Weiss right now. Now, that he had overheard a number of coarse swears in his short life. One would never encounter back home, as his father had a rather strict policy when it came to language (As he did with everything else, for that matter) and came down harshly on any infringements. However, there were few forces on this blue planet capable of suppressing a sailor’s tongue. And now, even armed with a bouquet of the bawdiest curses this side of the Line, he still found he was woefully unprepared to vocalize the depths of his frustration. Worst still was that most, if not all of that feeling was directed entirely towards himself.

But before all that, let’s take a step back.

It all started a couple of weeks past, back in the North Blue. Anxious as he was to put as much distance between him and Por Vora as possible, the runaway had taken some chances that he probably ought not to have. The idea had been solid at first; about as solid as week-old pudding, but that was mostly only something he could say in hind sight. He was in dire need of passage on a ship. Given the prominence of Merchant ships in some way attached to the Laskaris name or purse strings, he was not sure how good of an idea it would have been to pursue that avenue of transport. So instead, he looked towards other options. What sort of ship came and went from major ports frequently, was large enough for a twelve year old to stow away on without too much fuss, and was very likely to travel a long distance away? Honestly, he wouldn’t have been that surprised if he had run into someone else hiding down in the hold of the Marine galley sitting at the dock. It was a solid idea. In theory.

Well, after about a day of huddling behind a crate every time a board so much as creaked, Weiss got a little bored. Not to mention hungry. So he had started pushing his luck and venturing out from his hole whenever he had the opportunity. First his raids were limited to the kitchen, but they eventually expanded outward until he was crawling out of the Captain’s Cabin through a vent, clutching some jewelry he had seen the man ‘confiscate’ while harassing some locals. Each of his little heists gave him a rush, satisfying a deep seated need he had not known he had. Plus, if you think about it, Marines were generally jerks anyway. The little thief had learned that one, the hard way. It was a wound that was still a little too raw for him to ponder on too long. Regardless, his activities were basically karma in action.

Unfortunately, the Marines did not share his views. He had been caught, loot and all. They summarily reclaimed their possessions, and then kicked the hell out of him. By the time he reclaimed his senses, they had dumped him off on the nearest island, just in time to receive an extremely biased and unfair trial in front of a Navy judge. In the end he ended up doing community service on Ice Nine, a place so unreasonably cold that it would literally freeze vessels inside the harbor if they came by at the wrong season. Which is a notion Weiss would have, after growing up in a place that might have seen snow on one or two occasions in his lifetime, considered ludicrous had he not skated out over the water with his own two feet. All in all, the sentence was actually kind of… nice. He met a girl about his age there, Tsun, who was absolutely fascinated which everything and anything mechanical in nature. The two of them butted heads for quite a while, literally in one case. But they ended up becoming good friends, or at least he hoped they had. She was borderline brilliant, not that he was likely to say that to her face, but at the same time he had seen hammers less blunt than that girl. In the end it had been her intervention along with a few other friends he had made on the island that had enabled him to escape. An entire year on that ice cube, shoveling sidewalks? He would eat his hat before sticking around that long. That is, he would if he owned a hat. Running at full tilt, with a small mob of angry soldiers on his heels, he had made a split second decision. In short, he had hopped on the first tub that seemed just about ready to launch, and hid himself away inside a spare container. The gambit paid off, and he managed to slip away from his pursuers without any more fuss. It wasn’t until later that day when they were already well at sea that he figured out what sort of craft fate had led him to. That knowledge had felled him as surely as any blade. He was on a Marine ship. AGAIN.

Back in the present, Weiss was still kicking himself over not checking the sail before he boarded. Curled up in the bottom of a water-stained barrel, he jammed the orange he had been munching on back into his mouth. The cirtrus-y fruits had been the previous occupant of his current accommodations, and while he had dumped most of them into the water in order to make his stay more comfortable, he had kept a bag for his own consumption. It was all he could do to keep from gnashing his teeth.

Fortune, if one could call anything that had happened to him lately particularly fortunate, was that the sailors aboard had never patched the small coin-sized hole in his gnarled wooden shelter. It served as an effective peephole, letting him keep an eye on people’s comings and goings, and providing him a marginal amount of entertainment. When he wasn’t fiddling with the various tools, bits, and bolts Tsun had given him by what little light filtered in around him, he either had his eye glued to that crevice, or was asleep. A monotonous way to pass time, but at least he wasn’t in chains this time.

Which actually brought him very neatly to his next point. A clamor on deck had roused him from his mid-morning nap with a jolt. His first thought was that he had been discovered, but seeing as the lid on the barrel was still tightly shut, and that he was not currently being dragged away kicking and screaming, that surely was not that case. Drawn by curiosity, he stood upright to see what was going on. There was an auburn-haired girl sitting in the middle of the deck, having a polite conversation with the cluster of marines around her. While he couldn’t assess her age from his vantage point, he could tell she was pretty young. And from what he could see of her outfit was enough to make him roughly 99.9% sure she wasn’t a marine herself. Even still the men around her seemed perfectly content with her presence, going so far as to help pour her tea, so logically she had to be associate with them somehow. Or so Weiss thought, up until another officer wearing the gaudy ornamentation of a higher rank came along and arrested her. They even had the gall to strip the strange lass of her belongings before unceremoniously dragging her away. The sight bothered him. Maybe it was because of the friend he had made on his previous venture, or maybe it was a pang of sympathy after having just been in a similar situation not too long ago, but either way he found himself rather wishing he could do something about it. After a minute or so of contemplation, he realized how silly the notion was. Riding in like some kind of hero. A more likely scenario was that he would make it two steps before being tossed in a cell. Admittedly locks were not a particular barrier for one such as him, thanks to that. However that would not prevent him from being clubbed over the head by some burly white-hat. Slumping against the rough wall behind him, he fell back onto his knees, dissatisfied. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’ Chimed a cold, dispassionate voice in the back of his mind. ‘Just keep your head down, and we can get out of this safely.’

Yeah, sure. But he didn’t have to like it.

SPOILER: Click to show

(Sorry for the delay folks. Dem exams.)

[Vio]

The brig. Pleasantly cool, but oppressively dim. Not the best place to relax, that was for certain, and for once Miss Goldenweek would actually be in agreement with the 'Average Joe'. The stifling lack of colour in the barred cells of the ship's own prison, not to mention the severe lack of tea and rice crackers, was preventing the aspiring artist from being able to paint on her imaginary canvas. Outside, amongst the varying shades of blue and green and white, the auburn youth had been able to craft out a potential masterpiece. However, the gloom of the jail cell did not allow for such creativity; amongst iron grey of the cell bars and the grim brown of the wooden walls, the only real splashes of colour came from her own outfit and the uniforms of the two marines who stood guard.

Why is there so little colour on these ships? Don't they ever get bored of seeing the same thing over and over? Staring directly at the closest guardsman, the former Baroque Works agent seemed to be probing the very soul of her captor. The marine himself stood tall and proud, as any loyal seaman would in the face of a 'criminal' such as herself; narrow jades gazed with dignity and purpose, back straight, feet together, arms firm to his sides. The only thing that was unnerving the otherwise splendid display of naval devotion was the endless void; the unfaltering stare of the placid painter as she sat in the middle of her cell.

"Hn. You, stop staring! You should be considering the punishment for your crimes! Jeez." Averting his gaze momentarily, as the marine looked back towards the girl he had just scolded unnecessarily, he found that her penetratingly hollow eyes had not left from their previous position. Little did he know that the painter in practice was no longer staring at him, but now into the wonderland that was her own imagination.
Maybe I can make something out of this. If you look at it right, it looks as if the marine is the one behind bars... That has a very deep meaning, perfect for a painting! Always one to observe, but not always to perceive, Miss Goldenweek sat in complete silence. Contemplating not an attempt for escape, but rather a way to capture the inverse perspective of the painting she intended to create.

...I could really do with some tea, though... Breaking her state of trance, the frame of the usually calm girl swapped from a sitting position into a foetal one; knees raised, forehead resting gently upon them, arms embracing her legs. It was rare she went this long without tea and rice crackers. Perhaps withdrawal symptoms were beginning to manifest? No. The reality was she was bored out her mind at the severely depressing atmosphere of what should normally be a lively seafaring vessel.

[Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro]

There were certain distinguished individuals in this world who act without thought for their own wellbeing. Even less, when faced with a true and present danger. In his heart of hearts, he truly believed those select few capable mustering the conviction to perform such feats for the sake of others, should be lauded for their bravery and courage. A real humanitarian in this day and age seemed rarer than anything else on the seas.

With that said, Weiss did not share in any of these saintly qualities in the least.

His heart pounding like a piston in his chest and his teeth grinding to a similar tempo, it took all the boy had to keep from tearing his hair out from worry. Half of his mind was still in a state of shock at this own actions, while the other busied itself by chewing him a proverbial new one. ‘This is bad. This is really bad. I should not being doing this, this is a horrible idea. Whhhy.’ Burying his face in his hands was the only response he could think of at the moment, mostly out of shame. That was something people did though when they were being arrested, wasn’t it? Look ashamed? Man, this was his second time playing at this song and dance. You’d think he might know these things by now.

“Are you sure we have to throw him in the brig?” Asked the skinny uniformed fellow, who currently had hold of the young thief’s collar and was letting him hang a foot or so off the ground was they walked like a particularly unhappy-looking sack of groceries. He had already tried a few halfhearted attempts to escape that demeaning grip, but it was like a damn vice.

The man alongside him was an officer, older guy, with the sort of rounded belly that is typically attributed to consumption of alcohol in large amount. “Rules are pretty strict about stowaways, man.” From the way he talked, he did not sound much like an officer either. Still, despite the grey hairs and stubbly beard, he was the one who ran Weiss down in the first place. The dude could move was quicker than he would have guessed. Well, the point had been to get caught anyway, as much as the different fibers of his being writhed at the idea. He had intentionally decided to act before he had time to consider exactly what he was doing. When they had first spotted him hiding inside the coiled mooring line, he had been a hair’s breadth from scrapping the whole idea and high tailing it into another section of the ship. It was certainly not the case that the decision had been made for him. No, he definitely could have gotten away if he had put his mind to it. This was just part of the plan. “We’ll stick him on a boat and ship him back home next time we make port.” That statement was the most sobering of all. Despite mental reassurances that he was in control here, the idea of being sent hog tied back to Por Vora made his skin crawl.

“Yeah, I know all that. But he’s a kid, not a pirate. Can’t we stick him in one of the spare cabins?” For all the sympathetic sailor’s good intentions, what he was suggesting would positively destroy any chance he had of getting near the strange girl he had seen on deck. Still, it was a tempting offer. A cushy ride to the next island, good food, a nice bed. An armed guard, a crew all informed of his presence and general appearance to restrict his movements, a rather likely inquiry sent out across the radio about missing children on nearby islands in the North Blue. Maybe they’d even give him a nice seagull cap before dumping him on the Lask. Trading Company vessel they came across. Hell no. Screw these marine jackasses. In for one berri, in for ten.

Twisting around suddenly, Weiss latched onto his captor’s wrist and dragged himself close enough to sink his teeth into one of the unwitting fellow’s fingers. The effect was immediate. First, pain spurred him into releasing the offending juvenile. And second, he used his opposite hand to clutch at the fast-reddening wound while at the same time making an astute observation of what had just come to pass. “AAGHH! He bit me!” Surely, a master of deduction.

Landing nimbly on his feet, the runaway immediately leapt into action. When in at disadvantageous situation, it is always best to play to your strengths. In his case, one of the best weapons available to younger folk is to play off of expectations. People tended to accept anything that confirmed their personal opinions. So if they suspect you’re just a bratty kid, and then you act like a bratty kid, then they will assume you are indeed a kid of the brat variety. He made a show of stomping on the now bleeding Marine’s foot, then running a short ways and declaring loudly: “You’ll never catch me alive!” With the sort of gusto that only children and mental patients can project.

Needless to say, less than a minute later he was sitting on cold concrete while they slammed the door closed in front of him. The man who had once advocated keeping him out of a cell now seemed the greatest proponent of locking him up in one. “Now, stay put ya’ little monster.” He ordered, sounding more than satisfied about the boy’s punishment. As the pair that escorted him filled out of the room, Weiss caught a mumble along the lines of, “I think I need stitches...” The words brought a smug look to his face. That’ll teach him to treat people like luggage. Could have at least asked whether not he wanted to walk on his own.

"Oh, suck it up!"

The urge to stick his tongue out after them was a powerful one, but one he suppressed. One, because doing so would have been childish and petty. And second, and the more important of the two by far, was that someone else was watching him. Dropping the defiant child act for the moment (Yes it was an act, all part of the plan dangit), his head swiveled over to where the girl sat in the cell next to his. Apparently the marines had not wanted to put them in the same cell, but given how the space between the bars was wide enough for a person to slip their arm through, they might as well have. In retrospect, Weiss hadn't really stopped to consider whether the person he was trying to help was dangerous or not. Youth doesn't make you any less dangerous; he was a living testament to that. It was too late to start chickening out now though.

Mustering his courage, the kid said the first thing that came to mind. "Man. The room service here is terrible."

SPOILER: Click to show

I... actually forgot. I'm sorry Vio D:

[Vio]

The quiet trance that the petite painter had adopted was soon broken when the cell next to her own became occupied. The grating sounds of the cell door opening and clanging shut provoked her into raising her head, eyes focusing upon the new inmate. A boy, perhaps of similar age to herself, with hair of the most fascinating colours; light blond blending into a beautiful bright blue. Honestly, this boy was the most vibrant example of blending colours she had gazed upon these last few days, a stark contrast to the boring browns and greys of the brig itself.

"Man. The room service here is terrible." Not the most expected of comments, certainly, though the boy's words did not particularly catch the attention of Miss Goldenweek. She was still far too occupied studying the colour that he had unintentionally brought into the room, her otherwise expressionless eyes now staring into the depths of Weiss' own crystalline hues. Having never seen anything quite like the mixture of colours presented to her, or at least not embodied by a living person, the auburn artist stood up. Towards the bars she walked quite swiftly, an unusual display of energy for herself, allowing her a closer look at the subject in question.
Those colours are interesting. Bright, but not really hard to look at, at all. They blend so nicely, too. As dark and otherwise empty eyes scanned the young male's interesting palette, Goldenweek stood just a few inches away from the bars that isolated them from one another. Still, silence was golden; currently she had no intention of making any form of conversation and was quite content just studying Master Laskaris. Then the ugly truth decided to make itself so painfully obvious.

Oh... They took away my things... Not exactly one to be prone to depression, or much emotion at all, the former Baroque Works agent had begun to display an unusual amount of activity. Deprived of the things she felt most at ease with, her usual placid demeanour had been stripped away in favour of something less... well, like herself. Shoulders slumping, head tilting to look down at her feet, the jailbird let her body melt and sank down to sit upon the cold floor once more. Her desire to paint a portrait of the peculiar prisoner had been extinguished by the lack of tools needed; no paint, no brush, no canvas, not a rice cracker in sight.
Zzzzz... Zzzzz... The guard on duty, however, was certainly a spectacle in a different manner. Now he was snoring; asleep, but standing as straight and as proud as he had done before. Quite a feat, but if simply keeping watch over the brig was his only duty, it was not surprising. Especially with a prisoner as 'boring' as Miss Goldenweek. Whether the guardsman had been awake or not at the time of Weiss' arrival was irrelevant, much like the unfortunate marine's instructions to watch over a prisoner who could do nothing.

"...It is..." Finally speaking, a tone of absolute boredom in her voice, the painter in practice looked up again towards the colourful kid. With energy to burn, she had decided it was better to converse with this stranger, perhaps discover a thing or two about him? Colour was an effective thing when used properly, her Colours Trap being a good example of how they could influence a person's mentality. Her own mind needed satisfaction, if not from visual colours, then from the colours of one's personality. Apparently it was not just her mind that needed to be sated, however, her stomach letting out an embarrassingly audible growl; a protest to the severe lack of rice crackers.

SPOILER: Click to show

A small addition to the post, but I hope it gives a little more for you to work with.

[Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro]

The oppressive silence that followed his comment was more than enough to unsettle the young man. His nerves had already been deeply shaken by the situation he found himself in (Or more accurately, that he had placed himself in), and this cold jail cell was about as far from his ‘comfort zone’ as he could get. So when he found himself the subject of the pigtailed girl’s intense scrutiny he put on as indifferent a façade as he could muster at the moment. Remaining calm and collected in the face of uncertain circumstance was a trait he prided himself, but inwardly he was beginning to sweat. Had he made a mistake, sticking his neck out for someone like this? It was not exactly an act he was really in the practice of doing after all. A normal person would have reacted a bit more by now. Instead she was just staring at him, in a manner that reminded him of a buying checking the quality of a seller’s wares. Was she touched in the head? Rather than let himself wilt, the runaway chose to meet her stare eye for eye. The odd red blush on her cheeks was the only thing he could see from looking at her face; it gave nothing else away.

It was a sound that eventually broke the stalemate, though not a person’s voice as Weiss had expected. Instead what he heard was a low gurgle, emanating roughly from his fellow prisoner’s stomach. His mind took several seconds to register the occurrence, far as it was from the list of things he might have expected. But with that, some of the tension that had been welling up around him fell away. Hunger was a fairly universal experience, and recognizing it in the girl had a humanizing effect on her. Maybe she was just shy, and feeling just as nervous about him as he was of her. That was a far more reasonable assumption than say, her being a secret member of a group of gangster-assassins. Just the thought of something so ridiculous brought a smile to his face.

Shifting up off the ground and onto his knees, the bright eyed boy slipped his arm out through the strap that was drawn over his shoulder, and brought his backpack around into his lap. It was a fairly large bag, compared to its owner at least, rounded into a black half-sphere and made to resemble a strange grinning monster. “You know, they didn’t take my stuff when they grabbed me. Guess they figured I wasn’t as much of a threat.” Weiss said as he tugged at the zipper at the edge of the bundle’s mouth, his voice holding a fair bit of resentment despite the fact that their mistake worked in his favor. After a few moments of rummaging through the contents of his bundle, he found and retrieved what he had been looking for.

“Here.” Scooting up to the bars that separated the two children, he stuck his arm through and set a small selection of food items inside her cell. Two oranges he had grabbed from the barrel he had been hiding in. Some granola bars he had gotten to munch on before leaving Ice Nine. A bag of spicy red hard candies, one of three Bappou had given him (Apparently he did not like hot things and was trying to get rid of them). And finally, a school style juice box. He had bought a pack of the apple variety for himself, though he was rather embarrassed to be showing them to someone else. It was rather kiddish, but they were convenient dammit! Trying to suppress a blush of his own, he hurriedly added. “Sorry, I wasn’t exactly planning on sharing with anyone when I got this stuff.”

Retreating a bit so that she could, if she so desired, accept the humble assortment of goodies, Weiss let another period of silence pass before speaking up again. Now that he was feeling more comfortable, he allowed his curiosity to start dictating actions. Between her sudden and unexplained appearance on the vessel, as well as the extreme caution that the marines had taken in escorting her down here, the red-haired youth across from him seemed to be a rather enigmatic riddle. “How about a trade? Your name for mine. Those are fair terms, I think.” Nodding to himself, he thought that to be the truth. He had already done a service for her, two services really. So it was already a rather generous deal on his part. It was odd how quickly he fell into a business-like mindset in an otherwise social situation, but it seemed to him to be the most natural way to approach this.

SPOILER: Click to show

Has been a crazy week @_@

[Vio]

As the intriguing inmate shifting his position, Miss Goldenweek's unblinking gaze returned to him, her eyes now drawn to his actions. A black backpack was slipped free of small shoulders, revealing the most unusual of cartoon monster faces. Enticed by the greenish grin, the aspiring artist simply watched, one hand now on her stomach as it silently complained about the lack of food. Still, her attentions were more focused on the miraculous blends of colour that young male possessed, still studying him as if preparing to paint a portrait.

If only I had my things. Then I could paint all those colours and see for myself how they blend. Gosh, this is torture! Despite her internal torment, however, the former Baroque Works agent retained her ridiculously cool exterior as she watched the youth wrestle the bag open. Almost as if it were gaping at her, Goldenweek simply stared into the apparent blackness as the bright-eyed boy reached inside and began to search its innards.
"You know, they didn't take my stuff when they grabbed me. Guess they figured I wasn't as much of a threat. Here. Sorry, I wasn't exactly planning on sharing with anyone when I got this stuff." Finally registering his words, the auburn artisan seemed to hear them all in one go, as if the sounds had amassed themselves before her eardrums. Lost in her own little world, brought back to reality by the sudden proximity of her subject, the girl was surprised to see a pair of hands laying out what was effectively the world's smallest picnic. Oranges, granola bars, spicy candies and a juice carton. Not exactly her cup of tea, both figuratively and literally, but still; food was food.

A complete stranger, being so generous? Unusual. But, people come in many different shades and hues. The painter, now staring blankly down at the veritable 'buffet' laid out before her, was somewhat confused about the motives of the male. Sure, she appreciated his offering, but what did he really have to gain from the situation? That, she did not know. For a moment, she reached out towards the candies, but changed her mind and took up one of the oranges instead.
Orange. Was the fruit named after the colour, or the colour after the fruit? Both are nice, though. Peeling the spongy skin away from the vivid flesh, Miss Goldenweek maintained her mental absence before taking a small bite out of a piece of the tangy fruit. Colour could represent so much, and as the flavour filled her mouth, she could not help but wonder whether or not the taste of food could be conveyed through colouration. Probably not, though it was the thought that counted.

"How about a trade? Your name for mine. Those are fair terms, I think." Indeed, they were. However, even though the daydreaming damsel had heard his words, she had not quite registered them. An awkward silence echoed between the cells for a moment or two, Miss Goldenweek taking another bite of the orange flesh before finally her eyes wandered back towards the youth. She hesitated, though with no discernible difference in her facial expression, one could not tell her thoughts.
My name? Should I tell him my real name? Well, I'm not a Baroque Works officer now. Miss Goldenweek was only a code name. It's been two years now, so, I'm sure only the World Government really care about us now. Besides, the others are happy running the Spider's Café. Debating to herself, the fruit-munching femme continued to stare at her unexpected companion. What use was this conversation? The chances were slim that they would never meet again; the world was a large place, after all. Well, it couldn't hurt to do so. After all, he had offered her food when she needed it, despite knowing nothing of her background.
"...My name is-" Beginning her introduction, the usually quiet girl found her own voice overwritten by the most peculiar of sounds. The guard's status was confirmed to be in the deepest reaches of sleep as he let out an exceptionally loud grunt of a snore, erasing any chances of even the proximal youth discerning her name. That said, she was now beginning to have second thoughts about her choice. Thankful for the unexpected interruption, the auburn 'angel' instead opted to use her code name; "...Goldenweek."

[Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro]

The boy’s face scrunched up in a look of bewilderment after hearing his cellmate identify herself. It may or may not have been his imagination, but he could have sworn she was about to say something different before having been so rudely interrupted. “Goldenweek? Like, the holiday?...” Weiss trailed off, he head tilting slightly to the side. Typically he was not the type to vocalize his thoughts, as doing so was often the fast track to landing himself in hot water, but he had been caught off guard by the oddity. It seemed strange to him that a parent would name their child after a calendar date. Alternatively, he supposed, it could have been a false identification. He had been doing it himself since leaving home, given the prevalence of the old man’s ships in the North Blue. Maybe she’s a runaway too. That thought struck a chord with him. A part of him had continued to resist the brash course of action he had chosen, kicking and screaming every part of the way. But the thought of kinship helped him silence that voice, helped him strengthen his resolve. Which was good, because he was going to need it.

Courage was not exactly his strong suit. The world had very rarely rewarded him for such things. But mischief, that was a force he could definitely get behind. Sure, if viewed from an impartial viewpoint his previous attempts to con Marines had ended poorly. Him in a jail cell not unlike the one he was in now, in a land cold enough to freeze your eyelashes off. But this time was different. This time he had a plan. Grinning wide as could be, the child looked downright maniacal. “Well, then I guess you can call me the April Fool. Because I have a heck of a trick to play on these jokers.”

---

Several hours later...

---

It took a lot of patience for Weiss to lie in wait as long as he did. Lying flat on the ground, with his pack doubling as a pillow and a warm jacket draped over him for a blanket, he was very much the picture of cold calculation. He had certainly not been sleeping, that was absolutely preposterous. Any snoring that any others might have heard was nothing more than the sounds of a man deep in his plotting. Yes. Plotting.

He was roused from his, uh. Contemplations. By a small wet sensation spreading in his ear. Giving a groan, the young fellow was greeted by the sight of a scaly tail and pair of hind legs, latched firmly onto his nose. The other half of the creature dangled off to the side, lapping at Weiss’ cheek. It was Runt, the odd little lizard that had hatched from one of the three ‘treasures’ he had stolen before leaving home, and had served as his partner in crime ever since. Primarily nocturnal, the little bugger tended to crawl out from his home inside his larger friend’s sleeves and hunt for insects whenever night came around. Those little claws tickled something fierce, and served as a pretty effective alarm clock when necessary. Sitting upright forced Runt back from whence he came.

Rubbing the not-drowsiness from his eyes, Weiss glanced over toward the other cell. They had turned out the lights at some point, so he could not make out much more than Goldenweek’s general outline. Not particularly informative. “You awake?” He whispered, hoping that to be the case. Without a look at the sky it was hard to tell the time, but judging by his internal clock he was fairly positive it was late. Past midnight, at least. Quickly packing away his possessions, he moved to his feet and cupped a hand over his ear in order to help him listen. Still as a statue, it took several long and stressful minutes of quiet before he felt confident enough to act. The only sounds he could perceive was his own breath and that of the girl a few meters from him. So unless they had a zombie guarding the jail, they were alone.

Stalking over to the barred door, he moved a hand towards the mechanism before stopping himself. He had always made a very strict point of not disclosing what the second treasure he had stolen was. Or more importantly, that in a fit of hunger and/or curiosity, that he had attempted to consume the grotesque-looking berry. It wasn’t just that he preferred to play his cards close to the chest. Rather, he was afraid that people would stop placing him behind such mundane restraints if they knew what he could do. That single bite had transformed him from a young nobody into a Kagi Ningen, or Key Human, and there was no lock on earth that was safe from his touch (As far as he was aware). Still, given the cover of darkness he figured that the girl couldn’t really see much of what he was doing. And even if she could, it’s not like Devil Fruits are exactly common knowledge. Heck, he thought that they were a myth until the first time he had stepped in water after taking a chunk out of the Kagi Kagi no Mi. Besides, how many people could identify such an outlandish ability on sight, especially one as discreet as his own? That would require her to have observed numerous other fruit users in action already, which was unlikely at best. It’s not as if people like that formed groups or anything.

Chuckling under his breath at the absurdity of the thought he proceeded, pressing his pointer finger into the door. The digit in question turned a vibrant brass color, transforming into a seamless match for the jailer’s key. With a twist of his wrist, the tumbler inside made a clang, and the cell swung open.

“I’m pretty handy with locks.” Weiss explained smugly. Sure he didn’t really earn it or anything, but it was hellafun to use. Repeating the process swiftly, he unlocked Goldenweek’s cell and pulled the door outward. “Look’s like the guard is gone. You coming?”

[Vio]

"Goldenweek? Like, the holiday?..." Watching with cloudy eyes as the fellow inmate tilted his head in questioning, Miss Goldenweek herself thought it somewhat unusual that the colourful boy had not come to the same conclusion as many. He was no Marine, that much was certain, and definitely did not ally himself with the World Government. What reason would he have for knowing who she was? None. Still, it was strange that she found herself using the very code name that she had abandoned only a couple of years ago. Since the reformation of the Spider's Café, the former officer agents of Baroque Works had all referred to one another on first name terms; a sense of family present amongst them. Nakama. That was something she could not help but miss.
"Well, then I guess you can call me the April Fool. Because I have a heck of a trick to play on these jokers." As the vibrant youth grinned a mischievous grin, the aspiring artist remained a blank canvas in terms of facial expression. So far, Weiss had been an enigmatic character. So colourful amongst the dull background, his personality stood out like a sore thumb, and that in itself made her a little more trusting of him. He had offered her food, despite them not knowing the first thing about one another. The day was becoming a picture, yet it still had more detail hidden from the eyes of the observer.

~~~~~

Darkness... It obscures so much detail. But, the way it moves. It really does betray the eyes. Contemplating the surprising degree of wonder that the coiling blackness seemed to hide within its tendrils, the peculiar painter sat against the back wall of her cell, legs straight out before her and hands rested neatly in her lap. It was not particularly cold within the dank confines of the brig, but one would hardly call it comfortable in terms of temperature. Even the crystal-eyed kid in the neighbouring cell had covered himself in a jacket for warmth as he snored gently, losing himself to the land of nod. Miss Goldenweek herself was in no mood for sleep, but rather was expending as little energy as was feasibly possible as she concentrated upon the ocean of shadow above.
Silence really is golden... That gives me an idea... Appreciating the tranquillity that the depths of night procured, the only sound that breached it soon faded, only to be replaced by yet more. Apparently, the beautifully coloured boy was not the quiet type; at least not in comparison to the normally silent artisan. Hours had passed, and the 'guard' had now left, the apparent criminal now having been left alone due to her lack of threat. Indeed, without her paints and brushes, she was powerless.

"You awake?" Whispering from the shadows to her side, the familiar voice of Weiss shattered the silence of the scenery. The sounds of shuffling indicated him packing away what he had, shovelling everything into the toothy maw of the little green-eyed monster. Rather than responding with words, the former officer agent replied with actions. Getting to her feet as he did, the aspiring artist watched carefully as the fellow youth crept over to the barred door of his cell. The glint of something in the darkness caught her eyes. A key perhaps? Had he stolen it from one of the Marines? Probably not.
A Devil Fruit user? Ironically, the most logical explanation that Miss Goldenweek could think of was the correct one. Many of her comrades at Baroque Works had consumed said cursed morsels, bestowing upon them a variety of interesting abilities. The ability to alter one's own weight and the power to create explosions. A woman who could transform into a penguin? No, mole. Definitely a mole. Her own partner could create and shape wax from his body, while the solo officer agent could mimic faces down to a T. And of course, blades and spike, sand and limb replication. Amongst the myriad of fruit users, it was only Mr 4 and herself that lacked them, though even the fourth batter himself had a Zoan weapon.

"You coming?" Lost in the realm of reminiscence, the auburn girl soon found herself returning to the world of darkness that was her current reality. Before her stood the colourful youth, the bars that had separated her from freedom were now removed by the power of the Kagi Kagi no Mi. The ability to lock or unlock practically anything was certainly discrete, yet useful. He would probably have made an effective officer agent, if not for the fact that Baroque Works had long since fallen, all thanks to the efforts of a boy who stretched like rubber. It was strange that, after what she had been involved in, someone was willing to help her.
This person is really a strange character. So complex, inside and out... I wish I could just sit and paint him. But, I doubt I'd be able to express him with my current skills. I have a lot of learning to do... Grateful, yet failing to express her thanks through anything more than an expressionless gaze, the artistic angel stepped forth and exited the confines of her jail. Stepping from darkness into darkness, despite the almost identical scene before her, something felt different. Her perspective had changed. No longer was she a prisoner, but once more she was an escapee; a familiar feeling which reminded her of her antics, freeing her comrades from the Marines.

"...Storerooms..." Quietly uttering a single word, the priorities of the painter had shifted. Now free thanks to the assistance of the unusual lad, the lethargic lass was missing something that was perhaps more important to her than freedom. It mattered not where she was, an artist was always imprisoned within their mind until they could let loose their imagination and creativity. A blank canvas was the window through which a painter could set themselves free, showing the colours of their very soul to the eyes of the outside world. Right now, finding her tools (and perhaps a fresh supply of rice crackers) was her only objective. Getting off this forsaken ship could wait, and without a word she walked off in no particular direction. Her itinerary? The deeper areas of the vessel.

SPOILER: Click to show

Hoping this is okay?

[Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro]

Though his eyes had yet to fully adjust to the darkness, Weiss was able to make out the glint of her eyes as she met his own. From the blank stare he got it was his assumption that Goldenweeks was still pretty groggy. Which he certainly couldn’t blame her for. When he had first woken up he had probably worn a similar expression, but now he was taken by the thrill of the moment. After all, a daring escape from a military prison ship in the dead of night, with moonlight as their only witness? That was pretty much textbook awesome as far as he was concerned. Adrenaline made up for whatever energy he might have been lacking.

"...Storerooms..." He heard the girl whisper.

The word brought a devilish grin to his face. He actually hadn’t thought of that, raiding their supplies for goodies. Most of it was probably just ‘tax’ they had taken from the nearby islands anyway. Plus it would be an even greater insult to clean them out before the two of them made their escape. “Oh yeah, good idea. Hit ‘em where it hurts. Lemme just…” Trailing off, Weiss moved a hand to pat at his pockets. If they were gonna be running around the different decks, he did not want to get caught unprepared. While he had repeatedly stated that adults were not nearly as smart as they thought they were, it was an undeniable fact that they had the physical advantage over him. He had built his little taser for that very reason, out of salvage and a simple handcrank. And he had zero misgivings about using it to even the playing field. However, after checking all the pockets in his shorts, he suddenly remembered how he had been fiddling with it earlier in the day. This would not have been a problem if he had taken the time to reassemble it. But, well. With all the hubbub he kind of forgotten about it. Cursing himself silently, he turned back to his former cellmate to make a comment only to find empty air. “...Um. Golden?” It was not until he noticed the door was open that he realized he’d been left behind.

“Wha-hey!” Quick as he could manage, Weiss ran after her. The transition from relative darkness into the well-lit hallway blinded him for a few seconds as he tried to blink away the brightly colored dots that had overcome his vision, but by the time they had faded all he saw was an empty hallway. Muttering an oath under his breath, he started off in the direction he thought Goldenweeks might have gone. Though admittedly it was more of a guess that it was a reasoned decision. He had always thought himself a rather sneaky individual when such things were called for, heck he had proven that just getting on this ship in the first place. Apparently she was better. The girl had zipped off before he had a chance to so much as blow his nose, but he hadn’t heard a peep. Still hadn’t, for that matter. At the very least he knew what her destination was, not that it was that large a help when he did not know where the storehouse was. It was reasonable to assume it was in this section of the ship. In retrospect he probably should have tried to get a better sense of the layout when he was first captured. Unfortunately at the time he was busy being, well, captured.

Creeping along quietly as his current footwear would allow, he tried to keep an eye out for some indication of his current location. A map or the like would be helpful, if unlikely to find. Marine ships didn’t usually have those ‘You are here!’ signs hanging everywhere in his experience. Or maybe one of those dark red pigtails bobbing up and down, he would have settled for that. It was a little upsetting that she had left him in the dust like that, without so much as a thank you. Sure he had just broken out of jail and was now planning on stealing anything he could get his grubby little mitts on, but not saying thanks? That was just rude of Goldenweeks. An awkward name, that. Not just its meaning, but saying it. 'Gold-en-wee-ks. Golden. Gold. Goldie. Goldielocks. Goldieweeks? G-weeks. Big G. The G-Star. Miss Weeks, Attorney-at-Law.' That last one amused him more than it probably should have. Following the bends and turns of the hall without a specific direction, he got a little caught up in his brainstorming session. 'G-Money. The Goldenator. Queen of the Pirates, Gol D. Weeks. Admiral Golden Girl.'

“Man, I can’t believe I got assigned double-shifts back to back. I’ve been on duty since 8 AM, you know that?” A man asked suddenly out of nowhere, their complaint echoing off the wood paneled walls.

‘Shit! Shitshitshitshitshit!’ Jarred from his thoughts, Weiss nearly jumped halfway up the wall in surprise before attempting to press himself flat against it. The voice had come from around the corner, and there were heavy footsteps coming shortly behind. Soldiers were coming his way. Literally, the worst time for him to be getting distracted. His eyes bounced back and forth hurriedly, searching for some avenue of escape. Straight to his right he spotted the sign for a man’s bathroom. Bingo. He scuttled over to it and yanked on the doorknob.

“Occupied!” Came a growl from inside, and the runaway slammed the door shut just as quickly as he had tried to open it and braced himself against it, a look of absolute horror on his face. He had gotten an eyeful more than he had ever wanted to see of another guy doing his business. Well, on the bright side, there was another thing he add to his list of disturbing sights. Right up there with the spider nest he had walked into, and the time he saw a sewage pipe burst over a major thoroughfare.

“Well, to be fair. When the pirate came on board, rather than capture them you sat down and had a tea party.” Said a second voice, this one belonging to a woman. She seemed rather entertained by their exchange.

Her companion did not take the good natured ribbing very well. From the sounds of things, he had been having this conversation with people all day. “Dude, I told you. I don’t even remember doing that! One minute I’ve got my rifle and the next I’m sitting on the ground and the Captain is yelling at me. Lame as hell. I just want to go to bed.” He ended that statement with a groan.

They were just about to round the corner, now. He could already see a heavy boot stepping forward. Well, no time to be picky anymore. Picking another door on the opposite side of the hallway, he sprinted over to it, yanked it open and dove inside headfirst. Lying there, he was unsure of whether they had seen or heard any of his commotion. As such, the young thief did not so much as blink until the pair had passed him by. It was only then that he let go of the breath that he had not realized he had been holding. He did not want to get caught again if he could avoid it.

Relieved, he looked up and was surprised to find himself standing among a dimly lit ocean of crates and barrels of various sizes and shapes. It was the storeroom. “Huh. What’re the odds?” Weiss mused to himself. Maybe his luck was turning around.

SPOILER: Click to show

That took way longer than it should have.

[Vio]

Exiting the brig, Miss Goldenweek now found herself in the relatively well lit hallways of the Marine vessel. While it was certainly no battleship, the sprawling interior certainly allowed for an incredible amount of space, but lurking around each and every corner was the threat of being detected by the seamen on patrol. In the two years that had passed, it seemed that even the Marines had bolstered their security. Or maybe it was just the fact that she had not seen a single Marine since rescuing her comrades from them. It was certainly unfortunate that, after having gone to all that effort, she had found herself captured.

At least I'm not alone in this. I owe him that much. Her expression not changing, the auburn artist made a quick glance behind her, dark and dreamy eyes scanning the hallways for the familiar form of her colourful companion. Not a trace of him. Strange, she could have sworn he was right behind her a second ago. Pursing her lips a little, the youth resumed her silent and rather casual pace, eyes examining the colours that surrounded her. As much as she had loved the mixing colours worn by her captors, the endless browns and blues and greys were becoming so horrifically boring to look at. It was all so uniform. Everything looked the same, branded with the blue crest that resembled a gull.

Storerooms. Storerooms. Where would they put the storerooms? For once the petite Picasso was stuck for inspiration. Her eyes could no longer pick out details that she could use to guide herself through the labyrinth of timber in which she had become imprisoned. Wandering about aimlessly was all she could really do at this given moment, and yet somehow she had still managed to evade the soldiers that navigated the halls so efficiently. Luck was on her side.
"...sitting on the ground and the Captain is yelling at me. Lame as hell. I just want to go to bed." A male voice now drawing her attentions, Goldenweek stopped for a moment, remaining motionless. Just a few yards ahead of her the sounds of heavy boots could be heard, troops approaching from the next corridor. Rather than moving for cover, she simply watched and waited. Waited and watched. The familiarly bland colours of two marines now came into view, neither even seemed to notice the presence of the girl dressed in many hues. Indeed, she was probably lurking just out of their line of sight, but surely her outfit would have been flamboyant enough to catch their eye? A pink hat with its pale green band. A shirt of sky blue and white clouds. Even her purple banded tights? No. Apparently they were as blind as bats.

I guess not everyone can appreciate colour. Still, she had nice hair. So many shades of gold and yellow, like straw. Mentally commenting upon the vivid blonde hues of the female officer, without a second thought she decided to follow them at a distance. Sure enough, such actions led her to her destination, silently approaching a door that seemed to have been left open just enough to let a trickle of light enter it. Slipping inside before her 'escorts' rounded the next corner, the painter was greeted by a familiar friend.
How did he get here before me? Now standing within what could only be the storerooms of the ship, Miss Goldenweek found her eyes drawn to the familiar colours of Weiss. Whatever route he must have taken, it had been far more direct. A stark contrast to the countless corners that she had navigated. While the colourful kid's own path had probably been somewhat of a 'Z', her own route was probably more akin to the web of a drunken spider. It was not her fault. Everything was so... Boring!

"...That was fast..." Uttering just a handful of words, the former officer agent gave the room a quick once over with empty eyes. Like a hawk on the hunt, her deep hues quickly locked onto a bundle of colour atop a nearby stack of crates. Certainly, separating her from her gateway to her dreams would never be an easy task. Without so much as a second look at the young rebel, Miss Goldenweek darted across the floor with an unusual and uncharacteristic amount of energy. Like friends reunited, the aspiring artisan stretched her arms around the bundle of equipment, hauling it down from its place of rest before doing a quick inventory.
Canvas. Brushes. Palette. Paints. Tea. Wait... Looking up towards Weiss, her eyes seemed a little more emotional than they ever had been before. There was a sufficient lack of something important, and there was no way she was leaving this ship until she attained it... "...Where are the rice crackers?"

SPOILER: Click to show

I hope this'll do to get the ball rolling again!

[Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro]

If you’ve you seen one cargo hold, warehouse, shipping container, or any other of the multitude of different structures built with the express purpose of accommodating large amounts of stored good, you have pretty much seen them all. They were dark as a general rule, no real point in illuminating crates. The air is dusty and stale, and with every breath you are again confronted by the pungent smell of slowly rotting wood. It’s something that comes with the territory when you stow things away on a boat. Night had spared them the usual unbearable heat that accompanied unventilated locations like this, and for that he was grateful. There was usually some semblance of order to the arrangement of cases, the initial seed from which everything else sprouted. But over time haste and sloth wreaked havoc on the setup, with clusters spread out into more erratic patterns. Established walkways were often clogged with misplaced items that made traversing the lanes more difficult than it really should be, especially when space was at a premium. Mice were a common enough sight in more run-down locations, given how good the sneaky buggers were at getting into stuff like grain. That didn’t seem to be an issue from what he saw here though. Probably had a cat or two running around somewhere, he thought to himself. Insects however were far more difficult to protect against. You’d think that, miles from the nearest patch of land that you wouldn’t have to deal with little creepy-crawlies, but they are just as well suited to life aboard a vessel as humans are. Better, even.

Strange, that stepping into such a miserable place could feel so relaxing to him. Sure it was located smack dab in the middle of the hornet’s nest, but still the environment felt familiar. The amount of time he’d spent with Tsun walking down the aisles of places like this in the past month, looking for particular items, made the whole process seem routine. Casting an eye across the ocean of dull brown, he could almost guess where everything was just by looking at it. All the same, he went ahead popped the clipboard next to the entrance off the wall. Better to be safe than to waste time digging in the wrong spot.

It was while he was mulling over the stock sheet, intent on the procurement of goods that caught his eye (Looting is such a strong word) that his accomplice in all this reappeared. Part of him took a moment to appreciate the odds that he would find himself aligned with a female of similar age and height twice within such a short period of time. Part of him also tried to figure out how he had arrived before she did, given that he had mostly just been running around trying not to get caught. But the last and perhaps largest portion his mental process was devoted to discerning why the first item on her agenda had been rice crackers. Hadn’t they come to lo-… repossess items of value that the Marines had probably already stolen in the first place? And/or recover whatever items that Goldie had confiscated when she was first arrested.

“Um. Right. Uh.” Weiss muttered, doing his best to shake the momentary confusion that her question had instilled in him. Thumbing through the pages before him, silently cursing the bad handwriting of whoever was in charge of this room, he wasn’t able to turn up much. At least on that specific query. After taking a few seconds to scratch the back of his head, he gave the best solution he could come up with. She could have an upset stomach, maybe? He hoped that she wasn’t going to throw up before they found something to settle her belly. “I mean, there are some rations packs in one of the crates over there that might have some, but I don’t think that rice crackers come standard on military vessels.” The tip of his finger pointed towards a bulky pile of crates to the former Baroque Agent’s right.

Hoping that was the end of that, he went back to his search. After a handful of passes up and down, the precocious lad was able to confirm what he had already suspected. It was one of the moments he really would have rather been wrong. “Dammit. They didn’t check in your stuff when they tossed it in here. Lazy bastards. We’re gonna have to look around.” He stated with a sigh. That was more time and effort than he really wanted to spend at this stage of his ‘master plan’, but what must be done must be done. Leaving you luggage behind with the white-hats would suck to unprecedented levels, in his personal opinion. Tucking the clipboard up under his arm, he moved towards the nearest stack, mumbling colorful curses all the while. They made his life hard even without being aware of it. Hefting a smaller box off the surface of a larger one and setting it on the floor, he called out another few words of advice.

“If I had to guess, they probably just tossed it in. Should be close to the door. Workers do it all the time. I couldn’t see much when you first come onboard. Did you have a bag or backpack or something like that?” The young thief decided against mentioning where he had observed her arrest or why his vantage point had been so limited. Cramming yourself into a fruit barrel rather than face Marines was not the sort of story you bragged about. Better that she think he had been in a more respectable location. As he wrapped his hands around the last container barring his entry to the larger box, a sizable thing that was about as big as his head, he noticed that it had already been opened. Given its proximity to the entrance, he did not think it was off-base to say it had been recently used. He had been fortunate to find this room as easily as he had, so perhaps that luck had extended to his search here as well? Maybe it was karma for helping a girl in need.

Setting the crate back down, he pulled the lid open wide enough for him to snake a hand down inside, to see what he would find. But the moment his fingers close around their prize, he felt his blood run cold. Nausea washed over him like a crashing wave, stealing away all the strength in his limbs faster than he could react. A distant part of him had the sense to try and pull away, but as he did his legs suddenly fell out from underneath him, sending the boy to the ground with a thud. The crate crashed down in front of him, scattering its contents across the wooden floor. They were handcuffs, an item that he was intimately familiar with, but their design was unlike any he had previously encountered. Thicker than his wrist and shaped like a ‘8’, they were certainly big enough to get the job done. Had a strange color to them too, a deep sea green that looked nothing like the silvery sheen of steel he was used to seeing. Scooting backwards away from them in a panic, Weiss stared wide-eyed as if they were hissing snakes. That terrible feeling that had possessed him faded away into a dull throb as soon as the metallic restrain fell from his hand, but the memory of it stayed fresh in his mind. “What the hell-“

[Vio]

Disappointed at the lack of rice crackers, though perhaps not expressing it upon her otherwise neutral face, Miss Goldenweek was now feeling an unusual sense of vengeance. How dare they steal away a part of her all-important kit! Like a masterpiece painting, every detail was a necessity, and she was certain in her belief that there had been at least two packs of the delicious biscuits remaining. Perhaps only one, depending on how her mood had swung. Certainly, many a cracker had fallen victim to her unusually insatiable appetite during that long voyage across the seas.

Um. Right. Uh. I mean, there are some rations packs in one of the crates over there that might have some," Wasting no time, the auburn artisan quickly turned and marched her way over to the stack of boxes indicated by the colourful boy. Within the space of a minute, she was using whatever physical strength she had to haul the lids off the crates and examine their contents. Fruit, bread, simple soups. The kind of thing that was easy to fall back on should the ship's kitchen staff need to, but generally the food stores simply contained ingredients that were unlikely to spoil. Small containers of salts and sugars and other granular substances needed for cooking, most likely to be transported to the pantry should the kitchen be in need of more. There was certainly one thing to say for the Marines; they were at least well prepared. "But I don't think rice crackers come standard on military vessels."

At least I have my tools. Still, once I get some rice crackers I'll be glad to get away from this boring ship. Her annoyance with the Marines growing ever larger, the bland palette that was the uniformity of the servicemen and women was one thing, but the lack of rice crackers as provisions? Well, that was just atrocious. No half-decent person would dare deprive their subordinates of such blessings as a good cup of tea and some rice crackers.
"Dammit. They didn't check in your stuff when they tossed it in here.... We're gonna have to look around." Her empty eyes looking back towards Weiss for a moment as he spoke, the former agent of Baroque Works realised that the beautifully coloured boy had his crystalline eyes transfixed upon the clipboard. A clipboard which seemed to detail all the supplies that were contained within this large but cluttered chamber. However, it seemed that his preoccupation with said notes had prevented him from realising that the aspiring artisan had already regained her possessions.

"If I had to guess, they probably just tossed it in. Should be close to the door. Workers do it all the time. I couldn't see much when you first came onboard. Did you have a bag or backpack or something like that?" The odd hues of her unexpected companion barely seeming to look towards her, as Wiess began to investigate an open crate Goldenweek took the opportunity to inform him of the situation. Or at least, she tried.
"...I've already foun-" Her sentence interrupted by actions more than words, as her wide eyes watched in slow motion as the boy stumbled backwards. The colour of his skin seemed to turn white as snow, as if he had borne witness to a ghost, falling away from the half-opened crate. Eyes studying these events, it did not take long for the former Officer Agent to recognise the effects which were befalling the boy. She had seen it numerous times, though varied between victims, some able to retain a good portion of their strength, others barely even able to lift their arms.

"Kairouseki... Sea Stone..." Her whispers of recognition barely audible, Miss Goldenweek was fully aware that such a material as this would be found aboard a Marine vessel. But, in a storeroom? Surely it would have made more sense to keep such a thing under lock and key, readily accessible but at least available when needed? Apparently, the Marines did not see it that way, under the pretence that their stores were safe. One could not blame them for thinking this, of course, but the events of recent would at least teach them to be more careful and not to underestimate those of small stature.

[Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro]

“Kairouseki?...” Weiss echoed the word, though he did not grasp the meaning of it. Staring anxiously at the heap of manacles that had spilled out across the deck, he dredged at the recesses of his mind. Memories came to him like photographs, crisp and clear, of logbooks and compendiums. The images rotated swiftly across his vision one after the other, a jumble of names and dates, before finally settling on a single picture. It was just the stub end of a sale receipt, from a local company to the Navy. Just a handful of crates loaded with some exotic form of metal, each of which was purchased for an absolutely inordinate sum of money. It was worth its weight in gold (An expression, and a rather inaccurate one. Accounting for current market trends, it was definitely worth more than gold). Scrawled hastily just beneath the item’s listing was the words ‘kairouseki’. At the time he hadn’t known what it was, or why the men in white had been interested in it. Well, that was one mystery solved.

Glancing down, he finally noticed the posture that instinct had driven him to take. The afflicted limb was pressed against him, wrapped up in the tight embrace of his other hand, and shielded by the knees he had pull up against his chest protectively. He looked like ridiculous, curled up into a ball like an armadillo. Maybe she didn’t… Looking over his shoulder, his eyes caught on Goldie’s own. She was staring at him with that same blank expression that she seemed to observe everything with. Despite all his best efforts to squash the feeling, a blush slowly worked its across his cheeks. He really, really, REALLY, did not like to be seen being vulnerable. Under any circumstances really, but especially so in front of someone else he found to be respectable. Or unknowledgeable. Or well, anything that was a synonym for ‘pathetic’. The fact that that person was female made it sting worse for some reason. Scrambling to his feet as fast as he could manage, Weiss made a show of dusting the grit off his pants. Partially because the floor really was pretty dirty, but for the most part it was just for an excuse for him to avert his gaze.

“Aha! Kairouseki. Of course, I k-knew that.” The runaway declared loudly, giving a short awkward chuckle and lying straight through his teeth. Damn, he was usually better at faking it than that. What was wrong with him today? He decided to chalk it up to touching the manacle. The numbness was all but faded away, but the brief contact had left behind a bitter chill in his bones.

Shaking thoughts of embarrassment from his head, the boy did his best to get things back on track. Long, deep breaths. That was the key to keeping your head on straight. The calm one is in control. Okay, first. Statement of goals: Infiltrate jail cells (Done), execute prison break (Done), locate storage and reclaim lost goods (Done), acquire additional merchandise (In progress), make strategic retreat (Sounds better than running the hell away). Good, that was very good. Now he was getting somewhere. Now, how to achieve those goals. He hadn’t found anything easy, like jewelry and whatnot, to recoup the losses he had suffered recently. Most of it was just supplies or tools of war. Now, weapons do sell like hotcakes, but only in bulk. And he was not properly equipped to move the amount necessary to make a significant profit. There was the option of searching out the captain’s quarters. That had worked out pretty well the last time he was in this situation. But back then he had both time and anonymity on his side, luxuries he found himself sorely missing. A small section of in the back of his mind could not help but think, Is it weird that this is something I’ve done multiple times?’But it was not a voice he could give any real consideration at the moment. Plan now, comment on the absurdity later.

Again, Weiss’ gaze settled on the manacles. They were heavy, yes, but not unmanageably so. Particularly when compared to barrels of gunpowder or crates of firearms. And he could extrapolate their relative rarity by their price, at least in this neck of the sea, which gave him a prime market. He might have to cut the price a bit as compared to what he saw with the raw form, they were specialty items after all, but someone had to want them. That line of thought intrigued him. Who would want manacles like this, aside from the Marines themselves? It would be interesting to see-well no. He was getting ahead of himself. Transport was an issue. Wouldn’t get too far carrying them as they are now. But the box they came in… it wasn’t that big. Held maybe fifteen or so. And it would be designed to insult the carrier from their debilitating effects to prevent accidental exposure. There still a few issues to be ironed out, but that was still the best course of action he could see at the moment. Even assuming they managed a clear escape, kid like him would not get very far with empty pockets. At least not comfortably. And you should not put off until tomorrow what you can stea-do. What you can do today.

Moving over to the wall, he snatched up a rough thickly woven bag, the likes that would usually carry flour or a similar substance. After turning it upside-down and dumping whatever was left inside, he covered used it as a makeshift glove, and one-by-one he moved the handcuffs back into their proper receptacle. It wasn’t enough to protect him from their properties completely; he could still feel that numbing cold biting at his skin wherever he picked one up, but it was tolerable. Once they were packed up, he latched the box closed and dropped that into his sack. He was pleased to find the material surprisingly effective at muffling the metallic clang of his ill-gotten goods. Slinging that whole package over his shoulder with a look of satisfaction plastered on his face, he looked back over to Goldenweeks.

“Oh, good. You found your stuff.” Weiss noted, completely oblivious to the fact she had reclaimed her goods quite a while ago. His preoccupation with the series of events he had imagined may have distracted him from what was actually happening. But all is well that ends well, after all. Jerking a thumb towards the door, he motioned for them to leave. “You ready to go then? Longer we’re here, the more likely it is they’ll realize we are gone.”

-----

After another minutes of arduous progress through the hallways, ducking behind corners at the last possible second and clutching to shadows like a life preserver, the young pair managed to make their way out onto the deck relatively unseen. The young thief prided himself on stealth, but when it comes to moving down open well-lit corridors there really is only so much you can do to avoid notice. Blind luck and the fact that the night patrol was not expecting trouble this far out to sea were really the heroes in this instance, but he was happy to attribute it to personal skill for the sake of any future retellings. It's not like anyone was going to be able to contest him on it.

Stepping out onto the deck with with a smile, he in took greedy lungfuls of the brisk night air. The taste of salt on his tongue was the champagne of victory in his mind. All that was left to do was secure an escape. On the topic of 'securing', Weiss reminded himself to lay a Deadbolt Lock on the door behind him, the same way he had been doing on pretty much every lockable object they had passed on the way here. It was a nasty little thing he could do to tumblers and pins, locking them closed to anyone and everyone, even if the person trying has the proper key (Save himself, of course. Was a good bit harder to do than normal locks though). There was nothing stopping them from just busting down the door at that point, so it really would not stop a bunch of burly meatheads like them for very long. Which is why he was going for the quantity approach. One might not be much trouble, but ten? Twenty? Heck, they might just wear themselves out trying. That thought just made him grin wider. One could only hope.

Once that was out of the way, he was able to get a better handle on his surroundings. The moon was hung a few fingers above the horizon, so he estimated they only had a few hours before the break of dawn. It looked like it was waning, but there was still enough of the baleful thing to cast a bright light over the ship. Would have been easier for it to be cloudy, cover their escape. Ah well. Weiss' early trepidation had been replaced with something of an eager confidence. So when he spotted the four marines, two below the mast and one each leaning over the port and starboard rails, it seemed to be less of an obstacle and more of a challenge.

"There's the lifeboats. We'll have to lower one down to the water. The noise will probably tip off the peanut gallery to what we're doing. Any ideas?" Weiss asked, pointing out their objective and its protectors as he spoke. Even in the gloomy dark his eyes seemed almost luminous, dancing with a look of mischief. There was no doubt that the impish boy was enjoying himself now.