Thick as Thieves! An Unlikely Crew Assembles! Apr 19, 2015 8:21:08 GMT -5
Post by Vio on Apr 19, 2015 8:21:08 GMT -5
"Ugh..." Groaning shakily as his massive target toppled over from the force of the impact, Augustus Savoie felt his own senses swimming through an exceptionally viscous soup of sickness. The almighty blow he had delivered to Omoi had most certainly been effective, more so than anything else anybody could offer, but it had not been without some rather horrid repercussions. When your body was already weak and feeble, augmented and active because of an intricate suit into which your very life was planted, using yourself as a living battering ram was probably not the best idea in the world. Of course, Mister Savoie thought everything through as logically as his mind would allow, the best conversations being the ones that took place in the warm and sociable recesses of his consciousness. However, recent events had called for a change of pace. Less thinking. More doing.
As amazing a feeling as it was for the ironclad invalid to rumble through the streets at great speed, the sudden collision with a rather muscular mammoth had given his insides quite the shake. A sensation that could only be described as his insides turning to mush had left him feeling rather queasy and unstable; his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing rougher and more laboured than ever, even his own brain pounding in protest. All of this was a good sign of his body disliking the primary aspect of the newly coined 'Bouilloire Crash', and that aspect just happened to be him becoming a missile. An exceptionally destructive, solid missile that whistled wildly as it thundered towards the unfortunate enemy. But a missile nonetheless.
I... I think I'll save that one for a finishing move from now on... Oh, God... Coughing and spluttering through shaky breaths, Augustus placed an armoured gauntlet against the chest of his suit, the sounds of his ails echoing within the brass helmet that enveloped his head. He was rather certain of himself now. An attack such as that was perhaps not the best of places to begin, and so his mind started to consider other options as he took in the praise of his Captain. There was no denying that both himself and Eris shared a common love of wanton destruction. Or, perhaps, neither of them really cared enough about their surroundings to appreciate such things as architecture? That question was likely to be answered again and again in the near future, probably up to the point where no man would dare stand within a hundred yards of the fledgling pirate crew.
"Hey, Augustus!" shouted the Captain, drawing in the steam-powered cyborg's attentions as he managed to put an end to his coughing fit. Steadily he turned and cast his eyes in her direction, taking in what she had to say about her most recent venture. Now, Augustus had most definitely heard of Devil Fruits before now, well aware of what they were worth on the market and the kind of powers they were rumoured to possess. Indeed, it was only through his foster father's connections in the business world that he was even aware that those rumours were indeed truths. Upon consumption, the dreaded Akuma no Mi granted unspeakable powers to those who dared partake of them, but the pact was sealed as soon as you swallowed. His spine quivered at the thought of having the waves themselves turn against him, but he was already in possession of some understanding of the hardships of ability users such as Eris. He himself could no longer swim as he had once been able to and, in the waters, he sank like a stone. At least he could move when the waves enveloped him, however, his suit originally designed for such endeavours.
How in hell's name does she even know what any of those taste like? Gah, whatever... Marching lethargically towards the cobblestones upon which his sword still lay, the metallic man reached down and hauled the blade from the ground, its metal scraping at the stonework as he did so. Over his shoulder he rested it, the back of it giving a dull clunking nose as it came down upon his suit's shoulder plating. From the corner of his helm's visor he eyed the dark grey metal from which the sword was forged, reminding himself of the strange story surrounding it. The sword, an unnamed blade with no known maker, was said to have belonged to an acquaintance - no, a friend - of Doctor Deane. The good doctor had said that it had been used to slay Sea Kings and, in its past, had felled many a man. But never had he told Augustus of its original owner. Carefully, he guided the blade into its holds upon his back, the deep click telling him that the weapon was safe and secure. He had no proper sheathe for it, but a set of holding bars on the back of the suit (originally used to help the wearer climb in and out) acted in its stead.
And then he did something entirely different.
With his now free hand, the Savoie son took a hold of his helm, pushing and twisting it and working it to the best of his ability until it finally gave it. The seals and catches that held it in place gave way with a gentle hiss, allowing the frail figure inside to take it off. Yes, he had removed his helmet. Perhaps the only piece of his suit he could remove without ill effect, though it remained connected to the back of the collar and simply fell back. Beneath was the face of the man himself, pallid and a tad drawn from his weakened state, but still possessing the same handsome features of his youth. A strong square jaw and cheek bones, deep set eyes - left like an emerald, right like a sapphire - and, most impressively of all, a thick mane of fiery red hair. Of course, his locks had long since lost their lustre and had dulled to a darker shade from lack of sun, but his eyes still glimmered like jewels as he watched the otherwise preoccupied crewman taking a crack at the giant's safe. Part of him wanted to ask what had gotten them into this mess in the first place, but removing his helm did not grant him the freedom of speech he wanted. He was still nearly silent, nose and mouth enjoying the fresh air. His lungs enjoying it more. At least, if asked a question, he could respond properly with gestures of head and facial expressions.
"Oh, that rotund son of a Cuidela Seamstress!" Smiling a brilliant white smile and chuckling silently at the words that escaped the taller fellow's mouth, knowing full well that nobody ever got the name of that place right, Augustus quickly banished his grin as he assessed the situation before him. A solid safe, the likes of which the giant had been swinging around as a weapon, to which they had been given a fake combination. The predicament was obvious. There was no way they were going to be able to open it, the cyborg's own strength likely being able to manage little more than a light dent, and deciphering the code from themselves would likely take them a lot of time. Time that, given the circumstances, they probably did not have. Unless, of course, someone among them had the inexplicable ability to break any seal. He turned and looked for the kid...