Mission 24 [Bane/Virus/Blab]

[Blaka]

*Donk*
The leather ball hit the wall of her room. Halfheartedly, dark skinned slender hands gave it a light smack each time it came flying back to her.

*Donk*
The red haired young woman with the curly ponytail was sitting on the corner of her bed, absendmindedly observing her volleyball flying back and forth. By now, there was a gray-ish splodge on the wall, where the white ball had rubbed off onto the wood. Practically doing nothing else in one's freetime, for two weeks of straight travel, usually resulted in a splodge like that.

*Donk*
Two weeks! Travelling sucked! Established bases, those were her home. Sure, going out into the world to shoot some bad guys was great fun and exciting. But the process of getting there... not really her thing. Being essentially locked into her room without any possibility to properly exercise (running around on deck each morning really didn't count) was just not the life for her.

*Donk*
At least today was supposed to be the day of their arrival. Excited at this thought, Nadya hit the ball a little harder, resulting in slightly louder donks. The actual mission was a very exciting one indeed. Toroa was not exactly a kingdom where Marines were welcome. Being a non-government nation and all. Their ship would have to be anchored out of eyeshot, to avoid confusion. In small groups of four, they'd have to row over - in civilian clothes, of course - and start from there.

*Donk*
Hence, Miss Orlov had been asigned some new clothes for the undercover act. Instead of her usual Seaman uniform, the young recruit was wearing a white blouse with a light blue high cut sleeveless top underneath it. Her legs were clad in regular jeans and her feet in small blue ballet flats. Not her usual taste, given that she had worn almost nothing but a soldier's garment for the past six years. Usually, Nadya was used to invading a country under the yells of a commanding officer and taking the thread down in an organised fashion. Yet, this time, organising like that would get them caught pretty quickly.

*Donk*
Make no mistake, the mission was not to safe the population, very much to Nad's liking. The people here were traitors after all, fools who didn't want to be ruled under the World Government's wings and recieve Marine protection. Did they realise, she wondered, that this was exactly why criminals like their present target used countries like these to hide in? Really, it was their own fault if pirates could just come in and trample all over them.

*DONK*
Idiocy of this magnitude could get Nad angry! Their choice in the end, she supposed. Thankfully it did not mean Marine forces were going to keep out entirely. Mister Killgore, the man they were here for today, was most definitely on Toroa. He would not escape justice. Anyone who got in their way would share his fate. Hopefully, her partner today had the same viewpoint. What was his name again? Van Riease or something. The winged recruit had nothing but a nodding acquaintance with the guy. According to orders, he was supposed to come pick her up when they were ready to head out. Any second now....

*Donk*

[druinsbane]

Wrong Time Wrong Place

SPOILER: Click to show

He had been misplaced, wrongly put, the wrong file got put into the wrong Cabernet, it happened once and awhile with such an organisational machine such as the navy, someone at headquarters made a mistake maybe they were looking over the file and went out to lunch only to have it slip in with the rest by an absent minded maid or clerk, that is why the chore boy was here. This is why Markov Van Riease, was here.

The door was slightly ajar, smoke billowed out the sound of hushed whispers could be heard, and than 'pop' a scream of laughter, "I told you I could get this bottle open without spilling it." the big man said leaning over himself filling mugs, cups and goblets and even one bowl in the crowded space, "Come on you greedy gull, deal." cards were shuffled and hands were deposited in their owners laps raising their mugs to the dingy room's roof.

He wore his foppish green hat with the duel peacock feathers propped against the brim, his long flowing emerald green coat, the one with gold trimmings that lace the corners and divides, his gold ring's hung off large sausage like digit's, and he had since plugged the hole in his ear with one long pendulum of gold, in truth he didn't look like a chore boy more a crime boss looking over his respective gang rather than a fellow marine gambling with other marines trying to avoid their captains attention. In truth this was the reason he didn't tell his captain it was a mistake, he needed the excuse to wear his old clothes and to get out of those restrictive prison clothes they called a uniform, he chomped down on a cigar lighting it and laughing as he sprayed smoke out in noxious puffs of drifting clouds.

It was an hour or two they couldn't exactly pin the time it had been one drink too many and he knew he was late, he stumbled out of the room found himself turned over in the corridor as he made fast to his partner's room before he could earn the captain's ire, with that he walked up to the door and with a ham sized fist he knocked, "thump-um" it sounded as he tapped against the wood.

[viruswithshoes]

For headaches that felt like having his head in a vise Zenit Basqiat tended towards medicine and rest. For headaches due to actually having his head in a vice he had prescribed himself several shots. Of Lead. Aimed towards the person responsible.

Shakedowns were not uncommon on Pirate's Market where Zenit grew up but there he had someone to protect him. Currently, limping down an alleyway in Toroa the man who had come to the island to photograph an unusual sword-based ballet and meet a certain man about a business deal decided to table his beri making endeavors in exchange for a legal and profitable means to extract revenge. Namely, bounty hunting.

Given the island's lack of ties with the World Government Zenit knew he couldn't trudge into the nearest Marine outpost to leisurely thumb through the wanted posters to find the name and face of the future corpse who nearly squeezed his gray matter through his ears. That left the local jail which the bald devil-fruit user was sure had been abandoned due to the rampant extortion.

For a tiny jail containing only two cells which had been previously trashed by the local criminals it was rather nice. In his short and sporadic career as a bounty hunter and photographer he's seen a few jail cells from both sides of the bars and this one definitely wasn't the worst. He imagined it was reserved for the high class criminal element like white collar crimes and opera ticket scalping. He noticed marble floors and a broken chandelier. A lot of monocles must have dropped when thugs began taking money in exchange for not giving people free swimming lessons and concrete shoes. Or bench vice head bands, in Zenit's case.

It only took a few minutes of shuffling through the wanted posters to see the name, face and bounty of the man Zenit Basqiat was determined to kill in a spectacular fashion. No one had ever put his head in a vise before but he decided that he'd be damned if the first man to do so didn't pay.

[Blaka]

A milisecond after she had registered the knocking, Nadya was standing in an open door, pistol, grenades and flame dial in her belt, sniper rifle in her hands. The volleyball behind her, having been entirely forgotten about in an instant, quietly rolled behind her bed.

"Ready to get goi- " she stopped mid sentence. The sight of her partner for this mission was shocking! A pirate captain's wardrobe was what it looked like. Combined with the terrible smell of alcohol and cigar smoke, everything about the man screamed danger to the winged lass. Had he been a superior officer, she would have kept herself under control. But since this was a fellow recruit, Nadya had no  problem with backing off two yards and staring at him with shock and disgust in her face.

"Ew man, did the Captain give you that!?" she hissed in disbelief "Don't tell me the drinking is part of your disguise..."
The prospect of having to endure this smell for the whole day was horrifying. Miss Orlov was the silent killer type of soldier normally, with an odour like that it would be hard to stay hidden.

Suddenly, she realised something. Her cheeks, already reddish from the rouge anyway, went dark red in embarrassment.
" S-sorry if he made you do that..." she mumbled, staring down at her own feet. After all, his was the perfect disguise, nobody would ever suspect the two of them being Marines.
"L-let's just go." stammering, the riflewoman squeezed past Markov and hurried on deck, expecting him to follow.

Minutes later, the two recruits found themselves again on a the little rowboat that had been assigned to them. Of course, Nadya left the rowing to her physically stronger partner, while she herself was cowering in front of him, scouting the coast of Toroa. Baryshny, her dear sniper rifle, had a scope that allowed her to observe the goings on from far away. A lively town, this one. She had heard about the fancy lifestyle most citizens were leading, despite the lack of security. About the stunning operas with singers from all over the world. The grand balls, where nobles from everywhere came to have fun together and converse about politics. The concerts that were held every once in a while, supposedly even famous stars like Soul King Brook came to play in front of thousands of fans. People were wearing all sorts of expensive fabrics on their body and had the craziest hairstyles that probably took two hours every morning. The shops in the street reflected on that as well. Pompous dresses and shiny shoes in the display windows. And then there were the swords. All kinds of smithing shops graced the alleyways. Big bastardswords, elegant rapiers, sharp butcherknifes for the every day kitchen. And all of it at the mercy of the awful buccaneers seeking refuge here.

"According to the Captain we are supposed to observe quietly before we find the man, right?" Nad tried to start a conversation to pass the time. While she wasn't very good at it, the shy skylander always at least attempted to get to know her colleagues. "Any idea where we should start looking?

[druinsbane]

"Oh, yeah. Captain's orders." he said raising his arm his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath of his coat, he nodded once than twice and removed half a lemon from his breast pocket, he squashed it dribbling it on his coat and getting a glob of juice on his hand and running it through his hair. "Lemon freshness." and stuck the rest in his mouth with a 'pop', his face puckered up and he grimaced, swallowed and drew a deep breath from his cigar. "You must be my partner, the name's Markov Van Riese."

He moved to the boat slumping down as he withdrew the paddles, unhooked the rope and began to row. Ripples spiralled out from the boat and the slight turbulence of the sea rocked the small dingy back and forth, back and forth. "We are to observe, nothing about being quiet. But I think he wants it to be done all sneaky like, but he wasn't specific so we have the option." he'd press out with his left hand it arced forward cuffed itself in a crescent shape and made a second cigar appear from his sleeve, "Here, no one should be without a smoke. After all what we're going into it could be our last." he paused letting silence settle over the two, the breath between sentences the thought process between an idea. "Just being dramatic, we'll be fine."

"Anyway, I've got an associate in on the island. He might know what's going on." he rowed them in, docked tied it down with a rope and tipped a small boy by the side of the wharf with a few coins. "Keep a watch on it kid, more where that came from." 

"C'mon. Lets head up to the old jail cell, it probably a place he'd hang out, the freak."

[viruswithshoes]

It was to be expected that the goons who had trashed the office also took any liquor off of the premises. He had been beaten up and his head placed in a device known for keeping things in place and crushing them, it seemed like a good time for a drink.
What seemed like a lifetime ago but was merely months past, Zenit spent some time in a less nice jail in Loguetown. There, an old, wise bounty hunter taught him about pruno, the disgusting, vomit-colored wine made in prisons and jails across the blues. It was never something Zenit felt the need to make but at the moment any stiff drink would do even prison wine fermented with old fruit, sugar and ketchup in a bag. To both his disgust and surprise Zenit found some of the nauseating contraband liquid hidden beneath a pillow in one of the cells. The fact that it remained unstolen when nearly everything else had been did not inspire any faith as to the pruno's ability to refresh.

The looters had left a few slightly torn paper cups. A poor vessel fit for a vomitous beverage. Zenit sat on the repeatedly stabbed yet still comfortable chair of one of the officers and propped his feet upon a nearby desk and took his first sip of a wine brewed in a jail cell for only the most desperate of alcoholics and now men who wished for a quick trip to oblivion.

Alas, the vile taste of the jail brew only enhanced Zenit Basqiat's troubles. Now his head was pounding and he tasted something like the bile of an ancient and long dead diseased lungfish. In a rare bout of optimism he took another drink and began dry heaving. Once bent over he noticed a loose square of marble. It was difficult to dig up but underneath was a treasure. An old bottle of aged rum and three thick glasses. Even the hidden booze of alcoholic cops in this town was fancy. It was a shame some of it had been taken over by gangsters.

While he sipped the astoundingly smooth rum Zenit thought about what led him here. An actual photo-journalism job and not some tabloid creep and peep. Zenit had grown tired of snapping photos of celebrity pirates acting as pirates do and longed to take photos with more meaning. He was going to take classy photos of a classy ballet which would lead to more classy assignments. He'd travel the world in style and comfort while photographing amazing things. At the moment he didn't mind dealing with a man like Markov if it meant some extra money which meant a shot at an easier life.

While their relationship was mostly business, Zenit didn't think Markov would mind a little bit of trouble dealing with these newly arrived extortionists. While the young photographer was certain the Marine was not a shining example of pure justice Zenit thought he could persuade mister Riease to help. As a man who could remember and print almost any image he had ever seen Zenit could always find a photo someone would pay good beri for.

[druinsbane]

Myself and Blab, are switching posting order for this post, resume as normal.

"If I have to give you advise about what we're doing." he looked down adjusted one of his ring's so the small skull figurine was looking up its mouth open, as if surprised for the very first time noticing it was getting a free ride on a bearded giant's hand, he looked up. "Fine lies beat tedious truths every time. Take that for what you will.”

It was five to fifteen minutes before they arrived, it was a block like construct, a hollowed out concrete cube it had moss and ivy clinging to its surface congregating in the gaps between masonry and open air, in a few years if left untouched maybe ghost stories would spring up about this place, how you could still hear the moaning of long dead prisoners, or so they would say.

"If there was a place where he'd be this would be it." he picked at the door with a hooked finger pealing off a scrap of paint and holding it up for inspection, "Starting to rot." he smiled his golden grin reeled his leg back and sent it forward kicking the door off the hinges in a shower of splinters, he walked in, one hand on his cutlass's pommel still tied to his belt. "Friend!" he said hoping, no praying his associate was there, it would look rather daft if he wasn't and he'd been lucky the door was rotten, too many an epic entrance has been ruined by a tough door.

[Blaka]

'All sneaky like'. Awesome.
For some reason, Nadya very much doubted her colleague would adhere to the orders.
"You know we gotta deal with the guards if they discover us right?" she mumbled more to herself, unsure if he'd hear her or not.

Him offering one of his cigars to her confused her for a moment, enough to make her look up from the smoke and look at the guy with a condescending frown on her face, barely masked by her ever present shyness. She didn't smoke, never tried, never wished to. For starters, it reminded her something burning - most curiously. While she did like the smell of fire in general, that smell coming out of her own mouth would feel too much like she was burning herself. Then again, with how remarkably different their two disguises already looked, it couldn't hurt taking at least one thing that connected them to outside observers.
"Here's hoping I don't have to light it..." the sniper mumbled and put the cig in the breast pocket of her blouse.

The longer Markov talked, the more creeped out Nad got.
An 'associate', huh?
Sure, she knew some Marines used to frequent with criminals for information. In her opinion however, since this method allowed the information brokers to stay out of jail, these Marines were no better than pirates. Even though (unknown to her) the associate was a Bounty Hunter, Van Riease's demeanour made her jump to conclusions. To the rest of her partner's comments she just nodded softly. There was no point in responding anything but protest.

As the strange pair walked through the streets of Toroa, they caught the attention of more than one passersby. Nobody dared speaking to them, for the team looked way too dangerous, the winged girl with her big gun in her hands and the (so obvious) pirate captain with his general look. On any other island, the fear in people's eyes would have irked her. Civilians were supposed to look at the agents of justice with hope in their eyes. However, here on Toroa, the island of resistant fools, fear was exactly the right expression. For one did always eventually have that look in their eyes if one tried to stand up against the government navy.

The old jail was on the far edge of town. Not very far away from the port, but still way off enough not to bother any tourists with its rundown look. The sniper lass turned up her nose at the sight of this construct. If this was where the so called associate was hiding out, Nad would most definetely have to report him at the end of the day. No good person just settled down in a broken prison. Keeping her head down and her rifle ready, she followed Markov inside.

[viruswithshoes]

It seemed foolish it ignore an animal's instinct for danger so when the lemming in a hat Zenit carried around in his pocket squeaked in concern the photographer and bounty hunter with an intense headache sluggishly hid in a dark corner of the jail holding his steel revolver hoping not to have to use.
That hope did not extend to the man who was the cause of such a terrible night.

The sight of a rough and tumble pirate in a green coat looking ready for a night of rum and shooting people who cheated at poker turned out to be comfort to Zenit. What made him nervous was the pretty but stern looking lady he had brought with him. Despite her civilian attire everything about her screamed 'Marine'. The two newly arrived Marines couldn't possibly look any more different. Together they were a study in contrast which Zenit simply had to photograph. The stark difference actually made Zenit laugh from his dark corner.

The silver revolver dangled from the photographer's hand and was soon holstered when he saw his pet lemming Kilmister scurry up to the pair and stand on his hind legs on the desk in front of the woman with the rifle.
"I thought the local jail would be a nice, safe, neutral place to meet." He said with a thick coating of irony as he gestured around to the wrecked area. "Bars can be dangerous, you know?" A bitter smirk emerged from the weary bounty hunter which was supposed to be a laugh to lighten his mood which seemed destined to get darker.

Not an affectionate man, by any means, Zenit still felt the need to awkwardly clap his hand onto Markov's shoulder as he was actually glad to see the man. The bald man in the round shades could not think of any way to express this gratitude that would leave his pride intact. It had taken enough of a beating that day.
"I found rum. Good rum, actually. Bachanal. Slight lime taste and a hint of yarukiman mangroves from the aging barrels..." Zenit had once again ventured one sentence into the realm of blabbering. It was one of the deficits of growing up with a father who was intensely particular about his rum consumption.

Zenit transitioned from one embarassing act to another as he ogled the rifle Nadya carried with her.
"She's very pretty," Zenit said after a short whistle and craning his head to look for a different angle at what had caught his eye. "There's nothing like the sound of a bolt-action rifle, in my opinion. I use a revolver rifle, myself. Semi-auto so I can-" That feeling that he was rambling again took hold which caused him to blush, but that might have been the rum and the blood finally returning to his semi-crushed skull.

He quickly and awkwardly thrust out his hand to Nadya.
"Zenit. Zenit Basqiat. I see you're a friend of Markov's. So...I guess it's safe to talk? Um, anyway, as you can see..." The aching bald teen gestured to his cuts and bruises. "I have run afoul of a gangster."
Through his groans, Zenit explained how he ended up on the island with an assignment to photograph a ballet and ended up in a part of the island under a protection racket run by the local mafia.

[druinsbane]

"I wouldn't worry about guards, the average guard knows he's expected to be the first in a room and the first to die, so guards have learned the amazing talent of being else where." he removed an orange from his breast pocket, and withdrew a knife with his free hand, he began to peel small splinters of orange fell away and onto the ground, small ribbons of peel floated amongst the sea of hair that was his beard. "People don't like dying, its a fact."

"Why are you looking so glum," he looked down towards Miss Orlov, taking a piece from the sphere of pulp and orange, he removed a piece and pushing it towards her before removing his own segment by segment placing it in his mouth, a wet squelching sound could be heard before he turned and smiled, the pulp and skin of the fruit clinging to his teeth and gums like some brightly coloured vine on some decrepit building. “have a smile for breakfast, you'll be shitting joy by lunch.”

One, two, three, crack!

"I found rum. Good rum, actually. Bachanal. Slight lime taste and a hint of yarukiman mangroves from the aging barrels..."

"Ah, my favourite." any drop of aged liquid any spot of fruit that could be fermented was his favourite, this was just closer so it was thus his favourite. "Just perfect." he intercepted the bottle and a cup poured three glasses haphazardly, took a small swig from the bottle corked it and returned with three glasses. "A toast to our future victories, and to our future failures for the excuse to start drinking all over again."

"She's very pretty," Zenit said after a short whistle and craning his head to look for a different angle at what had caught his eye. "There's nothing like the sound of a bolt-action rifle, in my opinion. I use a revolver rifle, myself. Semi-auto so I can-

"The captain picks them pretty, what would be the point of sending the ugly ones." he was engrossed in the content of his cup, swirling it around with a single finger prodding at its empty contents as if willing it to refill through the power of the mind, it didn't work. "Except when your on the other end of the bolt-action rifle, I find that sound most uncomfortable."

"Zenit. Zenit Basqiat. I see you're a friend of Markov's. So...I guess it's safe to talk? Um, anyway, as you can see..." The aching bald teen gestured to his cuts and bruises. "I have run afoul of a gangster."

"If you don't run afoul of the local gangsters how can the other tourists feel lucky, your just the unlucky one life decided to spit on today. Tomorrow it might be an old lady who won a lottery. Who knows." he sat down in a chair kicking himself up so he'd be leaning against the wall, his leg's propped up against the table, to best describe him now the phrase kick-able comes to mind. "We're after a gentleman called Killgore, he could be your gangster, a pirate. We've been charged with his capture." he expressed the word capture with an odd quirk a slight stretch from C to E, it was the type of expression reserved for 'not in one piece,' or 'sea side disappearing act'.

[Blaka]

Nadya found the inside of the prison to be surprisingly fancy, given its outside look. Then again, unsurprisingly fancy when you thought about the outside population. However, the overall fanciness recieved a big hit thanks to whoever had trashed this place to pieces. The lighting broken, the iron bars bent, parts of the marble floor broken.

As a strange laugh sounded from the dark corner of the room, the skylass instantly pointed her weapon in the direction it came from. There, the strange looking associate stood. A stubby, barefoot, bald man with an head that looked more like a cracked egg than anything, thanks to the nasty scar that ran accross it. As soon as her blue eyes made his figure out in the twilight, her danger sense calmed down instantly. This man was no menace, that much was clear. At least, he didn't look like he could be if he wanted to. Wether or not he was a hostile was still not clear. Yet, Nadya pointed Baryshny's barrel elsewhere for now - at the little rodent to her feet.
"Don't!" she hissed at it and snapped at the stranger: "Call your pet back!"

Clearly, him and Markov were more than just business partners, friends perhaps. A fact that made her even more nervous. Right now, everything pointed at the two men being a traitor and a lowlife wannabe gangster. In a pinch, it would be two against one in a very narrow environment. Mentally, the Marine checked if she had everything with her for a close combat battle just in case. Gordyi, the revolver in her belt, was loaded, her flame dial charged. Good.

More than a little tense, Miss Orlov kept standing there with her gun in the lemming's face while the two guys jovially conversed. The drink she declined with a protesting "NO! And you shouldn't have that either, we aren't drinking on the job!" For a second she took her hues off of the animal to give Van Riease a stern look. "And d-don't talk about me like that!" Thankfully her rouge hit her blushing at their compliments. Embarassing to hear these words from scum like these two.

Of course, Nad neglected his handshake.
"What are you doing, exactly?" she instead questioned in response. "Rival pirate? Assassin? You don't look like you could go up against a 9 Million Beri man."
It was really the confusion that aggravated the redhead to this degree. She couldn't stand not knowing what was happening, or the feeling that she was missing something. Answers had to come now and quickly, or else. "Baryshny is a loud one I show you that. You might not like that sound after all."

[viruswithshoes]

Zenit's mother had told him that snipers were a lonely lot and that when they got together they tended towards 'measuring barrel lengths' as she put it. Two loners in the same group hardly seemed like something to bond over. Zenit, on the other hand had zero experience with other snipers and was eager to see how he differed from others, especially those formally trained.
The lady Marine sniper in front of him seemed less inclined toward such familiarity due to her refusal to return his handshake.

As a show of good faith as well as a desire to not see her rifle effects on his own aching body Zenit clucked his tongue and summoned the lemming in a hat to him which scurried up his leg and into the breast pocket of his long, gray coat.

Feb 21, 2016 5:49:34 GMT -5 Blaka said:

"What are you doing, exactly?" she instead questioned in response. "Rival pirate? Assassin? You don't look like you could go up against a 9 Million Beri man."

"I can't. I'm just a photographer who sometimes moonlights as a bounty hunter. I was hoping to enlist my pal Markov here for some extra muscle. Originally, I came to photograph a ballet but you know...when man plans God laughs."

 

"If you don't run afoul of the local gangsters how can the other tourists feel lucky, your just the unlucky one life decided to spit on today. Tomorrow it might be an old lady who won a lottery. Who knows."

"I appreciate your perspective, Markov, but my perspective is I just had my head in a vise."
The name Killgore did bring up a name and a bounty from the wanted poster photographs in the memory of the pashu-pashu no mi user. It would have been less of a blow to his pride if he'd been beaten up by the head of the criminals on the island instead of some flunkie but it was not to be.

"No, the future corpse I intend on making isn't quite so notorious. Duffle Palisade bounty of two million is why I'm probably being rude right now." He rubbed his eyes and sat down in a chair next to the bottle of rum and glasses and proceeded to put on the boots Duffle had stripped off of him before leaving suddenly. The bald photographer was too grateful and too tired to probe the situation any further.

The newly shod bounty hunter tapped his boots on the ground which caused the boot to emit a small cloud from the milky dials inside to see of they had been damaged.
"This Kilgore guy...is he connected with our...you know...business deal?" Zenit felt more than a little awkward even vaguely mentioning his working relationship with Markov who, to the wounded man's relief, was not a straight-arrow Marine.

Zenit looked over to Nadya stroked the lemming in his pocket with his index finger. "Don't worry about Kilmister. He's a former pirate but a good pal."

[Blaka]

A bounty hunting photographer!

With a distrustful "Hmpf.", Nadya relaxed her stance, removed her finger from Baryschny's trigger and pointed it at the floor, where it couldn't hit anything. While she still questioned the man on a personal level, she was at least sure now that she had no hostile actions to expect, nor a real reason to apprehend him. Not for things like piracy or murder anyway. For corruption, perhaps. What he said was still utterly appauling. So much in fact, that she slowly moved her right hand towards her hips, where her revolver sat. The more Zenit talked, the more disgusted Nad got.

These Bounty Hunters were a strange lot to her. On side of the scale, they got rid of a lot of pirates the Marines couldn't get to. That was a big plus in her book, given that they actually made the streets safer. On the other hand - and this was weighing a lot more - they were not part of the Marines. Deticating your life to hunting criminals was honourable, sure, but only if it in turn didn't make the World Navy, the great military power, look weak. Or rather, actually weakened them! The money being paid to skilled hunters was insanely high. Money that could instead be used for more weaponry or better salaries for soldiers.

What this guy was saying however, was a borderline treachorous crime.

"You want to enlist a Marine?" she hissed aggresively, raising her right hand and pointing at the fool. "Lend him a hand in exchange for money!? Or worse, use him for your own personal gain!!?" With each question she got more furious, raising her voice, almost screeching in the end "Do you know that we can just force you to give us everything you have on them and throw you in prison for suggesting corruption!!!?"

Already, she was reaching for the cuffs at her belt - when suddenly, accompanied startling cracking sound, a heavy stone brick crashed through the window. The missile almost hit her face, flying inches away past it and into the opposite wall.

"Eyh Basqiat! We know you're in there!" a man's voice yelled from the outside
"Yeah, come out dude! Next one's gonna burn!" shouted another.

Miss Orlov's combat reflexes set in immediately. Ducking as low as possible without having to crawl, the winged lass darted over to a spot right next to the broken window and pressed herself against the cold stone, Baryschny at the ready. Peeking out for but a second, the redhead made out about a dozen men of all sizes in cement gray clothing. She would have taken their outfits for uniforms, if all of them weren't completely different in shapes. A ripped shirt here, a leather jacket there. But all of them in the same bland colour. In their hands they held bats, crowbars and bricks. One of them was even about to light what looked like a Molotov Cocktail. The sniper girl quickly ducked back to cover. A calmness began to run through her in the face of the enemy. Glancing back at her company, a smile appeared on her lips.
"Stay down!" she ordered them, cocking her gun.

A moment later, the guys outside could see a dark skinned woman appear in the destroyed window. A bang was heard as the sniper rifle's trigger was pulled and a subsequent wooshing sound, as the weilder of the cocktail was engulfed in flames. Before any of them could react, Nadya was already out of sight again, blown backwards a few feet by her gun's recoil. Panicking screams from outside filled the air as Nad let herself fall to her knees.

"We won't have to go look for them." she sighed.

[viruswithshoes]

"You want to enlist a Marine? Lend him a hand in exchange for money!? Or worse, use him for your own personal gain!!? Do you know that we can just force you to give us everything you have on them and throw you in prison for suggesting corruption!!!?"

On his list of most resented groups The Marines were up there with the Celestial Dragons. While he didn't think of them as evil to the core, various raids on his home island Pirate's Market made them more of a threat than pirates because at least the buccaneers he had met in his time were there for reasons other than causing havoc.
"Sorry, I guess I got a little angry WHEN SOME BASTARD TRIED TO CRUSH MY HEAD IN A VISE! I came to photograph a ballet not almost have my brain goo stain a workbench."

Even when reeling from a near-death experience Zenit felt bad about raising his voice...mostly because doing so usually led to more near death experiences. When Zenit noticed his fellow sniper reach for a pair of handcuffs the meeker of the two sharpshooters was glad to hear the window break. He was less glad to hear a mob of angry people calling him by name. His memory was foggy but he must have given his torturer his name. He assumed he had told the man a great deal of other things as well.

What propelled Zenit to run towards his rifle, Blue Sonja, and fire a shot through the window at one of the attackers. It took a moment for Zenit to take in the situation but what stuck in his mind most was the power of his fellow sniper's rifle. He assumed that Nadya did not follow his own philosophy on guns, that one should only use ammunition one has been struck by. Given the lack of bowling ball sized holes in her torso, it seemed the Naval gun enthusiast did not share that line of thought.

After first-hand knowledge that the police station they were attacking had armed people in it, some of the attackers lost a bit of their aggression temporarily. Long enough for Zenit to snatch the handcuffs from Nadya and use them to chain the front door closed should the lock give out.
"Sorry. Sorry. Um, I know I shouldn't have taken your cuffs..." Zenit lost focus on finishing his apology as he scrambled through the police station lobby for a bottle of a foul tasting liquid. He prayed prison wine made a better incendiary than a beverage. A ripped piece of Zenit's shirt created the fuse for this repulsive molotov cocktail which he tossed over to Nadya. For better or worse, they were on the same team now.

Four impact round left in his six-shooter Gin Hime, Five left in his rifle, Blue Sonja, that was it for the projectile weaponry In Zenit's personal armory. He sincerely thought he'd just be there to take photos and wouldn't need much ammunition.
To keep the door even more secure Zenit held his impact dial against it should they try to batter it down. He'd never used to absorb anything stronger than a punch and hoped that the extended warranty he paid for wasn't just an trick to separate Zenit from his hard earned beri.
"Miss? Miss? Are you okay? How many rounds do you have left. I have nine all together. Um, I should probably tell you that I'm not well-versed in melee combat. If they breach I can hide us for a minute using my devil fruit power. Maybe. Possibly."