Post by rocko52 (Drago) on Sept 12, 2016 16:46:31 GMT -5
The sunlight had gleamed off of the snow laden walls and buttresses of B-2, blinding on such a bright day. The fortress might have been wounded, but it’s pride never stopped shining. With each passing moment, the center of naval power in the South Blue regained more of its former glory. Marines of all ranks, races, and backgrounds worked tirelessly day and night to prove through their collective sweat and blood that Justice was unshakable. Unfaltering, unwavering. You can kill the body, but never the spirit. After the sting of such a vicious blow, the Marines of the south seas were imbued with a spark as never before. Justice will never fail, Justice will rise.
B-2’s imposing figure hung in Babet’s mind long after the ship had left port. After weeks, months of busywork adulterated with the overhanging loss, finally seeing the mighty bulwark in its full might felt like a new baptism. One glance was all it took to evaporate his doubts and hesitations, recovery was here, now. Standing tall by the railing of the bow, he took a clean sip of green tea, his favorite. Though it was now barely a blip on the horizon, he continued to stare out towards this beacon of hope. As he gingerly placed his empty cup on a small table, the gentleman’s reverie was shattered by the nasally complaints of his subordinate Fredrick.
“Do we have to stay on the deck? The winds are f*cking freezing and if we’re gonna catch this guy, I can’t be catching frostbite!” the irritant young man snapped, clinging tight to himself while resting against a mast. As per usual, the brat fell just short of pushing Babet’s buttons. In the months he had spent with him, the Ensign had gotten used to Fredrick’s constant irritations. They weren’t any less annoying, but they were certainly more bearable. The officer’s cherished etiquette was worth far more than any meaningless squabble with the lowlife.
In a calm intoned voice Babet replied, “First of all, please refrain from such language in the future. If you wish you may return to your quarters. However, don’t expect to be spared your usual duties, and be prepared for landfall tomorrow. Dismissed.” As the kid got to his feet, the officer held a firm and authoritative gaze into his eyes, as if to hold him back for a moment longer. Confused, the boy returned the look with mild contempt. Always keeping his posture, Babet continued looking expectant, until with a roll of his eyes, the young Marine finally connected the dots and gave a salute. The brat ambled down the deck with a sigh, turning away too fast to see his superior’s returning salute made with uniform precision. With one more forced huff, Fredrick threw open the door to the quarterdeck and went down below. How the boy had even become a Seaman Apprentice baffled his commanding officer. It had to have been a pity promotion in recognition of how long he’d been in service. That, or his pathetic parents had pulled some strings.
Babet shook his head gently. Even wasting that much mental energy on the many vexations of Fredrick was a waste. As inspiring as the sight of B-2 had been, the gentleman knew this task would be incredibly demanding, and would require his utmost in all aspects, mental, physical, and even personal. Within his short but already impressive time in the Marines, the Ensign had surpassed many challenges. However, he had never taken on something like this before. This mission was on a different level entirely, but that hardly would cow a proud member of the le’ Et family line! A victory here would certainly mean promotion and further his upward momentum, while a failure would very likely spell death, or at the very least disgrace and permanent setback. It would be either the most decisive success of his career so far, or the most biting defeat. The prospect energized the ambitious officer to no end. Every step taken, no matter how small, brought him closer to realizing his dreams of surpassing his beloved grandfather and former commodore, Labbet le’ Et. And not the least of this excitement was derived from the satisfaction he’d get while carrying out Justice. While it was always an honor to serve the greater good, this time was especially enticing…
The Day Before - B-2
Humbly packed in-between other makeshift rooms within a section of B-2 still mostly unfixed, the tiny temporary office of Ensign Babet le’ Et stuck out. The place only had two real walls, with spare dividers serving as the other ones. It was one of many officers and facilities under the command of a certain Captain Jorgen, his relatively large office was in the center of the group, under a large war-tent. While nearby set-ups were in various states of disarray, likely in preparation for their inevitable take-down, his was remarkably clean and orderly, a glorious ray of light in a waste of mess. In all aspects of life and work, both in appearance and behavior, the officer always strove for gentlemanly perfection. His room was more closet than office, no just due to the current ramshackle state of affairs in B-2 though that was large part, but also because Ensign’s are rather low on the ranked officer hierarchy. In spite of this, he still brought it all the dignity and attention due a grand throne room.
His desk was immaculate, with every instrument and paper neatly arrayed just so. A subdued and well-kempt Den Den Mushi sat at attention near the edge of the desk. His file cabinets lined up in a perfect line, no edges protruding even slightly, and every document filed and straightened. A very small coat-closet bore a few changes of clothes for off-duty, all pressed and hung with care. A small chest of arms held what little weaponry he possessed, with each one sorted, cleaned and placed delicately. Finally, he had a little coffee table for his tea tray and cup. If only tea tables existed.
It was the afternoon, and as he had quite regrettably gotten used to, he had no direct orders. It had been a while before he had taken on anything significant, his last real job had been months back when he was assigned to take out the Marine defector Dawdry. Since then, he had mostly taken to keeping some lower ranked men on task from a distance, or transferring messages to his higher-ups. Being a gentlemen of course, he never would have entertained the notion of complaining. Hardly, any and every task given him he took on with the utmost sense of duty and efficiency. Anything to further the cause of the Marines and hopefully his reputation, no matter how minor, was a task worth doing. Still, it would be a lie to say he didn’t harbor some desire for more investing activity, though he’d be loath to admit it.
In his meantime, after some routine checking up on his office, he decided to write a letter. A romantic letter to his fiancee back on Dauntaun, Saviere Lilac. A lady as fair as her deserved only the most elegant of letters, demanding his best parchment and quill. As he made his way through the letter, pondering over each word, he used his most flower prose. As the gentlemanly marine started to near the end he wrote:
“Oh my beloved, how I long to see your immaculate face before me! With each successive breath I take throughout this never-ending seperation, I feel more and more vividly your pain at our distance. If I could hold you once more, whisper tender words in your fair ears, to kiss again at voyage’s end! Please endure for a while longer my brave lady, remember always our promise! We shall be wed as soon as the opening arises, and if that stay is too short like the last, may it be full of sweetness and devotion! I think of you by the minute sweet one, each that passes is like a dagger to the chest. I love you with every fiber of my being, await my return, dearest possessor of my heart.
Loving in Truth,
Babet le’ Et”
As he finished, he tenderly folded the paper to fit elegantly into a pristine envelope. He took up his wax seal, and pressed it to the envelope. The thought of licking it shut never once entered his mind, no gentleman would resort to such means. Almost the instant he was done, there came a ring on his Den Den Mushi. Expecting little, but always ready and attentive, he picked up the receiver.
In a solid tone he replied, “Ensign Babet le’ Et, subordinate of Captain Jorgen, responding.”
His internal nonchalance however was broken at the first sound of the caller’s voice, low and tense. “Babet, you are to immediately report to Captain Jorgen’s office. Do not make any stops or deviate from this order, come as soon as this call is over.”
The Ensign, though startled, still dutifily replied, “As you command sir. I’m already there.”
The other end chuckled mightily, “Good, good. Alright, this call is over.” And with that, it was.
As if driven by a machine Babet stood up as soon as the call ended, and made his way out of his office. Simultaneously, he lightly scooped up his letter, and dropped it in a small mail basket outside the door. The corridor he came into was sided by cracked concrete and dividers, with murmurs and footsteps permeating all around. A few lights were strung along the solid walls, though the overall tone was barely brighter than dim. The Ensign knew the way perfectly and wasted no time. He didn’t run, that would be quite improper, nor did he push past or go around anyone he came into. He did, however move at a very brisk pace, past this divider, through that hall, and quickly he arrived at the Captain’s office.
The tent was the kind used for campaign encampments, one which would house strategies and generals. The top of the huge tent crumpled up against the low ceiling, clearly made for outdoor scenarios. It was blue and white, the covered entrance emblazoned with the Marine’s insignia. A quartet of soldiers flanked either side of the entrance, each hard-jawed and brandishing rifles. At an appropriate distance, Babet came to a full halt, and gave a hearty but formal salute. One of the soldier’s grim expression briefly suggested a smile, but it was gone as soon as it came. There was silence for a few tense moments, until one of the guards spoke.
“Do you have business with the Captain?” Came a gravelly monotone.
“Yes sir. I am Ensign Babet le ‘Et, and I was summoned here minutes ago.” His perfectly polite response drew a short chuckle from the guard who had smiled, and this time his subdued grin didn’t face.
He drew the entrance curtain back and said, “Go right in.”
Babet respectfully made his way through the entrance, and took a look around. The office was dark, only illuminated by a single hanging bulb. The office was the only in the area that could rival Babet’s for order, but it easily beat it in regards to how packed it was. Captain Jorgen, a large and bearded redhead wearing sunglasses, sat in a slightly raised chair over a long table. He was wearing a casual checkered button-up, and rested his sandal-clad feet up against the table, a broad grin on his wide face. His laid-back aura felt in sharp contrast both to his guards and his rank. Still, as eccentric as some of them could be, Babet had been in the Marines long enough to know not to underestimate the higher-ups based on their quirks.
With a smooth motion Jorgan pushed his sunglasses a bit above his eyes and eyed the Ensign directly. Before the gentleman-Marine could stop and salute the man, Jorgen called out “Straight Lace! Come Babet! Take a seat!”
While the order to come down had been a surprise, nothing could have taken Babet aback more than the Captain’s seemingly complete disregard for manners and formal interaction. For only a moment he lost his stern upper lip, but very quickly replied, “Of course sir!”
As he started to shuffle towards his seat, Jorgen let out a hearty laugh. “You know you don’t have to worry about kissing my ass Babet, I care little for formalities!” For the first time in a long while, the younger officer felt rather awkward, and lacked his usually strict grace as he finally sat down.
Once he had taken his seat he replied, “Sir I wouldn’t think of addressing you otherwise.”
Settling down a bit, Jorgen put his feet down, and his wide grin shrunk to a bemused smirk. He did a few tired stretches, while Babet remained sitting straight up, internally composing himself. He could hardly believe he lost his control for a moment there, he needed to be more adaptable to Jorgen’s attitude. After wringing his wrists once more, the Captain finally sat up and began to speak.
“Alright Babet, very good of you coming down as fast as you did. Didn’t expect ya to come for another half-hour, but I see I underestimated yer...punctuality! Your reputation precedes yourself boy!” Jorgen let out another, albeit softer laugh. “Your old man was nothing like ya, I served with Grabet a bit, nothing like ya! Not a bad thing kid, just a healthy observation from a vet.” The Captain's demeanor was starting to wear a bit on the gentlemanly marine, though of course he didn't let such distasteful notions change his well-mannered disposition. He wouldn’t dare say it, but he did wish the Captain would get to the point quickly.
Almost as if answering the blonde Ensign’s thoughts, Jorgen threw a large finger forward. “Right then! Enough of this, onto the point!” Babet perked up a bit when he heard this.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed and he sat a bit taller. All of a sudden his disposition seemed to change completely, any hint of a smile vanishing. “Babet,” he began. “I have some highly classified information you’re about to hear. Know that if you breathe a word of this to anyone unauthorized I’ll have your head!” The redhead now spoke with quiet, but wild sounding voice.
“Of course sir!” The gentleman replied instinctively. The old man’s smile returned, but it now felt more grim than jovial.
“Good boy, good. Now son, I’m sure you’re familiar with a certain infamous individual,” he paused. “Jack Dancer.”
The effect on the young marine was immediate. At the sound of that name, a void of emotions began to overtake him.
“That scoundrel! -” Babet cut himself short, forcing himself to keep his cool. He'd almost uttered an uncouth word, most un-befitting a gentleman. The mere thought of such a monster was sickening to him. Pirates and others who perverted justice were bad enough, but the man directly responsible for murdering many of his friends, decimating his military home...he was one of the few individuals the marine could claim to truly despise. Adding to all this was the infuriating knowledge that he could do nothing about it. Not only was Jack a monster of an overwhelming caliber, one who’d rip apart someone like Babet in a mere moment, but he was also a member of the Royal Daibukai, and granted thus full pardon by the World Government! Corruption at its finest! How could anyone even try to argue someone like that would be a symbol of justice, that low-life murderous son of a -.
“Woah now, let’s not talk ill of an ally there chief,” Jorgen said, interrupting the Ensign’s rapid thoughts. With a dark smile, the Captain continued. “I would have expected a more stoic reaction from someone like you, ha! I like that even you have your limits!” Babet didn’t dare protest.
Letting out a small sigh, the big man kept going, “Well, as I’m sure is obvious to you, that man was responsible for the destruction of this very base, and personally ended the lives of many of our brethren. Now I’m supposed to tell you it’s all well and good now that he’s working for us, but that’s a load of bulll! That bastard took so much from us, but know what? There’s nothing we can do about it kiddo.” Deciding to finally give up on holding in his emotions, especially around Jorgen, Babet’s face turned lightly downcast, and his always perfect posture softened.
After a moment, the redhead went on, “But...he wasn’t the only one responsible, was he?”
The implication was immediately clear to Babet, who snapped back to full attention. “Sir... if I may speak,” another low laugh from the Captain was all he needed to know the answer, “I don’t know what you’re referring to. Please…tell me.” With each passing moment the blonde grew more disgusted with himself. His always on-point etiquette and restrain were embarrassingly slipping. Even worse though was the disgraceful fire inside him which had just been lit. Wrath. Justice wasn’t supposed to be personal. Motive derived from vengeance were petty, and belonged nowhere near the carrying out of one’s duty. But...here he was, sinking deeper into this mire. Losing hold.
Jorgen leaned in a bit. “There were nine individuals who aided him, you might’ve heard of them. These hooligans, “The Nine” - doncha’ figure - of Viktas. They marauded around the island for years, spreading idiotic anti-Marine sentiments. We always put up with the, official orders were to ignore them most times, lightly remind them of their place if things ever got outta hand. Then those damned brats set loose the demon, Dancer! Those kids are just as responsible for this disaster as our friendly warlord!” As he continued, the Captain had begun to shake a massive fist by his side. “And ya wanna know what? Can’t do anything about them either! Warlord subordinates are also pardoned, doncha figure?! That hasn’t hasn’t stopped them higher-ups from wanting some-un to punish, lock-up, execute. Those bloodthirsty scoundrels always want heads when something goes wrong, you’d be a damn fool to think they’re alright with letting the people who did this,” he motioned around with his arm, “get away scott free!” Just at the height of the anger in his voice, the Captain made a sudden goofy face, and shrunk back into his seat.
“This was supposed to be a secret meeting, right Ensign?” he asked with a childlike innocence.
Baffled, all Babet could offer was, “Yes sir, I believe so.”
Grinning again, the Captain cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey guards!” Almost immediately the soldiers from outside the tent came inside. Still smiling, Jorgen put a fat finger against his mouth, “You haven’t heard anything right?”
Behaving as if they were used to this, the soldiers simply nodded in unison. “Good, good!” Jorgen muttered. “Now go back outside! This is a secret meeting!” On cue, they filed back through the tent entrance.
Chuckling lightly, Jorgen abruptly turned to look right at Babet. “Hey kid wanna know something? Well, before those almighty bastards on high decided to invite Dancer to be a warlord as a way to settle him down, rumor was that a few of them Nine had left his company or declined to go in the first place. Far as we can tell, at least one left before the devil got the invite. You know what this means, doncha kid?”
Enraptured, Babet nodded sternly, the implications were immediate. “Alright kid. Well, what would you say if I told you recently some of our agents stumbled upon a lead that this guy, General Morn was what he went by, might be lying low on Zarzara Island?” The impure spark within the Ensign came ablaze again, with even more fervor.
“If I may speak sir...I would ask what I can do to make him pay.” Deadly serious and completely composed, Babet looked right into Jorgen’s eyes.
Letting out a huge laugh once more, the redhead bellowed, “Good, good! I was gonna force ya even if ya said no, but this works too! See lemme put this upfront kid. This is a secret mission. You’re gonna get a handful of troops to come with ya, a few supplies, and that’s it. No one below my rank gets to know. You’re not taking a Marine vessel either, but rest assured you’ll have one. Once you’re there, you’ll have no outside help. Morn’s no joke either, if I had to bet on who’d win in a brawl, I’d say he has a 2-outta-3 chance of killing your ass!”
The gentlemanly marine nodded along with each point made, deeply focused.. “That’s not all kid. I’m gonna be honest with you, the reason you were picked for this mission likely doesn’t just have to do with your track record. Naw, the higher-ups want someone who, if things get too messy, can take the blame. Can be disposed of. Be their scapegoat. Get what I’m saying now?”
Gravely nodding, Babet said. “Yes sir. If I fail this mission either way, I’m dead.”
Licking his lips, Jorden paused before saying, “Yup. This mission’ll be completely confidential, I’d advise you to think very, very carefully before you start making your moves against Morn. He ain’t got an idea we know his whereabouts, but the second he realizes you’re on his tail, your job gets a hell of a lot harder.” The blonde nodded once more.
“Alrighty kid, these are the stakes. Ya capture him alive, and I’m sure you’ll become a minor hero for sum o’ us and a promotion ain’t unheard of. But if you can’t catch him and screw it up, you’re on your own. Dead. Whaddya think.”
After a moment of silence, Babet finally spoke. In a calm voice he said, “Sir, it would be my honor as a Marine, and as a le’ Et to take on this mission. If you would permit me, I shall start preparing as soon as you let me go.”
Nodding in approval, Jorgen threw him a large thumbs up. “That’s the spirit kid. I’ll be rootin’ for ya.”
Present
As Babet stood on the bow in the fading sunlight, sharp salty gusts buffeted him all around. Through the increasingly fierce winds, he could faintly make out a small mark on the horizon. This is it, Zarzara Island. By daybreak they'd reach shore. Delicately brushing over his knuckles with the opposing fingers, the young officer felt the tempting threads of wrath lingering in his heart. There was no way he’d let this General Morn get away.
(OOC: A Note - This was obscenely long, and while my future posts will all be large no doubt, I'm pretty confident in saying this will be the longest post by far. So yeah...there we go lol)
B-2’s imposing figure hung in Babet’s mind long after the ship had left port. After weeks, months of busywork adulterated with the overhanging loss, finally seeing the mighty bulwark in its full might felt like a new baptism. One glance was all it took to evaporate his doubts and hesitations, recovery was here, now. Standing tall by the railing of the bow, he took a clean sip of green tea, his favorite. Though it was now barely a blip on the horizon, he continued to stare out towards this beacon of hope. As he gingerly placed his empty cup on a small table, the gentleman’s reverie was shattered by the nasally complaints of his subordinate Fredrick.
“Do we have to stay on the deck? The winds are f*cking freezing and if we’re gonna catch this guy, I can’t be catching frostbite!” the irritant young man snapped, clinging tight to himself while resting against a mast. As per usual, the brat fell just short of pushing Babet’s buttons. In the months he had spent with him, the Ensign had gotten used to Fredrick’s constant irritations. They weren’t any less annoying, but they were certainly more bearable. The officer’s cherished etiquette was worth far more than any meaningless squabble with the lowlife.
In a calm intoned voice Babet replied, “First of all, please refrain from such language in the future. If you wish you may return to your quarters. However, don’t expect to be spared your usual duties, and be prepared for landfall tomorrow. Dismissed.” As the kid got to his feet, the officer held a firm and authoritative gaze into his eyes, as if to hold him back for a moment longer. Confused, the boy returned the look with mild contempt. Always keeping his posture, Babet continued looking expectant, until with a roll of his eyes, the young Marine finally connected the dots and gave a salute. The brat ambled down the deck with a sigh, turning away too fast to see his superior’s returning salute made with uniform precision. With one more forced huff, Fredrick threw open the door to the quarterdeck and went down below. How the boy had even become a Seaman Apprentice baffled his commanding officer. It had to have been a pity promotion in recognition of how long he’d been in service. That, or his pathetic parents had pulled some strings.
Babet shook his head gently. Even wasting that much mental energy on the many vexations of Fredrick was a waste. As inspiring as the sight of B-2 had been, the gentleman knew this task would be incredibly demanding, and would require his utmost in all aspects, mental, physical, and even personal. Within his short but already impressive time in the Marines, the Ensign had surpassed many challenges. However, he had never taken on something like this before. This mission was on a different level entirely, but that hardly would cow a proud member of the le’ Et family line! A victory here would certainly mean promotion and further his upward momentum, while a failure would very likely spell death, or at the very least disgrace and permanent setback. It would be either the most decisive success of his career so far, or the most biting defeat. The prospect energized the ambitious officer to no end. Every step taken, no matter how small, brought him closer to realizing his dreams of surpassing his beloved grandfather and former commodore, Labbet le’ Et. And not the least of this excitement was derived from the satisfaction he’d get while carrying out Justice. While it was always an honor to serve the greater good, this time was especially enticing…
The Day Before - B-2
Humbly packed in-between other makeshift rooms within a section of B-2 still mostly unfixed, the tiny temporary office of Ensign Babet le’ Et stuck out. The place only had two real walls, with spare dividers serving as the other ones. It was one of many officers and facilities under the command of a certain Captain Jorgen, his relatively large office was in the center of the group, under a large war-tent. While nearby set-ups were in various states of disarray, likely in preparation for their inevitable take-down, his was remarkably clean and orderly, a glorious ray of light in a waste of mess. In all aspects of life and work, both in appearance and behavior, the officer always strove for gentlemanly perfection. His room was more closet than office, no just due to the current ramshackle state of affairs in B-2 though that was large part, but also because Ensign’s are rather low on the ranked officer hierarchy. In spite of this, he still brought it all the dignity and attention due a grand throne room.
His desk was immaculate, with every instrument and paper neatly arrayed just so. A subdued and well-kempt Den Den Mushi sat at attention near the edge of the desk. His file cabinets lined up in a perfect line, no edges protruding even slightly, and every document filed and straightened. A very small coat-closet bore a few changes of clothes for off-duty, all pressed and hung with care. A small chest of arms held what little weaponry he possessed, with each one sorted, cleaned and placed delicately. Finally, he had a little coffee table for his tea tray and cup. If only tea tables existed.
It was the afternoon, and as he had quite regrettably gotten used to, he had no direct orders. It had been a while before he had taken on anything significant, his last real job had been months back when he was assigned to take out the Marine defector Dawdry. Since then, he had mostly taken to keeping some lower ranked men on task from a distance, or transferring messages to his higher-ups. Being a gentlemen of course, he never would have entertained the notion of complaining. Hardly, any and every task given him he took on with the utmost sense of duty and efficiency. Anything to further the cause of the Marines and hopefully his reputation, no matter how minor, was a task worth doing. Still, it would be a lie to say he didn’t harbor some desire for more investing activity, though he’d be loath to admit it.
In his meantime, after some routine checking up on his office, he decided to write a letter. A romantic letter to his fiancee back on Dauntaun, Saviere Lilac. A lady as fair as her deserved only the most elegant of letters, demanding his best parchment and quill. As he made his way through the letter, pondering over each word, he used his most flower prose. As the gentlemanly marine started to near the end he wrote:
“Oh my beloved, how I long to see your immaculate face before me! With each successive breath I take throughout this never-ending seperation, I feel more and more vividly your pain at our distance. If I could hold you once more, whisper tender words in your fair ears, to kiss again at voyage’s end! Please endure for a while longer my brave lady, remember always our promise! We shall be wed as soon as the opening arises, and if that stay is too short like the last, may it be full of sweetness and devotion! I think of you by the minute sweet one, each that passes is like a dagger to the chest. I love you with every fiber of my being, await my return, dearest possessor of my heart.
Loving in Truth,
Babet le’ Et”
As he finished, he tenderly folded the paper to fit elegantly into a pristine envelope. He took up his wax seal, and pressed it to the envelope. The thought of licking it shut never once entered his mind, no gentleman would resort to such means. Almost the instant he was done, there came a ring on his Den Den Mushi. Expecting little, but always ready and attentive, he picked up the receiver.
In a solid tone he replied, “Ensign Babet le’ Et, subordinate of Captain Jorgen, responding.”
His internal nonchalance however was broken at the first sound of the caller’s voice, low and tense. “Babet, you are to immediately report to Captain Jorgen’s office. Do not make any stops or deviate from this order, come as soon as this call is over.”
The Ensign, though startled, still dutifily replied, “As you command sir. I’m already there.”
The other end chuckled mightily, “Good, good. Alright, this call is over.” And with that, it was.
As if driven by a machine Babet stood up as soon as the call ended, and made his way out of his office. Simultaneously, he lightly scooped up his letter, and dropped it in a small mail basket outside the door. The corridor he came into was sided by cracked concrete and dividers, with murmurs and footsteps permeating all around. A few lights were strung along the solid walls, though the overall tone was barely brighter than dim. The Ensign knew the way perfectly and wasted no time. He didn’t run, that would be quite improper, nor did he push past or go around anyone he came into. He did, however move at a very brisk pace, past this divider, through that hall, and quickly he arrived at the Captain’s office.
The tent was the kind used for campaign encampments, one which would house strategies and generals. The top of the huge tent crumpled up against the low ceiling, clearly made for outdoor scenarios. It was blue and white, the covered entrance emblazoned with the Marine’s insignia. A quartet of soldiers flanked either side of the entrance, each hard-jawed and brandishing rifles. At an appropriate distance, Babet came to a full halt, and gave a hearty but formal salute. One of the soldier’s grim expression briefly suggested a smile, but it was gone as soon as it came. There was silence for a few tense moments, until one of the guards spoke.
“Do you have business with the Captain?” Came a gravelly monotone.
“Yes sir. I am Ensign Babet le ‘Et, and I was summoned here minutes ago.” His perfectly polite response drew a short chuckle from the guard who had smiled, and this time his subdued grin didn’t face.
He drew the entrance curtain back and said, “Go right in.”
Babet respectfully made his way through the entrance, and took a look around. The office was dark, only illuminated by a single hanging bulb. The office was the only in the area that could rival Babet’s for order, but it easily beat it in regards to how packed it was. Captain Jorgen, a large and bearded redhead wearing sunglasses, sat in a slightly raised chair over a long table. He was wearing a casual checkered button-up, and rested his sandal-clad feet up against the table, a broad grin on his wide face. His laid-back aura felt in sharp contrast both to his guards and his rank. Still, as eccentric as some of them could be, Babet had been in the Marines long enough to know not to underestimate the higher-ups based on their quirks.
With a smooth motion Jorgan pushed his sunglasses a bit above his eyes and eyed the Ensign directly. Before the gentleman-Marine could stop and salute the man, Jorgen called out “Straight Lace! Come Babet! Take a seat!”
While the order to come down had been a surprise, nothing could have taken Babet aback more than the Captain’s seemingly complete disregard for manners and formal interaction. For only a moment he lost his stern upper lip, but very quickly replied, “Of course sir!”
As he started to shuffle towards his seat, Jorgen let out a hearty laugh. “You know you don’t have to worry about kissing my ass Babet, I care little for formalities!” For the first time in a long while, the younger officer felt rather awkward, and lacked his usually strict grace as he finally sat down.
Once he had taken his seat he replied, “Sir I wouldn’t think of addressing you otherwise.”
Settling down a bit, Jorgen put his feet down, and his wide grin shrunk to a bemused smirk. He did a few tired stretches, while Babet remained sitting straight up, internally composing himself. He could hardly believe he lost his control for a moment there, he needed to be more adaptable to Jorgen’s attitude. After wringing his wrists once more, the Captain finally sat up and began to speak.
“Alright Babet, very good of you coming down as fast as you did. Didn’t expect ya to come for another half-hour, but I see I underestimated yer...punctuality! Your reputation precedes yourself boy!” Jorgen let out another, albeit softer laugh. “Your old man was nothing like ya, I served with Grabet a bit, nothing like ya! Not a bad thing kid, just a healthy observation from a vet.” The Captain's demeanor was starting to wear a bit on the gentlemanly marine, though of course he didn't let such distasteful notions change his well-mannered disposition. He wouldn’t dare say it, but he did wish the Captain would get to the point quickly.
Almost as if answering the blonde Ensign’s thoughts, Jorgen threw a large finger forward. “Right then! Enough of this, onto the point!” Babet perked up a bit when he heard this.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed and he sat a bit taller. All of a sudden his disposition seemed to change completely, any hint of a smile vanishing. “Babet,” he began. “I have some highly classified information you’re about to hear. Know that if you breathe a word of this to anyone unauthorized I’ll have your head!” The redhead now spoke with quiet, but wild sounding voice.
“Of course sir!” The gentleman replied instinctively. The old man’s smile returned, but it now felt more grim than jovial.
“Good boy, good. Now son, I’m sure you’re familiar with a certain infamous individual,” he paused. “Jack Dancer.”
The effect on the young marine was immediate. At the sound of that name, a void of emotions began to overtake him.
“That scoundrel! -” Babet cut himself short, forcing himself to keep his cool. He'd almost uttered an uncouth word, most un-befitting a gentleman. The mere thought of such a monster was sickening to him. Pirates and others who perverted justice were bad enough, but the man directly responsible for murdering many of his friends, decimating his military home...he was one of the few individuals the marine could claim to truly despise. Adding to all this was the infuriating knowledge that he could do nothing about it. Not only was Jack a monster of an overwhelming caliber, one who’d rip apart someone like Babet in a mere moment, but he was also a member of the Royal Daibukai, and granted thus full pardon by the World Government! Corruption at its finest! How could anyone even try to argue someone like that would be a symbol of justice, that low-life murderous son of a -.
“Woah now, let’s not talk ill of an ally there chief,” Jorgen said, interrupting the Ensign’s rapid thoughts. With a dark smile, the Captain continued. “I would have expected a more stoic reaction from someone like you, ha! I like that even you have your limits!” Babet didn’t dare protest.
Letting out a small sigh, the big man kept going, “Well, as I’m sure is obvious to you, that man was responsible for the destruction of this very base, and personally ended the lives of many of our brethren. Now I’m supposed to tell you it’s all well and good now that he’s working for us, but that’s a load of bulll! That bastard took so much from us, but know what? There’s nothing we can do about it kiddo.” Deciding to finally give up on holding in his emotions, especially around Jorgen, Babet’s face turned lightly downcast, and his always perfect posture softened.
After a moment, the redhead went on, “But...he wasn’t the only one responsible, was he?”
The implication was immediately clear to Babet, who snapped back to full attention. “Sir... if I may speak,” another low laugh from the Captain was all he needed to know the answer, “I don’t know what you’re referring to. Please…tell me.” With each passing moment the blonde grew more disgusted with himself. His always on-point etiquette and restrain were embarrassingly slipping. Even worse though was the disgraceful fire inside him which had just been lit. Wrath. Justice wasn’t supposed to be personal. Motive derived from vengeance were petty, and belonged nowhere near the carrying out of one’s duty. But...here he was, sinking deeper into this mire. Losing hold.
Jorgen leaned in a bit. “There were nine individuals who aided him, you might’ve heard of them. These hooligans, “The Nine” - doncha’ figure - of Viktas. They marauded around the island for years, spreading idiotic anti-Marine sentiments. We always put up with the, official orders were to ignore them most times, lightly remind them of their place if things ever got outta hand. Then those damned brats set loose the demon, Dancer! Those kids are just as responsible for this disaster as our friendly warlord!” As he continued, the Captain had begun to shake a massive fist by his side. “And ya wanna know what? Can’t do anything about them either! Warlord subordinates are also pardoned, doncha figure?! That hasn’t hasn’t stopped them higher-ups from wanting some-un to punish, lock-up, execute. Those bloodthirsty scoundrels always want heads when something goes wrong, you’d be a damn fool to think they’re alright with letting the people who did this,” he motioned around with his arm, “get away scott free!” Just at the height of the anger in his voice, the Captain made a sudden goofy face, and shrunk back into his seat.
“This was supposed to be a secret meeting, right Ensign?” he asked with a childlike innocence.
Baffled, all Babet could offer was, “Yes sir, I believe so.”
Grinning again, the Captain cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey guards!” Almost immediately the soldiers from outside the tent came inside. Still smiling, Jorgen put a fat finger against his mouth, “You haven’t heard anything right?”
Behaving as if they were used to this, the soldiers simply nodded in unison. “Good, good!” Jorgen muttered. “Now go back outside! This is a secret meeting!” On cue, they filed back through the tent entrance.
Chuckling lightly, Jorgen abruptly turned to look right at Babet. “Hey kid wanna know something? Well, before those almighty bastards on high decided to invite Dancer to be a warlord as a way to settle him down, rumor was that a few of them Nine had left his company or declined to go in the first place. Far as we can tell, at least one left before the devil got the invite. You know what this means, doncha kid?”
Enraptured, Babet nodded sternly, the implications were immediate. “Alright kid. Well, what would you say if I told you recently some of our agents stumbled upon a lead that this guy, General Morn was what he went by, might be lying low on Zarzara Island?” The impure spark within the Ensign came ablaze again, with even more fervor.
“If I may speak sir...I would ask what I can do to make him pay.” Deadly serious and completely composed, Babet looked right into Jorgen’s eyes.
Letting out a huge laugh once more, the redhead bellowed, “Good, good! I was gonna force ya even if ya said no, but this works too! See lemme put this upfront kid. This is a secret mission. You’re gonna get a handful of troops to come with ya, a few supplies, and that’s it. No one below my rank gets to know. You’re not taking a Marine vessel either, but rest assured you’ll have one. Once you’re there, you’ll have no outside help. Morn’s no joke either, if I had to bet on who’d win in a brawl, I’d say he has a 2-outta-3 chance of killing your ass!”
The gentlemanly marine nodded along with each point made, deeply focused.. “That’s not all kid. I’m gonna be honest with you, the reason you were picked for this mission likely doesn’t just have to do with your track record. Naw, the higher-ups want someone who, if things get too messy, can take the blame. Can be disposed of. Be their scapegoat. Get what I’m saying now?”
Gravely nodding, Babet said. “Yes sir. If I fail this mission either way, I’m dead.”
Licking his lips, Jorden paused before saying, “Yup. This mission’ll be completely confidential, I’d advise you to think very, very carefully before you start making your moves against Morn. He ain’t got an idea we know his whereabouts, but the second he realizes you’re on his tail, your job gets a hell of a lot harder.” The blonde nodded once more.
“Alrighty kid, these are the stakes. Ya capture him alive, and I’m sure you’ll become a minor hero for sum o’ us and a promotion ain’t unheard of. But if you can’t catch him and screw it up, you’re on your own. Dead. Whaddya think.”
After a moment of silence, Babet finally spoke. In a calm voice he said, “Sir, it would be my honor as a Marine, and as a le’ Et to take on this mission. If you would permit me, I shall start preparing as soon as you let me go.”
Nodding in approval, Jorgen threw him a large thumbs up. “That’s the spirit kid. I’ll be rootin’ for ya.”
Present
As Babet stood on the bow in the fading sunlight, sharp salty gusts buffeted him all around. Through the increasingly fierce winds, he could faintly make out a small mark on the horizon. This is it, Zarzara Island. By daybreak they'd reach shore. Delicately brushing over his knuckles with the opposing fingers, the young officer felt the tempting threads of wrath lingering in his heart. There was no way he’d let this General Morn get away.
(OOC: A Note - This was obscenely long, and while my future posts will all be large no doubt, I'm pretty confident in saying this will be the longest post by far. So yeah...there we go lol)
