Post by viruswithshoes on Sept 13, 2016 21:26:27 GMT -5
The island of Saint Reia seemed determined to depress Zenit Basqiat further down into his deep funk. The ruins of buildings he walked past added shades of black to the young photographer's mood that he had not known existed. The people seemed scared, unlike the freed people he imagined living through a political revolution. Was the revolution worth it? Who really benefited from the World Government being kicked out of Saint Reia? Was one corrupt institution about to be replaced with another one?
The camera-man did his utmost to not blink and thereby activate his devil fruit power, photographing everything his eyes beheld but it was for naught. Images of the depressing land and it's depressing people would forever be imprinted in Zenit's memory until the day he died. When crest-fallen young adult's left shoulder began to throb and then to bleed slightly from his wound a case was made for going back to the ship from whence he came and going back to bed.
Rather than sulk in a darkened room it seemed more productive to replenish supplies and see the sights of Saint Reia. He couldn't remember if his new Captain and confidant Cremuex had suggested it and deemed the idea idiotic had it originated from his own hairless brain box. Had it been the prettier of the two-person crew's idea...Zenit would grudgingly admit there was merit in it. Actually laying eyes upon the small bazaar with it's makeshift shops improved the battle-weary Basqiat's mood in the sense that tuning a piano that had fallen on one's head made things better.
A tiny, furry head poked up from the breast pocket of Zenit's long gray, coat and squeaked at the morose man that carried him. Kilmister the lemming obviously was more excited about shopping which briefly made Zenit wonder what a lemming would want to buy...other than a new hat. The lemming leapt from the pocket of the emotional black hole that was Zenit Basqiat onto the shoulder of Cremuex Levier who seemed the less dour of the duo.
Mindlessly tagging along with Cremuex Zenit feigned an interest in the wares until he came upon a man without even a rickety stall only a filthy blanket littered with various guns. The one-armed sales man blew an awful plume of smoke in Zenit's direction which smelled like burning animal hair. The curious gun enthusiast sighed at the paltry selection of flintlocks and muskets , looked around and pulled a metal cylinder from the pocket of his dusty light black pants and placed it in the merchant's hand. That's when the glazed over looks in both the men's eyes vanished the gun talk truly began. Typically, in the merchant's experience, customers didn't browse his wares and then produce their own bullets. While Cremuex and Kilmister shopped elsewhere Zenit and the merchant who introduced himself as simply Webley discussed a business transaction might benefit two firearm enthusiasts such as themselves.
With the prospect of a new weapon Zenit didn't even mind his aching and bleeding shoulder, though life in general still seemed rather dismal. He had been beaten up and had no one to rely on to protect him other than Cremuex and while she seemed capable Zenit still felt unprotected and more than a little intimidated by his uncertain future.
He rejoined the pretty blonde woman with a little less gloom than he had begun with.
The camera-man did his utmost to not blink and thereby activate his devil fruit power, photographing everything his eyes beheld but it was for naught. Images of the depressing land and it's depressing people would forever be imprinted in Zenit's memory until the day he died. When crest-fallen young adult's left shoulder began to throb and then to bleed slightly from his wound a case was made for going back to the ship from whence he came and going back to bed.
Rather than sulk in a darkened room it seemed more productive to replenish supplies and see the sights of Saint Reia. He couldn't remember if his new Captain and confidant Cremuex had suggested it and deemed the idea idiotic had it originated from his own hairless brain box. Had it been the prettier of the two-person crew's idea...Zenit would grudgingly admit there was merit in it. Actually laying eyes upon the small bazaar with it's makeshift shops improved the battle-weary Basqiat's mood in the sense that tuning a piano that had fallen on one's head made things better.
A tiny, furry head poked up from the breast pocket of Zenit's long gray, coat and squeaked at the morose man that carried him. Kilmister the lemming obviously was more excited about shopping which briefly made Zenit wonder what a lemming would want to buy...other than a new hat. The lemming leapt from the pocket of the emotional black hole that was Zenit Basqiat onto the shoulder of Cremuex Levier who seemed the less dour of the duo.
Mindlessly tagging along with Cremuex Zenit feigned an interest in the wares until he came upon a man without even a rickety stall only a filthy blanket littered with various guns. The one-armed sales man blew an awful plume of smoke in Zenit's direction which smelled like burning animal hair. The curious gun enthusiast sighed at the paltry selection of flintlocks and muskets , looked around and pulled a metal cylinder from the pocket of his dusty light black pants and placed it in the merchant's hand. That's when the glazed over looks in both the men's eyes vanished the gun talk truly began. Typically, in the merchant's experience, customers didn't browse his wares and then produce their own bullets. While Cremuex and Kilmister shopped elsewhere Zenit and the merchant who introduced himself as simply Webley discussed a business transaction might benefit two firearm enthusiasts such as themselves.
With the prospect of a new weapon Zenit didn't even mind his aching and bleeding shoulder, though life in general still seemed rather dismal. He had been beaten up and had no one to rely on to protect him other than Cremuex and while she seemed capable Zenit still felt unprotected and more than a little intimidated by his uncertain future.
He rejoined the pretty blonde woman with a little less gloom than he had begun with.