Post by pepsi on Jan 13, 2020 16:36:14 GMT -5
Toymaker's shop, 23:10
"... And then I saw them unload a bunch of crates from the ship." Phoebe tried to recall, at the best of her abilities; for some reason, lying down on the shop's counter and looking at the ceiling helped her memory. Deman, sitting on his chair on the other side of the room, couldn't stop frowning and squinting his eyes. Was it really his fault? Were they re-organizing because of what he had said?
"And let me guess. One of them was a tall, pink-haired woman?" Phoebe was surprised: "How do you know?" she said, turning to him. The white haired man broke eye contact and buried his face in his hands; few seconds of silence followed. "Demmie... what's wrong?"
"I messed up." It was a hard realization, but at least he could stop living in his high castle. "I planned everything until the last detail and then... I messed up." In his life, he had lived many successes; some of which he couldn't just claim as his own. The liberation of Elysium was his brightest achievement; but even that shone of reverbered light. This one time, he wanted everything to go perfectly, everything to go according to his predictions - he had to be absolutely impeccable. What a fool he was.
He only hadn't considered that... the scientist could perturb the measurements. "What? What happened?" Phoebe sat up, the sides of her mouth bent downwards as if she wanted to cry. She didn't even know what to cry about. "I made a huge mistake. I was careless."
Breaking two seconds of silence, Phoebe sighed. "Mistakes don't have to define you, Demmie," she begun, in a flash of sanity, "we make mistakes all the time. Lookit me, I'm one big mistake walkin' around. You shouldn't look at what you did wrong, whatever it is, but you should look at how you can make it right." He smiled, and softly huffed through the fingers. "Since when did you get this serious, hm?" "One of us has to." She reciprocated his smile, waiting for him to get out of what would've been a spiral towards self-deprecation. She knew him too well already.
He shook his head, as if that could clear the mist that had been fogging up his brain. "Thinking myself invincible, I played with fire and got burned - but it doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of making mistakes."
Phoebe couldn't say she understood completely where the problem lied, and he opted not to explain everything from the very beginning. They had been unloading the slaves in the caches, that was certain - they took a whole day to load supplies, if they knew someone was going to come they wouldn't have lost any time taking those out again. Not everything was lost, though. "Screw the plan. Given the circumstances, I must improvise."
Dock 4, 00:00
They met with Kikori a few hundred meters away from the dock four, not far from where the ship was. As soon as she identified him, Phoebe signaled Kikori to come meet them both in an alley.
"Mister Kikorobot... I've got something for you!" she said, as they all reached a slightly more illuminated spot. She rummaged through a sack on the ground, and took out something that looked like a doll. At a closer inspection, one could notice it was a rendition of Kikori's own appearance. Although the craftsmanship was horrible, it was a passable toy; if only one ignored the crooked legs and the fake smile - she didn't remember which way the legs faced. One hand also had an extra finger. She felt she had to explain herself: "I thought... since I wasn't clear on how we're going to repay you for the help...".
Deman finally decided it was time to lay out the plan. "You can call me White Tiger, or Byakko," he begun, "and Phoebe here is my partner. We will also deal with your actual payment after tonight, Mister." He crossed his arms, and took a deep breath. His plan almost completely failed, and the added element of chance was ruining all he had thought up. Nevertheless, part of it could still be salvaged. "I need a distraction while I get inside that ship and retrieve the cargo. What exactly this distraction is, it's your choice - as long as you don't give away that I'm around too." Phoebe had been listening and nodding, while absolutely clueless about what he was talking about. "Any questions?"
After he sent the cyborg out to his duty, he took a completely different route; he had to approach the ship from behind, which meant swimming in the cold, dirty waters of the docks. That was part of what he had in mind initially, but he knew he had to throw most of it all away. All that remained was... relying on dumb luck.
He reached the ship from the side that faced the ocean; one plank after the other, he lifted his body off the water and onto the ship's hull. He knew that Marine ships, the ones of that specific kind, had a few weak spots where an average-sized person could easly crawl through; those windows were supposed to be used for side cannons, but if luck was on his side, he could find one window which wasn't properly closed and no cannon would be on the other side. He had to test for a few windows, always trying not to make a single sound, until he finally found one.
The inside of the ship was almost empty. Most of the Marines were probably outside, expecting him, he thought - or that was just a trap. He carefully sneaked past a few barrels, hidden and silent like a hunting tiger. That was, after all, his pride: he was a good fighter, yes, but an unmatched predator.
That was when he saw them all. Sitting on the ground, their ankles bound to shaft on the ground and handcuffs at their wrists. Not far from them, a single guard overseeing them, while playing with the keys. The chime was almost infuriating to Deman; the man probably didn't even realize he was playing around with the one thing those people desired the most. The White Tiger quietly drew the knife from his holster, and approached the jailer calmly from behind. A few slaves had noticed something moving in the darkness behind the Marine, but he was too much into his keys to notice distress in their eyes.
Rather ironic, Deman thought, as his arm suddenly wrapped around the man's throat and closed up the esophagus, rendering it almost impossible to scream or produce sounds. The Marine grasped for hair and tried to slip away from the choke hold, but eventually gave up and dropped like a dead weight in the Tiger's arms. Deman waited until he was certain the man passed out, and deposited them on the ground - peacefully, as if he had suddenly fallen asleep. He would've woken up in a few tens of minutes: his studies on human anatomy bore fruit once again.
He stood, keys in hand, in the middle of the room. Many spots were missing a person, as he had correctly envisioned. He took his mask off - he didn't need it anymore - and declared: "My name is Byakko, the White Tiger. Rise from the ashes, you are free now.".
His words resonated in every click of the locks he opened. Some of the slaves would quickly thank him and scavenge for food or other objects; others, instead, would instead stand up awaiting for more orders from the person that freed them. "Arm yourselves," he continued, "getting out of here won't be easy."
Just as he was issuing such advice, he came across a pair of handcuffs that was different from the rest. "This material..." he said under his breath; he had seen it in many pictures, and while most of its properties were still a secret to him, he could recognize it. "Kairōseki?..."
One thing was certain: that person was something more than a simple fighter, it didn't matter what kind of power the Devil Fruit bestowed upon him. Byakko hesitated before inserting the key. "I need your help. I'm not counting enough people in here," he said, his gaze firmly locked onto the man's, "and I need to know where they are". The sound of seastone cuffs opening filled the room.
"You're a free man now, but will you fight for freedom by my side, tonight?"
"... And then I saw them unload a bunch of crates from the ship." Phoebe tried to recall, at the best of her abilities; for some reason, lying down on the shop's counter and looking at the ceiling helped her memory. Deman, sitting on his chair on the other side of the room, couldn't stop frowning and squinting his eyes. Was it really his fault? Were they re-organizing because of what he had said?
"And let me guess. One of them was a tall, pink-haired woman?" Phoebe was surprised: "How do you know?" she said, turning to him. The white haired man broke eye contact and buried his face in his hands; few seconds of silence followed. "Demmie... what's wrong?"
"I messed up." It was a hard realization, but at least he could stop living in his high castle. "I planned everything until the last detail and then... I messed up." In his life, he had lived many successes; some of which he couldn't just claim as his own. The liberation of Elysium was his brightest achievement; but even that shone of reverbered light. This one time, he wanted everything to go perfectly, everything to go according to his predictions - he had to be absolutely impeccable. What a fool he was.
He only hadn't considered that... the scientist could perturb the measurements. "What? What happened?" Phoebe sat up, the sides of her mouth bent downwards as if she wanted to cry. She didn't even know what to cry about. "I made a huge mistake. I was careless."
Breaking two seconds of silence, Phoebe sighed. "Mistakes don't have to define you, Demmie," she begun, in a flash of sanity, "we make mistakes all the time. Lookit me, I'm one big mistake walkin' around. You shouldn't look at what you did wrong, whatever it is, but you should look at how you can make it right." He smiled, and softly huffed through the fingers. "Since when did you get this serious, hm?" "One of us has to." She reciprocated his smile, waiting for him to get out of what would've been a spiral towards self-deprecation. She knew him too well already.
He shook his head, as if that could clear the mist that had been fogging up his brain. "Thinking myself invincible, I played with fire and got burned - but it doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of making mistakes."
Phoebe couldn't say she understood completely where the problem lied, and he opted not to explain everything from the very beginning. They had been unloading the slaves in the caches, that was certain - they took a whole day to load supplies, if they knew someone was going to come they wouldn't have lost any time taking those out again. Not everything was lost, though. "Screw the plan. Given the circumstances, I must improvise."
Dock 4, 00:00
They met with Kikori a few hundred meters away from the dock four, not far from where the ship was. As soon as she identified him, Phoebe signaled Kikori to come meet them both in an alley.
"Mister Kikorobot... I've got something for you!" she said, as they all reached a slightly more illuminated spot. She rummaged through a sack on the ground, and took out something that looked like a doll. At a closer inspection, one could notice it was a rendition of Kikori's own appearance. Although the craftsmanship was horrible, it was a passable toy; if only one ignored the crooked legs and the fake smile - she didn't remember which way the legs faced. One hand also had an extra finger. She felt she had to explain herself: "I thought... since I wasn't clear on how we're going to repay you for the help...".
Deman finally decided it was time to lay out the plan. "You can call me White Tiger, or Byakko," he begun, "and Phoebe here is my partner. We will also deal with your actual payment after tonight, Mister." He crossed his arms, and took a deep breath. His plan almost completely failed, and the added element of chance was ruining all he had thought up. Nevertheless, part of it could still be salvaged. "I need a distraction while I get inside that ship and retrieve the cargo. What exactly this distraction is, it's your choice - as long as you don't give away that I'm around too." Phoebe had been listening and nodding, while absolutely clueless about what he was talking about. "Any questions?"
After he sent the cyborg out to his duty, he took a completely different route; he had to approach the ship from behind, which meant swimming in the cold, dirty waters of the docks. That was part of what he had in mind initially, but he knew he had to throw most of it all away. All that remained was... relying on dumb luck.
He reached the ship from the side that faced the ocean; one plank after the other, he lifted his body off the water and onto the ship's hull. He knew that Marine ships, the ones of that specific kind, had a few weak spots where an average-sized person could easly crawl through; those windows were supposed to be used for side cannons, but if luck was on his side, he could find one window which wasn't properly closed and no cannon would be on the other side. He had to test for a few windows, always trying not to make a single sound, until he finally found one.
The inside of the ship was almost empty. Most of the Marines were probably outside, expecting him, he thought - or that was just a trap. He carefully sneaked past a few barrels, hidden and silent like a hunting tiger. That was, after all, his pride: he was a good fighter, yes, but an unmatched predator.
That was when he saw them all. Sitting on the ground, their ankles bound to shaft on the ground and handcuffs at their wrists. Not far from them, a single guard overseeing them, while playing with the keys. The chime was almost infuriating to Deman; the man probably didn't even realize he was playing around with the one thing those people desired the most. The White Tiger quietly drew the knife from his holster, and approached the jailer calmly from behind. A few slaves had noticed something moving in the darkness behind the Marine, but he was too much into his keys to notice distress in their eyes.
Rather ironic, Deman thought, as his arm suddenly wrapped around the man's throat and closed up the esophagus, rendering it almost impossible to scream or produce sounds. The Marine grasped for hair and tried to slip away from the choke hold, but eventually gave up and dropped like a dead weight in the Tiger's arms. Deman waited until he was certain the man passed out, and deposited them on the ground - peacefully, as if he had suddenly fallen asleep. He would've woken up in a few tens of minutes: his studies on human anatomy bore fruit once again.
He stood, keys in hand, in the middle of the room. Many spots were missing a person, as he had correctly envisioned. He took his mask off - he didn't need it anymore - and declared: "My name is Byakko, the White Tiger. Rise from the ashes, you are free now.".
His words resonated in every click of the locks he opened. Some of the slaves would quickly thank him and scavenge for food or other objects; others, instead, would instead stand up awaiting for more orders from the person that freed them. "Arm yourselves," he continued, "getting out of here won't be easy."
Just as he was issuing such advice, he came across a pair of handcuffs that was different from the rest. "This material..." he said under his breath; he had seen it in many pictures, and while most of its properties were still a secret to him, he could recognize it. "Kairōseki?..."
One thing was certain: that person was something more than a simple fighter, it didn't matter what kind of power the Devil Fruit bestowed upon him. Byakko hesitated before inserting the key. "I need your help. I'm not counting enough people in here," he said, his gaze firmly locked onto the man's, "and I need to know where they are". The sound of seastone cuffs opening filled the room.
"You're a free man now, but will you fight for freedom by my side, tonight?"