Post by mildofthewild on Mar 11, 2020 22:42:06 GMT -5
Remulo Bogs - #1
[The following takes place a week after the encounter between Bukbuk the Bucket and Mr. 57 AKA Remulo Bogs in the Gray Terminal of the Goa Kingdom. After suffering immense injuries and learning of techniques far surpassing his current levels and abilities, Remulo has started taking new contracts that can aim to test his limits.]
Public space. Loud voices. Smacking of lips. Cheerful camaraderie. Heated debates. A loud din of utter enjoyment, excess, fawning and bossing around surrounds the Mr. 57 as he watches his target.
A portly man. Around perhaps 40 or so. Looks to be a ship hand; the tone of his arms indicates manual labor, most likely has a fierce grip and hold that they're able to implement and swing around. This is complimented by a hefty appetite, as they dig in to a steaming Bruschetta chicken luncheon...more accurately, 2 Bruschetta luncheons, and a heaping portion of Carbonara.
The man likes to fulfill appetites, Remulo notes, taking a sip of his Verdicchio and absently twirling his fork among the pasta pescatore. Of course, he had no idea if this was actually the correct wine pairing, nor if it really did bring out the flavors of his meal; in all honesty, he wasn't even that hungry. However, the staff was adamant he try the dish and pair it accordingly, and seeing how he had to fit in, he simply relented and took the plate. All things considered, it did taste very good, though this was the last thing on his mind. Remulo continues to study his new target, a hefty sum awaiting the head of this man. His new client had said something about the man having stolen from him or something or other; Remulo didn't pay too much attention to the details, something he had never made a habit of before. He simply couldn't help himself, recently; his mind was far too clouded by reminiscing on the Fishman from Goa Kingdom. Bukbuk.
He would return to Loguetown to tell his last client that he wouldn't be able to fulfill the contract on the Fishman, but he needed the coin to do so; he had been sailing from ship to ship, island to island, completing assortments of odd jobs, paying for his trips across the East Blue while his mind continues to sink further and further into utter realization.
He has much to learn about the world at large if he is to be of any use going forward. He needs to step his skills up even further, take himself to the next level...and he knows that the Blues are steadily losing their ability to provide him with the means to obtain that level. The Grand Line...several of his clients and even quarries had said something about it being a dream. An expanse filled with challenges to test the mettle of those too weak to brave its waters. Should Remulo get stronger, he would need to find the means to survive those waters on his own...
Public space. Loud voices. Smacking of lips. Cheerful camaraderie. Heated debates. A loud din of utter enjoyment, excess, fawning and bossing around surrounds the Mr. 57 as he watches his target.
A portly man. Around perhaps 40 or so. Looks to be a ship hand; the tone of his arms indicates manual labor, most likely has a fierce grip and hold that they're able to implement and swing around. This is complimented by a hefty appetite, as they dig in to a steaming Bruschetta chicken luncheon...more accurately, 2 Bruschetta luncheons, and a heaping portion of Carbonara.
The man likes to fulfill appetites, Remulo notes, taking a sip of his Verdicchio and absently twirling his fork among the pasta pescatore. Of course, he had no idea if this was actually the correct wine pairing, nor if it really did bring out the flavors of his meal; in all honesty, he wasn't even that hungry. However, the staff was adamant he try the dish and pair it accordingly, and seeing how he had to fit in, he simply relented and took the plate. All things considered, it did taste very good, though this was the last thing on his mind. Remulo continues to study his new target, a hefty sum awaiting the head of this man. His new client had said something about the man having stolen from him or something or other; Remulo didn't pay too much attention to the details, something he had never made a habit of before. He simply couldn't help himself, recently; his mind was far too clouded by reminiscing on the Fishman from Goa Kingdom. Bukbuk.
He would return to Loguetown to tell his last client that he wouldn't be able to fulfill the contract on the Fishman, but he needed the coin to do so; he had been sailing from ship to ship, island to island, completing assortments of odd jobs, paying for his trips across the East Blue while his mind continues to sink further and further into utter realization.
He has much to learn about the world at large if he is to be of any use going forward. He needs to step his skills up even further, take himself to the next level...and he knows that the Blues are steadily losing their ability to provide him with the means to obtain that level. The Grand Line...several of his clients and even quarries had said something about it being a dream. An expanse filled with challenges to test the mettle of those too weak to brave its waters. Should Remulo get stronger, he would need to find the means to survive those waters on his own...